oh i love him
plus:
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lsdln cast x porn visuals part 1 🍒
💌: hello!! you may have already seen this post but in portuguese, so i finally translated it because google/safari translators are completely shit, so i had to make a few changes ... ENJOY!
kisses, noelle 😽🫶
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
fran romero
the idea of watching a movie with your boyfriend obviously went down the drain, having you on his lap while he plays and rubs your swollen clit, your hips making involuntary movements in search of pleasure and a curious hand playing with your hard nipples. gripping fran's shoulder tightly your pussy gets wetter and wetter, you feel his heavy breathing on your neck and the hardness of his cock on your back.
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1755573141139595365?s=46
agustin pardella
oh, valentine's day! what a great day to spend it with your sweetheart, doing cute things that every couple does... eating strawberries with chocolate, watching a romcom cuddled up on the sofa and all the other couple stuff. what you didn't expect was for your sweet, romantic, soft agustin to just throw you on the bed and thrust hard into your pussy. suddenly the room that was filled with laughter, was replaced by moans and the wet sound of your cunt. at the end of it all, all you could hear was the sound of skin against skin.
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1757720276844855738?s=46
enzo vogrincic
how did this happen? you really don't know, maybe it was the charm that every latina has... the same charm that captured enzo in the club you were dancing. sweaty bodies, hips swaying and the horny look on your face made you end up in the situation you're in now. on the floor of a motel, spread legs, the inside of your thighs soaked while enzo's thick fingers quickly fuck your pussy, making it so wet to the point where you can hear the wetness every time the palm of his hand meets your clit.
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1760187551187362144?s=46
matias recalt
you and your boyfriend have a mutual agreement, to record him fucking you so that when he's travelling around filming his movies he won't miss your warm walls squeezing around his cock so much. putting the phone on the other side of the bed, you waste no time before jumping onto his lap, bouncing on his cock while matias' hips move up to meet your movements, hands squeezing your waist, he thrusts hard while biting your lip... he knew he had to enjoy it, who knows how long he'd be away without feeling the warmth of your cunt.
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1759855449950523768?s=46
esteban kukuriczka
every time the two of you had sex, esteban had the "strange" habit of gently, with his fingers, opening the swollen lips of your pussy and watching its walls contract with pleasure as his cum leaked out, every time he sees the scene his cock twitches... the image of you all silly, full of his cum makes him hard and horny.
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1760179918866919468?s=46
link 2 ୨♡୧: https://x.com/iucywl/status/1723013685075935730?s=46
alfonsina carrocio
you suddenly wake up with the little wet kisses that sina gives you on your neck, you knew exactly what your beloved was doing. with a sly little voice, sina lightly squeezes one of your breasts. trailing her fingers over your sensitive nipples, she moves on to your thin underwear that you were wearing as pyjamas. with a little whisper of appreciation, she feels the dampness of your pussy through it, lightly slipping her middle finger between the seam of your lips. you, already horny and breathing heavily, arch your back and throw your ass against sina, who just takes off her clothes while sucking your lips hungrily. getting on top of you, she starts rubbing her swollen little clit against your wet pussy. holding sina's waist tightly, you moan until the orgasm comes. opening your eyes, you see her satisfied and mischievous smile...
link ୨♡୧: https://x.com/iucywl/status/1745756142406381957?s=46
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
omg i hate it, my english is terrible.. my apologies!!
there’s part 2, but don't worry, i'll translate it and post it here 🤭
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𐙚 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄.
ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : father forgive me for I have sinned— but I regret nothing. first time writing a threesome so I hope I did it well !! 🤧 also,, rightful honourary tags will be all the way below the fic! 💕
˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : your boyfriend, Francisco, proposes to you to have a threesome with his friend & cast mate, Esteban. you might be reluctanct at first, but you’ll end up mentally thanking him for coming up with the idea.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 4.5k
˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : smut, some fluff.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Francisco Romero x (fem!)Reader x Esteban Kukuriczka
WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; threesome, fingering, slight breast/nipple play, tiddy sucking, oral sex (m receiving)/facefucking, handjob, getting cummed in your mouth & having to swallow it, P in V, unprotected sex, creampie, profanity, some praising, them fighting a little bit for your attention (sorry I had to lmaoo).
“Don’t you think it could be fun?”
And yet again, your boyfriend insisted on having a threesome. It seemed that the idea of sharing you somehow thrilled him.
Delicately, your fingers played with strands of his dark blonde hair as his head rested on your lap. Arching your eyebrows, you lowered your gaze — since you were supposed to calmly be watching TV together — to stare at him, only to find him attentively staring back at you with his pretty green eyes.
Several days had passed since Fran first proposed a threesome, but he had been particularly insisting on it since a few days ago. You felt shy at the thought of it, but not uncomfortable — you couldn’t deny, you felt quite intrigued and curious.
“Okay, fine. You might be right, and it could be fun.” you replied, continuing to play with his hair lovingly. “But with who are we going to have a threesome, anyways? I can’t really think of anyone to join us, if I wanted to.” some seconds of silence loomed between you two after your question, no one in particular really came to your mind to have such intimate experience. “Well... I might be able to think of someone,” his words trailed off, quietly.
You raised your eyebrow curiously, awaiting for him to continue. His gaze lingered elsewhere, thinking silently, before going back to stare at you with a meek grin. “Kuku told me many times before that he thought you were a very pretty girl, and that I was lucky to have you, so...” at his comment, you immediatly furrowed your eyebrows, feeling a heated fluster occupy your cheeks, understanding what he tried to imply. You felt reluctanct at the idea of asking Kuku such a thing, but at the same time... He was a good option.
Before you officially began dating Fran, while they were still filming La Sociedad de la Nieve, he had introduced you to his cast mates. All of them were incredibly sweet and fun to be around — but at that moment, you felt particularly attracted to one of them, and that was Esteban Kukuriczka. It was a crush that didn’t last long, as you began dating Fran a short while after crushing on Kuku, and of course, all the love and affection you had to offer, was devotedly given to your now boyfriend.
“Are you... Being for real?” you seemed baffled, dumbfounded. “What if he isn’t into that type of thing, and gets upset at us—” quickly before you could further continue with your objection, Fran shifted positions so instead of having his head resting on your lap, he was sitting next to you, with one of his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to his own.
“I’m certain he won’t decline, trust me.” he continued, “Besides, I know you’d like him to join us. I remember being jealous when you had a crush on him, before we started dating... And now, I don’t mind sharing you with him.” you clicked your tongue at his teasing, failing to hide the growing blush in your cheeks. “And... I also know he’s certainly going to appreciate the fact that I’m willing to share you.” moving your gaze away to avoid his own strong staring, you considered what he had told you.
Both of them were extremely close while, and after filming the movie — Fran knew him much better than you did, and if he said Kuku would accept having joining you for a threesome, you wholeheartedly trusted him. After all, despite being hesitant, you were willing as well to try new experiences. And it was even better if there were two involved with you, rather than just one.
His hand gently moved up and down your arm, caressing it, as you thought quietly to yourself. And it didn’t take you long to consider it, as you turned around once again to stare at him, slightly grinning. The expression on his face resembled that of an eager puppy, knowing you’d most likely accept.
“You know what? Fine,” you began, “I’d very much like him to join us. You can ask him if he wants to.” and with your approval, a sigh of relief escaped from him. Your boyfriend had always been committed to pleasuring you in any possible way that there was, and he was insistent on trying new experience because, eventually, Fran knew you would like them.
“Gracias, mi amor.” cupping both your cheeks firmly, Fran pressed a loving smooch on your forehead, making you widely grin. All that there was left to do now, was send a message to his cast friend, and simply find a proper day where you would all be free.
“You won’t regret it, we will both make sure you are properly taken care of.”
You knew your reluctance would eventually bend into acceptation of the idea of a threesome— and to further develop into genuinely fancying it.
The pounding of your heart increased rapidly, beating loudly against your chest; it made your entire body tremble slightly. As Fran had previously reassured you, Kukuriczka did accept the proposal of joining the two of you for a threesome — and currently, you found yourself in the bed you shared with Francisco... Being pampered in loving kisses and gentle touches by both him, and Kuku.
It felt strange, to have two men thrown entirely at you, showering you with a teasing affection; but you weren’t complaining at all. In fact, you could quite get used to the feeling with no problem at all, as you enjoyed receiving the attention from both of your favourite boys.
Soft groans spurred delicately from your lips. Your eyes were closed, tilting your head to a side as you sweetly, yet fervently kissed Fran; moaning quietly against his lips. His warm hand was under your shirt, possesively caressing one of your breasts, squeezing it and brushing his thumb across your hardened nipple; knowing it was an easy way to get you turned on.
It didn’t help either to feel the elder Argentine man’s thin lips pressing smooches all over the soft spots of your neck, occasionally on your shoulder, as his hand had sneaked inside your underwear, rubbing his fingers across the wet entrance of your pussy in a teasing manner. “Already eager to feel two cocks inside of you, hm?” he teased, feeling his hot breath against your sensitive skin, making you pull briefly from your boyfriend’s lips. “And to think you were making such a fuss of it yesterday, not wanting to get him upset at us— Now, you’re all wet for us.” your boyfriend remarked, smiling proudly, squeezing your breast possesively.
“Shut up.” you muttered in between soft pants, trying to dismiss both as you were being stimulated by them. It seemed as if they enjoyed taking their time with you and playing around, appreciating every single reaction of yours. A crimson tint notoriously occupied your cheeks, spreading across your face at the teasing actions of both men.
Before you, or any of the boys, could say anything else, you felt two fingers abruptly entering deeply into your moist cunt, thrusting gently. “Fuck,” you gasped, spreading your legs wider unconsciously— leaving both men satisfied with your response. For your aching hole, being filled with Kuku’s fingers was a relief.
Initially, his movements inside of you with his digits were careful, appreciating every inch of your inner walls — and it didn’t take too long until both fingers were coated with your slick, working as a lubricant to slide inside of you more easily. Aching for more, you began moving your hips against his fingers, helping him to satisfy you.
“Your boyfriend’s right, you do look so pretty when you’re wet.” a grunt spurred from your lips, trying to think of something coherent to reply, but you felt too fogged by the pleasure you received. You squirmed even more when his lips were pressed against the corner of your lips for a brief moment. “He’ll need to share you with me more often.” something that was both adorable and fun to notice, was just how flustered — and incredibly wetter — you got at the mention of both men talking about you in a sexual manner, being taken care of by both of them.
On the other hand, Fran shamelessly lifted your shirt, leaving both your tits exposed. If there was a part of your body that never failed to fervidly turned him on, those were your breasts — and he adored getting his hands and mouth on them. Faint grunts kept escaping from you as the pace of the fingerfucking increased, and the dark blonde haired Argentine’s mouth took your breast that he had been previously squeezing, moving his hand to your other tit, trying to give as much equal attention to them as possible.
Wet kisses were placed across your aureola, only to then teasingly, leisurely pass his tongue over your stimulated nipple, and he occasionally nibbled on the sensitive skin of your breast. At the feeling, you moved your chest forward, giving him more access to use his mouth. Your hand went to the back of Fran’s head, interwining messily your fingers in between his blonde curls, burying his head on your chest to encourage him further to keep going.
The other man’s fingers began thrusting harder, and faster in and out of you. Your head was slightly thrown back; the sound of your timid moans and the fleshy sound of your pussy being continously stimulated were the only things heard in the room.
“It seems that your boyfriend treats you quite well, doesn’t he?” with his free hand, Kukuriczka delicately took hold of your chin, forcing you to stare into his beautiful brown eyes. Your own wetness oozed out of you, staining your inner thighs — and having Fran’s mouth ravenously taking your breast and kneading the other wasn’t helping at all. You bit your lower lip as you stared at the older man, feeling another one of his fingers slip inside of you. “He’s stretched you so well, that I can fit three fingers inside of you.”
He had been previously given permission to kiss you if the opportunity was presented, and so, he did. Tilting his head softly, Kuku leaned closer to your face, pressing his lips against your own in a delicste manner while his three fingers intensely thrusted inside of you, beginning to hit that sweet spot of yours.
It didn’t take him too long to figure out which spot of your insides was the most vulnerable, as his fingers got further coated with your dripping slick, you arched your back and your moans became loud whimpers — Esteban was going to abuse that one spot as much as he could.
Moaning against his lips as your hips rolled against his fingers, you felt a knot beginning to faintly form on your stomach. “Such a sweet, good girl you are. You must be enjoying all the pampering we are giving you, aren’t you?” he whispered quietly, pulling away from a moment before going back to endearingly kiss you, and all you could do in response, is deeply hum dumbfounded. By the feeling of your inner walls tightening around his digits, it was obvious you would be about to cum.
The hand resting on the back of Fran’s hair tightened it’s grip on his blonde curls, appreciating the blatant feeling of devotion for your tits; having him filling them with kisses, licking, squeezing them, and even some bruising would appear on your skin from all his nibbling and lovebiting.
The gentle kiss you had been giving to your boyfriend’s cast mate was interrupted as you suddenly broke it away, softly gasping. Fran had abruptly stopped from giving any more attention to your breast with his mouth, pulling apart as his green eyes darted towards the other man, and the hand that was pampering your other breast was playfully — and a bit jealously — placed on Kuku’s face to push him away from you.
“That’s my girlfriend, not yours. Don’t get too confident with her.” immediatly with a scoff, Esteban removed Fran’s hand from his face. The younger Argentine possesively wrapped an arm around you, placing his cheek against your own flustered one. “Too bad you agreed to share her with me, and she seems to be quite enjoying all the attention.” you huffed in annoyance at their little childish fight for you, frustrated at how the fingers inside of you stopped thrusting intensely, just when you felt like cumming.
“Just look at how I ruined your girlfriend.” with a soft whimper, the three fingers inside of you were pulled out from your abused cunt only to leave an empty aching space in you— but he proudly showed his fingers entirely coated in your dripping wetness to your boyfriend, and not only that, but as well as the sight of your visibly trembling legs already said enough. It was true you felt ruined by such stimulation, but they both deserved their rightful credits.
The blonde haired Argentine scoffed at the sight, feeling slight jealousy— but it was cute to see him like that, when he was the one to propose a threesome, and now he felt possesive over you. “It’s not like I haven’t left her like that before, and I’ve done a much better job than you!” he retorted, looking at you lovingly with his green eyes, searching for approval. “Haven’t I, cariño?”
Both men fixed their stare on you, making you simply groan out of frustration. You couldn’t care less about their possesiveness over you and their fighting about which one made you wetter— you needed them inside of you, at the same time. They already managed to make you wet enough equally. “I don’t really care, my love.” you replied frankly, with an increasing desperation to feel both of them. “I would appreciate it if you both shut up, and just fuck me for once.”
Either way, they both felt satisfied to hear your answer. They exchanged knowing looks for a brief moment, making your boyfriend grow a wide grin on his lips. In the atmosphere, it still lingered the possesiveness they both felt foe your attention— but they knew just how to take care of the situation. With the brief stare that they exchanged, it was as if they had told each other ‘we’ll see who makes her moan the most’; and it would be like an unspoken, fun little game between them.
“Don’t get too desperate, my love.” Fran, still grinning to himself at your response, nuzzled the tip of his nose against your cheek before placing a tender smooch against it. “We’re getting to that part now.” his gaze lowered to the shorts you wore, moving his hand to slip it under them slightly, teasingly. “Suck him off, now, and I’ll take care of you from behind, in the meantime.”
You quietly whimpered at the feeling of his hot breath against your skin, having his lips continuing to place gentle pecks. All you could do is hum and nod in agreement— you could feel your own underwear getting stickier with your own slick at the thought of being filled with their cocks. The sight of you being so ruined and sensitive at the slightest stimulation they provided to you was such a delight.
“On your knees, then.” the younger Argentine commanded, placing a last kiss on your shoulder before moving away slightly, giving you enough space to shift positions. An overwhelming feeling of shyness took over you, but you felt too fogged by horniness to even focus on the growing timid feeling.
Kukuriczka fixed his own position, softly leaning against the pillows in the bed, spreading his legs wide enough for you to have space to get in between them, as Fran allowed you to settle. Shyly, you crawled closer to the older man, nibbling on your lower lip delicately. Your hands trembled with anticipation, moving them to his pants to remove them.
“I-Is it okay if I take this off?” you meekly asked, looking up at him with puppy eyes. The nervousness you felt was notorious, and beautifully adorable for them. “Why are you even asking, love?” his hand moved to gently stroke your cheek with the back of his index finger, giving his approval for you to continue. A sheepish grin appeared on your lip, feeling your face grow flustered.
With your hands, you leisurely lowered down both his pants, and his underwear. It’s not like you hadn’t sucked off your boyfriend before— you did, many times; but this was another man, and it was another man you had crushed on before. As soon as you managed to remove his lower clothing, your eyes couldn’t help but stare at his hard cock timidly, and dumbfoundedly.
“Like what you see?” as it was obviously expected, he noticed you staring at his thick manhood, and his hand went to stroke your hair affectionately. You nodded vehemently, trying not to stutter. “Y-Yes, I do.” you replied, smiling stupidly to yourself at the way Kuku gently, yet teasingly treated you.
“But it’s not any better than mine, of course.” your boyfriend scoffed from behind of you, making the other man roll his eyes. “We’ll see that.” Kukuriczka answered back, helplessly making you grin at the little fights they had, to either get more of your attention, or praising.
Fran placed himself delicately on top of you, using his lips to place small, tender kisses on your shoulder as one of his hands played with your shorts, and the waistband of your underwear. In the meantime, you slowly wrapped your hand around Kukuriczka’s cock. From it’s tip oozed pre-cum, and your lips placed a small wet kiss on it, staining your lips faintly with the fluids. With your lips, you kept placing small kisses all over the tip, occasionally moving down a bit to spread the kisses further.
Teasingly, at one moment, you slowly passed your tongue through his tip, savouring all the dripping pre-cum. With pride, you smiled to yourself slightly at the feeling of his cock twitching for you, already— along with his soft grunts, and the way he moved his hips forwards needily, eager to have you suck him off.
Tenderly, your hand began moving up and down on his manhood, stroking him. Leaning closer and partly opening your lips, you took him into your mouth. You moved softly down onto his shaft as deep as you could, trying not to choke yourself as your tongue caressed his size, taking him entirely into your mouth. As his hand had been stroking your hair gently, his hand helplessly formed into a grip on your hair, helping you move your head.
“Fuck,” he grunted quietly, throwing his head back. Despite wanting to be as gentle as possible with you, Kukuriczka couldn’t help it— his hand buried you deeper into his cock as his hips moved forwards to make you take him further, while your hand increased the pace in which it stroked his shaft. Gods, you were atrociously good at it; Esteban never doubted it when he thought — and said — Fran was lucky to be your boyfriend.
On the other hand, Fran had already managed to lower down both your shorts, and underwear at the same time. He couldn’t help but notice the way you were dripping wet for both of them. “She’s so good at it, isn’t she?” Fran chirped playfully, noticing how Kuku seemed to enjoy the attention you were currently giving him— and saying he enjoyed it was an understatement.
“And she’s so beautifully dripping wet for our cocks.” those last words, had been whispered against your ear. All you could do in response was needily grunt, as your mouth was filled with the other man’s hardened shaft. A bit desperately, having noticed just how wet you were, he lowered down his own underwear in a swift motion. Just like Kuku, his own cock was erected as well— needy to feel your inner walls milking him ravenously. It didn’t take him long to place it’s tip on your entrance, and delicately slip his shaft inside of you.
The slipping-in of his cock inside of you had been quite easy and smooth, as your slick worked as a lubricant. You were no stranger to the feeling of your boyfriend’s cock, but you couldn’t help but feel pleasantly overwhelmed at the sensation of two cocks filling your holes. In response to his penetration, you grunted against the other dark haired Argentine’s cock, almost choking on it.
“Your girlfriend is such a good girl. Look at how well she can take two cocks at once,” a rosy haze overtook your cheeks as you heard the two men praising you, hearing their ragged breathing in between each words. You briefly pulled apart from Kuku’s cock, leaving a thin trail of saliva as you tried to catch some air, and a whimpered moan spurred from you. You didn’t know whose name to moan first.
Grunts continued to escape from your lips as Fran continously slipped deeper inside of you, and then out. His movements were initially gentle as always, only to become faster & rougher with the passing of the time. Your inner walls so deliciously tightened around the familiar feeling of his cock, making him proudly smile. Barely being able to think, you kept using your hand to masturbate Esteban, feeling fogged at the pleasure being received.
“Your boyfriend is fucking you so well, that you’re forgetting to use that pretty little mouth of yours— aren’t you?” Kukuriczka teased, as his hand moved towards your chin, using his thumb to brush it across your lips. “Keep going, bonita.” he encouraged, his thumb forcing it’s way into your mouth so you would open it, and his cock entered your mouth once again. There was no complaint from your part, as you needily began tasting his shaft again.
Your tongue swirled across his size, releasing some muffled groans as his hips moved in a way that they almost reached your throat, and Fran took a firm hold of your hips, fucking your overstimulated cunt a bit harder. His cock was entirely coated in your cum, causing a faint fleshy sound to echo across the room, along with the moaning and panting of both men, and your own grunts.
A tear threatened to escape from the corner of your eye, doing your best to focus on both giving, and receiving. Kuku moved his hand on the back of your head, interwining his fingers between strands of your hair, burying his cock deeper into your mouth— and you tried to keep up with the motion, trying not to choke as you were burdened with pleasure, your hand as well masturbating him faster. Their moaning became slightly louder, both occasionally muttering your name so beautifully in between pants.
Both their cocks inside of you pulsated heavily, indicating that they were about to cum— and they were going to cum inside you. “F-Fuck, you’re so tight. I-I’m going to cum,” your boyfriend grunted against your ear, feeling how your walls tightened even more firmly around his shaft, placing sloppy kisses all across your neck with his hot breath hitting against your skin. A knot formed inside your own stomach, aching for release, as well as a tighteing fiery feeling in your chest.
Some seconds had passed, with the increasing sound of the moans, praises, and the intensity in which they fucked your mouth and pussy, having you nearly melting between them. And as expected, it didn’t take long until all of you simultaneously came. Your boyfriend firmly pushed himself against you, burying his cock as deep as possible, releasing his own hot seed into your moist inner walls.
The other older Argentine kept your had as still as possible with his hand holding the back of your head, groaning loudly as you felt the warmth of his cum filling your mouth. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t doubt in proudly swallowing all the hot, salty seed— even having slightly pulled apart briefly after he came, with some drops of his cum staining your lips, and chin. You released a muffled groan, feeling their cum filling both your holes, and your own cum being pleasantly released; dripping through your inner thighs, and leaving Fran’s shaft all stained with your slick.
For some seconds after all of you released at the same time, you stood still. Leaving another trail of saliva behind, you pulled apart from Kuku’s cock, catching some air to breathe; panting heavily as your entire body shook with the pleasure that washed over you. While your hand let go of his shaft, with a wet pop, Fran slipped outside of you. It made your insides feel empty, and cold— yet, the feeling of his cum and your own oozing out of your pussy felt satisfying; and it was a sight he always admired for a few seconds with pride.
Weakly, you crawled towards Kuku, whose chest rose and fell continously as he panted, and fell on top of him. Fran did the same as you did, but instead, he gently laid on top of you. His arms were possesively wrapped around your body, placing some loving little kisses all over your shoulder blade, as Esteban placed one of his hands on your arm, and the other one sweetly stroked your hair. You were such a loving, beautiful girl— it made him feel good to know, he could share you with Fran.
Kukuriczka kissed the top of your head as you panted as well, meekly smiling and blushing to yourself while both men filled you with pampering little kisses. “T-This was rather fun, I liked it.” you muttered, as you could feel Fran smiling at your remark while he kept kissing your shoulders, and Kukuriczka grinned as well. “We should do this more often, all of us together.” you continued.
“We should, and we will.” Fran retorted, tracing a mindless shape on your arm with the tip of his finger. “Unless... You are both up for a second round, instead of waiting until next time?”
◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` honourary tags to my darling beloveds.ᐟ
To my sweet love @lady-ashfade, for having accepted to be my beta reader despite not crushing on the actors, nor being part of the fandom. For your constant sweetness, tenderness, how you fangirl along me about my favourite boys (and I with yours!), and for your words of encouragement too. I love you so much, baby!! Thank you for everything we allow to share with each other! 🥺💗
And as well, to my most beloved sweet girls, @luceracastro + @castawaycherry!! You both also encouraged me to write this fic, and always support me on each work I do, and each idea I have for our boys— and also, you girls are both the loveliest, most positive people ever. Me siento tan afortunada de haberlas conocido, gracias por todo el cariño que me dan, y espero devolverles todo ese amor 1000 veces más!! 🥰❤
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— Ménage À Trois
Pairing: Esteban Kukuriczka x f!reader x Francisco Romero
Length: 3.6k
TW: mentions of drugs and alcohol, weed, shotgunning, threesome, praise, slightly degrading language, semi-public sex —> car sex, high sex
Tags: reader is good at flirting, stoners!Kuku and Fran, barely any foreplay since they’re all too intoxicated and horny. details of the setting is american bc writer never lived in Argentina 😭, car is truck-sized. inspired by some nasty thoughts that popped in my head when i saw this guy rolling up joints for us to smoke at the getaway cabin.
a/n. A tiny little gift for @madame-fear , who has been too bighearted by letting me go crazy in her ask box. No beta we die like men (i’ll edit later at night after i take my crusty colored contacts off.)
you’ve always been a handful.
insatiable, unstoppable, your charm is always turned on with a refractory period so short it almost hurt and a smile that makes everyone weak in the knees.
a handful.
you’re a shameless flirt, all sultry glances and hooded eyes to whoever managed to pique your interest. you’re a bar fairy to the tips of your toes, flitting from spot to spot with a mouthful of cheap liquor and a goal in mind; someone to buy you drinks.
you’re not expecting to marry any of your little trysts, obviously not, but having them stick around for more than a great night and a sloppy morning handjob would be nice. it satisfies you enough for a week, and it’s good enough to soothe the lack of physical intimacy in your otherwise single life.
you make your way over to one of your favorite clubs, the gold summit, to try your luck for the night; you know you’re gonna score, but you like to make it a game. tonight’s objective is clear, even with the two quick vodka shots and half drunk beer in your system— you’ve always been good about holding your liquor. you’re gonna find the hottest guy in here, and you’re gonna fuck his brains out. and then you’ll see if he’s brave enough to stay in your life for a while.
simple.
there’s rules to the game, still. you can’t make it too easy, or too hard. the game’s no fun if you win too fast, and it’s no fun with blue balls.
you scan the surrounding crowd, eyes jumping from face to face. rule number one; he cannot too big and bulky. you prefer lean, corded strength, the hidden challenge of drawing that roughness out of them. it’s also just safer, makes it easier to escape any possible… unpleasant situation.
rule number two; he should not be too shitfaced. you were a firm believer in consent, no matter what, and you definitely don’t want to clean puke out of your more tender areas—one awful night had confirmed that it wasn’t a good feeling.
rule number three; no experimenting. stick to the comfort zone, the things you like. waking up regretful and disappointed is never the goal.
your eyes rest on a wide, broad set of shoulders; trailing up to a cut jaw, a subtle smile so angelic, and a face that could melt stone, even with the gentle yet sharp features: his nose, lip and eyebrow. a perfect combination of sexy and sweetheart. you smirk.
target spotted.
you slip through the crowd like water, fluidly weaving between sweaty, moving bodies until you’re right in front of mr. golden-ray-of-sun, his smile soft and demure.
“hi!” you call, stand on tiptoe to be heard over the music and bless him, he just wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you in gently to be able to hear you. you bite your lip in anticipation, eyes softened just so as you ask the tall man to dance, and you can see it in the appreciative look you get in kind, the simple, smiling nod.
you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger already, and you haven’t even started.
turning so that you’re flush against the other’s solid chest, you wiggle a little, half to adjust and half to tease, before letting the music overtake you. he brings large, warm hands to rest on the bare skin at your waist, and he smirks at nothing in particular.
and then you start dancing.
you know these particular jeans are serving you well, ass cupped tight and snug by the fabric and the fishnets underneath give you a little edge. the cropped corset top that rests just above your belly button exposes soft skin that he seems to love having his hands on, and you thank whatever god might be listening for body shimmer lotion, the tops of your breasts glimmering in the low bar light.
you look delicious. this godly ray-of-sun of a man definitely wants to eat you.
you start off slow, don’t wanna overdo it: grinding is a form of art, and whil you are good at it, he is basically a master. you push back in time with the bass, hips swaying just so, and his grip tightens.
perfect.
using that as a green light, you bend, ass up perfectly against his crotch as you sway and grind to the music. he is appreciative, keeps you close and tugs you up by the hips after a few heady minutes. he’s got his lips just under your ear, pressing little hot, open mouthed kisses to the skin there and you simply lean back, expose more and more skin to be kissed.
it’s like the entirety of the dance floor has slimmed down to just the two of you, hot and heavy and just fucking right and all you can feel are hands on your waist and lips on your skin, the music pouring through every inch of you. it’s addictive, hooking.
perfect.
the song melts into another, then another, until your skin glistens with sweat and you can feel sunshine’s hardness pressed up against the curve of your ass. you take a breath, steady yourself before pulling away, lacing your fingers in the taller man’s and leading him away from the noisy crowd.
“i’m y/n,” you finally say, a satisfied little smirk on your lips. he has passed all the tests so far, and you’re eager to see what he has in store for you.
“i’m esteban kukuriczka, kuku for short, and i really, really wanna smoke you out,” the other replies, a gentle smirk splayed on his face and it makes you a little weak in the knees. “my stash is just right outside.”
really weak in the knees. not that you’d tell him that.
instead, you cock your head, the portrait of innocence at esteban’s remark. “oh really? you got a good dealer?” you ask coyly, and usually you don’t smoke with strangers, but you’re feeling a little adventurous tonight.
“baby, i’m the dealer,” esteban promises, his smile growing ever wider. “and i’ve got a friend.”
𐙚────────𐙚
esteban’s friend ends up being in the lot just behind the club, finishing up a quick exchange and you let the taller man lead the way. in the glint of the moonlight you admire him properly, too busy eyeing the lean muscles of his arms through his sleeveless tank and subtle ripple of muscles decorating them. you’re too busy watching the way his eyes reflects the sheen of the streetlights to realize you’ve stopped walking, picture those eyes watching you intensely as his tongue run circles along your clit—
you pull yourself out of those thoughts. not yet.
the game’s still on.
you’ve got the upper hand right now, have the whole night and you trail a hand up esteban’s spine, feel him shiver at the touch. you like winning.
and then esteban’s friend steps out of the car, and you stop breathing for a heartbeat. for the second time tonight.
if esteban is golden hour and ungodly sex, this man is nighttime and downright sin.
stoic looking with a piercing gaze, he’s dressed a little more polished than esteban, a beige jacket accompanied by black pants. even with all the clothes, you are beginning to picture what he looks like without them, imagining what’s underneath the collar of his shirt.
beside him, esteban smirks.
you pull yourself together.
“what’s up!” esteban cheers, slinging an arm around the other’s neck. the other just sighs playfully, shoving off his arm and rolling his eyes.
“you saw me this morning, kuku, fuck off,” he says good naturedly, before his eyes drift over to you. “new friend?”
“something like that,” esteban smirks, slips a hand in your back pocket and you’ve got the presence of mind to blush a little, play it coy. fran just smirks, expression mirroring kuku’s before he opens the back door to his noticeably big car — nice and roomy, you think — and waves a hand.
“in that case, mind if i join? i’ve got the good shit right here, and it’s on me,” he offers, and the innuendo just brings more heat to your face. you’re a little out of your element, a little off-balance; you can handle two men just fine, but two men this unearthly handsome is a little overwhelming.
still, the thought of fucking the both of them high, in the back of a truck, is the culmination of several of your wet dreams, and you easily follow esteban inside.
the seats are plush leather, wide and spacious and you find yourself right between them, esteban’s hand on your thigh and fran’s leg against your own. you watch as latter deftly rolls two neat, fat blunts, the smell of the weed strong in the air.
esteban gets the first hit, the easy flick of a lighter filling the backseat with hazy smoke and you’re in awe at the way his cheeks hollow out, accentuating his already sharp jawline. he slips it to you next, holds it to your mouth and finally, you think, a little smirk hovering at the corners of your mouth. you can get a leg up.
pouting your lips out just so, you take the blunt between them easily, hollow out your cheeks as you suck in the smoke and you know you’re giving them a view, cheeks a little flush, and your mouth pouted over the blunt so pretty. you lean back when you exhale, send a few even smoke rings up and you’ve got their full attention now.
you are a sight to behold.
fran’s hand slips up your leg to rest on your other thigh as he takes the blunt next, eyes never leaving kuku’s as he inhales and it’s like some silent sort of agreement, some unspoken deal. you repress the shiver you get when kuku smiles down at you, a little predatory, a little hungry.
they finish the first blunt with nothing more than a few lingering stares, esteban and fran never moving their hands from your thighs and you’re already feeling floaty, a little loose, but still coherent.
esteban sparks up the second blunt but pauses before he passes it to you, cups your jaw in one hand gently to tilt your head up. “inhale and hold it, baby,” he murmurs, but his voice is firm and low; it is not a question.
you do as you’re told, suck in the smoke and keep your mouth closed as he turns your head towards fran with the same hand, gentle but firm. “hold it in, that’s right. give it to fran, like a good girl,” he says, right in your ear and you nearly tremble at the proximity. you press your mouth to fran without questioning, let the man lick into your mouth easily and suck all the smoke from you with another small whine. your cheeks are flushed when he pulls away to blow it out, lips pouted in the foggy interior.
kuku smirks.
“what, not enough for you? come here,” and he’s taking a slow drag off the blunt before tugging you closer, slotting your mouths together and breathing in the smoke. you can barely focus on exhaling, mouth turning up into another pout as he pulls away and you whine again, high and needy in the back of your throat. fran slips his arms around your waist then, pulls you back into his lap and leans against the door of the truck to mouth at your neck softly.
“tell us what you want, baby,” he mumbles into your heated skin, esteban watching you both. he’s got his hands on your thighs while fran slips cool fingers under your shirt, flicking over your nipples through your bra to make you whine again.
“w-want you, both of you,” you whine out, back arching at fran’s teasing touch, and esteban snaps.
pushing forward to crowd you against fran’s chest, esteban kisses you hard, lips pressed together like he can’t get enough of you. one hand rests at the back of your neck, forcing your head up to lick into your mouth easily, fran nipping and sucking down the length of your throat to make you whine into esteban’s mouth. you’re trapped between them, rutting your hips up against esteban’s and back into fran’s lap as you kiss, sloppy and heady and wet.
fran lets you rut between them for a little, lets you work yourself up until you’re whining and whimpering against esteban’s lips, silently asking for more. he presses down on your waist with one hand, the other deftly undoing the button of your jeans. esteban pulls off of your mouth just long enough to help the other wiggle your jeans down, a low growl building in his throat at the sight of you on fran’s lap in just fishnets, no panties.
“naughty. someone wanted to get fucked tonight, hm?” esteban hums, pressing lightly against your already soaked cunt with the palm of his hand, chasing down your moans with his mouth once more. “prep her,” he tells fran over the top of your head, tossing him a little bottle of lube from the glove compartment before kissing him, a little wet and messy before kissing you again.
fran slicks his fingers up, traces around your swollen clit once, twice before pressing inside you with his middle finger, groaning low at the feeling of your tight heat around him. “next time i’m eating you out,” he swears under his breath, and esteban mumbles his agreement as he swallows your moans and whimpers, tongue licking into your mouth relentlessly.
you like the sound of a “next time”, moan a little louder into esteban’s mouth as you fumble with his jeans and he takes pity on you, helps you kick them down so you can palm at his cock, hard and heavy in his boxers.
“i wanna fuck her first,” fran tells esteban, voice rough as you squeeze the latter’s cock in one hand and you whine at that, like that they’re talking about you like you’re not there.
“gonna fuck her loose and sloppy for me?” esteban teases, as the other man presses in a second finger just to hear you moan.
“of course,” fran smirks, leans over you to kiss you again, keeping you busy between them. when he breaks the kiss, you can’t help but whine a little.
“what, baby? you’re not getting enough attention? you’ve got your hands on my cock and his fingers inside you, don’t be greedy,” esteban chastises and you just whine, hot and needy.
fran’s managed to get three fingers pressed inside you before he paused to roll on a condom, kicking off his pants and slicking himself up. he’s got the hem of his shirt caught between his teeth, eyes dark with want and you arch in pleasure, impatient for the touch of his fingers to barely brush against your sweet spot and scissors you open. you’re so gone you can barely register yourself begging, a steady stream of “please please please” slipping past your lips as fran pulls out his fingers, shifting you against the seat to line himself up with your slick hole.
fran’s cock, twitching with impatience and enthusiasm as he pushes in, slowly sinking into you with a low groan. esteban kisses your temple, rubs gentle circles on your shoulders to ease you both into it, little whines filling the smoky air.
esteban is patient though, alternates between kissing you and whispering praises into your ear — “doing so well, sweetheart, taking him so well, such a good girl” — until you’re ready for fran to move, pushing back against his cock with another needy whimper. fran’s hips don’t slow after that, slamming into you so forcefully the car shakes, windows fogged and steamy.
he’s cursing and moaning under his breath, hips slapping against the fat of your ass with every thrust and esteban’s got his hands all over your body, caressing your nipples, toying with your clit, pinching your hips. he’s muttering a steady stream of praise in your ear, mouthing kisses along your flushed skin — “you’re taking his cock so well, princess, gonna come? come on his cock, sweetheart, so i can fuck you” — and you’re barely holding on, nails digging into fran’s clothed back and messy whimpers escaping you with every thrust.
fran stops, pushes your legs up close to your chest and thrusts hard, cock hitting your sweet spot head on and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head as you come all over his cock, legs twitching as he fucks into you harder. your walls clench up as you cum and you milks fran’s cock, whine into his mouth as he kisses you and his hips still, stuttering into you as he comes in the condom. he kisses you through it, as the other man peppers little bites onto your shoulder until fran’s pulling out, tying off the condom and pulling you against his chest to let esteban sit up.
they switch positions easily, you on fran’s chest as he leans against the door and esteban kneeling between your spread legs, hands massaging your ass cheeks gently. “you think you can take me, baby? not too sore?” esteban checks, and it makes something inside you go warm, a little soft. you nod quickly, turning so that you can kiss esteban over your shoulder.
“want you too,” you whine, wiggling your ass for extra emphasis, and esteban just laughs as he tugs open his jeans. fran kisses you softly when the other man pushes in, keeps your legs spread for him to make the press in easier.
it stings a little — kuku’s cock, long and thick is immediately smeared with your cum as it penetrates you — your body cannot help but tremble with the antagonizing, yet slow intrusion. your pussy is over-sensitive but you like the blunt pleasure, kissing fran until esteban’s fully inside. you push back against him almost immediately, whimpering a little against fran’s lips until esteban starts fucking you in earnest, hands tight on your hips.
if fran was quiet when you fucked, low moans and growls, then esteban is mouthy.
he doesn’t stop praising you, his hands keep roaming over your sweaty skin and whispering “good girl, such a good girl, so pretty like this baby, fucked open on my cock” and it only makes your orgasm build faster. you try to prolong buildup of the pleasure but you fail terribly, the familiar tightness pools in your stomach, makes your whines even more desperate and fran’s pressing kisses wherever he can reach, eyes stuck on where esteban’s cock keeps disappearing inside you.
it’s all too much and not enough at once, and you’re whimpering once, twice, three times before you come all over esteban’s cock and fran, slumped over the other man’s body as esteban keeps fucking you. it doesn’t take the taller much longer to come, the tight heat of your walls and the breathy, whiny little moans sending him right over the edge as he spills into the condom.
you’re boneless, fucked into a soft sort of haziness and there’s tears in your eyes — good ones, definitely good ones — as the pair of them sit you up, wiping you down and cooing in your ear about how good you were, how pretty and perfect. they pull your jeans back on, tuck your shirt down before pulling their own pants back on. fran is the first to speak, voice low and soft.
“you guys wanna get some food? there’s a 24-hour diner around the block,” he asks, and you can see the hint of a blush on his cheeks, a little shyness to his smile like he wasn’t fucking you senseless twenty minutes prior.
esteban stretches behind you, the smile you adore so much back full force on his face. “i’m down, i’ll pay. since you so let us smoke and fuck in your car for free,” he smirks, and you can’t help your giggle.
“i’ll pay, since you so generously brought her to me,” fran counters yet again, head cocked to your direction without actually looking at you, “and shared her with me.”
“i am hungry,” you find yourself agreeing, a smile of your own creeping onto your lips, and they both smile back at you, a mess of limbs and sweaty bodies on cool leather.
this definitely wasn’t how you saw your night going, you think as you all squeeze into a booth at the diner ten minutes later, fran by the window with a hand on your thigh, esteban at the end with his hand around your waist. they squish you in between them, kiss at your flushed cheeks and coo over you as they flick through a menu and yeah, you really didn’t see this coming.
i definitely won, you think smugly when fran feeds you the cherry off your milkshake, esteban darting forward to lick the whipped cream off your lips.
definitely.
a/n. thanks for reading and i hope you like it!!<3
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How would the ROs react if while in relationship stage MC and them were sitting together with their hands intertwined, and the RO was speaking something but the MC is just too lost staring at their face with heart eyes?
Wyatt
Would keep and keep on talking and then suddenly say: "You better like what you are seeing, 'cause otherwise I'm just worried!" Would laugh it off whether MC gets embarrassed, nudges themself to listen, lies that they were listening, or any other reaction, really. Then, with a huff and a fussy "Oh, you're just impossible sometimes," would spin them around, leading by their linked hands (like that overhead turn move in dancing) and lock MC in a hug from behind. Would rest their head on MCs shoulder and whisper in their ear: "Will you listen now?"
Sam
Would notice fairly early and at some point just trails off into silence, face slowly becoming a mirror of MCs. Sam would first find it amusing (like, what are you seeing?) but would get into it quickly. The two of them would kind of just sit quietly, looking at each other, until MC remembers that they've been having a conversation at all. They'd notice that Sam is stroking circles on their hand, and if MC suggests Sam continues or repeats, would reply that it was not as important as what MC was doing.
Romero
Ooh, it would take Romero a long time to even notice, especially if it's some sensitive or personal topic! Would kind of stare at MC, puzzled, but with each moment as it gets clearer and clearer that is just MCs heart eyes, Romero's face would go progressively hotter. When the emotional weight of that would get unbearable (give it like four seconds), would lightly yank MCs hand and complain somewhere to the side, away from MC: "You're not listening," aggressively hoping they don't get to see whatever flustered expression Romero is wearing.
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He likes to cover your eyes with blindfold. It gains him more confidence, when you are not looking at him slyly. Also he is taking a liking of the black peace of silk resting on your eyelids. he grins as you try to wiggle it off, but he has you on his lap, arms tightly wrapped around your figure. He loves to hear your surprise gasps, while he nibbles on your jaw, slowly moving down to collarbone. Your skin blooming into the beautiful crimson as you have no clue what will be his next move.
-> osamu, AONE, ushijima, nishinoya, asahi, romero, KITA, semi, yaku, AKAASHI, KENMA.
He ties you up with handcuffs or other restraints. Playfully wrapping it around your wrists as you shake in your bed. filling his aura is making you fill dizzy and you know he isn't going to go easy on you. you are right as he gets some ice cubes from the freezer. perfect for trailing over your body for a chillingly good sensation. You whimper from the cold feeling that has you addicted to it as the minutes passes by. He smirks as he is about to do more than that. The things that will really make your mind freeze.
-> IWAIZUMI, DAICHI, kyotani, atsumu, HINATA, lev, tsukishima, KUROO, matsukawa.
He suggests to get an even better view as you break from your make-out season. He leads you to a mirror and leans you in front of it, whispering in your ear just how sexy you look like this. He has a good view of you from the back and front after all. You lean your body on your own reflection as he fiercely starts biting your exposed neck, making his mouth water as he tastes your delicious skin in every munch. You look up to see his own reflection on the mirror that makes your knees weak and eyes hungry at how handsome he is right now as he makes you weak more and more for him.
-> sakusa, KAGEYAMA, OIKAWA, meian, aran, sugawara, BOKUTO, tendou, komori, SUNA, hanamaki.
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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 19)
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24
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Masterlist
Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo
Words: 7,943
Summary: Javier and Horacio deal with the aftermath of a fraught morning and try to make the most of life in Madrid. Meanwhile, Señora Romero and Chucho have some words of wisdom (as usual) for them.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut (including ass play, spanking and aftercare), brief discussions of PTSD symptoms and healing, grief and parental loss, discussions of sexuality/coming out, allusions to period-typical and historical prejudices, smoking, swearing.
Notes: So, here's the second part of their Madrid adventures at last! But where to next? 👀 I'm currently working on chapter 20, which is taking a while because life, and also I swear the closer to the end I get, the harder it is to write lol.
Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who has recently jumped on board this emotional rollercoaster. I'm blown away by the comments I've received over the last couple of years and I still love hearing from people, so please feel free to drop me a line if you'd like to ❤️
I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.
Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.
Chapter 19: In The Same Boat
After breakfast and back at their apartment, Horacio took a shower, relieved to finally be rid of his running clothes now that the sweat had long since dried.
Javier soon joined him, capturing his waist from behind as eager lips met salty wet skin.
Horacio didn’t question why Javier was on his second cleansing of the day, instead nudging against the ridge of his shoulder, letting the steam envelop them and the hot jets wash away the stress of an eventful morning.
They wanted answers about what happened in their absences, but for now, their bodies did the talking. They gave into unspoken needs and an insistent craving to be as close as possible now further hurdles had been overcome, even if they weren’t sure which ones yet.
If Javier was hungrier and more demanding with what he took, Horacio indubitably noticed but didn’t object. How could he mind Javier’s nails scraping and scoring, marking Horacio like conquered territory?
Or the way he crouched between Horacio’s spread legs, parting generous handfuls of firm flesh, mouthing and biting with fervour along each buttock towards their inner seams, the bristle of facial hair scratching in all the right places.
Javier was guided by the moans above him as his nose pressed forwards, licking a trail north and south, alternating between flattening his tongue and outlining meandering patterns, skirting down to Horacio’s perineum and back up. Because anything less wouldn’t have been enough.
All Horacio could do was steady himself against the wall with one hand, the other rolling over supple skin and the taut ridges of his pectoral and abdominal muscles, ebbing and flowing like the Sierra de Guadarrama, a bittersweet reminder of his Andean homeland on their doorstep.
He engulfed and tweaked his nipples, journeying below the soft slope of his stomach and groin, fondling his balls, his fingers briefly making contact with Javier’s mouth and grounding them instantly.
A desperate growl rumbled through Horacio’s chest as he clenched his fist around the shaft of his cock and tugged in time with Javier lapping at the tight ring of muscle until he broached it. Shallow thrusts to begin with, increasing the depth and pace the fiercer Horacio shook and shuddered.
Javier never grew tired of being the one to reduce Horacio to a lascivious wreck, knowing it was an honour exclusively bestowed upon him, made even sweeter now they were no longer looking over their shoulders, waiting for a cruel twist of fate to intervene.
With that thought fresh in Javier’s mind, he didn’t hold back, devouring with ravenous greed, the ache in his knees insignificant compared to the sounds he was drawing from Horacio, who was all wounded grunts and choked back sobs, and it was music to Javier’s ears.
It didn’t take much for Horacio to fall apart on the fire of Javier’s tongue and the ice of his own iron grip, his eyes screwed shut and his spare hand thumping against the porcelain tiles as he came with a silent cry, teeth clamped down on his bottom lip for the benefit of their neighbours.
Once Horacio had recuperated, Javier peeled himself off the floor and manoeuvred them under the faucet, their mouths fusing together as they rinsed off. There was no let-up, the rough collision of limbs building momentum until Javier’s breathless invocations echoed as loudly around the room as the sweet percussion of a palm against his ass, a slow burn blush blooming with each prayer answered.
“Are you sure?” had been Horacio’s first question, always compelled to check in whenever Javier displayed vulnerability like this.
But Javier was certain. He needed it in the way his lungs sucked on air. Needed Horacio to hold the reins now, to clear his mind so he could focus on the present. On every sensation, word of encouragement and exhalation. To leave physical evidence on Javier’s body, an undeniable reminder that Horacio was here, safe, and trusted to take care of him precisely how he desired.
So, who was Horacio to refuse? Not when Javier’s supplicating gaze scorched his own, kindling an inscrutable and mortifying urge to sink to his knees and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
But instead, he positioned Javier facing the tiles, smoothing his hand back and forth, massaging each pert cheek to stimulate the blood flow, letting the anticipation build because he knew that was part of the thrill for Javier, not knowing when he would strike.
Seconds of stillness followed; the steady stream of water the only sound to be heard until Horacio permeated the silence with the flat of his palm.
He started off with little more than a mild tap, gauging where Javier was at, easing into it and letting him dictate how far this went.
A series of progressively bracing swats came next, alternating from side to side, caressing the areas he targeted as a balm to the prickling heat. “You’re doing so good for me, Javier,” he praised, his free hand stroking up and down Javier’s back in reassurance. “Tell me what you need.”
Javier’s forehead rested on his hand against the wall, his teeth wedged into his fist whenever Horacio let loose. “I need more,” he stated after taking a deep breath, knowing Horacio would waver in granting his request without such succinct clarity.
Several more vigorous slaps ensued, causing something between a huff and a groan to release from Javier’s throat as his body jerked and his cock twitched. “Harder,” came his response no sooner had the vibrations reached the seat of his ass.
Horacio took his time despite Javier’s demand, subduing with delicate circles as though polishing fine glass, allowing the cascading water to counteract the sting.
There was an agonising pause, rendering it impossible for Javier to second guess when it would end until it was too late.
A crystal clear thwack crackled through the air, followed by another and another, sending Javier into a wave of spasms that left bite marks on the back of his hand and tears welling in his eyes.
He was sure there must be pain buried beneath the pleasure that he would feel later, but for now, he was floating, delirious, gone. Fuck any drug the cartels had to offer because no way in hell could it ever be as good as this.
But he was determined not to take himself in hand or grind against the tiles; that was too easy. This required complete concentration and discipline, reducing Javier’s existence to nothing but Horacio’s touch and his response.
“Horacio, please.” He panted out his final beg for mercy, knowing it wouldn’t take much more to bring him home.
Horacio couldn’t be sure if it was the light glinting in the trickling water droplets, illuminating the imprint of his hand that had him fraying at the edges, or how his palm tingled, triggering a chain reaction all the way down to his groin again. But before he could stop himself, he covered Javier’s back with his body, his left hand meeting Javier’s on the wall.
The scent of Javier’s shampoo was potent, intoxicating, and lethal as Horacio buried his face in a mass of thick, damp hair, almost knocking the wind out of them simultaneously. They kept still, both trying to deepen their tremoring breaths, Horacio counting to 10 in his head and Javier closing his eyes in preparation.
Horacio retreated, leaving his left hand connected with Javier’s whilst his right resumed its position, gently cupping and kneading, teasing his knuckles between Javier’s cheeks.
There was a lull in movement, the tide receding as a prelude to the incoming tsunami, their pulses deafening in their ears as time froze and suspended them in a torturous self-imposed vacuum.
But then a seismic release set them free, plunging Javier’s weight against the tiles, no amount of chewing on his fist able to suppress the whimpered cry or control his quivering form as he came with Horacio’s name somewhere on the tip of his tongue but lost amidst the onslaught of concentrated bliss.
He couldn’t move even if he wanted to, merely trying to breathe whilst Horacio removed the shower hose from its cradle, letting the restorative warmth of the water soothe the tenderness, the temperature gradually reducing to lukewarm then cooler once Javier was accustomed to it, extinguishing the flames.
Horacio dried them off, dabbing the towel meticulously over Javier until he replaced it with chaste kisses then sweet almond oil, mapping a path across his ass, covering every inch, and taking extra time with the rawest patches of skin. He needed this part of the ritual as much as Javier did. Needed to be the caregiver at both ends of the spectrum and to still be touching Javier because that was what he needed in return.
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They delayed dressing in favour of entangling themselves beneath the bedsheets after rehydrating and sharing a bowl of fresh strawberries bought from their favourite food market the previous day. It wasn’t as though they had anywhere to be, after all.
A solitary cigarette passed between them, the only nicotine-fuelled vice of the day worth having anymore. It was customary for either man to trace patterns through chest hair as he took a drag, their fingers and lips meeting somewhere in the middle, transferring cigarette and smoke in one smooth motion.
Their cigarette was now stubbed out in the ashtray by the bed, swapped for playing with each other’s hands whilst Javier lay tucked into Horacio’s side.
His fingers skimmed over the coarse edges of Horacio’s, sliding to the softness at the centre of his palm, then down to his wrist. Javier lingered until he got what he came for, the slow, steady beat keeping his own rhythm in check after a fraught start to the morning.
From there, Horacio dusted kisses across Javier's knuckles until Javier unfurled his fingers, offering them up for the same treatment, and Horacio gladly obliged.
It could have been minutes or hours they lay like this, lost in touch, neither wanting to break the spell.
But as Horacio’s hand snaked up Javier’s torso, pausing to play with the warmed silver chain, he folded first. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“You don’t need to apologise for being cornered. These things happen.”
“It wasn’t just that, though.” Horacio stroked his thumb over the surface of the cross. For comfort or courage, or both, he wasn’t sure. He explained everything about Álvaro, even down to the disconcerting parallels he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. “He could’ve been me, Javier. He was me. And if it hadn’t been for you – for us – I think he still would be. Either that, or I’d be dead.”
“But he’s not you. You’re not that man anymore. Look how far you’ve come, Horacio. You got out. And you found your inner cowboy.”
Horacio gave Javier a withering look, ignoring the devilish spark in his eyes. “I’m not a fucking cowboy.”
“But that’s what you want, though, right? To be a rancher?”
Horacio had thought long and hard about this, especially when confronted with the ghosts of his old life. Any worries about being lured back in were swiftly abated. If anything, it confirmed what he, deep down, already suspected. “Yeah, I think I do. But only if you still want to move back to Texas.”
“I thought I’d never move back. But after I left Colombia, you seemed so at home. And for once, so did I.” Javier didn’t say the rest out loud because he didn’t need to. His book dedication had done it for him.
“I was,” was all Horacio managed to get out before he kissed Javier, unhurried and thorough.
“It’s not like I’ve got any career plans lined up elsewhere anyway,” Javier added once they pulled apart.
“There’s still time to figure it out.”
A knowing smile passed over Javier’s lips. “That’s what Señora Romero said this morning. After I fucking lost it because you were a few minutes late.” His smile morphed into a self-deprecating scoff, traces of embarrassment still left over despite the kindness he had been shown.
“What?”
Now it was Javier’s turn to open up; for the second time that day. He reclined against Horacio’s chest, the fingers stroking through his hair relaxing his mind and muscles as he talked.
“Fuck, Javier, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey, no. It’s not your fault. And it’s not your responsibility to fucking babysit me. I was fine after a drink and a pep talk.”
Horacio strained his neck to meet Javier’s eye with an incredulous look.
“Okay, well, after that, then.”
“I didn’t go too far, did I?”
“No. It was perfect,” Javier replied without hesitation, meeting Horacio’s gaze head-on and with ease. A simmering afterglow had overtaken the initial sensitivity, but he was confident he would feel it for the rest of the day, maybe even tomorrow if he was lucky. “Was, er, was it good for you too?”
The luscious whip of his palm was still vivid in Horacio’s mind, along with Javier’s pleas for more and the spiral of his tongue as he fucked and feasted. Not to mention how the tension they had been carrying throughout the morning visibly dissipated in the aftermath.
“I think perfect just about covers it,” he replied, hunting down Javier’s mouth again before they collapsed into each other’s arms.
“Señora Romero’s been through a lot too,” Javier said after a soporific silence almost tempted them towards slumber.
“I know. She never talked about it much. But after the bombing, she mentioned Spain was always carrying old wounds.”
“I guess we all are. So, there are bound to be bad days sometimes.”
Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s forehead. “I should’ve been there with you, though.”
“You’re here now.”
Another string of kisses followed, the next more charged than the last. Because now wasn’t just tomorrow, the next day, week, month, or even year. Now was the rest of their lives.
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They could easily have whiled away the rest of the day in bed. But the sun’s heat had broken through the haze of early morning fog by lunchtime, and it was the ideal afternoon for a walk around El Retiro Park.
The park was rarely quiet, but it was vast enough to disperse the crowds into all corners. They started with the gardens and fountains, one, in particular, stopping them in their tracks.
“Well, that’s…striking,” Javier said, cocking his head and taking off his aviators to get a better look at the imposing statue in front of them.
“La Fuente del Ángel Caído. The Fountain of the Fallen Angel. It’s the moment Lucifer was cast out of heaven.”
Javier turned to Horacio with a raised brow. “So, are you an expert in all artistic impressions of the devil, or just this one?”
Horacio feigned an irked glare. “I used to run this way sometimes with it being so close to the Consulate.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief.”
It was the truth, but at that time of Horacio’s life, there was a strange and dark affinity to be found with the story of a fallen angel in exile. Occasionally, he would stop to study the fountain in all its horrifying glory, a visceral reminder of why he was here.
They quickly moved on to the Palacio de Cristal, the weather optimal for the impressive architecture above them. Sunbeams descended a halo down from the glass roof, a hush spreading through the crowd as they craned their necks in awe. It gave the building the peaceful atmosphere of a church, but it was a world away from the harsh wooden pew Horacio had prayed in every week.
Without meaning to, his hand brushed against Javier’s as they stood side-by-side, barely a hair’s breadth between them, and too subtle to be noticed by anyone around them.
Javier didn’t flinch, didn’t even look in Horacio’s direction, yet for the briefest of moments, their fingers connected in a way that could have been passed off as accidental if necessary. But of course, they knew there was nothing accidental about them whatsoever.
They came to the lake next, sitting on steps that led up to a grand monument by the water. On the base of it lay a statue of King Alfonso XII with three smaller ones beneath representing peace, freedom and progress, a stark contrast to the Fallen Angel.
“I never found the time to come down here before, but it’s a beautiful spot,” Horacio said, wishing he was wearing his Stetson now he was having to squint in the sun.
“Yeah, it is.”
Somewhere between arriving at the lake and finding a free spot, Javier exchanged conversation for staring out across the water.
Whilst watching the hire boats glide backwards and forwards, out of nowhere, he was reminded of the river back home. The traffickers made it look as easy as a leisure pastime. Like they never got the memo about the turbulent currents that required navigating life as the Rio Grande did, flowing in limbo and helplessly watching the gulf between each side widen like a splitting wound.
Javier vaguely remembered hearing stories from his Abuelas and Abuelos about their journeys across the border. But it wasn’t a subject he and Chucho talked about much. Officially, that was due to Chucho being so young at the time, but unofficially, Javier wasn’t stupid. He knew of the bleak dangers and challenges involved with moving to el otro lado, as he often heard the other side called, more so now than back then, and he always suspected there were stories his Pops would rather keep to himself.
“Hey, you still in there?”
Horacio’s voice brought Javier back down to earth. “Yeah. Sorry.”
It was typical of him to be sitting here ignoring Horacio and the scenery in favour of daydreaming about the very place they came here to take a break from. Their late morning interlude had apparently taken it out of him, and he was already reverting to losing himself in thought rather than focusing on the present.
But as Javier went through the day’s events, his attention still on the lake, an idea came to him. He could sense he was being watched as a playful smirk took hold. “Fancy a ride?”
It didn’t take long for Horacio’s mind to wander, despite the fact he could plainly see what Javier was referring to. Always the tease, which he’d no doubt pay for later. “Only if you take it in turns with the rowing.”
“Deal.”
Soon after, they set off from the jetty in a pale blue and white rowing boat. Horacio took the oar first, the reason already paying dividends as he watched Javier trying but failing not to fixate on Horacio’s arms.
“Nice view out here,” Horacio deadpanned.
Javier cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, triggering a welcomed reminder from a matter of hours ago and handing victory straight to Horacio. “You could say that.”
That was all Horacio had wanted in the way of revenge because two could play at that game.
They rowed in comfortable silence, taking in their picturesque surroundings and the fact it was easy to be around others yet still be alone here. From a quick glance at other boating parties, there was a diverse mix of groups and couples, and no one appeared remotely interested in them for a change. It was an antidote to the heavy conversations and emotions from earlier, even if that had been a necessary step for them to take.
“Do you think this still counts as a bad day?” Javier asked now that Horacio had taken a break from rowing, letting them slowly drift in the deserted end of the lake.
“A bad start, maybe. But I think we might’ve just about salvaged it.”
“Me too.”
Their eyes met across the boat, the afternoon light casting them in a golden hue. Their feet were the only part of them touching, both a frustration and a catalyst. But they knew that would be rectified once in the privacy of their apartment.
“We better be getting back,” Horacio said with reluctance. “Especially as it’s your turn to row.”
That earned him a “Fuck you” and a splash of water in his general direction.
But Javier accepted the oar, and set a course back to the jetty, Señora Romero’s words still echoing in his ears.
Because she was right; they couldn’t always be in the same boat. It was unrealistic to expect otherwise. But they could work hard to be as much as possible. They could take turns to bear the load, be the other’s anchor and cherish the times they succeeded. And today was proof of that.
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In the week before Easter, there were celebrations across the city for La Semana Santa. Whilst Javier and Horacio preferred peace and quiet to the processions through the streets, they couldn’t say no to Señora Romero’s invitation to a festive meal.
As it turned out, they were also roped into helping with food preparations in exchange for an extra pitcher of lemonade and leftovers to fill their freezer up to the brim.
Señora Romero’s family were to visit the next day, so they made multiple batches, and it was all hands on deck. They prepared an array of dishes, including espinacas con garbanzos, empanadas, croquetas de bacalao, bartolillos madrileños, buñuelos de viento, flores fritas, and torrijas, passing along their contributions like a conveyer belt, Señora Romero issuing instructions without even looking up from her work.
“My Mamá would’ve evicted us from the kitchen by now,” Javier said after his first attempts at frying flores fritas resulted in a sea of uneven misshapes floating in the pan of hot oil.
“No such luck today, Javier. Try holding the mould for longer in the oil after each one. The batter won’t stick to it if it’s not hot enough.”
Javier did as he was directed. And lo and behold, Horacio soon was sprinkling sugar and cinnamon over light, crisp, fully-defined flowers.
“And give yourselves some credit,” Señora Romero continued, finishing cutting up her empanada dough and spooning filling into the segments. “Your tamales are delicious. My lot will be lucky if there are any left by tomorrow. You’ll have to tell me your secret.”
Repeating their success from Laredo had been a challenge in their apartment kitchen as it wasn't as well-equipped or organised as Chucho’s. There must have been something about the simple domesticity of the situation that appealed to them – or perhaps memories from the guesthouse – as they found a pleasing way to pass the time whilst their tamale fillings cooked, involving Javier sitting on top of the kitchen unit, legs wrapped around Horacio and their hips grinding together. They didn’t undress, the friction of their jeans enough to have the desired effect.
“Oh, just plenty of practice over the years.” Javier's tone was guileless, although the roguish expression he fixed Horacio with told another story.
The heat rising in Horacio’s cheeks rivalled the pot of oil simmering on the stove, and it was time to rescue the conversation fast. “Erm, yeah, the pork ones are my Abuela Margarita’s recipe. Alejandra and I made them every Christmas. My Papá would watch us like a hawk. He said it was so we didn't burn the house down, but I think he wanted to be first in line for the tamales.”
It seemed stupid in hindsight, but Horacio looked forward to his Papá checking up on them like that because it at least meant he was home and spending time with them rather than with his work. It meant he was proud of Horacio, even if it was in the most trivial of ways.
“My Mamá made them when I was a kid. Pop insisted on the beef being from our best cattle, though, because he always wanted the best for us." The mischief in Javier's eye had been replaced with something more earnest. That had been the one role his Mamá allowed his Pops to undertake when it came to the tamales, and it was a role taken seriously.
“So many of my family’s traditions started in the kitchen. Recipes I use in the café were handed down to me through the generations, ones I’ve made with care and love; over and over again. What better way to remember those no longer around?" Señora Romero broke off to place her tray of egg-washed empanadas into the oven. "And that would certainly explain it too.”
“Explain what?” Horacio asked.
“Your secret,” she replied with a simple smile, as though it was the most obvious statement anyone could ever have made.
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The morning passed in the blink of an eye as they filled the apartment with a tempting blend of aromas, and it was late afternoon when they sat down to enjoy the fruits of their labour.
Plates, bowls, and dishes filled the table, and they tucked into a feast that rivalled one of Chucho’s. Not that Javier dared to ever tell his Pops that.
Once they had eaten as much as their stomachs allowed and chatted over coffee long past sunset, Javier bid Señora Romero goodnight, taking two large Tupperware boxes of leftovers back to their apartment, a haul that would stave off hunger for at least a month or two.
Horacio stayed behind to help Señora Romero clear up the kitchen. He was the designated washer whilst she dried, on account of knowing where to put each item back in its rightful place.
Once all the cutlery, cups, and plates were washed, Horacio refilled the sink, a comfortable lull in conversation settling over them.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Señora Romero asked after she delivered a second load of dishes to be washed. “When I asked if there was someone back home.”
Horacio switched the tap off now the sink was full, concentrating intently on swirling soap suds and a cloth around the serving bowl he had plunged under water. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You didn’t owe me an explanation then, and you don’t owe me one now. I understand when the newspapers have been no better than the days of Franco. And mark my words; those were dark, dark days.”
A righteous anger erupted from the surface in Señora Romero’s tone. It was one that Horacio had rarely heard but recognised and understood instantly.
“Spain’s old wounds,” he stated rather than asked.
“On good days, I like to think of it more as scar tissue.”
“Makes sense.”
“We used to hide people whenever there were raids. Sometimes you’d know why they were hiding. Other times, you didn’t ask; you just did it. Anything to keep them from harm. So, please know that you and Javier will always be safe here.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
“How was it living in Texas?”
“There was gossip, a few looks and comments, as you can imagine. But Chucho, Javier’s father, was like – he treated me like family.”
“Sounds like we’d get along. And what about your family?”
“I, er, haven’t told them. Alejandra knows I’m here but not why or who I’m with. I never told her or my Mamá about Laredo either. So, I know I owe them the truth.”
“It’s your truth, and you decide if or when you share it with anyone else, Horacio. I can’t pretend to know your family, but if my child or brother had been through everything you have, I’d count my blessings he was alive and well. And happy.”
A palm landed on Horacio’s soapy hand resting at the edge of the sink, the last few dishes now cleared. He had no words to offer beyond thank you, even if that felt wholly inadequate.
He wished her goodnight, returning home to join Javier in bed, both wiped out after a busy day of good company and far too much food.
Horacio slotted himself in front of Javier, back to chest. Slow, deep exhales and groggy mumbles passed between them as Javier instinctively scooped Horacio closer to him, an acknowledgement of each other’s presence without the expectation of conversation.
Javier soon fell back to sleep, leaving Horacio caught somewhere in the middle as snapshots that could have been dreams or memories – or both – played like an old slideshow in his head.
In one, he and Alejandra were kids again, flicking water from the kitchen sink and squealing with delight. He couldn’t see them, but he knew their parents were in the next room as faint traces of their voices travelled through the house.
In another, Horacio was his current age, standing at the sink in what he remembered of Alejandra’s kitchen in Manizales. Every surface was piled high with dishes waiting to be washed and dried. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye revealed his Papá walking briskly across the room, his police uniform a vivid green even though the outline of his form was incorporeal.
Horacio followed and called after him as they made their way through the house, but there was no response. He looped back to where he started, his father now gone as he stood by the sink with hands submerged in hot, soapy water. He noticed the dishes stacked on the drainer were somehow clean, so pulled the plug, water whirlpooling down the drain until all that was left was suds…and a glint of gold. He reached through the bubbles until he was grasping his father’s necklace.
That was enough to pull him fully awake, the spasm in his limbs causing a chain reaction as Javier roused too.
“You okay?”
“Hmm, yeah, I think I was dreaming. I’m fine, though.” Horacio shuffled them around the other way, placing a reassuring kiss at the nape of Javier’s neck. “Go back to sleep.”
It was likely an exchange neither would remember in the morning. But as they settled down again, and Javier placed their hands over the crucifix at his sternum, Horacio swore he could feel an invisible weight around his own neck.
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The transition between spring and summer in Madrid was abrupt if you weren’t used to it. But one advantage to August was most Madrileños escaped to the coast or mountains for respite from the heat. It left the city emptier than usual, which was more than fine by Javier and Horacio.
It was a strange contradiction for them to seek refuge in a city as lively as Madrid when they preferred the tranquillity of ranch life these days, but city living brought anonymity. Las Posadas was like being under the microscope, whereas no one bothered them here.
Prime shaded spots in the park or the outdoor seating at cafés and restaurants were plentiful. And there were no problems hiring a boat at El Retiro Park before the hottest part of the day kicked in. Then they would hide out in their apartment during siesta hours.
It was doubtful if many people actually slept during siesta these days. But it did mean some shops closed for a few hours, and a general hush would fall over the city.
Sometimes, they would watch T.V. and old films or listen to the radio. Occasionally, Horacio would read aloud to Javier like last Christmas, the significance of Lorca’s words being spoken in their shared apartment, in this country not lost on them. On reflective days, it was rare but not unheard of for hands to connect, their cross clasped between their palms and their minds quiet.
There were also regular phone calls to Laredo, Miami and Medellín. It was funny; in the months they had been in Madrid, Javier had spoken more with his Pop than his entire time in Colombia. His Mamá was often a topic of conversation, Javier making sure to tell his Pops he’d been reading her book here as instructed.
“She always had her head in a book. And she always dreamed of travelling. She was like you when she was younger; she had her heart set on leaving Laredo. Even though your grandparents did everything they could to keep them here. But maybe that was why she wanted to spread her wings; I don’t know.”
“What changed her mind?”
“She met me.”
“Oh, well, good to know ruining lives is a Peña family trait.”
“Think of it as a gift, Mijo. I can’t take all the credit, though. She built herself a good community here. And then, she got involved with the farmers’ unions before she was ill. I think she was just getting started.”
They moved on to how Abuelito Mauricio never intended to settle permanently in Texas. He had left Abuelita Imelda and their brood – Chucho being the eldest – back in a rural town in Guanajuato, and he would send his wages home to them each month. Once the then-small plot of land he scrimped and saved to purchase grew, and made a profit, the rest of the family followed.
“What did Abuela Rosa and Abuelo Guillermo do again?”
“Your Abuelo ran a grocery store downtown, and your Abuela was a seamstress. She did more than that, though, especially in the ‘30s, when they nearly lost the store. Some of their extended family were repatriated back to Michoacán. And many of their customers left for Mexico too. So, they had no staff, and takings were down. Your Abuela managed every cent and dollar of their finances. She’d mend clothes for a small fee or in exchange for food to make sure they never went without.”
“Sounds hard.”
“It was. The ranch struggled too. There weren’t many workers left, and most people couldn’t afford a lot of meat. But we were luckier than most. Some never came back, and even those who did were strangers on one side of the border and a threat on the other. Things got ugly for a while.”
“What happened to the ones who came back?”
“They had to start from scratch again. Local charities were set up to help with travel costs, finding somewhere to live, reuniting separated families, that sort of thing. Your grandparents did what they could to help. It was your Abuelita’s idea to build the guesthouses. Your Abuelito took on labourers struggling to find work for the construction. Then they hosted a few families until they got back on their feet. I think that's why your mother wanted to keep them over the years – because someone always needs them.”
It wasn’t the first time Javier had been told about his family history, but it might have been the first time he asked. And it was strange how differently the same pieces of information could be interpreted depending on the stage of life in which they were shared. In his youth, it was hard to see the drawbacks of leaving Laredo. Because anywhere else had to be better.
But now, all he could think was how much of a throw of the dice it was. Too many families weren’t as lucky as his parents; they never got the option of crossing back over the bridge or pursuing the illusive American Dream. And if fate had decided otherwise, Javier could have grown up on the bank of the Río Bravo rather than the Rio Grande.
Chucho would also discuss ranch business with Horacio, updating him on staff changes, how the newborn calves were thriving, and the latest local gossip.
“Ciro’s thinking of selling up,” he informed Horacio one afternoon.
“Hasn’t he threatened that before?”
“Oh, plenty of times when his back plays up. Or when the weather’s on the turn. But Malena’s health isn’t so good now. And like me, Ciro’s not getting any younger. He was talking about moving closer to their daughter in San Antonio.”
Ciro and Malena Ortega owned the corn farm next door and had been there long since before Javier was born. They had always shared a close professional and personal relationship with the Peñas by selling them feed grain for the livestock and helping in any way possible during and after Mariana’s illness.
“Have they found a buyer? Or are we going to need a new supplier?”
“Not sure yet, to be honest, Mijo. I’ll keep you posted.”
They rounded off their catch-up with the latest on Luna’s, Sol’s and Leo’s adventures. But when Horacio discovered that Luna still waited outside the guesthouse door from time to time, he almost booked himself on the next flight to Laredo.
He had also managed to catch up with Trujillo a couple of times. But it was hard pinning down a busy Major tasked with clearing up whatever dregs were left of the Medellín cartel. After Steve opened his big mouth about Trujillo’s girlfriend, Horacio had half a suspicion he was being avoided deliberately.
In Miami, Connie was back in the E.R. part-time now Olivia was old enough for day-care. A promotion and countless commendations had been thrown Steve’s way since the New Year. If anyone suspected he was the source of the Cali intel – and both Javier and Steve knew someone would – they didn’t let on, apparently too busy getting off on the reflected glory of the Escobar circus.
“There’s a rumour we’re gonna be offered a fuckin’ book deal,” Steve said with a bemused snigger during one of their phone calls.
“A rumour from who?”
“My boss. My boss’ boss. Probably my boss’ boss’ boss. How about it, Javi? Fancy being an author now you’re unemployed? We could make a fortune.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” was Javier’s only response to that suggestion.
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Regardless of what they did during siesta hours, one thing often led to another. They were hot and sweaty anyway, might as well fully commit or continue in the shower if the heat got too much.
Even though they didn’t have jobs to get back to, it was an indulgence to set aside time in the middle of the day for sex. It couldn’t have been further from their previous lives. But here, they could drag it out as long as they liked, teasing and edging each other, keeping their bodies still for as long as possible. It was as relaxing as it was arousing, intimate as much as it was erotic, and an apt way to spend downtime gifted to them by the city that once kept them apart.
This time, they had been reading on the bed before becoming distracted by lying mouth to cock in exquisite symmetry across the mattress. It was all bobbing heads and bucking hips swallowed down with muffled purrs of pleasure until they were satiated.
Fresh out of the shower, Horacio lay back on his pillow with a towel around his waist. From this angle, the mirrored wardrobe door reflected the image of Javier in the same attire as he shaved over the bathroom sink. There was still something sacred about witnessing the day-to-day rituals like this, and it was impossible to take them for granted.
“Did you always know?” Horacio asked once Javier re-joined him.
A vague question on the face of it, but Javier had already seen his copy of Giovanni’s Room on Horacio’s nightstand with a bookmark slotted in the centre of it.
“Not always. But there was this new ranch hand when I was about 10 or 11. He must’ve been 23, 24. I never spoke to him, just watched him work. I thought I wanted to be like him – I think everyone thought I’d follow in Pops’ footsteps back then. But, er, one summer, I walked in on him changing his shirt in the stables and,” Javier broke off with a boyish grin, “that was that.”
“So, that’s why you have a thing for cowboys.”
“Just the one cowboy these days, actually.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, fingers dipping beneath his towel seam until he squirmed. “Nothing ever happened with him; I was just a kid. I tried to ignore it, went to church, chased girls. And obviously, I couldn’t tell anyone. But it was always there in the background. Like some sort of...fucking unscratched itch. Then at high school, I met Antonio.”
Javier hadn’t said his name out loud in decades, but it stung more than expected. Antonio was Javier’s first…not quite everything, but it felt like it at the time. For almost two years, they were inseparable. They shared similar heritage and backgrounds, although Antonio’s family were crop farmers rather than ranchers. Not that it mattered when they had twice as much land to explore in the holidays or when Javier needed to escape the deafening quiet of the farmhouse now that it was just him and Pops. Or when they hid in the cab of one of Antonio’s father’s harvesters, passing a bottle of Chucho’s whiskey between them until they were drunk enough to take the plunge.
The following months were a whirlwind of exhilaration, fear, discovery and shame. Like the door had been unlocked on something that had never been a possibility until it was. However, they knew it couldn’t last. It had been a close enough call on the afternoon that Chucho came home earlier than expected. But the beginning of the end came when, without warning, Antonio’s family sold their farm and moved back to Mexico. Javier never did find out why, but once the place was up for sale, Antonio was no longer allowed to visit the ranch. And the only time they saw each other, and the only place they could say goodbye, was at school.
It was clear to Horacio that Javier wasn’t going to elaborate further. And if he wasn’t telling, Horacio certainly wasn’t asking. “I was in my first year at the Academy.”
“You about to make me jealous with stories of all the men in uniform you had your way with?”
“If you must know, there was just one…Andrés.”
Horacio hadn’t thought about him in a long time, a ghost from the past he preferred to keep there. He and Andrés were assigned to the same training barracks when they were cadets. There were supposed to be another two trainees sharing their bunkroom, but one withdrew his place at the Academy at the last minute; the other was a no-show at the first induction meeting and was automatically excluded.
Without the camaraderie of other cadets in their sleeping quarters, they had no choice but to rely on the other for company, which was no easy feat at the beginning when neither was particularly talkative. Bit by bit, they bonded over their work, discovering they both had fathers further up the ranks. It was often a bone of contention for other cadets, but that was never a problem between them.
There were subtle signs, lingering looks, and shared smokes even before they started gravitating towards each other in the shower blocks. Whilst there was an unspoken eyes-down rule that wasn’t worth a man’s life to break, when they were the last ones left under the spray, gradually, glance by glance, it was broken until their eyes locked, breathing hard, fists clenched by their sides. Nothing happened there and then, but it was a different story later that night behind the safety of a closed door and beneath starched sheets.
They never talked about it, couldn’t even if they’d wanted to, which they didn’t because there was nothing to acknowledge in the first place. Yet it happened again and a few more times after that, always under the cover of darkness, apart from one reckless time in the shower block when they didn’t have the discipline to wait, the thrill of it heightened and tempered by the possibility of being caught in the act.
But then, one morning, Horacio woke to find Andrés’ bed made and his belongings gone. He had requested and been granted a transfer to his father’s regiment without telling anyone. A perk of being a General’s son, Horacio supposed. He never heard from Andrés again.
“Even after him, I brushed it off as…circumstantial. An occupational hazard.” Disbelief caught in Horacio’s throat at the blatant denial in that sentiment, but it wasn’t like he knew better. Not when dread and nausea washed away any unnameable fleeting feelings that may have surfaced in his pre-Academy days. “Women were the only option, so I buried myself in work and tried to forget.”
“Before ‘81, right?”
“Yeah. So, maybe a blessing in disguise.”
“No maybe about it.” Javier’s sight line suddenly landed on the ceiling, even though he was the one who went there first.
This wasn’t a subject they liked to talk about, but there was no escaping the way the last decade and more had played out, even when they were neck-deep in the world of cartels and cocaine. Maybe now the dust had settled, and their minds weren’t so full of work, they were finally able to come to terms with all of it. Maybe now they could see so much of their pasts had been born out of fear.
“I still got tested when I was with Juliana, though. And with you.”
“I was the same after Lorraine. And definitely when I was in Colombia.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh, even though it wasn’t funny to think of those days anymore. Not because he was ashamed of sex, but he couldn’t deny it had been a sticking plaster at times. In his defence, despite the stance of the Catholic Church, he used condoms. Until Horacio, that was. “I never would’ve let you…if I hadn’t been sure.”
“Me neither.”
Horacio rolled on his side until they were face-to-face, his hand cupping Javier’s cheek, gently coaxing his gaze back to him.
Their lips met, both fully aware they had survived two war zones when the odds were stacked against them. When too many men like them hadn’t been so lucky. They had seen the headlines, the ostracization, the mishandling, and those in power looking the other way. But they were still here, alive and well. Surer of themselves and each other than ever before.
------------------------------------------------------
Javier sat down at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed and reaching straight for the pot of coffee left waiting for him, the rich scent alone beginning to stir him awake. As much as he preferred staying in bed wrapped around Horacio, that wasn’t the most comfortable option at this time of year. At least there was still shade to be found outside at this hour, and Horacio was to bring back a breakfast of hot, fresh churros from Café Romero on the route home from his run. So, Javier could hardly complain.
He was several sips into his coffee when a key turned in the lock.
Horacio came through to the kitchen carrying the churros and what appeared to be a newspaper with a small envelope perched on top of it.
“Perfect timing, I’m starving,” Javier declared as he grabbed the bag and divided the churros across two plates.
Horacio murmured a vague “Me too” in reply. But his attention was focused on the envelope, which was addressed to him in familiar handwriting.
He tore the edge of it carefully and pulled out a card, a proud smile spreading across his lips after just a couple of seconds.
“What’s that?” Javier asked as he dusted excess sugar off his fingers.
Horacio handed the card over without elaborating.
Javier read it and soon had a smile to match Horacio’s. “I take it we’re going, then?”
“Of course we are.” He joined Javier at the table, his stomach swooping like he had missed a step on the stairs. “But I think I need to make a phone call first.”
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yoooo this fic, dude 😭
‘cause you were romero i was a scarlet letter by wormhusk ( @babygiriraeken ) on ao3
y’all gotta read it. like hello??
a snippet and reaction of my favorite part:
“But . . . .” Theo trails off and sighs. “I don’t want them to look at you any differently. They’re your family, Liam.”
“So you are,” Liam says easily, because he is. “And if they look at me any differently, fuck them,” he adds.
“Liam —“
“I’m serious, Theo. I’d choose you. If any of them ask me to choose, that’s my choice. I love you, okay?” Liam says, needing Theo to understand.
Theo closes his eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispers.
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Rough: Che 'Taza' Romero (NSFW)
Tagging: @kmc1989 @drabbles-mc @ficnation @keyweegirlie @aconfusedidentity
Sometimes Ben needs it a little rough. He likes to be manhandled, fucked until every one of the intrusive thoughts he has spills from his head.
Taza’s learned to recognise the mood, it’s in the stiffness in his lover’s shoulders, the way he carries himself. When he kisses him, there’s a hunger in it, a neediness. Ben’s hips arch against his, a filthy little whine emitting low in his throat when Taza’s fingers run though his hair, tugging just a little.
“What do you need?” Taza asks him, his breath ghosting in Ben’s ear as his heated lips trail down the curve of his neck.
“Hard.” Ben whispers, his voice husky. “Rough.”
It ends with the two of them in bed, Taza’s cock buried deep inside Ben. His muscular arm clasping him to his chest, pinning him against his body as he fucks Ben hard. Each thrust brushes over his prostate, sending an explosion of ecstasy chasing through Ben’s nerve endings. His palm drifts down to Ben’s cock, thumb teasing over the leaking tip before his fingers wrap around the shaft. He’s firm with his motions, relentless. Ben moans and it’s loud, the way it always is when Taza fucks him like this. Taza’s palm comes to cover Ben’s mouth, stifling the sound of his pleasure. It heightens the sensation for the both of them, Ben can hear the smile in Taza’s voice as he whispers.
“That’s it my love, give it to me.”
It’s those words that tip him over the edge, the roughness in Taza’s voice. His climax is violent and all consuming, it explodes through his synapses, tearing through him like an IED as he comes in long, hot spurts across Taza’s fist. One final thrust into his ass and Taza erupts inside of him, his palm sliding down to Ben’s jaw, directing his mouth back to his. His kisses are messy and languid, the perfect blend of tenderness and passion as Ben comes down from the high.
“I needed this.” Ben whispers against his lips. “Sometimes I get into my own head…”
“I know.” Taza tells him, his thumb ghosting over his cheek. “And I’m here for you whenever you need me.”
Love Taza? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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please i need an explanation of nathan wesninski not being a serial killer. his character in canon is so interesting and i’d love to hear your analysis.
to preface this i'm legitimately a little sick right now, so sorry in advance if i'm not the most coherent. this got a little long, so readmore has been put in place.
Nathan works for the Moriyamas. linds, who is incredible at finding quotes/excerpts from the novels, pulled this last night, which gives a clearer idea of what Nathan was doing. it's irrelevant to the books what the Moriyamas were doing, but Nathan was tasked with holding Baltimore as Moriyama territory. this would involve "dealing with" people who interfered with their trade, whether that be drugs, trafficking, smuggling, or a combination of those. this could range anywhere from chasing them off, bribing officials, or killing people. given Nathan's proclivities, i would not be surprised if he was also used to extract information from competitors or threats to the empire. Neil says that Lola was responsible for disappearing bodies; apparently her MO was cutting them into tiny pieces and disposing of them. while unclear, i suspect Romero/Malcom were grunts: responsible for grabbing people, transporting them, and doing the pre-torture torture for Nathan. this is explicitly what they do with Neil, and all of this tracks with a hierarchy one would expect out of organized crime, NOT from a serial killer.
however, their structure indicated him as the fall guy: they are doing organized crime; it is inevitable the feds are going to come sniffing, and the Moriyamas planned for this and decided that Nathan would be the one to take the fall. based on the organized crime, being paid by the Moriyamas, and having $5 million hanging around for Mary to steal, it seems fairly straightforward to assume he was laundering money. this would be necessary to hide the trail that would lead that money back to the Moriyamas, and would be a necessary component of setting him up as the fall guy. lots of little hidey holes for her to sneak it out of, that would not be noticed immediately. this leads me to the next VERY important point: Nathan is in jail for tax evasion.
you know, the thing Al Capone, infamous gangster, got prosecuted for? the IRS doesn't fuck around, and it's easier to hide bodies than it is to skip out on taxes. if you think i'm kidding, i'm really not.
now, i've also seen people point to Nathan's enjoyment of killing people as a sign he's a serial killer. i counter this by saying who better to put in a "torture and kill people" job than a guy who likes to torture and kill people? in a majorly fucked up way, this is a great way to keep this sort of person loyal to the family; he gets to do something he likes with a fair bit of resources and protection. (that protection is limited, obviously, but isn't non-existent; he has money, which means he has lawyers, and he has bribes, and he can make a lot of awkward things go away.)
this may be an example people don't like, but we don't call active duty soldiers who kill people in the line of duty serial killers because they are doing a job, even if they seem to enjoy it WAY too much. for that same reason, you can't say Nathan getting a kick out of murder is a surefire sign he's a serial killer. it means you have grounds for an AU, if you'd like it, but not that he is one. killing people comes with the territory with organized crime. he's just doing his job.
but what about Neil? that's serial killer stuff, right? no. it's not. it's personal, yes, but having a personal vendetta against the kid who was never anything but an object and the woman who stole $5 million of your scary boss's money (and also embarrassed you in a supremely emasculating way--he got robbed by his wife and kid, which would have major repercussions on his reputation and power in the family) isn't really. pointing toward serial killer. it's pointing toward an obsession, and murderous intent, but that does not a serial killer make. it's a different MO entirely. he's still employing his people to find the kid and torment him. he's mixing business and pleasure, if you will, while hunting down Mary and Neil.
further, Neil never considers him a serial killer. this is ALSO important; the narrative does give you a pretty clear-cut idea of how to feel about him. even in Neil's obfuscations, Nathan was a gangster who they stole money from and ran away from because he was an abusive sack of shit. at no point does Neil suggest that Nathan was going out and hunting people down to sate an urge. there is no indication that Nathan had a profile, or a favorite type of victim, or even that he hunted for personal pleasure. Nathan enjoys his work, but it's still work. he's not snatching people out of dark alleys and killing them. he's not doing it to fulfill a lust for power or to sate sexual urges or anything of that nature that would point toward serial killer; he's killing people who interfere with the business. Neil interfered with the business. he made Nathan look stupid and weak. hunting Neil down would be a "justified" vendetta for him to have. a pet project, if you want to call it that.
basically, Nathan works for the mob. his jail time is a direct allusion to Capone, another gangster. he kills for entirely different reasons than a serial killer would. you can argue that he's a serial killer in the sense he's killed people over time, but that would be incorrect for the same reason we don't consider hitmen or active duty soldiers serial killers. different motives, different executions. even if they like it.
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In Search of Good Times and Good News
(Day four prompt for Woevember, created by @asouefanworkevent)
“FROSTED UNSWEETENED CHOCOLATE KIT-KAT!”
Without any hesitation, the blonde slammed her foot onto the brake of the car. Because she slammed on the break quickly, the five passengers hit their heads as the car bounce back. Two of them hit their heads onto the back of the front seat headrest, one of them hit their head from their own seat, and the person riding shotgun smacked their head right into the dashboard.
“Lucy! What the hell!?” The four passengers glared at their colleague as they all rubbed their forehead. The passenger riding shotgun in particular was giving a glare that could kill.
“It’s not my fault this time! Well, not entirely!” Lucy gave out a sheepish smile. “September, Ravi, Romero, Bartholomew? Are you all okay?”
“Okay? Okay? OKAY!? Do you think we’re okay when you’re driving?!” September readjusted his headband, and frowned. “I’m starting to think you need to retake the designated driver driving test! Ms. Preludio wasn’t happy the first time around when we told her what happened!”
“My mother wasn’t happy the first time? Are you saying this is the second test drive!?” Romero stood up from his seat, and his three-legged crow necklace dangled around.
The four who were there in the first incident remained quiet. Lucy gave a small whistle. Ravi was parting his bangs to the side, before doing a palm-face in frustration. Bartholomew rolled his eyes before he stood up from his seat, and flicked September with his black comb.
“Nice going, September!” exclaimed Bartholomew. “And to think half an hour ago, you were worried I would go let the cat out of bag! Guess who has the loose lips now!?”
“Considering how my mother knew about this all along,” said Romero, his hair suddenly floating upward as if there’s an updraft in the vehicle, “I think spilling the beans is doing you a favor. At least she can determine if there are much needed readjustments on the brake pressure.”
“We can discuss the breaks when we get our asses back to the Preludio,” replied Ravi, who is now finally standing up from his seat. “Lucy, care to explain what happened?”
“Some woman with pencils in her hair was driving crazy in a taxi with three children in the backseat wearing diving gear just went into the nearby hedges!” answered Lucy, keeping her eyes on the road where another taxi soon stopped. “Huh. Will you look at that!”
The taxi driver got out of the driver seat, and scans the area. The man was as tall as someone who once attended elementary school would be, and wore a hat that covered his face. The man was wearing a trench-coat that had him resembling a private detective from a film noir, though why would a private detective drive a taxi car is another discussion altogether.
Bartholomew squinted his eyes to see slightly better. “I wonder what got him having the need to block traffic. The way he’s acting, it’s as if he tailing someone and lost track of them.”
“Maybe he was tailing the woman in the crazy taxi,” suggested Romero.
“Why would a taxi driver be trailing another taxi?” asked September, giving an incredulous look to Romero. “To see how the competition is doing? That’s rather dumb.”
“Who to say the taxi driver is actually a taxi driver?” asked Romero in return. “Considering the fact Lucy told us the woman drove into the hedges, maybe she knew she was being followed.”
“And she escaped by driving into the freaking hedges?” interjected Ravi. “How is that logical!?”
“Boys! Please!” Lucy soon slammed her head into the driving wheel. “Can we not have you arguing again? We don’t have time for this! We need figure out where the hell are Marco, Anton, and Irina! We checked almost everywhere in the City, and they’re so far nowhere to be found!”
“It’s not my fault Marco went off without informing us,” Romero sat back down in his seat, and ran a hand through his black hair. “He is just as worry about the pocket watch as we are, even more so. My father was the one who left him in charge of it. I just hope he’s not somewhere where he can get his ass kick. With his luck, he might get himself thrown onto the floor.”
[In Which This is a Break that Indicates a Scene Break Because Tumblr New's HTML Editor Is Broken And Isn't Allowing Them]
“Oh my God! You crazy bitch!” Irina clutched her hands onto the side of her head, watching her poor colleague currently on the café floor of Room 178. “You deadass threw him onto the floor!”
“Irina, I advise you to not make our situation worst.” Anton continued to stay in his seat with his hands up in the air. Another waitress who was there when everything unfolded, grabbed the nearest butterknife and pointed it at his direction. While a butterknife isn’t super sharp, it can still lead to an injury if used for harm, like for example, stabbing someone in the stomach.
Marco gripped his father’s pocket watch tighter as he gets pushed back onto the wooden floor. Someone —the waitress who threw him in the first place— soon began rolling up his left leg pants, and pulled down his left green sock. To think this is all because he asked for sugar!
The waitress soon gave a gasp, and soon got off him, She then helped him stand back up, her face looking red and embarrassed. “Pardon my actions, sir. It was a reflex from my defense training. Would you care for a complimentary slice of rhubarb pie to go with your coffee?”
“Well, I can’t say no to free food,” said Marco with a small smile. “Yes, I would like some pie.”
The waitress soon scurried off, hanging her head down on the floor. The other waitress set back down the butterknife, and ran off as well. Irina gave out a sigh of relief, and soon joined Marco back at the table with Anton. Anton couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Marco, and grabbed a blueberry muffin off of the plate the waitress brought before the sudden throwdown.
“Really, Marco?” asked Anton, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin. “Rhubarb pie?”
“Sorry if I have an appetite that you and your sister don’t have,” Marco pushed up the bridge of his glasses. “And who can’t say no to free food?”
“People who have self-control,” says Irina, hiding her smile behind her cup of coffee. “Let’s hope your stomach can handle the taste of rhubarb. Especially rhubarb in a pie.”
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Congrats to @tiptapricot for reaching 1k followers!!!!!!!
This is a little entry for their create this in your style challenge, using some of their OCs!!! I fucking love this little dudes, so I was happy to take the chance to write a little something for em. I hope you like it, mikey, plz tell me what I got right or wrong lol. I hope this all isn't terribly out of character
Prompt: Small things make up love languages. Intent with care, wanting with direction, and sometimes even just a reminder that one party values the other. It’s not a science, really. Everyone is different.
Story under the cut-
The flowers brush up against Romero’s knees, whisper-thin petals tickling down his palm. They reach back to his outstretched hand with rough leaves that try and fail to snare onto the fabric of his gloves as he gently pushes them aside. Instead, Romero grabs the weeds, the weeds that have thrown themselves into the edges of his garden, that grab with sharp teeth coating their stalks onto the fabric of his gloves, and he pulls them from the ground. Their roots rain down soil, arcing through the air as Romero tosses them aside.
The glow of his pumpkin head diffuses gently on the rows of flowers, leaking out into the cold darkness of the night. It lights the way for Romero as he works, yanking more weeds from the ground, brushing back the soil where he disturbs it. Bugs, startled by the uprooting of the plants, skitter across his gloves, searching for a new refuge, and he leaves them to go about their business.
The door creaks open behind him, and Romero sits up, stretching out his tense shoulders and leaning his head back, tilting it up towards the stars. Powder blue clouds drift across the sky, lazy as everything else is in the night, covering the stars so they wink in and out of existence.
Antez melts onto him, sprawling hymnself over Romero’s lap, head falling languidly over his shoulder. It tips back, following his gaze to the stars.
“Were you waiting for me?”
“___ _____ _ __,” Romero says, in words that aren’t words, that only Antez can really understand.
Antez laughs, he laughs the sound of windchimes falling but never hitting the ground, the sound of glass un-shattering, the sound of flowers brushing up against palms, of a thousand other things Romero couldn’t name. “Well, I do appreciate it,” he murmurs, wrapping the stalk of a flower around hiss finger and pulling it from the ground. Romero watches as he gathers more, and begins braiding them, twining their stalks together with one hand.
“__ __ __ ____ __ ______.”
“Well…” Antez sighs, and he feels a little heavier, all of the sudden. “I had hoped to be but I… well I suppose I got carried away this time.” There is light leaking out from hiss face, a blue glow winding cracks all around hiss head. “I think I waited a bit too long.”
Romero knew that, of course. He knew from the tension held in Antez’s shoulders, from the tired eyes, from the dizzying spin of hiss light and halos when it was just the two of them. He knew, but he doesn’t say as much.
“_ __ _____ ___?” Romero asks, tilting his head to one side.
“Oh,” Antez says in almost a sigh. The cracks of light on hiss face widen, and he lets hymnself fall apart a little, facial features drifting away from each other. They hover only vaguely tethered, like they’re held together by bits of invisible string. “Very.”
“___.” Romero runs a hand down his husband’s hair, watching as Antez drifts apart from hymnself a little more, the puzzle pieces of hiss face just beginning to shift and turn. “__ ___ _ ___.”
Antez hums hiss agreement, and the sound trails up Romero's back like chills. “Come here,” Antez murmurs, and Romero tilts his head towards hymn questioningly. Antez gathers hiss flowers, stems braided together to make tiny clusters, and slots the miniature bouquets into Romero’s eye holes. He hums to hymnself as he works, rearranging the flowers, shifting Romero’s worldview with the careful movement of hiss long, slender fingers.
Romero sits still for hymn, content to watch the petals dancing in his vision, catching glimpses of Antez as hiss facial features continue to drift apart from each other, those tenuous strings being cut as they pull away to show the gleaming light inside. Its brilliant blue falls over Romero’s own gentle orange, shining over both of their hands, illuminating the eyes and halos and mouths that orbit in slow, winding trails around Antez’s head.
Antez lets hiss hands fall, one coming to rest on Romero’s thigh. Hiss mouths, spinning around hiss face, are all smiling warmly. “You look lovely.”
Romero nods his thanks, careful not to let the flowers fall. He reaches up, brushing his fingers against their petals. They sweep against the inside of his head.
Romero grabs a flower from the dirt, breaking it just before the roots. With one thumb, he pops its head off, lets the stem fall back to the ground. He offers it to Antez, who seems to understand, who always understands.
When the flower is tipped into the whirling space of Antez’s mind, there is a moment of careful suspension. The eyes and mouths and ears churning slowly through the air tilt towards it slightly, observing as it drifts closer to the light in the center, sinking down until its broken tip touches something, some physical presence in all that blue.
And it explodes.
Petals fly outwards, more than Romero thinks there should be, speckled with seeds that have begun to glow like the starry freckles that dot Antez’s face. The petals get caught up in the halos, the eyes, winding their own orbits through the madness. They are sprays of color, arcs of nature.
“_______.”
“Yes,” Antez agrees softly. Some of hiss eyes flutter close, and hiss head tilts back as he leans against Romero. Melts. Together, they look down at the flowers, up at the stars. “Beautiful.”
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Books read in 2023
Here is a list/short reviews of the books I read in 2023! My top ten can be found here.
4 Stars
All the Dangerous Things by Stacy Willingham - A year prior to the start of our story, Isabelle's beloved toddler was stolen in the night while she and her husband slept. Since then, Isabelle rarely sleeps and won't rest until her son is found. When a podcaster comes to town looking to interview her about the case, Isabelle sees this as a chance to dig up new clues that may lead her to her son. This is a great follow up to Willingham's debut and I loved the setting and overall vibes of the book.
Delicate Condition by Danielle Valentine- What's interesting about this book is it was released about a month before American Horror Story premiered their season that is based on it. So I don't know if it was commissioned to be written for that purpose or if Ryan Murphy got wind of it prior and sought to make the adaptation or what. I have not seen the new season and I've heard it isn't that good but I really ended up liking this book! Anna is a young actress determined to have a baby. After many rounds of IVF it finally happens. But then tragedy strikes and Anna miscarries the baby, or so she is told. She can still feel the baby inside her and the doctor's confusing answers and explanations are just a further mystery to the phenomenon. As her miracle pregnancy goes along, threats to her safety and strange instances build up to a shocking conclusion. I was expecting it to be kind of silly but it was an engaging read with a surprisingly happy ending. It did not go in the direction I thought it would and I was pleasantly surprised by that. Would not recommend it if you are pregnant or trying to be though.
The Ghosts of Rose Hill by R.M Romero- Illana, a biracial Jewish girl, is sent to Prague to live with her aunt for the summer. Illana discovers a Jewish cemetery behind her aunt's house where she meets the ghost of a long dead boy, named Benjamin. The two become friends but their happiness is threatened by a mysterious man with no shadow that also takes a keen interest in Illana. Written in prose, this is a hauntingly beautiful fairytale.
Greymist Fair by Francesca Zappia- I didn't realize going in that this would be divided up into a collection of short stories rather than a linear story. However the stories are all connected and often explain things that may have happened in the previous stories and there is a conclusion at the end. I really enjoyed the take on some of these lesser known fairy tales. My favorite was Doctor Death and the Prince's Riddle.
I Will Find You Again by Sarah Lyu- This is Lyu's second book and I have to say that she does toxic relationships really well. Both of her books have a mystery to be solved but they both read more like a character study and deep dive into a tumultuous relationship that the MC has. Chase and Lia are best friends that are estranged but when Lia goes missing, Chase's world is turned upside down as she follows a trail of secrets and betrayals to find out the truth of what happened.
The Legacies by Jessica Goodman- Another fun teen thriller from Goodman! Eight students from a prestigious prep school are selected to join New York City's exclusive Legacy Club. But tensions rise the week leading up to their induction Ball leading to a shocking death. There are moments you have to suspend your disbelief but that doesn't take away from the story. My only complaint is that it is told in first person with three different narratives and at times they don't sound much different from one another. I still flew through this one and look forward to the next book from Goodman!
Lying in the Deep by Diana Urban- Jade is off on the adventure of a lifetime, a semester at sea visiting 11 different countries. But the presence of her ex boyfriend, now dating her ex best friend, leads to an obsession which spirals until a shocking murder takes place. Now Jade must clear her name and try to stop the killer from murdering again. I honestly enjoyed this way more than I thought I would. It was a page turner that was a lot of fun. I read after that it is apparently a loose retelling of Death on the Nile but for me it felt like murderous version of Suite Life on Deck lol
The Narrow by Kate Alice Marshall- Eden attends a boarding school haunted by a river that takes all who fall in. All but Delphine who fell in six years prior and somehow survived. Now Delphine lives isolated in quarantine for a mysterious illness and Eden is tasked with being her companion. But the more time Eden spends with Delphine, the more she feels haunted by a dark presence. This was a very engrossing ghost story with some gothic vibes. There was a sweet love story and I loved the complexity of Eden and her relationships with her friends. There were a few creepy twists throughout but the most interesting aspects were the human relationships, especially between Eden and Delphine. A real fun spooky read!
Out of the Ashes by Kara Thomas- This is going to sound bad but I really don't remember this book but I gave it 4 stars so I guess I enjoyed it. This is Thomas's first Adult novel and focuses on Samantha, whose home was burned down and her entire family murdered years prior. However, renewed interest in the cold case reveals the shocking revelation that Samantha's baby sister may have made it out alive. This turns Samantha's world upside down as she desperately seeks answers. I do remember the ending of this and it was pretty satisfying
Royal Blood by Aimee Carter- Evan is the secret illegitimate daughter of the King of England in an alternate history. Circumstances force Evan to spend the summer with the father she never met before and her secret is quickly found out. What was supposed to be a fun night out with her half sister and others turns deadly and Evan finds herself the main suspect. This is another book I enjoyed more than I thought I would. It's like the Princess Diaries if it were a thriller. I also love that despite being a series, the mystery and storyline was wrapped up in the end
The Sandman by ETA Hoffman- I had no idea the ballet Coppelia was based on this! The ballet is so cutesy and this is so dark and creepy. I would love to see a version of Coppelia that followed The Sandman more closely.
Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher- This is a retelling of Sleeping Beauty that tells the tale of Toadling, the fairy that was sent to bless the princess on her birth. Now that the princess is asleep, Toadling guards the tower but in a shocking twist, she is determined to keep everyone out of it. A fun and interesting take on a classic fairy tale!
The Villa by Rachel Hawkins- This is an interesting retelling based not on Frankenstein, but the story behind the novel's creation. Emily and Chess are two friends that are spending the summer in Italy at a beautiful Villa. The Villa just happens to be the same place that famed rock star Noel Gordon spent a summer in 1974. Along with Noel is Pierce Sheldon (an up and coming rock star), his girlfriend Mari, and her stepsister Lara. The summer turns deadly for the group which inspires Mari to write a prolific horror novel and then disappear from the limelight for the rest of her life. Now Emily is determined to discover what really happened that summer by using clues from Mari's novel. This was a really fun read and while the big mystery was honestly not that solid, the characters and unique premise were interesting enough to hold the plot.
3.5 Stars
Mister Magic by Kiersten White- A mystery children's show called Mister Magic was canceled and nearly erased from history 30 years prior to the start of the novel. Val was a child actor on the show but has no memory of it. When her fellow castmates find her, they bring her along for a reunion which is bound to expose dark secrets along the way. So, this had to be partly inspired by Candle Cove, no? I really enjoy all things to do with lost media and was super excited when I read the blurb for this book! For the most part, I think it lived up to expectations. The ending wasn't a let down but it did leave me wanting more. There was also an reveal about two thirds of the way through which I wish would have been made sooner. It wasn't really a twist or anything but it did add a lot of context that could have been used earlier. Otherwise it just felt really thrown in at the end.
The Night Shift by Alex Finlay- At the end of 1999, four teens are attacked during their shift at a Blockbuster. Only one survives and the killer is never found. Now it is 15 years later and a similar crime takes place at an Ice Cream parlor. A solid thriller.
The Quarantine Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot- A welcomed return to the diaries of Princess Mia. This was a fun read but it was also kind of tough to read about people dealing with the beginning of the pandemic. Not the best of memories to be honest.
Where He Can't Find You by Darcy Coates- When I started this I was expecting more of a mystery/thriller based on the blurb but it became apparent pretty quickly that this is a supernatural horror novel instead. A small Midwest town is haunted by a mysterious figure known as the stitcher. When someone goes missing, the town knows that there is no hope of ever finding them until the stitcher wants them to. And they'll always find them in pieces. When Abby's younger sister goes missing she is determined to find her no matter the cost. It becomes a race against the clock to find her with the help of Abby's friends. This was very reminiscent of horror like It or Stranger Things. TW: Body Horror, Gore
You Can Trust Me by Wendy Heard- I flew through this one but in retrospect, it was very cheesy and what I would deem a Fast Food Thriller. Fun, but you really have to dispense your disbelief throughout. Summer and Leo are best friends who swindle and pickpocket. Leo makes the mistake of going after a self made millionaire and when he offers her the chance to visit his exclusive island, she jumps at the chance. When Leo doesn't return, Summer is determined to infiltrate the island to get her friend back.
3 Stars
The Blackhouse by Carole Johnstone- I loved Johnstone's Mirrorland but this one was a let down in comparison. The book takes place in a small island town and I could not keep all of the townspeople straight. Plus the mystery just wasn't that interesting and it dragged in a lot of places.
Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie - A ghost hunting reality tv crew decides to make their thirteenth episode about the infamous Paranormal Research Foundation. Written as journal entries and transcripts, things get creepy real quick for the crew. I felt like this book started off strong but faded as it went along. I was not a fan of the last third but recognize that others might like the direction it went.
Loved by PC Cast- The first book in the Night of House sequel series. I decided to read this because the tumblr blog: @houseofzoey was making me feel nostalgic. It was not good but it was fun to revisit the characters and world. As always, the stakes are high but the conflict is resolved ridiculously easy. Zoey continues to be one of the worst characters in existence but the others are enjoyable in a dumb way.
Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill - This was kind of a tough one to get through. I love the author's later work and this had the same style of writing but felt lacking in comparison. I found both The Lonely Hearts Hotel and When We Lost Our Heads oddly whimsical despite the heavy subject matter but this was definitely just bleakness with no hope in sight TW: Child Abuse/Neglect, Pedophilia, Drugs/Alcohol
Midnight is the Darkest Hour by Ashley Winstead- Ruth is the preacher's daughter in a small southern town. Ruth's only friend as a teen was the bad boy Everett who she was bonded to with a dark secret. Now as adults, bodies are being found in the swamp and Ruth and Everett want to get to the bottom of things. This book had such a great premise but did not deliver. The religious town is portrayed as cult-like but the messaging behind this book was confused and all over the place. We are clearly supposed to root for Ruth and Everett but by the end of the book, I wasn't rooting for them either. Also there are way too many references to Twilight. At one point Ruth seriously thinks that Everett is a vampire and I don't know if that was just to be funny or if we were actually supposed to believe that as well.
Nothing but Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw- People on Goodreads hated this. It has one of the lowest ratings I've ever seen and I really don't think it deserves that. It's not the best but it's not that bad. A lot of people were bothered by the "purple prose" but I didn't mind it (I also hate that phrase). However, it was somewhat confusing and anticlimactic.
Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno Garcia- Garcia's last few books since Mexican Gothic have been really disappointing to me. I was expecting a lot of spooks with the cursed film premise but there really wasn't much of it. When we finally did get some magic towards the end it was pretty cheesy. Neither of the characters were really likable and the ending with them was weird. Overall not my favorite of Moreno-Garcia's but also not the worst.
This is Why We Lie by Gabriella Lepore- I'm going to be honest, this was one of my first reads of 2023 and I don't remember a single detail. Two teens find a body in the lake and mystery ensues!
To Make Monsters Out of Girls by Amanda Lovelace- This was not my favorite of Lovelace's. I'm starting to notice she writes a lot of her poetry based on a past relationship and at this point it's like, girl move on!
We'll Never Tell by Wendy Heard- Another book I really don't remember. The official blurb describes it as a whodunit doused in Hollywood lore. I remember it being a fun little read but apparently not that memorable.
Winterset Hollow by Jonathan Edward Durham- The idea behind this was really fascinating but it lost its appeal one third of the way through. Three friends visit the island that an author wrote and based a children's book on in a similar vein to Watership Down or The Wind in the Willows. To their surprise, the characters in their beloved book are real and they want their visitors to celebrate the famed Harvest Day with them. Pretty quickly things fall apart and the majority of the book is the characters being hunted and it got old pretty fast. There were definitely parallels and themes of colonization but the colonized and mistreated characters were also the villains seeking revenge so... make of that what you will
Wolfpack by Amelia Brunskill- Written in prose this book is about nine girls who live together in a cult commune. It was a very quick read but nothing really happened. One of the girl's goes missing and the rest of the book is trying to figure out what happened. The book's biggest problem is that it's told from 8 different perspectives and they all blend together. When the reveal comes at the end it leaves little impact because we don't know or care about these characters.
2 Stars
Daphne by Josh Malerman- Daphne is a local boogeyman. A seven foot tall, denim clad woman who always has her face painted like Gene Simmons. That image alone was too ridiculous for me. Kit is a teen on the basketball team whose teammates start disappearing one by one. She believes Daphne is the culprit. The book was more so a metaphor for mental health struggles but it was just too silly and boring for me to enjoy. I couldn't picture any of the scary stuff that was happening very well and people seemed to under react to a lot of things. Plus I learned way too much about basketball.
Unrated
The Little Book of Manifestation by Astrid Carvel- I was going through it when I read this lol. Whether you believe that you can actually manifest things in your life or not, I do think positive thinking goes a long way and this was a nice little reminder of that.
Brother by Ania Ahlborn - Just a big bummer all around. I read this in one sitting but looking back some of it was kind of boring? The book was much tamer than how it was advertised to me. Don't get me wrong, there was a lot of implied gore and horror but we didn't see much of it. To give some background, the main character lives out in the Appalachians with his murderous family. He helps kidnap women, the mother tortures them and then they eat them. With a premise like that you think this would be horrifying. We are given very little backstory as to why they do this. Well, it turns out to be rather boring as Michael (our lead) spends most of the book feeling sorry for himself and trying to woo a girl at the record shop. He also has a tumultuous relationship with his abusive older brother, who he fears but craves approval from. Not much happens for the majority of the book and then we have an explosive ending in the last 1/3rd. And it's just a huge bummer. TW: Rape, Murder, Gore, Cannibalism, Attempted Incest, Abuse
Not Since Carrie: Forty Years of Broadway Flops by Ken Mandelbaum - A look into Broadway flops over the past 40 years. The flops are categorized oddly and usually there is only a page or two dedicate to each one which made it really repetitive. I think would have preferred a detailed deep dive into maybe 10 or so Broadway flops.
Slenderman: Online Obsession, Mental Illness, and the Violent Crime of Two Midwestern Girls by Kathleen Hale - This book doesn't focus so much on the crime but the aftermath. For those who don't know, Morgan and Anissa, two preteen girls, stabbed their friend (who lived) in an attempted sacrifice to please the popular Creepypasta character, Slenderman. Of course, all the coverage of this case focused on Slenderman and the dangerous of the internet but really this is a case of severe mental illness that went untreated for a long time. Anissa did the stabbing but ultimately it was Morgan that concocted the whole plan. Morgan showed signs of schizophrenia (a disorder her father was also diagnosed with) at a young age but this was ignored by the adults in her life. After the crime took place, Morgan was denied any kind of treatment or medication during her time in prison prior to her sentencing. Morgan was left to live in her delusions and hallucinations for over a year before she was finally given help. In a harrowing section of the book, Morgan describes "waking up" from her psychosis only to be flung into a nightmare where she had committed a terrible crime against her friend. No where am I saying that Morgan does not deserve the prison time she was given but the prison system's treatment of mental health was really highlighted here and was horrifying to read about.
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Rainn's bus was as comforting and peaceful as one would might expect. It was whimsical in its own right but not overwhelming, acting as a vehicle to transport patients away from whatever was out there and offer a space for them to focus on just what was going on in the bus. On the little table there was things to keep peoples hands busy and on the floor there were pillows for lounging next to a couch to sit or lay on, whatever would be most comfortable. That was the first step after all, especially for clients like Hawk Romero: simply getting him comfortable enough to talk freely and without worry. Establishing this space as a safe space (for as cliché as it sounded) was paramount. It wouldn't happen in a day. It would take however long Hawk needed.
"Dr. Romero! Please come in." He motioned for Hawk to sit wherever he pleased, "Can I get you something before we start? Tea, water, coffee?" The back window of the bus was open but obscured by trailing vines and beads for privacy, pleasant breeze lazily blowing through the chamber to keep it cool. Rainn himself sat criss cross applesauce on a soft ottoman, small mug of steaming tea on a little stool next to him, a nondescript and non invasive notebook on a knee. He would start where he started with everyone.
"How are you?"
@crazedhatesoul
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