#knowing that my fucking cousins are police officers

[jedi-enthusiast]

Ok here's my thing with "The Wrong Jedi" arc, and I'm saying this as someone who actually really likes Ahsoka in TCW.

People use this arc to shit on the Jedi (particularly the Council) so much, but like...Ahsoka was literally doing everything she could to make herself look guilty and give them no other choice but to suspect her.

Like, let's put this in perspective, shall we?

One of the people in your (really fucking large) family--someone you know of, but whom most of the family isn't really close to--gets accused of murdering someone and being a part of a terrorist group--and apparently there's video evidence, although even that doesn't really make it clear what happened.

You, of course, start trying to do everything you can to get said cousin out of jail since--even though you're not close to them--you don't think they would do something like that, and the evidence isn't concrete.

But, while you're trying to help them get released, you find out that your cousin has escaped from the county jail, several police officers are dead from knife wounds, and the only evidence is a knife that specifically belongs to your cousin as well as a couple other things that implicate them.

Your cousin goes on the run, then teams up with a known murderer and terrorist, and hurts even more police officers while on the run until finally they're caught once again.

Now you are left with a choice: you can either continue trying to defend your cousin, or you allow the police to take them into custody to face a trial.

Right now a lot of people hate your family, to the point that they're sending death threats and mail bombs and screaming obscenities outside your ancestral home.

It's already putting everyone else in your family, including literal children and babies, in danger and if you continue defend your cousin--despite all of the evidence that points to them being guilty--they could be put in even more danger and the government funding that your family lives off of could be taken away, since you would be defending a suspected terrorist.

So, in that situation, what would you honestly do?

You would do the smart, and reasonable, thing and stop defending your cousin so the police could take them into custody.

The Council tried to help Ahsoka, but she kept doing things to make herself look guilty and--in doing so--put them in a hard position where they couldn't defend her anymore without causing harm to the rest of the Order.

And would you really, truly, honestly defend someone when all of the evidence points to them being guilty? Of course not!

If you want to blame someone for what happened in that arc, blame Barriss for framing Ahsoka in the first place or Tarkin for being such a dick, but shut the fuck up about the Jedi.

They were put in a shitty position and made the best choices they could in a bad situation.

#star wars #the clone wars #in defense of the jedi #in defense of the jedi council #pro jedi #pro jedi council #ahsoka tano #jedi council #jedi enthusiast's fandom debates

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 20

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

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

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

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

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

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

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

Javier had opinions about the local police.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, none of the Smiths worked for the Sheriff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he answered.

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

Javier scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

They have to protect their cargo.

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Good, we know they’re supplying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffed. “You’re joking.”

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

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

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

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

Find a problem to solve.

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

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

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

He thought about it more rationally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not to go to a store… yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Javi, what’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t know that.”

“I know,” he sighed again.

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

“I know… But I want to do this.”

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

“No, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were smiling big.

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

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

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

“I promise, Cielito—I pinky promise.”

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

“I love you, too, and I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure it did.”

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

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

“Very true.”

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

“How was your morning?” he asked.

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

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

“A good man.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m just excited,” he laughed.

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

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

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

He pointed beside you. “Second drawer.”

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

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

He had a warm expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for trusting me,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gracias,” you also said, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, twelve chiles.”

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

“Chucho?”

“Yes?” His attention turned to you.

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

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

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’s everyone?”

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

“Yes… and that means?”

What were you missing?

“You don’t make tamales alone…”

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

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

It felt like a record scratched in your brain.

“What people?”

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

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

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

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

You hoped they’d like you.

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

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

There was doubt in the back of your mind.

“You’re sure they like me?”

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

That made you feel better.

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

"You won't."

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

"You did." 

"I did?"

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

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

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

“You won’t. What’s next on the list?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A rookie mistake.” You shook your head.

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

“Oh god, poor little guy!”

The pile of chiles was getting bigger.

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

“He loved his mom a whole lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Are you a betting woman?”

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

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

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

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Yes, we will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She answered on the third ring.

“Hey, babe!”

He smiled. “Hi, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

His smile fell.

“Maybe… a little?”

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

“Just graduated from UT.”

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

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

Sighing, he replied, “I’ll… try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Cielito, I do.”

“Okay…”

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

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“You do really like my cooking.”

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

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

His brows furrowed.

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

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

He smiled. “Is he with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heard his dad laughing in the background.

“I really fucking love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cool children’s lunch box.”

“I guess it’s kinda cool.”

“Stop lying to yourself—you love it.”

“I don’t love it,” he grumbled.

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

“I won’t forget. I love you.”

“I know.”

He chuckled. “Smartass.”

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

“Bye, Cielito.”

“Bye, Javi.”

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

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

God, he loved her.

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

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

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

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

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

Because she loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did she say?”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I can.”

“May I ask a favor, Mija?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I hoped we would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?”

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

“You can call me Lupe,” she interjected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sí,” he answered.

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

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

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

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

Swallowing hard, you asked, “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The anger left their faces, replaced with fond looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he replied.

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

“Not bad.”

“That’s good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A really great job,” Rebeca agreed.

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

“Close your eyes!” Cielito said.

“What?” he asked.

“Close your eyes!”

“Okay…?” he replied, closing them.

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

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

He snorted. “I’m not gonna hate it.”

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

“I won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it crazy, though?

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

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

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

She stroked her fingers through his hair.

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

He smiled. “Pop would love that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“I highly doubt he’ll let me.”

“You should still ask.”

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

“Deal.” He nodded.

“You feeling better?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was frowning, feeling sad he missed it.

“I liked to fold,” he sighed.

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

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that.”

Leaning down, she gave him a tender kiss.

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

“I really fucking love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask him,” he murmured in your ear.

“Ugh, fine, hey Pop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made you grin.

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

“Can I drive the Mustang?” Javi asked.

His father met his eyes. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m aware.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were, and you hated how smug he sounded.

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

His hand moved from your hip to squeeze your ass.

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

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

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

“Javier,” you hissed.

“Yes, mi amor (my love)?”

“You’re being a goddamn menace.”

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

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

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

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

“So-feee-a.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…?” he asked.

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

“Oh, uh, corren muy rápido para ti?”

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

“Sí, muy rápido (Yes, very fast).”

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

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

Her answer made you giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…?”

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

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

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

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

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

The horniness was back at full force, wanting him, no, needing him to ease the ache between your legs, snaking your hand down his front, finding his cock hard under his navy blue slacks, his boxer briefs making it stretch up at an angle toward his belt, Javi groaning as you stroked him over his pants.

He pushed you back against the bathroom counter, his hips pressing into you, moaning as his tongue plundered your mouth.

A moment of clarity hit you, remembering where you were and the many people outside his bedroom door, reluctantly breaking the kiss to say, “Javi, your family’s in the other room.”

Kissing you again, his words were muffled, “I locked the bedroom door.” He squeezed your breast, his other hand grabbing your ass.

Pulling back again, he chased your lips, moving your head to dodge him. “We can’t fuck with them out there, Javier.”

There was a grumpy expression on his face as he stared at you. “Why not?”

“They could hear us?”

“They won’t—we’ll be quick and quiet. Nobody will know.” He licked his plush lips, your attention drawn to them.

There was his bedroom and the entryway separating you from everyone else, so as long as you weren’t too loud… Christ, were you really thinking about fucking in a house full of people? Yes, you were, knowing Javi would make it so good—remembering how he said you didn’t care where he did it as long as he came inside you, which was apparently true, your resolve disappearing in an instant, wanting him so fucking bad nothing else mattered.

“Fuck, okay—a quickie, Javier, and you better make sure I’m not too loud,” you said, poking his chest. “God, I’m so fucking horny.”

His mouth was on yours again, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his lips moved to your jaw, saying into your skin, “I know you’re horny, baby—” He nibbled on your chin. “—could tell outside.” His mouth was against your neck, kissing down it, his hand moving between your legs, making you moan when he rubbed over your sex. “You think I’m a DILF.” He sucked on your pulse point before his head popped up with a confused look, “What the fuck is a DILF?”

“Oh god, you heard my pep talk.” Embarrassment had you covering your face with your hands, Javi immediately prying them off, looking at you fondly.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Cielito,” he said, kissing you quickly. “I loved the pep talk—we needed the pep talk ‘cause seeing you with the baby fucked me up, too. You didn’t answer my question, what’s a DILF?”

“You know a MILF is a mother I’d like to fuck, so a DILF is a dad I’d like to fuck—you’re a fuckin’ future dad I’d like to fuck.”

He kissed you, smiling into it. “You’re in luck,” he said, ending the sentence with a nip to your bottom lip. Stepping back, he spun you around to have your front to the counter, his body flush with yours, seeing you both in the mirror with his lips at your ear, his dark eyes meeting your gaze in the reflection. “You get to fuck me,” he said in a deep timbre that had tingles moving down your spine.

“Good,” you replied, pushing your ass back into his hard cock. “I need you to fuck me, Papí.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, seeing his throat bob as he swallowed. His body left yours, pulling you with him as he took two steps back. “Arms on the counter, baby,” he rasped, his big hand sliding up your spine and gently pushing you forward, bending at your waist to rest your forearms on the countertop beside the sink. “Fucking love these shorts.” His hand came down hard on your asscheek in a loud smack, your cunt clenching, gasping his name.

“You’re also gonna love what’s under them,” you purred.

Hooking his thumbs under the waistband, his gaze was on yours in the mirror, smirking under his mustache. “The red one?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He tugged the bike shorts down, the air cool as it hit your bare skin, Javi sucking in a breath, his eyes locked on the red thong you’d worn, unable to keep himself from squeezing handfuls of your ass. “I love you so fucking much—fuck, it’s pretty.” He glanced up to continue, “Thank you for spoiling me today, mi amor (my love).”

Smiling, you replied, “You’re welcome, Javi. Now please fuck me.” You wiggled your hips.

“Are you needy for me, Cielito?” he asked, his hands going to the front of his pants, hearing the clink of his belt and the teeth of his zipper coming apart.

“Needy in the sense that I need your dick inside me right now, and we can save the ass worship for later.”

He chuckled, his slacks and underwear getting shoved down his thighs. “I’ll put my dick inside you, then,” he said, using one hand to pull the soaked fabric of your thong to the side, spitting on the fingers of his other to slick up his cock.

Anticipation was thrumming in your veins, your pussy weeping for him, needing Javi to fill your achingly empty center in the way only he could satisfy. He didn’t waste any more time, pressing the tip of his length to your sopping entrance, gasping yes as he started pushing in, your head dropping between your shoulders, resting your forehead on your crossed arms in front of you. His hands had a tight grip on your hips, cursing under his breath as he slid home in one smooth thrust, making you moan when he bottomed out—it felt so fucking good, his thick cock stretching your tight walls, carving out space inside you while your cunt tried to suck him in deeper, feeling so goddamn full.

The hem of his dress shirt was brushing against your ass, Javi pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, setting up a punishing pace that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

This was going to be hard and fast, the goal to get off as quickly as possible.

You could hear the wet slap of his hips connecting with your ass, the flesh jiggling—his hand landed on your asscheek hard enough the smack echoed in the small room, your pussy squeezing him tight as you moaned. Looking up, you saw him behind you in the mirror, his mouth slack, eyes dark and half-lidded, his attention on you, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, seeing the flush crawling up his chest to his beautiful neck, the taut skin glistening in sweat.

“Does it turn you on, baby,” he asked through his teeth, pistoning into you, “thinking about me as a dad?”

The beginning threads of your orgasm were starting to weave in your belly, feeling the familiar heat growing.

He slapped your ass again. “Answer me, Cielito.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your words stuttering from the pounding, “Fuck, it’s so good, Javi. It turns me on—turns me on so fucking much,” you babbled. “You’re fucking me so good. Harder, Javi.”

“You want it harder, mi amor (my love)?”

“Yes.”

Bending over your back, his arm went under you and across your chest, pulling you up to stand. His thrusts didn’t wane, shoving your shirt up your chest one-handed to reveal one bra-covered breast, tugging the cup down to pinch your stiff nipple, the sensations shooting straight to your pussy.

He kissed the side of your neck, grunting in exertion.

“You really want it harder?” he asked breathily in your ear.

“Yes, Papí,” you moaned.

His big hands moved, grabbing your biceps near your elbows, pulling you back as he thrust forward, fucking you so hard your mouth was open, gasping out moans. Your mind was a pleasure-addled mess, unable to think about anything except how good he was fucking you—the knot in your belly was getting tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter, until euphoria exploded outward from your core, coming with a shout of Javi’s name that was quickly muffled by his hand covering your mouth.

“Shhh, Cielito—such a good fucking girl for me” Your cunt had clenched up so tight his rhythm slowed to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as he worked you through your high. His head was beside yours, speaking in your ear, “I know it’s good, baby—need you to be quiet, just ride it out.” He kissed your neck again, his free hand rubbing over your stomach and up to squeeze your breast. “I love you so fucking much.”

Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving after climaxing, Javier waiting for her cunt to stop fluttering around him, his throbbing cock slowly moving in and out of her, it wetter where they were joined.

He loved watching her come and knowing he was the one that got her there, pride always swelling inside him that he made her feel so good.

She was saying something, not making out the words with his large hand over her mouth, quickly removing it.

“What’s that?” he asked, kissing just behind her ear.

Her eyes blinked open, smiling dreamily at him in the mirror.

“I said I love you, too,” her rough voice responded.

One sentence, and it had his body going warm, unable to keep from smiling at her with how fucking happy she made him.

He was close to his end, the heat in the base of his spine threatening to explode with how fucking gone he was on her. All he could think about was everything she’d done for him that day, all of the things, big and small, showing him without her saying it how much she loved him, and he wanted to give her the entire fucking world—it was more than what she deserved, but that wasn’t possible so he was settling with giving her such good dick, it made her drool.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out of your mind,” he said, placing a kiss on the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her aftershocks had finally ended, and it was his turn. “I’m gonna move you,” he told her. She gasped when he pulled out, getting her closer to the counter where he turned her to face him, bending to tug down her shorts and underwear, impatiently taking off her shoe to get one of her legs free. When he stood back up, he gripped her bare thighs, grunting as he lifted her onto the counter's edge, spreading her legs to make space for himself.

She was wide open for him, seeing the puffy lips of her pussy shining in the light, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, wishing he had time to taste her. She leaned back on her arms, Javier taking his place in the cradle of her thighs, quickly sheathing himself back in her wet heat.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, slowly rocking deep inside her.

Her legs wrapped around his middle to lock at the small of his back, her cunt warm and welcoming, beckoning him to come, feeling the build low in his belly.

There was a need to have her like this, his lips smashing into hers in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as he started moving faster. His hand held her face, the other pushing her shirt all the way up her chest to get both of her breasts free from her bra, palming the bare skin and tweaking her pebbled nipples while his tongue slid along hers in the way he knew made her toes curl.

Her soft sounds and his rougher ones were quieted with their mouths being connected, his hips swinging into her with strong, even thrusts, hearing the wet suck of her pussy, the slick friction of her velvety walls pushing him closer to his release.

She put all of her weight on one of her arms, her free hand grabbing his hair to pull his head back, her lips wetly trailing along his jaw, her voice saying into his skin, “It’s so good, Javi—you feel so fucking good inside me.” Her tongue licked up the column of his throat, and it had his eyes rolling back, his rhythm stuttering for a second.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, her mouth sucking a mark on his jugular. “You’re gonna make me come.” The muscles in his abdomen were beginning to tighten.

His pace sped up, able to tell he was fucking her good when her head fell back, and her sounds started getting loud enough he had to cover her mouth again.

“It feel good, Cielito?” he asked roughly. “You like knowing you’re gonna make me come? That this pretty fucking pussy is gonna milk me dry? You love that I’m gonna give you what you want and fill you up—stuff you full of my come?” He licked his lips. “Bet you wish you weren’t on birth control.” Her moan was muffled, squeezing her eyes shut, causing a jolt to run through him.

Seeing her earlier with the baby had ignited a fire inside him, something instinctual telling him he needed to give her one of her own—that they needed one of their own, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he fucked his come deep inside her. From the look on her face, she was also feeling some type of way, which was why he’d followed her into the house, her pep talk confirming he was right. There had been no way for them to wait until they got home to fuck, he was too riled up, and she wasn’t any better.

She looked at him, her eyes glazed over in lust, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead, looking absolutely fuck drunk as she tried to say something he couldn’t make out, still fucking in and out of her.

He lifted his hand.

“What?” he asked through heavy breaths.

She sounded wrecked. “Fuck a baby into me—please,” she begged.

The sentence was his undoing, a strangled noise ripping from his throat, his head falling against her shoulder, his balls tightening, and cock thickening—two more quick strokes before he was burying himself to the hilt, sinking his teeth into her flesh over her shirt as he came so hard his vision went white and he lost hearing in his left ear.

He rolled his hips, working his spend as deep as he could get it, the overstimulation causing a whispery hiss to leave his lips before he finally stilled, his body so relaxed he slumped into her. A euphoric haze came over him, his mind as slow as molasses.

Her free hand stroked through his sweat-damp hair, her nails scratching lovingly along his scalp, which felt so good, he was humming appreciatively.

A few minutes passed, and she finally broke the silence to croak out, “Well, that was unexpected.”

His ear was still ringing, lifting his head to look at her. “What was unexpected?” he asked.

“The sex—” She delightedly smiled, poking his nose. “—and your massive fucking breeding kink.”

Confusion came over his face.

“My what?” he asked.

“For a man who has had a lot of sex, and I mean a lot, it’s always surprising when you don’t know a sex thing.” She pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. “Your breeding kink; it gets you off thinking about knocking me up.”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, looking away from her.

“Shit, I didn’t want you to know…” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Her hand gently moved his face to meet her eyes, her brows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?”

Letting out a long sigh, he answered truthfully, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I’m fine with waiting,” he quickly added. “Really fucking fine with it, especially after this morning, but the fantasy…”

“Really gets you going. Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a massive breeding kink, too. I like to imagine you getting me pregnant when we fuck, and also, the whole there being a one percent chance that you actually could really gets me going.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over her thighs. “So, it’s okay..?”

She smiled, resting her palm on his cheek. “Oh yeah. It’s more than okay. We can have our fantasy for now, but my god, imagine how good the sex will be when we’re actually trying.”

That had arousal stirring in his belly. “Fuck,” he breathed again. Cupping her cheeks, he said, “I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky with you, but you’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much. Eres la mejor novia del mundo y soy feliz de compartir cada instante de mi vida a tu lado (You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world and I’m happy to share each moment of my life by your side).” He kissed her softly, murmuring into her lips, “Siempre has sido tú, incluso antes de conocerte, y siempre serás la elegida porque eres el amor de mi vida y tú eres la única para mí (It has always been you, even before I knew you, and it will always be you because you are the love of my life and you are the only one for me).”

She pulled back to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world, and I’m happy I get to spend my life with you and have your babies.” She pecked him on the lips. “It’s cheesy,” she continued. “But before I met you, it felt like something was missing in my life, you know? And now I feel like everything is right—you feel right; you were what I was missing,” she said, poking him over his heart. Javier grabbed her hand to kiss her knuckles, listening to her speak. “So, you’ve always been it for me, always, and life just waited for us to both be lost before allowing us to finally find each other.” She shrugged. “You’re it for me, Javier Peña—you’ve always been it; yesterday, today, tomorrow, a year from now, it’s always going to be you because I was meant for you, and you were meant for me. In summary, I love you so fucking much, too.”

He chuckled, kissing her a little harder this time, feeling so happy he thought he might be floating.

He knew she was the love of his life—knew it with every fiber of his being, and he would spend the rest of his days with her just to prove it.

When your lungs begged for air, you broke the kiss, Javi smiling so big his dimple was showing, the love for you clear in his gaze.

“Today was good?” you asked.

“Today was fucking amazing.”

“Good, good,” you nodded. “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?” His hands were skating up and down your bare thighs.

“I have another surprise for you that can’t happen until tomorrow…”

“Baby, you’ve done so much. I don’t need anything else.” He quickly kissed you.

“Oh, you’re gonna really fucking want this.”

His eyebrow lifted, looking curious.

“What is it?”

“Well, after a lot of thinking and working up my courage, I thought maybe you’d wanna try fucking my ass?”

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

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

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

[iaintlithuanian]

“Idiot” || JJ Maybank x gn!pouge!reader

Summary: you pick jj up from the police station instead of his dad, after he takes the blame for Pope

WARNINGS:swearing, short, slight angst if you squint, fluff

Master list

PLEASE REQUEST!!! I LOVE TO WRITE THINGS FOR YOU!! PLEASEEEEEEE

————————————————

You walk to the station muttering under your breath along the way. “Stupid idiot” and “why can’t he just stay out of trouble.” Soon enough you arrive at the station and open the doors, heading to the reception desk. “Excuse me, I’m here for jj maybank” you say, in the politest voice you can.

“Are you family?” The officer asks. You roll your eyes thinking of a lie.

“Yeah, I’m his cousin, Luke, my uncle, asked if I could come pick him up cause he’s busy” you say, smiling slightly.

“Alright” he replies, holding his walky talky to his mouth “bring out maybank”

——————

“Your a fucking idiot” you half shout whilst walking down the road with jj. He stays quiet, you know he’s not affected by your slight scolding though, it’s one of the rare times you see him actually thinking. “What?” You ask getting impatient. “Spit it out already j” you snap.

“How’d you pay for bail?” He asks, taking you back slightly. “I mean 30k, you can’t just have that money laying around” he continues looking at you for the first time since you left the station.

“I didn’t” he gives you a confused look. “Your dad did..” your voice is quieter, but he hears what you said. “I spoke to him, told him I pick you up for him, all he had to do was pay the bill.” You solemnly say “ he’s hella pissed by the way, I’d stay away for a while” you warn.

“Alright” he says “at least we can pay off restitution when we find the gold” he says, trying to lighten the mood. You giggle in reply, making him smile and blush a little.

“Still, maybe getting arrested isn’t the best idea, what If we can find the gold?” You say raising your brow at him. “Shit must have been an experience tho” you laugh.

“Well, I can scratch that off my bucket list” he smiles, chuckling. You burst out laughing.

“Who the fuck puts getting arrested on their bucket list!?” You shout, laughing.

“I don’t know” he replies.

“An idiot, that’s who” you say stopping and looking at him. He turns and faces you.

“Then I guess I’m an idiot.” He smiles, melting you inside.

“Correction” you say putting your hand up and making him raise his brow. “My idiot” you say with sincerity, and grab his face and kiss him, both of you giggling. His hands come up to hold your wrists, kissing back gently. You pull away slowly, smiling up at him.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #obx imagine #obx #outer banks #luke maybank #x reader #fluff #jj maybank fluff #jj fluff #angst

[catierambles]

Blood Curse Ch.2

Pairing: TBD

“I’m sorry.” Melody said, bringing her head up from her hands. “Run that past me again? My ancestor cursed your guys’ ancestor into turning into a wolfman on the full moon?” She sounded incredulous and they didn’t blame her.

“Sounds batshit, doll, but it’s true.” Sy said. He had shown up at one point and was leaning against Walter’s desk while Walter sat on the short couch he had in his office with Melody.

“Trust me, Melody.” Walter said, “If someone did to my daughter what Albert Marshall did to that little girl, I would put a bullet in his head and call it a day. Consequences be damned.”

“Okay, then.” She said, dropping her head back in her hands.

“The man was a monster, so the girls’ momma cursed him to be monster.” Sy said, “I don’t think she expected it to get passed down, though.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Melody said, picking her head up again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Sy said.

“I’m not saying I believe you guys, because it sounds pretty fucking unbelievable, but I—earlier I felt...something.” She said, “And when you came into the room, I felt it again.”

“Your blood cursed ours.” Walter said, “It feels the curse.”

“You’re takin’ it better than your relatives, though.” Sy said, “Last Cartwright witch I met tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“New boot in Iraq, just outta Basic. He got transferred to my command. First patrol we ran, he shot at me. I told the brass it was an accident and pulled some strings to get’im transferred.” Sy explained briefly and she blinked at him. “Yeah. He was probably told that if he ever ran across someone like us, shoot first and ask questions later. We sorted shit before his transfer so he knows that not all of us are rabid beasts, but ya know.”

“Right.” Melody said and looked over at Walter. “You have a daughter?”

“Faye. She’s twelve.” He said, “Her mum and I are divorced and Angie has primary custody. I have her every other weekend and on school holidays. “ He shrugged, “When work allows.”

“Does she—don’t tell me your daughter...”

“Only hits the men.” Sy said, shaking his head.

“Oh thank god.” She said with a relieved sigh, her eyes closing briefly. “So, wait, that means you two are related, right? I mean, distantly. Obviously not directly, you obviously grew up in vastly different environments.”

“Second cousins.” Sy said, “We share great-grandparents. My grandma, his great-aunt, moved from the UK to the US, settled in Texas, got married and had babies. His grandpa, my great-uncle, stayed in the UK. We have another second cousin, August, whose grandma, our great aunt also moved to the US and settled in DC.”

“How the hell did you guys find each other?”

“One of them mail in family tree things.” Sy said with a shrug, “It’s how I found Walt, and a few weeks later August, who’s got some shady government job, rung us up.”

“O-okay then.” She said, “I mean, wolves pack together, right?”

“Never thought of it that way, but yeah.” Sy admitted. “Actually, hold on. Walt, can I use your phone?” Walter made a gesture and Sy went around his desk, punching in a number and putting it on speaker.

“Walker.”

“Hey, Auggie, it’s Sy.” He said, “I got a...well, we got a Cartwright witch here.”

“Are they still alive?” August asked immediately and her brows jumped slightly.

“Yeah she’s still alive, ya donkey!” Sy said indignantly.

“Hi there.” Melody chimed in.

“Why is she still alive?”

“Because we’re sitting in the middle of a goddamn police station and we ain’t fuckin’ animals.” Sy said, “Thought we should give you a heads up, bye.” He hung up the phone, almost slamming the receiver down. “Donkey.”

“He seems...nice.” Melody said and Walter snorted, laying his hand on her back and rubbing slightly. “Sy, Walter said...he said I “made it quiet”. What does that mean?” Sy explained the growling they all constantly heard and she gave a heavy blink. “Well that sounds like an aggressive form of tinnitus.”

“Ya get used to it.” He said with a shrug and she pushed up from the couch, going to him. His hands clenched at his sides at her approach, but he shook them out. Laying her hands on his chest, his jaw clenching at the contact, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. All tension suddenly left his body and he pressed a hand to Walter’s desk to keep himself upright. “It’s gone. Fuck, I didn’t realize how loud it was until it stopped.” Leaning into her, he rested his head on her shoulder. “Shit.” Her hands came around to press into his back, moving over his t-shirt. “It’s so fuckin’ quiet.”

“Glad I could help.” She said, her hands still moving over his back in soothing motions and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and burying his face in her neck. A sigh deflated his chest as he held her and one of her hands went to the back of his head, her nails moving through the dark stubble covering his scalp.

“Shit.” He sighed, holding her tighter and Walter got up from the couch, going to them. She looked at him as his hand laid between her shoulders and he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing.

“So quiet.” He whispered. The growling had started to come back but it faded again as he stayed close to her, taking in deep breaths. There was no anger, none of the red hot rage that was constantly boiling just beneath the surface, threatening to break free if he didn’t maintain control. There was...peace. He never let Angie see that side of him, never laid a hand on her, or even yelled at her, but she could see it, could feel it, some primitive side of her brain reacting to his Beast. It had ended his marriage.

“Your office door is locked, right?” She asked and he nodded. “Okay, good, wouldn’t want someone to walk in and see this. It’d destroy any shred of professionalism or respect.” Walter chuckled slightly, Sy huffing a laugh against her neck.

“We ain’t makin’ ya uncomfortable, are we?” Sy asked.

“No.” She said, “Surprising, seeing as I just met you two today.”

“Uh, Lieutenant?” There was a knock on his office door. “Your cousin is here. Your other cousin.”

“What the fuck is August doing here?” Walter asked, pulling away from and Sy gave her some respectful distance too as Walter went to the door.

“I swear, if he tries to draw on you darlin’, I—”

“I’ll be fine.” She reassured him and Walter stepped aside to let him into the office. He stood a couple inches than Walter, shoulders wide and build powerful. A neat mustache covered his upper lip, offset by the heavy stubble covering his jaw. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous, something out of a 70’s adult film, but it suited him. His eyes hardened when they fell on her, the pale blue going icy, but she didn’t back down, meeting his eyes with her own. He wasn’t the first man she faced with a top notch death glare, he wouldn’t be the last.

“Easy, Walker.” Walter said but he pushed past him, heading for the desk with purpose. Sy pushed her behind him, putting himself between her and potential danger.

“Get out of the way, Derek.” He said, standing in front of him.

“Not until you take a fuckin’ breath, August.” Sy said, “She ain’t her family.”

“She’s a Cartwright.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even know about that whole mess until an hour ago.” Sy said.

“Melody’s parents died when she was little.” Walter said, echoing what she had told him earlier, “She was adopted by another family with no connection and was ignorant of her family history until we told her.”

“Bullshit, she has their name.”

“Changed it when I turned eighteen and I dug up my adoption record.” Melody said from behind Sy, “I want nothing to do with my adoptive parents so I sure as hell don’t want to carry their name.”

“She didn’t know, Walker.” Walter said, “She didn’t know. The daughter shouldn’t be punished for the actions of the mother.”

“And the sons shouldn’t be punished for the sins of the father.” August said, his jaw clenching.

“You’re right.” Melody said, “You, all of you, had nothing to do with what happened. You had nothing to do with what your ancestor did, just like I had nothing to do with what mine did. You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t put this on you.” There was a pause where he did nothing before he gave a single nod and took a step back.

“I’m movin’, but if you try anythin’ we’re gonna have problems.” Sy said and August nodded again, watching as Sy stepped aside. They stared at each other for a moment before she extended her hand and August looked at it before placing his hand in hers.

“Nice to meet you.” She said and he nodded, shaking her hand. “Now, I can try something with you that I did with the others. I did it without realizing it to Walter, and Sy was a successful experiment, but if you’d like I can turn down the volume of the...growling. If you’d like.”

“She made it quiet, Auggie.” Sy said, “I can actually fuckin’ hear myself think now.”

“You can do that?” August asked.

“Sy said earlier it’s because my family gave you the curse, so I can control it. Kind of. I can’t...to be honest I don’t know what I’m doing or how I even can, but...but I’d be willing to try with you. It worked for Walter, it worked for Sy, but again, I won’t do it without your permission. Seeing as you have...issues with my birth family.” He just stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options.

“Do it.” He said.

“I think—I’m going to have to touch you. Is that okay?” She asked and he nodded again. His gaze was unwavering as she stepped in close, reaching up to lay her hands on his chest and he pulled in a sudden breath, his jaw clenching as his hands came up to hold her shoulders.

“Easy.” Sy said cautiously. Melody closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Whatever she felt made her brows knit together slightly.

“There’s...resistance.” She said, “I can’t—with you two it came forward on it’s own, but with him, I—I don’t know if I can—”

“Whatever,” August sniffed, “You—”

“Wait!” She said, cutting him off, her brows jumping. “There!” His shoulders suddenly slackened and his breath left him in a rush.

“It’s gone,” He said, “It’s quiet. It’s been so long I—I forgot what the quiet sounded like.”

“It’ll come back.” Walter said, “She turns down the volume, but it’ll come back. It’s only temporary.”

“Still.” August sighed, “It’s quiet. She made it quiet.”

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #blood curse

[sea-jello]

if anyone remembers my movie morro au here’s the part where he’s the villain finally LMAO

i had this idea in mind already and it just so happened to sorta line up with the morrotober prompt so

Day 7/October 7: Crystal || Wishing Well || "Too late now." (?)

OKAY so you probably should go read the other part just for the worldbuildings sake but i think you’ll survive if you don’t. anyways he’s still a high up gang member but instead of sneaking around behind the scenes he actually does stuff this time. he still does lowkey stuff he doesn’t go in guns blazing, so like spy stuff, or stealth missions. he still does the jobs from the other part like collect intel, make plans give orders yada yada. also he specialises in poisons instead of weapons cause he has an advantage with his wind. and cause i think it’s cool. like tranquillizers, sleeping potions, smoke bombs stuff like that (ties back to the stealth missions. he still fights he doesn’t just sit back and let the chemicals do the work. they’re just incorporated in) i don’t think anyone knows he has wind cause people would tie it back to him being associated with the ninja, so he uses it but like sneakily (remember in the movie when lloyd says “wind isn’t taken can i be wind?” YUP)

NOW in the other part i said he was very undercover and that’s why they couldn’t catch him. well this morro is a little more involved. as in he and a couple other members tried to steal the biggest crystal in ninjago from the borg vaults, which have the highest security possible (i like to try and incorporate canon and it’s either this or he goes fucking grave robbing and i don’t like that, so it’s the vaults). so they sneak in, they trigger the alarm and they’re like well okay no point now (too late now HAH morrotober prompt that wasn’t even intentional) and start trying to fight their way out. and it’s going alright until surprise surprise, the fucking ninja show up and they get arrested

before i forget morro and lloyd as regular civilians aren’t like close at all cause morro was wus student before the ninja ever were, and he used the stuff he learned from wu to rise up the ranks. they know of each other and they know they’re cousins (ish idrk if morros actually related to wu) but they’ve seen each other like once or twice probably. would recognise if they were asked to identify each other, but do not know of each other’s ninja/gang business cause they’ve both got masks. although i think it would hurt more if they were close so i might change that

so they’re incapacitated and the ninja are like sick let’s go fucking celebrate and dip before morro and the rest of their identities are revealed, so lloyd finds out his cousin was fucking arrested through morros crusty mugshot on the news here too LMAO. i was debating on if they should stay not knowing each other’s identities throughout but that’s like impossible since morros arrest is on the news and movie lloyd would pull his mask of for that “you don’t have to be evil my dearest cousin” speech the second theyre face to face

robbery plus breaking and entering plus aggravated assault plus assaulting a police officer PLUS gang activity since they obviously have proof he’s actively participating (and also he goes out more here that in the post where he’s not the villain so they have more evidence than they did in that version)?? that could add up to like twenty something years in jail. he’s 16 when he gets arrested, but you can be tried as an adult if the crime is severe enough. so he is and BAM hes probably gonna grow up in jail. he’s currently in juvie but will be moved when he hits 18. but he’s not gonna spend his prime years in JAIL

so he breaks out a year later. obviously. remember he is infamous for being a mastermind escape artist

he’s out of jail and he’s out for the ninjas blood. he’s gone three years without ever getting caught and all of a sudden these color coded high schoolers in 20 feet tall robots toss him in the slammer?? they’re going down

the ninja find out he escaped through the news again and come to the conclusion he’s probably coming back for revenge lloyds like oh my god my fucking cousins gonna kill me i’m gonna die at the hands of my own family. wu pops up and he goes blah blah you need to TRAIN i know all of this kids tricks you need to HARNESS the ELEMENTAL POWER INSIDE OF YOU instead of RELYING on your MECHS or whatever idk let’s be honest they need to learn not to rely on them more. the ninja are like 👁👁 you know this guy CUE classic wu backstory montage

i’m not very sure how this would end yet but i feel like it would be really funny if they were planning to hit him with everything they have and it ends up with lloyds “come back to the good side dear cousin of mine” speech anyways. either ways there are multiple fights in which lloyd does try to pacify him and make peace, but morro never gives him a chance to explain who he is so he doesn’t know he’s the green ninja til the end lmao. if this were a lego movie it would be a fight that sucked terribly, make a plan and improve and train, fight again but this time they’re sure they’re gonna get him but everything’s failing at a sudden turn of events near the end, and lloyd gives his heartfelt speech. maybe morro refuses but a new bigger threat appear like the overlord or something and they have to work together and morro realized hey fighting with people isn’t so bad. idk i’m just throwing this at the wall atp see what sticks

this one isn’t that long cause the last one was more worldbuiling and this one’s more about plot, and it’s not that great cause i speedran it in time for morrotober and it’s like lowkey underdeveloped and it’s currently 3 30am i might come back and change some things. the only thing i had completely set on this was he tries to steal the crystal, he got arrested, then broke out, so feel free to suggest some changes!

#ITS STILL THE 7TH SOMEWHERE #lowkey idrk how i feel about this i don’t really like it #but it is what it is #these are just ideas #sorry if i don’t meet expectations i am falling asleep #i’ll come back and edit it tomorrow if it really really sucks #jellos movie morro au #go look at the one where he’s not the villain i like that one better #ninjago #lego ninjago #morro ninjago #ninjago morro #morro wu #movie morro #morrotober2023 #morrotober 2023 #morrotober #not art for once #it’s probably gonna be the only time #maybe

[slutforstabbings-archive]

The Penpal

Only an hour an a half late to my own party! lol Here's my fic inspired by my news article about survivor!Corey and my conversations with @cordelium and @toxicanonymity!

survivor!inmate!Corey Cunningham x fem!Reader

As someone who grew up with awareness of Michael Myers despite not living in Haddonfield, you were gripped by the news of what happened on Halloween 2022. You reached out to Corey with a letter, and your correspondence became more than you ever dreamed it would.

contents/warnings - descriptions of prison, court, etc, family angst, handjob, riding, rough doggy

6,264 words

@rebel-blue @nachtmahr666 @wolvesandvampires @multifandom--mess @ethanhoewke @hersweetrevenge

18+, minors dni

Corey Cunningham. The man, the myth, the legend. The psycho babysitter, acquitted of aggravated manslaughter. The Michael Myers copycat who survived several severe injuries to become a celebrity during his murder trial. And, officially this afternoon, your husband. 

You made the long drive to Chester from Chicago yesterday and stayed in a hotel overnight so you would be well rested for today. You go down to the hotel lobby in sweats and smash the continental breakfast before returning to your room on the third floor to get ready. As you wait for the tub to fill with water and steam clouds the bathroom, you reflect on the past year and a half, how a single letter changed your entire life.

<3 <3 <3

On November 1st you woke up to a barrage of texts from your cousin Kristin who lives in Monmouth, 20 minutes from a cursed small town. Growing up she was always so obsessed with The Boogeyman of Haddonfield, a mixture of fear and fascination. As teenagers she would always call you when she was babysitting, after the kids went to sleep. You would stay on the phone with her, just in case, even when it wasn’t anywhere near Halloween. You opened your eyes to a crisp fall morning, looked at your phone, and saw the messages. 

11:30

HE CAME BACK AGAIN 

HE CAME BACK AGAIN AND THEY KILLED HIM AND HES ACTUALLY DEAD THIS TIME

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

I don’t have any other details yet but they fucking did it!!!! They killed the boogeyman!!!!

12:15

Oh my god they put him in an industrial shredder of some kind???? 

They turned Michael Myers into fucking ground beef!!!

12:48

Corey Cunningham is involved somehow!?? 

There’s a lot of rumors and conflicting information but 

it seems like he either killed someone or was killed by someone who thought he was Michael?? 

1:03

Okay not much more clarity on the Corey Cunningham thing, we still don’t know how what happened to him relates to Michael but he was shot AND stabbed and they found him in Laurie Strode’s house!? But he’s ALIVE and they airlifted him somewhere up by you. What a wild fucking night. Jesus Christ.

Kristin had told you all about Corey Cunningham. You remembered the news articles she’d sent you, the photos of him they ran in the local paper. You felt deeply for the guy, what a horrible case of wrong place, wrong time. And it couldn’t have happened to someone more gorgeous, which felt like it increased the tragedy, even though it shouldn’t. His face still lingered in your mind all this time later, coming to you as soon as you read his name. While you were very interested in what could’ve led to Michael Myers being turned into “ground beef,” you were much more concerned with what would happen with Corey.

In the following days and weeks, Kristin kept the updates coming. Much of what she told you wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge, but she had a loose lipped friend of a friend in the Warren County Sheriff's Office. Michael’s final rampage had left 12 dead. It would be 13 if Corey didn’t survive, he was in the ICU in a medically induced coma. Laurie and her granddaughter Allyson had killed Michael and taken his body to a junkyard to drop it in the metal shredder. 

Then, suddenly, the police weren’t so sure all 12 victims had been Michael’s. They weren’t sure any of them had been. They found Corey’s fingerprints and DNA, clear as day, incontestable, on a glass door at one of the scenes. Everyone who died was connected to him somehow, including both of his parents. Laurie gave a statement that Corey had stolen Michael’s infamous mask and emulated him in a murder spree for days leading up to Halloween. When he woke up, if he woke up, he’d be arrested. 

He occupied your thoughts for the whole month of November. A sick obsession you couldn’t shake. For years Kristin had told you about the way people talked about him, how even though he’d been acquitted, people treated him like he was just as bad as Michael. You read everything you could about him. It wasn’t hard for you to understand how being told you’re evil every day could make you snap — they wanted it, and he gave it to them. 

The cops were keeping the hospital Corey was in out of the news, but when word came along the grapevine that he had woken up and been moved out of the ICU, you asked Kristin to find out. She gleefully delivered. You wrote him a letter. Really you wrote so many letters you lost count, trying and failing to express your sympathy, your hope that he would recover and beat the charges, struggling to decide what tone the letter should take. Finally you felt like you had done the best you could, and you dropped it in the mail. You weren’t sure why you did it, or what you expected to come from it. Something in you just needed to reach out to him. To let him know, even after everything, he wasn’t alone. 

<3 <3 <3

  You sink into the bathtub. You never thought you would get married. The whole thing always seemed so hokey and archaic. But only spouses and children are entitled to unsupervised family visits at the prison. You can’t keep spending every visit you make with a guard breathing down your neck, barking at you every time you dare to reach across the table for Corey’s hand, timing your hugs when you get there and when you leave. Sporadic phone calls and driving 6 hours to sit across from him for 45 minutes once a week aren’t enough. It was a hell of a lot of paperwork, and you feared that the publicity your relationship had received during the trial would lead the warden to prohibit the wedding, but after months of red tape, you finally got the word. The marriage was approved. 

You slather your legs in gritty body scrub, massaging scratchy circles. When you trust that all the dead skin has been obliterated, you plunge your legs back below the surface of the water. Bubbles plume around you. You want your skin to be silky for Corey. You know he’s touch starved in there. Affection between inmates is highly frowned upon, and he doesn’t have many friends anyway. 

The other prisoners resent his notoriety. More than once you’d come for a visit and his beautiful features were hidden from you under bruises and swelling from getting jumped again. When you expressed your concern, Corey just smirked. “You should see the other guy,” he told you. You worry about him, but you’d be lying if you denied feeling a little pang between your legs when you think about how dangerous he is. You believe the other guy looks much worse.

<3 <3 <3

11 days after you sent your letter, you stopped in your apartment building’s mail room after work. Your mailbox was stuffed with what looked like the usual stack of garbage, but as you shuffled the envelopes on your way up the stairs something different caught your eye. A handwritten address, and not one of those bullshit fake handwritten ones from the cable company. You broke into a sprint, zooming up the remaining flights of stairs to your apartment. You slammed the door behind you prompting your roommate to shout at you from their bedroom. The sound of their protests barely registered. Hands trembling, you opened the envelope. 

You read Corey’s response, and then you read it again. And a third time, still leaning against the front door of your apartment. The officer assigned to guard my room is writing this for me. I can’t move my arms yet, he began. Your letter meant a lot to me. I’ve been awake for two weeks today and you’re the first person who isn’t a nurse, a cop, or a lawyer that I’ve heard from. The letter was brief and a little stilted, but that was understandable. He probably had to be very careful, especially since he was dictating directly to a cop, not to say anything that could be used against him in court. 

You sent your reply the next morning. After that his response came quicker, and again you sent something back right away, including a photo of yourself at his request. A few days before Christmas you heard from Kristin that Corey’s address at the hospital had gotten out, been published somewhere online. In his next reply Corey himself confirmed it. I’m getting a ton of letters now… They want me to write a book and turn the book into a movie… I’ve never gotten this much attention before… I always look for something from you first. But the most interesting part of that particular letter came at the end. 

You’re so pretty. I had them prop the photo you sent up on my bedside table. I can move a little more now, so I can actually look at it. I hope that’s not weird. I talked to my lawyer about putting you on my visitor’s list. You should get a letter from his office soon. He’ll help, if you want to come see me. That’s all I want for Christmas. 

<3 <3 <3 

Fully clean, exfoliated, and conditioned, you rise from the tub. You’ve had butterflies in your stomach all morning, but they multiply as you dry off and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re starting to realize why more traditional brides tend to have huge entourages around them. Despite your disdain for marriage as an institution and your unconventional circumstances, you still wish there was someone here. Someone who was happy for you and could make sure the back of your hair looks okay. But nobody in your life even knows about this except for Kristin. The prison doesn’t allow guests at weddings, so she stayed home. You still should’ve asked her to come, to be there before and after.

You do your hair and makeup under the bright vanity lights. You always try to look your best when you visit Corey, but today is a special occasion. If not the wedding, then what happens after. Your first time getting more than 45 minutes with him in months, your first time alone with him in longer. You think about his hands. What a special pair of hands. Broad and freckled and strong. A huge, gnarled scar across his left palm. The hands that wrote you all those letters. The hands that took 10 lives and have broken countless bones in the other inmates’ faces, but would never ever touch you with anything other than love. You finally get to feel them on your skin again today. And that makes everything worth it.

You go to the closet and take out a long garment bag. You lay the bag on the bed and pull the zipper down. You can’t help but laugh. When the wedding was approved, the prison sent you a massive list of requirements, including a ridiculously long and yet somehow vague dress code. Nothing too full skirted or too heavily beaded. No cleavage. No trains. No veils. That was all fine with you, a cupcake shaped Cinderella gown doesn’t exactly seem appropriate for a prison wedding with no guests, even if the rules allowed it. You just picked something simple, and as sexy as possible without violating the rules. Corey doesn’t know anything about the dress, you tried to talk to him about it and he shut you down. “The groom’s not supposed to know anything about the dress until he sees it,” he told you. Well if he wanted to find room to be a little bit traditional, you could do that too. Turns out you look pretty good in white.

<3 <3 <3

It took until a week into the New Year because everyone was out of the office for the holidays, but you gave Corey his Christmas present. It was extremely awkward at first, sitting in the hard chair next to his hospital bed, a cop leaning against the wall in the corner, pretending not to be listening. He was handcuffed to the bed, just like in the picture you’d seen in your newsfeed that morning. He beckoned subtly for you to lean in towards him and he whispered to you. “My lawyer took that photo. He leaked it himself. He thinks it’ll help people see me sympathetically.” The cop in the corner yelled at him for whispering. You leaned back away from Corey, but he smirked at you. You loved being his conspirator.

The photo of him in the hospital worked. It sparked massive outrage that someone in his condition would be handcuffed. Where did they think he was gonna go? It seemed needlessly cruel, even for a murder suspect. It succeeded in making him more sympathetic with everyone… except your family. 

When they found out you had written to him, they could understand why you might want to send a letter or two. They knew about Kristin’s fixation on Michael Myers and that you two were close. Everyone had felt bad for Corey and rooted for him during his manslaughter trial. Around letter number three is when they started to be weird about it. The case against him was mounting, more details were being released. Some of the victims died in really horrific ways, didn’t you understand that it wasn’t just a terrible misunderstanding happening to a handsome young man this time?

They were the ones who didn’t understand. The more you learned about Corey, from the news, from his letters, from the old coverage of his manslaughter trial that you’d been revisiting, the more you believed in him. Not in his innocence necessarily — you didn’t know how to feel about that, going back and forth from being certain he did to to being certain he didn’t. But you believed in his heart. If he did it, he did it for a good reason. That DJ that died had spent years promoting insane theories about him being a part of a cult that worshiped Michael or some bullshit. You couldn’t imagine what that would do to even the kindest of people. 

When you got home from the hospital, they were waiting to confront you. Visits were the last straw. It was one thing to be a murderer’s penpal. It was quite another to hang out with him. What could you stand to gain from this, they wanted to know. Apparently genuine connection with another human being was not the answer they were looking for, and hybristophilia wasn’t a funny joke. You just stopped talking to them about him. They knew, or at least suspected that you were still visiting him, that when you were “busy” every weekend you were really with Corey. But if you didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t a problem. 

When he was discharged from the hospital, Corey’s lawyer worked to get him on a pre-trial release program where he could be on house arrest instead of in jail until the trial was over. He wasn’t supposed to have visitors unsupervised, but you did spend a few glorious hours alone with him, once. He’d been in pre-trial release for a few weeks and realized his release officer was overworked and underpaid and would not be paying very close attention to him. Corey had a short term lease in a shitty apartment building, the only place his lawyer could find with a landlord that agreed to host an alleged murderer on house arrest. 

You stood on the stained, threadbare carpet outside his apartment, heart beating in your throat, vibrating with anticipation. You’d planned your visit in innuendo, pretending to tell each other about books you’d been reading, things you’d been up to. The building is really old and drafty, but at least I don’t have bugs, he’d written. The b in bugs in cursive, despite his usual cramped print. Bugs. He’d checked to make sure he wasn’t being listened to. In his coded way, he told you not to knock. So you stood there, kneading the floor with your sneakers, trusting he would check for you through the peephole soon. 

Then the door swung open, and there he was. Standing up! No spinal halo, no neck brace, in sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of a hospital gown. His survival was so miraculous, you kind of never thought you’d get to see him like this. Heat flooded your cheeks as you made eye contact with him. He reached out and grabbed your wrist with his giant hand, gently pulling you into the apartment and into his chest as he closed the door. You were so unprepared for that first hug. You’d never gotten so wet from just a hug before, but feeling his arms slide around your waist made you gush. 

He couldn’t stand up for very long yet, so he led you to the couch. He sat in the corner, half against the back, half against the arm stacked with pillows, and folded one leg towards him. You sat sideways to face him. He asked about your job, what was going on in the world out there, you asked him how he was adjusting to life outside the hospital bed. The arousal you felt from the hug refused to subside. You found yourself struggling to focus on the conversation, inching closer to him, watching his lips while he complained about how uncomfortable the ankle monitor was. 

“Can I see it?” You asked.

“If you want to,” he said. He pulled the hem of his pants back on the leg folded on the couch between the two of you, and there it was, a little green light on it blinking. Your nails were longer than Corey’s and your fingers were more slender, so you slipped the tips of them under the strap and scratched. His lips parted in a sigh. 

“Be careful. It has a sensor thing, so they know if you’re fucking with it.”

“Okay,” you whispered, scratching and rubbing all the way around his thick ankle, trying to jostle the monitor as little as possible. “Is that better?”

You looked up from his ankle to his face, and caught sight of an imprint in his sweatpants on the way up. 

“Yeah, much better. Thank you,” he breathed. 

You leaned in to him, pulled as if by a magnet. “No problem,” you said, face only inches away from his. You hovered, basking in the tension between you, until he brought his hand to cup your jaw and urged you towards him, closing the gap.

The warmth of his lips set your whole body alight. Your heart raced. You wanted to pounce on him but you had to be gentle. It was painful to restrain yourself, and you could tell he had the same problem. But you would take him any way you could get him. You took his top lip into your mouth and ran the tip of your tongue across it, following its gorgeous arch. He sank his teeth into your bottom lip.  You moaned into his mouth, and he groaned back, reaching out to put his hands on your hips. You could tell from the way he dug his fingers in that if he had the strength, he would be yanking you into his lap, so you hurried to straddle him. 

You hiked your skirt up to set your soaking panties directly on the bulge in his pants, rocking your hips ever so slightly.

“I’ve wanted you since you sent me that picture,” he said in a strained voice. “I hoped you would be pretty, but I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.” 

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted you since I saw your mugshot in 2019.”

“You have?” He asked, looking at you in confused wonder.

“I thought you were devastatingly hot, and it’s even worse in person. I was almost your 14th alleged victim the first time I saw you in person.” 

His face changed from awestruck to a cocky, almost creepy smile. You leaned back from him, standing up off the couch and his smile only got bigger as you took off your shirt and dropped your skirt to the floor. In just your underwear and a simple bralette  you sunk to your knees in front of him. You put one hand on his thigh and the other on his cock, wrapping your fingers around the shape of it through the fabric, stroking him slowly. His smile fell as his face went slack with pleasure. He put his hands over yours, encouraging your stroking hand, weaving between the fingers of your free hand, and you clenched your thighs together as he moaned your name.

You relished making him feel good, treasuring every second with him, so it was extremely difficult to resist just making him cum, sitting on your heels, looking up into those beautiful eyes. But this might be your only chance to feel him inside you, ever. 

“I brought a condom,” you purred. 

“You- ah- you did?” he panted. 

You slipped the fingers of the hand not stroking him out of his grasp and reached behind you into the pocket of your skirt. You held the little foil packet up for him to see and he made a deep, guttural sound. With some shuffling yourselves and the pillows around, you wound up straddling Corey’s lap again, naked and hovering over his latex-sheathed cock. You planted your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his shoulders and lowered yourself down onto him. You let out a long, high whimper as you settled onto his length. For a moment you just rested there, mentally pinching yourself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. You were really doing this, getting this close to Corey Cunningham. 

You had to ride him carefully, deliberately, not to hurt him. Every nerve in your body strained as you fought your desire to fuck him, until the frustration itself became erotic for both of you, intensifying the sensations of your gentle movements. When his hands went from resting on your hips to grabbing them, you knew he was close. The thought alone pushed you over the edge and you dropped your face to his shoulder to muffle your whimpers, letting out the ecstasy vocally rather than in frantic spasms that might jostle him too much. Hearing you, feeling you clench, Corey followed suit, cursing and calling your name. 

“Is the state paying for this?” You wondered, looking around. You’d both put your underwear back on, but didn’t get any more dressed than that, wanting to maintain skin contact as you sat together on the couch, enjoying the post-sex haze.

“I am. My life’s savings,” he sighed. “It’s not like I’m gonna need it.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know that.” You admonished him, but really you were saying it for yourself. You couldn’t let go of the tiny sliver of hope that he would beat the charges.

“Do you think I did it?” Corey asked after a few moments of silence.

“What?” You replied, caught off guard.

“Do you think I’m innocent? Or do you think I’m guilty?” 

“I… don’t know. The evidence I know about is… pretty damning.” You said falteringly, shifting uncomfortably against him. You’d considered what all the potential outcomes would mean to you. Could you keep seeing him if he really was a murderer? You knew the answer, had known since you heard about the boy who died with the torch in his mouth. Kristin had shared the crime scene photos with you. They were truly grisly, and for days afterwards, the specter of that burnt out face lingered when you closed your eyes. But even being fully confronted with the reality of what he - allegedly - did to those people, you felt nothing but affection for him. Still, you didn’t like the conversation. It seemed inadvisable. He’d checked for bugs but you still couldn’t quite relax.

“Would you be afraid of me, if I told you I really did it?” 

“No,” you barely whispered. 

“Jeremy, the kid I was babysitting? That really was an accident,” he began. And then he told you everything. Everything, everything. His whole life story, all the things it was too risky to say in his letters. You were still nervous about surveillance, but once he started talking it was like he couldn’t stop. And you couldn’t stop listening either. It was such a rush to hear him describe the kill. You felt all his emotions with him as he spoke. Heartbreak. Elation. Rage. 

“You shouldn’t have told me all that,” you said when he finished. You adjusted your position on the couch to look at him better. “I’m so glad you shared it with me, but… They know we’re close. What if they call me as a witness?”

“I’m gonna make sure they don’t need to,” he said, eyes darkening. 

“How?”

“You said it yourself. The evidence is pretty damning. The case against me is strong, and I can help the jury decide I’m guilty. The state won’t add you as a witness at the last minute if they feel like they’re winning.”

“Does your lawyer know you’re planning something?”

“No. He told me they didn’t have a case at all. Because of Michael complicating things. So I plead not guilty. But now they have a case. My fingerprints and my DNA at every crime scene. Even though I didn’t shoot Ronald, they’re charging me with that too. My fingerprints were on the gun.”

“Were you going to kill him?” You asked, morbidly curious. 

“I hadn’t decided yet,” Corey admitted. “If he had just stayed in the office… It doesn’t matter now.”

For a moment you looked at each other in silence. 

“How are you going to help the jury?

Corey chuckled a mirthless, black chuckle. “I’ve been researching all these other famous killers. Gein, Gacy, Dahmer, Bundy, Ramirez, the Manson Family. It’s practically a tradition to do crazy shit in the courtroom. The papers are all calling me a copycat. Why not keep copying?” 

“Corey, that’s insane,” you protested.

“I am the psycho babysitter.” He took your hand and stroked your knuckles. “Do you want to help me?”

“Help you get life in prison on purpose?” 

You remembered when he whispered to you in the hospital, how good it felt to conspire with him, to tuck his secret into your pocket, where not even Kristin would know. The idea of going to such lengths with him was so tempting, but you wanted him to put up a fight, to argue that the cops already had it out against him because of his history. All he needed to do was give them one little reasonable doubt. 

“Look, I’ve been through this before,” he reminded you. “It’s hell. I already know I’m guilty in most people’s minds. There is no getting off this time. There’s only a guilty verdict, or a hung jury, and then I have to do it all again. I want it to be over quickly. I don’t want to wait two weeks for a verdict again. I wanna rip the bandaid off.” His gaze was so intense, you knew he meant it.

“Okay,” you agreed. 

<3 <3 <3

When you pull up to the prison, you follow all your usual rituals. Turning your phone off and putting it in the glovebox, giving yourself a pre-pat down pat down to make sure you didn’t slip up and bring something prohibited. You check your hair and makeup in the rearview mirror one last time before heading inside.

You and Corey aren’t the only couple getting married today. The prison does weddings in batches. You’re shuffled into the visitation room with two other women, and a man. They’ve arranged the cafeteria style tables to somewhat resemble an aisle and an alter, and the prison chaplain stands at the far end of the room, prepared to officiate, assembly line style. 

You sit anxiously on the edge of your seat, waiting for the prisoners to be brought in. A loud buzzer sounds and the door on the other side of the visitation room swings open. There he is, shackles around his ankles, handcuffs on his wrists, shuffling behind the other inmates. When he sees you his jaw drops in disbelief. You smile and wrinkle your nose at him. 

Luckily the two of you are the second couple in line. When it’s your turn, a guard removes the cuffs from Corey’s hands, but not the ones around his ankles. You meet him at the end of the “aisle” and you’re thankful for all the experience you’ve had restraining yourself with him, holding back the force of your affection to be within the rules. Practice has made perfect.

The prison chaplain runs through the standard wedding vow script. You sign the marriage license and hand the pen to Corey. You just got fucking married. You’re allowed one brief kiss. Then a guard comes over with a polaroid camera and takes two pictures, one for each of you, before they put the cuffs back on Corey’s wrists and lead you out of the visitation room. 

Rather than going through the prison, you’re escorted out into the yard and around the side of the building. The guard buzzes you through several doors and leads the way down a long hall. Finally you come to a door that sits ajar. Inside is a little room that reminds you of the dorm you lived in as a freshman in college. More than just a bedroom, but not quite a whole studio apartment, full of simple, sterile furniture. The guard releases Corey from his restraints, both sets this time, then locks you into the room with him for the next 6 hours. 

You stand motionless next to Corey as the sound of the guard’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. When you can’t hear them anymore, you turn towards him and break into a massive smile.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies, grinning back.

Then you collide. Kissing messily, hungrily, violently. He wraps his arms around your waist and crushes you against him with surprising strength. You cling to him, desperate to get closer, wanting to eliminate the space between you all the way down to the molecular level. 

Within seconds his thick fingers are roaming, trying to figure out how to get your dress off of you. Still kissing him, his tongue filling your mouth, you put the bottom hem of your dress in his hand. He gathers it up around your waist and holds it in one big fist while the other hand cups and kneads your ass. You feel a hot flood between your legs, and your clit throbs. You rake his scalp with your fingernails as you step out of your shoes. 

He hooks his thumb in the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down to your thighs, before returning to get a handful of ass cheek. You can feel his rock hard cock against your stomach. You push against him, trying to get enough space to actually get undressed, but he won’t let you get farther away from him than a centimeter.

“Corey,” you say against his lips, “We have all night.” 

He groans, but he lets you pull away from him. You pull your dress up over your head and drape it over the back of one of the chairs at the little table in the room. Then you step back into him and take over undoing the buttons on the front of his jumpsuit. You get all the way to the bottom and push the sleeves off his shoulders and halfway down his arms before you look away from his face.

“Holy shit. When did all this happen?” You hiss in awe.

When you had been with him before, he was weak from his time in the hospital. Not small, he wasn’t built in a way that would let him be truly small, but he’d lost a lot of muscle just laying there for weeks. You could tell he’d bulked up some since then, but the jumpsuit obscured the true extent of his progress. You squeeze one of his biceps and he flexes it in your hand. The muscle hardening under your hand makes your clit throb.

That isn’t the only surprise though. He’s got tattoos. So many tattoos. He’d mentioned to you on the phone that he was trying to figure out how to build a tattoo machine, that he liked the intellectual challenge presented by his limited resources, but you had no idea it was going to be used on him. 

“I guess you got that tattoo machine working.”

He laughs. “I was gonna tell you, but when we started trying to get married, I thought you might like the surprise.”

“I do,” you half moan, half giggle. 

You squat in front of him and pull the jumpsuit the rest of the way off of him, leaving him in a tight thin tank and his prison issue briefs, already so wet with precum they’re see through in that spot. You ache to have him inside you. You rub your hands over his thighs, then slide them under his shirt as you stand back up. He reaches behind you and unhooks your bra. You let the straps slide down your arms and drop it to the floor. 

Corey grabs your hips and pulls you in for a hard kiss, then uses his grip on you to spin you around, so your back is pressed against him. The desire to grind back against his cock overtakes you immediately, and you thrust your hips into him hard. He reaches under your arms to grab your tits, massaging them, pinching your nipples. Your underwear are still pulled halfway down and you can feel his wetness on your skin. You let out a deep moan. 

The room is narrow and it only takes a gentle push from Corey for you to be on the bed on your hands and knees. He pulls your underwear the rest of the way off and finishes undressing himself. You requested condoms on one of the hundreds of forms you filled out to get married, and the prison provided three in silver foil on the little table. As Corey unwraps one and slides it over his raging erection, you wiggle your hips, putting on a show for him. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, stepping toward the edge of the bed. 

You feel the mattress sink as he kneels behind you, lining himself up. He rubs the tips of his cock against your pussy, tracing circles outside your entrance. You look back over your shoulder at him. His chest and face are flushed a deep red and his eyes look almost black. The sight is too much to take and you jerk your hips towards him. He takes the hint and slides himself in, all the way in. 

You both cry out in unison. Corey pulls almost all the way out of you, then slams back into you, so hard you both lurch forward. Your knees slip out from under you and you end up flat on your stomach with your arms pinned under your chest. He comes down with you, but catches himself with his arms on either side of your head. 

Corey pounds you. You thought you’d been fucked before, but you had been mistaken. This is fucking. With every thrust, the bed hits the wall and bounces off. He’s so deep, hitting just the right spot, so fast and so hard your moans all blend together into one long wail. He presses his forehead between your shoulder blades as he slams you into the thin mattress. It feels so good, all your other thoughts completely dissolve. You get one arm out from under you and wrap that hand around his veiny, freckled forearm. Your fingers don’t even make it halfway around. 

Your long, unbroken sound changes from a moan to his name, spelled with 100 O’s. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts. 

It feels so insane, you don’t think it could possibly feel better, but the pleasure builds and it does. It feels better and better and better until you unravel completely, knowing you're screaming but unable to hear it, the orgasm ravaging your whole body. And it doesn’t stop. Corey keeps thrusting and you keep cumming, your vision going white until finally, with a growl of your name, he collapses the rest of the way, all his weight crushing you. 

You take the deepest breaths you can with him pinning you down, your brain completely fried, until you’re brought back to earth by him pulling out and standing up. You roll onto your back and groggily watch him remove the condom, tossing it into a small trash can under the table. A shy smile crosses his face when he sees you watching. He lies down next to you and puts his arms around you gently, all the animal lust gone from him for the moment. 

“I love you, Corey Cunningham,” you say. 

“I love you too, Mrs. Cunningham,” he says. You both laugh. 

Your eyes fall onto the clock on the wall behind him. You have five hours and two condoms left and you intend to get everything you can out of them.

end note:

While writing this, I found out that Illinois actually does not have conjugal visits or any kind of private spousal or family visitation for prisoners. Most states don't. And many prisoners never even get letters. If you have the time and inclination, I highly suggest getting in contact with a service that provides prisoners with pen pals. Many of them let you choose to only write letters to people serving certain types of sentences for your comfort, for example if you want to write to someone serving life, or if you'd prefer to only talk to those convicted of non-violent offenses. No matter what crimes they may have committed, prisoners are people and people need connection and support.

And if you think the whole system is broken, I highly recommend reading about prison abolition.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #corey cunningham smut #mine #smut #fan fic

[bri-to-the-future]

We all know the original screenplay for BTTF 2 where Biff gave the almanac to himself in 1967 instead of 1955, right? Well, I thought since everyone has been making such lovely stuck in the (insert time period here) AUs, it’d be nice if someone made a…

*drumroll*

Stuck in the 60s AU!

(All credit to PotatoLord’s Picrew!)

It’s just some vague ideas right now, but i love the concept and im definitely gonna flesh it out more once Spaceman from Pluto is finished!

Here’s what i’ve got so far…

80s Doc gets arrested in Hell Valley and insists that he’ll be fine and that Marty needs to go to the 60s and get the almanac

Marty is able to get it after some difficulty (same as in screenplay) and burns it, not willing to take it with him when Doc is at risk

He still gets stop by a police officer, still doesnt have a draft card or id to prove hes a minor, and still gets arrested

He asks Goldie to put out that his name is Marty Klein and that he’s been arrested, knowing that Doc from the 60s still lives in Hill Valley as an inventor

Doc shows up with bail for him and he looks way different than Marty expected. Also, apparently hes a chemistry professor at Hill Valley Community College, which is news to Marty

He gives him a lift to the barn where the Delorean is parked, Marty giving an extremely vague (at Doc’s insistence) explanation on why he’s there on the way, but when they get there they’re both horrified to find that the Delorean is absolutely totalled ((with no 80s Doc to scare the Peabodys away, they didn’t stop at just shooting Mr Fusion and went ham on the car, rendering it completely useless, but thankfully managing to leave the Flux Capacitor in tact))

Doc says he should be able to fix most of the damage but that it will take a while, a good few months at the very least but worst case scenario Marty could be there for a year or two, and there’s no way he’ll be able to fix the futuristic device on the back (Mr Fusion) so once it is fixed they’ll need a new plan to get the 1.21 gigawatts of power, especially since the lightning strike on the courthouse was an isolated incident in Hill Valley’s history

Marty is devastated and spends the first week or so just moping around Doc’s garage and keeping Newton company but after nine days of that Doc insists that some fresh air will do him some good and forces him to come to the college with him

He was right, of course, and Marty finally starts to lighten up and have fun with him again afterwards

After classes are done Doc finally gets Marty to go get some era appropriate clothes with him but when they see Lorraine trying to keep track of an entirely too small Dave and Linda while George looks at ties they immediately turn around and walk into a different store

They’re only able to keep that up for another few days before Marty’s court date comes (who knew his Mom was so anti-war??) and she comes to congratulate him on his innocent verdict after Doc shows the court his (forged) birth certificate proving he’s a minor

When she asks if he’s related to the Marty Klein she knew in high school he tells her they were cousins who were named after the same ancestor and that Doc is watching him for a while but he’s not sure how long

Marty figures out pretty quickly that Doc takes LSD and honestly he’s not sure what to think about that

One day he walks into the living room and Doc is sprawled on the couch with his jacket off for once, clearly tripping his ass off, but Marty spots these bizarre brown lines running the length of his arms that look like scars but were definitely never there in the 80s and honestly he’s a little too freaked out to care whether or not Doc is entirely coherent right now he needs to know what’s going on

“Doc, Doc, what the hell are those?” “What?” “On your arms, Doc, whats that brown stuff!?” And Doc has the gall to look fucking amused! “They’re Lichtenberg figures, Marty. Surely you’ve seen me with short sleeves in the future? The stretch all the way to my shoulders.” Marty is shocked. “Of course I’ve seen you with short sleeves, hell, you’ve had to take your whole shirt off cause of chemical spills, but I’ve never seen those before!” But then a look of realisation crosses Doc’s face. “Oh, of course! They were caused when I accidentally became part of the circuit when the plug came undone that night I sent you back to the future, it makes perfect sense you haven’t had a chance to see them yet.” “They were caused by WHAT!?!?”

Cue Marty having a guilt induced panic attack and Doc having no idea what to do because he’s still mid-trip but eventually getting the hang of it. Once Marty’s calmed down he decides he’s not gonna touch the stuff anymore, not when it impairs his ability to care for Marty (and even when he leaves, what if this had been one of his students?? No, best to leave the stuff behind for good)

Ofc this means once he does fix the Delorean his plan to power it is much less dangerous and terrifying. … its still similar though. Doc will still blow up the safety inhibitor at the power plant and Marty will still hook onto high powered wires, just at the power plant rather than over the grand fucking canyon (the plan is still a work in progress & i havent decided how long it will take Doc to fix the deloreon yet)

When Marty gets back to 85 (now back to perfectly normal Lone Pine Hill Valley, thankfully) the first thing he does is find Doc and give him a massive hug, which he returns just as enthusiastically

[sunshinereddie]

So I've had a very interesting conversation with my cousin ( who is very much a smol baby to fandoms, I'm so proud that I managed to achieve making IT as the first fandom she officially joined lmao ) regarding our dearest trashmouth.

So we were in the middle of watching Bowers scare Richie out of the arcade in Chapter ii when this conversation happened ::

Cousin :: Dude, imagine if Richie came from old money, this guy would've been toast

Me :: ...Huh?

Cousin :: Like, imagine this, okay?

Me :: *nods eagerly*

Cousin :: Imagine Henry tells his dad about the little /f-slur/ in town ( Me : don't say that, Cousin : sorry sorry ) and knowing how shitty this dude's dad is, he'll probably try and get Richie in trouble for a chance to "punish" him for sinning or something hypocritical like that... Then, maybe he tried to get arrested, spurted out some false accusations, and since the people of Derry could care less about the children of the town, they listen to the asshole and took Richie to the station to detain him... Richie's parents found out and not even a minute later, Richie's out with clean records and three police officers got fired, including henry's dad. Can you imagine how wild that would be?

I proceeded to spend the rest of the movie just looking at her in awe because what the fuck? What if, indeed?

Wentworth could've come from a very long line of various medical fields and that's why the Toziers are old money or Maggie could be one from old money as well since from what I understand, old money tends to only marry to other old money families. Maybe the only reason they live in Derry and not in either of their estates is to give Richie a chance to live a "normal" life and not the lavish one they've had. Am I tripping? Probably, but can you imagine also imagine the Losers' reaction to it?

Beverly :: Alright, not that I want Richie to be in jail but how the fuck did you get out so fast? I don't think you can get out of jail that fast even if you're a little well-off

Stan :: Perks of being born into old-money, I guess

Eddie :: H U H ?

BSSNBSLAHSKA THIS…… this is an IDEA I COULD GET BEHIND!!!!!

like i can definitely imagine maggie and went trying to be humble and not wanting to raise richie with the idea that just because his parents have money doesn’t mean he can do whatever he wants to get away with whatever he wants. and maybe both went and maggie’s families are actually shit, like their families are kind of toxic and stuff and they didn’t want to raise their son around them, hence why they moved out to derry!!!!

and i feel like even though for the most part, maggie and went stay out of richie’s troubles (they want him to learn how to solve problems on his own and they don’t want him to rely constantly on his parents), but when someone does something to really hurt him, like what bowers did…… you best believe they’re gonna do something about it!!!!

AAAAHHH!!!! i am enjoying this idea immensely……. rotating this idea in my mind….. except now i’m also thinking about what if they don’t come from regular old money, what if they come from some sort of like mafia background……. au brewing in my mind…..

#sunshinereddie asks #richie tozier #maggie tozier #wentworth tozier #it 2017 #it 2019

[kiljoius-writes]

Cooler Than Me - Chapter 7

Ao3 | FFN

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

First Chapter

Chapter 7: Day Two - Sakura

Sakura thinks that Sasuke’s tough guy act is hilarious.

The way he grumbles, pushes at his paperwork, gets real pouty and…

Fuck, it’s cute.

Sakura hates Sasuke’s baby fat. She hates his big eyes. She hates his soft, fluffy hair. She hates the way that even when he’s pouting, he looks good. It’s not fair, not at all. For one man to just be effortlessly pretty—it’s terrible. She hates it and she hates looking at him.

But she likes working with him because it’s her only opportunity to dunk on him.

“This is ridiculous, you realize that don’t you?”

Sakura coughs into her fist, rolling her eyes. “And just what do you mean by that, Sasuke?”

She says it in this sing-song voice that’s annoyed him since they were kids because, at this point, she thinks he deserves to be annoyed by her.

“I mean that this is a waste of time,” he responds, flatly.

“Oh, it’s a waste of time to find out who’s intruding on your girlfriend’s home? Laying traps for her cousin? That seems like a pretty serious issue.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sakura turns her nose up at his accusatory tone. “This is clearly a prank.”

“I am so sorry, Sasuke,” Sakura laments, very sarcastically, “sometimes us police officers actually have to do work. The worst, isn’t it?”

“Seriously?”

She ignores his scowl. “You pretend like all this is a game, but it’s not! We have serious jobs, I know you spend all your time at the desk, but—”

“Not by my choice!”

“BUT!” Sakura exclaims, stomping her foot to get him to stop talking. “But it’s our job to protect our citizens. Neji is a citizen with a valid complaint.”

“It’s his baby cousin pranking him—”

“So, we should seek out Hanabi and arrest her then? Hinata’s little sister?”

Sakura sneers at Sasuke. She really doesn’t like the way his scowl looks good on him. “We’re not arresting someone for a prank.”

“Only 3 more trips to go!” Sakura darts her eyes up at a familiar voice. Tenten is guiding her marching genin down the road, each carrying a hefty amount of weight. “It’s strength training! You’ll be thanking me later when you get your hands on some amazing sword, like the Executioner’s Blade! Swinging it around like it’s an aluminum bat!”

“Hey, Tenten!” Sakura calls and Sasuke groans next to her. She doesn’t even bother to shoot him a look this time. He does follow her as she approaches Tenten, which she appreciates.

“Ah, what’s up Sakura?” Tenten asks, diverting her attention away from the genin who all are quietly grumbling something about wishing they had Shino for a sensei.

“Have you seen anything suspicious around the Hyūga compound?” Sakura asks. “Or heard from any of your genin about pranks going on there?”

“Pranking the Hyūga?” Tenten asks, tapping her lips. “Can’t say I have. Someone prank Hinata or something?”

Sakura glances at Sasuke who purses his lips, shaking his head. “Hanabi played a prank on Neji.”

“We don’t know—”

“Neji’s back?!” Tenten exclaims, wide-eyed. “Since when?”

“This morning?” Sasuke shrugs. “Or last night? No clue. Hinata never mentioned it, so I assume it’s recent.”

“He…he didn’t come to see me?” Tenten’s upper lip quivers, slightly. Sakura furrows her eyebrows, reaching out to set a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s a busy guy, Tenten,” she tries to comfort. “You know how Lee is, Neji’s probably busy fixing all of the chaos Lee’s unleashed on the village.”

“Chaos aided by a certain someone,” Sasuke says under his breath from beside her. Sakura and Tenten both give him a look.

“Everyone knows it’s your girlfriend’s dad responsible for loaning out piles of cash to Lee,” Sakura quips, and Tenten snickers.

“Not my business.” Sasuke shrugs again.

Sakura knows that it absolutely is his business but decides not to push it. Just looks back at Tenten, who looks like she’s trying not to cry. She just frowns because she doesn’t think Neji is worth crying about, completely confused as to what Tenten sees in him. He’s too much like Sasuke, but at least she finds Sasuke attractive. They’re both hardheaded, snippy and think they’re better than everyone else.

That’s why she’s with Shino, she thinks. He’s softer, more willing to listen, doesn’t talk a whole bunch. That’s the part she likes best, that he’s quiet. Constantly surrounded by people who won’t shut up, Sakura finds peace with Shino. Even if she is a little unsettled when he speaks to his bugs, at least it’s quiet.

“Anyway, Sakura.” Tenten wipes at her nose, clearly trying to hold it together. It reminds her of when she found out on her 20th birthday that Sasuke and Hinata were an item. Now she’s growing into her 20s and doesn’t think there’s any man worth this reaction. “Uhm, Kiba likes to play pranks. Maybe you should ask him?”

“Aren’t you seeing each other?” Sasuke asks, suspicion in his voice.

“I didn’t know you were the village gossip,” Sakura snaps back. “Maybe we should start inviting you to tea, huh?”

“Yeah, Sasuke.” Tenten laughs a little, eyeing him. His face is the picture of confusion. “Didn’t know you were keeping up on village romance.”

“Whatever,” Sasuke sighs. “Let’s just go find him. Even though it’s not him, you’re going to insist and I’m just tired of it.”

Well, that’s no fun.

“Thanks for your help, Tenten.” Sakura leans in to whisper, “we can talk more about it on Friday for tea.”

“Yeah.” Tenten sighs, waving at them as they begin their trek.

Sakura’s pretty sure Sasuke already knows what ‘tea on Fridays’ means because Hinata probably told him at some point or another, but she must at least try not to let the whole village know that 4 kunoichi (and 1 male shinobi) are meeting weekly to discuss everyone’s business. The only time Sakura feels like she can relax lately is in the comfort of the Akimichi’s Barbeque Diner. For a barbeque place, it’s actually got a fairly modern, hip vibe to it, just with the smell of a smoker. She just hopes after their break from tea brings forth juicier gossip than last time.

“Inuzuka compounds this way.” Sasuke nudges his head while Sakura shakes hers.

“Guess you don’t know as much as you thought,” she quips, feeling satisfied with his frown. “He’s on guard duty ‘til 3.”

“I have never once in my life cared to memorize the schedule of an Inuzuka,” he says, flatly, just typical Sasuke. She huffs because his effortlessly unaffected voice while simultaneously insulting her in an underhanded way really gets under her skin. Thinks that if Shino said something like that to her, as if she was crazy for knowing other people’s daily routines, she’d probably cry. But at least he would care and try to comfort her somehow, not meant for it to be an insult.

“Kiba!” Sakura shouts with her hands cupped around her mouth. See’s him poke his head out from the top of the tower.

“What is it?” Kiba calls back, standing up now to rest his arms on the edge of the fencing. Sakura starts climbing the ladder, looking back at Sasuke expectantly, who is staring off in the distance.

“Earth to Sasuke.”

“I’m not going,” he tells her, coolly. “This is your insane mission. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Lazy,” Sakura spits, shaking her head as she continues up. “Hinata clearly has a type.”

It’s a harsh statement to make and she catches the electricity that sparks between his fingers when she says it. He’d never do anything, so she just hums to herself as she continues up the ladder, satisfied that she finally got under his skin. No one likes to be reminded of their partners’ exes, especially being compared to them. Shikamaru and Sasuke had never been friendly in the past, but since Sasuke and Hinata started dating, things became tense between them. It’s one of the few things Sakura can rub his nose in.

Once she gets to the top, she’s greeted with Kiba leaning on his back against the fencing, hands clasped behind his neck. “What’s up, Officer Haruno?”

Sakura actually doesn’t mind Kiba. He minds his own business, says hi whenever he passes by, and Akamaru being adorable doesn’t hurt either. If she actually thought Kiba had done the prank, she’d feel bad having to confront him right now. Of course, she’s not an idiot. She knows who did it.

“Just investigating an attack,” she says, and he straightens up immediately. She waves her hand. “Attack might be a strong word. A prank, rather.”

“I haven’t pranked anyone,” he responds, quickly, looking guilty.

“It was on Neji.”

“Neji’s back?” Sakura instantly feels a little pang of guilt now, realizing this can’t be good news for Kiba. The little shake in his voice is so pathetic it’s almost cute. She has a hard time feeling too bad, though, because Kiba should know better.

Whatever’s going on between him, Tenten, and Neji, it’s messy.

Tea Friday can’t come fast enough.

A/N: Thanks to anyone patiently waiting for this fic. I'm working on SasuHina month so everything got put on the back burner, but I got a sudden wind of inspiration for this fic so here's Sakura doing her best to ruin Sasuke's happiness.

#crack #crack fic #crackfic #sasuhina #shinosaku #nejiten #sasuke #sakura #naruto #shino x sakura #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #tenten #kiba #kibaten #messy #naruto fanfic #fanfic

[ozimagines]

Any thoughts on Chico being a parent?

I have a couple, thanks for asking😂 I love the idea of Chico as a dad, and have played around with it in fanfiction. He loves hard. That’s gotta mean something, right?

Chico Guerra as a Parent would include…

He’s not exactly the classic “fatherly” type

He never really saw himself with kids and a family

Mostly because he never thought he could

(I write Chico with an older brother, Roberto (Bobby), who joined El Norte before him on the outside and when his older brother was killed in a gang war, he just stayed because that’s all he’s ever known. This is important for how I view him)

He’s reckless and wild

But he’s kind to kids, always

Even before he has ones of his own

He was always the “cool cousin” at family functions

There are lines even criminals don’t cross

His stomach turns when he heard about Beecher’s son

He’s up every night for a week wondering how terrified that little boy must have been up until the end

Breaks his heart💔

When he gets a chance for kids, adopted or biological, he surprises everyone at how he is with them

He’s not necessarily a perfect dad, but he’s a loving dad

Supportive

Chico likes to get on his knees to talk to his kids

His friends think it’s “fruity” but the kids really like someone meeting them at their level

He always makes it seem like they’re getting away with something

“Here’s three dollars, don’t tell mom/dad.”

“Can you keep a secret? I always wanted to be an astronaut. Shhhhh…”

*making chocolate chip pancakes* “and now we add extra chocolate and don’t tell anyone about it.”

The kids love it, they feel like he really sees them

He loves kids; they say the weirdest stuff

“You think spinach tastes like horse feet? Ok. Explain.” 😂

Big fan of putting his kids on his shoulders or neck

They always get the best views at all shows and parades

Fuck the people behind him tho

Only the best for his kids

Sees them as an extension of Bobby; giving them the life his brother never had

He is SHIT in the kitchen… but literally anytime his kids are hungry, he’s on his feet asking what they want…

even though he knows fuck all about kid tastes

“Ok… an afterschool snack…” *rifles past the beer and cornflakes* “umm…”

His significant other comes home to find the kitchen a mess but some very happy children eating what Chico calls “sugar seizure bagels”

(Bagels with jelly, marshmallows, chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, and sprinkles)

Likes to toy with his kids

“Ok… we have spicy lobster and squishy peas or… cosmic brownie?”

“BROWNIE!”🥰

“Hmmmm okay, if you’re sure…”😂

Chico’s in charge of the pantry

Comic brownies, devil dogs, roll ups and gushers… looks like a fallout shelter for a five year old millionaire.

Makes breakfast every Sunday; egg bagel sandwiches he personalizes for each kid.

Keeps trying to add stuff to show off for his kids

Doesn’t realize they think it’s perfect with just a little cheese lol

Kids watch cartoons while dad cooks

Dad making comments from the kitchen

“Y’think he’s ever gonna get that mouse?”

“Wish my car worked just sticking my feet out of it…”

“No. You cannot call me papa Smurf. Please.”

Likes it when the kids take naps on his chest afterwards

That’s something he’d miss terribly as they grew up

Until one day after a fight his teenager, seeing him reclining on the couch, just goes and sits next to them, watching tv until they both fall asleep, Chico pulling his kid close.

Chico lets his kids paint his nails but he draws the line at wearing it out.

Though he quite liked the black polish…👀

If you’ve ever watched Liar Liar with “the claw”, Chico has something similar with his kids; the Tickle Police

“Scuse me, ma’am/sir, you know how cute you were going just then? That’s a write up.”🥹

Insists on tucking them in

Will tell stories that may or may not be kid appropriate…

“Then Prince Carlos threw his… drink… at the officer.”

Is INCREDIBLY supportive

Tolerant and Chico Guerra don’t automatically go together… but he wants his kids to have what Bobby didn’t.

“You want to be an engineer? No one’s got a better head than you, kid.”

“A surgeon? I’d go to you if you were my doc. Wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

“You want to be an interpretive dancer… that’s… pretty cool.”😂

No one ever told Chico Guerra that he could do anything

So he wants his kids to know the world is theirs.

When they’re sick, he treats them like royalty

He’ll take off work and stay home with the them, watching movies and refilling their Gatorade.

He never hesitates to cuddle them when they’re sick, often resulting in him getting sick himself.

Chico used to be a huge baby when he got sick

With kids, he wants them to see him as Superman, so he always makes it seem less bad than it is

“Nah kid *blows nose* I’m fine, Daddy’s fine.”

If anyone bullies his kids, he genuinely will not know how to cope

He doesn’t want his kids fighting everyone like he did

But damn does it boil his blood when they get home crying.

He sits with them and talks, listens to what the other kids said or did

“You’re not gonna take this. Next time they fuck with you… *gets look from S/O* *sigh* go tell a grown up.”

He’s trying really hard to be a positive influence

He doesn’t want his kids to had the life he did

When his kids are old enough to learn about gangs in the neighborhood, Chico tries to explain.

“They’re gonna pretend they’re your friends and they’re not. I’m saving twenty years of your life here, kid.”

When some of his old “friends” talk about recruiting his boy, Chico almost breaks parole.

“Let me make this painfully clear…”

Every day he tries to protect his kids from men like him, and it changes his view of life.

If his kids are happy, he decides, then his life won’t have been a waste

And when you ask family friends and onlookers, Chico Guerra has some happy fucking kids.

Bonus: the movie Inside Out made him cry. He watches a lot of movies with his kids but that movie just quirked something inside of him. He loves that fucking movie.

#hbo oz #oz meme #chico guerra

[luci-z-wont-shut-up]

Episode 2

Bro snow in the desert is not actually that wierd

Bro. Bro u srsly need to rethink ur tourism program like what the fuck. FREE RADON FOR EVERYONE

I'm sorry but as soon as he said "it changes colors" I immediately envisioned a fuckin. Caramelldansen cloud XD

OH SO IT KILLS PPL. O K A Y .

Bro if literally Existing in Nightvale is so dangerous, how does the population stay afloat. At all.

Sounds like just a normal day in the post office tbh. Also Racist Magic Guy is starting to grow on me. His oblivious stupidity and self-sure incompetence have captivated me.

Honestly a floating cat in the men's bathroom sounds like the least abnormal thing so far. Cats are just Like That™️.

"This message was brought to you by Coca-Cola" yeah that tracks X'D

"Because all of us are normal" bombastic side eye. Criminal offensive side eye

Ah so the secret Boy Scout cult has finally achieved immorality. Good to know. Just another Tuesday ig. Also d a r k s c o u t XD

WAIT "Sign-up is automatic and random" um wat. Hi what. Does. Does this perchance have anything to do with the Ominous Helicopters

This man has *clearly* never been a father. Or had siblings. Or cousins. Ever. Maybe *don't* bring children near the Caramelldansen Cloud of Carrion?

...oh so they just have straight up dragons. Ok. Dragons who commit insurance fraud? *throws hands up* why not

"McDaniels was pulled over for speeding last night" UM SIR how big was that car?!? Actually ykw nvm it prolly just had a pocket dimension or amthn this is fuckin Nightvale why am I trying to use logic

Okay #1. Secret Dragon Society that's actually Not That Secret is kinda cool, #2. WTF DO YOU MEAN STOP SIGN IMMUNITY. like don't get me wrong I *understand the temptation* but also why would you allow dom3thing so profoundly stupid and unsafe as a r e w a r d for

... for being an Alert Citizen. Ok. Ok I guess I can kinda see where they're coming from. Maybe. [Didn't sleep well last night and I'm tired so sorry if my commentary's getting lackluster]

Also stamp system for being compliant with the secret police. Yeah that's not sus at allllll

Bro I wish I could schedule my workplace to be Unknowable some days. Dot Day sounds... ominous, for a number of reasons but more so their implications than anything actually ominous, yk?

[I need sleep]

Bro I would NOT pay $5 for a music lesson like that, let alone $50

"Bake sale proceeds go to blood space war" okay invader zim

"Wednesday has been cancelled due to a scheduling error" XD honestly w my terrible sense of time that just sounds like a normal thing to me

Tfw a your perfectly good ice cream outing is inturupted by a dead lion dropping from the sky

[Continuing this like 3 weeks l8r so sorry for the Commentary Continuity Disruption Leik Woah]

Uhhhhhhhhhh so in the weeks I've been gone I threw myself back asswards into TMA content [so yes v much Spoilers First Bc I Had No Patience] and? I am. Very much getting a Smirke's Fourteen vibe from the Carrion Cloud. Also is Mr radio man. Like. Okayyy??!?!?

AND NOW THE WEATHER

🎶Waitin for the bus in the rain in the rain in the waitin for the bus in the raiiiin 😎 🎶

Damn this is actually a legit bop I would make this new ringtone no question

(Don't get me wrong I fully expect this to have Lore implications later on but for now I'm just Vibin)

NOT SURE WHAT HAPOENED MY ASS

oh. Oh, Tapes, you say??? Well. *strokes imaginary beard*

What. The fuck? Genuine Life Advice? In my horror/weirdcore podcast? It's More Likely Than You'd Think. What. qhat even is this.

Ok so vanilla smell is Important.

This List is probably important but my brain refuses to hold onto any item in detail for longer than 3 seconds. Also "clear plastic binder sheets" made me laugh SO hard for some reason

Genuine question to anyone reading this, how much should I be paying attention? Like is this a Pepe Sylvia red-stringing sort of podcast where every detail is crucial later on, or is it more sort of a go-with-the-flow, Embrace the Absurdity sort of thing?

Why was that "Goodnight, listeners" so threatening?!?!?

*deep, deep inhale* ohhhkay

Next FUCKING EPISUDE I GUESS

#welcome to nightvale #welcome to night vale #is it one word or two? #wtnv #wtnv spoilers #LucizbulliesCecil #lucifanbabbles #zizistuff

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary87

12/7-8/2023

thursday - friday

“Did you say the stars were worlds, Tess?" "Yes." "All like ours?" "I don't know, but I think so. They sometimes seem to be like the apples on our stubbard-tree. Most of them splendid and sound - a few blighted." "Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one?" "A blighted one.” - Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D'Urbervilles

as my girlfriend was hiding from being shot, she was hiding in the dark with her colleague, she checked her email because as people were unsure if the shooting was still taking place, or even that the man had been shot by police, someone who must have had the alert, and had access, to the registry of everyone teaching interdisciplinary studies, their emails, to send this message (credit to roberto lovato on twitter):

she did not receive this email, instead she had received one saying that the landlord is not going to be renewing any leases at this apartment complex, and that we will have to move by march.

the shooter was eventually shot by police, but no one knew for sure if it was multiple people. this was circulating, sent to me by my cousin:

he told me to listen to the police scanner, so i did. they were clearing every room, slowly, it took them hours to get to where my gf was, and along the way, anyone who stepped out, anyone who tried to flee, was pointed at with a rifle, held up by pigs, basically. the terrorism did not ever end for any of them, all at the brink of pissing themselves because they didn't want to scare a police officer and get killed. one of my gf's colleagues had a rifle pointed at him while he was trying to go piss, and they called him a straggler, and told him to fuck off, basically.

there was, simultaneous to the shooting, someone being arrested in a hotel, near campus, this seemed related to people online i think, but i never got a clear vision of what that was. all there is now, is one dead shooter, only attacking the business school building, specifically hunting down faculty after being told they would not hire him. he also sent out poisonous letters, it seems, to faculty of old schools he worked at, and places that also refused to hire him. he posted the content of the letters online. they aren't worth reproducing, i guess, they are wildly misogynistic, at the same rate, he seems to have been driven insane by academia, and pushed towards reactionary tendencies by being useless to help anyone really or accomplish anything in terms of making it not a special kind of hell. he accuses multiple people of fucking their students, he calls himself a genius constantly, he is paranoid of marxists, and on his website he also has a lot of writing re: conspiracy theories, he liked alex jones. overall, he was terrified and disgusted. he believed people he worked with were doing things like seeing child prostitutes in thailand, using work resources for csa materials. i don't know how much of that is paranoia directed at someone who might have been gay (this kind of accusation is common to level at gay people, as we see especially now), he even accused who i assume might have been lesbian coworkers of having their students give them head, or if this is somehow, a little real. i know these things do happen, teachers using their students. favors for sex between faculty, too. incapable of confronting the material causes of the hell we are in (actually dealing w/ marx intellectually/trying to understand) this particular business teacher/economist doubled down on the capitalist fantasy of meritocracies and conspiracy to account for his failings.

there is little sympathy, but there's something unpleasantly complicated about how he got to where he got. he was desperate for work, to cling to a life i guess. he took issue, and tried to kill faculty in the business school.

the police relocated many students out of their dorms, into a giant stadium, i don't know why, i guess to hunt for any potential other gunmen.

we saw my friends last night, after all of this, and we did fun stuff, but this other shit is still here, the unsurety of our housing, the guns, the police, but whatever i guess, right.

it's crazy seeing parts of the world act like this is all unreal. there is a massive amount of faith in the hyperreal, which maintains its existence, i wonder if baudrillard ever mentioned that. i don't recall, but in the semantic processes, the image making, the visions, the map that exceeds the territory, or the map which gifts us our territory, there is massive faith in those laws and processes, the positivity always, a super-ideal reality, there is only the heavensent, and so, tragedy, horror, abjection, are either absorbed as highly intentional events which seek to make something of humanity, or untrue totally. horror becomes either plan, god, or nothing at all.

everything defused, and at the center, the police managing, keep information blurry, they themselves not wanting to believe anything other than the activity they are engaged in is helpful, problems are imagined to keep the policing going, upwards, upwards, upwards. they do not realize it is all death, sinking into static images forever, no great upheavals, even the shooter is under this order, he doesn't realize that this is what he hates.

anyway, anyway, anyway, i don't know.

i don't think we live in a place where people are supposed to be, if you care about anything, there is only a terrible grinding, and not knowing. i've had nightmare about my girlfriend being killed like that. i'm so dependent on her. i don't know what i'd do. i don't like the world, i think maybe, i can admit, i don't like a lot of people. it's awful to say, i think. but everything is going to make me sick. hearing about teachers trying to keep school running like normal are so disgusting, and idiotic. the normal cannot disappear. people dying just has to be normal. there is no war on the public, there never was, new ways to die, urban hazards, there is nothing to see other than antibiotic responses to disease, and it's okay to see it.

the rodeo is in town, as she was taken to the stadium, she was taken thru barbed wire, and led in a snake-shaped path or something by a guy in army gear with an ar15, probably, and ended up somewhere in front of a barbecue food truck. there were cowboys milling around. as people were hiding in the dark i was watching the horses from our window, and the alarm and its robotic voice said words, they weren't even scared of it anymore, no whinnying. nothing.

it woke me up, i didn't think it could be that, my girlfriend told me it was and i didn't even ask if it was what i thought it could be. i don't know. she was in the dark, her colleagues argued, some at least, they were all horrified about this happening. obviously. nothing will happen, though. we are all going to collectively deal with the fact, and forced to act like this is not a fact, creating a quiet misery that we will either forget or use as staging grounds for a horrible kind of birth, of what i can hardly say, tumorous sadness i guess, that we now live in a world where this will never be taken back, and that there is no response possible, at least at the level of each of us alone. together, what could we do, all there is in my heart is the wish for a world wholly different.

i can't get over the email she received, and that we are unsure of what will happen. all either of us have done is live/survive, it feels like some kind of punishment.

i know it's not the whole world, and that landlords are especially shit. it's just extreme, i dunno, it feels like this is reproduced everywhere, on every level. maybe i am just winded and weak.

i am craving some sort of punishment, i just want to be ended but i want it to be funny i guess. that makes me greedy/selfish, i can't stop wanting it though. i just want to be exploded. tortured and left on the side of the road. right now is just that without the fun parts (possibly puking, blood, being connected to my body).

instead i am just distantly afraid.

an intolerable heat, i guess.

yesterday we saw the christmas lights at this chocolate factory. that was nice. it was very pretty, my gf saw these angel ornaments, all lit up and stuff, and she said they're like the ones in fwwm, to take me away, she meant it in a sweet way, but it made me realized all over again what that scene means to me, and how i felt then, just wanting to escape all of this awful stuff. but it's sad, i want to be here for her. i wish we could go away forever. into a life that is not shoved into various unrealities at all times.

anyway, look at these sprites from despiria.

i'm tired, now, so

byebye!!!!!!

[unamedica]

SUPERGIRL AU --

‘Lane. The name followed Vi everywhere she went, every story she uncovered, every lead she investigated—Violet Lane had quite the shoes to fill. But she was not her cousin: Lois. Vi was a PI, not a reporter… and she may have unintentionally discovered a secret the world would kill to know.’

~~~

It all began on a Thursday evening. 

Vi was punching her way through stubborn henchmen refusing to drop a name. Taking on more than she could. They wore ski masks with spray painted question marks on them: Riddler’s men. 

More like fanboys waiting to be noticed. 

Vi had one in a headlock. Her right gloved right hand was sore, but she could keep doing this all night if she had to. Young children’s lives were at risk. She investigated the wrong (or right) firm and fell into a hole of inhumanity.

But all of this had a head to run it all.

“All I need is a hint of a name. And I’ll find him.”

A man on the ground was laughing maniacally. Before Vi could turn around and react her head exploded in pain. Her vision blurred. 

Vi grunted when another blow came down. And another—and another. “Argh!”

“Who’s the bitch now?” A man asked, sounding overly confident.

Vi spit out a mouth of blood before rolling onto her back, keeping her arms raised to block her face. “You are!"

The group of men began kicking her. One even grabbed her by the throat and hauled her up—hoping to get cheap shots to her face. Vi squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the blows—but they never came.

She heard distant sounds of struggling and rope swinging through the air. “You know,” A feminine voice called out from the alley. “...for someone who swears they’re only walking the streets of Gotham at night for a lead… you sure know how to get your hands dirty.”

You, Vi thought.

A sudden gust of wind blew on Vi and she slowly lowered her guard—opening her eyes. Supergirl was leaning against the opposite building. The men were tied up to the posts next to her.

Vi smirked, or she tried to, “Yeah, well—these assholes deserved it.” 

“I don’t doubt that.” Supergirl slowly approached Vi then hesitated. “Are you hurt?”

Vi winced when she tried to stand up straight. She shook her head. “Nothing a bag of frozen peas can’t solve.”

Supergirl held out her hand. “Let me take you to the hospital. There’s one close by,”

Vi grunted and began walking in the opposite direction. “I doubt my insurance covers this.”

Supergirl was floating close by. “Then let me take you home, Ms Lane.”

Vi gritted her teeth, hating that Supergirl knows where she lives… where she hides from authorities (dirty police officers and corrupt Commissioners.)

“I can walk.”

“It's a 15 mile walk."

"I need the fresh air."

"Gotham is heavily polluted." Supergirl smirked. She held out her hand for Vi to take. "It will be much quicker if you let take you home. Give me your hand."

“I hate flying.” Vi whispered. She hated the sympathetic look on the hero’s face. 

Supergirl slowly lowered herself until she was on even ground alongside Vi. “I’ll walk with you then. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

So fucking perfect, aren’t you? Vi refrained from an eye roll and took another step before feeling her legs give up—but she never fell. 

Supergirl had the most gentle and secure hold around her. Vi hated how much she missed it.

‘Are you alright?’ the most beautiful voice asked, ‘Ms Lane, can you hear me?’ Supergirl asked again, but Vi’s mind was drifting in and out of consciousness.

“I think I hit my head.” Vi heard herself whisper before she fell forward once again.

Her body felt weightless and the air was suddenly much colder on Vi’s face. Instinctively she reached out to hold onto something and found a strong arm.

‘Are you awake?’ The voice asked again. Fingers gently brushing the hair out of Vi’s face.

All Vi remembers seeing was the great expanse of the sky without the pollution hiding its brilliant sight. Followed by long blue hair (always perfect it seems), but it was those eyes that held Vi still.

“I love your eyes.” Vi heard herself once again. Though it felt dream-like.

She wasn’t sure why, but Vi felt like she'd seen those eyes before.

#caitvi fanfiction #Supergirl AU #Caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #Vi #caitlyn x vi #drabble

[rroechan]

Messrs. Shipwright & Seuss

Magic detective OCs

me rambling below (theres a lot)

originally, they were hp fan characters, with houses, wands, patronuses and everything but for varying reasons, they evolved past that and I basically made up a whole world, similar but not entirely. a Lot of changes were just me fixing and then adding waaay too much detail into the magic system (because I go rabid for world building)

eg. i threw that whole witch = girl, wizard = boy thing FAR out the window. Those are basically titles now that classifies what sort of magic user are you. Regular peeps are Mages, 'Wizard' is basically like a phd, Witches are homeschooled, Warlocks are the equivalent to 'fucked around, found out'. I could go more in depth if ppl r interested,,,

Dr.Shipwright

one on the right

pseud Jeers Shipwright, real name Noah Silkryce

Holds the title of wizard, is an actual genuine doctor whom specialises in the treatment and study of magic cores (a magic user's source of magic located very literally inside their bodies)

he lives in the two story apartment above the storefront thats basically their detective office

his apartment is meant for like a family of 4 but he has So Many Books. Even copies of the same book because theyre "collector's edition" or something other. My god, one quarter of his collection is untouched and still in their packaging because he hasnt finished the ones hes already opened yet.

He'll read about anything you throw at him but he enjoys fiction the most

Eccentric (read, i projected all of my neurodivergence onto him)

aside from loving books to no end, he also enjoys wearing funky patterns. different coloured & patterned socks, arcade floor pants, etc etc. Even at a funeral, if you looked close enough, his necktie has black cat patterns on it.

(He started doing it cause one of his favourite book characters did it. Perseus is ever grateful Noah didnt pick up the character's accent as well)

he looks charming but has nearly zero social skills. Best part is that its not that he doesnt try, he just doesnt bother with it. he leaves all the talking part to Perseus

Mr. Seuss

one on the left

pseud Seuss Dreammaker, real name Perseus O. Coy

Originally part of the Magic Police but left to join Noah in becoming a detective duo. He still retains some favorability from the magic police, specifically the current police chief whom he used to apprentice under.

She, the police chief, is one of the ways the two get their cases

While Noah uses a wand for most magic, Perseus uses a foil sword disguised as a cane

the magic police use magic swords.

Perseus also just. Knows fencing cause hes from a pureblood richie magic family

yea theres blood politics in this too but in the timeline, its cooled waaay the fuck down by the time Noah and Perseus got out of secondary school

coming from a pureblood family, his tastes lean a bit more to the expensive side, especially for food.

him and his parents travelled a lot thus Perseus having a very broad flavour pallette. At some point he'd began his own secret little food journal rating and writting down dishes and recipes he's picked up. (he learnt how to cook purely because the school food was far too bland. Just imagine younger him as that one person on tiktok who cooked a wellington in their dorm)

He acts plenty reserved but he can be very excitable when it comes to new things, not just food. Though, he doesn't show it well unless prompted to.

"Decorum, remember decorum" old lessons die hard. His form of being excited or interested is just very subdued, Noah is always first to notice and will push Perseus into trying something.

I wanted to say that Noah is "La la la la" and Perseus is "Ok ok ok ok" but I failed to clarify that they're both cousins, related by their great-grandparents. This isn't something I threw in, this is relevant to the plot and how they meet each other

one last fun fact abt these two: they're technically legacy characters based off my other hp ocs who are like, great-grand uncle and aunts to these two.

its a nightmare, its insanity, but its very funny to me

#rroeschildren #hp oc #my ocs

[winderlylandchime]

I am so glad to know that my brother has provided entertainment for others as well. He is currently mine and my two cousins (who showed me qaf) main source of entertainment. And I’m glad to know those long messages yesterday weren’t annoying, because even I went ‘shit’ when I saw the whole thing typed out. I do feel like i have to say: 1) my parents did actually know about qaf but i think they both forgot about my hyperfixation 2) my father who is a lawyer had to ask me this morning to make sure my brother doesn’t get any funny ideas and calls his office with this shit. And yes, i already had to stop him from calling his office 3) we only watched 2x01 bc he had a doctor appointment and in case you are wondering: yes, he did mention it to the doc when he was asked ‘hows it going’ the reaction was the same you give to a toddler ‘ooookay..so you found something to do’ 4)i woke up today to a voice memo from one of his friends asking me wtf is going on because my brother sent him a 9 minute voice memo about Britin without every mentioning that he’s talking about a show/fake characters so his friend thought it was real. He is now also invested. There is now a group chat with 4 people about it.

And i guess the only other thing I’d like to say is, if there are any moments from the show or specific episodes that y’all would like to know his reactions to, i am taking requests since I literally have nothing better to do and am already keeping 3 other people updated (bless working from home)

DEAR SWEET ANON. The world is now invested. I got asks overnight with messages to tell you how invested people are. Last night, over dinner, I did a dramatic reading of your messages and my responses for my spouse (a bit of dinner theater, my spouse is the one who got me into QAF) and my spouse wants you to know they are now invested in your brother's journey.

(My spouse also says "I'm at an age where laughing this hard is a real risk of peeing myself a little.")

So, no, not annoying at all. VERY WELCOME.

HE MENTIONED IT TO HIS DOCTOR AT HIS POST SURGICAL FOLLOW UP. I die.

HE SENT HIS FRIEND A NINE MINUTE VOICE MEMO AND FAILED TO MENTION THESE ARE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. I cannot.

I think I (and the fandom) most want to know about the major Britin moments of S2 - the computer, the tuition, Sap's party (will your brother have prom flashbacks?), the trip to VT, and, of course, Ethan. I'm also very curious how he reacts to Michael's reaction to Debbie dating Carl. Does your brother come done on the ACAB/fuck the police side of things or "Stop being a whiney shit, you didn't like it when your mom told you not to date Ben" side of things. Or both? Both is legitimate.

Anon, your brother has at least 10 strangers on the internet who are fully invested in his QAF journey and who are so grateful to you for your detailed live blogging.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

[hearts4aailyah]

🖇️.YANDERE TENDOU X FEMALE!READER

WARNING; Yandere theme, mentions of weapons, character death.

"y/n...~ come out baby. Im getting kinda sick of playing hide and seek!" Tendou yelled through out the empty school as he held a knife in his hands. You closed you eyes, trying to pretend that this is all a big dream as you started wrapping your leg in a bandage where Tendou stabbed you at earlier.

Tears began to clouded your vision as you get up from the floor, you wished you remember to charge your phone this morning but you didn't so you couldn't even call the police for help. Tendou killed your cousin Semi, you found his body bleeding out in front of the bathroom.

You've been hiding in the classroom for the past twenty minutes, now...it's time to make a run for it, you NEEDED to get out of here. Tendou was always such a playful person, you could have never seen this coming. You didn't understand why he was targeted you, I mean you've been his girlfriend for almost two years now.

What changed?

What made him this way?

Why would he do this?

Was there something he wasn't telling her?

So much thoughts were going through your head but your main concerned was how were you going to get out of School. You got up as you started to shake, you opened the classroom door and look to your left in your right

'cost is clear...' you thought before taking a left and starting to run. If you just ran down the hallway, take two lefts, go downstairs, and run out the double doors next to the front office you will be free.

You continued running until you got to the stairs. By the time you got to the stairs you were already burnt out, your caves hurting like hell.

"come on...almost there...." you whispered to yourself. You ran all the way down stairs before being pulled back by your hair. You yelped as you fell into somebody's chest.

Before you could even pull away you felt a knife at your throat.

"Found you..~" Tendou whispered into your ear, a very creepy and wide smile plastered on his face.

"T-Tendou... baby...you don't have to d-do this...I-"

"Oh y/n..haha...but I do. I don't want to hurt you, I just want you for myself. I figured you would run so...I grabbed my favorite knife."

You gulped as Tendou lowered the knife and started tracing your chest where your heart is.

"Could you imagine it? me craving out your heart so no one else can have it? Just thinking about it makes me smile..." Tendou smirks. "But...I won't. you're too cute to be just a lifeless body".

"Why...why did you k-kill semi?" you stuttered, terrified to see what your boyfriend has become.

"Oh your cousin? Well babe at first I didn't know you guys were cousins! If I did I wouldn't have killed him off...thats not a good first impressions once I meet your family!"

"You love me don't you Tendou?"

"Of course I do."

"Then put the knife down babe..." You whispered as you placed your hands on the knife where Tendou's hand was and lowered the knife down. You turned around to face Tendou in his eyes.

"Tendou...theres nothing...nothing in this world that would EVER take me from you. I love you so much for who you are, but doing all of this....it isn't the answer. Don't be the monster  that they say you are."

Tendou smirking face turned into a slightly disappointed face. "you're...you're right." He whispered as he dropped the knife on the floor and pulled you into a hug.

You were shocked for a moment but you hugged back.

"Hey Ten..."

"Yes baby?"

"Theres just... one tiny problem..."

"And whats that babe?"

"You fucked with my family..."

You grabbed the knife and shoved it into Tendou mouth, stabbing him.

"MPHM!" Tendou gagged as blood continued dripping and flooding from his mouth. You showed no mercy in your eyes as you had a blank expression on your face.

You placed your other hand on the knife and started twisting the knife inside his mouth causing the boy to muffle in pain.

"You die a fucking virgin..."

You sliced the knife out of his mouth as he fell to the floor laying there lifeless. You looked down at Tendou, you were both in your senior years. You stood there, thinking about what things would have been like in the future. Tendou would probably be a professional volleyball player, you would be a professional basketball player, eventually you two would have kids, travel the world together, and grow old together.

Too bad he turned out to be a pyscho...

You searched Tendou's lifeless body to find his cellphone, since you were his girlfriend, you already knew his password. You opened his phone and you called the police.

You sat on the stairs with the operator, in a couple of minutes you could hear police sirens starting to come closer and closer.

"y...y/n!" a voice called out to you.

"SEMI SEMI!!" You gasped as you ran over to hug him, squeezing him.

"N-not too hard y/n! I-im still bleeding o-out." Semishira yelps.

You chuckled and pulled away. "Come on, I called the police...they should be here any minute now."

I helped Semi down the stairs as we got to the end of the stairs to see Tendou dead body.

"Tendou...hes dead?!"

"I...I killed him" You whispered loud enough for Semishira to hear.

Suddenly, tons of police officers rushed into the building. They took ahold of Semi, carrying him into the ambulance.

"Are you okay ma'am?" one of the officers asked you.

"Im okay...I just got stabbed in the leg a couple of times..."

Two other officers assist you, helping me walk to an ambulance, You looked back to see the love of your life's body one last time before one of the officers covered his body up.

"What we could have been..." A tear left your eyes as you began remember your beautiful memories with Tendou.

#tendou satori #haikyuu