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#it makes me emotional. which was especially important for me more than a year back when

microclown · 4 months

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I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow

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vamphrrr · 3 months

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Hi!! i loved your tough love fanfic of clarisse! so i decided to ask if you can make a clarisse la rue , (aphrodite child) reader, but she’s not some normal teenager… she’s a princess if you get what im saying??? lets say that aphrodite dated a princess and had a child with him before she left, and so that’s where reader grew up, no one knew that the reader was a princess u til she told clarisse, she was really worried clarisse was gonna hate her but clarisse is like “Woah me mad at you? no way” and clarisse supports her! (Including some kissing, flirting, it would be super nice if the reader was shorter the clarisse probably up to her chest like in the tough love fanfic!)

notes ; omgggg this is so cute!! i’m so glad u liked my last fic i was nervous about posting 😭. also i’ll be making clarisse call reader princess too now knowing SHE IS ONE! they’re already dating in this. i used the same banner bc i’m too lazy to create new ones based on plot LMAO. i wrote this so soon but sometimes if anyone requests it might take me a couple of days bc of school and stuff! think i went a little overboard with this one. i should probably start counting how much i write lol.

%% are you mad?

in which your super attractive girlfriend finds out the secret you’ve been hiding from her for so long. also, she accidentally meets your dad.

— clarisse la rue x f!aphrodite!reader

warnings ; reader has doubts, tall & buff clarisse / short reader (again), flirty!clarisse flirty!clarisse, a little angst?, kissing, two swear words, flustered reader (oh how the turned tables), ooc clarisse? (i’m never sure if i write her right), one suggestive thought in the first paragraph (nothing happened tho!). a little too much background i think… too much father, did my daddy issues come out? made reader’s dad a king bc plot reasons, maybe more emotional than requested srry😭

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Sneaking off from your girlfriend’s warm bed in the middle of the night. For a minute, you wondered how’d that look to anyone watching. A girl hastily running from a cabin that she very obviously did not belong in, a long shirt —it was Clarisse’s— accompanied by small shorts, (which were not visible might you add). Oh and how could you forget, you were barefoot. Who’s bright idea was that? Oh, yeah, yours. Why?

Gods were you cold. Should’ve brought a jacket, you thought.

The bottom of your feet hurt, stepping on rocks and sticks and who knows what else would do that to you. Next time, you would definitely bring hiking boots or something. And a jacket. In the forest, you were far away from anybody that might disturb you. Pulling Clarisse’s shirt up until your shorts were visible, you dug your hand inside the pocket, meeting with a drachma. You approached the round well, splashing water mist being met with sunlight from below, creating a rainbow.

How? It was the middle of the night. Why was the sun inside? You decided not to think about it.

This well was old, dirty from not being used much. See, not many people knew about it. Apparently, it was for those that needed to talk to somebody reallyyyy privately, that’s why it was hidden in the forest, only appearing at night. You weren’t sure how that worked, but you stumbled upon it a couple of years back when you were being chased by wood nymphs for being out at night. They found you, obviously. Punishment was not escapable and you ended up having to clean the stables the day after you got your nails done. Yuck.

Now here you were again, this being the only place where you could speak to your father without anyone finding you. It’s not that you were embarrassed of him per say, it was that you really didn’t want anyone to know that you were a royal. I mean, how ironic was that? A daughter of Aphrodite, a Princess? Forget it. You’d get made fun of for the rest of your life. You especially didn’t want Clarisse to know. She was your girlfriend yes, and this was something very important that you needed to tell her about, but you weren’t sure how’d she react. You knew she wouldn’t make fun of you like others would, but you didn’t know if dating a literal Princess was too much of a deal breaker for her.

Being with a royal was too stressful, there was so much that they’d get criticized for and so little people that they’d be accepted by. Your dad was a King with many past lovers, Aphrodite included. The people loved her, I mean, who wouldn’t? But then she was gone, disappearing the same night she gave birth to you. Your dad knew of her, of this. He knew she’d be gone by the time the sun rose. Yet, he did nothing. Who was he, than just a mortal man? He could not stop a goddess from leaving.

He got with others after that, your dad had a lot of love to give. Maybe that was something that attracted your mother to him. Public lovers were not taken well, the people respected the King, sure, they just didn’t respect his partners. Constant judging, constant eyes following their every move, constant hatred being thrown, constant stress on their shoulders. In the end, they could never take it. Running away or completely disappearing seemed to be something they all had in common. Your father had to give up on love, small secret romances blossomed for a while, but never enough for it to go public.

That is why you were so scared to tell Clarisse of your status. She was smart, she’d realize being with you would not be worth the hassle. She’d leave you just like everyone else left your father. Clarisse was the love of your life, you don’t think you’d be able to handle it if she left.

You threw the drachma in, calling for the rainbow goddess to let you see your father.

“Dad,” you said, once the back of his head was visible.

He jumped, turning around. “Oh! My dearest daughter, you scared me.” He laughed a bit, looking at you with such soft eyes it almost made you cry. “Why are you Iris messaging me at this hour? Isn’t it time for you to be resting?”

You swallowed, a sudden knot appearing in your throat. “I just needed someone to talk to.” Playing with the ring around your finger that Clarisse gave you for your one year anniversary, you choked out. “I have this amazing girlfriend, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me here at camp and—” You stopped talking, taking a small breath, not noticing the familiar figure of Clarisse standing a couple of feet behind you. “—and I’m scared to tell her that I’m not who she thinks I am. That I’m not this girl that just so happens to be a daughter of Aphrodite. I love her so much and I want to tell her about you. I want to bring her to you in person because I want the two people I love the most to meet. But how do I do that when I haven’t even told her I’m a Princess and that the only way you two could meet is if I took her to our royal palace?”

Your father widened his eyes, not expecting his little girl to burst out her feelings just like that. He sighed, glancing behind your shoulder. “If this girl you love so much really loves you like you do her, she wouldn’t care about your status.” Staring at who he assumed was your girlfriend behind you, he continued. “She wouldn’t care that you hid this from her. Instead, she’d try to see it from your point of view.” Moving his eyes away from Clarisse, he looked at you, eyes squinting in light mischief. “You should tell her, she’ll understand. I love you.” Is all he said, before he was gone.

You’re left staring at a rainbow, your dad nowhere in sight. Suddenly, a branch broke from behind you. Turning around quickly, heart beating rapidly, you’re met with the eyes of your girlfriend. You immediately let out a gasp, not knowing she was there.

Clarisse speaks up. “You’re a Princess?”

You felt your mouth dry up. With wide eyes, you respond. “Please don’t hate me! I didn’t know how to tell you!” Walking closer to her, you reached your hands out, grabbing one of her own with both of yours. “Please, you have to understand. I didn’t want this to ruin us.”

She stayed silent.

Silence was haunting, especially coming from Clarisse, someone who was always provoking people and boasting loudly everywhere. You gulped, with lips shaking you asked, “A-are you mad?”

She lets out a huff. Was something funny? Was she annoyed? Angry? Did she not care at all? Those were the questions running through your mind. You’d find out the answers soon enough.

“Woah,” she shook her head, letting you see the slight amused smile on her face. “Me? Mad at you? No fucking way.” She reached her free hand towards your face, moving away the strand of hair that fell slightly over your eye. “It just… surprised me s’ all.”

You let out a breath, relaxing and putting your head against her chest. “Thank the gods, I thought you were going to break up with me or something.”

Reaching out again, she placed her forefinger below your chin, raising your head to meet her eyes. “How could I ever break up with someone so beautiful?” She leaned down, your lips grazing against each other’s. “Why would I leave when I can now be your knight in shining armor?” Closing the distance, your eyes fluttered shut. Butterflies were in your stomach just like the first time you two ever kissed. Without your lips separating, she put one arm around your waist, the other grabbing below your thighs, hoisting you up.

“Ah!” you screamed, separating your lips, not expecting it.

Clarisse smirked, seeing you get flustered. “You don’t have any shoes on.” You pouted, putting your arms around her neck so you wouldn’t fall while she walked back (not that she would let you fall off in the first place). “Didn’t think I’d notice, did you, princess?” Teasingly, she used the pet name, now knowing how much truth was behind it.

You whined, pressing your face against her neck. “You’re so unfair. I’m supposed to be the one flustering you.”

“Awe, the princess is mad,” she cooed, letting her lips touch the tip of your ear. “You want me to get on one knee and apologize?”

Clarisse laughed when you let out a loud groan, hitting her lightly on the chest. Smiling, she knew the only way she’d ever leave you was if she was six feet under. And even then, she’d find a way to get back to the land of the living just to be by your side.

The only things heard in the dead of night were the grasshoppers, chirping their little melodies into the darkness. That was until you muttered sleepily, letting out a yawn. “I love you.”

Clarisse repeated after you. “I love you.” Feeling your eyes fluttered close, she followed it with an almost silent “goodnight.”

Now that you were asleep, she felt panic slowly rise, steps quickening to reach the Ares cabin faster. She could only think about two things now.

Holy shit, she’s a Princess. Oh my gods, I met her dad.

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coffeetank · 7 months

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Writing ROMANTIC TENSION!

When you're writing romance, you need to have TENSION. Your characters need to pull your readers into the story with not just their dialogues, but also their chemistry. What is tension, you ask? It's quite simple. When two people are attracted to each other, or like each other, or are in love with each other, it causes a certain shift in the air. When these two people come together, they seem to outshine everyone else in the room and make it just about themselves (in a good way ofc). This shift in the air which hooks you into the scene is called tension. The chemistry that your main characters carry, will infact carry the whole story --- if you're writing romance, i.e.

How do you write this romantic tension? Well, as someone who's been writing romance for 4 years now, here's a few things I do to show the chemistry between my characters.

Show, don't tell: This is probably the most common advice you'll ever receive. And spoiler alert: IT IS TRUE. Any scene that includes an emotion will require you to show it, visualise it for the crowd instead of just writing it down. Romance, love, is a sensitive emotion. The readers need to SEE it happening, instead of just reading about it. Eye contact, long stares, switching their gaze from the eyes to the lips & back to the eyes, coming close for a few seconds, banter-turned-flirting are some ways you can show the chemistry.

Intimacy is key: Proximity. Closeness. Coming together. Put your characters in situations where they have to work together. Show their differences/similarities in handling tasks and make them argue or slightly quarrel if there's any differences and show them rejoicing if there's an agreement. Intimacy lies in more than just the body, bring out a quality in your characters, preferably a good one, in your characters when they're together. Make that quality their strong suit that drives them closer.

Words are sexy: Dialogues can create tension better than anything else (in my opinion). Notice how every time your ships/pairings are bantering, one of them ends up saying something sexual or romantic in a frisky way and we end up blushing like crazy? Yep, that's the goal. We absolutely love it when the guy says "oh yeah?" or ends up calling the girl a cute nickname while bantering. Dialogues can reach out to readers in a more personal way because they are the direct interactions between your characters. Make your OTP interact and have fun (pun intended!)

Add restraint: Sometimes, when the characters are almost about to kiss and someone interrupts them, we feel like throwing the book away. But at the same time, we want more because we want to see our characters kiss, or confess, or even get down dirty ;). You have put your characters in each other's close proximities, given them a driving force and added a razzle-dazzle with the dialogues and flirting! Yet, something is missing and the romance feels too....predictable? Put a constraint. This is especially important for slowburns. Personally, I love me a slowburn - it creates higher tension, emphasises on a foundation between characters and makes the kiss/confession/sex even more hot (again, my opinion). I suggest, a hint of a barrier won't do any harm. When you've reached the level of tension where it's normal for your characters to kiss or make-out, your readers are more focused than ever. Adding a restraint will make them crave the romance more and hence, stay hooked into the story. HOWEVER, DON'T STALL THE PROJECT. Just because your characters got interrupted in chapter 7 doesn't mean they can't kiss till chapter 15 or something. If they don't kiss in this chapter, they kiss after maybe 2-3 more chapters. You want to delay the romance only by a tad bit, so that your readers are still interested.

That's all I have for today! I hope these help you guys! - ashlee.

#writer #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #romance #romance books #romance genre #writing #books #romancebooks #write #writeromance #writingromance #writingtips #writing tips #female writers #tips and tricks

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copperbadge · 2 months

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hi, i had a medium to big question. in your post about the adhd self-help book you mentioned people with adhd being conditioned to be nonconfrontational, but i've never once in my entire life connected the two? can you break down the connection for me so that i can once again (this week, even) have my understanding of my own condition blown wide open?

So, you are not the only person to ask about this, but that's on me for being unclear -- I wasn't trying to assert that kids with ADHD are automatically conditioned to be nonconfrontational, I was more trying to be like "Hey not everyone needs lessons in medical self-advocacy but a lot of nonconfrontational people do." And I think there is a higher population of people with neurodivergence who are deeply confrontation-averse, but I don't have like, numbers for that, it's just an assumption based on other knowledge.

It gets complicated; ADHD is a disease based heavily in acting impulsively against your best interests. But yeah I do think people with ADHD are often conditioned to avoid confrontation because of two main factors: rejection-sensitive dysphoria and executive dysfunction.

RSD, which I hate perhaps more than any other symptom or behavior associated with ADHD, automatically kicks our nervous system into high gear in social situations and encodes embarrassing moments in our memory with high-def clarity. Because RSD naturally causes a level of anxiety around socialization, it tends to make us nonconfrontational simply because a) we don't want to be yelled at, b) we don't want to embarrass ourselves by getting emotional about something that may not warrant it, and c) by the time we realize what's happening our body is already on high alert which means we are likely to go into fight-flight-freeze mode.

Me, I freeze, usually, but none of those three options are great for fast thinking during an argument. I used to lose arguments a lot simply because I couldn't think or react as fast as the neurotypical person I was fighting with, so I simply stopped having fights. Notably, I did not have this problem when fighting with my brother, who is also neurodivergent and has many of the same freeze reactions I do.

If people disagree with me, even when I know I'm right I also know I probably won't be able to vocalize it properly, so I back down. Usually it's trivial so it doesn't matter, and I've gotten strategic about how and when I argue about things that do matter; it's also a lot easier to do with strangers or professionals (like doctors) where I don't have to worry about long-term social repercussions. But yeah, our own nervous system tells us "hey maybe don't pick this fight" about every single fight and if we do pick that fight, it treats our opponent as a dangerous predator.

Executive dysfunction's interaction with nonconfrontation is something I have less problem with because while I do have poor executive function, I've spent a lot of time and energy training myself to cover the Important Stuff. I have mild ADHD so I'm capable of this; I'm not trying to say everyone with ADHD is, because lord knows it's exhausting for me and I've been doing it for roughly thirty years. But essentially, I cover where it counts: if someone needs me to do something I do it, I meet deadlines, I pay bills.

So with that disclaimer in place, a very common issue especially for children with undiagnosed ADHD is that they'll be told or asked to do something and simply be unable to begin or complete it, then when they're asked why they didn't do it they can't explain. Even if they try to explain that they simply couldn't, like they were incapable of doing it for reasons they don't understand, that usually doesn't hold water with a lot of parents and teachers.

"I couldn't bring myself to write this essay," is actually something I told myself a few times in college, but it's not something I'd bother trying to tell someone else, because if you think you're neurotypical that sounds very insane. So I'd lie and say I forgot, or I'd take the fail, or I'd simply drop out of the class. Crucially I would not fight with the authority figure who was questioning me about it, because I knew I wouldn't be able to explain myself, and I'd just end up getting in more trouble for longer.

Our culture is structured for neurotypicals, and it's not even structured for all neurotypicals. Behavior that deviates from Approved Neurotypical even when you think you are Approved Neurotypical is highly punishable. So if your options are passivity, even when passivity leads to pain, or confrontation, most people who aren't Approved Neurotypical will opt for passivity once they've had a taste of where confrontation leads. I know I do.

And the thing is, there's nothing actually wrong with that. It's a strategy calculated to minimize pain. Even when I'm firing on all cylinders on a fresh dose of Adderall, I still generally let fights go unless there will be actual real consequences, because it's just not worth it. But knowing we have ADHD and knowing we fall into this pattern, I think it is good to be aware that sometimes letting a fight go is really going to fuck you, and at that point even being bad at it is better than not engaging.

I'm pretty good at calculating those, but it's a lifelong process, knowing which hills to die on when you assume you will automatically die if you ever get above sea level.

#sam has adhd #jellydishes

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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year

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Hopelessly Devoted

BuckyBarnes x Reader

summary: It's so simple sometimes. You meet the right person, and it all falls into place. Bucky never imagined he'd get this lucky. So what better way to remember it than on the second-best day of his life?

a/n: Hi, this is me describing every Bucky fangirl’s experience ever… and then a little more. This might be a song imagine? I don’t know, it’s heavily inspired at least.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none, really, none - everything is good here, stay as long as you like 💕 - fluff

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

consider listening to: Butterflies (feat. AURORA) - Tom Odell

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

That was all it took. That was it. Three simple words and you were at a loss for yours.

He had that charm hidden in the corner of his smile and still evident even now. A confident smugness is etched on his features when he flirts with you. But you have learned that it is not just there, in the dark edges of his lips. It is in the crinkles of his eyes when he laughs, too. It is in the touch of his fingertips when they stroke over your skin. And it is in the whisper of his voice when he mumbles sweet nothings into your ear.

‘Follow me.’ He’d say, dragging you down alleyways in Brooklyn and telling you stories upon stories of his and Steve’s adventures a hundred years ago. And you would listen, hang onto his lips like sugar, eyes big and wondrous in childlike admiration. Bucky would tell you every little detail, simply because he loves seeing the expressions on your face turn. You listen to him - actually, listen. And while he’d been in positions like this in his life before, especially as a Sergeant, he has never experienced this kind of attention. Your listening is laced with adoration and love and respect and awe and so many more beautiful things that prevent him from ever stopping to tell you about his past.

He is not that open, normally. Not towards many people, at least. And you know that, which is why you also have a tinge of gratefulness within your attention. It is also the reason you let him talk for hours. Even if sleep fights to overtake your mind, even if you have important things to do, even if the world would come crashing down, you’d listen to him. Because Bucky is special.

It didn’t take long for you to realize just how special he is to you. But it sure took some time for you to say something.

Months of pining and watching him from corners of the room, wishing you were in his arms instead. They’re warm and strong, and the kisses that accompany them when he encases you in them hold so many promises.

Now he’s yours. And he’s about to make that promise forever.

❁ ❁ ❁

Klick, klick... bam!

There, it happened.

He’s in love. Just like that - clicked into place like the puzzle piece he never knew he missed.

It is a little scary, but who cares when it feels like that? Like thunder and warm tea, like cuts and soothing kisses, like... butterflies. But wild ones, the ones brave enough to fly out in the storm. He’s invincible when he’s with you. There is nothing holding him back from being on top of the world. And it's the strangest feeling, really.

There are no more empty heartbeats pumping cool blood through a body he was sure has died many years ago. The second you look at him, all of him comes back to life. He is able to experience living again. And he wants to do it with you - over and over again. God, people have told him how incredible this feeling is, but experiencing it is like unlocking a different part of himself. Sometimes Bucky feels as though he’s watching someone else’s life. And he’s just a random passerby that gets to experience a glimpse of his dream. But then your fingers graze his skin, and he is reminded that this is in fact real. You are real. And there is nothing more amazing than that.

From the first day, you had that kind smile and those special eyes - the ones that can see through every wall he tries to put up. You can see his emotions with them, Bucky is sure. And for the first time in a long, long, time, he’s not scared of having his mind read. It feels natural to let you do it - it feels safe. He wants to share it with you - especially the things he can’t say because he simply doesn’t know how. He’s grateful you have that power.

So, Bucky knew it the second he met you, that you are impossible to get over, even if he’d never get to have you. But when he’s watching those promising eyes stare up at him, he cannot keep himself from smiling.

Now you’re his. And you’re about to make that promise forever.

❁ ❁ ❁

The audience is watching you intently, but there’s only Bucky and you. Everything else is a blur of white and green in your peripherals. Bucky is holding your hand, and the heat spreading from his body to yours relaxes you. His fingers are trembling a little, but Bucky doesn’t care. He’s happy. Possibly the happiest he’s ever been, and at the same time not the happiest he’ll ever be - because that is to come, with every day adding on to this one.

Your name falls from his lips and you gasp at the raspiness in his voice. “From the moment I saw you, I knew it. I knew you were my happiness.” A smile breaks through his face - even wider than the one before. “Two years ago, I thought I was okay. I thought I had arrived in the life destined for me. It wasn’t a great one, but it was better than anything I could have hoped for. And then you happened - just stepped into my life with that sunshine smile of yours - and I realized that you could give me so much more than I thought I needed. I’ve gotten so used to your warmth by now, but I’ll never take it for granted. I just...” Bucky has to stop and catch his breath, but when he does he smiles at you again and his eyes are soft. “I don’t think I would survive without you now.”

He’s crying, and there’s something so wonderful about the tears leaving his eyes. They wash him clean of all the fear his old self holds. There is nothing scary as long as he can face it with you.

“I love you, so much.” A look at your fingers in his, and a tear settles on your skin, shooting a wave of goosebumps up your arm. “You don’t know it, but you saved my life.”

His eyes lock with yours again. Warm blue swimming in salty water - they’re happy. He’s happy. You have not realized that you have held your breath the whole time. There was no way to concentrate on breathing when you could feel every word of his stroking through your body in warm heaves. Bucky bites his lip as he watches your eyes shine with tears as well. There is so much more he could say. He could fill a week’s worth of hours talking about how much he appreciates you - but he settles for the few vulnerable words he released for everyone to hear. The rest is for you to read in his touch and stare, in his smile and the kiss he is about to share with you. He’s getting all giddy thinking about it. He’s done it a million times before, but this is it. The Kiss that settles it all.

You send an encouraging smile his way, and he slowly nods as his hands squeeze yours softly.

“When you touch me, I feel butterflies.” Oh, you hadn’t planned to just blurt it out like that. But it just happened. There was so much swirling in your head, the text you have rehearsed is suddenly not enough to do him justice. A small giggle rustles through the crowd, but you don’t care how childish it sounds. It’s true, and it’s the best feeling ever.

“I’ve known it for so long, I have. But feeling it every day anew surprises me. You are amazing, and kind and so incredibly thoughtful. Being with you feels like being myself. And I love that you can make me feel this way.” A tear rushes down your cheek, and Bucky struggles to keep his hand in yours instead of wiping it away. “I’m so lucky - I think it every time I think of you. And I thank the universe for gifting me your heart. Because, for whatever reason, I was worth it.” You have to pause for a moment to catch your breath, but his touch grounds you. There are too many things you want to say, and it would still not be enough. So you settle for the most important one. “I love you, Bucky. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You share a shy look with him, letting all the feelings flow through your body. The room is listening in anticipation when you both say your ‘I-dos’ and even though you know there would not be any surprises, your chest feels freer in a way. Bucky struggles to let go of your hands to turn to Steve, who is handing him the ring. And as he slides the delicate metal on your finger, he can’t stop the small sob from escaping his lips. It’s too amazing, too overwhelming - but at the same time, a feeling he doesn’t want to let go of, either. Your hands tremble when they carefully trace over the gold carving on his vibranium finger. Whatever is said rushes by you in a blur and you can only register the smile on Bucky’s face brightening even more. His hands reach out to you and press you to his body until his nose touches yours and his thumb gently strokes over your cheek.

It’s the moment before the fireworks go off, the second before the sprint, the little shimmer of excited heart race before the confetti explodes in bright and vibrant colors.

“I’m gonna love you 'til the day I die,” you mouth in perfect unison before capturing that promise with a searing kiss, letting the explosion paint your love on the walls for everyone to see.

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @not-another-fangirl

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this-insidious-dawn · 7 months

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This Insidious Dawn is a dark fantasy IF wherein you play as a vampire, employed under the clandestine League of the Third God to hunt down anything -- everything - that does not belong in this world. But you do not belong here either, Warden. Demo tba.

☼ SYNOPSIS

The League saved you. Rewrote your life- gave you a chance to be more than a bloodstarved vampyr. Or did they?

You remember nothing of your past before the League; nothing but blood and indescribable agony, nothing but the thrumming of your heart stilling- and then beginning again, stilted and wrong. That was over a decade ago, the memories now faint and the connection quivering. They've been replaced, overwritten by years of blades clashing, body aches, and hollow hunger.

You started out weak. Starving, skin-and-bones, desperate for any reprieve you could get your hands on. Now, you're strong, each hunt -- each cut - giving you just enough energy to keep your worn body going. Some people would call it cruel, to keep a sentient being on the edge of death. Most people, though, would say that you're a vampire, so you hardly count as sentient.

Regardless of the morality of it, the method was effective. You were one of -- no, the most - efficient Warden the League had to offer.

And then a hunt went wrong. And now you're dead. But- a vampire (no, not a vampire; a vampyr) can never truly die. So you're back. But is it really you?

☼ FEATURES

↠ Customize your Warden. Appearance, gender, pronouns, and personality are all up to your choices as the player.

↠ This is a psychological horror first and foremost. It will have themes of dehumanization and derealization, amongst others. CWs will be offered.

↠ A character-driven plot where your choices impact the story.

↠ A cast of four consisting of The Acolyte, The Commander, The Savior, and The Forgotten, any of which you can optionally romance no matter your Warden's gender.

☼ CAST

↠ THE ACOLYTE

As with any vampire, you are accompanied by an acolyte to keep you in check and ensure that your hunts go well- as well as to mend any Gorges that riftspawn might crawl out of. Constantine Nimecidus fills this role, in your case (ae/aer). Ae is sharp-tongued, with a chronic lack of patience towards the people and world around aer, and can come across as snappy or rude. In other instances still, aer sarcastic, dry, and often untimely humor can offer a quick relief from the tension of any situation- or make it several times worse. Despite aer casual, laidback nature in the face of most events, ae places utmost importance on aer job, and quickly becomes intense whenever ae feels as if ae or aer position are being in any way threatened. You've spent years going on hunts with aer at this point, but the connection has never transcended the necessary 'I save you, you save me' exchange. Ae seems wary of you.

Constantine is a bit shorter than most, standing at 5'3. Ae has broad shoulders and hips, and is thickset with both muscle and fat. Aer amber skin is dappled with symmetrical pale patches, especially prevalent around aer eyes and mouth, and the lack of pigmentation has bled into aer hair in some spots, giving the dark auburn eye-catching streaks of white. Said hair is curly and cut shorter along the sides than the back is, and ae spends an awful lot of time preening it. Aer eyes are a striking, slightly luminescent bronze, and aer pupils appear instead of black as molten gold, shifting slightly in color to match aer emotions at any given moment. Ae has full lips and slightly upturned, monolid eyes. Ae favors shades of brown, tan, and orange in aer outfit, and ae near-constantly dons a rich red capelet with fur trimming around the hood.

↠ THE COMMANDER

Ex-commander of the Serpent's Guard-turned vampire. You'd personally never had a run-in with Alvaros Vepir until just recently (he/him). He's gruff, jaded, and withdrawn- exactly what you'd expect out of the man who gave his life for his queen only to nearly die (again) for it. It's hard to say, though, how much of his time as the commander he truly remembers. Alvaros is a poet's dream, the hero in an epic-turned-tragedy. He keeps everybody at arm's length, never allowing them to learn more than what the stories and theatrics tell of him. This is especially true of you- the vampire who was sent to reign him in, turn him from a rogue vampyr into a soldier of the League. Despite his emotional avoidance of you, though, he seems quite interested in you. Maybe it's the fact you're one of the few to have bested him in combat. Maybe it's just that 'vampiric charm' that old legends tell about (but that never seems to work outside of fights). Maybe it's because he remembers you.

Alvaros is intimidating in every manner. He stands at 6'4, his whole body is lean and scarred, and the black sclerae encircling dark green irises certainly does him no favors in lessening the effect. Before you were dispatched to retrieve him, you couldn't have said what he looked like; as the commander, he'd worn the veil regular of high-ranking members of the Serpent's Ring, leaving nothing but the back of his head exposed. Now, you know of his face well enough that you could probably recognize him in a crowd. With fawn skin dotted by freckles, hooded eyes, and a distinctive hooked nose, Alvaros is exactly what one would expect of a native of southern Ghel- save for his hair. Instead of the expected brown or black, his hair is a muddy blonde, and it has slight waves that turn into full curls at the tips. He maintains it short, never reaching past his chin. His face is scarred (his everything is, really), with a particularly nasty gash reaching from his left eyebrow down to his right jaw. It just barely misses his right eye.

↠ THE SAVIOR

An acolyte? You think so, anyways. Suri Revlece is the woman who saved you (she/her). You don't know whether or not she's even with the League, but she certainly looks like an acolyte. You don't know what she was doing there, either, but she seems willing to answer any of your questions while you recover- as long as they aren't personal. She's kind enough, but seems a little...off. She's finicky, always looking over her shoulder. She's running from something, but she doesn't seem to know what. She appears to believe that she and you have some type of camaraderie, although you've never met. But there's something to be said for the sheer strength of her magic- you've never seen an acolyte's shimmer burn a riftspawn like that. Never seen one with an eye glowing that bright, either. She's an anomaly- one that you're sure the headman at your partner's spire would be more than glad to have amongst their ranks, but then the mere idea of it had her denying it with vehemence. It seems like she has a history with it.

Suri has a mesmerizing look to her. The deep brown of her skin, near-black of her hair, and dark garb are contrasted with bright pops of color. One eye is a brightly glowing orange, the pupil nearly white, and the other is a misty grey, its almond shape deformed by the burn scars warping the left side of her face. That dark hair, braided and reaching down to about her hips, is decorated by light brown and gold beads engraved with runes that seem to serve to channel her magic. Her frame is lanky and she's long-limbed, reaching just above what most would think of as an 'average height', at 5'8. Below a brown leather cloak, more runed jewelry decorates her wrists and fingers, and her hands are tattooed in shades of bronze. The burn upon her face is not the only such injury she has suffered; her palms are burnt the slightest bit, and similar scars wrap around her arms. She has a broad nose and thick heart-shaped lips, and light stubble sits above the top lip.

↠ THE FORGOTTEN

You don't know who they are anymore. Who are they? (he/they/she)

A shadowy form, the silhouette of a memory. There's something not quite right about them. What have they become?

☼ LINKS

Demo - tba

Other blogs - @azraels-bad-choices (main IF blog) and @a-firsthand-murder-ballad (other project)

#interactive fiction #writing #interactive novel #if wip #twine game #if intro #this insidious dawn if

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

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Nimona headcanons plus a little bonus at the end

Whenever the trio gets home it's like a switch is flipped off inside their brains and all they want to do is be lazy and relax

They’ve got very busy and stressful lives and a pretty small home so it’s not uncommon for them to yell when they’re asking a question instead of just getting up

And if they can’t hear each other they’ll just call the other person

One time Ambrosius was yelling asking them what wanted for dinner and was interrupted by Nimona calling him

He answered the phone and all they said was “What’d you say I couldn't hear you” he didn’t even question it he just kept talking

Nimona brings dead animals home

I have this small headcanon that the first time she shifted into her human form was when she met Gloreth

So before that she was living mostly as different animals and she kind of learned their ways and those ways stuck with her

So there is a small part of her that sees Bal and Ambrosius as incompetent hunters (can you blame her)

The boys always thank her for her doing a good job and then they wait for her to leave the room before they freak out because MY GOD SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING DEAD RAT IN THE DAMN HOUSE

There have also been times when she’s brought live animals inside the house the trio spent half an hour trying to get a traumatized bird out of their living room

I just know for a fact that Bal has a crazy amount of brain damage

This man has used his head as a weapon and has been hit on the head more times than I can count

So I feel like he has a really hard time remembering the little details he gets really bad migraines and headaches pretty frequently his eyesight is absolute shit and he has to wear contacts or glasses and he gets really bad vertigo if he doesn’t take care of himself

This worries the shit out of Ambrosius and Nimona but there isn't much they can do except deal with the symptoms when they show up

So I was thinking about the fact that as far as we know Nimona never told Bal about what went down with Gloreth

But I know that the boys would try and heal the damage that Gloreths legacy left behind

And in the middle of everything Bal turned to Ambrosius and said “I just wish that fucking eyesore was gone”

He didn’t have to ask what he meant he knew it was the statue

So Ambrosius got to work trying to get it torn down

A lot of people including some distant relatives that he hasn’t heard from in years tried to argue that it was an important monument and that her story touched a lot of people

To which Ambrosius responded with “I’m her direct descendant if anyone gets to choose what happens to that statue it should be me”

It was a couple of months into Nimona’s return when the demolition was approved

The boys had asked him a while after he came back if it was something he wanted

And all he said was “As long as I get to help”

It was super therapeutic for both Nimona and Ambrosius

Like don’t get me wrong the damage she did to Nimona is still there

And Ambrosius will always have a complicated relationship with his lineage

But tearing down the “fucking eyesore” heals something inside them

It was supposed to be a month-long process but Nimona and Ambrosius kept going and it was completely gone after two weeks

When all was said and done they collapsed on the couch and went through just about every single emotion you can go through

A little bonus I made my mama watch Nimona with me and here are some of my favorite comments: Mind you when I first put the movie on this woman was acting like I was pulling teeth

“I like the queen she seems nice” (and then she freaked out when she died)

“So they’re nice to him 'cause he’s gold I would just steal the armor what does he have without that?” “Money Mama” “Ah”

“Why are they so mean to him he’s just a baby?” (talking about Bal)

“She’s just like you especially with those freaky eyes” (when Nimona met Bal)

“Oh, so she’s the rhino…. Makes sense”

“Awe she’s cute I can't hate her” (about Nimona again)

“Oh wait she isn’t cute that’s freaky” (when Nimona was the demon baby)

“That’s like you and your sister” (Bal and Nimona interrogating the squire)

“Hey, mama is arm chopping a love language?” “I’m worried that you would even ask me that”

“Oh he’s got issues huh?” (after Ambrosius’ internal freak out)

“Can he die a little quieter… and faster” (after the Director stabbed “Ambrosius”)

“Oh fuck that little blond girl”

We had to pause the movie right before Nimona started her rampage because we were getting tired and I woke up to her in front of the tv with it pulled up on Netflix and she turned to me and said “Can we finish it already?”

“If she sacrificed herself I will never forgive you”

“Do you watch anything with straight people?” “Mama you literally ship them” “That's not an answer” (this is right after Bal and Ambrosius kissed)

“Is there a next part?..... so when’s the next one coming out?”

Once the movie was over I told her some people thought Ambrosius and Bal were related and she looked me dead in the eyes and said

“You’re joking. No you have no be kidding… He literally said it in the movie!” “Said what Mama?” “oh I love him so much and I lost him whatever will I do”

And then she kept making fun of Ambrosius for the next three minutes

I asked her who her favorite was and she said Nimona I go “aweee you love me” she looks me dead in my eyes and says “don’t make it awkward”

#nimona 2023 #Nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I love my mama so much #this woman is so judgy #watching the movie with her was hilarious #she bullies Ambrosius the whole time so I know she loves him

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plutonianeris · 3 months

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❝mars in the 6th house❞

This is how mars in the 6th house has manifested for me.

With my 6th house mars placement I tend to make my daily activities into games or challenges. In my head I’m always like okay let’s see how long it takes me to do xyz. It makes me feel accomplished to get stuff down.

The downside to all of that is the stress I put on my body. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop and I keep pushing through until I feel burned out. Over the years I have gotten better and reminding myself to slow down and be more mindful throughout out the day.

I have always had very high paced busy jobs. The couple times where I had a more low stakes, relaxed job I would start off thinking I was going to enjoy it and then I would hate it. It would just make the day drag on so long. I like feeling challenged and when I am busy the day goes by faster. When I was around 15 I got my first job at a restaurant and it would get extremely busy and chaotic as fuck and honestly I loved it. The dining room would get so full, people were chattering all the time and we would all be in the back running around like chickens with their heads cut off, bumping into each other. Some of my coworkers would get frustrated which is fair but honestly it felt like a game to me. I worked there until I was 19. I have a higher paying, more “professional” job now but to this day that was the most fun job I’ve had.

I have worked at many different places, but the posts that state mars in the 6th house will give you coworkers being jealous and trying to start shit are 100% right. In every job I have had there were coworkers that saw me as threat or would try to start shit with me. I once worked at a hospital when I was in college and the girls working with me (Who were 2-3 years actually older than me) were so hateful and weird. They would constantly be looking at me, gossiping (or straight up trying to argue) and one time one of them lied to the supervisor saying I was slacking off when I wasn’t (literally trying to sabotage my job).

A male coworker there at the time told me they were just hating. I do believe that they were because they were being weird and messy but I also think he was trying to flirt with me..

The rumors are true about your coworkers crushing on you with this placement. And vice versa for me as well at times. It has gone from flirting with coworkers to me actually sleeping with a coworker once. However those times it was never anything serious, more like in the moment things. 6th house placements really know what it means to have a work husband/ wife lol.

another thing about jobs, when people try to start shit it use to get me riled up and I would let people get under my skin (when I was younger). NOW, I laugh and even though it still makes me annoyed, it makes me feel even more motivated to be the best at what I am doing.

I am also quick to leave a job once it has run its course. I am not that emotional when it comes to leaving and starting over somewhere else.

I lose weight very fast. I don’t mean in the sense that I have high metabolism. I mean that if gain weight and I decide I want to lose it, I do simple workouts and in a relatively short time its gone. Its not an unhealthy or harmful way. It makes sense considering mars is action and speed and the 6th house is daily routines and my body and health. Honestly if you have this placement and you are stressing over meal plans or planning specific workouts, just do simple ones and walk more and it wont be as hard as you thought.

I do have a high libido, especially when I am in a relationship. Having a healthy and satisfying sexual relationship is important to me.

I don’t get sick very often and when I do, I fight it off in 1-3 days.

I can be very impulsive in my daily and routines, sometimes harshly. Like I might brush my hair very roughly without realizing or apply lotion onto my skin in a heedless manner. That is something that I did not like and I try to remind myself to treat my body with gentle hands.

My impulsive behavior was worse when I was kid. For example, if I could not get a necklace off of me or bracelet, it would make me so angry and kind of panicked, I would rip it off even if it meant it might break I didn’t care. Me doing what I wanted and feeling free mattered more than whatever I was wearing. This was however another thing I tried to improve on.

Growing up, in my daily routines people use to be mad aggressive towards me as well. Don’t get me wrong, I knew when I was annoying or pushing someones buttons, but the random spurts of anger at me would be very unwarranted.

I feel like at times I can be very guarded as well or tense. When I am angry, I feel it first in my chest and then my stomach will hurt. I don’t like getting worked up because although I can emotionally regulate, it still takes my body a while to calm down. When I was a teenager it would take a long ass time of me practically seething or cursing. Now after a couple deep breaths I’m good.

Mars is aggressive and the 6th house is my health and body and I have definitely taken my anger out on myself as well. My home life had always been very chaotic as a kid and I started self harming at 12 years old and then I stopped when I was around 17 years old.

On a more positive note, I love taking care of my body now. I would never treat it like my enemy or be so careless with myself like I use to. I like working out. I like feeling strong. And also theres a bonus of feeling hot as fuck when I am naked. When Megan thee stallion said, “ When I'm in the gym I think about bitches that I'm shitting on,” I really felt that 💋🔥

#astrology #mars in the 6th house #6th house #mars #personal astrology observation #astrology observations #astro observations #fire mars #mars in astrology #random astro #mars in capricorn #mars in virgo #mars in sagittarius #mars in aquarius

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kingofthering · 5 months

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a bunch of notes from Marc Marquez and Max Verstappen’s exchange while commenting a section of the HRC Thanks Days 2023 :

Marc explained the impact of aero on the bikes (and Max completed with what it does on cars) and he reiterated that he hates it, especially when trying to pass someone

Marc said that it wasn't really his thing to talk to other riders during race weekends but they did talk about updates sometimes between same factory riders (comms were asking about Taka) while Max said that he speaks with Checo a lot because of teams meetings mostly

when asked about what he likes to do in the offseason, Max talked about spending time with his family, doing sim racing and resting (said than when he was 18, he felt like he could do anything, now not so much)

Marc said he wasn't interested in Indycar (but liked to watch it)

Max said again that he wants to try to ride bikes but that he's not allowed, Marc told him to make bets with Red Bull Racing so that they allowed him (like, if I win the championship, you let me ride a bike)

Max rode mini bikes for a couple of years when he was a kid (when he was 8) but then stopped to focus on karting

Max enjoyed driving a super GT last year and said that the Super Formula cars look great

Max mentionned how he would like to do Le Mans (24h) (he went there already when his dad was racing)

most difficult race this season? Max : Singapore, Marc : Valencia (not the worst but the most difficult because he had to control his emotions)

best race this season? Max : Suzuka, Marc : Motegi

Max mentionned how he was always impressed at how MotoGP riders get back up after crashes, which prompted Marc to list his injuries this season (both thumbs, one rib, one ligament, one muscle...)

Marc explained that riders get to recover more quickly from their injuries than regular people because it's all they do with their days (doing therapy) and they have access to a lot of people and a lot of machines and it's their job to recover (said he spend 2-3 hours doing recovery in the morning and then 2-3 hours in the afternoon too) (broken bones won't be much faster tho, might just be helped by their health/good diet a little)

Marc then mentionned that of course they race injured sometimes but it's important to know the limit (and then he mentionned Jerez and how he turned an injury of six months into an injury of three years) (said that of course he has regrets about the decision of coming back so early (mentionned that yes at last it was his decision but the doctors gave him the okay first) but now it's done, he wouldn't do it again)

Max's dream team for Le Mans? he's been speaking with Fernando about it and Fernando said he would only want to do it with Max, Max said that he needs to find a lighter teammate (because Le Mans doesn't have minimum weights requirements for drivers and Max said he was "quite heavy") and that Fernando is light already, to which Marc said "I'm lighter than Fernando" while laughing

Marc & Max both said that it was easier to jump from 2 wheels to 4 wheels and Marc mentionned the example of Valentino

Marc said that it's harder to overtake on 4 wheels because of the space needed, yes it was nice to ride alone in the Red Bull Ring (with Mark Webber as his teacher) but he couldn't imagine himself in Monaco with 20 other cars around him

Marc : "When I tried the F1, it was easy because I had Mark Webber there, which was a super nice coach, he was saying to me "brake on that line" and you can arrive with the car and break on that line. Maybe if you lock a bit the front, okay, next lap I will break a bit, but with the bike, I can't tell Max "break on that line", because if he locks the front, he will crash on the gravel."

Max said that maybe he can maybe build up his way to MotoGP by riding Moto3 and Moto2 first and Marc said that he can jump Moto3 because he's too big for it (and Moto3 bikes are really small) but he will feel more comfortable on a Moto2

Marc talked about which parts of the RBR he enjoyed driving when he drove the Toro Rosso in 2017 (didn't like turn 3, enjoyed the high speed corners)

Max said that he can train his neck as much as he wants in the off-season, it will still be stiff at the end of the first day of testing (because in the end, the best training for your neck is still the driving)

Marc completed the previous point by saying it was the same thing for him, you can train in the gym and arrive fit for the tests in Malaysia but on the second day you're destroyed because your muscles are not working the same way when on the bike

Marc said that testing in Malaysia in the winter is the worst and joked that on the last day (which is when they usually test the long runs) they always wish for rain so they don't have to go out

#marc marquez #max verstappen #y: 2023 #hrc thanks days 2023 #3393

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save-the-villainous-cat · 5 months

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Okay so how about a delirious or gravely injured hero / villain who starts telling the other details about their secret identity because they’re so sure they’re not going to make it while the other is like don’t even think about dying on me ?

"Look," the villain hissed. They pressed their hand into the wound the supervillain had stabbed into them. Flesh had ripped open and blood had been mercilessly dropping to the ground for the last few minutes. It was fair to say that the hero had...overdone it. The villain knew they could forget their own strength every now and then but they hadn't expected them to kill the supervillain that brutally. "I am dying."

The villain leaned their head back but the headache would not die. They dared to peek at the supervillain's body and somehow allowed themselves to relax. Years of anger and anxiety were gone now. Some peace was a good thing. Ignoring the tears and the pain, their eyes found the hero.

"Don't be ridiculous," the hero said but still, the villain could hear their voice shake. Whenever the hero's wall which they had built around their heart crumbled like this, the villain felt some weird sense of accomplishment. Wasn't this their job? Changing the hero? Even if the villain wasn't a good person, was this a good deed?

"No," the villain said. They grabbed the hero's wrist. Their nemesis was panicking, staring at the villain's wound in shock. "I am dying, love."

The hero shook their head and the villain wasn't sure if the pain made them hallucinate the tears in the hero's eyes or if those were actually real. They had never seen the hero this emotional.

"My parents aren't buried in the city," the villain said. "But I wouldn't mind if you chose a cemetery here."

"No."

"I have a cat, also. You need to take care of her. She's only five months old. I found her on the streets a while ago." The villain's hand crawled up the hero's arm until they found their hand and squeezed. "God, I thought I'd have some more time."

They couldn't even stop the tears. Couldn't control anything. Their vision spun and they felt bad for forcing the hero to watch them die. It was a little selfish, wasn't it? But wasn't it also a human desire?

Not to die alone?

"I have a sister, too. She lives far away, though. Maybe you'll find her phone number in my apartment? Could you take care of that? I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Don't you dare. I didn't murder someone for you to die now. I didn't protect you all these months for you to..." The hero swallowed and wiped thick tears away. For a second, the villain seriously thought they were dead already. I didn't protect you... "You cannot die now. I won't let you. You're too important to me."

"It's fine, I..." The hero pulled out their phone and dialed 911 with shaky fingers. The villain's eyes widened but they were too weak to protest. The hero tried to breathe but it was clear that it was quite troubling for them to take normal breaths. They were fighting just as much as the villain.

The villain had given up already, though.

"Yes, hello. I would like to report a murder. I killed someone. I also need an ambulance...I injured someone else, too," the hero said. "Locate my position."

They hung up.

"Fuck, what are you...?" The villain's heart was beating faster than ever. They couldn't believe what the hero had just told the authorities. Confessing a murder like this...asking for an ambulance? The villain wouldn't make it in time and the hero would go to jail either way.

This couldn't be happening. The villain had wanted them to live a quiet life, not dying young in prison. The amount of villain's the hero had already sent to jail was impressive and if the hero joined them, they wouldn't survive the first night.

The villain moaned when they moved. Pain was taking over and they weren't sure if they wanted to throw up or pass out.

"They won't put you in jail when you're injured like this. Especially not when I am the one who's responsible. They've been hunting you for quite a while now but in this case I am the criminal. This buys you time and they can actually save you at the hospital." The hero took in a greedy breath and closed their eyes. More tears.

"You're insane, you're-" The hero took their hand.

"It's the only way to save you. Your blood type is A+, right?" Perhaps? The villain wanted to throw up. This wasn't happening, the hero hadn't just pulled their Go to Jail Card intentionally.

"I think so?" The villain started to sweat and suddenly, it felt as if the world wanted to push them into the afterlife. They refused to die, now that the hero had confessed to a crime. But they feared they had no control over that either.

"Mine is A-, so I can donate. I'll try to stay on the ambulance, if they let me." The hero seemed to be back in their cold self. Always calculating, always thinking. Their poor hero. Always fighting.

"You'll go to prison," the villain whispered.

"And I will find a way to crawl back to you," the hero said. "I always will."

#you always got my fav requests #writing snippet #heroes and villains #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #hero #villain #request #an answer for an ask #hero x villain #heroxvillain

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wheresarizona · 11 months

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Learning to Live Part 20

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

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

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

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

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

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

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

Javier had opinions about the local police.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, none of the Smiths worked for the Sheriff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he answered.

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

Javier scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

They have to protect their cargo.

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Good, we know they’re supplying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffed. “You’re joking.”

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

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

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

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

Find a problem to solve.

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

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

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

He thought about it more rationally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not to go to a store… yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Javi, what’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t know that.”

“I know,” he sighed again.

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

“I know… But I want to do this.”

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

“No, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were smiling big.

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

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

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

“I promise, Cielito—I pinky promise.”

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

“I love you, too, and I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure it did.”

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

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

“Very true.”

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

“How was your morning?” he asked.

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

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

“A good man.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m just excited,” he laughed.

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

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

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

He pointed beside you. “Second drawer.”

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

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

He had a warm expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for trusting me,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gracias,” you also said, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, twelve chiles.”

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

“Chucho?”

“Yes?” His attention turned to you.

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

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

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’s everyone?”

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

“Yes… and that means?”

What were you missing?

“You don’t make tamales alone…”

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

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

It felt like a record scratched in your brain.

“What people?”

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

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

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

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

You hoped they’d like you.

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

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

There was doubt in the back of your mind.

“You’re sure they like me?”

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

That made you feel better.

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

"You won't."

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

"You did."

"I did?"

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

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

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

“You won’t. What’s next on the list?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A rookie mistake.” You shook your head.

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

“Oh god, poor little guy!”

The pile of chiles was getting bigger.

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

“He loved his mom a whole lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Are you a betting woman?”

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

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

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

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Yes, we will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She answered on the third ring.

“Hey, babe!”

He smiled. “Hi, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

His smile fell.

“Maybe… a little?”

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

“Just graduated from UT.”

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

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

Sighing, he replied, “I’ll… try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Cielito, I do.”

“Okay…”

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

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“You do really like my cooking.”

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

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

His brows furrowed.

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

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

He smiled. “Is he with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heard his dad laughing in the background.

“I really fucking love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cool children’s lunch box.”

“I guess it’s kinda cool.”

“Stop lying to yourself—you love it.”

“I don’t love it,” he grumbled.

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

“I won’t forget. I love you.”

“I know.”

He chuckled. “Smartass.”

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

“Bye, Cielito.”

“Bye, Javi.”

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

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

God, he loved her.

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

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

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

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

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

Because she loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did she say?”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Groaning as he bent to put the glass blender jar into the appliance, he said, “Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of it.”

“That’s understandable.” You nodded. If something happened to Javi, you’d be the same.

He straightened. “And it’s a good thing I kept it all because now you can use it.”

“Yes, I can.”

“May I ask a favor, Mija?”

Turning to face him, you said, “Yeah, of course—anything.”

“I know you’ll want to make more of her recipes. Can the next one be her flan?”

It made you soften, well aware that Antonia’s flan was his favorite dessert, loving it so much he named his horse after it.

Smiling, you answered, “You got it. We’ll have to go on another store adventure.”

He gave you a big grin. “We’ll take the Mustang.”

“I hoped we would.”

Once the filling was done, you tried a bite, loving the rich savoriness with a slight kick of spicy, the pork infused with the chile sauce was absolutely delicious. It was finally time to make the dough, reading over your notes about what Antonia had said in her instruction video. Chucho had gotten out her nice avocado green KitchenAid stand mixer that was probably a good twenty years old and in fantastic condition.

The dough was called masa and made out of a special ground-up corn, and in Antonia’s recipe, she added some of the red sauce to it and used the broth made from slow-cooking the pork, you doing the same. The mixer was on, hearing the mechanical whir as it mixed all of the ingredients, needing them to become the consistency of smooth peanut butter. Chucho was sitting at the kitchen table sipping his beer, the corn husks in two tall piles on a baking sheet, and the pork filling in a large bowl on the tabletop next to them.

There was the sound of the front door opening and the screen door slamming closed.

“¿Donde está la muchacha (Where is she)?” A feminine voice shouted, footsteps coming closer to the kitchen.

“No la asustes, Lupita (Don’t scare her away, Lupita),” another woman said. “Tenemos la suerte de conocerla (We are lucky to be meeting her).”

“Sí, y me muero por conocerla, María (Yes, and I’m dying to meet her, María).”

Two very short older women entered the kitchen, both smiling and holding aluminum foil-covered glass Pyrex baking dishes. The two had similar hairstyles of their hair cropped short, the one with black hair, her curls framing her face with bangs, wearing a purple floral blouse; the blonde with a choppier cut, a gold cross necklace laying over her dark blouse.

“Aquí está (She’s here)!” The lighter-haired one excitedly announced, moving quickly to put her dish on a part of the counter you weren’t using.

Turning toward her, you smiled, a white rubber-ended spatula in your hand, greeting her with, “Hola!”

“¿Hablas español (Do you speak Spanish)?” she asked.

“Un poco (A little),” you answered. “Todavía estoy aprendiendo (I’m still learning).”

“Then I’ll use English,” she said with a heavy accent. “Chucho has shown us pictures, and you’re much prettier in person.”

“Thank you?”

“Mija,” Chucho said, “That’s my sister, Guadalupe—”

“You can call me Lupe,” she interjected.

“And María,” he added. The other woman had set down her glass dish, too, both now standing beside you, Chucho introducing you to them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” María’s accented voice said with a warm smile.

“So, nice to finally meet you,” Lupe told you. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Hopefully, good stuff,” you replied. “It’s nice meeting you both.” Your attention moved back to the mixer, switching it off.

“Lots of good stuff, Mija,” Lupe said.

“You’re making the masa?” María asked.

“Yes.” You nodded, lifting the mixing arm out of the bowl and scraping the sides with your spatula to check the consistency of the dough, smiling when it was smooth. “I think it turned out okay—I have to do the water test.” That was a way to determine if it was ready; if it floated, it was done, and if it sank, you needed to add more fat.

“I’ll get the water,” Lupe said, moving to get a cup out of a nearby cabinet and turning on the sink.

“Did you have a hard time making the sauce?” María asked.

Looking at her, you answered, “Not really? Antonia did a great job of writing out her recipe, so I did what it said, but boy, was I nervous about how it would turn out.” You chuckled.

“Oh, yes,” María said. “It’s the biggest worry.”

“It was,” you agreed, nodding your head.

A warm glass of water was set next to you on the counter. “Thank you,” you said, getting a small piece of the dough, holding your breath as you dropped it into the cup. It was floating, “Yes!” You pumped your fist in the air. “I did it, Chucho!”

“I knew you would!” he replied. “María, Lupita, ven aquí y prueba la carne (Come over here and try the meat).” They went over to the table, and nerves were once again making your stomach flutter, hoping they’d like it. You were distracting yourself by using your rubber spatula to get the dough off of the flat beater.

“¡Dios mío (Oh my god)!” María sounded surprised. “Es bien bueno (It’s very good). ¿Esta fue la primera vez que lo hizo (This was her first time making it)?”

“Mmm,” Lupe hummed. “Esta muy sabroso (It’s very tasty).”

“Sí, es su primera vez (Yes, it’s her first time).” Chucho sounded so proud, and it had your eyes brimming with tears. “Te dije que es una cocinera increíble (I told you she’s an amazing cook). Sabe casi como el de mi amor (It tastes almost like my love’s).”

“Sí, sí (Yes, yes),” María agreed. “Estoy sorprendida (I’m shocked).”

“¿Ella conoce el secreto de Antonia (She knows Antonia’s secret)?” Lupe asked.

“Sí,” he answered.

“¿Tú se lo dijiste a ella pero no a nosotros (You told her but not us)?”

“Sí, porque mi Antonia dijo que la esposa de Javiercito puede saberlo y creo que se casarán antes de fin de año (Yes, because my Antonia said Javier’s wife can know and I think they will get married before the end of the year).”

You spun around, your eyes wide. “Before the end of the year?” you gasped.

His gaze met yours, smiling as he nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he answered. “Javi can be… impulsive, and I don’t think there’s a chance in hell he’s going to make it to your anniversary.” He looked beyond amused.

Swallowing hard, you asked, “Really?”

“He’s right,” María added, looking at you, her lips lifted in a smile. “When Javi was still working out here, and I’d stop by, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. He’s head over heels for you, Chula (Cutie). That boy won’t be able to make it.”

“I agree,” Lupe said. “You’re going to be family sooner than you know.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling positively giddy that the people who’ve known Javi his whole life all agreed he wasn’t going to make it to your anniversary. It wouldn’t even bother you if Chucho won the bet. You’d still be a winner.

“Wow,” you replied. “And I’m happy you like my cooking. I was super nervous.”

“With how good this is?” María pointed at the bowl of meat. “There was nothing for you to worry about, Chula.” She walked over to you, giving you a hug, saying, “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” you said, after separating, Lupe came over to hug you, too.

“You did good,” She told you. “We’re happy to have you here.”

María said to everyone, “There’s lunch on the counter. I made tortas ahogadas, and Lupita made some arroz y frijoles (rice and beans)—Rebeca’s bringing her tres leches cake.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach grumbled, realizing you hadn’t eaten since that morning.

With everything done to make the tamales, it was time to take a small break, finding out a torta ahogada was a type of sandwich with pork carnitas and red onions smothered in a red chile and tomato sauce served on a crusty bread roll and was amazing.

Eventually, Rebeca showed up, the youngest of Chucho’s sisters and a couple of the wives of Javi’s cousins who worked at the ranch bringing along their young kids, who were happy to watch cartoons in the living room and eat snacks their mom’s brought, everyone else eating and drinking the food and drinks that were in the kitchen.

There wasn’t any awkwardness for you, the family very welcoming as you all talked and laughed, and then it was time to get to work making the tamales, forming an assembly line on both sides of the table—the first person spread the masa on the husk, passing it to the next person to put in the filling, the final person folding and tying them with a thin strip of corn husk. It was obvious all the adults had done the process before, continuing to chat as you worked, the children screaming as they ran around the house, and everyone having a great time.

Chucho was folding and putting the finished tamale in a large pot at the end of the table while you sat next to him, spooning on the pork before passing it to him.

He told the table, “She thought she was going to do this with just my help.” The whole table laughed, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“I didn’t know!” you defended, putting a large spoonful of meat on top of what María handed you.

“It’s okay, Mija,” he reassured, taking it from you.

“This is something you do with family,” Rebeca said, across the table, spreading masa. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight bun, her kind eyes glancing at you.

“In December,” Lupe started, folding on the other side of the table from Chucho, “we have a big Tamalada at María’s and make hundreds of tamales.”

Your eyes went wide. “That must take hours,” you replied.

“It does.” She smiled. “But we have a great time.”

“When Antonia was alive,” María said, “she did even more. It took her days to prepare the filling and masa, then our whole family and her older brother’s would come out here, and we’d have the table like this and switch out people when they got tired. It went the whole day, but she made tamales for the family and others in town who’d order from her.”

“I’m surprised we could fit so many people in our house,” Chucho chuckled.

“You couldn’t,” Rebeca laughed. “People were always in the backyard partying.”

“And we’d finish making the tamales,” Lupe said. “And everyone would stay out here until one, two in the morning hanging out and drinking.”

“That’s something you need to know,” Chucho told you as he took another tamale you passed him. “When the family gets together, it’s never a short visit; we’re together for hours.”

It was hard to imagine wanting to spend that amount of time with your own family—it would be literal torture. But with this family? You’d love it, with how much fun everybody was having and the way the conversation flowed so easily. It was apparent there was a lot of love between these people and that they enjoyed each other’s company, finding it refreshing. The thought that this was how Javi grew up made you really happy—so many people who loved him and were open with their affection; each person at this table had given you a hug and welcomed you into the family, including the daughters-in-law who were excited to have another one who would join their ranks.

You’d honestly never had a better time with so many people, feeling like this was where you belonged.

The rest of his day hadn’t been too bad.

The meeting with the narcotics unit had gone mostly well, Javier taking a lot of notes as they all discussed what they were currently doing, relaying what was working and what wasn’t, him already having ideas of how to help them improve. He was expecting there to be some pushback with him coming in—assumed there’d be dick-measuring contests, but he quickly learned the Sheriff only hired people who actually cared about their jobs and wanted to be better at them—except for the kid on the team who was in his twenties and Javier had to tell to fuck off when he asked if the government really paid for him to get pussy; Travis quickly learned that Javier did not tolerate that disrespectful bullshit.

His Cielito had told him to be nicer to the people he worked with, but they made it so fucking hard.

He’d left at five on the dot, carrying her Star Wars lunchbox out of the building and to his truck, stopping on the way to his dad’s at the florist. Mrs. Taylor, the owner, had a smile on her face when he walked into her tiny shop, asking him which bouquet it’d be this week, her not even remotely surprised when he told her his girlfriend’s favorite, sunflowers.

The flowers were carefully laid in the passenger seat as he drove out of the city limits toward the ranch, thinking about everything Cielito had done for him today—taking the day off to watch/help him get ready, making him come before work, answering the phone when he called and calming him down, hanging out and cooking with his dad, making his favorite sandwich for lunch with a sweet note that he saved in the top drawer of his desk. She was right when she wrote it’d be a lot for him to go back to work, but all those things she did had eclipsed any of the bad shit, and he was in a great mood, feeling so unbelievably happy.

He didn’t know how he could possibly thank her for it all, thinking he’d probably go down on her for a couple of hours and get her off so many times she passed out—that would be after he fucked her nice and slow, needing to feel her come around his dick.

His eyebrows furrowed when he turned onto his father’s long driveway and noticed more cars than usual parked along the gravel in front of the house and out back, spotting a couple belonging to his tía’s. Confused, he put the truck into park in front of his girlfriend’s car, grabbing the flowers before getting out.

The sunflowers were in his left hand, his right loosening his tie while he walked along the stone path to the front steps, it untied and resting on either side of his chest by the time he made it to the door. Once inside, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where he abruptly stopped at the doorway.

She was catty-corner to him across the kitchen, the angle allowing him to see her side as she stood at the kitchen counter next to his tía Rebeca at the stove, a tortilla press in front of Cielito, her grabbing some dough from a bowl beside her, rolling it in her hands to make it into a ball, and putting it in the press, pushing down on it hard with two hands. Tía María was next to Rebeca, cooking, tía Lupita nearby making what looked to be a salad, all four of them laughing as Cielito handed the flattened tortilla to Rebeca to cook on the hot pan.

He was stuck in place, shocked at how easily she was making the tortillas like it was something she’d done hundreds of times before and having a lively conversation with his tías, the familiarity in which they spoke making his heart squeeze tight.

Hearing them call her Chula (Cutie) made him smile because it meant they liked her.

Tía María’s head turned, spotting him, moving what she was cooking onto a cold burner to immediately make her way over to him. “Ahi estas! (There you are)!” she said. “Te demorastes! (It took you long enough).”

Rebeca stopped what she was doing, heading his way with Lupita.

He soon found himself crowded by his tiny tías glaring at him, Lupita reaching up to cup his cheeks, saying, “Cómo te atreves a mantener a este ángel lejos de nosotros (How dare you keep this angel from us).”

“Sí,” Rebeca agreed, pinching his arm. “Ella es maravillosa (She is wonderful).”

“Y una cocinera increíble (And an amazing cook),” María added.

“Nos debiste haber introducido antes (You should have introduced us sooner),” Lupita said.

María spoke, “Podríamos haberle estado enseñándole nuestras recetas (We could have been teaching her our recipes).”

“Y las de tu mamá (And your mom’s),” Rebeca told him, poking him in the arm.

“Que no se te ocurre venir sin ella el domingo que viene (Don’t you dare come without her next Sunday),” María threatened as she jabbed his other arm.

“Sí, más te vale (Yes, you better),” Rebeca agreed. “Necesito su receta de pastel de melocotón (I need her peach pie recipe).”

“Deja de ser codicioso y manteniéndola para ti (Stop being greedy and keeping her to yourself),” Lupita said, patting his cheeks. “Es grosero (It’s rude).”

“Muy grosero (Very rude),” María added.

Javier’s mouth was opening and closing, unsure how to respond, finally clearing his throat to say, “Lo siento, lo siento, fue mi error (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was my mistake).” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Yo era muy codicioso pero cómo no iba a serlo, la has conocido, ella es increíble y la amo (I was very greedy but how could I not be, you met her, she is amazing and I love her).”

The anger left their faces, replaced with fond looks.

“Ella también te ama, Chamaco (She loves you, too, Little Guy),” María said, rubbing his bicep. “Ella te ama mucho y también la amamos a ella (She loves you a lot and we love her, too).”

“Encontraste una buena (You found a good one),” Rebeca told him.

He smiled. “Sé que lo hice (I know I did). Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo (I’m the luckiest man in the world). Ella es con quien me voy a casar (She is the one I’m going to marry). Vamos a tener hijos (We’re going to have children). La amo mucho (I love her so much).”

“Si dios quiere (God willing)!” the three exclaimed simultaneously.

María said, “Javiercito, tu mamá la hubiera amado y querido que te casaras con ella (Javier, your mom would have loved her and wanted you to marry her).”

“Sí,” the other two agreed, nodding their heads.

“Si, lo se (Yes, I know). Ahora, ¿puedo hablar con mi amor por favor (Now, can I please talk to my love)?”

They all moved away from him, finding that Cielito had washed her hands and was standing behind them. The moment her path was cleared, she was rushing him, flinging herself at him with enough force he grunted when her body collided with his, having to take a step back to keep his balance as her mouth fused to his, kissing him hard.

He was thankful for whichever of his tías took the flowers so he could hug her close to him, melting into the kiss that deepened quickly, her tongue slipping past his lips to slide along his own, her fingers digging in his hair. The older women were laughing, giving them some semblance of privacy as they returned to what they were doing.

Something like calm came over him, his body relaxing as they kissed, his hands rubbing all over her back, needing to feel her. It was the contentedness and knowing deep down in his bones this was where he was meant to be—when he was with her, he was home, she was home, she was forever and everything to him.

His lungs began to ache, and her mouth left his, breathing hard as she kissed all over his face, her hands grabbing his head to tilt it forward so she could reach his forehead, smothering him in loud smacking kisses that had him smiling so big she was able to kiss his dimple.

She finally pulled back to look him in the eyes, a little smile on her swollen lips, “Hi,” she greeted.

“Hi,” he replied.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asked, her fingers fixing his hair.

“Not bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Look at my badge.” He lifted it up for her to see his picture.

“God, you’re hot—it is unfair how photogenic you are.” She glanced up at him. “It’s a good thing, though.”

His eyebrow rose. “That I’m photogenic?”

“Yeah, means our kids will probably be photogenic, too. There are going to be so many pictures—I can feel it in my bones that you are going to be worse than your dad.”

He’d gone soft at the mention of their future children, smiling at her.

“Probably.” He shrugged because she wasn’t wrong. Javier was always using the Polaroid camera, and they started their own album—he’d been meaning to get a better camera. “I see you’ve met my tías,” he said.

“And a bunch of your primos (cousins) who work out here, their wives and kids, and your tíos (uncles). Most of them are out back.” She jutted her thumb behind her. “Your dad is barbecuing, and I was learning how to make tortillas, which aren’t too difficult. I’m basically a pro at making masa now.”

“You made masa?” He asked with his eyebrows up in his hairline.

“Yep. I actually have a surprise for you—take off your jacket, and get comfy at the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, doing as she said and shrugging it off while she walked away. He went over to the kitchen table, putting his suit jacket on the back of his chair, the wood scraping across the floor as he pulled it out to take a seat. The sunflowers he brought were in a small vase on the tabletop.

First, she brought him a cold beer, the bottle sweating in front of him.

“Thank you, baby,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She winked before heading over to the stove.

He picked up the beer, taking a drink, finding it cool and refreshing before setting it back down. His elbows rested on the table as he fiddled with the label on the glass.

All the women were whispering to each other, and it made him curious as to what the surprise was, watching as someone grabbed a plate from a cabinet.

“Did the sauce turn out how you were hoping?” he asked loud enough for Cielito to hear.

“According to your family, yes,” she answered.

“It turned out real good, Chamaco,” Maria said.

“It did,” Lupe added. “She did a great job.”

“A really great job,” Rebeca agreed.

His eyebrows creased, thinking about how she said it was a sauce she’d never made before and how she was stressed about it, his family now saying she made it well. Did she make a Mexican dish?

“Close your eyes!” Cielito said.

“What?” he asked.

“Close your eyes!”

“Okay…?” he replied, closing them.

Moments later, the beer was removed from his hands, moving his arms out of the way to make space for the plate that was set down.

“Now, before you open your eyes. I need you to know I tried really fucking hard, and if you hate them, it’s fine; I’ll never make them again.”

He snorted. “I’m not gonna hate it.”

“I mean, you might, and it’s okay if you do.”

“I won’t.”

Her hand rubbed his upper back, feeling her kiss the top of his head, her muffled voice saying, “This is why I love you. Okay, open your eyes.”

His breath hitched in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest, not believing what he was seeing.

When she said she was working on a new recipe all day that involved a sauce, he assumed pasta or something along those lines—he never in a million fucking years would’ve guessed she’d try to make tamales, staring at the two wrapped in corn husks on the plate in shock.

“What are they filled with?” he whispered, and the thing was, he knew her answer before she even said it, his eyes burning and his bottom lip starting to tremble.

“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she gently confirmed, the first tear falling down his cheek.

He needed to try them, his hands moving to unwrap one, the tamale steaming as he grabbed the fork she’d set beside his plate and took his first bite.

Javier has had years to grieve the loss of his mother and come to terms with the fact she was gone—he’d never see her, talk to her or get to eat her food again. She was gone. Yet, the spices of the red chile sauce and the sweetness of the pork hit his tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she was alive again, the taste so close that his shoulders started shaking, and more tears fell, savoring each bite he took, until the first one was finished, and he was quickly digging into the second.

It was like coming home after being away for years and feeling the warm embrace of your loved one—the instant comfort, happy nostalgia, and overwhelming love, Javier remembering the many times he’d sat at this same table with his mamá nearby, eating her tamales, feeling like she was here with him now.

“Are they okay…?” Cielito asked. “I hope you’re not mad at me for making them…”

The last tamale was gone, his head turning to look up at her with wet cheeks.

His voice was rough, telling her, “I’m not mad. I’m so fucking happy. You—” His voice cracked, his eyes squeezing shut. “—you,” he tried again. “You gave me a chance to eat mi mamá’s food again, and I’m so happy.” There was no way he could keep from crying, shoving his face into her stomach and hugging her tight as he sobbed.

This woman loved him so goddamn much, it was making him cry harder. He couldn’t believe she went through all of this effort for him—she did it for him. He didn’t deserve all of this. He didn’t deserve her. What was she doing with him? How had he lucked out so much? With all of the shit he’s been through and how life has always kicked his ass, there was a fear in the back of his mind that things were too good and she’d realize he wasn’t worth it. It just seemed so fucking impossible that he found someone who truly loved him—she didn’t even have to say the words, he could feel it in what she’d done, and it was crazy to him she loved him that much.

Was it crazy, though?

He was just as in love with her. He’d do anything for her, anything because she had embedded herself so deeply in his heart, he was sure if something happened to her, it’d stop beating—his love for her felt as bright as the burning sun and would keep shining even when he was no more.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, rubbing one hand on his back, the other cradling the back of his head. “I love you—I love you so much, and had a feeling today would be tough. Your dad said I can make any of your mom’s recipes, so if there’s something you want, I’ll give it a go, and your tías all offered to help me learn.”

Leaning his head back to meet her eyes, he asked, “You want to make more of her recipes?”

She stroked her fingers through his hair.

“Absolutely. I promised your dad I’d make him flan.”

He smiled. “Pop would love that.”

“I know, so I gotta make it for him. He said he’d take me in the Mustang again to go shopping for the ingredients.”

His eyes went wide. “He took you in the Mustang?”

“He did! Top-down and everything. It was a blast.”

“You should see if he’ll let you drive it...”

She huffed out a breath. “To see if you’re the only one with a Mustang ban?”

“Yeah.”

“I highly doubt he’ll let me.”

“You should still ask.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, but if by some fucking miracle he says yes, you’re not allowed to be upset,” she said, poking his nose.

“Deal.” He nodded.

“You feeling better?” she asked.

“Yeah. They were so fucking good. Please tell me you made more.”

“There are so many. Your dad had me make a ton.”

Tía María said from over at the stove, “She thought she and your papá could make them all by themselves.”

“I didn’t know!” Cielito exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

“Wait,” Javier started, “was there a tamalada? Is that why everyone’s here?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Your dad sprung the news on me that he invited everyone while at the store. It was a lot of fun. I did filling.”

He was frowning, feeling sad he missed it.

“I liked to fold,” he sighed.

“Hey.” She held his cheeks. “We can do it again on a day you have off.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that.”

Leaning down, she gave him a tender kiss.

“I love you,” he murmured into her lips.

“I love you, too.”

His mouth left hers, his chair squeaking as it moved back, so he could stand, turning so their bodies were chest to chest, his big palms cradling her face as he looked her in the eyes.

“No,” he said, “te amo más que a nada y mi vida estaría vacía sin ti (No, I love you more than anything, and my life would be empty without you). Vivo para ti, respiro por ti, mi corazón late por ti, soy nada sin ti (I live for you, I breathe for you, my heart beats for you, I am nothing without you).”

“Javi,” she gasped, seeing the tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s so fucking romantic, but I don’t deserve that kind of devotion.” She shook her head. “I’m nobody, and I’m waiting for the day you realize I’m a big fucking loser.”

His eyes squinted, his eyebrows knitting together, not understanding why she would say that.

“What?” he asked. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re fucking incredible and everything to me. You’re not nobody. You’re my all—you’re it, and I hate the self-deprecating bullshit because if one of us doesn’t deserve love, it’s fucking me.” He patted over his heart. “I don’t deserve you, and I’m really fucking aware of it. So, stop it, and let me fucking love you.”

“Esto es mejor que mi telenovela (This is better than my telenovela),” tía Lupita whispered.

Rebeca shooshed her. “Se está poniendo bueno (It’s getting good).”

“What the fuck are you talking about that you don’t deserve me?” Cielito asked. “I can’t be self-deprecating, but you can? No, unacceptable. You’re a fucking amazing man, and I will not tolerate you thinking that you do not deserve me—you more than deserve me. Thank you very much. So, you fucking stop it—” She poked him in the chest. “—and let me fucking love you.”

He smiled, grasping her hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. “You can love me, and I’ll love you, so that’s settled.”

“Good.”

He kissed the center of her palm. “I really fucking love you.”

“I really fucking love you, too.”

His lips pressed to her wrist. “Estoy enloquecido por ti (I’m crazy about you).”

A kiss to her arm. “Mi corazón es tuyo (My heart is yours).”

Another press of his lips further up. “Soy tuyo (I’m yours).”

One to the bend in her arm. “Eres todo para mi (You’re everything to me).”

Straightening, he gently cupped her cheeks. “Eres el amor de mi vida, mi Cielito (You are the love of my life, my Cielito).” Finally, kissing her on the lips.

Javi demolished seven of your tamales, and when there was a minute with you two alone in the kitchen, you watched him fill two gallon Ziploc bags with probably twenty more that he hid in the fridge to take home, which made you so insanely happy. There was still a bunch left for everyone else to have more than one, not feeling too worried about it since Javi’s tíos showed up with a ton of meat and other things for Chucho to cook on his massive grill and ingredients for his tías to make sides.

Your boyfriend had draped his tie over his suit jacket on the back of a chair at the kitchen table, stuffing his badge in the pocket, rolling his sleeves up his forearms, and popping open a few buttons on his dress shirt before you’d gone out back. A beer he was nursing was in one hand, the other over your shoulders, keeping you close to him.

A dozen or so kids, all under the age of twelve, were running around laughing and screaming in the backyard. The glass dining table on the patio had paper plates, plastic utensils, condiments, a big bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a tiny stack of tamales on it. The adults sat at a picnic table on the grass, others in plastic chairs pulled close, talking animatedly while eating and drinking their sodas and beers, waiting for more food to be ready, a boombox out playing music.

Javi’s dad had an array of things he was grilling, pointing at each one with his giant metal tongs and telling you what each was: costillas (pork ribs), entraña (skirt steak), chorizó (well-seasoned pork sausage), cebollitas asadas (grilled green onions), and elote (grilled corn).

“The elote,” Chucho said, flipping one over to grill the other side, “we dress it in mayo, cotija cheese that’s crumbly, chili powder, and lime juice. It’s very good.”

“I’m sure I’m going to love it,” you replied, Javi pulling you closer into his side and kissing your hair.

“Ask him,” he murmured in your ear.

“Ugh, fine, hey Pop?”

Your boyfriend jolted next to you, “Pop?” he whispered.

“Yeah, babe—” You rubbed his chest. “—there was a lot of bonding today; he said he thinks of me as his daughter, and real talk, he’s the best dad I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, Mija,” Chucho said, smiling at you. “I’m happy to have another kid, and who knows, maybe I’ll finally get those nietos (grandchildren) I want soon.”

Javi was in the middle of taking a drink and choked, coughing into his arm while you patted his back.

“We’re waiting until we’re married,” you told him. “And gosh, we’d probably want to have a house, too. There’s no space for a baby in the apartment.”

Chucho was nodding his head. “Of course, of course, if anything, Javi’s got his room here, and I’ve got the spare bedroom we could turn into a nursery, so that’s an option.”

It made you grin.

“That’s so sweet of you, Pop. We appreciate it.”

“Anything for my kids and future grandkids. Now, you had a question.”

“Oh, yes! Would you ever maybe possibly let me drive the Mustang…?”

“Sure.”

Your mouth fell open, Javi saying loudly, “What?!”

“But I’d be your passenger,” Chucho continued. “You can drive when we go to La Tapatía for the flan—it’s the least I can do.”

“Can I drive the Mustang?” Javi asked.

His father met his eyes. “No.”

“¿Por qué (Why)?” he said in rapid Spanish, his tone laced with anger. “¿Por qué ella puede conducir y yo no (Why can she drive and I can’t)?”

“Ella me está haciendo el flan de tu madre (She is making me your mom’s flan). Por eso. (That’s why).”

“¿Qué tengo que hacer (What do I have to do)?”

The older man thought about it for a second before a big toothy smile appeared on his face.

“Cuando te casas con ella, puedes conducir el Mustang (When you marry her, you can drive the Mustang).”

Javi sighed loudly. “Esta bien (Fine). Estas bien agresivo (You’re very pushy). Me voy a casar con ella (I am going to marry her).”

“Yo sé, Mijo, pero no lo suficientemente pronto (I know, Mijo, but not soon enough).”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you want your grandkids. You’re gonna have to hold your fuckin’ horses and wait.” He took another drink.

“I’m not getting any younger.” Chucho’s attention went back to the barbecue, flipping meat and vegetables.

“I’m aware.”

The two of you migrated over to where everyone else was, standing off to the side as they all talked in Spanish, Javi’s arm around you, his finger drawing circles on your hip.

“I can’t wait to get home,” he whispered in your ear for only you to hear.

“Why’s that?” you asked just as softly.

“So I can spread you out and eat your pussy for an hour or two.” He nipped at your earlobe, your breath catching in your throat. “But first, I want to fuck you nice and slow—want you to feel how I stretch you open and make you squeeze my dick when you come. Gonna pump you full of me.”

You could feel your heartbeat in your cunt, squeezing your thighs together.

“Javier,” you gasped. “We are with your family. Stop making me horny.”

“Yeah? Your panties drenched? If I stuck my hand inside those stretchy fucking shorts I love, would I feel you all wet for me?”

You were, and you hated how smug he sounded.

“Of course, but we’re going to be here for hours. Don’t rile me up.”

His hand moved from your hip to squeeze your ass.

“Maybe I want to rile you up. Have you dripping for me and needy. Get you so fucking horny that we barely make it into the apartment, and I fuck you right there on the floor.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You fucking love it. You don’t give a single fuck where I do it as long as I fuck you full of my come—you love being stuffed.”

“Javier,” you hissed.

“Yes, mi amor (my love)?”

“You’re being a goddamn menace.”

“I’m being your menace.” He kissed your cheek.

A tiny child was suddenly hugging your legs, looking down to find Javi’s cousin, Danny’s toddler, holding her chubby little arms up for you to pick her up, bending to do just that. The little girl was wearing a pink sleeveless dress, her little bit of dark hair pulled up in two pigtails, sitting her on your hip.

“Hola (Hi),” you greeted her with a smile. “¿Cuál es tu nombre (What is your name)?”

She was rubbing her hands together, not looking you in the eye.

“So-feee-a.”

“Hola, Sofia (Hi, Sofia). Tu nombre es muy bonito (Your name is very beautiful). ¿Cuántos años tienes (How old are you)?”

“Dos (Two)!” she announced, holding up two fingers. “Sí, dos (Yes, two)!”

“Muy bien (Very good). Te estás divirtiendo jugando con tus hermanos y primos (Are you having fun playing with your siblings and cousins)?”

“Sí, corren rápido (Yes, they run fast).”

Looking over at Javi, there was a soft look on his face, you asking him, “¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”

He was just staring, your eyebrows creasing, jabbing him in the side with your elbow, “Javi?”

“What…?” he asked.

“¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”

“Oh, uh, corren muy rápido para ti?”

Nodding, your attention moved back to the child. “¿Corren muy rápido para ti?” you asked her.

“Sí, muy rápido (Yes, very fast).”

“Lo siento (I’m sorry) ¿Cuál es tu color favorito (What’s your favorite color)?

She tugged on her dress. “Rosadooo (Pink)! Y amarillooo (And yellow)!”

Her answer made you giggle.

“También me encantan esos colores (I love those colors, too).”

Sofia frowned. “Tengo sed (I’m thirsty).”

“Oh, um, Javi.” You looked at him. “Can you tell her we’ll take her to her mom?”

He set his beer down on the grass, straightening and holding out his arms. “Ven aquí, preciosa, te llevaremos a tu mamá (Come here, precious, we will take you to your mom),” he said in that sweet voice he always used with the animals, taking the child from you.

He held her easily in one arm, hearing him speaking softly to her in Spanish as he walked her over to her mom at the picnic table—your eyes had gone wide, gulping as you took him in, your ovaries going haywire at how perfect he looked; how natural, thinking those broad shoulders of his would come in handy to carry more than one baby.

Oh.

Oh no.

You had to fan yourself with your hand, it suddenly feeling very hot, doing your best to ignore the ancient, primal part of your brain screaming that he was the perfect man to father your children, and he needed to put one in you right that second—the temptation to toss your birth control when you got home was too damn high.

Dear god, was this baby fever? Were you experiencing baby fever?

The way arousal was burning in your gut and making your pussy throb with need told you, yes, you did, in fact, have baby fucking fever.

You were so unbelievably horny, annoyed it was at the most inopportune time, needing to go splash some cold water on your face to calm yourself down.

Javi was returning to you, your eyes darting away as you said when he was close, “I’m, um, gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” Pointing with your thumbs toward the house. “I’ll be back.”

He was in front of you, his hands rubbing your upper arms, your body shivering at the contact.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a concerned look.

“Yeah,” you said a little too quickly. “Fucking fantastic, not horny at all, no siree, perfectly fine. I’ll be back.”

“Okay…?”

You practically bolted away from him and into the house, passing the guest bathroom to go to the one in Javi’s room. Two of his tías and a daughter-in-law were in the kitchen making side dishes, their husbands in the living room, relaxing in the air conditioning, and watching something on the television.

Safely locked away in Javi’s en suite, you took care of your needs and washed your hands, leaving the faucet running and turning the temperature as cold as possible. Leaning over the sink, you splashed some water on your face, which helped a little, still feeling on edge as you walked over to get a small towel out of the in-wall cabinet to dry off.

The sink was turned off, staring at yourself in the mirror. “We will get married, we will buy a house, and then we will have babies,” you said out loud. “Don’t you dare give in just because your boyfriend is a goddamn DILF without the children. Oh, god,” you whined. “He’s going to be such a fucking DILF! Why does he have to be so sexy?! We can’t even fuck until later. Focus!” You pointed your finger at yourself in the reflection. “No babies, no matter how fucking tempting it is, no. Cool your fucking jets. You’ve got this.” Nodding your head once, you turned to toss the dirtied towel into a nearby hamper.

Unlocking the door, you pulled it open, squeaking in surprise when the hulking figure of your boyfriend was right there, immediately invading your space, his hand on your jaw as he crushed his lips to yours, his other arm wrapped around your back—walking you backward, kissing you like his life depended on it, his tongue quickly pressing into your mouth to tangle with your own, your hands landing in his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.

He kicked the door shut, his lips not leaving yours as he reached behind him to lock it.

The horniness was back at full force, wanting him, no, needing him to ease the ache between your legs, snaking your hand down his front, finding his cock hard under his navy blue slacks, his boxer briefs making it stretch up at an angle toward his belt, Javi groaning as you stroked him over his pants.

He pushed you back against the bathroom counter, his hips pressing into you, moaning as his tongue plundered your mouth.

A moment of clarity hit you, remembering where you were and the many people outside his bedroom door, reluctantly breaking the kiss to say, “Javi, your family’s in the other room.”

Kissing you again, his words were muffled, “I locked the bedroom door.” He squeezed your breast, his other hand grabbing your ass.

Pulling back again, he chased your lips, moving your head to dodge him. “We can’t fuck with them out there, Javier.”

There was a grumpy expression on his face as he stared at you. “Why not?”

“They could hear us?”

“They won’t—we’ll be quick and quiet. Nobody will know.” He licked his plush lips, your attention drawn to them.

There was his bedroom and the entryway separating you from everyone else, so as long as you weren’t too loud… Christ, were you really thinking about fucking in a house full of people? Yes, you were, knowing Javi would make it so good—remembering how he said you didn’t care where he did it as long as he came inside you, which was apparently true, your resolve disappearing in an instant, wanting him so fucking bad nothing else mattered.

“Fuck, okay—a quickie, Javier, and you better make sure I’m not too loud,” you said, poking his chest. “God, I’m so fucking horny.”

His mouth was on yours again, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his lips moved to your jaw, saying into your skin, “I know you’re horny, baby—” He nibbled on your chin. “—could tell outside.” His mouth was against your neck, kissing down it, his hand moving between your legs, making you moan when he rubbed over your sex. “You think I’m a DILF.” He sucked on your pulse point before his head popped up with a confused look, “What the fuck is a DILF?”

“Oh god, you heard my pep talk.” Embarrassment had you covering your face with your hands, Javi immediately prying them off, looking at you fondly.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Cielito,” he said, kissing you quickly. “I loved the pep talk—we needed the pep talk ‘cause seeing you with the baby fucked me up, too. You didn’t answer my question, what’s a DILF?”

“You know a MILF is a mother I’d like to fuck, so a DILF is a dad I’d like to fuck—you’re a fuckin’ future dad I’d like to fuck.”

He kissed you, smiling into it. “You’re in luck,” he said, ending the sentence with a nip to your bottom lip. Stepping back, he spun you around to have your front to the counter, his body flush with yours, seeing you both in the mirror with his lips at your ear, his dark eyes meeting your gaze in the reflection. “You get to fuck me,” he said in a deep timbre that had tingles moving down your spine.

“Good,” you replied, pushing your ass back into his hard cock. “I need you to fuck me, Papí.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, seeing his throat bob as he swallowed. His body left yours, pulling you with him as he took two steps back. “Arms on the counter, baby,” he rasped, his big hand sliding up your spine and gently pushing you forward, bending at your waist to rest your forearms on the countertop beside the sink. “Fucking love these shorts.” His hand came down hard on your asscheek in a loud smack, your cunt clenching, gasping his name.

“You’re also gonna love what’s under them,” you purred.

Hooking his thumbs under the waistband, his gaze was on yours in the mirror, smirking under his mustache. “The red one?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He tugged the bike shorts down, the air cool as it hit your bare skin, Javi sucking in a breath, his eyes locked on the red thong you’d worn, unable to keep himself from squeezing handfuls of your ass. “I love you so fucking much—fuck, it’s pretty.” He glanced up to continue, “Thank you for spoiling me today, mi amor (my love).”

Smiling, you replied, “You’re welcome, Javi. Now please fuck me.” You wiggled your hips.

“Are you needy for me, Cielito?” he asked, his hands going to the front of his pants, hearing the clink of his belt and the teeth of his zipper coming apart.

“Needy in the sense that I need your dick inside me right now, and we can save the ass worship for later.”

He chuckled, his slacks and underwear getting shoved down his thighs. “I’ll put my dick inside you, then,” he said, using one hand to pull the soaked fabric of your thong to the side, spitting on the fingers of his other to slick up his cock.

Anticipation was thrumming in your veins, your pussy weeping for him, needing Javi to fill your achingly empty center in the way only he could satisfy. He didn’t waste any more time, pressing the tip of his length to your sopping entrance, gasping yes as he started pushing in, your head dropping between your shoulders, resting your forehead on your crossed arms in front of you. His hands had a tight grip on your hips, cursing under his breath as he slid home in one smooth thrust, making you moan when he bottomed out—it felt so fucking good, his thick cock stretching your tight walls, carving out space inside you while your cunt tried to suck him in deeper, feeling so goddamn full.

The hem of his dress shirt was brushing against your ass, Javi pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, setting up a punishing pace that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

This was going to be hard and fast, the goal to get off as quickly as possible.

You could hear the wet slap of his hips connecting with your ass, the flesh jiggling—his hand landed on your asscheek hard enough the smack echoed in the small room, your pussy squeezing him tight as you moaned. Looking up, you saw him behind you in the mirror, his mouth slack, eyes dark and half-lidded, his attention on you, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, seeing the flush crawling up his chest to his beautiful neck, the taut skin glistening in sweat.

“Does it turn you on, baby,” he asked through his teeth, pistoning into you, “thinking about me as a dad?”

The beginning threads of your orgasm were starting to weave in your belly, feeling the familiar heat growing.

He slapped your ass again. “Answer me, Cielito.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your words stuttering from the pounding, “Fuck, it’s so good, Javi. It turns me on—turns me on so fucking much,” you babbled. “You’re fucking me so good. Harder, Javi.”

“You want it harder, mi amor (my love)?”

“Yes.”

Bending over your back, his arm went under you and across your chest, pulling you up to stand. His thrusts didn’t wane, shoving your shirt up your chest one-handed to reveal one bra-covered breast, tugging the cup down to pinch your stiff nipple, the sensations shooting straight to your pussy.

He kissed the side of your neck, grunting in exertion.

“You really want it harder?” he asked breathily in your ear.

“Yes, Papí,” you moaned.

His big hands moved, grabbing your biceps near your elbows, pulling you back as he thrust forward, fucking you so hard your mouth was open, gasping out moans. Your mind was a pleasure-addled mess, unable to think about anything except how good he was fucking you—the knot in your belly was getting tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter, until euphoria exploded outward from your core, coming with a shout of Javi’s name that was quickly muffled by his hand covering your mouth.

“Shhh, Cielito—such a good fucking girl for me” Your cunt had clenched up so tight his rhythm slowed to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as he worked you through your high. His head was beside yours, speaking in your ear, “I know it’s good, baby—need you to be quiet, just ride it out.” He kissed your neck again, his free hand rubbing over your stomach and up to squeeze your breast. “I love you so fucking much.”

Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving after climaxing, Javier waiting for her cunt to stop fluttering around him, his throbbing cock slowly moving in and out of her, it wetter where they were joined.

He loved watching her come and knowing he was the one that got her there, pride always swelling inside him that he made her feel so good.

She was saying something, not making out the words with his large hand over her mouth, quickly removing it.

“What’s that?” he asked, kissing just behind her ear.

Her eyes blinked open, smiling dreamily at him in the mirror.

“I said I love you, too,” her rough voice responded.

One sentence, and it had his body going warm, unable to keep from smiling at her with how fucking happy she made him.

He was close to his end, the heat in the base of his spine threatening to explode with how fucking gone he was on her. All he could think about was everything she’d done for him that day, all of the things, big and small, showing him without her saying it how much she loved him, and he wanted to give her the entire fucking world—it was more than what she deserved, but that wasn’t possible so he was settling with giving her such good dick, it made her drool.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out of your mind,” he said, placing a kiss on the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her aftershocks had finally ended, and it was his turn. “I’m gonna move you,” he told her. She gasped when he pulled out, getting her closer to the counter where he turned her to face him, bending to tug down her shorts and underwear, impatiently taking off her shoe to get one of her legs free. When he stood back up, he gripped her bare thighs, grunting as he lifted her onto the counter's edge, spreading her legs to make space for himself.

She was wide open for him, seeing the puffy lips of her pussy shining in the light, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, wishing he had time to taste her. She leaned back on her arms, Javier taking his place in the cradle of her thighs, quickly sheathing himself back in her wet heat.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, slowly rocking deep inside her.

Her legs wrapped around his middle to lock at the small of his back, her cunt warm and welcoming, beckoning him to come, feeling the build low in his belly.

There was a need to have her like this, his lips smashing into hers in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as he started moving faster. His hand held her face, the other pushing her shirt all the way up her chest to get both of her breasts free from her bra, palming the bare skin and tweaking her pebbled nipples while his tongue slid along hers in the way he knew made her toes curl.

Her soft sounds and his rougher ones were quieted with their mouths being connected, his hips swinging into her with strong, even thrusts, hearing the wet suck of her pussy, the slick friction of her velvety walls pushing him closer to his release.

She put all of her weight on one of her arms, her free hand grabbing his hair to pull his head back, her lips wetly trailing along his jaw, her voice saying into his skin, “It’s so good, Javi—you feel so fucking good inside me.” Her tongue licked up the column of his throat, and it had his eyes rolling back, his rhythm stuttering for a second.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, her mouth sucking a mark on his jugular. “You’re gonna make me come.” The muscles in his abdomen were beginning to tighten.

His pace sped up, able to tell he was fucking her good when her head fell back, and her sounds started getting loud enough he had to cover her mouth again.

“It feel good, Cielito?” he asked roughly. “You like knowing you’re gonna make me come? That this pretty fucking pussy is gonna milk me dry? You love that I’m gonna give you what you want and fill you up—stuff you full of my come?” He licked his lips. “Bet you wish you weren’t on birth control.” Her moan was muffled, squeezing her eyes shut, causing a jolt to run through him.

Seeing her earlier with the baby had ignited a fire inside him, something instinctual telling him he needed to give her one of her own—that they needed one of their own, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he fucked his come deep inside her. From the look on her face, she was also feeling some type of way, which was why he’d followed her into the house, her pep talk confirming he was right. There had been no way for them to wait until they got home to fuck, he was too riled up, and she wasn’t any better.

She looked at him, her eyes glazed over in lust, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead, looking absolutely fuck drunk as she tried to say something he couldn’t make out, still fucking in and out of her.

He lifted his hand.

“What?” he asked through heavy breaths.

She sounded wrecked. “Fuck a baby into me—please,” she begged.

The sentence was his undoing, a strangled noise ripping from his throat, his head falling against her shoulder, his balls tightening, and cock thickening—two more quick strokes before he was burying himself to the hilt, sinking his teeth into her flesh over her shirt as he came so hard his vision went white and he lost hearing in his left ear.

He rolled his hips, working his spend as deep as he could get it, the overstimulation causing a whispery hiss to leave his lips before he finally stilled, his body so relaxed he slumped into her. A euphoric haze came over him, his mind as slow as molasses.

Her free hand stroked through his sweat-damp hair, her nails scratching lovingly along his scalp, which felt so good, he was humming appreciatively.

A few minutes passed, and she finally broke the silence to croak out, “Well, that was unexpected.”

His ear was still ringing, lifting his head to look at her. “What was unexpected?” he asked.

“The sex—” She delightedly smiled, poking his nose. “—and your massive fucking breeding kink.”

Confusion came over his face.

“My what?” he asked.

“For a man who has had a lot of sex, and I mean a lot, it’s always surprising when you don’t know a sex thing.” She pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. “Your breeding kink; it gets you off thinking about knocking me up.”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, looking away from her.

“Shit, I didn’t want you to know…” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Her hand gently moved his face to meet her eyes, her brows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?”

Letting out a long sigh, he answered truthfully, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I’m fine with waiting,” he quickly added. “Really fucking fine with it, especially after this morning, but the fantasy…”

“Really gets you going. Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a massive breeding kink, too. I like to imagine you getting me pregnant when we fuck, and also, the whole there being a one percent chance that you actually could really gets me going.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over her thighs. “So, it’s okay..?”

She smiled, resting her palm on his cheek. “Oh yeah. It’s more than okay. We can have our fantasy for now, but my god, imagine how good the sex will be when we’re actually trying.”

That had arousal stirring in his belly. “Fuck,” he breathed again. Cupping her cheeks, he said, “I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky with you, but you’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much. Eres la mejor novia del mundo y soy feliz de compartir cada instante de mi vida a tu lado (You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world and I’m happy to share each moment of my life by your side).” He kissed her softly, murmuring into her lips, “Siempre has sido tú, incluso antes de conocerte, y siempre serás la elegida porque eres el amor de mi vida y tú eres la única para mí (It has always been you, even before I knew you, and it will always be you because you are the love of my life and you are the only one for me).”

She pulled back to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world, and I’m happy I get to spend my life with you and have your babies.” She pecked him on the lips. “It’s cheesy,” she continued. “But before I met you, it felt like something was missing in my life, you know? And now I feel like everything is right—you feel right; you were what I was missing,” she said, poking him over his heart. Javier grabbed her hand to kiss her knuckles, listening to her speak. “So, you’ve always been it for me, always, and life just waited for us to both be lost before allowing us to finally find each other.” She shrugged. “You’re it for me, Javier Peña—you’ve always been it; yesterday, today, tomorrow, a year from now, it’s always going to be you because I was meant for you, and you were meant for me. In summary, I love you so fucking much, too.”

He chuckled, kissing her a little harder this time, feeling so happy he thought he might be floating.

He knew she was the love of his life—knew it with every fiber of his being, and he would spend the rest of his days with her just to prove it.

When your lungs begged for air, you broke the kiss, Javi smiling so big his dimple was showing, the love for you clear in his gaze.

“Today was good?” you asked.

“Today was fucking amazing.”

“Good, good,” you nodded. “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?” His hands were skating up and down your bare thighs.

“I have another surprise for you that can’t happen until tomorrow…”

“Baby, you’ve done so much. I don’t need anything else.” He quickly kissed you.

“Oh, you’re gonna really fucking want this.”

His eyebrow lifted, looking curious.

“What is it?”

“Well, after a lot of thinking and working up my courage, I thought maybe you’d wanna try fucking my ass?”

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

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

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

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venuszn · 5 months

Text

☆ : Seven Minutes

Summary / You and Bada Lee were exes. It’s three months later and you’re still sore about the messy breakup but you’re stubborn and being in denials comfortable embrace is better than facing your true feelings - that you’re still not over her. Bada Lee regrets how things ended and has finally mustered up the courage to show you how much you mean to her and to put you first. Three months of regret, pain and suppressed feelings has lead you both to this moment - face to face at a party with an empty bottle set on the table as it spins and spins, taunting you almost. ‘You’d rather kiss the sweaty alcohol potent guy on her right’, you try to convince yourself. But fate has other plans.

Cw / Exes to lovers, Angst (happy ending), Toxic Bada & Reader (who is in the wrong or are they both wrong ?), 7 minutes in heaven, Suggestive, Dom!Bada, MDNI.

Wc / 3.2K words.

You stand there, eyes locked with your reflection as it stares back at you judgingly. You almost can't believe yourself. There’s no way you’d go to a party that your ex is going to be at, and there's no way in hell you'd go to a party being held at said ex's apartment . . . right ? You almost can't believe that you're dressed in a lace corset top and a black mini skirt that showed off your legs. It's not like you remembered that Bada always liked it when you wore skirts - especially because of the easy access. No, you didn't remember that at all. Just like you forgot that Bada always loved it when you wore outfits that complimented your body, how she would worship your beauty and feel a sense of pride when in public with you because she knew that you were all hers. Well, that was before. That was months ago and you and Bada were old news, you were done. And all it took was one missed phone call to catalyse the ending of a year of love that the two of you shared as one.

———

It was a hot summer’s day and the aircon at the studio was broken. Which you believed to be both a blessing and a curse as you watched your girlfriend strip herself of her shirt - exposing her sports bra and glistening abs. She refused to stop dancing despite the heat of the evening sun that insisted on shooting its golden rays directly at the studio windows; you mentally cursed at it. It was getting late and you urged her to take a short break and to stay hydrated but when Bada hyper fixated on something - the thing being a section of choreography that she was desperate to perfect - it was difficult to redirect her focus.

Bada Lee loved to dance. She loved to move to the rhythm as the emotion of music translated through her body and limbs - accompanying the beat in its quest for impact. You were her number one fan. You adored Bada for her gift and you revelled in her joy for it, wishing her nothing but success. However, if granted one more wish perhaps you would wish for more of her attention.

“Bada come on, let’s go home please. It's getting late.”

No answer, except for the shuffling and stepping of her shoes as she danced.

“Bada, can we go please, everyone has gone home. Aren’t you tired ?”

Nothing.

“Bada ?”

Nothing.

You suck your teeth in frustration and make your way over to the stereo - switching it off. You spin on your heel to face her, arms crossed as you wait for her to speak.

“What are you doing ?” Bada says in a low tone, voice teeming with irritation as she eyes you through the mirror.

“I'm getting your attention - that's what I'm doing, Bada.” Exasperation leading your words.

“Attention for what ? You know I don't have time for your games right now. Turn the stereo back on.”

“Did you not hear what I said ? It's late, can we go home now ? You’ve been rehearsing all day and your choreography looks fine.

“I really don't have time for this right now,” She says your name with exhaustion. “You know that this isn't just another choreo. You know that I'm preparing for Street Woman Fighter and you also know how important that is to me.”

You almost feel the burning sting of the venom on your tongue as you shoot back, “and how important am I to you ? I've been here by your side throughout this entire process - from when you got the invitation to join the show till now - I've been supporting you. But you don't recognise any of that. You ignore me. You stay out practising till stupid o'clock and then drag yourself through the door exhausted and in a bad mood. You're wearing yourself out and for what ?”

“You know why I practise as hard as I do. I don't need you berating me and my efforts. I'm already stressed the hell out. I'm the leader for fucks sake, I’m responsible for my entire team. Whether we win or lose - that's on me and me alone so yeah, I’m staying out till late practising. I know we haven't really spent time together recently but I hoped you would be a supportive girlfriend and waited for me - understand my burden and be patient with me. I-”

You cut her off with a harsh laugh, disbelief washing over you like ice as you struggle to digest her words. “You are so unbelievably selfish.” You take a step forward.

“So selfish that you made yourself the victim here.”

Another step forward.

“So selfish that you don't even trust your teammates to do well on their own.”

Another step forward.

“So fucking selfish that you dont even realise that I have my own burdens and stresses. But here I am - quite literally waiting for you despite the fact that I have my own rehearsals to attend in the morning.” Your finger prods her chest as you stare up at her through eyes clouded with rage. “You’re not the only dancer in the world, Bada. The world doesn't revolve around you.”

You see her brows twitch before a scoff leaves her lips. She steps back, hands disheveling her fringe as she pushes it back in frustration. “I didn't ask for you to be here !”

Her words grew a fist and punched you in the gut.

“I don’t need you around me all the time. You’re allowed to do your own shit, I never said you couldn’t. Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” She grits through her teeth.

“What's driving me crazy is the fact that I have been silent and put up with this for weeks on end. I stayed quiet and smiled with understanding when you cancelled on me for the third time that one week. I brushed off the times where you didn’t respond to my texts or missed my calls because you were rehearsing all day. I have done a lot for you which you still refuse to acknowledge. Bada, all I want from you is your attention - that's all. I just want to feel like your girlfriend again.”

Bada’s body deflates with defeat, her face in her hands as she sighs. “Alright . . . I’m sorry.” She straightens up and looks you in the eyes. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow after your rehearsal. I’ll pick you up and we can go out after.”

Bada didn't turn up the day after. You waited for her. You rang her phone.

No response.

“We are done.” - The last words you sent to her phone.

———

Three months later and here you are - your hand gripping the door handle to the apartment of none other than your ex’s. You feel the base of the music and the vibration of laughter travel up your arm as you inhale a deep breath. This isn't a big deal. You’re over Bada Lee. You’re not even here for her, you came for Kirsten who invited you to celebrate. Sure, it was Bada’s team that won but this afterparty is to celebrate all the teams. You try to convince yourself.

“What's taking them so long with the drinks-”

You feel yourself jerk forward as the door swings open. Your throat dries up and your heart picks up speed as if attempting to jump out of your chest in hopes of escaping this encounter.

Standing before you is Bada Lee. Your eyes betray you as they scan her tall frame - the way her crop top hugs her body and her baggy pants exaggerate her silhouette. You can't help but think she looks good since you last saw her, which was three months ago. You definitely haven't been watching episodes of the show on tv. No, and even if you did it wasnt to see her finally execute the choreography that she worked hard on. You definitely didn't feel proud of her for accomplishing what she set out to do. And you most definitely didn't feel waves of jealousy crash through you when you saw the way she danced with other contestants and how they danced with her. No, you felt nothing for her. You tried to convince yourself.

“Oh. Hey.” She says in a cool tone as she gazes down at you, eyes scanning your outfit and a friendly smile resting on her lips.

“Hi.”

“We weren’t sure if you were still coming.”

“Yeah. I'm here. Where’s Kirsten ?”

“Oh, she's sitting over there. They're about to play a game or something. You're just in time.”

“Okay. I guess I'll see you around.” You move past her, beginning your beeline to Kirsten before you pause and turn around. “Um, congratulations by the way. I'm happy you won.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” The light behind Bada’s eyes light up, sending a spark your way as emotions ignite within you - emotions you attempted to extinguish. You both hold each other's gaze for a moment before you haul yourself away from whatever trance you were under and quickly resume your beeline toward Kirsten.

You smile and say your hellos to the group, your words of congratulations travelling across the room as you acknowledge the teams and your friends. Soon after you find yourself sitting in a circle as the mystery game, that nobody would say the name of, was about to begin. You raised a confused brow at Kirsten, who laughed nervously and quickly downed another shot. Before you could say anything, you feel a presence insert themselves opposite you in the circle. You turn to see Bada struggling to cross her long legs in between the two guys she forcefully wiggled herself between.

“Ok ! Everyones here, let's playyyy . . .” you hear Kirsten announce.

People mimic drum rolls and you hear giggling. You glance up at Bada and see her tugging at the fabric of her pants - a tell she did when she was nervous.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven !” Kirsten exclaims with excitement before continuing, “but spin the bottle edition !”

You scrunch your brows in confusion as you turn to Kirsten. “What ? Why-”

Before you can finish Kirsten cuts you off, “Woahhh, no time for questions let the game begin. You first !” She says your name with a grin as she sets the bottle in the middle of the table and spins it for you. Your eyes flicker between the bottle and Bada. What if it landed on her ? There's no way you would go into a closet or room with her.

The bottle continues its search for a victim.

No. There's no way it would land on Bada. There's about ten more people playing right now. You’ll be fine.

The spinning continues, almost mocking the state of your stomach as your nerves rattle you.

Bada feels her palms grow damp as she watches the bottle intently.

The bottle slows.

You’d rather kiss the sweaty alcohol potent guy on her right, you try to convince yourself. But fate, otherwise known as Kirsten, has other plans.

Everybody watches as the bottle slows and comes to a stop.

Silence.

Your eyes follow the neck of the bottle only to see it pointing to the space between Bada and the guy next to her. You nearly sigh in relief before a hand reaches towards the bottle and quickly adjusts it to face Bada.

Your jaw drops.

Kirsten grins. “Woah, would you look at that ! It landed on Bada, what are the odds ?!” You have no time to collect your thoughts as you feel her pull you up and push you towards Bada - who was already up and ready.

You hear supportive words from the group and some cheers as Bada guides you away from the lounge and down the hallway.

“Um, where are we going ? What’s going on ?” You walk besides the taller girl. Very quickly you realise where you're headed.

“Bada, why are you taking me to your room ?” You stop dead in your tracks as she reaches the door. “What is going on anyway ? What’s with the game, do you really think I'll go with you into your bedroom ?”

She turns around and you see worry wired into her brows. Saying your name tenderly, Bada extends her hand out for you and she begins. “Listen, please.”

You hesitantly place your hand in hers - slowly discarding all caution.

“I know this is a lot for me to ask you given how things ended between us but I need you to trust me.”

Your eyes look into each other, an unsaid dance of sparks and flames transpire between you once more and you know within you that you trusting Bada Lee is the right choice right now.

So you nod your head, “I trust you.”

Bada’s lips twitch upwards in a small closed smile and she opens the door.

The door opens and you falter in your step.

Before you lay a path of lighted candles, guiding you deeper into the unexpected. Rose petals adorned the floor and bed as the gentle twinkling of fairy lights graced the walls and ceilings above you. You felt your heart race as you took it all in, but you were not prepared for the photographs that decorated the wall above the bed.

You turned to face Bada, who had been quiet this entire time - gauging your reaction. But before you could say anything, she spoke up.

“Before you say anything, just give me seven minutes.”

She takes out her phone and sets the countdown to seven minutes.

You stand and stare, speechless and overwhelmed with emotions but you listen.

Bada steps towards you, hands taking yours before gently rubbing her thumb over your knuckles as she maintains eye contact.

“I’m sorry.” She says.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you as my girlfriend. I’m sorry for ignoring you and not appreciating you when you were doing your best for me. I’m sorry for not doing my best for you even when I had the opportunity to. The day after we fought, I didn't ignore your call. I left my phone at the studio that morning because I was rushing to pick you up on time; I know it still doesn't sound good; I realised I left it and then had to go back and by then I saw your message and then saw that I was blocked. I didn't know what to do. I don't know why I didn't find another way to reach out but I figured that you needed space and I probably needed it too and I think that's ok. Over the months that we’ve been apart, there's not been one day that I haven't thought of you. I knew that no matter what, I wanted you back at the end of the day. We’ve already spent one year by each other's side and I want to spend many more . . .”

Bada gently guides you, bringing you closer to the wall decorated with photos of the two of you.

“I look at these photos and I feel happy. I cherish these happy moments that we shared. However, I also appreciate the bad moments - times where I have fallen short. Those moments have helped me grow and learn from my mistakes, they've helped me to love you more and more each day. Yes, we’re here partying to celebrate our wins and experience on the show. But I'm here right now to celebrate you.”

Bada finishes by wiping a stray tear from your cheek and then you hear the sound indicating that time is up.

You step back and let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding. You make your way up to the wall and a particular photo stands out to you. You laugh weakly, pointing to it. “I remember that night. I was sure you were going to get stuck on that slide but you did it anyway.”

Bada chuckles and you feel her presence directly behind you. Her warmth radiates onto you, awakening the butterflies in your stomach, adding more emotions into the cyclone that was turbulent in your mind.

Tears gloss over your eyes as you turn to face her. Her face wearing nothing but genuinity and hope as she anxiously waits for you to respond.

“You gave me seven minutes in heaven, quite literally,” you say with a weak laugh. But seven minutes is not enough for me to love you all over again - hell, I never stopped. I want forever in heaven with you, no matter how naive that may sound, I want it. But that's only if you want it, Bada.”

The taller girl doesn't miss a beat, gently taking your hand into hers as she looks at you with intent.

“I want it,” She states with finality. “I want it so bad . . . I know I want you, so I want it.”

“Then prove it.”

The words leave your lips faster than you could process them but you feel Bada’s demeanour change slightly as she gazes at you - her eyes wandering around your body and face before settling on your lips.

“You want me to prove it ? Are you sure ?”

You nod shyly, a small “yes” following after.

Bada’s lips curl up in a smirk as she steps ever closer to you.

You step back.

“How would you like me to prove it to you, hm ?” She steps forward.

“Make me feel special. Remember things about me . . .” You step back but your back hits the wall.

Bada’s smirk grows as her hands settle on either side of your head, effectively trapping you. “I think I can do that. I can make you feel a lot of things actually. And I do remember things about you . . . and your body.”

Her eyes undress you as you stand there - prey under her hungry gaze. Her fingers gently hold your jaw, angling it upwards to face her.

“I've missed these pretty lips of yours. I think I remember them, but maybe I need a reminder.” She leans in, pressing her lips to yours and igniting a fiery exchange of passion. Your lips move together as her hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against her. A small moan escapes your lips as you feel her tongue slide against yours - both losing yourselves in each other. Bada pulls away slightly, gently tugging at your bottom lip with her teeth. “Fuck, baby dont make those sounds right now. Not when you’re wearing these clothes.”

“Totally didn't wear them for you.” You tease.

Bada’s expression darkened with want as she drank in the sight before her once more, enjoying the view of your body as her hands explored along with her eyes. “Hm, I’m trying to decide whether to fuck you in these clothes or rip them off you. What do you want, princess ?”

You rubbed your thighs together at her words and licked your lips, staring into her eyes as she spoke. “Surprise me.”

Bada bit her lip before sweeping you off your feet and throwing you onto the mattress.

“Oh I will.”

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf ! If you’d like to be tagged for future Bada fics lmk !!

Authors notes / Hiii omg sorry for the delay I had work all week then I fell sick . . . Was literally coughing up my lungs up as I wrote this but I survived ! I knew I couldn’t leave my shawty Bada behind 😣 Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my fic ! Please lmk your thoughts and feel free to send requests 💗

#badalee #bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada imagine #bada lee swf #swf2 #bada lee smut #swf2 x reader #reader says that the world doesn’t revolve around bada but it infact does #venuszn

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anzulvr · 6 months

Note

Hiii! Could i please request a karma x reader where reader is a crybaby and really sensitive but also super sweet to everybody no matter how mean they are?

Karma x sensitive reader // <3 // fluff, hcs.

In which Karma catches feelings for a crybaby.

— ୨୧ first meeting.

Karma and you get along well from the start, unlike most people in the main campus you don’t talk badly about E-class and you don’t make any judgements towards people without getting to know them- that’s especially important to note because Karmas never had the best reputation. Even so, you didn’t judge him based off rumors and comments made about him behind his back, earning you his respect!

— catching feelings.

Karma is the last person to be interested in dating, so whenever he starts getting all nervous and flustered around you he thinks he’s nauseous. He only realizes hes into you when he sees he’s sort of defensive over you, definitely brought to his attention by Rio(meddler) or Nagisa (He just wants to help).

✦ any time you’re upset he’s the first to ask who did something, super ready to fight anyone.

✦ He realizes he’s never wanted anyone to stick around as much as you.

—ʚ[End Class]ɞ

(If you were to drop to end class for whatever reason)

// first time meeting Korosensei you’re a sobbing mess.

Even then you’re trying to be nice telling him he’s not that scary (in reality you’re terrified because why is he like 10 feet tall..)

Korosensei frantically tries to get you to stop crying. “I promise I would never lay my tentacles on a student- I wouldn’t hurt you!! You can ask anyone in here I-”

Karma is laughing his ass off to the point he’s gripping his sides cause they hurt.

You get to sit next to him. Lucky (???) you.

The rest of the class is quick to warm up to you, if you’re not already friends that is.

— When you’re officially together.

Hes the biggest tease in existence, he can’t go 20 minutes without poking fun at you.

Has so many pictures and videos of you happy crying. (He will not let you live down.)

Also has a folder of pictures you send him whenever you’re crying over small / dumb things you find funny when you realize what you’re crying over.

(cause literally me too?? I’ll cry and laugh mid way when I realize how stupid it is 😭)

[Name]: we’re out of cookies.

[Attached image of you crying]

lmfao I’ll buy you some calm down💀 :[Karma]

[Name]: NVMM.. false alarm we have another box 😆!!

don’t care I’m at your doorstep with 5 boxes open up :[Karma]

[Name]: Wow you’re fast it’s only been like 3 minutes..

— <3 —

He brings up moments like that anytime he has the chance to embarrass you.

“Remember the time you cried cause you found out chickens live only like seven years.”

“Shut up it was really sad.”

“[Name] we had fried chicken like 20 minutes later and you devoured that shit.”

“That was so good, we should go again.”

ON ANOTHER NOTE.

No one is allowed to make you feel bad though, Terasaka is extra careful not to say anything to make you cry on days where he doesn’t want to end up on the ground.

You’re his go-to for advice. Especially if he’s ever arguing with anyone like his parents or his friends because you know more about emotions than he does.

Cannot handle seeing you upset because of something he does, the second your eyes even get the littlest misty he’s apologizing with food and flowers.

You hold a special place in his heart because often times you’re the only person he’s comfortable opening up to.

A/N: im behind on like 30 requests IM SORRY 😪😪😪

Also I didn’t really check for spelling errors for this one so tell me if you catch any pls!!!

#karma akabane #ansatsu kyoushitsu #akabane karma x reader #assassination classroom x reader #karma akabane headcannons #karma akabane x reader #assasination classroom #karma x reader #assassination classroom #assclass

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sophieakatz · 8 months

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Thursday Thoughts: Microlabels

Almost ten years ago, when I first told someone who loved me that I was demisexual, he replied, “Do we really need all these labels?”

I don’t remember what I said back then, but my answer now is, “Well, I don’t know about we, but I need this one.”

Labels are the words we use to describe the world around us and our experience within it. Language is full of labels. Our earliest language-learning activities include sorting things into categories. This is the red block; this is the yellow block. Elephants and giraffes are zoo animals; horses and cows are farm animals; cats and dogs are pets. Toothbrushes and toothpaste are bathroom objects; forks and knives are kitchen objects.

Some of these distinctions are more important than others. It doesn’t really matter if you build a tower of red blocks or yellow blocks. However, leaving a knife in the bathroom is a bad idea, and so is attempting to keep an elephant in your house (not that I haven’t been tempted to try). You’ll also find that not all categories are universal. Is octopus an edible animal? Depends where you go in the world and who you ask!

The point is, it’s natural to use labels to define our place in the world and how we interact with it. I call myself a writer because I am someone who writes; this is important to me. Calling myself a writer explains something about who I am. It makes it easier for me to apply for writing jobs. When I hear other people call themselves writers, I know that we have something in common that we can connect over. I know that these are people I might be able to talk with or who might be interested in having write-ins or book clubs with me. In this way, labels help us find and create community.

Now, “writer” is a pretty broad category, so our experiences won’t be exactly the same. However, I can use a more specific label. I can call myself a fantasy fiction writer, a poetry writer, or a themed entertainment show writer, which helps me find people who identify with those more specific labels and have even more in common with me.

People who are not writers and are not interested in finding other writers don’t need the word “writer.” It doesn’t help them as much as it helps me. It’s not their label.

Demisexual is an asexual spectrum microlabel. Asexual describes someone who experiences little to no sexual attraction. It’s a broad label that covers a variety of experiences. Demisexual describes someone who only experiences sexual attraction towards someone after forming an emotional bond with them.

Before I read the word “demisexual” about ten years ago, I didn’t know that there were other people like me. I thought that there was something wrong with how I experienced attraction towards others. Knowing that there was a label not only made it possible for me to understand that there were other people like me, but also made it possible for me to find them and find community with them. Having words like ace and demi in my vocabulary make it easier for me to explain my experience to other people. People who aren’t demisexual don’t necessarily need this word. But I do.

When you hear a microlabel for the first time, especially if it’s one you do not identify with, it’s easy to dismiss it. It’s easy to think, “That’s not really a thing,” or, “Do we really need a word for that?”

The answer is, “Maybe you don’t need that word, since it doesn’t describe your experience, and that’s okay. But clearly someone needs it. We all have the right to put our experiences into words. We all deserve the chance to know that we are not broken and to find other people who are like us.”

#thursday thoughts #writing #writer #writblr #asexual #asexuality #acespec #demisexual #ace #demi #microlabels #queer #lgbtqiaplus #2slgbtqia+

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madarasgirl · 1 year

Text

Without You

Friends…I am a Mrs. now! The wedding stuff turned my head to goo...feeling very romantic (but also horny). Sorry for the sappiness in this story, which I baked on/off over the past month. This Alucard is pretty soft with his Reader until he wants to troll.

With how important a concept virginity is in the world of Hellsing, I was surprised by the lack of virginity loss fics, especially with a partner Alucard actually cares for. So I wrote one. Your decision was made. You will not forsake your humanity in exchange for an eternity with your vampire King. On the night he was to take your virginity, there will be no going back.

“Eternity is a long time, little one.” Tags/warnings: 18+ NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x Fem!Reader, Vladcard x Reader, Riocard x Reader. Romance, angst/comfort, emotional sex, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, creampie, oral sex, sex marathon, slight bondage & BDSM, partial mind control, anal, snowballing (?), tiny bit of predator/prey (Alu can’t help that side of himself), AFTERCARE, Alucard uses his abilities... Words: 10441

Tumblr won't let me post the full fic even though I've seen longer fics here before. So here's the link.

An excerpt is below the cut.

Dracula was crying. It felt as though he murdered you metaphorically even if you were still living, which was foolish because the sex only solidified the fact you will never turn into a ghastly vampiric monster like him. Yet the act also represented the end of something. The dream that you might always be together. Bloody tears stained his face and the silky sheets. He held you close, squeezing you into the soft mattress as he wept silently, unwilling to let you physically part from him.

You understood. Your arms found their way around his broad back and caressed soothingly in an oval track. Salty tears fell down your cheeks as you mourned with him –you mourned the fact you won’t always be there for him.

Sir Integra gave her blessing to your relationship with her servant years ago, instructing you to take care of him because he was little more than a sobbing child. Her words were nonsensical at the time. This creature of mass destruction, a sobbing child? She had been right all along.

You kept rubbing his back while you peppered his head with light kisses. You were lost in the intimacy of the moment, but when you came to, the vampire in your arms was Alucard again, peering at you lazily like he wasn’t vulnerable just now. This was the form in which you met. You loved him as the King, but also like this. You loved him in all his forms. You pet his sinfully alluring face as he purred and leaned into your touch. He loved to be touched.

He was so beautiful it just wasn't fair. His stunning appearance and cryptic mannerisms used to fluster the heck out of you. Fortunately, after many years together, you managed to better compose yourself in his presence. Until the next time he discovered another way to pester you, as Alucard does.

The Cheshire grin told you he heard your thoughts. “I’m not reading your mind, sweet, you are telling me.” He looked too pleased with himself. You exhaled. Nothing was fair to begin with when it came to this immortal being. “Come love, join me in the bath,” you told him, making to get up from the tear-stained bedsheets when you were swept off your feet and into lean arms several feet off the ground. “Alu, I can still walk!” You laughed at his overprotectiveness.

A sound at the back of his throat reverberated as he silently drew the bath and poured in scents and products, never letting you out of his grasp while he waited for the tub to fill with steamy water. “We will rectify that by the time I am through with you.” He finally replied, lowering both of you into the water, a devious grin painting his lips.

The bubbly water level reached your shoulders. You wriggled against a toned, lanky body to get comfortable, ignoring the boner poking your rear as you enjoyed the bath with Alucard. His head was thrown back against the tiles as he felt you shift around, your vampire the image of relaxation and contentment, his long limbs hanging awkwardly outside the tub. You sighed and leaned against him, the soothing water jets the only sound in the room.

He washed you, sweat and fluids sliding off your body with each swipe of his hands. "My Queen. My love...I will protect you. Always." His voice was low, eyes lidded and rippling with intent as he scented your rising arousal.

He buried his long nose in the crook of your throat and crooned, the elixir of your blood that raced under the skin ravishing his senses. He had been obsessed with your neck since the night you met. How he loved to lick, nuzzle, and sniff your throat. Running dexterous fingers down your waist, he found slick vertical lips once more.

The vampire made his infamous landshark smile from behind you, two rows of pointy teeth glinting in the soft light of the bathroom. He lapped at the side of your jugular, a low moan sounding deep from his chest as he teased, “So tempting, love.”

You snickered, head tilting over as if to invite him in, daring him to bite as you held his head and pushed his mouth against your throat. His teeth ached with the compulsion to drink, your intoxicatingly heady aromas tickling his bestial nature…

His fangs descended, his cock twitched. Alucard growled, huffing and finally ripping away from the urge to sink fangs into your vein. “A dangerous game you play, little one.”

#alucard x you #alucard x reader #hellsing alucard #alucard smut #alucard fanfiction #hellsing fandom #vladcard #riocard #post-30 year interval #alucard #alucard hellsing #hellsing ultimate #a bit of fluff but mostly heavy smut and some angst #yes I think Riocard is kind of scary

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