#but also if someone said the romantic things I see on tumblr to me I think I’d cringe so hard I’d shit myself
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Astro Observations 🌱
Disclaimer: This is my first Astrology post! I tried to do this earlier this year but tumblr lagged and it deleted all of my hard work lol. But now I’ve gained the courage to give it another go! I’m not a professional astrologer. I just study it in depth when I have time. Still very much a beginner. Please be kind and if I’m misinformed let me know! If you want to repost my work please credit me. This also has personal opinions in here don’t take it too seriously babes!
🌾 I don’t typically think Leo’s and Scorpios go together romantically BUT any other relationship outside of that exudes power team. For ex: Kylie and Kris Jenner. Scorpios are known to love power and Leo’s love the spotlight! Kylie was bound to be a favorite after her « ugly duckling » phase. Kylie rolls in the dough and Kris keeps that empire going. I’ve seen many Scorpio parents with Leo kids and they really seem to love them the most lol
Let’s talk about underdeveloped placements real quick!
🌿 Having a parent that is toxic or underdeveloped and has placements that fall into your second house can obliterate your self worth. ESPECIALLY if you have planets in that house and their placements are exactly conjunct 0° or 1-3°.
🌾 If your mars sign is exactly square one of your parents mars or 1-5° orb… 🌚 take the steps to move out if you haven’t already it’s for the best.
🌿 Capricorn moons I wish I could hug all of you. You had to grow up so fast and got handed some of the worst cards. But nevertheless resilience is your middle name. As you age things will get easier if you stand on business! Integrity is key.
🌾 I know libras are known to be superficial or whatever and I’m kinda one of them lol. I literally live off of aesthetics and I typically have nice skin but when I have a massive break out? I literally want to hide until they’re gone. My stress is next level when I don’t look my best.. I’m also a Leo Venus 😅 in the tenth house at that and have cancelled plans when I look and feel shitty.
🌿 All of the air signs almost always value intellectual stimulation first from their partner. Someone they can have great rapport, banter with. Someone that’s witty and knows a wide variety of subjects or has many interests is very hot. Sagittarius is the air sign of the fire signs so I’ll loop them in on this too.
If we lost any zodiac element, it would bring chaos to the entire world.
🌾 Air brings logic and reasoning, water brings compassion and empathy, earth brings grounding and patience, fire brings passion and vitality. Life is about interconnectedness.
🌿 I remember reading a blog that the gods put the constellation of Libra in between Virgo and Scorpio because they were too much alike and it’s so true lol. Both signs can be so compulsive and it’s overwhelming from what I’ve heard from Virgo and Scorpio placements. I can also see this easy going equivalence being the case for Sagittarius being in between Scorpio and Capricorn. The benefics happy go luckies in between the malefics drained and over it.
🌾… moon 3rd house overlay is addictive especially combined with 7th/8th/12th overlays in that synastry. I don’t think I can ever do that again unless we both have it overlaying each others charts. Someone’s moon in your 3rd house, their mind fascinates you and it’s easy to communicate with them you feel seen and heard. You dream about them, you think about them all the freaking time. It is the most annoying thing because why are you taking up my brain space like that bro? I had this with someone and I still think about them it’s been over for quite some time now. Another person that’s in love with me, my moon falls into their 3rd house and they tell me how much they think about me and day dream about me. I had said issue of daydreaming with the other guy. 2/10 would not recommend unless moon person is developed.
🌿 When the moon transits your first house you’re more likely to be more emotional and make drastic changes to your physical features! When Doja Cat shaved her head the moon was transiting her first house and I literally did mine the next day when it was transiting my first house.
🌾 Opinion but I love Pisces placements they are so helpful and loving when developed. I think the underdeveloped ones are too but they expect something out of it where the developed ones are just really selfless. I’m a Pisces Stan! I have so many in my life lol I have no Pisces placements. My 5H is in Pisces lol
🌿 Degree theory is that gworl. It helps you relate to the planet and it’s placement more depending on what the degree rules. For example I was dating a Sagittarius Venus in the 9th house at the 9° and he embodied that free spirited nature of Sag Venus fr. Another example, you can be a Pisces Venus but it’s in your first house at the first degree and the way you love embodies a more aries way of loving. Fiery, passionate a bit aggressive but very deep and tender to the core.
🌾 I’ve also heard the theory of when you reach the age of certain degrees of the placements you have you unlock that placements characteristics. Something significant happens to you during that age or you might master that placement regarding the planet and house placement.
🌿 The degree of your rising sign is more than likely the age of something significant happen in your physical life/to you physically. This is tea y’all.
🌾 You most likely share placements or degrees in your chart with your siblings. My sister is a Scorpio sun, Aries rising, Virgo moon and I’m a Libra sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon. If I was born two days earlier I would’ve been a Virgo sun and if she was born one or two days later she would’ve been a Libra moon. So I think thats pretty cool. We’re also both Venus dominant and she has a Libra stellium 💗. You really choose your family for your next life lol like that’s so crazy to me.
🌿 Ima say dis with my chest. STOP doing wrong by Saturn ruled placements!!! Saturn is ruled by Capricorn, Aquarius in traditional astrology and we cannot forget about its exalted sign in Libra. As a Libra, I receive karma with the quickness but also people that have done wrong by me their quality of life decreases and or whichever house Saturn is in their chart is deeply affected in the worst ways.. daddy Saturn don’t play bout his! Be fair and follow the golden rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
🌾 Having heavy Sagittarius placements in your chart makes you open to learn different languages or different cultures.. just always wanting to learn. Whatever house it’s in you want to master in life.
🌿 The mutables Gemini Virgo Sagittarius Pisces love their niches, they are the teachers and preachers of the zodiac.
🌾 Geminis have the gift of gab more than any other zodiac. Sagittarius could possibly go toe to toe with them
🌿 If anyone ever tries to degrade you for studying astrology and eggs you on to prove this practice to be true, get their birth info and read them their Chiron sign and house placement. Hit ‘em where it hurts!
🌾 Scorpio and Libra placements are usually the generational trauma breakers of their family. Honorable mention- Saturns children, Capricorn and Aquarius
🌿 An undeveloped Capricorn placement that enters your life is literally satan reincarnated to torture you for whatever you did wrong in your past life. And I (if u were raised around Christianity) believe Jesus was a Pisces/Aries! I can argue about this all day! In tarot Capricorn rules the devil! Like hellooooo
🌾 Sixth house/Virgo placements are pretty good at taking care of pets and plants. They feel the most sane around nature and animals.
🌿 Personal planets harmoniously aspected to Neptune make the person seem very angelic like. Very soft souls, earth angels. Hard aspects have people having an even more distorted projection of you.
🌾 Personal planets harmoniously aspected or not to Uranus gives you that shock factor some people will be repelled and some people will be very intrigued.
🌿 Aries placements especially sun and moon are really loyal! I’m talking mostly platonically. Once they see you as their person they are truly ride or die.
🌾 Cancer placements can be one of the most loving and giving when developed. Some spiteful mfs when underdeveloped omg.
🌿 I realize cancer placement women get treated with the cutest romantic gestures. I think they lovers want to do these things for them because they give off ethereal or princess vibes but they’re also real nasty in the sheets lol
🌾 Cancers don’t really get a bad rep even when they do shady things. For example: Selena Gomez when she dated Abel even tho she was cool with Bella was super weird. And I think a lot of people forgot how Kevin hart cheated on his wife like it was nothing lol. Ariana grande with the donuts and now the Ethan thing chileee. It’s like they get a second of backlash and then everyone adores them again lol.
🌿 Having a grand trine in your chart can make you so damn lazy in the houses those planets/figures are in 🥹🥲. It’s crazy cuz that talent(s) will come natural to you and you’ll over look it! Please don’t.
🌾 Grand squares are TOUGH but it pushes you to break cycles and overcome so much in your life. Same with t-squares
🌱 Astrology is really a map. It shows you which path you can take and where you can end up when you include discernment and discipline into your daily life. It’s never an excuse to behave the way you do. Ultimately it helps us reach our most aligned and enlighten self! I hope you all enjoyed. 🌱
Idk why I can’t figure out how to delete this question thing so let’s do a cute lil questionnaire!
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Learning to Live Part 32
summary: It’s the night of his bachelor party, and a sober Javier gets a call from his very drunk fiancée asking him to pick her up from her bachelorette party. Three days later, it’s their wedding day, and Javier hasn’t seen or talked to his bride since the night before—they’d agreed not to see each other until it was time to say ‘I do,’ and his father took it one step further by having her guarded to keep Javier away. Will that really stop him from going to her before the big event (with his eyes covered)?
rating: M (This chapter is very story-driven, BUT there’s a little bit of inappropriate touching. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), Drunk!Reader, bachelor/bachelorette parties, emotional hurt/comfort, dysfunctional family, Javier taking care of you while you’re drunk and when you get sick (it’s very sweet), grief, discussion of pregnancy, WEDDING, getting ready for the wedding, Chucho hardcore not letting you see each other before the wedding, blindfolded Javier sneaking to where you are anyway, tying his bow tie, nerves, panic attack, EMOTIONS, Javier crying when he sees you in your dress, EXTREMELY romantic things said, Javier being cute with kids, you both wrote your own vows (did I mention emotions and romantic things said?), Chucho being a great officiant, (1) bible verse about love with no mention of God/Jesus/anything religious, crying, comedy sprinkled in, a fun and heartfelt chapter)
pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (no physical descriptions)
word count: 23k+ (Tumblr hates my long chapters and might not let you reblog with a comment. Since reblogs are super important, if you wish to comment, feel free to do it in the comments on the post or send me an ask. 🥰🥰🥰)
a/n: Get your tissues ready; it’s time to get married! 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭 First of all, Happy Birthday to this story! 2 years old! I just want to thank everyone who’s continued reading this labor of my love. All the comments, reblogs, and likes mean the world to me! They make me want to write more, too. I know there’s no smut in this one, but, in my opinion, I think it’s still really good, and the people who’ve read it agree. There also was literally no opportunity for them to be alone and do anything more than touching—you can blame Chucho for keeping them apart. But the next chapter? Oh, it’s on. It’s gonna be so horny. Lol Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing. I love you.
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
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In the year 1981, Ronald Reagan was sworn in as the 40th President of the United States and almost assassinated two months later; the Space Shuttle Columbia became the first crewed reusable spacecraft to return from orbit successfully, and the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer was watched by over 750 million people worldwide.
It also happened to be the year Javier Peña’s life went to shit.
Looking back at all that happened, he could pinpoint the exact moment everything went wrong. It wasn’t disappearing in the early hours on the day he was supposed to be wed; it was six months earlier when he let a pretty girl, who never once acknowledged his existence in the several years they went to school together, buy him a drink—that was the beginning of the end. That was the start of his downfall and had his life veering off course.
By the time his wedding to Lorraine had rolled around in early September, Javier was at the lowest he'd ever been in his twenty-two years of life—so depressed, hopeless, and scared that he became numb and was just existing instead of living. Back then, he still had buddies in Laredo with whom he'd gone to high school, and though Lorraine didn't let him hang out with them much, she approved of them throwing him a bachelor party the weekend before their nuptials were supposed to take place.
He hadn't wanted one.
Who would want to celebrate marrying someone they didn't love or even liked? Marriage to Lorraine was a prison sentence, and his only crime had been dating the wrong woman. It’d also be a cruel reminder that he’d lose what little freedom he had in a week’s time.
His friends had known him for many years, having practically grown up together, and they were well aware of Javier’s dread. They had tried to talk him out of going through with it on multiple occasions, but he always stood firm that he wouldn’t abandon his child and their mother, and that he got himself into the mess, and he needed to own up to it—plus there was Lorraine’s father who told Javier he’d never meet his kid if he didn’t marry her.
To stop his pals from worrying about him, he finally agreed to the party and tried his best to act like he was fine when, in reality, his world was crumbling.
It may come as a surprise, but he was once a very social creature who had a lot of friends in his youth—his three closest had been Benito Esquivel, Salvador ‘Sal’ Soto, and Ken Miller. These were the guys who packed him into Sal’s moss green colored ‘72 Chevrolet Blazer and took him on a road trip to Austin, where they went bar hopping and ended up at a strip club, as was the course for bachelor parties.
Javier drank so much that night his memory was spotty on all that had happened, yet he distinctly remembered a moment when he was completely wasted in a private room at the club, crying while getting a lap dance and the kind stripper comforting him in the middle of it.
His first bachelor party didn’t go so well and wasn’t something he liked to think back on. He wished he could rip that entire chapter out of his life, but it was important for shaping the man he became—it began a chain of events that would eventually lead him to finding the perfect woman he was meant to be with—the one who truly loved him, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, and filled that part of him he’d always been missing.
Cielito was the love of his life, his soulmate, his media naranja.
And they shared the same kind of love his parents once had, which he’d always dreamed of having but never imagined he’d actually get to experience.
His buddies had tried to keep in contact with him after he ran away, but he was too ashamed of how he left and didn't want their pity. It wasn't until his mother's funeral in '91 that he saw most of them again, and though he appreciated them being there, he kept them at arm's length. Even when he returned home in '93 and '96, he continued avoiding them because he wasn’t the same Javi they once knew, and he didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they realized how fucked up he’d become.
Now, he was having his second bachelor party seventeen years after the first, and he couldn’t be happier celebrating that he was getting married in a few days.
This time around, his dad planned the party, and there wasn’t any bar hopping or strip clubs. Instead, Chucho got Javier’s tíos (uncles) and male primos (cousins) together for an asada (barbecue) in his backyard.
It was close to midnight, and he knew the party wouldn’t end any time soon. His family were sitting in groups, taking up the picnic table, or sitting with him in lawn chairs around the large fire pit, which was currently ablaze, with the tall flames licking up toward the sky. He’d already eaten and was nursing his third beer over the many hours he’d been there, the bottle in his hand resting on his jean-clad thigh. The fire and his black leather jacket were keeping him warm while he listened to his friend Ken, sitting beside him talking about his four-year-old daughter’s recent T-ball game.
“—so she hits the ball off the tee,” he said, “and throws her bat as hard as she can behind her at the backstop—which, thank fuck they don’t have catchers—and starts runnin’ as fast as her little legs can go, only to stop halfway to first base to pick up the ball and chuck it with all her might out of bounds.”
Javier chuckled and sipped his drink—he couldn’t wait to tell these kinds of stories about his own children.
“Clever kid,” Benito replied, sitting on his other side. “How pissed off was Emily when she didn’t get to stay on first base?”
“You know Em, Benny. That little girl is more fiery than the hair on her head.” Her father had dark blonde hair, and she had bright red, yet both shared ocean-blue eyes.
A few months back, Javier felt like he was finally in a place where he could reconnect with his old friends. He’d gone out for drinks with Benito and Ken a few times to catch up, and they’d shown him pictures of their families; Ken had three daughters, and Emily was his youngest and the only one with red hair. He’d even introduced his wif-fiancée to them and took her to have dinner with them and their wives—it was nice.
He tried to reach out to Sal, but the other man was a part of the Special Forces in the army and had spent more time deployed than at home since Desert Storm—Benito and Ken said he was okay, or as okay as a guy can be after spending so many years in active duty. It made Javier feel like a real asshole for avoiding them for so long when they’d just wanted to be there for him like they were for Sal, who’d been through more dangerous and worse shit than him.
By no means were he and his old friends back to having the tight bond they shared when they were twenty-two or had anything close to his relationship with Steve—they’d grown too far apart and were virtually strangers now. That didn’t mean it wasn’t great to hang out with people who knew him before Lorraine and hadn’t taken her side or were judgemental of the choices he made.
“Big tantrum?” Benito asked.
“A complete meltdown. You’re gonna love havin’ kids, Jav.” Ken patted him on the shoulder.
“They have their moments,” Benito added, “pero, dios mio, mi vida no sería la misma sin ellos (but, my god, my life wouldn’t be the same without them). I love my little terrors.” He had five children; his littlest wasn’t even a year old.
“Yeah,” Javier said fondly. “I’m really fucking excited to have kids and get married.”
The other two men were smiling.
“And that’s how it always should’ve been,” Ken replied. “That’s how we know you’re marryin’ the right girl this time. It’s great to see how happy you are—and Benny and I can tell you’re actually happy.”
“Yeah,” Benito said, “‘Cause you’re smiling this time around and not crying—that stripper, though, what was her name? Diamond? Ruby? Shit, what was it?”
“Jade, maybe?” Ken answered. “You should remember, Benny, you’re the one she took home.”
“I can remember her amazing tits and ass, but couldn’t tell you what the hell she looked like or her name.”
Javier couldn’t remember what she looked like or her name either, which made him frown.
“Do you guys have that one woman you can remember every fucking detail about the first time you hooked up?” Benito asked. “She haunts you—I’m talking her face is burned in your brain, and you can remember everything like what she smelled like or how soft her skin was?”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “That girl, my third year in college.” He raised his beer bottle.
“The one who deepthroated you for the first time? You wouldn’t shut up about her.”
“That’s the one—too bad she wasn’t lookin’ for anythin’ serious. Best sex I’ve ever had; don’t tell my wife that.” Ken and Benito chuckled.
“Mine was Carmen’s roommate.” Carmen was Benito’s wife and someone they went to school with. “We had a casual thing before I started dating Carmen—her name was Valentina, and mi mamá would not have liked her, which was fine; she wasn’t wife material anyway.”
What did he mean by that?
“What about you, Javi?” Ken asked.
“I’m marrying mine,” he answered and took a drink of his beer.
Benito scoffed. “Are you just saying that shit, or do you mean it?”
He met the other man’s eyes.
“I’m being completely serious. She’s it, and I’m marrying her.”
Benito blew out air, shaking his head. “You lucky pendejo (asshole).”
“Now you gotta tell us what she’s like,” Ken said, and this conversation just took a turn in a direction he did not want to go in—even when he was younger, he didn’t like to brag about what went on in the bedroom.
Javier had never been happier for his cell phone to ring, but the feeling only lasted a moment as he pulled it off his belt before panic slammed into him that something was wrong because it was Cielito calling him. She was out having her bachelorette party with her girlfriends at the town bar.
“I gotta take this,” he said, setting his beer on the ground and groaning as he got up from his chair. He briskly walked out of earshot of everyone else.
His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hit the accept button and answered when the Nokia phone was at his ear, “Hello?”
“Ohhh myyy god,” his wif-fiancée slurred on the other end. “How do you make ans’ring the phone sooo sexy?”
He let out a breath that she didn’t sound like she was in trouble.
“I don’t know—are you okay, baby?”
"Nooo, I miss you, and I wan’ you and I need you to come ge’ me—can you pleeease come ge’ me? I don' wanna be out anymore—I wanna be at home with you and naked in our bed; wait, have I told you how amazing you fuck? If there-was like an Olympics for fucking, you'd ge’ all the gold medals tha’s how good you are.” She inhaled before she continued speaking. “And your face, god, I miss your stupidly han’some face with your big baby cow eyes tha’ Daphne and Velma totally inherited from you, and tha’ gorgeous nose, and your lips—everything on tha’ mug of yours is perfec,’ and I canno’ believe you’re marrying me. Me?! How the fuck did I ge’ so lucky?! Like, you’re too pretty for me, and usu’lly, the pretty boys jus’ wan’ my family’s money—like fucking Daniel,” she fumed. “But you jus’ like me for me, and I’m sooo in love with you tha’ I canno’ stand bein’ so far away from you righ’ now. Javiii, can you pleeease come pick me up?"
Oh, she was drunk and missed him.
With how sloshed she sounded, it had him worried she hadn’t eaten much food or had enough water, and he wanted to go to her right that second to get her home and sober her up so she wasn’t too miserable the next day. He was trying to ignore what she said about her ex, but the more he learned about the guy, the higher the chances rose that he’d kick the fucker’s ass if they ever met.
"Are you sure you want to leave early?" he asked.
"Yesss, pleeease. I wanna go home wit’ you."
"Are you somewhere safe, cariño (sweetheart)?" It didn’t sound like she was inside the bar.
“I’m ou’side the backdoor where people smoke—Stacy and Arleta from the grocery store are ou’ here wit’ meee. Say hi to Javi!”
He could tell she held the phone toward them.
“Hi, Javi,” he heard the two women say. “Are you coming to ge’ me?” Cielito asked.
“Yes, mi amor. I just need to tell everyone bye—don’t hang up.”
He didn't as he quickly walked over to say goodbye and thank his dad, friends, and family for the lovely night, telling them his fiancée wasn't feeling good and he needed to go pick her up—the plan had always been he’d be her designated driver since he hadn’t wanted to drink too much; the rest of the people at her party had their own rides.
His long legs had him striding toward where his pickup was parked.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked her.
His truck door squealed as he opened it and got inside.
“Yesss! There was karaoke and I had a lot of tequila. Like a lot. Like sooo much, I sang “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic withou’ anyone daring me to—tha’ movie is sooo fucking sad. If we were in the freezing water and you pu’ me on a door or whatever piece of wood, you beh your ass I’m gonna figure ou’ a way to ge’ you on it with me. I’m not gonna be a fucking liar and say I won’ leggo and fucking leggo! You’re gonna be like nex’ to me, or hell, you could ge’ on top of me, and we’d survive—I’d make sure we both survived.”
She made him smile because this wasn’t the first time she’d gone on this rant.
He was already on the road heading toward town.
“I’d make sure we survived, too, baby. I’d use my body heat to keep you warm.”
“Why is tha’ sooo romantic? Honestly, I think you’d figure ou’ a way to ge’ us into one of the lifeboats.”
“Probably.” He shrugged.
“And then we’d ge’ to Amer’ca and start our new life together and have sooo many babies.”
He was still smiling. “Yeah—so many babies?”
“It was ye olden times when the only thing women could do was take care of their husbands and babies, plus there was basic’ly no birth control and you only cream pie, sooo yeah, we’d hav’ a ridic’lous amoun’ of babies.”
“I wanna have a ridiculous amount of babies with you now.”
“God, I know you do, and I wanna have all your babies, all of them, ‘cause you’re gonna be the bes’ dad. Like, the bes’, and our kids will be sooo lucky to have you, and they’re gonna love you sooo much and be so cute—I hope they look like you—you were sush a cutie, and I’d love to have a bunch of mini yous.”
“I want them to look like the both of us.”
“Meh, you’re cuter.”
“Stop that, you’re fucking adorable, and I’d love if our kids looked like you.”
“Fine.”
“Why’d you drink so much tequila, mi amor? That stuff makes us—”
“Horny?” she finished for him. “Our clothes magic’ly disappear.” Her speech was still slurring. “Robyn got us Tequila Sunrises, then Cat—” That was the wife of one of her coworkers at the hospital; they hung out with the couple occasionally. “—got us another round of them, bu’ Alma—” His prima (cousin) and sister of Sebastián. “—got us all tequila shots, and I also got us tequila shots, and I think there was another round—too much tequila, whish is why I called you to pick me up.”
His mouth turned down in a frown.
“Please tell me you had some food, too, and water.”
“Yesss, I knew you’d worry, so I ate a plate of fries and shared mozz-mozzarella.” She giggled. “Tha’s a fun word to say—I shared mozzarella sticks with the girls, and I drank water—had a glass aft’r ev’ry drink ‘cause I was-like, ‘If my Javi were here righ’ now, he’d wan’ me staying hydrated,’ and I couldn’ le’ you down.”
He smiled. “Thank you, baby. I’m proud of you.”
There was someone in the background who sounded just as drunk as her, asking her, “Wha’ are you doin’ out here?” It was Robyn.
“Calling Javi,” Cielito answered.
“Come back inside. You said you were goin’ pee.”
“I wen’ and Javi’s comin’ to pick me up. I’m waitin’ for him to ge’ here.”
“Girl, it’s barely pas’ midnigh’, and your bachelorette party! Leave the man alone and have fun with us! We’ll get pie after here at the diner.” It was open twenty-four hours.
“I need him,” she whined.
“Oh my god, you’re ditchin’ us for dick!”
“It’s really good dick, and I need it!”
“Mi amor?” Javi said to get her attention.
“Yes?” she answered.
“I’m not gonna fool around with you while you’re fucked up…”
“I know,” she whispered. “Don’ tell anyone, bu’ I’m too drunk, and I hate it. I wanna go home.”
“Okay, cariño (sweetheart). I’ll be there soon to pick you up.”
Another voice was heard on her end. “Why are you guys ou’ here?” He was pretty sure it was his prima, Alma.
“She’s ditchin’ us for dick!” Robyn exclaimed.
“I told you it’s really good dick!” Cielito said just as loud.
“Gross!” Alma was slurring her words, too, and sounded disgusted. “You’re gonna-make-me puke!”
“Sorry, Alma,” the other two women replied in unison.
“It’s okay,” Alma said. “You’re leaving already? I don’ wan’ you to go. We’re having so mush fun!”
“Yeah, don’ go!” He thought that was Cat. “This is the only night I can go ou’ alone this month! Le’s keep partying!”
“I’m sorry, guys,” Cielito responded. “Tequila was a mistake, and I need to go home.”
Javier figured she’d forgotten he was on the phone with her.
“I’m horny, too,” Robyn said, “bu’ you don’ see me booty callin’ my boyfriend to ge’ me, and he’s got really good dick, too!”
“¡Guácala (Gross)!” Alma interjected. “No sé por qué salgo contigo (I don’t know why I hang out with you).”
“Because we’re fun!” Robyn said. “Don’ lie, you loved it when I got our bride-to-be to rap “Shoop” with me.” Javier only knew that Salt-N-Pepa song because he’d heard his bride-to-be rap it on many occasions—she was really good, to be honest.
“You are fun, bu’ who wan’s to hear about their brother and cousin’s sex lives?”
“Sorry, Alma,” Robyn and Cielito said again.
“You all can still have fun withou’ me!” his wif-fiancée told them.
“A bachelorette party withou’ a bachelorette?” Robyn asked.
“I think that jus’ makes it a girls' night out—yeah, you can have a girls' night out! Fuck, where’s Javi? Did I tell you guys he’s comin’ to ge’ me? Wait, my phone! Javi, are you still there?”
“Yes, baby, I’m still here.”
“Where are you?”
“Maybe ten minutes away.”
“Ugh, okay.” She whispered the next bit loudly, “Robyn’s mad at me.”
“Damn straigh,’ I’m mad at you!” Robyn said. “It’s your bachelorette party, and you’re abandonin’ us for a man!”
“But he’s like a really grea’ man, and wonderful, and han’some, and the bes’, and I love him so, so, so, sooo, mush and wanna have his babies. So, I’m not abandonin’ you for ‘a man,’ I’m abandonin’ you for the greates’ man alive, and you can’ be mad at me for tha’.”
What she said had Javier grinning.
“Y’all are too disgustingly in love, but wha’ever, nex’ girls' night, no fuckin’ tequila.”
She forgot he was on the phone with her again and listened to their drunken discussion about what they should do for a girls' night, going off topic a few times. Her friends stayed with her until he arrived.
He pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the back of the building where he saw the group of women and some other bar patrons hanging out by the door, the area lit by two lights on the building.
“Cielito?” he said, hoping it’d get her attention. “Are you still there?”
“Oh my god, Javi!” Came her exclamation. “Where are you?!”
The truck was put into park, and he kept it idling as he got out.
“To your left.”
Her head turned to the right, making him snort with a smile on his lips.
“Your other left, mi amor,” he said. He’d walked around to open the passenger door, and her gaze finally landed on him under the orangeish glow of a towering street light.
“He’s here!” she squealed, and he ended the call, putting his phone back on his belt. He watched her shove her own in her purse before she hugged all of her friends goodbye.
Javier had seen the dress she was going to wear tonight; he just hadn’t seen her wearing it. When she turned his way and he got a good look at her, his mouth fell open, and he thought his heart would beat out of his chest like a cartoon character in love.
The champagne-colored mini dress was long-sleeved and covered in sequins, the neckline plunging to accentuate her breasts, the skirt ending just a little above her knees, a white sash across her chest reading in fancy black script, ‘Bride-to-Be,’ and she looked fucking stunning.
His awe ended when he suddenly had to act fast and catch the woman he loved who flung herself into his arms—he grunted at her body slamming into him, her lips crashing into his, wrapping his arms around her back to feel her skin from the deep V down her back.
The smell of booze hit him almost as hard as she did, along with the undertones of her perfume, Javier tensing when she grabbed his ass. With how she was hitching her leg up on his waist, he thought she was trying to climb him like a goddamn tree.
“Mmm… hi, baby,” his muffled voice said.
His hand went to her face, his thumb under her chin, and fingers splayed along her cheek as he gently pushed to separate her mouth from his. Her eyelids were closed, and her lips pursed.
“Hi, baby,” he said again. “Did you miss me?”
She smiled. “Yesss.” Her glassy, bloodshot eyes blinked open, and it was obvious she was utterly blitzed; there was no way in hell she could pass a field sobriety test. “God, you’re sooo gorgeous—look at your cute nose—” She poked the tip of it. “—boop. Your eyes are sooo pretty, and you smell sooo good—you always smell so fucking good. I love you so, sooo much.” She pecked him on the lips. “I’m sooo happy you’re here.”
She looked so cute and it had him smiling.
“Yeah?” He shrugged off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.
“Mmm, tha’s nice and warm. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Cielito. You ready to go?”
“Oh my god, yesss!”
“Okay, let’s get you into the truck, hermosa (beautiful).”
He helped her get up into the cab, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, he was in the driver’s seat, with her pressed right against him.
“I’m sooo happy we’re going home,” she said, hugging his arm closest to her.
“I’m happy we’re going home, too, Cielito—let’s get you buckled.”
He leaned over her to grab the seatbelt, getting it over her lap and buckling it in, ensuring it wasn’t loose, before getting his own belt on.
The short drive to their apartment had her in his space, kissing his cheek and neck while telling him how much she loved him, and it was so sweet that warmth spread through his body.
When they arrived, Javier had to keep her steady as they walked with an arm around her waist, making her lean into him. Once inside, he propped her against the front door to remove his coat from her shoulders and her sash, hanging them with the other jackets on the wall. Then, he pulled her purse from her arm, putting it on the console table, and he helped her remove the flats on her feet, kicking off his shoes afterward.
Her eyes were closed most of the time while she mumbled, a lot of it he didn’t understand, but what he did make out was her confessing her love for him and waxing poetic about how attractive she found him—it was adorable.
He wanted to get her sober, so he helped steady her as they made their way to the kitchen, moving past the counters and appliances to the small connected dining room and having her sit in a kitchen chair, pushing her close to the table in order to keep her from falling onto the floor.
Javier’s palm rubbed circles into her back. “Cielito?”
Her head tilted up in his direction, looking at him with red, glossy eyes and a big, dreamy smile.
“You’re pretty.” Her speech wasn’t slurring as much. “And you’re marrying me. I can’t believe you’re marrying me. We should blow this popsicle stand and go back to our place to have premarital sex—gotta do as much of that as we can before we’re married and our sexy times become legal.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean by the sex becoming legal?” he asked.
“You know, sex is only legal to God when the couple is married—we won’t be living in sin anymore; gosh, that’s gonna make your dad sooo happy. I love your dad. He’s the fucking best. Let's make him your mom’s flan next weekend ‘cause that dude deserves it—man, I’m hungry.”
“We’ll make him flan, baby.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Can I make you some buttered toast?” That seemed like a safe choice and shouldn’t make her sick.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, toast sounds fucking amazing!”
He smiled. “Okay, mi amor. I’ll make you some.”
Javier bent to kiss the top of her head before padding into the kitchen.
Making her two slices of toast and having her eat them, along with drinking a large glass of water, didn’t take too long—there were a few times he had to remind her about the bread because she was so chatty; at one point she went on an entertaining tangent about how those mythical half horse, half human creatures, centaurs, would wear pants, and even made him tear off a page from the notepad on the fridge, so she could draw him visuals on why the correct answer was the pants would go on the back part of their horse body.
Jesus Christ, he was so fucking in love with her.
He felt better after she finished her snack and drink with how her speech sounded clearer and that she didn’t seem as fucked up as when she called him from the bar—she was definitely still a little drunk since she couldn’t walk without stumbling, and her eyes were having a hard time staying open.
His next priority was making her comfortable. He led her to the bedroom, where he carefully replaced her dress and bra with his olive green t-shirt, leaving her in the shirt and her cute cotton panties she already had on that were covered in red hearts.
He took her to the bathroom, where he sat her up on the countertop and stood between her legs to keep her in place.
“Cielito,” he said, grabbing a wet wipe, “I’m gonna clean off your makeup, okay?”
There was a big smile on her face, her eyelids shut. “Mmmkay, you’re sooo nice.”
He pressed it to her face to begin removing her makeup. When that was done, he used a warm washcloth to dampen the skin he’d cleaned and grabbed her face wash off the counter, which was amongst her other skincare products. He used his fingertips to apply it to her skin, starting with her cheeks, then down her jaw to her chin, and back up to spread it along her nose before doing her forehead last.
He used the wet cloth to wipe away the cleanser when she spoke.
“Did you just wash my face?” she asked.
“Yeah?” He’d finished, and her skin was finally completely clean and looking dewy. Her face wash was put away, and his eyes squinted as he read the labels of the other products until he found what he needed and picked it up. He’d seen her do her skincare routine more times than he could count and had the basics down; the serums and special creams intimidated him, though.
His fingers were massaging the moisturizer into her skin along the same path they’d taken with the cleanser.
“Is that moisturizer?”
“Yes.”
Her breath stuttered, her mouth turning into a frown, and he matched her look.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, leaning toward the sink when he was done to wash his hands. He then dried them with the towel on his other side hanging on the wall.
Her bottom lip was trembling, and it worried him.
“You love me,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I love you so fucking much.” His hands rubbed over her bare thighs.
She opened her eyes, and they were welling up, glistening under the lights above.
“You love me,” she repeated.
He held her cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart, I love you—I love you more than anything.”
Her voice was so small. “Why doesn’t my family love me?” With tears rolling down her face, her question shattered his heart into a million pieces.
“Oh, Cielito, baby.” His tone was soft, and he wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tight, her face going into the crook of his neck. “They’re assholes and they don’t deserve you.”
Her body started shaking with sobs, and it had his chest squeezing tight, his eyes getting watery, wishing with every cell of his being to make her feel better.
She was the strongest and bravest woman he knew, who didn’t like to show any sign of weakness, and ever since her parents’ unexpected and unwanted visit earlier in the week, she had acted like she was fine in an attempt to hide her sadness.
The day after he was offered a large sum of money to leave her, they’d gone over to his father’s to use the fax machine in his office—the office was in its own little building across the driveway from his house—and she faxed Jerry, her parents’ lawyer, a typed letter that conveyed her disappointment in how they acted and also told them to never contact her again which she signed at the bottom. She changed her home and cell phone numbers and discussed with him possibly moving to the ranch earlier than they originally planned.
He’d tried to talk to her about everything, but she’d put on this smile he knew wasn’t genuine by the lack of its usual luster, and she was unable to keep the sorrow from showing in her eyes—it killed him how her usual happy glow had dimmed from her hurt. She’d reassure him she was okay, reminding him that her family made their choice and had to live with the consequences of it, but she also had to live with the consequences of their actions and deal with the emotions of never seeing or speaking to her loved ones again. He was expecting the façade to break at some point, and it took inebriation to cause her carefully crafted walls to finally crumble.
To add salt to their wounds, Javier was served at work the following day after the fax was sent, with a lawsuit for breach of contract from her mom and dad.
What were they trying to sue him for? Going against his word to not tell their daughter about their visit and proposition, thus breaching a verbal contract that was made. He’d laughed as he called Chucho’s attorney because they never fucking agreed with his terms and, instead, had countered with the damn prenup. They didn’t have a fucking case, and it was dropped by the next day.
Javier was so unbelievably pissed off at these people for what they’d done to the woman he loved that he knew there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to have a civil conversation with them again. It was possible it’d turn into a physical altercation, and he’d end up in jail, which he honestly thought would be worth it if he got the chance to punch her dad in his stupid fucking face.
“They’re my family,” she choked out, “they’re supposed to love me—why don’t they love me? Why am I so unlovable?”
“Mi amor, you’re not unlovable—I love you, Pop loves you, my tías (aunts), tíos (uncles), and primos (cousins) love you, Robyn loves you, mi mamá loves you—you’re loved. We love you, baby. Those people you’re related to are shitty and so blinded by their obsession with money and how they’re perceived that they wouldn’t know what unconditional love was if it bit them in the ass. They’re horrible fucking people, and you don’t need them, Cielito. You don’t.”
“But they’re my family!” she cried. Her tears were soaking through his shirt. “It doesn’t feel right that they aren’t going to be at our wedding, and it hurts so fucking much that they don’t support us!”
He kissed her hair, rubbing circles on her back with his palm. “I know, cariño (sweetheart). I know you’re hurt and that it’s fucked they won’t be there.” It was hard for him to swallow around the lump that’d formed, his eyes burning, and he squeezed them shut. “I’m sorry you fell in love with me and that I’m not good enough for them or good enough for you. I’m sorry for causing all this shit and the pain you’re feeling. I’m sorry, baby—it’s all my fault,” his voice cracked on the last word. He had to clear his throat. “But I’d do it all again because you deserve to be loved—you deserve all the fucking love in the world. Your family is supposed to love you because they’re your family, and our kids will love you no matter what because you’re their amazing mom, but me? I’m choosing to love you with every fucking thing I have because you’re incredible and so lovable.” His cheeks were wet from his own tears. “I love you, Cielito—I promise I’ll love you enough to make up for them. I promise I’ll love you so much you’ll get sick of me. I love you, Cielito. You’re my everything, and I hope my love’s enough…”
She sniffled loudly, her head rising, and he opened his eyes to meet her reddened ones, her face streaked with wetness.
Her voice was hoarse. “It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands in the small space between their bodies, clutching his button-up shirt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, and you’re enough—you’ve always been enough. It just hurts how hateful the people who are supposed to want me to be happy are toward what makes me happy.” More tears fell down her cheeks. “You’re what makes me happy, and they don’t accept you.” Her lower lip was wobbling. “I’m mad and sad, and I don’t want them to be a part of our lives, but it feels… it feels like they’ve died,” she said quietly. “It feels weird grieving over people who are still breathing, who are just a phone call or a plane ride away. I’m grieving them like they’re dead—are they dead to me? Why am I grieving what little relationship we had, yet also grieving the relationship we could’ve had? One where they welcomed you with open arms, and even if it wasn’t your favorite thing to do, we visited them once a year—you’d joke around with my brother, we’d fawn over his many children, and my parents would actually be impressed with what you did in Colombia and brag to their friends about their son-in-law who helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and did take out the Cali cartel. Why am I so fucking sad about living people and a fantasy?”
He stroked his fingers along her cheek to cup it. “I don’t remember much from my mother’s funeral ‘cause my head was pretty fucked up, but there was something the Priest said that stuck with me. ‘Grief is just all the love you had for someone that suddenly has nowhere to go.’ So, it collects inside you, makes your chest ache, and leaks from your eyes—it fills all the places that were left empty by their loss. I’ll always feel my mom here—” He put a hand over his heart. “—but over time, a lot of my grief slowly disappeared, and you’ve made it easier to live with what’s left.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t think what you’re feeling is weird. They might be alive, but you lost the only family you’ve ever known and are grieving the death of your relationship with them—now there’s all that love you still have for them that has no place to go, so it’s filling the emptiness they left behind, and it’s gonna take some time to heal.” He held her face in both of his hands. “It’s okay that you're sad, Cielito, but you don’t need to hide it from me or pretend that you’re okay because I know you’re not, and I don’t want you going through this alone. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on; I’ll hold you or talk things out with you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help ease your pain. Just please don’t shut me out.”
She was frowning, her eyes darting away as she spoke softly, “I knew if you saw I was upset, it’d make you sad, and I didn’t wanna make you sad so close to our wedding—this should be a happy time for us, but all I wanna do is lay in the dark and cry.”
“Baby?” His finger went under her chin to make her look at him, their gazes meeting. “Don’t worry about my feelings, and let me be there for you—I’d rather be sad with you than have you suffer alone in silence. Now, let me get you to bed so I can hold you while you cry.”
Her smile was small, and her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’d like that.” Suddenly, she looked panicked, her hand going to her mouth. “Move,” said her muffled voice. “I’m gonna be sick.”
“Shit.” He immediately helped her off the counter, for her to stumble the handful of steps and drop to her knees in front of the toilet, where she did, in fact, get sick.
It took a lot to gross out Javier—he grew up on a ranch, where he witnessed animal births and deaths regularly. Combine that with the horrible things he’d seen in Colombia, someone throwing up was a welcome change.
“Oh, mi probecita (my poor thing),” he said, spinning around to the wall opposite the bathroom vanity to get a small rag from the linen closet before moving back to the sink to wet it with cold water. “Déjame cuidarte, Cielito (Let me take care of you, Cielito). Sé que no te gusta enfermarte (I know you don’t like getting sick).”
She’d told him that when she had a little too much fun at a party playing drinking games with his primos (cousins) and found herself on his old bathroom floor, hugging porcelain with Javier there for support—they’d ended up being too drunk to drive home and spent the night in his childhood bed.
He wrung out the washcloth and walked over to her, a grunt leaving him and knees popping as he lowered himself to kneel next to her. He pressed the cloth to the back of her neck with one hand while the other rubbed comforting circles over her spine.
His tone was warm and gentle. “Get it all out, baby. I know it’s awful, and you hate it, but it’ll make you feel better.”
It didn’t take long for her stomach to empty and her heaving to stop. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and Javier took care of flushing the toilet. He scooted back and pulled her with him, the tiled floor cool underneath them, until he had room to stretch out his legs in front of him while she sat between them with her spine to his chest, her eyes closed.
He held the wet cloth to her forehead, the fingers of his free hand laced with hers, and kissed her hair.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbled.
He huffed amusedly and smiled, placing a kiss behind her ear.
“Liar,” he said. “You said that last time you drank too much.”
“I mean it this time.”
“Uh-huh, right.”
“I do—this is embarrassing.”
“I think it’s good practice.”
He knew the look on her face was one of confusion without seeing it. “Practice for what?”
“If you get morning sickness.” He kissed the side of her neck.
“Oh, god,” she whined. “Why can’t we be seahorses?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Seahorses?”
“Yeah, male seahorses do the whole pregnancy and birth thing—that’s the fucking dream.”
He thought about it for a second, taking into account how badly he wanted kids, and it was really fucking weird to say this out loud, “If I could… I’d, uh, do that for us…”
He could hear her smiling. “You’d have my babies?”
Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “...yes.”
“I know the scenario is weirding you out, and it’s sweet of you to say you would, but I’m not sure if, given the opportunity, you’d actually do it—which is fine. Pregnancy and childbirth are scary, and it just proves that mothers are more badass than fathers.”
“You’re definitely more badass than me.”
“I appreciate you saying that, man who literally hunted bad guys for a living and had a bounty on his head.”
“You are, and since you’re taking the brunt of everything for us to have a kid, I promise I’ll do whatever possible, so all you’ll have to worry about is growing our baby and working.” She’d made it clear that when she got pregnant, she was still going to work until either the baby was born or the Doctor told her to stop.
“You know, I think we’re gonna crush being married and becoming parents.”
He smiled. “We are because we’re equals, even if you’re more badass than me.”
“We are equals, and thank you for acknowledging my badassery, man who helped eliminate two of the biggest cartels in the world.”
He snorted. “Smartass. How are you feeling?”
“A little drunk, sad, and I’ve got the spins.”
“Do you still feel sick?”
“Not really—just dizzy.”
“Do you want me to help you brush your teeth and then get you comfortable in bed?”
“That actually sounds wonderful because my mouth feels icky, and I’d like to cuddle.”
“Okay, mi amor.”
He started to move, but she stopped him with her hand on his arm as she said, “Javi?”
“Yes, Cielito?”
“You’re worth it.”
“Worth what…?”
“The pain and sadness over my family. You bring me so much love and happiness that I know it’ll outshine the hurt in no time, and this low I’m in is only temporary. You’re worth it and more than enough—your love is all I need. I love you.”
His throat was feeling tight, and he spoke softly. “I love you, too.” His arms went around her middle, and he didn’t squeeze as he hugged her to not hurt her stomach. He still wanted to hold her, his chin resting on her shoulder and their heads touching. “I’m happy I’m worth it to you, and just know that I’m yours; I’m here for you—good, bad, it doesn’t fucking matter because I’m not going anywhere, and we’ll get through anything together.” His lips pressed to her hair. “I tell you I love you a lot, but I hope you understand that I love you more than words can accurately describe—I love you, Cielito. I love you, and I promise I’ll be yours forever.”
Her hand came up behind her to press her fingers into his hair. “Yeah, we’re gonna crush being husband and wife.”
She made him smile. “Less than seventy-two hours, Mrs. Peña.”
“And I can’t fucking wait, Mr. Peña.”
The town of Laredo was buzzing with the news Javier Peña was getting married—yes, the same Javier Peña who left his first bride at the altar, had tumbled in the hay with many of the girls he’d gone to school with, and was apparently some kind of lothario in South America.
It really bothered you how fucking interested and judgmental the townspeople were of his sex life.
Your wedding with him was all anyone could talk about, and the bar was even taking bets on whether or not he’d disappear again, which was fucked up, but Chucho gladly put five hundred dollars on his son marrying you because he knew it was easy money. There was so much interest in how things would turn out that people you either barely knew or had never met approached you both like they were old friends of Javi’s to try and get invites—they were politely rejected with the excuse there wasn’t enough room.
According to Robyn, your wedding had the same amount of hype as your fiancé’s first, and though Javi hated that, you really hoped it annoyed the fuck out of his ex.
When you discussed how you wanted to tie the knot, your husband-to-be agreed the ceremony should be attended by a select few, and afterward, there’d be a big party to celebrate with the rest of your friends and family. Once the date was decided, the planning started immediately since there was so little time.
Chucho and his sisters would make a killing as wedding planners. They sat you and Javi down to get an idea of what you wanted the party to be like, a color scheme, and a budget, then told you guys not to worry and that they’d take care of everything. All the two of you had to do was approve things, hand over cash, and get your rings, which wasn’t too much of a hassle since you wanted simple matching gold bands.
Something you loved about the family you were marrying into was how they were all there for each other and so tight-knit—your fiancé's dad and tías managed to get all that was needed in less than a month with the help of his primos, and by calling in favors from their friends.
Javier and you didn't want anything extravagant. The party would occur in Chucho's backyard, under a giant white pole tent. Tables, chairs, and a dance floor had to be rented, and it was highway robbery how much the local place wanted to charge—Lorraine’s family frequently used them for their events, and you wouldn’t put it past her father to be the cause of such an exorbitant price just to spite Javi for wasting the absurd amount of money he spent on Lorraine’s first wedding. Luckily, on such short notice, tía Lupita’s oldest son, Matías, had a friend who knew a guy an hour away in Zapata who ran a party rental store and could get them everything at a reasonable price.
The tías, along with their daughters/daughters in law were handling food; Anna, who was friends with Javi in high school, had a bakery and was taking care of making the cake and Mexican wedding cookies that were tiny, buttery, ball-shaped, melt-in-your-mouth, powdered sugar-covered cookies, dotted with crushed nuts like pecans, walnuts, and almonds, and traditionally served at weddings and Christmas; tío Ángel and tía María’s husband were in charge of getting alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, and Ángel’s youngest son Diego was going to DJ, as it was his side hustle and he’d been paid to do gigs at other parties in town and in a couple of big city clubs.
An hour and a half before you were to be wed, practically every family member of Javi's who lived locally was at the ranch. Many had been there all day setting up the backyard or in the kitchen making food, and every time you tried to help cook, you were shooed away, but your presence was wanted outside to instruct those putting things together on how to arrange and decorate everything inside and out of the tent, and that ended up being what you did until it was time to start getting ready.
Most of Javier’s family and you were there, yet your groom was nowhere to be found and hadn’t set foot on the property in a good sixteen hours.
In that time, you hadn’t seen or talked to him either, and your last interaction was the previous night when he dropped you off at his dad’s—that’s where you spent the night, and thank goodness, Chucho had already gone to sleep when Javi helped you get settled in his old room, because he had a hard time leaving and it led to him fucking you slow and passionately in his ridiculously squeaky bed one last time.
Why were you staying at the ranch? The two of you, encouraged by Javi’s dad, made the decision not to see each other on the day of your nuptials. Since your almost father-in-law would be driving you to where the ceremony was taking place, it made sense for you to sleepover and get ready at his house—the moment Javi left you there in his room that smelled like him, under his sheets that smelled like him, in one of his white t-shirts that smelled like him, you realized it was going to be really difficult and a test of your strength to be away from him for so long, and you both knew, if you spoke even a single word over the phone, the resolve between you would shatter, and he’d be back at Chucho’s for you in record time.
That led to the lack of communication and him getting ready alone at your shared apartment.
You were sitting in a kitchen chair you’d brought into Javi’s old bathroom, wearing a white satin robe cinched tight over your clean body, fresh from the shower and the special undergarments you'd chosen for the big day. Robyn was in front of you in her matching black robe as she did your makeup, something she offered to do and you happily accepted due to how good she was at it. She'd already smoothed out your complexion and hid any imperfections; currently, she was working on your eye shadow.
"Between you and Javi," she said, her attention focused on what she was doing, "your kids are gonna have some pretty eyes."
You smiled. "I think his eyes are prettier, and just imagine tiny versions of them; they'll give me the sad puppy dog eyes, and I'll have no choice but to give them whatever they want."
She giggled. "Your babies will be spoiled."
"I have already accepted that fact—hopefully, they'll take after their dad and be spoiled, but sweet, caring, and well-behaved, and not some little assholes." You frowned. "My brother was a spoiled asshole."
She paused what she was doing to meet your eyes. "Hey, now, we agreed not to think or speak about those people today. We aren't lettin' them sour the best day of your life so far."
"I know," you sighed.
It was the right choice to sever your ties with your family, and you had no regrets; that didn't mean it wasn't hard or hurt any less. Especially today, with it being your wedding day—your mom wasn’t there to help you get ready, nor your dad for a father-daughter dance. They should’ve been there supporting you on the happiest day of your life. Instead, they destroyed whatever relationship you had with them, and it hurt a lot. Even suspecting for years that they had no love for you didn't ease much of the pain of discovering it was true. You felt stupid for caring about these people when they cared so little for you, and you weren't sure why you hadn't cut them out sooner. Was it naively thinking they'd change? Or the ingrained notion that even if you didn't like them, you had to suck it up because they were your family?
It didn't matter now because what they'd done and how they treated the man you loved was unforgivable. There was no chance in hell you’d ever trust them again, and you didn’t want the new life you were starting with Javi to be tainted by their toxicity.
Robyn's cell phone was sitting on the bathroom counter next to your open makeup bag, and it started ringing—nobody wanted to bother you while you got ready, so Robyn was made the point of contact to either deal with what was going on or talk it out with you.
She straightened and turned around to pick it up.
"Why's he callin’?" she mumbled, hitting the accept button and putting the phone to her ear. "What's shakin' bacon? Robyn speakin,’" she answered. "...yes," she told them, "I'm doin' her makeup right now... No... No, you can't... Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? No one is supposed to see her before the wedding... You're a fuckin' liar, and Chucho wouldn’t let you in here anyway... You're ridiculous," she said in exasperation. "But if you swear, on your mama's grave, you won't peek, then I'll allow it... Okay, fine. Give us a sec, then quietly knock—I don't want anyone knowin' you’re here... bye."
She set the phone down and the eyeshadow palette, spinning on her heel to face you and grab your hand.
"Was that who I think it was?" you asked.
She was smiling. "If you’re thinkin’ someone annoyin’ who could get me in more trouble than an armadillo on the highway with your father-in-law, yes—come with me."
Robyn tugged you up to stand and led you into the bedroom, where you both came to a stop.
There were two large windows on the opposite wall beside each side of the bed, sitting half a foot above the floor with closed blinds and red curtains over them. A soft knocking sounded on the one in front of you. You followed Robyn and watched her push apart the curtains, pulling on the string to raise the blinds. Her body blocked your view as she unlocked the window and shoved it up.
"How many fingers am I holdin' up?" she asked the person outside.
"I don't know," Javi answered. "I can't see shit with this thing on."
The sound of his voice had your heart beating faster.
"Good," Robyn said, moving out of your way to look at you.
With the window's position, you could only see your fiancé from the thighs up, wearing black tuxedo pants and a white long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into them. Your sleep mask covered his eyes, and there was a loose regular tie and bow tie around his neck that matched the color of his slacks, the ends of each resting over both sides of his chest. Aside from his perfectly trimmed mustache, his face was freshly shaved, and he looked unbelievably handsome as always.
"This annoyin' man—" Robyn pointed at him with her thumb. "—says it's an emergency—he needs you to tell him how you want his hair done and which tie you’d like."
It made you smile because his hair was already how you wanted it—you had given him a haircut a couple of days ago, so the sides looked nice and clean cut down, and he combed the longer top and bangs to swoop over to the other side of his head, holding it all in place with his favorite pomade, that kept his hair soft.
He also knew damn well which tie you’d chosen.
It had you feeling gooey that he couldn't wait any longer to see you.
You walked toward him, and Robyn made herself scarce by disappearing into the bathroom. At the window, you got down on your knees to make it easier to talk to him, Javier still standing above you with his height.
"An emergency, huh?" you asked, and he smiled. Taking his outstretched hand, you guided him closer.
“Are we alone?" he countered
His palms began mapping your body, sliding over your arms and shoulders and along your neck up to your head, where he avoided your face but carefully felt your ears and hair.
"Yep."
“You feel beautiful.”
Air huffed from your nose in amusement. “Well, you look handsome, even without being fully dressed.” You rubbed your hands up his thighs to rest them on his tiny hips. “Your hair looks perfect,” you continued. “Did you really forget which tie I wanted?”
He smirked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the only way I knew I could get Robyn to betray Pop’s orders and let me see you; well, talk to you.”
Your eyebrows creased. “Orders? What orders?”
“He might’ve made it sound like a suggestion, the whole us not seeing each other today, but Pop is super fucking superstitious like mi mamá was—he doesn’t think he is—believe me, he is, and it made him feel better we agreed to do it. So, he has everyone out here on strict orders to keep us apart, including Robyn. One of my tíos is sitting at the end of the kitchen table right now so he can watch the front and back door; another is on the living room couch to stay close to my room in case he’s gotta intercept me. You’re being guarded like a fucking high-security witness with a hit out on them. I had to park my truck down the road and have Seb hide me in the trunk of his Bronco to get here without anyone seeing.”
“That is insane.”
He sighed. “At least Pop kinda gave us a choice; my mom wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have let us take any risk of getting bad luck because I saw you.”
“It’s sweet and extremely intense.”
“Yeah, and I can’t see you, so we’re good.”
You smiled. “Gotta love loopholes.”
He was smiling, too. “Yeah. I missed you so much. I just needed to touch you and talk to you.” He grabbed your hands off his waist, stroking his thumbs over the back of them. “I couldn’t sleep last night without you—even when I tried sleeping on your side.”
“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep either, and I missed you, too. I’m happy you’re here so we can talk. I’ve got butterflies in my tummy, and I can’t tell if they’re nerves or excitement.”
“Maybe both?”
“Could be. Don’t know what I have to be nervous about.”
“I’m nervous about having to say my sappy bullshit in front of other people and have it recorded.”
“That’s actually a good point—if we leave now, we can make it to the courthouse before it closes and skip all of that.”
He huffed out a breath. “It’s too late for that, mi amor. Pop’s excited about being a part of the ceremony and getting to walk you to me.”
There wouldn’t be an aisle per se, just a small trail of rose petals leading you to where Javi would be standing in front of the tree. Chucho cried happy tears when you asked him to give you away.
When your soon-to-be father-in-law heard about your parents' impromptu visit, you’d never seen him so angry—his face had gone red, and he went off in Spanish about what terrible people they were. He was so mad he repeatedly tried to get you to give him their phone number so he could tell them himself how lowly he thought of them and that they were awful parents; he wanted them to know that their loss was his gain and you were his daughter now; you would finally be loved and cherished by a proud parent and that it was God’s will you came into his and his son’s lives. He also needed them to be aware that their pride and greed had turned them villainous, and he’d be praying that they someday realized the error of their ways and saw you for the blessing you were.
His anger toward those who wronged you was fueled by a protective father’s love for their child, and it made you incredibly emotional that after so many years without one, you had a parent who loved you unconditionally, wanted nothing more than your happiness, and would selflessly fight battles for you.
Chucho was the best dad you’d ever had, and you were happy that in less than two hours, you’d share a last name with him, too.
“Ugh, you’re right,” you said, “Pop deserves his moment. Hey, babe?”
“Yes, mi amor?”
“When you’re saying your sappy bullshit, focus on me. It'll just be the two of us in that moment, no one else, and believe me when I say all of my tears will be happy.”
His smile was brighter than the sun. He lifted your hand to kiss each of your knuckles, saying when he finished. “All of my tears will be happy, too, and you do the same thing—it’s just us, nobody else. Will you, uh, tie my bow tie?”
His question had you smiling. “I’d love to.”
He pulled off the regular tie and stuffed it into his pocket, bending his knees and crouching with a grunt to put his neck within reach. You took the ends of the bow tie, your attention focused on what you were doing.
"This is why you had me learn how to tie a bow tie, huh?" You started going through the steps—ensuring one end was longer than the other, then crossing it over the shorter end, bringing it up from under the loop and through it.
"Yes."
The bow tie had taken shape, and you were almost done.
"What was your plan if Robyn didn't let you see me?"
"I would've called you and gotten you to sneak away."
You finished tying it, and it wasn't perfect, but it didn't look too bad.
"And I would've with zero hesitation," you said, patting the bow tie. "You look so good." You leaned out to peck him on the cheek.
"Not as good as you."
You huffed out air. "Obviously, you can't see me because only half of my makeup is done—there's literally eyeshadow on only one side. I look like a mess."
Your hands were on his shoulders, and he rubbed his hands back and forth on your arms.
"A beautiful mess."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm in love."
"I'm in love, too—madly, as a matter of fact. Oh, your dad took me out for breakfast this morning in the Mustang. He filled up the tank on our way home, and when we got back before everyone came over, he polished it, so I think it’s safe to assume you’re gonna get to drive it at some point in the next twenty-four hours—you can’t see, but I’m wagging my eyebrows.” You were.
His lips pouted, and his hands remained still. “Who drove to and from the diner?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just wanna know.”
“But why does it matter?”
“You’re deflecting.”
“No, I’m just curious why you need to know who drove.”
His shoulders slumped. “I think I have my answer—how many times has he let you drive it now? Was that four or five?”
“Six. He let me drive with him in the passenger seat and Robyn in the back when we went wedding dress shopping.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you get weird like you are now that he lets me drive it—I can’t help that he thinks my cooking is Mustang-driving-worthy.”
“But you didn’t make him anything when you went wedding dress shopping…”
“No, but he was so touched I wanted him there to help me pick out a dress, he thought the special occasion warranted me getting to drive.”
“He didn’t let me drive the Mustang when we went to find a tux…” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry to break it to you, babe, but my wedding dress I bought and am going to save in case our future daughter wants to wear it one day is a little more special than your rented tux that has been worn many times before you by strangers. Now, stop being jealous, and get excited that you’re finally going to drive it, and unlike me, you’ll be allowed to drive it wherever the fuck you want, so there, you have one up on me.”
He seemed to be thinking long and hard about that last bit.
“That is better…”
“It sure is. Lean in and kiss me. It’ll make you less grumpy.”
“As much as I’m dying to kiss you right now, I, um, wanna wait, so it’s kinda special…”
“I respect that and understand what you mean. Javi?”
“Yes, Cielito?”
“I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married today, and I hope you like my dress.”
He smiled brightly. “I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married, too. I’m gonna love your dress.”
“I hope so.”
“Baby, you could show up in a paper bag, and I’d be blown away.”
“The bar is so low. Do you wanna feel what I’ll be wearing under the dress?”
The pink of his tongue quickly peeked between his lips, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
His timbre deepened. “Yes.”
You poked your head out the window to ensure no one was around, then loosened the belt, holding your robe shut. Taking his hand, you started at your shoulder beneath the silk, letting his fingertips graze over the bare skin, trailing them down to the lacy cup of your strapless bra. He couldn’t help himself and palmed your covered breast before you moved his hand once more to continue the journey downward, where he got to feel the smooth, stretchy material hugging your middle; you let his fingers find that the spandex covering the warmth between your thighs, too.
“Not very sexy,” you said. “Well, the bra is cute. The rest is so I don’t look lumpy in the dress or have panty lines.”
He was about to say something, but you spoke before he had a chance. “Yes, Javier, I know you love my natural body, including the bits I don’t, but I wanna look my very best, and that means Spanx.”
He was frowning. “Are they uncomfortable?”
It warmed your heart that he was concerned for your comfort.
"Not really," you answered truthfully. "They're like my bicycle shorts, so stretchy and breathable. Will it make you feel better to know I have sexier bottoms I'm gonna wear when I change into my comfier dress after food and our first dance?"
He didn't know what your wedding dress looked like, but he had seen the one you were changing into after it.
His free hand went to the window frame, feeling along it until he found where the opened window stopped and ducked his head under it. His face was close to yours, one of his palms still between your legs, the other carefully sliding up the edge of your open robe.
"I'd prefer you wear no panties," he rasped, pulling the silk off your shoulder. His mouth pressed to the newly revealed skin, the soft kiss of his lips and tickle of his mustache, paired with his hand on your pussy beginning to rub, had sparks dancing down your spine. "It's gonna make me hard," his words were muffled between kisses as he moved across your shoulder toward your neck, "seeing you in your wedding dress.” Your fingers went into the hair at the back of his head, his spare hand palming your breast. “I'm gonna lose my fucking mind hearing you say 'I do.'" He was kissing and nibbling at your throat now, the added friction of his palm at the crux of your thighs making it hard to think. "It's gonna drive me fucking crazy that you're my wife—my wife,” he repeated against your throat. “And I’ll be your husband—I already want you, but all I’ll be able to think about after we’re pronounced husband and wife is getting you alone, and if you’re not wearing panties, it’ll make it easier for me to lift up that pretty—“
“No, Javier!” Robyn interrupted, and you felt cold water mist against your bare skin, the spray bottle hissing near your ear. “Bad!”
“Fuck!” he yelped, his head narrowly missing the bottom of the raised window as he pushed back from you so fast you’d think he was burned. His expression had turned grumpy as he stood. “What the fuck was that for?”
“I promised your daddy I wouldn’t let you see her,” she said, looking mad. “But out of the kindness of my heart—” She pressed a hand to the left side of her chest. “—I went against my word to your father, and how do you repay me? By wastin’ time gettin’ fresh with your fiancée when I’m riskin’ your daddy bein’ madder than a box of frogs at me for not doin’ what I said I’d do—you’re bein’ real rude Javier Peña, exploitin’ my niceness and I’d appreciate you sayin’ your goodbyes, and bein’ on your way.”
His eyes were covered, but it was visible how his face shifted from grumpy to guilty.
“I’m sorry, Robyn,” he said.
“Apology accepted. Say goodbye, and then we gotta get back to work.”
“Okay,” he replied.
The other woman headed back to the en suite. Leaning forward, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to step toward you.
“Thank you for coming to see me or, you know, talk to me,” you told him.
He smiled, squeezing your palm. “There was zero chance of me waiting to talk to you until the wedding. I love you too much.”
“I’m happy you did, and I love you, too.”
He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I know you will, and I’ll be there.”
Javi sighed. “I better go. Bye, Cielito,” he said and didn’t move.
“You’re gonna see me in a little bit—get going, babe.”
He sighed again. “Fine. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
This time, he quickly pecked the back of your hand and started quietly walking along the front of the house. You assumed he had taken off the sleep mask to sneak away.
You closed and locked the window, shutting the blinds and curtains, feeling happy that you'd be seeing him again soon.
It took some time to finish getting ready, as you wanted to look perfect. Robyn did a fantastic job on your makeup, and your hair turned out well. When you saw yourself all dolled up and wearing your dress, you almost couldn't believe it was your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.
The white, silky satin hugged your curves as it cascaded to the ground to pool around your feet, the fabric having some stretch to it so your movements weren’t hindered. The neckline dipped in a slight V, your upper back bare from under your armpits up, and thin straps went over your shoulders connecting the two sides.
With how the satin draped over your figure, perfectly fitting the contours of your body, then flared out below your knees, it had a Morticia Addams feel to it—change the color of it to black, add sleeves, and you’d find it in her closet.
Javi was right. You looked so amazing that he was absolutely going to get a boner when he saw you.
And wasn't that just the sweetest thing?
A man so in love with you he gets aroused even when you're fully clothed because he thinks you're that pretty. He was also the kind of guy who sometimes got too excited from a kiss, and you had to wait a little while in the car for him to calm down…
"What do you think?" Robyn asked beside you. She'd put on her dress—a lavender-colored, A-line, floor-length gown with ruffled short sleeves and a V-neckline that, as an added bonus, had pockets.
You met her eyes in the mirror. "That I've never looked more beautiful—if you ever wanted to get out of nursing, you'd be a fantastic makeup artist."
She smiled, her full lips painted in rose-pink lipstick. "Thank you, but I prefer doin' it as a hobby and bein' able to help my friends out."
"Well, thank you for making me look insanely pretty."
"All I did was enhance what was already there, girl—Javi's gonna lose it."
"I hope he does."
A knock sounded from the bedroom door, and without a word, your friend went to see who it was.
"Is it okay for Chucho to see you?" Robyn called from the other room.
"Yes!" you answered, and nerves started fluttering in your belly over what he'd think.
Within seconds, your father-in-law was standing in the doorway, where you faced him with a grin.
"Dios mío (My God)," he gasped, his hand going to his mouth, “eres tan hermosa (you’re so beautiful)!” His dark eyes behind his glasses started to shine.
He was wearing light grey slacks, a white long-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie in the same shade as Robyn’s dress resting against his chest from a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, his camera dangling from a strap around his neck; as usual, his long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.
“Ese vestido es perfecto (That dress is perfect)!” he said. “Estoy tan feliz de que lo hayas elegido porque te ves increíble (I’m so happy you chose it because you look amazing). Javi se va a volver loco (Javi is going to go crazy)."
"You really think so?" you asked, looking down at your outfit.
"Oh, yes." He nodded. "He's not going to leave you alone. We'll have to get a crowbar to pry him away from you."
You giggled, looking at him. "Yeah, I have a feeling he's gonna be stuck to me all night."
"When isn't he?"
The question made you laugh. "Touché."
"I wasn't sure if you'd want to," the older man started, "but I went through mi amor's jewelry to see if there was anything I thought you might want to wear—it could be your something old—” You hadn’t figured out what to do for something old; your something new was the perfume Javi got you for Christmas that you saved for today so he’d have a scent memory. Something borrowed was Chucho’s land, where your ceremony and party would take place, and something blue was a garter from Robyn around your thigh under your dress. “—and I found this necklace,” he said.
That's when you realized he was holding a large, thin, black leather box in his other hand.
Chucho walked closer to you, holding it in a palm, while the other lifted the hinged top—the necklace was made up of many silver waves connected together, purple sapphires resting in each dip, that you counted seventeen in total. It was stunning, the metal and precious gemstones glimmering beneath the lighting.
"I gave this to mi Antonia on our twentieth anniversary," he told you. "We'd visit her family in Mexico two, three times a year, and always for Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). On one visit, she saw this necklace and fell in love with it—it's Taxco silver and known for its high quality; many pieces made with it are crafted by hand and marked, so you know it's real. She wouldn't let me buy it for her because she thought it was too expensive for something she’d hardly wear, but the way she looked at it, I had to get it for her anyway, so I did and surprised her with it on our anniversary; she yelled at me," he chuckled, smiling. "Then had me put it on her and covered my face in kisses." He sighed fondly. "I think if she were here today, this is what she would've chosen for you, too—if you don’t like it, we can go upstairs for you to pick something else out..."
"No, Pop," you said quickly, meeting his gaze. There was a lump in your throat at the thought he'd put into finding you this piece of jewelry. "It's perfect, and I'd love to wear it. Can you help me put it on, please?"
"Yes, Mija." He set the open box on the bathroom counter and picked up the necklace with the same care as you would a newborn. Turning so your back was to him, he had an end in each hand as his arm went over your head to get the silver and sapphires around the front of your neck, clasping it at the back. He stepped away, and you faced him again.
There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were soft. "Mi hija hermosa (My beautiful daughter).” The sentence had your breath hitching. “¿Ella es preciosa, no (She is gorgeous, right)?" he asked Robyn. She understood Spanish but had a hard time speaking it.
The other woman was beside him, grinning. "She sure is," she agreed. "A real stunner."
"I'm so happy this day has finally come." Tears were brimming on his eyelids, and he took off his glasses to wipe them away. "I just wish mi amor was here to see our son marry such a wonderful woman."
Your eyes were burning as you held back from crying. He'd put his eyeglasses back on, and you stepped forward to hug him, being careful of your makeup. His arms went around you, squeezing you back.
"I wish she was here, too," you said. "At least we've got you, the best dad in the whole world. I love you, Pop."
"I love you, too, Mija. Thank you for loving my son and making him the happiest I've ever seen. We're blessed to have you in our lives, and I can't tell you how much joy I feel that you've decided to take our last name; I think it suits you better."
"I think it suits me better, too."
“You’re gonna kill the grass if you keep walking back and forth like that,” the other man told him.
They were at the oak tree on the hill, and the sun was getting close to setting. Javier had his whole outfit on: a black tuxedo and bow tie, white shirt, and lavender pocket square—he’d borrowed a pair of his father’s golden cufflinks, and one of his mother’s violet roses was pinned to his lapel. He didn’t have a cigarette to calm his nerves, so he was pacing, but the comment had him stopping with a sigh.
"Are you wearing a hole in the ground 'cause you're being impatient?" Steve continued. "Or are you nervous?"
His gaze went to his best friend, who was standing in front of him holding a small, white, heart-shaped pillow adorned in lace that went around the edges—there were two golden rings, one bigger than the other, secured to the top of it by a satin ribbon tied into a bow. The older man was dressed in a charcoal-colored suit he regularly wore to work, with a new tie provided by Javier that matched his lavender pocket square. Nate was in a carrier on his back; the parents put the one-year-old in a onesie that made him look like he was wearing a tuxedo and some dark pants, the child happily chewing on a football-shaped teething toy.
His hands went to his hips as he frowned. “Both?” Javier answered. “I can’t wait to see her, and I’m nervous about saying shi-stuff—“ He quickly corrected himself with the children present. “—I usually save for when we’re alone.”
Steve was giving him a weird look. “My kids are here. This ‘stuff’ is appropriate for them to hear, right…? It’s not anything… lewd…?”
Javier’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not anything like that, you judgemental pri-prude.”
The blonde man’s free hand went up in a placating gesture. “Hey, you said you save it for when you’re alone, and y’all have stayed at our house—any time the two of you were alone, you… folded laundry.”
“Folded laundry…?”
“Javi,” Connie said to get his attention, and he looked over to where she was fussing with the purple bow in Olivia’s hair. “You know when there’s a big load of laundry that requires two adults to fold, and they have to lock the bedroom door so there aren’t any distractions.”
Oh, ‘folding laundry’ was their code word for sex—that was smart.
“Mom and Dad have been folding a lot of laundry together lately,” Olivia added with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know it was so hard to do alone—the baskets don’t seem that big.”
Javier smiled, his head turning from one parent to the other, seeing they were avoiding his eyes and blushing—good for them, fucking regularly.
“It’s more satisfying to do laundry with someone, so it gets done quicker,” he said.
“Doesn’t seem to get done quicker,” she replied.
Steve cleared his throat before he spoke. “Anyways, enough about laundry—what are you planning to say that’s got you nervous, Jav?”
He stopped smiling and scratched his mustache. “Uh, like, lovey-dovey, romantic crap…”
His best friend’s smile grew into a shit-eating grin. “What, like, super cheesy stuff? Are you gonna read the poetry you wrote about her eyes in your diary or something?”
Javier ground his teeth.
"Leave him alone, Steve," Connie said. "In our wedding video, before I walked down the aisle, you were clearly figuring out where all of the nearest exits were in the church. It’s refreshing and sweet that Javi’s gonna be vulnerable in front of everyone for the woman he loves.”
"I was checking where the exits were in case of a fire!" Steve rebuked. "All those candles they lit made me nervous."
"If that's what you tell yourself." She didn’t sound convinced.
“I was! Why did we need to be here forty-five minutes early?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I was really enjoying the food your aunties were feeding us back at the house.”
There wasn’t a chance for Javier to respond; the answer to the question was he wanted to show how eager he was to marry the woman he actually loved and avoid any chance of being late—it also was a ‘fuck you’ to the people betting against him at the bar.
"Tío, tío!" The three-year-old Stevie shouted, running up to him; he was holding a Ninja Turtle action figure he'd been playing with in the grass.
Javier smiled, his attention moving to the child, crouching to be at his level. "Yes, mi principito (my little prince)?"
"We match!" His tiny finger pointed at his little light purple bow tie over his white dress shirt. The kid refused to wear a regular tie like his dad, and the only way they got him to agree to the clip-on bow tie was by telling him Javier had one, too.
His friends weren't by any means struggling with money, but Javier and his wif-fiancée, sent them a check to pay for their trip to Texas, which included flights, lodging, a rental car, and clothes for the wedding since they wanted those at the ceremony to match—Olivia got a new dress and so did her mom in the shade of lavender everyone else was wearing.
The family had gotten into town the day before. Cielito and Javier had shown them around town and taken them out to the ranch where Chucho and Connie finally got to meet in person—there was a lot of hugging—and that evening, they all, including his father, went out to dinner. Today, he’d spent more time with his friends before they all needed to get ready, then they followed him out to the ranch to distract Chucho while Javier covertly went to see, or, well, talk to his bride-to-be—the sleep mask was Connie’s idea, and she thought them sneakily meeting without anyone knowing was incredibly romantic.
"We do, bud,” he said. “You look so cool." He gently patted the child's arm.
Stevie was grinning. "I'm gonna walk from Mommy to Daddy and give him the rings?"
The hill they were on wasn’t too steep; Olivia was fine with walking up it from the bottom—she was excited to do it. For her younger brother, it was too much for him, so Connie was going to stand with Stevie a little before the land evened out at the top to signal when it was time for him to walk to his father.
"Yes," he nodded. "You'll walk while holding the pillow with the rings and hand it to your dad."
"It's a special job?"
"It's very special."
"Sissy's gonna throw flowers?"
"Yes, flower petals."
"It's a special job, too?"
"It is. They’re both important. Thank you for helping me, mi principito (my little prince).” He ruffled the child’s dirty blonde hair, making Stevie laugh.
Javier’s primos, Sebastián, and his tía Rebeca's daughter, Angelita, were taking care of the videography and photography, respectively. Seb had the video camera Javier bought, and Angelita had her own gear since she was a professional photographer—when you had fourteen cousins on just your father’s side, the odds were in your favor, one of them could either help with what you needed or knew somebody who could.
Photos were taken of Javier with the Murphys when they all first got there, and then his primos told everyone to pretend they weren’t there while they got candids and views of the scenery—his cousins arrived together in Sebastián’s SUV.
“Hey, Javi?” Seb said as he walked toward him.
"I gotta talk to him, buddy," Javier told Stevie. "I'll be back." He rose up with a groan, taking a few steps to reach his primo. "Yeah?" he answered.
When camcorders first came out, they were big and had to be rested on the operator’s shoulder, but the one Seb was using, he held in one of his hands with the side pulled open to see the little screen that previewed what was being recorded. The younger man hit a button on the video camera to pause what he’d been doing. “Do you want me to interview people?” Seb asked. “Ask how they like the wedding, if they have any advice, that kinda stuff.”
"Uh." He thought about it and Cielito would probably enjoy that. "Sure.”
"Perfecto (Perfect)." Seb nodded, hitting the button to record again.
Javier immediately regretted his decision when the camera was put in his face.
“It’s your big day, primo,” Seb said. “How are you feeling?”
“Um, excited and nervous.”
“The audience would like to hear how you met your bride.”
Javier smiled, heat rising on his cheeks. “At the grocery store, in the produce department—I guess it was obvious I was struggling to pick out a tomato, and she came to my rescue and showed me what to look for.”
“What was your first impression of her?”
He scratched at the back of his neck while looking away. “Uh, that she was sweet for helping me out, and beautiful. I could tell she had a good, kind heart and—” he lowered his voice so the children wouldn’t hear him. “—no fuckin’ clue who I was.” He chuckled. “I was hooked from that first conversation; an instant connection—there was something about her that told me she was going to be someone important to me, and I’d never felt that with anyone else.”
“What’d you do for your first date?”
His immediate thought was what happened after the bar, and his face felt hot. “We, uh, went out for drinks.”
“When did you know you loved her?”
He looked at the camera. “Honestly? Our third date. We were dancing in her kitchen to “¿Y cómo es él?”—”
“Mi mamá loves that song,” Seb said.
Javier huffed, smiling. “All my tías do. So, uh, we were dancing in her kitchen, and I realized she was the woman I was going to marry. I could see us having a future and was picturing what our Sunday mornings would look like—which, they’re exactly how I imagined—yeah, I knew I loved her on the third date and that we were going to get married one day.” He cleared his throat. “When my dad tells the story of the first time he saw my mother, he says his gut told him she was the one, and I always thought he was talking out of his—ass,” he whispered. “But it’s real and crazy to know deep down inside that you’ve found the person who completes you—feeling that confirmed she was it and that I truly did love her.”
“I think I know the feeling you’re talking about, and it’s great.”
“It is, and at your wedding, I’m gonna grill you on camera about it.”
“Hey, your wife is gonna eat this up, and you both want kids; think about your hijos (children) watching this one day and seeing how much you love their mom on your wedding day.”
The thought of sitting on the couch surrounded by his wife and kids, watching this wedding video, made him soften to the point he was putty—he wanted it to be a reality one day.
“What’s something you want to say to the bride before you get married?” Seb asked.
“I love you, and today is the best day of my entire fucking life—”
“—Eso es un dólar en la jarra, tío (That’s a dollar in the jar, uncle).” Olivia interrupted.
She meant the swear jar.
Javier sighed. “Lo siento, mi tesorito (I’m sorry, my little treasure). As I was saying, mi Cielito, I love you, and today is the best day of my entire freaking life. Happy isn’t enough to describe how I feel about us starting this new chapter of being husband and wife, and I’m looking forward to our future full of love, happiness, and hopefully, a lot of kids.” He smiled big. “I love you more than anything, and I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Te amo, mi amor (I love you, my love).” To end the sentence, he blew a kiss at the camera lens.
In order to get to where Javi was, it involved Chucho driving you off-road, and the trip was bumpy; you sat in the passenger seat, and Robyn was in the backseat, and because your father-in-law was probably as nervous as you were about speaking in front of people, he held your hand the entire way.
The previous day, when you brought the Murphys out to the ranch, you’d taken them to where you were going to be wed to do a quick rehearsal on how things would go; Olivia was beyond ecstatic to be a flower girl, and Stevie didn’t really understand what was going on, except that his tío Javi had an important job for him.
Chucho pulled up and parked at the base of the hill with your door opposite it so you couldn’t get a closer look at everyone atop it. The butterflies in your belly were flapping around so hard you thought they might get out, while your mind was racing with what could go wrong like you falling—that was a reason you wore flats, but with how much of your dress touched the ground, there was a chance of it tripping you up. Or what if Javi���s handsomeness made your brain stop working, and you couldn’t speak a single coherent word? Something that has happened before. God, your heart was pounding, and you thought you might be having a minor panic attack due to your vision starting to tunnel—a small silver flask was held up in front of your face, the cap already twisted off.
“Take a drink, Mija,” Chucho’s soothing voice said. “It’ll calm you down.”
The man was a lifesaver.
You grabbed it, taking a big swig, and your face pinched as the whiskey burned down your throat—from the taste and smoothness, you recognized it as Javi’s favorite, which was top shelf, a little spendy, and probably came from the bottle your fiancé gifted his dad to thank him for his help in getting you to give the green light to start your family.
The effect the alcohol had on you was almost immediate, feeling all of the tense muscles in your body relax at the same time. Your father-in-law took the flask from you and knocked it back with a drink of his own.
“Robyn?” he asked when he finished, holding it up for her to reach.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, accepting it from him to take a gulp.
“I couldn’t see Antonia before our wedding,” he said, his head turned your way, “or talk to her. We were kept apart at the church, and I was so nervous that I was shaking like a leaf.” He chuckled. “Not about getting married, but having to stand in front of so many people. It had to be minutes before I needed to go out with the priest that mi amor’s maid of honor, her best friend, found me to give me an opened bottle of tequila and a note written by Antonia that read, ‘Mi amor, un trago para el coraje (My love, a drink for courage). Yo también necesitaba uno (I needed one, too).’ And she left a lipstick stamp of her lips at the bottom, where she kissed the paper. I won’t deny it. I kissed where her lips had been and took two shots.”
The story made you smile.
Chucho had put on a jacket that matched his light grey pants, and you watched as he pulled something from the inside pocket. It was a small folded piece of paper that’d been ripped from the notepad he kept by the answering machine at his house to write down messages. He passed it over to you, and you unfolded it, finding Javi’s scratchy handwriting. You read what he wrote:
Cielito,
You said you were never drinking again, but I think this can be an exception since you’re probably freaking the fuck out about embarrassing yourself like I am. I’m worried I’ll see how beautiful you are and forget how to talk, or my brain will stop working.
Have a drink to calm your nerves, and know it will all be okay because we’re doing this together.
I love you,
Your husband
The note was touching, especially since he knew how you’d be feeling.
“When did he write this?” you asked Chucho, whose eyes you met, the man smiling.
“When he met up with Connie and all of them at the house before they came out here. I’d given him the flask when he got there as a gift, but he told me to keep it for you and asked if he could write you a message. It reminded me so much of his mother, I couldn’t say no.”
“Thanks, Pop. I needed it.”
“I know you did, Mija.” He patted your leg.
When Javier saw his father's truck in the distance, his heart rate increased, and by the time they parked at the bottom of the hill, his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest.
With where he was standing at the tree and how the land sloped, he didn’t have a visual. Steve was beside him with Nate still in the carrier, Connie and Stevie, who was holding the pillow with the rings, had walked to the top of the hill and were looking down it, probably watching Olivia, who booked it to join the people at the truck. Seb was near Steve's wife and kid with the camcorder and a battery-powered boombox on the ground he was supposed to hit play on when Robyn gave him the signal.
Sweat was forming on his brow and on his palms. He turned to Steve.
"Do I look okay?" he asked his friend. "How's my hair? And the bow tie?" He lifted his chin.
The other man was wearing an amused smile. "Hair and bow tie look as fine as they did when you asked five minutes ago." He put a hand on Javier's shoulder and squeezed. "Relax, man—you look great. She's gonna love what she sees."
"I fucking hope so."
The sun had started its descent on the horizon and was the backdrop for the place they’d be standing; the sky where it met land was lit up in burning orange, bleeding into golden yellow where the sun was positioned, and high above that, it turned into a calming mauve.
The soft, melodic sound of a piano began, and it was Javier's cue to face the others. Christine McVie’s voice floated through the air as she sang the opening to the Fleetwood Mac song, "Songbird:"
“For you there'll be no more crying
For you the Sun will be shining
And I feel that when I'm with you
It's alright, I know it's right.”
Seconds later, Robyn came into view, smiling while holding a small bouquet of sunflowers with a lavender ribbon wrapped around the stems. She shot her boyfriend, Sebastián, a wink as she passed him. She took her spot across from Javier beside where Cielito would be.
When he discussed with his wife-to-be the music for today, she only knew for sure what she wanted them to dance their first dance to, and since Javier didn’t object to it, she left what she’d walk down the aisle to up to him. He knew she’d hate the traditional “Bridal Chorus,” a couple of Elvis Presley songs came to mind, “No Sé Tú” by Luis Miguel perfectly described how Javier felt when they met and was a good option, “At Last” by Etta James would be appropriate, too, and “I Could Fall in Love” by Selena was in the running, because, Selena, but then he remembered this song on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours—his favorite album, and for good reason with it having some of the band’s best classics like “The Chain,” “Dreams,” and “Go Your Own Way;” it was also seeping with palpable heartbreak of a messy breakup, except for the track, “Songbird.” It was a major tonal shift from all the angst with its pretty piano and Christine McVie crooning her love. What sold him on it were the lines:
“To you, I’ll give the world
To you, I’ll never be cold
‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you
It’s alright, I know it’s right.”
He loved it when he heard it played live at the band's concert twenty-three years ago—he’d been seventeen and still in high school; he and his buddies snuck off to Fort Worth to see them, and “Songbird” was the last song of their set before the encore.
It was his three-year-old sobrino’s (nephew’s) turn to walk forward, his mom sending him to his dad with the rings—they all laughed at how he ran as fast as he could, making Javier smile.
"Here, Daddy," the child said to Steve, holding up the pillow.
His father accepted it.
"Great job, kiddo—high-five." His friend had to bend a little to gently hit his palm to Stevie’s tinier one, and the toddler turned to Javier expectantly, who, of course, bent his knees and high-fived him.
"You did good, buddy,” he said.
Steve told his son to stand with him, and Connie went to be next to Robyn as everyone watched Olivia walk up, tossing red rose petals from a small white basket, leaving a trail of them behind her. He hum-sang under his breath along with the song:
“And the songbirds are singing
Like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before.”
Finally, his bride came into view, her eyes locking onto his, and all the love he had for, all of his happiness, and thanks he had to the universe for making this day happen overflowed from him, falling as tears down his face and made his smile so big, he could feel the dimple in his cheek.
She was breathtaking and better than anything he could’ve imagined; this moment would be seared into his brain for all eternity, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy in his entire life—he almost told Steve to make sure he didn’t float away.
Her bouquet was made up of roses from his mother’s garden, and his heart felt like it would burst. Then the dress—Jesus Christ, the dress was perfect with how it molded to her body and showed off her tits from the neckline V-ing between them. His fingers were itching to see if the fabric was as buttery smooth as it looked, wanting to explore the expanse with his fingertips, mapping out every curve, line, and dip he’d already ventured countless times before but now on a new canvas; He desired to feel her softness under his palms and cradle her beautiful face to kiss those delectable lips he so loved; he wanted to hold her in his arms, her familiar shape he knew as intimately as his own, pressed against him, where she belonged.
All of it was getting him too excited, and his pants were feeling tighter, just as he suspected might happen.
Javier’s dream wedding night would have them partying with their friends and family well into the later hours and holding off on consummating their marriage until they retired to the room he rented at the nicest hotel in town he was surprising her with. He’d been determined to do just that up until he had to spend the previous evening by himself where he was alone with his thoughts and ruminated on how beautiful she was going to look, that she was going to be his wife, and one day soon, the mother of his children; since she wasn’t there to distract him by simply being in his vicinity, he worked himself up until he was rock hard and had to take a freezing shower.
He didn’t see there being any chance they’d make it to the hotel without them fucking at least once beforehand.
God, she was so fucking gorgeous.
He had to wipe at the wetness on his face, his smile continuing to shine.
Telling her his feelings in front of everyone wasn’t all he’d been nervous about; his brain was a real asshole, and there’d been a tiny thread of worry she wasn’t going to show—it was stupid, to have even fathomed something so absurd, yet looking at how shitty his luck was up until they met, he thought it wouldn’t have been too surprising that this time he’d be the one left at the altar.
But she was here! She came! And he was so overjoyed he couldn’t stop crying.
Wait.
Oh, fuck, she was close now—what was he supposed to do? It only just registered that she was walking with his dad, and they were almost to him, and he couldn’t remember what needed to happen when she got to him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he was starting to panic that he didn’t know what his next move was, worried he was going to fuck it all up; it was unbelievable that he’d been in gunfights, had to think on the fly to stay alive many times, and put on press conferences, yet at this moment when there wasn’t any danger or eager reporters, he was so overwhelmed by the woman he loved’s beauty, and that she was marrying him, his brain had ceased functioning entirely, and he was spiraling at embarrassing himself with so many onlookers.
Javi was having a panic attack.
The change in his eyes, how they went from bright and happy to panicked, clued you in, and any nervousness you felt flew out the window because your only concern was helping him.
Unhooking your arm from Chucho, you held out the hand, not holding flowers to Robyn.
“Flask me,” you said. Quickly, she pulled it from her pocket and passed it to you, taking your bouquet in return. You stepped in front of your betrothed as you unscrewed the cap on the container of booze. “Hey, baby,” you said in a soothing tone. “You’re okay.” You grabbed his hand and put the flask in it, pushing it toward his face. “Have a drink to calm your nerves. Everything is gonna be okay, honey. Remember, we’re doing this together—it’s just us.”
The music had stopped playing.
He shook his head once like he was trying to shake the bad stuff out, and he took a drink, or several, with how his Adam’s apple kept bobbing.
“Looks like I’ll be driving us after this.” The adults surrounding you chuckled, and you smiled.
His hand lowered, and his vision focused on you, a pink flush spreading over his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“No reason to be sorry—I freaked out in the car.” You took the flask from him, screwed on the cap, and handed it back to Robyn without looking. “Feeling better?” you asked, smoothing your fingers over his bangs while his eyes were on yours.
“Much,” he answered with a small smile, his palms moving to rest on your hips.
“Wanna get married?”
“More than anything.”
“Good—liquid courage helps.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, then put your lips near his ear for only him to hear, “Say the word, and we’ll pack up, go party with everyone, and hit the courthouse tomorrow.”
He spoke softly in your ear, “Thank you, Cielito, but I promise I’m okay.” He kissed your cheek. “I told you I’d see how beautiful you are and forget how to function.”
You giggled, pulling back to look at him, taking in the black tuxedo jacket and bow tie over his crisp white shirt and the lavender pocket square and the pinned violet rose for a pop of color—his hair still looked good, and you rubbed away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
When he saw you in your wedding dress, the expression on his face was something you’d never forget—it was a look of pure, uninhibited joy, and you were sure you saw hearts in his eyes with how they beamed his immense love and devotion. The way that it had him crying happy tears made you feel emotional that someone loved you with such magnitude. It’s why your immediate thought when you saw him panicking wasn’t that he wanted to back out, knowing from his note that he was freaking the fuck out about embarrassing himself, and the nerves got him.
“Let’s get married.” His head turned to kiss one of your palms.
“Let’s get married.”
Turning to your almost-father-in-law, you gave him a quick hug, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to give Javi a side hug, careful of the stuff held in one of his hands and whispering something in his son’s ear, you didn’t catch.
The elder Peña went to stand at his place in front of the tree, holding his worn, soft leather bible, with a picture of Javi’s mother stuck to the cover and a note card sticking out from between the pages to mark a spot.
Javier took your hand, and you both walked the few steps to your spots before his father; he grasped your other palm in his once you faced one another, Chucho on your left and Javi’s right.
Your husband-to-be mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and you silently replied with the movement of your lips, ‘I love you, too.’
Chucho cleared his throat, and your attention went to him.
“Welcome, loved ones,” he started, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and each other to bear witness to the perfect union of Javier, and—” He said your name. “What a joyous day we get to share with them as they embark on this new journey of a life together in matrimony that will, no doubt, be long, healthy, and filled with love, happiness, and laughter.
“Mijo, Mija,” he addressed you both, “I called this union between you perfect, and I meant it. Besides my marriage to my dear Antonia, que en paz descanse (may she rest in peace), I cannot think of two other people more suited to share a life together. It’s clear the good you bring out in one another and how happy you make each other.” His eyes landed on you. “And you truly make my son happy. This might come as a shock,” he said to everyone in attendance, “but Javier is a smiley guy when he’s happy, and I haven’t seen him smile so much in a long, long time.
“He also has never been able to hide his feelings because that handsome face of his tells his secrets—it’s his—” He glanced at you. “—I’m stealing this from you, Mija—it’s his puppy dog eyes, he got from his mother, and she suffered the same problem.” His gaze stayed on you. “I know Javier loves you more than there’s blue in all the sky because he looks at you the same way mi amor looked at me, and as we know, their eyes don’t lie.”
He was right, and it made you choke up that he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such honesty and the weight of so much love.
Chucho looked at his son. “Your media naranja (soulmate) isn’t much better.” He nodded toward you. “Her eyes betray her, too, even when she does her damndest to hide behind a mask. When she looks at you, though, the truth of her love is revealed—her thoughts are loud when she stares at you, and sometimes I think I can hear them; the declaration of ‘I love you,’ she’s repeating over and over again. She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and I know it’s true from those looks, how she treats and cares for you, the things she does for you, even when you don’t ask, and the effort she puts into cultivating your relationship.”
He spoke to you both again. “Marriage can be wonderful with the right person, but it isn’t always easy; I want to take a moment and give you some advice that kept my marriage happy.
“Be best friends—talk about everything, even when you don’t want to or it’s a hard subject. Communicate your needs and wants constantly, and don’t stop talking to each other. Be best friends who share everything, and I mean everything, because your relationship needs to be built upon trust, and there’s nothing better than spending your life with your best friend.
“Keep having fun—joke around, cook together, dance in the kitchen, don’t stop having fun. And keep dating each other. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean that the dating stops. Go out, stay in, just have romantic time you dedicate to one another; that way, the spark stays alive. I know it’ll be harder to do when you have kids; you’ll be exhausted and won’t have much energy. Dating still needs to be a priority, and it doesn’t have to be anything exciting; it can be as simple as putting the kids to bed, staying up, watching a movie together, or baking cookies.”
“—or folding laundry together,” Steve interjected.
Javi chuckled, and you were confused. He leaned toward you to whisper in your ear, “It’s their code word for sex.”
“Oh, that’s smart,” you said as he straightened.
A furrow was between Chucho’s eyebrows. “I guess folding laundry can be romantic…” the older man said. “Now, where was I?” He opened his bible and pulled out the notecard, his eyes scanning over. “Oh, yes—anyone can fall in love; it’s nurturing that love, sharing your life with the other, facing challenges together, and growing as one that makes it real love, and what you have is real. The love you share and I had with my wife is beautiful, but it’s also fierce, it’s powerful, and all consuming; it’s not something anyone can get between and will live on even when you no longer walk the earth. I know you didn’t want a religious ceremony, but there’s a scripture I’d like to share that perfectly describes what I mean. May I?” he asked, his bible already open to the page.
Javier and you figured he’d slip in a verse or two simply because he was a devout Christian man. It was nice of him to ask permission first, though. You turned your head to meet your almost-husband’s eyes and shrugged that you were fine with it. He smiled, his attention going back to his father.
“Go ahead,” Javi said.
Chucho had a toothy grin. “Wonderful—it’s in Songs of Solomon 8 and reads: Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If one offered for love all the wealth of one’s house, it would be utterly scorned.”
He shut the bible with one hand, his notes resting atop it.
“I wish more people got to experience that kind of love—it’d do the world a whole lot of good. Javier—” He looked at his son, then over to you, saying your name. “I know with how you feel for each other, it’s natural to think marriage is the next step in your relationship. I want you to be sure you know what you’re getting into.” His eyes were moving between you both. “This is a lifelong commitment that will have its ups and downs, highs and lows, and you’ll need to challenge yourselves to love the other more completely each and every day. Are you ready to take this step?”
Without missing a beat, Javi and you said simultaneously, ‘Yes,’ your hands still in his.
Chucho smiled. “Wonderful. Javier—” His eyes went to his son. “—do you take—” He said your name. “—to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor her, cherish her, love, trust, and commit to her and her alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Javi said.
His father turned his attention to you and addressed you by name. “—do you take Javier to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor him, cherish him, love, trust, and commit to him and him alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” you answered.
“It’s time for you to share the vows you’ve written for one another before you exchange rings. Who’d like to go first?”
“Me!” you said immediately, and everyone laughed. “I need to get them out of the way before Javi makes me a blubbering mess. Robyn, vows me.” Turning her way, you put out your hand, and she juggled the two bouquets she held to pull a folded piece of paper from her pocket to hand to you. “Have I told you your dress is amazing?” you asked her.
“Thank you—I look good and have pockets. What could be better?”
“Dresses with pockets are a game-changer.” You faced Javi, and heat bloomed up your neck and on your face at remembering you had to say how you felt in front of people.
“Hey,” Javi said to get your attention, and your gazes locked. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “Talk to me—no one else is here.”
“Right.” You smiled, then focused on the lined notebook paper you unfolded that had your writing on it. “Javier Jesús Peña López,” you began, “the first of his name, King of my heart, Lord of our tiny apartment, and Protector of me—”
“Just Javi’s fine,” he said.
You giggled. “Javi, not a day goes by that I am unaware of how lucky I am to have found you. When I think about how much time you spent away from this town—that I both love and hate—all the people you’ve met, the life you’ve lived, and the things you’ve gone through, it’s a miracle our paths crossed, and possibly Divine Intervention or the universe doing me a solid, that after everything that’s happened to you, you’ve ended up here, with me.
“It’s crazy the number of obstacles we’ve had to face together and how many people are obsessed with making your life difficult—this isn’t me complaining. I’m weirdly thankful for it; it’s kept us on our toes and tested our bond. It’s improved our communication and has built a strong foundation for our relationship.
“Something I’m also thankful for is the trust we share. I can count on you. I know you’re true to your word, and I have no reason to worry about you ever being deceitful.
“What’s also reassuring is your star signs back up the faith I have in you—as a Sagittarius, you value honesty, and when you find someone you think is really worth it, you commit, and you commit hard. With Capricorn and Scorpio in your top three, you’re super loyal, a little possessive, and definitely a relationship guy. To sum all of that up, you’re pretty much perfect and an amazing partner.
“You’re a good man, the best I’ve known. My life is better with you in it. Thank you for loving me.” Tears started to distort your vision, the emotion coming through in your voice. “Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for your unwavering support and for being my rock. Thank you for being my protector and making me feel so safe with you. Thank you for being my best friend and the love of my life.”
You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself.
“Here are my promises to you,” you said, “I promise to love you until the end of time, and if I happen to go first, haunt you until we can be together again.” He chuckled. “I promise to be your protector and to always have your back; I will go to battle for you in a heartbeat, and hopefully, you know that. I promise to be honest, and it should go without saying because, as we’ve established, you’re perfect, but I promise to be faithful. I promise to keep making you laugh and smile. I promise to put you first and to always be your best friend—sorry, Steve.”
“You can have him,” Steve replied, and everyone laughed.
You continued speaking, “I promise to make your mother’s tamales a couple times a year—I promise to make you one of her other recipes on the days you miss her particularly bad. I promise to keep reminding you that you’re sexier and better than Harrison Ford.” That one made him and the others crack up. “I promise to rap “Whatta Man” for you every time it comes on, so you don’t forget whatta man you are. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen every chance we get. I promise to try, keyword here, try, not to recite the movies word for word when we watch Star Wars or Addams Family Values. I promise to always make sure we don’t run out of limes or your hot sauce or side-eye you when you put either on the perfectly seasoned food I made. I promise to always leave you the last of the ice cream because you’re a dirty liar when you say you don’t want it. I promise to tell you I love you every day until the day I die. I promise that you and your love will always be enough, and I’ll always pick you; I’ll always choose you over anyone else.
“Today, the separate books of our lives have come to an end, and we’re starting the next one together—I can’t wait to see what each new chapter will bring. What I know for sure—” You glanced over at Chucho. “—I’m stealing this from you, Pop—” Your eyes went to Javi’s, and his were reddened, his face glistening from crying and flushed from the alcohol. “—What I know for sure,” you said, “is this new adventure we’re beginning, will be filled with love, happiness, and laughter.
“Javi, you are my person. You’re the love of my life, my one true love, mi media naranja, the person I want to go to sleep with every night and wake up with every morning. You’re my best friend and my forever.
“I love you, Javier Jesús Peña López and I am so happy I get to spend eternity with you.”
His smile was big enough his dimple was showing and you hated that you couldn’t kiss him.
Chucho sniffled, putting his bible under his arm to get his handkerchief from his pocket, lifting his glasses to wipe away his tears.
“That was beautiful, Mija. When you’re ready, Javi, go ahead.”
All she said had Javier feeling so unbelievably happy that he couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks, and he thought his smile might be permanently stuck on his face—he was sure the alcohol wasn’t helping him to keep his composure.
His dad’s speech had gotten him, too, especially about how Chucho could see her feelings for him and said their love was real. He always wondered if the intensity of what he felt for her was normal, and hearing that his parents were the same way reassured him that they just had a strong connection. His father’s advice was helpful, too, and he planned on following it.
She looked incredible and smelled amazing; her perfume wasn’t one she’d worn before, but he knew the scent because he got it for her as a Christmas present—it was intoxicating, and he was dying to shove his face into her neck to drown himself in it. With the emotions she was eliciting from him, her beauty, the perfume, and the whiskey he drank, it was a heady combination that had him feeling buzzed, and he was so caught up in all of it that it had completely slipped his mind that he had to speak.
“Shit,” he said under his breath and barely pulled open the left side of his jacket to get into the inside pocket. First, he grabbed his reading glasses, which he put on, then the folded piece of yellow, lined paper he’d taken from a legal pad at work.
“I am literally the luckiest woman in the world,” Cielito said, and his eyes lifted to her. She was smiling, her eyelashes wet, and she looked incredibly delighted.
“The glasses?” he asked with a smirk.
“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “You’re spoiling me. I get glasses Javi in a tuxedo, and he’s gonna say pretty, romantic things about how much he loves me—talk about the best day ever.”
“With how you look?” he said. “It’s my best day ever, too.”
She playfully smacked his arm. “Stop it, don’t make me want to suck—”
Robyn started coughing loudly, and his wife-to-be’s eyes widened.
“—hug you more,” she tried to save and cringed. “Hugs, not drugs, am I right?” She chuckled nervously.
He snorted, shaking his head. “You ready?” he asked.
“Wait.” Her upper body twisted so she could look behind her. “Tissue me,” she said to Robyn, and her friend got a clean one out of her pocket and exchanged it for Cielito’s folded paper. She faced him again. “Okay, I’m ready. Remember to focus on me. No one else is here.”
“That’ll be easy.” He cleared his throat, his eyes moving to what he’d written. It wasn’t something he said often, but he let her first name slide off his tongue, thinking how perfect it was going to sound paired with his last. “—mi Cielito, mi amor, mi alma, mi media naranja, y ahora, mi esposa (My Cielito, my love, my soul, my soulmate, and now, my wife), my life didn’t begin until the moment I met you; what I mean by that, is I was alive, yes, I was breathing, I had a pulse, but I didn’t start living until we met. You made me want to live and be happy—for so long, I thought I would die miserable and alone, and you showed me that I deserved happiness and to be loved.” His eyes were burning, and the following sentence made him choke up. “You showed me I deserved a family of my own.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I thank the universe, the powers that be. I thank whoever let you find me because I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”
He went off script to look into her beautiful, teary eyes. “Pop was right; I love you more than there’s blue in the sky, I love you more than there’s water in all the depths of the oceans, I love you more than there are stars in the entire galaxy—I love you more than anything, and I mean anything.”
He focused on what he’d written again. “I once told you I didn’t believe in true love, and I didn’t—that was just made-up stuff in the cartoon movies I watched with Olivia. Or at least I thought it was before you, and then, having you in my life, I discovered it was real. With you, ‘media naranja (soulmate)’ isn’t just a term of endearment; it’s an acknowledgment that you’re my other half and that we’re two parts meant to be together. Love with you transcends what most people have; we feel it deeper than our bones, all the way down into our souls, where we’re connected.
“Our love is true love.”
Wetness was dripping from his eyes to splatter onto the paper.
“Those fairytale movies got something right, and it’s that this kind of love would make a person fight dragons and sea witches for their true love. As my father said, it’s fierce, powerful, and all-consuming. It doesn’t end when our hearts stop beating; it continues on—it’s infinite—what we feel for one another is more than a single life can handle, and I’ll follow you when this one’s over; we’ll find each other again, and live another life together because there is no me without you or you without me.
“From the first day we met, I knew you were special. We spent hours talking in that bar, and I’ve never felt such peace or so comfortable with someone; with you, I don’t have to keep my guard up. I can be vulnerable, speak what’s on my mind, and openly show my affection. With you, I’m safe, and from the first night, you were my Cielito, my little heaven—there’s no better name for you, not with how happy you make me, how you make me feel, and how much better my life is with you.
“You’re my little heaven, mi Cielito, my everything. You’ve shown me more love than I’ve ever known—thank you.” His voice faltered, and he had to wipe at his eyes as best he could beneath his glasses. “Those two words aren’t enough to express my gratitude, and I will spend every waking moment showing you how thankful I am for you and all you’ve done.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, “it’s not enough, but thank you.”
He sounded gravelly, the words thick. “In you, I’ve found love, a wife, a partner for life, a best friend, an incredible lover, a home, a teacher to show me how to live; someone who makes me happy, makes me laugh, someone to have a family with, who supports me, inspires me, and makes me want to be a better man.
“Thank you for being all of this and more. Thank you for marrying me today and making me the happiest man in the entire goddamn universe.
“Fuck,” he breathed, taking off his readers to hold with the paper while his other hand scrubbed away the tears. “I really hoped I wouldn’t cry this much—it’s embarrassing.”
“I love it,” she reassured. “It just shows you really mean what you’re saying.”
He put the lenses back on and looked at her, seeing her eyes were red from crying, the tissue in her hand stained with mascara—she’d managed to keep from ruining the rest of her makeup.
“I do mean it all,” he said.
She was smiling. “I know.”
Javier composed himself by taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. Finally, he was ready to speak again. “It was hard figuring out my vows because I wanted to promise you everything your heart could possibly desire, but Pop said that was boring.” He frowned.
“And that he needed to do better,” Chucho added.
Javier sighed.
“I would’ve been fine with that vow,” Cielito said.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Pop was right. You deserve the best.” He took another deep breath and slowly let it out, looking at what he’d written and patting himself on the back for making notes—he was definitely too emotional and tipsy to have remembered everything he wanted to say. “Cielito,” he started, “you have all my love and devotion, and I give you myself; my mind, body, and soul belong to you. I vow to never stop loving you, even when this earth is no more and the stars stop shining. I vow to make you feel loved and cherished until the end of my days. I vow to always be your best friend, your confidant, your shoulder to cry on, y un chismoso contigo (and a gossiper with you)—me encanta chismear contigo (I love to gossip with you).”
She giggled, and he smiled.
“I vow to be your equal in everything and give more than I take. I vow to always be there for you no matter what, in sickness and health, when life is easy and hard, I’ll stand by you and be your anchor.” The next one made his smile get bigger. “I vow to treat you like una reina (a queen) and be the best husband you could ask for so when you brag to your girlfriends, they can see their worth and deserve to be treated like queens, too. I vow to be the best father, one you can rely on, and doesn’t call watching my own children babysitting; I’ll pull my weight, I’ll never let you get overwhelmed, and I’ll be an active parent who loves our kids so fu-freaking much.”
“I vow to keep you safe and always make you feel safe; I’ll protect you and our children with my life. I vow to make sure all of your needs are met.” He smirked, glancing at her. “I vow to ‘fold laundry’ with you whenever you ask.” He winked, and she laughed.
“Why are adults so obsessed with laundry?” He heard Olivia ask.
“I’m wonderin’ the same thing, kiddo,” Robyn said. “I’m not obsessed with it.”
“Oh, believe me, you are,” Connie replied.
“I know the stars,” Javier said, “that astrology stuff you love, told you this already, but I want you to hear it from me, too: I vow to be loyal to you and faithful, always—to me, you are the only woman I see, or will ever want; I vow to put you and our family before all else.”
He looked at her with a smile. “I have some more things I’m gonna promise after hearing yours. I vow to always give you my pickles.” Her grin was big and happy as she giggled. “I vow to always let you sing Freddie Mercury’s parts in Bohemian Rhapsody while I do the guitar solo, and I’ll always leave you the last piece of cheesecake because I love you and value my life.” That made her giggle harder. “I vow to try, the keyword here is try, to not, as you put it, ‘creepily watch you while you sleep,’ even though you’re guilty of the same thing.” Her giggles transformed into laughter. “I vow to always dance with you when we’re cleaning the house and in the kitchen while we cook together. I vow to pretend—I mean, agree that you’re the best driver in Laredo and always know your way around, even when you don’t.”
There was a reason he drove them the majority of the time.
“Rude!” she gasped. “I’m an amazing driver!”
“I agree, mi amor, you’re the best in Laredo.” He winked again, folded his paper, and put it back in his inner pocket. He spoke as he took off his reading glasses. “There’s one more thing I vow,” he said, putting the lenses away. His hands were free and he grabbed hers, ignoring the tissue clenched in one of her palms, and stared adoringly into her eyes. “I vow that years from now—decades—after our kids are grown, and we’ve retired, maybe we’ll be living in Florida like other retirees, or we’ll still be here where our family lives and we made our best memories; I vow that when we’re old and grey and can’t hear or see shit without hearing aids or glasses, that we’ll look back on our life together, and we’ll have no regrets.
“Zero,” he said.
“We did everything we wanted and lived the life we shared to the fullest, filled with love, happiness, and laughter.”
Her shoulders started to shake, and she had to let go of his hand to blot at her eyes.
“Javier!” she cried, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. “Why would you end with something so sweet?”
“Para que sepas cómo nuestro futuro será (So you know what our future together will be like). Quería que vieras que cuando me des ese anillo, te daré mi futuro y lo que venga después de eso (I wanted you to see that when you give me that ring, I’ll give you my future and whatever comes after that).”
She leaned back to look at him, and he was impressed that only her mascara had gotten messed up. She poked him in the chest and said, “That ring is going on your finger right this second.” Javier chuckled as her head turned to his dad. “Can we do the rings now, please?”
Chucho laughed. “Yes, Mija, you can do the rings. Who has them?” he asked aloud.
“Me!” Steve answered and moved to stand next to the older man, being careful not to bump Nate, who’d fallen asleep in the backpack carrier. At some point, the three-year-old Stevie had gone over to his mom and was now sitting in the grass next to her, eating Goldfish crackers out of a plastic baggy from the diaper bag near them. Steve untied the ribbon keeping the gold bands secured, then picked them both up, the pillow getting shoved under his arm. “Here, Jav.” Javier turned a little, holding out his palm to his friend, and her ring was set in it. He faced his bride again.
“At this time, they will exchange rings,” Chucho said, holding his bible in front of him with the notecard atop it. “Javier, go ahead and place it on her finger.” She looked adorably giddy, presenting her left hand to him, and he held it in his palm as he slid the band onto the finger with her engagement ring, pressing it against the other. “Now, repeat after me,” his dad said, reading his notes, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”
Javier’s eyes fastened onto hers, and he repeated what his father said: “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.” When he finished speaking, he lifted her hand to press his lips to the new addition on her finger with a kiss, keeping his gaze on her watery one.
“I love you,” she told him.
His thumb rubbed over the gold as he lowered her arm. “I love you, too.”
“Mija,” Chucho said, “it’s your turn.”
Javier held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, goosebumps rose on his skin, practically vibrating from anticipation. Her palm was smaller and softer than his, and he watched as Steve passed her the remaining ring. A big smile formed on his face at her not waiting for his father’s instruction, putting the band onto his finger immediately—it got stuck on his knuckle, and she had to wiggle it a little to finally slide it home.
“Repeat after me,” Chucho said, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”
She held his larger palm in both of her smaller ones, gazing into his eyes and smiling as she said, “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”
His breath hitched as he watched her raise his hand to kiss the band, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
His father started speaking to them, “Now that you’ve proclaimed your love for one another and exchanged rings as a seal of the promises you made today in front of these witnesses and myself, by the power vested in me by the great State of Texas, I am so happy to pronounce you husband and wife! Javier, you may now kiss your bride!”
There was clapping and hollering, someone patted his back, and Javier didn’t waste any time—he was told he could finally kiss this stunning woman in front of him, who he loved more than anything; she completed him and made him happy like no one else—ella es su vida (she is his life), su amor (his love), su media naranja (his soulmate), finalmente su esposa (finally his wife), his Cielito.
The fingers of one of his hands traced over the familiar line of her jaw, the other pulling her tight to his chest, finding the fabric of her dress was as buttery soft as he suspected. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky fiery in its wake, and as it descended, so did Javier’s mouth onto hers, crushing his lips to hers. At the first touch, it felt like electricity was thrumming just below his skin, his heart racing, the press of her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck making tingles wash down his spine.
It was almost like he was kissing her for the first time, and it started out gentle, wanting to savor this moment with his wife—his wife—they were married. He was a husband and wearing a ring, the metal currently pressed to the warm skin of her cheek. His excitement got the better of him, and he deepened the kiss, licking in her mouth, her soft moan causing arousal to erupt in his belly, feeling blood begin to rush to his groin. She seemed to be just as ravenous as him, their tongues tangling and her hands gripping handfuls of his hair.
Javier didn’t think he could be happier than he was at this moment.
This was the best day of his entire fucking life.
He was a married man with an amazing wife and their lives were intertwined now, becoming one they both shared. What wound him up even more was her taking his last name—not in a possessive way, but because it was another thing they’d share, and Javier wanted to share everything with her. Name, life, home, things, children, all of it, he wanted to have and with her by his side.
His dad’s voice showed amusement when he heard him speak. “We’ll just let them get that out of their system.” People laughed. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Peña!”
Mr. and Mrs. Peña.
Nothing sounded more perfect.
They hadn’t stopped kissing, too caught up in each other.
“Why are they trying to eat each other’s faces?” Olivia asked, clearly confused.
Steve shouted, “Cover her eyes, Connie!”
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a/n: The song she walked down the aisle to was "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. The bible verse mentioned is Song of Solomon 8:6-7 (RSVCE).
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!
#pedro pascal#javier peña#Javier Peña/reader#Javier Peña/you#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña fanfiction#wheresarizona writes#learning to live series
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Good Omens makes me feel scary things. Let’s talk about it.
So, before I start, I think it’s important to clarify that I am neurodivergent. I have autism and GO is one of my strongest hyper-fixations ever. I am so emotionally and mentally invested in it I could talk about it for days on end and every single detail of this show makes me love it more.
But there’s a really really dark flip side to this love, and I would love to see if there’s anyone else who struggles with it too:
I think I care a little too much.
Although I am aware that this is somewhat “common” for people in the spectrum and my doctors all have confirmed I am not a complete nut case for it, I almost never feel comfortable admitting to those in my life that a piece of fiction has such a strong hold on me and my mental health. And as much as I love everything we’ve seen so far, all the little things I hear and read about season three give me heart-stopping waves of anxiety that are definitely not normal.
Like, I am constantly scared of what will happen, as if it was happening to me. And I know it’s embarrassing, but my brain is simply wired differently, and it feels so awful not being able to talk about it with my friends in real life.
Sometimes I feel like my day is ruined because I read someone say that they think S3 won’t have a happy ending, or that they probably won’t kiss or end up together or something bad like that. And even though I know it’s just fiction, it gives me stomach knots, as it is such a powerful part of my life and I think about is so much.
I have even come as far as to take breaks from Tumblr and mute some words on some social media platforms so that I won’t read Neil’s responses to questions - because they ALSO make me fear terribly and give me crippling anxiety, like when he said it won’t be romantic, or when he says stuff that make me worry for the future - and won’t hear speculation or even be reminded of other stuff people say.
And before anyone asks: Yes! I am fully aware it sounds absurd. And yes, i absolutely do feel crazy and embarrassed about it, but unfortunately this is the reality of many people in the spectrum and many neurodivergent people in general.
I do work, I am a ballet teacher and an author, so of course I have many other things to worry about and do and of course I have a life full of responsibilities and relationships and different pursuits to keep me from actually thinking about it nonstop. But still, even though I am busy and distracted most of the time, every now and then these feelings and worries come and punch me in the gut, and it completely paralyzes me for long moments. I feel kinda sick? I don’t know.
So I guess what I am trying to ask is: do you guys know of anyone who feels the same? Like, is there anyone else who feels like their mind has been absolutely taken over by fiction-related anxiety? And also: what should I do about it? I feel like absolutely no other piece of fiction compares to this one, and my mind simply won’t stop.
Help pls.
#good omens#aziracrow#neil gaiman#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#gomens#angel#gomens s2#prime video#anthony j crowley#crowleys bentley#aziraphale x crowley
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AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?
This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.
Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.
Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.
On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.
No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.
Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.
Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)
Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?
(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)
What are these acronyms?
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Deep Dive into the issues on Alastor.
CONTENT WARNING: Racism, Aphobia.
Now that I created a blog specifically for stuff like this, It's time for the dive.
Alastor is a character that resonates with me, because this guy is supposed to represent me and my people (aspec/aroace community) and I liked his pilot personality. (That went to shit)
This man got so many issues, that i have to take the pen myself and scribble what Vivzie has wrote. So, Let's start, shall we?
THE DESIGN
The first time I saw the Hazbin pilot, I got confused about what Alastor was supposed to be. I thought he was just a grey human wearing some kind of animal ears until the fandom said he is a deer.
A deer. Let that sink in.
(Images for comparsion)
As someone passionate about the arts, this upset me. Sure, I haven't been to art school, but even I know you need to put the backstory and features in mind when designing a character.
Character design is NOT throwing things at the wall and seeing which sticks. It needs actual critical thinking. If your audience is confused about your character's species, it's time to go back to the drawing table (unless you have a reason for making it mysterious.)
Second, the overabundance of red is awful in terms of color theory. This guy is in Hell, which is also red, causing an eyesore. I got a headache when trying to focus on him on a red background. And also, colors have meaning. People associate red with danger, so the fact he even managed to get victims to kill makes me puzzled.
Also, the fact he's supposed to be mixed/black makes this design even worse. Why is he grey instead of brown, perhaps? Vivzie has a pattern of making POCs grey-skinned, which is, again, awful.
I think Vivzie only made him a POC due to the voodoo issue. I mean, just remove the symbols and you are done. But nah the symbols are too "aesthetic" to remove. So gotta change his race.
She could have used another symbols, like THIS for example:
Since, you know, he's the "Radio Demon"?
THE BACKSTORY
Ok, this where I'm very confused.
Alastor is a radio host, and also a serial killer. He was born in the USA, got killed by a deer hunter by mistake, and lived in the 1920's.
This is what I gathered from being a superfan back then, and it sounds unorganised/cluttered. And the years he lived in make his design even worse. (Again! His clothing doesn't speak the 1920s!)
The fact he's from an old era, and yet speaks in modern slang is weird. He's supposed to hate anything modern, and yet he does it anyway? His saying "fuck" multiple times is so out of character for him. I guess the "If made by Vivziepop" memes have some truth.
Putting the fact he's mixed, makes the backstory more confusing. How did he manage to be a popular radio host at the time before the civil rights movement became a thing? He will have been put down like the rest of the POCs in America. Either that he's white-passing, or it's VERY difficult. Adding the fact he's a serial killer makes me think how the cops didn't get to him (the mere fact he's black should have got him questioned in 1920s America)
Now, for his identity. I'm mad he's the only aroace character in the sea of gays and bisexuals. (I'm not saying gay men and bisexual people should not have representation. I have to say that due to tumblr's piss poor reading comprehersion)
which made me go through on why Vivzie made him aroace in the first place. I don't know if this is true, but I heard she made him aroace because "he only loves himself"
Um. Here we go again with allos assuming we are non-empathic psychopaths for our lack of sexual or/and romantic attraction. I hope that's not true at all, but knowing Vivzie's past, I wouldn't be surprised.
Alastor would have been a great character if another person took care of it instead of Vivziepop. What I'm gonna say is, wasted potential.
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Hiii!! I saw your request rules and I was hoping to get Leo and Donnie from both 2012 and rise if possible? Separately please! With a gender neutral reader that is cuddling with them while playing some game on the switch and the reader just absentmindedly starts scratching their shell and the turtle just about melts? Like reader just starts scratching their chin, their arms, and the turtle just becomes a churring mess enjoying the attention? If you don't want to do this request it's alright!! Hopefully Tumblr doesn't eat it 😭
THIS
Tysm for requesting this, I was hoping someone would so I would have an excuse to write it 🙏 I love these mfs so much this stuff is so soft it makes me want to cry. This took so long I'm so sorry, it's been busy and I have the attention span of a goldfish.
Also forgive me I do not have a switch and have no idea what people do on 'em 💀
Happy holidays to whoever celebrates <33
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♡ Pairing: 2012 and Rise!Donnie and Leo x reader (seperately)
♡ Warnings: None
♡ Relationship: Romantic
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Rise!Leonardo
You loved the turtles, you really did. All of them. But sometimes their seemingly endless supplies of energy were exhausting. Sometimes you just needed a little time away with just your boyfriend. Such times could be few and far between, but that just made you cherish them even more.
Currently, everyone else was busy doing their own things. You had offered them a place in the living room with you, to watch some cheesy horror movie Leo had found. But Mikey had decided that it was time for a new piece on his bedroom walls, Raph said that his training buddy would be getting lonely, and Donnie had claimed that he was on the brink of something phenomenal, as usual.
You were alright with that. It just meant that you would have more time with just Leo. Laying back against an arm of the couch with him ontop of you, pulled as close as he physically could be.
Unfortunately, said cheesy horror movie was so captivating that you had abandoned it in favor of your switch within the first 15 minutes. You really didn't know how they managed to squeeze 3 hours out of the barely functioning plot.
Leo, on the other hand, was captivated. His eyes had barely left the screen. Every once in a while he would throw a hand up with a scoff or bury his face in your chest grumbling about how stupid the characters were. You would reach a hand up, brushing it down his neck as he relaxed against you again.
You couldn't help your wandering hands though, and so while you balanced your switch in one, without thinking, your other slid down until it met the top of his shell. You rubbed the edge of it, right above where it connected with skin, before it fell further down. Your nails scraped gently over the hard surface, absentmindedly tracing the patterns you knew near by heart.
You were so deep in your thoughts, completely zoned in on the screen in your one hand that you nearly jumped out of your skin when a rumble erupted from the slider atop you. A grin immediately spread across your face, huffing out air through your nose in a laugh. Leo was still laying with his head tucked under your chin, facing the projector, but as you slid your hand back up to his shoulders, you felt absolutely none of the tension they usually held.
His churring continued, the sound vibrating through you and making you laugh again. You propped your switch up against the couch, bringing your now free hand to cup his jaw. As clique as it sounded, running your nails under his chin was a surefire way to make him melt in your hands. He tipped his face up to gaze at you with eyes half-lidded and pupils blown. A light blush dusted his cheeks, just enough to see from how close you were.
You loved moments like these. Moments where Leo could relax, cut the snarky persona and just be... soft.
The movie playing was simply background noise now, hands soothing over his jaw and shell respectively as you watched his eyes flutter. Strong arms around your waist pulled you impossibly closer, and he pushed his head more into your palm.
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Rise!Donatello
Donnie was constantly working. He had so many ideas for new inventions that sometimes you just had to smile and nod when he started on about his newest project. It wasn't that you weren't interested, but most of it just went right over your head, as adorable as his little ramblings could be. He spent so much time in his lab that before, you had felt almost neglected. Never truly, of course he made time for you, but it was never really enough.
Therefore, you created a compromise. With Donnie working over his desk in his chair, and you on his lap, straddling his thighs with your arms around his neck. You were completely content like that, normally passing the time with your phone or switch until your arms got tired.
This time was no different. Soft music hummed in your ears, just loud enough to hear clearly. Donnie had his arms on each side of your waist, tinkering with some device that had been the center of his attention for the past few days.
You'd grown tired of Animal Crossing and other little games you'd been switching between for the past hour, but you were happy just to spend time with your boyfriend. Head resting on his shoulder, you let the device fall into your lap to have your hands free. They squeezed his neck gently, winning you a nuzzle from Donnie. Your hands slid down, fingertips brushing the surface of his soft shell. A smile graced your lips when you felt the last tension of the day melt under you.
Your heart fluttered everytime you touched his bare shell. It taken months for Donnie to build up enough trust in you to do so, and you cherished the privilege like none other. The delicate idea of it just made you love him even more.
You would never admit it to Donnie, but his shell made him seem so fragile in moments like these. You knew he hated being seen as weak for it, and you knew far better than that; but you always felt like dragging your nails a little too hard along it would hurt him. He never seemed to mind, though. When you did, just lightly enough for him to feel it, you felt your heart clench in adoration as the tiniest vibrations kickstarted under his plastron.
Donnie didn't chur like his brothers, not often. They were louder, making their contentment obvious through the trilling. Donnie was quieter, the sound softer and more gently comforting in your opinion. While you loved when he'd openly chur like that, you liked to keep it as a rare occasion. You were just as happy with this, just a low rythmic hum that reverberated in your skull, pressed against his collar.
You heard the clink of tools being set on the table, before a hand ran up your back to between your shoulder blades. The other wrapped around your waist, loosely holding you against him. A small gesture, one that wouldn't seem very important, was for Donnie. For him to put down his work, even for a few minutes, just to really be with you in a moment, made you feel truly special. He rested his head against yours, and you brought one hand up to cup the side of it. Your thumb rubbed small circles just under his mask, feeling him lean into the touch, smiling into your palm.
No words had to be spoken in moments like these. Here, you could just melt in each others presence, while any negative energy from the day melted away right with you.
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2012!Leonardo
Game night with the turtles was always fun. It normally started out with everyone, piled on the couch in front of the TV, volume on high over the sounds of laughter. Bonus to living in the sewers, no noise complaints from any neighbors.
Eventually, people began to drop out and either slunk to bed or, in Donnie's case, to his lab. By the end of it, you and Leo were the last ones up. The noise dwindled into comfortable silence, and you two would shift closer together, a luxury you didnt bother with around his brothers. Sure, there was a hand in his or his arm around your waist here and there, but nothing past that.
Once everyone else had gone, Leo had moved in front of you on the couch. Your legs hugged his sides, hands on his plastron from behind. You had given up a few minutes ago, too tired to really focus on the game. Leo was still invested though. He got particularly competitive in games, especially with his brothers. He was intent on beating Raph's high score.
You were practically falling asleep by now. Your eyes fell shut and you had to consciously keep your head from falling to his shoulder. To keep yourself awake, you slid your hands up from his chest to the top of his neck, working your way down with careful nails. Leo was always tense, you felt it when you pressed on certain muscles. He carried most of it in his shoulders, maintaining a powerful posture all day.
Moments after you started the gentle scratching, you heard the painfully familiar sound of a game over from the screen. You hadn't realized that you'd closed your eyes, but sure enough, Leo's chance of a new record was no more.
His head hit your shoulder and your lips pulled up into a smile as you moved your hands around to his jaw, feeling the soft trills start in his throat. His eyes were closed, expression serene. You planted a quick kiss on his chin, causing him to tilt his head back for more. You giggled, pulling him further into you and resting your head against his.
"Sorry, I ruined your high score." Your voice was hardly above a whisper, as if talking any louder would disrupt the peaceful moment like a stone into still water. Leo only churred louder, an arm coming up to rest over your thigh. Your far arm reached down to rub his shoulder, feeling it relax.
Moments like these weren't very common with Leo. Moments where he could feel so at ease. Where he didn't have to think about leading the team, or his brothers' safety. Here, we could just unwind in your grasp, away from everything that kept him so on edge. They sat in the very back of his mind. Instead, you were his fronting thought, from the way your nails ran over his skin to the rise and fall of your chest under him.
Here, Leo did feel at ease, and his heart skipped a beat when you laughed at his lack of response. You fell silent now, simply listening to his content churs in your own hazy bubble of happiness.
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2012!Donatello
You were not a morning person. Not in the slightest. In your opinion, anyone who got up before 7 am unless absolutely necessary was inhuman. And still that seemed early. Donnie, however, was a special case. He also wasn't a morning person, and when he slept you could only drag him out of bed half past noon. But he worked so late into the night that he didn't fall asleep (if he even did), until the first rays of sunlight streamed in your bedroom windows.
Granted, the sewers didn't have windows, so he couldn't tell by that how late it was, but he also had tech everywhere in his lab and more than a few ways to instantly tell the time. You understood, you had your fair share of restless nights. But Donnie was like this all the time. Unless someone physically put his equipment to the side and pulled him off to bed, he would stay up for as long as his body let him.
Luckily, you came along. As someone with an actually decent sleep schedule, which wasn't common in mutant turtles apparently, you made sure Donnie got an acceptable amount of sleep when you could. Unfortunately, you couldn't always haul him away forever. Sometimes he would lay down, just to get up after you fell asleep and continue working. So when you would stay overnight with him, you typically would be woken up from a particularly loud mess-up on one of his projects.
Tonight was one of those nights. It was a wrench, one that was knocked to the floor when he reached aside to grab another tool. You rolled over in the makeshift nest you had setup in the lab, blinking awake to Donnie staring wide-eyed at you. He relaxed, sighing in defeat when he realized you were fully conscious now.
"I'm sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he said softly, his voice making you smile. You lifted a hand, and after placing the wrench back on his desk, he padded over to you.
"Hmm, going back to work after I fall asleep doesn't fix anything," you hummed as he kneeled down in front of you. You shifted upright, back against the wall, and he slid down to lay his head in your lap. Before you could even touch him, you felt a trill reverberate through you, and you laughed. Just laying down, being off his feet and in your lap was enough to make him happy.
You settled one hand around his head, the other running down his arm, stopping at the leather straps of his elbow pad. Normally the gear came off to sleep, but you figured you'd let it slide for the moment. You continued your little ministrations, beaming when his grip around your waist tightened and he snuggled closer to your warmth. His churs provided comforting background noise as you tried to keep yourself from unconsciousness.
You knew he gave in so easily because he probably thought he could slip away after a while. You wouldn't let that happen so easily this time, however. There was no way he was getting up until you did. Until then, all you wanted was to sit here with Donnie until you were inevitability woken up to his brothers' teasing in the morning.
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Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome <3
A/N: I completely forgot the switch in 2012!Donnie's I hope it's just as okay without ^^
#rottmnt leo#rottmnt x reader#unpause rottmnt#rottmnt#tmnt donatello#tmnt 2018#tmnt leonardo#rottmnt donnie#donnie x reader#donatello x reader#donatello hamato x reader#donatello#rise donnie x reader#tmnt 2012#leo x reader#tmnt leonardo x reader#rottmnt leonardo#rottmnt leonardo x reader#2012 donatello#2012 donnie#2012 leo
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all is fair in love.
Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader
Word Count: 10,261
Warnings: sexual content / smut.
Summary: The holidays are Wonka's busiest season and his work keeps him away from reader much more than either of them would like. After hours, the two spend a passionate night together as they both make the necessary arrangements to be attentive to each other's needs and empathetic of the complexity of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship that neither reader nor Wonka are accustomed to.
Author's Note: my smut fics are always between 6-10k haha so enjoy. I edited this the best I could, but for some reason I kept switching between first person and second person pov for reader (I don't know why since I always write in second person pov.) I think I fixed most of it, so if there's any parts I missed, I'm sorry. Also, I'd like to mention that Christmas isn't inherently important to the events in this story. It is used as an element only to convey why Wonka is so busy during this time of year, because most people like to buy chocolate and candy as gifts. I know Gene was Jewish, even though I believe he said he wasn't exactly religious. I have no intention of trying to be offensive/belittle/make light of anyone's religion or beliefs and I apologize if it comes across that way because it is without a doubt not my intention.
Edited.
divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.
You’ve always believed that if you truly love someone, then you keep it a secret.
You would let that feeling freeze me down to the core – to love the way a person is meant to, but it is that same love that, inevitably and irrevocably, suffocates.
You cannot satisfy that craving the same way one might satisfy a sweet tooth. Once given a taste, it seeps down into your skin, infecting both body and mind, pierces the heart and tears it wide open.
The thundering beat inside your chest cannot be silenced. The fingertips of fate trace the spider-like, lightning-strike veins that split your heart right down the middle.
A broken heart takes love like a beating.
It all comes boiling to the surface, bubbling up and out in the breath of a second.
The truth always comes out, one way or another.
Because if you don’t let the heart have its’ way, then it will tear itself right out of your chest.
***
The days were short, but the hours were long.
You spent much of your time by yourself, as this season kept Willy preoccupied. Time marched onward and the weeks themselves seemed to drag; it was nearing Christmastime and that meant very little to you in the grand scheme of things, except that you’d be seeing less and less of your lover.
Traditionally, the holidays were a time of celebration and joy, gifts and laughter shared between friends and families alike.
However, you lived a nontraditional life now, and Willy had unwittingly shown you that the life of a chocolatier was a solitary one. You knew that the busy holiday season was what pulled him away, but his lack of attentiveness made you wonder…
The only thing that kept these thoughts at bay was the way in which he looked at you when he was around.
Willy was a difficult man to read. Whether that was intentional or not, were you still trying to determine. The only dead giveaway were his eyes – startlingly intense and piercingly blue – that bore no resemblance to subtlety.
The vastness of the heavens, it seemed, were contained within those swirling galaxies. On dark nights when the cloud cover was too thick, you traced the constellations in his eyes to guide you into his morning light.
You could see yourself peeling back the layers of his heart to get to the source of how he truly felt.
Deflect from it all he might – “I’m a trifle deaf in this ear. Speak a little louder next time–” you saw right through him and sometimes that only made him steer clear of you for longer.
It wasn’t that he did not care for you; it was quite the opposite. Perhaps the extent to which he cared was a bit overwhelming for him at times. He immersed himself in his work during these times, else his mind inevitably carried him to places he would rather not visit.
Willy Wonka’s mind was not a place any person, sometimes even himself, should ever go without a guide or a distinct way back.
Though anyone with half a brain could tell that the amazing chocolatier was a troubled man on occasion, his true nature shone through in his creations. Something about this season’s batch of chocolate was a touch sweeter than ones previous. It would go undetected by those who did not have a refined palate, but like the saying goes, a true artist would put their blood, sweat and tears into their work and Willy Wonka was a mastermind.
He knew exactly what he was doing and what he meant to convey, if only between himself and one other: the world’s most famous chocolatier was in love.
***
You sat on the plush sofa in the personal wing of the factory, a book in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. You were nestled beneath a thick-knit, purple blanket as you read and waited on Willy to return to your den for the night.
You saw less and less of him the closer it got to the holidays, but such was the nature of his business. Christmastime was one of the busiest seasons and the one in which he made most of his money (the second being Valentine’s Day.) People bought exorbitant amounts of candies and chocolate during the holidays and so Willy was forced to expedite production (though never sacrificing quality) and work long, difficult hours preparing new and exciting treats for the public. In fact, it was no well-kept secret that Willy Wonka unveiled his newest creations around this time of year and that very news was plastered in every newspaper, magazine and bulletin across the world as people anticipated the exciting, brand-new sweets there would be to try.
You knew the excitement and rush of the season fed into Willy’s own excitement over his work. He was thrilled to be working on new ideas and expressing himself through his creativity and imagination. It meant the world to him and so you did your best to stay out of the way. You did not want to make the situation about you and, after all, he always made it up to you.
He was aware that his absence bothered you and he tried not to think about the fact that he may or may not be doing irreparable damage to your relationship.
Not every difficult time or situation was an attack against you. It wasn’t personal, nor was it anyone’s explicit fault. Willy had a factory to run, Oompa-Loompas to manage and ideas to manifest into reality. Sometimes, your relationship would take a backseat and if you were serious about being with him, then you would have to be alright with that and you were, although that did not mean that it didn’t hurt from time to time.
It would have been nice to relax and enjoy the season with your lover without his work getting in the way. You would have loved to curl up with him, sitting at opposite ends of the couch and enjoying lots of hot chocolate and hours of warm conversation. If you had your pick, you’d gladly have him here with you now, trading the book in your hands for his warm body, his fingers linked perfectly into the spaces between yours.
You reasoned that this was just how things would have to be for now. No sense in adding more pressure on him by complaining. He was aware of how you felt, but sadly there was nothing to be done about it. You never would have dreamed of asking him to pick between his work and you. That would not have been fair or right. You could handle this, for now, but deep down you missed him terribly.
Even if you chose to spend time with him inside the factory part of the building, he would be working the whole time. There simply was no time for much of anything else. He did like when you would drop by because you were his faithful little taste-tester. Better to try it out on you before selling it to the masses – that would seem cruel, knowing that his candies have had certain negative effects on people in the past, but rest assured, Willy had never given you anything that might harm you.
Any candy which made its way to you had been tested and re-tested to perfection before it ever passed between your lips.
He wanted feedback on his candy before it left the factory and you were more than happy to offer it to him, to which he was enthusiastically grateful. The only problem was, true to inventor fashion, he asked for feedback on everything. He wanted your opinion and was asking for it increasingly often these days. When you didn’t show up to the inventing room on certain days, he’d bring a whole box back to your shared living space and eagerly watch you with anticipation of your positive remarks as you were asked to try every piece.
He was always so grateful to you for that and, honestly, you didn’t mind. You liked candy and chocolate, so there was no reason you couldn’t afford him this act of kindness.
The only thing you really felt like you were missing was him and it plagued your mind most often while you were alone, which was of course very often. You kept yourself busy and occupied your thoughts with other things as much as you were able, but when you settled in for the night, your loneliness crept in and took up the space beside you that would have otherwise been occupied by your beloved chocolatier.
You didn’t mind your alone time, but too much of it was not ideal.
Too much of a good thing came with a price and now it seemed you were paying it with interest.
The sound of a door opening and shutting pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book to realize you’d just had it propped open against your knees this whole time and hadn’t read a bit. You marked your place and closed it with a huff, setting it down on the end table beside you, your mug of half-drank cocoa with it.
A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall – thank God he hadn’t cut that one in half – showed that it was ten minutes after midnight.
It did not come as a surprise that Willy was so late. It was only your wildest guess as to what he had been working on, but that point was moot. You did not really care what he was working on.
That thought seemed harsh and you frowned; no, you were adamantly against resenting him for his work. That path was one you would not let yourself go down, a trap of codependence, you told yourself, but why couldn’t he just be a little more present with you? Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.
Perhaps you would ask.
It would make the most sense to be upfront with him about how you were feeling and to be as direct as possible.
You did not move from the couch. You waited on Willy to come and find you, unlike the many days and nights when you might have greeted him at the door.
Several quiet moments passed between yourself and your thoughts before Willy entered the room. He had shed his purple coat at the door, as well as his hat and cane, “there you are, my dear,” his gentle tone made your stomach clench as warmth pooled in your abdomen. Even troubled with doubts, you were still delighted to see him.
You watched as he approached and dropped himself on the opposite end of the couch. He nudged your knee with his, silently asking for a bit more space which you politely gave, “I would have been back sooner, but I’ve been so busy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Yes, it is that time of year,” you replied coolly. You didn’t want to jump into the meat of the discussion too soon, otherwise he might take offense where there was none.
He seemed in a good enough mood that perhaps this would be the perfect time to strike.
“Yes, my dear, it’s the holiday season which does wonders for my business and I couldn’t be happier.”
His pride in the work he was doing warmed your heart. You listened to him for a while as he recounted what he had been working on that day.
He cared so much and spoke so passionately, yet your mind began to wander.
“Is everything alright, my dear?”
His tender voice captured your attention and you blinked slowly, “yes, I’m fine. But, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”
His lips hitched into a faint smile, then flattened into a serious line. It bothered you, not being able to read his face.
“There is? Well, you know that you can always talk to me about anything on your mind.”
You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he was already so fully immersed within his work. He needed time and space to focus. He did not need you hindering his creative flow by hanging all over him and demanding more attention. He already gave so much; how could you even dare to think that he owed you more?
“I know you’re busy this time of year, but do you think it would be possible for us to spend a little more time together?” My voice cracked as I added, “I…really miss you, Willy.”
You hadn’t meant to speak with words that were laced with such pain, but in fairness you did miss him terribly. By the time he made his way to you most nights, you were already in bed or heading there and in the mornings before you’d woken up, he would be gone. It bothered you to not see him and you wanted him to hear it. He needed to know the truth if you meant to be honest with him, you only hoped he’d be able to understand that you didn’t blame him.
Conversations like this always made you second guess yourself.
By this point, you realized that he had not responded. He was probably just thinking about what he would say, but usually it didn’t take him this long to reply.
“Willy?” you gently urged him, reaching out to place your hand on his arm.
Whenever he felt the gentle graze of your fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, he glanced down, admiring the tender touch with a wistful smile on his face before he looked up at you and the emotion held inside of those ice-blue eyes was almost enough to send you over the edge and into uncontrollable sobs of relief.
You felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to dissipate. Good, he felt the same way.
He was still staring at you like there was something more on his mind. That was the way things were with Wonka and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought on more than one occasion that it’s a good thing you weren’t a mind reader because there were things that went on inside his head that should stay there. It was better that you didn’t try to trace his Machiavellian ways or make sense of the enigmatic man who so frequently surprised you with small glimpses into how he really thought and viewed the world. It was fun getting to know who he was, but the true wonderment was in not knowing him at all.
He tested your mind and all your senses, but never pushed your boundaries. He could knock you off your stride in seconds, then act as if nothing had happened. You were playing his little chess game and he was already three or more moves ahead. It had only been a matter of time before you had fallen into his hands like this.
Things were as they were because Wonka wanted them to be. His quips and wisecracks often went over people’s heads, especially because of how well-versed he was in literature and culture. He could make the whole world fall in love with him at once, then forget him as soon as they were no longer in his presence, but you believed the world adored him much more than he liked to think it did.
“I didn’t say anything sooner because I didn’t want it to seem like I was being insensitive, since I know you’re not intentionally ignoring me.”
This statement made him smile for some reason, “where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; where little fears grow great, great love grows there.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)
At first, you didn’t know what to say. You had a bit of trouble discerning what he meant sometimes, missing the larger picture for deciding why he chose a specific quote at a specific time.
Seeming to read your thoughts, he let out a polite chuckle, “This is to say, even in love do the smallest doubts scare you, but when you are afraid of such little things, you are still in love, too.”
His explanation seemed to help, if only for a second.
It was true that you had your doubts, but those doubts only stemmed from love. That fear which grew inside of you had taken root, but when enough time had passed, it was the love which had bloomed from it.
Both the fear and love would come with a connection as strong as this one.
In the beginning, Willy had never dreamed of having a romantic partner. His solitary lifestyle simply lacked the means necessary to cultivate a long-term relationship. He had never desired romance or human connection of any kind. He had his factory and the Oompa-Loompas to look after; he was stretched thin as it was.
It was with sickening rapture that he sought the reason for why his heart seemed so content within your hands. He had to know the true meaning behind what he felt, even if he had to wade out in to the wild, dark depths up to his neck. He was barely treading water, sinking still, feet kicking desperately and hands reaching, clawing for purchase but there was nothing for him to grab onto. No way to steady himself as his soul careened toward what he had been running from for so long, a runaway train on the track towards trust and away from self-preservation.
At first, you wanted to be the one in control. You had your fair share of demons and setting the pace for the relationship yourself was very important to you, but neither of you wanted to go too far too fast.
You became acclimated to his world quite quickly.
You just seemed to fit right in and, with time, Wonka found himself closer to you than he had ever been with another person.
The two of you had been together for quite some time now and the red string of fate binding your hearts together was pulled taut.
It seemed that you both knew you were in the right hands and the love that grew here was stronger than any fears or doubts which gripped you.
“What scares me the most is that you’re pulling away from me,” you confessed to him, and that revelation made his eyes widen perceptibly, “sometimes I think you don’t even realize that you’re doing it.”
The conversation had shifted and Wonka realized that you were no longer just discussing his absence in light of the holidays. There was deeper emotion and meaning laced within what you were saying to him now.
He was used to being alone, as were you. The only difference was that while you had never lost hope that the right person might come along, he had done everything he could to close himself off. His heart was a precious thing and that was what the world had been after. Yes, he had closed his factory because of theft, but he put his whole heart into his work and, if anyone were to steal his heart, then there would be nothing left for the one whom it belonged to.
He made sure he guarded his heart all these years, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. It was easier to deny the very fact that love was something every person desires, even ones who have become so layered and complex that it would be difficult to imagine what a true love might look like for them.
Wonka was not afraid of anything.
However, if one thing made him apprehensive it was the idea of anyone finding him out.
Not that there was any chance of that; no one was able to think quite like him. But if anyone came close, that meant he’d cling to them forever, holding on for dear love.
His gaze shifted down to your hands that were folded in your lap and reached for one. Long, delicate fingers gently wrapping around your right hand as he brought it to his mouth.
A kiss for each finger, you counted, one two three four five…
Then, his lips made contact with your inner wrist. The sudden and unexpected brush of lips against your sensitive skin made your breath hitch.
“I promise to be more attentive,” he whispered on your skin, his hot breath tickling the inner area of your wrist, “the only one pulling me anywhere is you and I am only moving forward.”
“You’ve got to go forwards to go back.”
He had believed that, in more ways than just one, in relation to his factory and to people, but there was no going back now. Even if that were an opinion, he wouldn’t have wanted to.
Within half a second, he dropped your hand and tilted his head, leaned in close and pressed his warm lips to yours in the most sensual, tender kiss your lips had ever known.
Your heart fluttered in your chest like butterfly wings beating against your ribcage, desperate to free itself and get to his. Your soul sought the kind of connection that your mouths were getting and jealousy was an understatement.
If this was his way of making it up to you, then let it be known that you wanted nothing else for Christmas this year than a clear mind and the taste of your lover left over on your cupid’s bow.
It was all electric, body and soul alight, glistening brighter than fairy lights strung up for the season.
He tasted sweeter than his own candy and you smiled into the kiss at the very thought. He ate a lot of his own sweets, if only to test the taste, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sugared kisses, your sweet tooth craving satisfied only by his honeyed lips.
Somewhere in the haze you found the opportunity to grip handfuls of his tawny tresses, fingers digging into the soft curls that drove your heart mad with desire. You loved his hair and so infrequently did he let you touch or comb it. It was about as unruly as he was, wild, untamed and free, just like the man it belonged to.
Your gentle tugging on his hair elicited a soft grunt from him and his lips attacked yours more feverishly, taking on a more aggressive quality now that you had accepted and encouraged him.
There was no rhyme or reason for anything that occurred while you were with him, except what was happening now.
Wonka did everything on a whim. Sleeping, eating, working…no schedule, no routine, no nonsense.
“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”
Perhaps the most nonsensical thing that had ever happened in Wonka’s factory was your fear that he might leave you.
Strike that. Don’t reverse it.
You didn’t want anything to change. There were more twists and turns in this man’s head than there were in his factory and you had lost yourself trying to find your way out. You never left his mind, not once. Even while he worked or spent time alone, you were in his thoughts, whether it was subconscious or not.
Your own mind didn’t register your movement as you crawled closer and sought out more of his sugary sweetness which was more potent than any nectar of the gods. Your lips devoured his, tasting every inch of the same mouth that poured prose and poetry into your ear each night that you laid with him.
He hummed pleasantly against your lips. His gentle sounds teased you; so rare was it that he ever made a sound during these moments of intimacy. Oh, how you tried, and your futile attempts filled him with great satisfaction. He had more discipline than you ever imagined; living alone for so many years without the warmth of another had taught him to go without, but desperation clung to his bones and manifested through each fervent, heated kiss.
Willy wouldn’t have described himself as needy, but he appreciated physical intimacy when it occurred and sometimes it was as necessary as any other proper communication. He wanted more than a quick romp; he craved human connection. It was completely unfounded for someone like him to want to share a connection with anyone, but here he was asking for it with his mouth on yours and your reciprocation of that same need meant everything to him.
You tested the waters, grazing your teeth along his bottom lip to determine how far he might be willing to go. He didn’t stop you. His lips simply parted, allowing entry of your tongue.
The only sound he made was a little gasp, which you swallowed as your tongue delved in to taste the inside of his mouth. Your hands were still holding the sides of his head, fingers buried deep within his unruly curls.
He helped maneuver your body closer to his, unabashedly bringing you to sit on his lap. As you settled on top of him, one of his large hands moved down to the small of your back and held you firmly in place.
You could feel the heat of his hand through your shirt. You had no grasp of how long the two of you continued to kiss like that. The passage of time, though a precious thing, was unimportant in the current moment. The only thing you demanded more of was him and you would greedily take all that he had to offer you.
You were enchanted by him. He surprised you at every turn and, if it had been anyone else, you’d have questioned where you stood with them, but wasn’t that the point? The less anyone knew about Willy Wonka, the more exciting it felt to be in his presence.
It was impossible to know whether the things he revealed about himself were true or not and there was beauty in that alone. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then he had the upper hand here.
You did not stop to see why his hand had suddenly been removed from your back, but any questions you might’ve wished to voice were answered when you noticed him reaching for one of the top buttons on his vest.
The steady progression of events had led you here and you were too immersed within the moment to stop him, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. You were entranced, enthralled, enraptured by the whole of him and his heart belonged to yours.
The wet graze of your tongue against his cupid’s bow spurred him further, lips tangled tantalizingly with yours as his fingers worked open the buttons on his vest.
The threshold had been breached.
The moment was yours for the taking, if you wanted it and you knew that you did.
Lost somewhere between drunk on lust and in love, you began to help him unbutton, starting at the bottom of his vest and continuing until your hands met in the middle of his chest. You followed this same pattern for both rows of buttons.
Coincidentally, this journey ended right above his heart, but another one was merely beginning.
Your hands were shaking with anticipation as you looked up to notice him already gazing at you lovingly. A tender smile curved his lips like a crescent moon and the sunlight bleeding out through the cracks in your soul made the stars in his eyes sparkle.
You cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bridge of his nose. His arms encircled you, holding you flush against him and his shirtsleeves rode up on his forearms, exposing just a fraction of skin with a fine dusting of sand-colored hair.
You let him hold you to him as his lips attached to your neck. You imagined when he pulled back that there would be an imprint of lips, a tattoo of his love painted across your collarbone, signifying that you belonged to him alone.
You tilted your head to give him better access and he thanked you by delivering a loving nip to the column of your neck.
You hadn’t forgotten your intention.
With hands still shaking, you reached for his vest and pulled it open. His lips detached from your neck in an instant and long, elegant fingers wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from undressing him.
His eyes were crystalline pools of skylight, airy and substantially quantified by the depths within them. They had a mirror-like quality and you could see yourself reflected in them as you held his gaze for a heartbeat too long.
“Only if…this is something that we both want…”
Willy’s words of brevity filled you with wonder.
“If I’m being honest with you, Willy…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than I want you now.”
That single sentence melded with and fused into his soul. In a breath-to-breath admission of consent, your words had tied his tongue with cursive letters.
He breathed a sigh of relief and held within that exhale was his own consent. You had granted him permission, assuring him that you were not offering yourself out of obligation or for complacency’s sake and that thrilled him perhaps as much as the act itself would. He felt the blood rush to his groin and he moved beneath you, shifting your body weight more onto his thigh.
Willy nuzzled your cheek, dragging his nose along your soft skin. His arms had yet to unravel themselves from around you; he wanted to take his time. However, he was increasingly aware of his own sense of desperation. It had been some time since he had last gotten into bed with a lover.
Actually, the last time he had gotten into bed with anyone was with you.
Willy had a low sex drive, but on occasion it would crop up and remind him that he was, in fact, human and had needs, whether it was simple biology or heightened by the desire to connect with the one he loved.
Whenever he thought of a lover and what had previously been just some nameless face at the forefront of his mind, that vision was now you. Yours was the love he sought; your hands were the ones meant to hold his heart.
He let go of you and shrugged off his vest.
Your lips captured his once again and he imagined this was what dreams tasted like.
He went to stand up and you quickly took the hint and moved off his lap. He got up and began unbuttoning his white undershirt while you watched. He could see the fire burning in your irises, your pupils dilated with desire as you watched his delicate fingers pop open each button.
You knew better than to rush him; a treat as sweet as him was meant to be savored.
You took this opportunity to slip your own shirt off your body. With your skin exposed, his eyes traveled across your midsection and his fingers hesitated, fumbling the button he was on. His breath hitched and you swore you heard him whisper the word “beautiful” as he gazed upon you.
Once he had recovered, the swiftness with which he finished removing his undershirt made your head spin. In his haste, he had forgotten to remove his bow tie and unbutton his sleeve cuffs, which made you giggle. He seemed flustered, his cheeks reddening once he realized, and perhaps this was the first time you had ever witnessed him with a blush on his cheeks.
You reached out to help him and a soft chuckle dripped from his lips like maple syrup, “It would appear I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, my dear.”
You chuckled as well as his bow tie and undershirt were removed, “well, I’ll take it as a compliment…that you seem so eager to have me.”
Your words were spoken as if in jest, but his response was anything but.
“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt that I love,” he quoted, his smooth baritone steeping you in the tea of his desire. (William Shakespeare, Hamlet.)
It was enough to quiet your mind and when he said it, you felt your entire world get a little smaller. Your heightened senses had inflated your soul and carried you to the clouds. You were a runaway balloon stuck in a tree and his words were the hand that enclosed around your string. You had seen vast lands and known love in its many forms, but never until this moment had you felt so much in the presence of one.
His heart knew yours better than it knew itself and the cracks left by heartbreak were filled in by your endless love for each other.
You moved in to kiss him again and his hands cupped your warm cheeks. His breath tasted as sweet as the chocolate he made, which only made sense because of how often you saw him sampling it. He kept a bit in his coat that he’d pull out and nibble upon and often would you go sifting through his pockets for little treasures and treats that he had left over. Sometimes you found such delights that it had to have been no accident that they had been left behind. No, he knew your guilty pleasure was his chocolate and he made sure to satisfy your cravings, both for chocolate and for him, as often as possible.
Your tongue slipped inside his mouth and he finally graced your ears with a very delicate moan.
His hands moved down the length of your arms to finally grab your hips. He pulled you in, your pelvis against his, and you could feel the hard press of his bulge against your thigh.
While you kissed, he began to walk you backwards toward your shared bedroom.
You could not have torn your lips apart to look where you were going even if you wanted to.
You trusted him to get you there safely, perhaps more than you had ever trusted another person or at least you hadn’t trusted anyone this deeply in a very long time. Too many others had taken a hammer to your jawbreaker heart and smashed it to more manageably sized pieces, but once broken, it could never be put back together without its’ once-pristine surface now marred with jagged cracks.
At least the breakage let the light of your soul pour out into his hands…
Willy was stained by your brokenness, his heart bruised the color of your trauma.
He had been burned before, broken in a very real way, and therefore it was never a question of if you would trust him, but how much and when. He knew how long it could take a person to truly open up if they wanted to, but for you, he was willing to wait an eternity and then some.
Time stood still and Willy had the presence of mind to remember how it felt to cradle your body to his when the only things that cemented your souls was an equal share of trust and love for one another and the mutual decision to take just one more chance.
You sighed with relief when the backs of your knees connected with the mattress.
Willy didn’t push you or press for more. His lips left yours in favor of your neck and several chaste yet sweet kisses were left along your collar bone as if his lips were asking for permission without the accompaniment of words.
In between you, you reached for his belt.
He felt your fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers and a gentle smirk crossed his features, “after something, are we?”
His coy response made the tips of your ears get hot and you huffed, “well, it isn’t my fault that I’ve gone and gotten all excited…”
“I hope you’re not implying that it’s mine,” he replied as his smirk widened.
“I wasn’t implying anything,” your time spent with him had sharpened your wit, “I’m saying it.”
His eyes shared in your mirth, twinkling with laughter at your response. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and pulled you in. With his cheek to yours, lips near your ear, he whispered, “shall we make use of your excitement, then, dear?”
You felt a shudder run down your spine as he spoke to you, the dulcet undertones of his honeyed voice pierced you like a knife through the delicate flesh of an orange. You wanted to sink your fingers into his heart and peel it apart to devour the pieces, sustaining yourself on his love.
You nodded and he deemed it appropriate to continue. He gently pushed your hands from his belt and took on the task himself. He pulled it from the loops and laid it on the chair nearest to him.
When he turned back to you, you were already removing your pants. He smiled to himself, stopping in his tracks to admire you as you undressed. He almost wanted to help you, but held himself back. Mutual trust came at a price and he would not want to overstep any unspoken boundaries. You had not explicitly told him not to help, but you hadn’t told him to do it either and so he decided it was best to let you indicate what you wanted from him and how comfortable you were with the situation.
Neither you nor he were particularly trusting individuals. Your experiences with people who took advantage of others made you wary and skeptical, through no fault of your own. Maturity and wisdom came with age and while you had both grown and learned, you had built walls around yourselves both figuratively and literally, in Wonka’s case, to guard your hearts and protect them.
Now, you were bearing your souls to each other.
It was an unlikely thing, but you were both ready. You had known Wonka for a long time now and you had no doubt that you and he were meant to be in each other’s lives. There was a reason that you were here. Even though you might have needed a bit of reassurance from time to time, it was never because you truly thought he might leave you. Giving word to that unreasonable fear set you free, because in your heart of hearts you realized that you were not afraid at all.
You were lonely.
You had forced it down for years, but acknowledging it now was cathartic, because never again would you find yourself isolated like you had so many years before.
Willy was no stranger to isolation either. Though he had reasons other than your own, he empathized.
It was difficult, at times, for the two of you to find a rhythm. Both of you had been alone for so long that it took time to become acclimated to sharing your lives with each other, but in this moment you both knew that there was no person you would each rather share a life with than each other.
Willy was never at risk of pulling away. He was simply learning how to love you.
As soon as you pushed off your pants and stepped out of them, he was kissing you again. In a flourish of limbs and bare skin, you fell backwards onto the mattress with him. His hot lips descended over yours as his fingers linked into the spaces between your own. In all ways except for one, your two bodies were unified and, if either of you could help it, that would soon be remedied.
The mattress dipped and shifted beneath your shared weight as Willy crawled on top of you. You held his hands for as long as you were capable of doing before you needed to feel him more solidly at your fingertips. You dropped his hand, grabbed his shoulder and dug in your nails to hear him hiss into your ear and nip at your neck.
He couldn’t even finish undressing because you demanded every ounce of his attention.
Your spirits were engaged in this battle of carnality and you had consumed him, corrupted his mind and possessed him body and soul, but all’s fair in love and war, both of which you had waged fervently on his senses.
At risk of ruining the moment, he pulled away and got up to finish removing his trousers. Your chest heaved as you took a moment to catch your breath, propping yourself up on one arm.
“And here I thought…we were just getting to the good part,” I quipped. A teasing smile bloomed on my face as he turned to look down at me.
“And I thought you liked my kisses,” He replied without missing a beat.
His lopsided grin made you giggle, but the sound of his zipper being pulled down tore your attention away from the witty banter. The fire of fierce need had begun to burn bright inside your belly once again after being extinguished to mere embers only seconds ago.
You watched him kick off his trousers and make no move to pick them up.
He moved back down onto the bed and leaned into you. You met him halfway and pecked a chaste kiss onto his lips. Your bodies fit together like two immaculately chiseled sculptures whose delicate features appeared to be made of something much softer than stone.
You knew what he wanted from you now and you felt goosebumps rising on your flesh as you anticipated his caress.
He cupped your head, holding you to him as he lowered you back against the pillows. He liked to take charge of this part himself and you let him, despite the anxiety you felt at relinquishing control over yourself. You didn’t like feeling out of control, especially of your body and Willy knew this. He tried his best to make you feel comfortable and safe, never moving forward without verbal consent.
“Shall I touch you, dear?”
You reflected on his question before you nodded, swallowing thickly before you could make a sound, “yes.”
You knew that he would check in with you frequently to make certain you still wished to continue.
With your consent, his fingertips grazed the length of your arms. His warm touch sent pleasant shivers through you and you fought the urge to arch into him. He had a way of making you feel everything he wanted you to feel with just one touch. It was like magic, the control he had over your body and sometimes you wondered if his creative abilities branched into other realms as well.
His hands slid down your sides, massaging your warm skin and admiring your supple curves, the angles and indentations of your hips. Before he traveled lower, Willy wanted to devote some appreciation to the rest of your body first. His hands moved to your back, working underneath you to swiftly unclip your bra. He had a way of doing things so fast that you barely had time to register what he was doing before it was done. Perhaps it didn’t seem possible, but impossibility did not exist where Willy Wonka came from; if there was a way to do the impossible, he had already figured it out and told no one.
With your unclasped bra no longer pulled taut, he delicately pushed the straps off your shoulders and plucked the hindersome piece of fabric away from your chest. It dropped unceremoniously to the floor and his blue eyes glittered with mischief when he looked upon your exposed breasts.
You wanted to cover them, but he held your arms at your sides. True to the creative genius he was, he had to admire beauty where and when he saw it and you were a masterpiece. His tight smile had relaxed as he gazed down at you beneath him and he practically cooed with appreciation for your form.
“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered heatedly, like it was almost difficult for him to get the words out. He was overwhelmed with all his attention focused on the body before him.
You wanted to thank him for the compliment, but all that came out was a soft squeak.
He chuckled at your little sound and bent his head. He placed a firm kiss on your left breast and you sighed in pleasure at the gentle touch of his plush lips on your pillowy skin. His lips traced the curves of your breasts before encircling one of your nipples, suckling lightly as if it were a piece of candy.
You mewled and arched into his mouth, desiring more from him and as quickly as possible, but Willy liked to take his time with you. He never left you unsatisfied, but you could expect nothing to be fast paced.
His fingers wrapped around your hips to hold you in place as he moved to your other breast and did the same thing. His hot tongue teased your candy pieces to hardness and he hummed his appreciation, sending waves of pleasure down to your core.
You squirmed in his grasp and whimpered pathetically, “please, Willy,” you begged him, “I want you now.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll have me, dear,” he reassured you, his thumbs rubbing placatingly against your hips, “when I���m ready for you to.”
His teasing remark made you huff in irritation until his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your cotton panties and paused you in your tracks.
You whined as his fingers barely breached the fabric barrier before he removed them. His hands moved to your inner thighs and spread your legs apart for him to nestle in between them.
All you could do was watch as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to your navel, just below your belly button. His kisses traveled lower and lower down your pelvis to your pubic bone and finally to your core. You writhed in pleasure when his mouth found its way to where you wanted it, but your panties were still in the way and you groaned with frustration.
Heat emanated from your core due to your arousal and the crotch of your panties were damp with your wetness.
Your head dropped back against the pillow as he used the tip of his nose to brush lightly against your clit through your panties.
You were so pliant to his will and responsive to his touch that he almost felt powerful. If it had been anyone other than him, he would have, but all he felt in this moment was an overwhelming feeling of love. The fact that he could give you a comfortable experience of vulnerability and pleasure perhaps did enflame his ego a bit, but he loved you even more for it. To see you enjoying yourself because of him was almost too much for him to handle and he could feel his cock swell to attention.
He placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to the crotch of your panties before he dragged them down your legs. He would have liked to tease you more, but he was already beginning to lose patience and he didn’t want to rush through too quickly.
With your panties removed, he could admire your glistening folds and the sweet juices that had dribbled out of you. His mouth watered as he delved in for a taste, his tongue tentatively flickering against your opening.
You let out a cry and bucked your hips, desperate for him to fill you. You needed friction and fullness to achieve release and Willy knew you couldn’t get either of those things without his compliance. He smirked at that and lowered his head between your thighs.
Your hot core pulsed as more of your honey leaked onto his tongue. He moaned in satisfaction, savoring the taste of your sweetness and the delicious sounds you were making for him. He had never tasted anything this sweet except for his chocolate and if he could have only one of those two things right now he would have picked you without a second thought.
It was almost too much for him to pull his mouth away, but he knew that he must if he were to indulge in the ultimate act of pleasure with you. You both wanted that more than you wanted air to breathe. A greater craving than candy, your existing love and soul connection a stronger aphrodisiac than chocolate.
With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, he dragged his mouth off you. You whimpered at the loss, but in the back of your lust-flavored cotton candy mind you knew that your shared night of pleasure was just beginning.
He got off the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer. He withdrew a small tinfoil packet and a small clear bottle of lubricant.
You were still sprawled out on the mattress, your hair a halo around your head. The darkened room made it difficult to see what he was doing, but your eyes had adjusted enough for you to see movement.
You felt eyes on you and before you glanced up from the object he was holding, his voice broke the silence, “are you comfortable continuing?”
Driven by lust and lover’s greed, you nodded your consent. Willy did not respond at first, waiting on your actual acknowledgement and proper agreement. Your voice was shaky as you replied to him, but you knew what you wanted and were certain in your response, “yes. I want this. I want you, Willy.”
The sincerity in your voice convinced him and he tore open the condom wrapper.
Excitement thrilled you and coursed through your veins, carried into your heart by blood. Your body was singing with sensation as you wanted nothing more than his solid body atop you, his hard length buried in your tight heat.
You watched him with barely-concealed enthusiasm – well, perhaps the only concealment was from the darkness in the bedroom – as he took off his underwear and rolled the condom on. He then squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and coated his cock.
You could hear him jerking himself off and the obscenely slick sounds from the generous amount of lube. He had yet to give himself any physical stimulation up until this point and you were eager to repay the favor.
In the dark, your reached for him and he came to you, ready to meld together and fill you full of himself.
He positioned himself on top and guided your legs around his hips. He propped himself up with one forearm flat against the mattress so that he wouldn’t rest his entire body weight on you and the other guided his condom-covered tip to your entrance.
He gave your forehead a tender kiss as he pressed in. Your lips parted at your sharp intake of breath and your muscles tightened and seized around him. Willy kissed your face, calming you and keeping you still and relaxed until he bottomed out.
He nuzzled against your cheek and moved his free arm behind you to cradle your head.
You tilted your head back and captured his lips. The two of you kissed lazily for several moments as your bodies adjusted to one another. Your walls twitched around his cock, sending jolts of electricity down to his toes, into the pit of his stomach and behind his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy and seemed out of focus except for you.
The one thing that was clear to him was his love for you and the appreciation he had for you being a part of his life. If he could not trust a single soul with his legacy, he knew that he could trust you with himself and that was more than enough.
For once, nothing made you question Willy Wonka; his intentions were clear.
Your fears were just that: fear. It was irrational and based on nothing of consequence. However, the very fact that you were afraid let you and he both know how much you cared.
You would never take Willy, and he would never take you, for granted.
He would reassure you that though he was not used to sharing his world with another, that you were his world now and you would share in every aspect with him and reap the rewards of a unique and whimsical life with perhaps the greatest chocolatier who ever lived.
Take out all the fantasy and spectacle and you were left with only love and imagination.
All these people thought the most fantastical thing about Willy Wonka were his creations, but what took your breath away, and had since the beginning, was the man behind those creations.
You had fallen in love with him as much as you had with his brain and his intellect, his body, his soul. You wanted to dip your fingers into him like if he were made of melted chocolate. You would lick the essence of his existence off your fingertips to taste his candy-coated soul and sugared thoughts. There were not many candies or chocolates of the Wonka brand that you hadn’t tried, but none were sweeter than the man himself.
If he existed only in your mind, then your mind was alive with the thought of him.
All too soon, your thoughts abandoned you as you felt him begin to move.
He slowly pulled out, angled his hips and pushed back in.
The sudden movement jarred your body and you clung to him tighter.
As he began to set a pace, you rolled your hips down onto him each time that he pushed in. This seemed to please him, witnessing you thrusting with him, your bodies moving in unison toward a shared release and reciprocation of pleasure.
He grunted softly in your ear with the effort of thrusting into you. His soft curls tickled your cheek and you bit back a giggle. A particularly rough thrust ripped the sound from your throat and you laughed aloud.
His brows furrowed in amusement at your laughter, but he grinned with you nonetheless.
His thrusts became harsher, deepening as you adjusted and conformed to the rhythm and pace he set that was creating a delicious friction between your legs. You moaned shamelessly into his ear and he thrusted harder, encouraged by the sinful sounds you were making.
Willy kissed you, his lips feverishly moved against yours as he held you in his embrace and your skin blazed with red hot fervor. A thin sheen of sweat clung to your bodies and you could feel the heat rolled off him in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, but it didn’t bother you as you kissed him harder, demanding more intensity out of your shared intimacy. Your core pulsed, muscles gripping and clenching tightly around his cock.
Your moans began to take on a higher pitch the closer you got to your release. Willy could tell that you were close now and he was eager to send you over the edge. Sex was, at least for him, about mutual enjoyment and gratification, not domination, exploitation or manipulation. It was about individuals who loved each other enough to put aside their individuality and become one, just for a moment of bliss.
His forehead pressed against yours as he thrusted into you harder than before, his pace becoming erratic the closer he came to his own release.
As he panted, you felt his breath fan across your face and he smelled of chocolate.
You balanced on the edge of oblivion as your feverish coupling would soon send you into orgasm.
After a few more hard thrusts, Willy slipped a hand between your legs and gently rubbed your clit. Your release seized you, your body shaking violently with hurricane force winds of equal parts pleasure and zest. It was as if the air had been knocked out of you and you were falling down into his waiting arms. Ecstasy radiated from your core, carried in waves throughout your body.
You were alone with your pleasure, waiting on your lover to join you in the afterglow.
You cried out his name as he thrusted into you through your orgasm. He lasted several moments after you came before he released, filling the condom with several hot bursts of his seed.
He had just enough strength left in his body to pull out and collapse beside you. His harsh panting soon turned to gentle sighs as his heartrate decreased and his body cooled. His strawberry blonde curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat and were sticking out at wild angles except for the top which was always a bit flattened from the way he wore his hat.
You reached out and petted his frizzy hair, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp. He let out a quiet little moan and you smiled at him.
With a deep inhale, he sat up and peeled the sticky condom off his softening prick. He tied it up and tossed it in the wastebin, then snatched his underwear off the ground. He picked yours up as well and handed them to you for you to slip on.
You got off the bed and put your panties back on, then crossed the room to the bathroom. A few moments later, when you returned after you had cleaned yourself up, you found him lying in bed waiting for you.
He smiled at you as you approached and extended an arm out to let you curl into his side as you got back on the bed with him. He already had a blanket laid out to pull across your nude bodies so that you could cuddle in modesty and without getting a chill.
He looked down to watch you settle in and you met his gaze for a moment, appreciating his features. His gorgeous blue eyes were like pools of galaxy speckled with stars. His aquiline nose, which most people thought was too big for his face, looked proportionate in your opinion and beautiful just the same. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen, slightly chubby cheeks, a round face and curved jawline. He was exquisite in every sense of the word and just looking at him made you fall more deeply in love.
As attractive as he was to you, his personality spoke to yours in a language only the two of you spoke fluently.
His appreciation for literature and culture was unique and inspiring and, because it tied in with your own, you learned a lot from each other. His quick wit and casual snide remarks that often passed over other people’s heads made you laugh as though you were enjoying your own little joke with each other.
During your private appreciation for this man, you concluded that you had no reason to ever think he might be pulling away from you.
In surreal Willy Wonka fashion, he seemed to read your thoughts as he finally spoke, “I’d like to see you in the Inventing Room with me tomorrow. I want you to be as involved with the holiday busy season as I am.”
He addressed your insecurities by offering a solution to the problem and your heart felt a bit lighter. He wanted you to be involved in his work so that you didn’t feel so isolated or lonely. He had promised to be more attentive and he intended to do just that, but you could offer him aid and visit him while he worked. True love was buoyed by compromise; you’d see to it that you did your part to keep your relationship strong.
“Forgive me for not being as attentive as I should be,” he continued, “I’ve been so busy, not to excuse myself.”
“I understand,” you replied.
He seemed surprised for a moment, as if he half-expected you to still be upset, “and it isn’t entirely your fault. I should come around more if I’m missing you. We’ll find a solution. We have time.”
Willy put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could kiss your head, “time is a precious thing, my dear. Never waste it.”
Between his words, you heard what he was not saying.
And while he had a point, what you did have was now.
You could agree just to exist for a moment, sharing in the silence of the universe and listening to nothing but your dreams and the sounds of your hearts.
You would fall into each other the same way that you fell in love: accidentally and achingly slow.
One day you would both look up and see how far you had come, but for now, you still had a way to go.
You knew his heart belonged to yours and that was enough to keep trying. Once the busy season calmed down and you had more time to focus on the two of you, you would ease into it like lovers were meant to, but right now you had an obligation to yourselves not to let the fear of failure drive you apart.
It might seem fatalistic to ruin a relationship before it had run its course, but you’d seen it happen and the last thing you wanted was for that to be yours.
You knew deep down that it wouldn’t happen.
Your love was as strong as your imaginations were wild and no mind would ever dare dream the two of you apart.
#willy Wonka#willy wonka and the chocolate factory#willy wonka 1971#wilder!wonka#willy wonka x reader#willy wonka imagine#willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine#gene wilder#biblio :: 📖
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Prologue — Take Me Back Series
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader
Series Summary: After making a deal to bring you back, Sam doesn't see you until years later when your paths cross during a case
Original Prompt: Requested by anonymous | Hi, I just joined Tumblr and came across your blog, it's wonderful! I'd like to make a request, something between Sam and reader. The reader dies and Sam makes a pact to bring her back, but she comes back without remembering him and the hunting life. He thinks it's best to stay away from her. Years later they meet and she falls in love with him all over again, and when they kiss she regains her memory. Do you like it?
Chapter Word Count: 1.3k
Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Sad Sam Winchester
Authors Note: I hope you enjoy the Prologue of the Take Me Back mini-series! | This was originally supposed to be just a one-shot | Also Y/N is not in this chapter, but she'll be in the next one! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡
Four Years Ago...
With a snap of the small metal box, Sam placed it back into the crossroads and buried it, taking a deep breath. Turning around, a brunette woman appeared, wearing a long black gown. "Ah Sam Winchester, what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, a slight smile on her lips.
"You already know," Sam replied, voice stern.
"You want your girlfriend back," she answered, and Sam nodded. "See, here's the thing about that. I would love more than anything to bring her back so the two of you can live happily ever after. I'm a sucker for romance."
Sam scoffed. "I'm sure you are. So can you bring her back or not?" He asked, his hand slowly starting to move into his back pocket, gently gripping the demon knife.
"Release your hand from that knife and then we can talk," she smirked. Sam and her exchanged looks briefly before he released his hand from the knife, placing his hands in front so she could see them bare. "That's more like it," she smiled. "So, there's the deal. I can bring her back, but...there's a catch," she said, flashing her whitest smile.
"I know there's a catch. Me and my brother have made plenty of demon deals," he replied. "Ten years, or me and my brother do you a favor and not kill you."
She let out a small laugh. "You boys know that ten-year deal is never on the table for you, and as much as I would love having a Winchester owe me one, you boys almost never hold up your end." She started walking toward him now, and her hands fell to his chest, which tightened at her touch. "I can bring her back, and you don't have to owe me a thing but, the catch is," she leaned in, whispering in his ear, "she won't remember you or the hunting life."
"What do you mean she won't remember me?" He asked, his voice slightly hurtful.
"Sweetie, what part of she won't remember you can't you wrap your gigantic head around? Tsk. Tsk," she moved around him, her hands gripping his muscular arms. "I bring her back, she doesn't remember you or hunting. I say that's a pretty sweet deal."
Sam wanted you back, needed you back. You didn't deserve to die the way that you did; especially because it was his fault, a true accident. Something that he would never forgive himself for, for as long as he lived.
You were his person, the love of his life; the first woman he's truly loved in a long time. Someone who, after years of struggling, finally let break down those walls of his that he had spent years and years working on in order to protect himself from further hurt. Before you, he had told himself that he was done with relationships, done with romance in general; he didn't really see the point as all of his romantic ventures always ended up just like this. But for you, he made the exception; being solely your friend was something he just couldn't do anymore.
After years of pining after you and finally being able to call you his, it was now a Catch-22 for him. He could either have you be brought back to life and no longer have you in his life or you would be dead and gone for good, still no longer having you in his life. But maybe, despite not having you in his life, this was the best-case scenario for you. Not only would you be alive and well, but you would be able to live your life in safety and without the previous traumas of the hunting life you were so privy to.
With a small sigh Sam said, "Do it," almost responding through gritted teeth.
"You know the deal," she smirked. "Pucker up Buttercup."
Present Day...
Sam's alarm went off the same time as it normally did, and he quickly shut it off, softly groaning. Today was the day that he had been dreading for weeks, although he had been mentally preparing himself. At this point, he thought that this would become just another average day for him to get through, a day that he would slowly forget over time; but this day in particular had become so ingrained in his memory that he would not be forgetting this day any time soon: your birthday. He had spent countless birthday's with you, before and during the time that the two of you were together.
Sam was never really a person that liked to celebrate his birthday, it was just another day for him. But when he met you, he learned to appreciate every single birthday, especially because of something that you had said to him. "It's another year that I can celebrate being alive."
Sitting at the edge of his bed, he rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep from them. Sighing, he got up and started making his way into the kitchen; and much to his surprise, his older brother was already up making breakfast on the stove, a fresh pot of coffee already made on the counter. "Good morning Sunshine," Dean grinned, as he slowly worked on the scrambled eggs before him.
"Morning," Sam replied, his voice monotone. He walked over to the mugs, grabbing one and sighing as he examined it. You had given him his mug.
Dean looked up, noticing the slight hesitation in Sam's movements, and saw the mug that he was currently holding. Fuck, I forgot to hide it today, Dean thought to himself. "Give me that mug will ya? I'll put it some place else."
Sam looked over at his brother, continuing to hold the mug in his hands as Dean held out his hand to take the mug. "It's fine," he replied, pouring the coffee into the mug before sitting down at the island. "You know what today is right?"
"Y/N's birthday," Dean said, as he started making up the two plates of food. "I uh, I tried making the eggs the same way she would make them in honor of today."
"Thanks," Sam said, taking one of the plates from his brother. "I thought I'd be over this by now," he confessed. "It's been what? Four years."
"Sam, she was in our lives for six years," Dean began. "I don't expect you to just get over it," he stated. And he really didn't, Hell, even he wasn't completely over it. Although he didn't have the same relationship with you that Sam had had, he deeply cared for you. You were one of his best friends, someone that he considered family, and you were gone in seconds. But despite losing you and hurting, the hurt that he felt was extremely different compared to that of Sam's hurt. You were the love of his life, the first woman that Sam had let himself love in a long time. He loved you more than anyone, and you were ripped away. "Did you want to do something for her birthday?"
Sam shook his head. "Honestly no," he said, his voice a mixture of tired and defeated. "There's no point if she's not here. I just want to work."
"Are you sure?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam confirmed.
"Well, in that case, if you're up for it, there seems to be something that might be right up our alley in Kansas City," Dean said, sliding the newspaper over to Sam. "Five runaways have been killed in less than one month at the same shelter."
As Sam examined the news story he raised a brow. "Y/N's shelter," he commented, sliding the paper back over to his brother.
"Shit," Dean said, "Sorry, I had no idea," he lied. "I can uh...I can call another hunter to go and check it out or I can always bring Cas or Jack along instead."
"No, no. I'll go," Sam said. The last thing he needed was for Jack or Cas to accidently say something to you; at least Sam knew better not to say anything.
"You gonna be okay?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. I gotta be," he responded.
"Perfect! We leave in thirty!" Dean smiled, as he clapped his hands together.
In the next chapter...
“It’s better this way. She’s…she’s not in danger anymore,” Sam said, his voice defeated. He was miserable without you, but you being safe was all that mattered to him.
Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @octoberclidan @kidwhofixates @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @fuiabarcelos @foxyjwls007 @missscarlettangel @crystal555
If you'd like to be added to a tag list please follow this link
#sam Winchester x reader#Sam Winchester x you#spn#supernatural#spn imagine#supernatural imagine#spn one shot#supernatural one shot#Sam x you#Sam x reader#female reader#reader insert
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Reminder that Stirringjuice/Ven themself has said that TMC is not fetish content. Kister’s works are NOT an extension of what was described in the allegations document. If you don’t want to consume TMC content anymore, fine (best you don’t— not in a way that gives Kister money anyway), but don’t spread misinformation.
EDIT: after rereading Ven’s callout document and finally being able to access ALL the screenshots he attached, I have decided that I will no longer support him. I will not go back to supporting Alex Kister yet, but I cannot support a blatant ableist transphobe either.
link to annotation doc: (not mine) https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vReErDatnpQ_h3W-WlqrmzmPN26-UyDwLVwBKmHV09WhVZtdZQM44HRxvoV0ZTz8Ho-NaBVKYxjNuha/pub
Things I will be addressing:
Why I do not support Ven (separate from other victims)
Stuff that Alex Kister DID do wrong, even if the allegations were exaggerated/faked/done out of malice
The allegations and victims themselves.
WHY I DONT SUPPORT VEN
First of all, this ⬇️ (scroll down its below the blue highlighted ss. Formatting issues sorry.). This is a ss of Ven’s (now deleted, now archived post) response to how many people are calling him transphobic for his transmisogynistic comments in his document, and how he had basically outed Alex. Instead of saying something like “it wasn’t transphobic — I had to out Alex— it was necessary for the victims/proof/whatever”, Ven just says that if Alex didn’t want to be outed or subjected to transphobia, he shouldn’t have been a “groomer” (Ven later says that he had misused the word “groomer”. Everyone that Alex had interacted with in a sexual or romantic manner had been an adult, and had fully explicitly VERBALLY consented.)
However. Even if your opponent is a bad person, you do NOT have the right to be transphobic. EVER. criticize them on whatever they’ve done wrong, hold them accountable in a balanced and civilized manner— etc. Being protected from bigotry/ not getting misgendered, privacy, legal counsel— these are all examples of RIGHTS.
When you start denying something based on whether someone deserves it or not, that “something” has become a privilege.
By stating that his transphobia was excused because Alex is a supposedly bad person, Ven has stated that not being subjected to transphobia is a privilege.
here’s the link: (takes forever to load the keep reading portion but it works for me) https://web.archive.org/web/20240317125855/https://www.tumblr.com/stirringjuicee/745117180204548096/alex-kister-and-actively-using-being-trans-to-lure
Screenshot of the post below, along with something from the callout doc (annotated by a tumblr user. The non-highlighted color text is the annotated bit.
—— ss from ven response (click. It IS An image it just looks like text)
—-
now onto some more details.
Ven, or StirringJuice, made the first allegations document against Alex Kister. He had stated himself that he does not consider himself a victim, just a friend of the victims who wanted to spread the word.
Ven starts the document off by describing his past relationship with Alex Kister. He also includes screenshots of text messages from Alex— which often contradict or have no relation with what he’s saying. This is why it’s important to look at the screenshots, guys!
Most of the toxicity in Ven’s relationship with Alex stemmed from Ven’s refusal to honestly his boundaries or feelings. He told Alex that he was comfortable with the sexual comments, he told Alex that he was comfortable being just Friends with Benefits, and he told Alex that they were welcome to vent to him any time <- all of this is corroborated by the text screenshots that Ven himself posted.
In Ven’s text messages, we can see him suggesting that Alex gets a therapist. Great! Nothing wrong there. And then you actually look at the ss:
(Ven is the blue. These ss are linked in the callout document.)
First of all. You cannot force ANYONE to get mental help, regardless of whether you think it’s for their own well-being. If their behavior is harming you, leave. But even the worst people on earth deserve autonomy for these kinds of things. Ven literally states that he had FORCED Alex to get a therapist, and you can see him admit it in the messages above as well.
after these ss links (labeled part 9 in the doc), Ven hits us with this absolute banger:
“[Alex] then decided to go off his meds.”
Someone had already said this, but: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO OR ABOUT A MENTALLY ILL PERSON. EVER. REGARDLESS OF WHO YOU ARE, OR WHO THEY ARE. it’s an insult to every mental health community.
^ also, Alex gives a pretty good reason for going off his medication. Not that they needed to.
^highlighted text is Ven’s callout post. Purple text is a fellow tumblr user’s annotations. They have a whole post with these annotations. I’ll credit them when I’m done writing out my post. [clarification: the annotator uses “she/her” pronouns for Alex, Ven uses he/him. I use they/them because Alex was never publicly OUT as she/her before they were outed, so I’m not sure what to do]
Also: please go on the callout doc and see the “pt. 11” screenshots yourself. There’s a lot of them and I don’t want to add them here, but please go see them.
^Ven hears that Alex wants to start a new chapter with them (yknow, like redeem the toxic relationship they’ve had) and immediately assumes it’s in the romantic sense.
^Alex admits that they are not ready for a committed relationship, a good first step for smoothing over any toxicity.
^nothing else to add. Annotator did great.
^ text ss as listed under the “pt. 14” link
These are 3 out of 10 ss under the Pt. 15 link. Look at the text indicated to with the red arrow (drawn by me). Ven literally tells Alex that they “don’t understand anything ever.” They also tell Alex in a later ss (plz find it yourselves because I’m not posting all 10 photos) that they “don’t understand [their] own emotions.”
Maybe Alex was making an unhealthy decision by continuing to reach out to someone they clearly had an unhealthy relationship with. But these responses are borderline abusive, especially when aimed at someone who suffers from paranoia.
A huge chunk of the entire callout doc is Ven venting about his relationship with Alex. This relationship is not abusive, it is toxic on both sides. The fact that Ven put this much focus on these barely relevant details— even when the topic was the victims, not Ven himself— suggests that he did this out of petty vindictiveness. If the allegations are true, the victims deserved a BETTER PERSON and a BETTER FRIEND to share their story. Not someone who did it purely because it was en excuse to get revenge. If it wasn’t revenge, why add all these details??
(funny thing— the whole doc. Would be more believable if Ven hadn’t added all this stuff. He destroyed his credibility before even getting to the allegations).
the one below has more transphobia and general assholery than ableism.
^apparently once you are out of the closet, you are not allowed to go back or feel ashamed. Else you are lying and manipulative. Thanks, Ven.
I am done posting screenshots from the annotation document. Please, PLEASE read it in full. I will tag it in the comments. There are so so so many good points.
STUFF THAT ALEX HAS DEFINITELY DONE WRONG, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THE ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE OR FALSE:
(Orange text is annotator, black is original doc).
Venting to/ Relying on a minor fan for mental health support (I think it was Mitchie). That’s not good.
making allusions to suicide during their relationship with Ven. Joke or not, that’s unhealthy.
ALLEGATIONS/VICTIMS:
wont say much here because I’m getting tired.
some people on Reddit have been pointing out that some discord ss (not the ones I’ve shown you, those were imessage ss) look faked because there is use of military time, which is not an option on discord apparently. Other screenshots seem to use different fonts as well, further indicating forged evidence. I have fact-checked none of this and can’t verify it (not that you should be relying on my word alone, anyway).
I do not support Mitchie, since they’ve been telling people to self-harm and/or commit suicide when they point out flaws in the callout doc. I don’t care what you’ve been through. There is no excuse for that.
As for the other victims.. I find their statements fishy. However, I will not disbelieve them until more has been cleared up.
#mandela catalogue#the mandela catalogue#tmc#alex kister#alex Kister situation#fuck alex kister#tmc cesar#tmc mark#tmc gabriel#tmc au#tmc adam#tmc fanart#the mandela catalog fanart#thatcher davis#cesar torres#mandela catalouge fanart#adam murray#alex kister callout#alex kister drama#Not a big fan of how gender identity struggles are tied so closely with the actual grooming. Because. They are completely separate.#Kister’s gender identity struggles have nothing to do with their choices and I’m not a fan of how it’s been handled (based on what I’ve see#I use they them for kister here because they weren’t technically OUT as transfem#So idk if they’d be okay with people using she/her#If I were outed I wouldn’t want people to use pronouns that only a select few were meant to know. But maybe that’s just me.#No hate for those using she/her for Alex.#If pronouns are cleared up I will fix this
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How would their engagement rings be? (1/2) 💙💛🧡
Characters: Lucifer x gn!reader / Mammon x gn!reader / Leviathan x gn!reader
Warnings: Gender neutral reader. There's a mention of Lucifer's punishment, aka hanging his brothers from the ceiling. After that, just fluff.
Summary: You and him have been in an official relationship for quite some time now. During the daily life of your relationship, he realizes that he can no longer live without you. He needs to show you that his love for you is eternal. The first step is to buy the engagement ring, but what is it like? How did he come up with the idea?
[Part 2 - Satan x gn!reader / Asmodeus x gn!reader / Beelzebub x gn!reader / Belphegor x gn!reader]
[Notes: The following characters belong to the mobile game "Obey me: shall we date" and are owned by Solmare Corporation. This is a mere work of fan-fiction. | GN!Reader | This is my first time sharing what I write, so please be kind. English is not my first language, so there might be orthographic and syntax errors. | I had this idea after looking at jewelry in Pinterest. If someone has already done something similar, I was not trying to copy anything or anyone's ideas. | Mammon's text is longer because I'm obviously biased (lol, look at my Tumblr's user name)].
💙 Lucifer 💙
What type of ring?
Lucifer leaves the house on a weekend, alone, strolling through the streets, seemingly taking a long walk through the Devildom. He tries his best to look calm and collected, but his heart beats faster than usual. Nervousness builds up and he has a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe it's because he fears to fail you (how unlike of the Avatar of Pride). He notices that none of his mischievous brothers are following him and lets a sigh of relief out. He walks through the Devildom high fashion district and checks the jewelry stores, but the options are not quite what he's looking for. "*sigh* It cant be help". He needs to go to the human world. This is a human tradition after all.
Gate to gate from one human city to the Devildom, from the Devildom to another human city. In each, he visits a human jewelry shop after another. Until he finds it. In a fancy, historical, human city with a romantic aura, sitting in the display window of a beautiful small jewelry shop: "That's the one".
He gets a vintage engagement ring (or maybe one with beautiful details). He considered a ring with a blue sapphire gemstone or a ruby, as long as it has that classic design. So obviously, classic colors like blue or red, are a must. As he sees this ring in front of him, he realizes that it meets his other qualifications too: the gemstone might have a diamond cut -although Luci is not completely sure why he's so attracted to this design, it might be because it is a similar shape as the rhombus that he has in his forehead in his demon form. He also considered a cushion cut, and maybe a big gem in a gold or silver rim that matches your caring yet brave personality.
How did he decided to get an engagement ring?
The HoL is a mess as per usual: Asmo's dramatic antics, Mammon's entanglements, Levi's troublesome videogames, Satan and Belphie's pranks and Beel rummaging the kitchen. It always happens, it's always something. Asmo runs to Lucifer's with tears in the corners of his eyes, snitching about one of his brothers: "Big brother! Get this! He said...". But Luci has no energy, not at this time of the day. Come on! He just woke up!, they haven't even had breakfast yet! He's ready to snap: all of them could use some time hanging from the ceiling on their day off. He walks to the dinning room, ready to raise his voice, but then you jump in before he did, managing the conflict between his brothers with a lot of patience and empathy, when he had none.
This event was the last thing that pushed him to finally make up his mind, because he definitely has been considering it for quite some time now. After all, the way you appreciate his family and how you're always making sure that he is okay, makes his heart melt; although he might not say it, at least, not with those exact words.
He absolutely adores you! And how couldn't he? You've brought happiness, comfort, and a lot of love into his life.
Lately he has invited you to many dates, most involve to go window shopping, which is odd, since he has a busy schedule. You notice that he pays close attention to the items you like, specially when it involves jewelry and accessories. You think he might want to buy you another necklace or pin.
However, he can't quite catch what you like, so he decides that this ring, this special representation of your bond, must truly show your eternal love, the adoration that he has for you, the mutual trust that you have in your most intimate moments and the fire that you evoke within him. But, of course, he won't tell you that. Don't worry, the ring itself does, because it is perfect. He always gets it perfect.
💛 Mammon 💛
What type of ring?
Mammon has been visiting too many stores lately. On top of that, he's been working non-stop the past weeks. Both things combined take up all his time, time away from you. However, his efforts are for you, too. Since he decided to propose, he goes to jewelry stores almost every day, especially to those that sell human jewelry. He inspects every interesting piece one by one, checking price tags to know how much he has to save. These trips are tiring and annoying because, so far, he hasn't found something that he likes and that he thinks that you'll like.
One day, he drives downtown. He took his beautiful baby car to travel longer distances. Hey! The Devildom is big..., yet, it's the Devildom still: engagement rings are not a demonic tradition, and even the marriage rituals are very different. Maybe he should ask permission to go to the Human world and visit human jewelry stores? But that'd mean that he has to submit his luggage for inspection when returning, not to mention that he has to ask Lucifer for permission and provide the real reasons of his visit. Then his brothers would definitely know.
Maybe he should ask for an original design from a jewelry artist? But then, importing the engagement ring from the Human world would be troublesome, and it'd also mean that he has to declare his intentions with the ring as well. And what if the piece is not correct or it has any imperfections. His brothers would find out right away.
"Dammit! Maybe I should head back home for today".
Immerse in his thoughts, Mamms misses his exit, and ends up in an area of the Devildom that he didn't know that existed: a small town that is fully human world themed. Clothes, shoes, snacks, movies, items, everything is from the human world. Even the jewelry store at his left.
Mammon gets down of his Demonio 666 Lexura and runs inside the store. Completely absorbed in the rings, he ignores the employee trying to help him. But that's okay, because there it is, THE ring!, that one small little piece of jewelry that says it all.
Now Mammom only has to save a ton of money, until he has enough, right? Easier said than done. But once he has the right amount, he heads back to the store to buy it.
Although Mammon and you have officially been in a relationship for quite some time now, Mammon's tsundere nature prevents him from asking for help. He definitely doesn't want his brothers to find out, after all, this is a very intimate experience, even if he's planning an over the top proposal for you, it's a moment shared between you two only. It definitely has nothing to do with the feeling of fear of being the laughingstock of his brothers again because he is actually very "sensitive" or a "crybaby". So, if he can avoid it, the better.
Although, right now, that doesn't matter, because sitting right in front of him is the perfect ring. Mammom wasn't looking for anything in particular, he felt like the moment he saw the one, he'd know. And he was right. However, he can't help but admire the ones with a traditional white diamond, with a pearl, or even with a whitish moon gemstone. He doesn't know why, but he loves the ones in which the gemstone has diamond cut or a design that resembles a diamond (like the ones he has on his demon form outfit). His preference style-wise vary: he either seeks a modern design or a completely romantic and intricate one, there's no in-between; as long as it is in a gold rim.
Now, although he gets the ring for you and successfully proposes, take in consideration that this is Mammon we are talking about, so something definitely happened to him either before or after buying it; rest assured that he definitely has a fun, unlucky, weird adventure around getting that ring for you.
How did he decided to get an engagement ring?
"Man! It's so borin' when they're not around"-
Mammon walks through the Devildom streets back home. The party was, honestly, boring, and it was boring because you weren't there. He knows that you have been partying a lot with him lately and you need some time to rest. Humans can be so weak.
As Mammon gets closer and closer to home, his sin manifests stronger and louder in his heart: he imagines himself in your arms, the warmth of your body against his, your hands running through his white locks, cuddles and small kisses while you two watch a movie. You are his and no one else's. And your touch is more and more vivid with every step. He just wants to curl up in bed with you. Who thought going to a party was a good idea?
"Dammit! That was a lousy idea...
Or maybe...
Maybe I can't live without them anymore".
As he starts to reflect on your relationship, he realizes how much fun and joy you have brought him. However, it's not only that: you have taught him a new type of love. One that goes deeper than the ocean itself. Who knew he was capable of caring like this, of loving like this? Grimm, parties, cars, clothes, mansions, the finest demonus, even Goldie? All of that seems unnecessary compared to you. All of you: your smile, your kindness, your bravery, your jokes, your touch, your bright soul...
"*sigh* I'm head over heals for them"
Mammon adores you too, he's devoted to you and you only. What wouldn't he give up if that meant to be together forever? Also, how did he get so lucky that he's the one that you chose? He loves you so much! He loves you endlessly.
Mammon throws his hands behind his head and looks up. The stars shine and that also reminds him of you: moments shared under the stars in the endless nights of the Devildom, nights like this one.
As he strolls the streets, a clanking sound distracts him. It's just an employee closing a shop, pulling down the metal curtains, although they leave the thing half way over the window to finish their tasks inside the store.
It might have been his greed showing or just regular curiosity, but Mammon takes a peek at the window display. There, he finds an elegant note for the public to read: "Human world engagement rings". Next to it, beautiful rings in different styles and colors. He wants to be with you forever, undoubtedly. And looking at these items, reminds him of something that Satan said some time ago: about how, in the human world, getting engaged and married represents that same promise. "Wait, that's how it goes, right? No. No? Wait, yes. The engagement ring, the proposal and the marriage means... to promise eternal love".
🧡 Levi 🧡
What type of ring?
Levi has been looking through Akuzon for engagement rings, but, of course, they are lousy and cheap. As he brainstorms, he realizes that something with personality is much more important. It doesn't matter what other people think or if the ring's design is out of the ordinary. In fact, the more creative, the better, right?
Levi doesn't have bad taste. After all, he has designed and sewed both original and cosplay outfits, all beautiful. Creativity and originality is part of him and he sees that in you too. He thinks about your tastes first, which is why he goes for a design that evokes that. He buys something that reflects you! Although he's so insecure that he ends up asking one of his more fashionable brothers to go with him (probably Asmo or Mammon or both); however, their suggestions don't align with what he has in mind and end up confusing him. After this unfruitful attempt, Levi goes back to the jewelry store where he saw that special ring that he just loved for you, and buys it. The ring has an orange sapphire or a garnet stone, that's your favorite color after all. Or at least that's what he thinks, because you said you love his eyes.
He will pick something that has details that reminded him of TSL custome design or even the architecture (maybe similar to LOR, or movies with fantasy elven themes). Or maybe he will pick something delicate and special that shows your bubbly yet kind personality. Although there was that ring that reminded him of that popular 80s shojo anime.
Oh! The proposal will definitely take 500 years of his life span, or so he says, but don't worry, he will do it. If you don't do it yourself first that is; but that's a story for another time.
How did he decided to get an engagement ring?
You suggested a popular human anime movie to watch together that night. He wasn't so convinced since this movie is quite popular in all realms, even millions of normies have watched it around the world. On top of that is a romantic movie. Ugh!
However, you love it so much. It's one of your favorites because it's so heartwarming. Your excitement melts Levi's hard-core otaku heart, and he gives in. He always does anyway. As the movie's final approaches, Levi is so glad that he agreed to watch it. You were right! It's beautiful! So he looks at you thankful, just to find you tearing up a little. Your outline shines under the TV's dim light. Rays of multiple colors kiss your face softly. He feels as if he has been blessed with a vision for him only. You're gorgeous. It doesn't matter if you think so or not. To him, you're beautiful and wonderful. Levi thinks about all those moments that you helped him get out of his shell and how, thanks to you, he feels like he's becoming his own person. He can't lose you. He needs you forever. He can't live without you anymore.
"I want to be with them forever..."
As he realizes this, the movie ends in a marriage, and so, his eyes widen with a marvelous idea, specially after he looks at you, both hands in your heart, sighing, yearning for a moment like that happy ending. Or so he thinks. You're just so moved and pleased with the movie's ending that you feel satisfied, and so, sigh happily.
Levi knows proposing to you will be an odyssey for him, but with a little help and motivation (you are his motivation!), he can do anything!
⏭️ Go to part 2 (Satan x gn!reader / Asmodeus x gn!reader / Beelzebub x gn!reader / Belphegor x gn!reader)
📌 Masterlist
#obey me shall we date#obey me#obey me mammon#mammon#mammon avatar of greed#mammon fluff#mammon obey me#obey me!#mammon x mc#mammon x reader#obey me lucifer#lucifer avatar of pride#lucifer obey me#lucifer x reader#lucifer fluff#obey me leviathan#om! leviathan#leviathan x reader#leviathan avatar of envy#leviathan obey me#fanfic#obey me fanfic#om lucifer#om leviathan#Leviathan#Lucifer#OM! Engagement ring#Obey me Engagement ring#obey me x gn!reader#Treasure of Mammon writing
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I have to be honest, the Reddit TCOAAL community has some of the worst takes on the game I’ve ever seen. 💀 I kind of talked about this already in a previous post I’ve made on here. That’s why I like the Tumblr community sooo much more.
This post will probably be kind of long and messy, so sorry in advance. Anyway, let’s get into it.
Here’s a screenshot of the comment that inspired this post. 😂
This was in response to someone’s post about the vision in the questionable route. After seeing Andrew’s relationship with Julia and how little he cared about her, I don’t know how anyone could think he’d be able to have a normal/healthy romantic relationship with someone. I’ve literally seen people make excuses for him defending Ashley the way he did in the flashback with Julia while she was raising genuine concern. I saw someone say “well Ashley had him by the balls, if he said anything else he would have been screwed.” like be serious, he defended Ashley because he wanted to and has always cared about her more. I mean he literally lied to Julia’s face about Nina’s death, her best friend. 😬
This is what bothers me, when people act like Ashley is solely the problem and that Andrew did nothing wrong at all. Let’s be real, Andrew is the one driving Ashley’s worst behavior. He blames her for “making” him do things. He obviously can’t be guilty, so he needs something from the outside to blame (Ashley). As I’ve said in my previous analysis, they are both flawed individuals, they are the same. They are both toxic but they do really love each other.
Despite what these people say, Ashley is the love of Andrew’s life. He would never just leave her in the dust even if she doesn’t sleep with him. Mind you the two of them have never slept together and you can still see how devoted Andrew is to her, even if Ashley herself doesn’t see it yet.
This is literally how he looked at her when she woke up after he thought he was going to have to take her to the hospital 🥺. I don’t want to hear any nonsense about him ditching Ashley or how he should leave her for good. 💀
In the Decay route vision when Ashley lets him kill her, he says “then I’ll see you in a bit.” Meaning that he’s going to follow her in death. Andrew wouldn’t want to live without her. Anyone who’s played the game knows one can’t live without the other, period. We know that they have a toxic codependent relationship, but it’s not only that way because of Ashley. It’s very annoying to see people act like it is. It’s literally both of them that contribute to it.
Are people just casually forgetting that even back when they were kids the game shows us that Andrew didn’t really care about Nina’s death, he was mostly worried about the consequences they would face if they got caught. Plus him grabbing Ashley and saying “guys and girls don’t go to the same prison, they’re going to take you away from me!!”. Also, before their blood oath Andrew literally contemplates if killing her would be worth it like hello??
In the game after Andrew brings up how their parents had friends, Ashley calls their parents whores and asks why they couldn’t be happy with just each other. He then responds by saying he never implied that they had sex, which causes her to say that it doesn’t matter and that it’s all the same. Ashley doesn’t see a difference between platonic and romantic love, to her it’s all the same. So yes, technically she does want romantic love from Andrew, she just wants his love period. In Decay when they’re on the bridge at the end of ch.2, she says something along the lines of “I’ll start when you love me with half of the heart that I love you with.” To say she only wants his attention and not his love is a damn lie. 💀
Anyway, when it comes to Ashley’s reaction to the vision in the questionable route, I didn’t see her as confused. To me it seems like she wasn’t expecting to see that as a vision, but at the same time she’s not really surprised. I mean she literally tells Andrew she assumed it would happen between them eventually anyway, so she’s definitely thought about it before. Earlier on when he gets her the Toxi Soda she asks him “What do you want in return? My virginity?” 😂 obviously she could just be joking there and nothing more but 👀… girl. LOL
Andrew’s reaction to the vision shows that he also wasn’t expecting it, except he was blushing harddd. He reacted the way he did because his thoughts just got exposed. The demon really said:
👁️ Andrew Graves I know what you are 👁️ lmao.
I think it’s fair to say that sex isn’t a big deal to Ashley, if her and Andrew never slept together I don’t think she’d really care, she also views sex as transactional. We see that in the questionable Burial route she thinks “the demon showed me one way to keep him around.” I’ve seen people on Reddit try to use this as a way to show that Ashley would never sleep with him out of love, and that she’d just do it so he’ll stick beside her, basically implying that she doesn’t actually love him….. 🤦🏻♀️ As I’ve mentioned already, sex isn’t a big deal to Ashley and she views it as transactional. However, her views on sex might change after her and Andrew fully cross the line. I hope what I’m saying makes sense. That maybe she’ll start seeing it as something out of love instead of something she has to do in order to keep him in her life, especially once she realizes that he loves her just as much as she loves him, and that he will always stick beside her.
I mean look at the way she’s looking at him in the vision. 😭
That is a look of pure love fr.
I talked about this in my last analysis, but people who act like Ashley is the big bad villain and that Andrew is an angel who’s done no wrong are just in denial, and dare I say misogynistic. 😶 I mean to go as far as implying that she doesn’t actually love Andrew…. be serious right now, you have officially lost the plot 💀 like that boy is literally the center of her world and she’s terrified of losing him. As she said herself, he’s her pride and joy. These people sound like those Breaking Bad fans that act like Skyler White is worse than Walter.
Most of these awful takes about the game stem from Reddit, then again Reddit is a total cesspool on it’s own. If people on the game’s subreddit aren’t sexualizing the shit out of Ashley (the things they say never fail to make me die of cringe), they’re blaming her for everything bad in the game. 🤦🏻♀️ ughhh.
I have such a soft spot for Ashley as a character, especially after seeing how she’s always been treated terribly by everyone around her except for Andrew. Also because of her very poor self esteem and how it’s hard for her to believe that she’s lovable, like I’m sick rn. 🥲🥲 So, I hate how people are sooo weird about her, like leave my girl alone please. 😭
~~
I feel like this post was all over the place oops. Thank you for reading. ❤️
Also, thank you to everyone for all the notes on my previous analysis post about TCOAAL. ☺️ I’m glad you guys agree with me!
#tcoaal#the coffin of andy and leyley#andrew x ashley#ashley x andrew#leyley x andy#andy x leyley#leyley graves#andy graves#ashley graves#andrew graves#coffincest#gravecest#nemlei#kit9#kind of a rant post
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For me, the thing i love about wincest is the love.
like,,--
Okay. So. Back when i was young and naive and new to tumblr/fandoms, i was so confused about the concept of shipping just for hot, smutty sexual dynamics vs shipping for romantic/loving reasons. I remember exploring posts about Game of Thrones on tumblr and stumbling across the Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy ship (for the blissfully unaware, in canon the former brutally tortures the latter in cold blood). I was at a complete loss for how anyone could ship those two, because all I saw in their interactions was sociopathic cruelty and miserable trauma. I didn't realize that the BDSM vibes were sexy for some people. It was the first time in my life (I was like 22 lol) that I realized that you could ship characters just because you think the sex would be hot as fuck. And I get that. But for me, I've never been able to ship someone unless I can see the love in canon.
So. Bringing it back to our beloved brothers. At first I thought wincest was just one of those sexy ships, not romantic ships. Because both characters are tall and jacked and hot and badass and violent. And I used to be an anti because I was like "but they're brothers?? Ew??" But THEN you actually WATCH the show (or in my case, rewatch) and you see the way they interact with each other. They love each other so much. Like LOVE love. They will do anything for each other. They will die for each other, kill for each other and go to the ends of the earth for each other. Nothing matters more than each other.
I was talking to my wife about the crazy shit these brothers are willing to do for each other and she goes, "i mean, that's how i feel about you." And i'm like YES! EXACTLY! I have a younger brother. My wife has two older brothers. But neither of us feel about our brothers the way we feel about each other. She is my great love. She is my forever. She is my everything. And Dean and Sam's relationship looks way more like my relationship with my wife than my relationship with my brother.
Yes, they can be codependent and possessive and toxic. Yes, they've been through some fucked up shit and they've DONE some fucked up shit (to EACH OTHER) and yeah that could make for some really hot sex. But for me, the appeal of wincest is the deep, abiding care and devotion they have for each other. The LOVE!! It makes me crazy.
A caveat:
I also love the dynamic between sam and dean just as canon gencest or platonic soulmates (that's for another post, lol). And there's something to be said about society's prioritization of romantic/sexual relationships over all other and the lack of representation of healthy platonic relationships in media (especially among men).
But i'm allosexual and alloromantic. So for me, my love for my wife is very romantic and includes an important sexual aspect. So because Dean and Sam remind me of me and my wife, of course i'm gonna project a sexual relationship onto that.
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Mysterious Lotus Casebook and the Analogies to Being Queer
this is not breaking new grounds or anything, there seems to be broad consensus in the (tumblr) fandom that LHL is a lot about being queer. there is also this brilliant meta by @seventh-fantasy about the jianghu being a queer space, which i love, and which dealt with the gender perspective for li lianhua in particular
having that in mind, i want to say how much i love that li lianhua and fang duobing's stories feel like analogies to two different queer experiences
we see li xiangyi in a few flashbacks and in how others viewed him before the east sea battle 10 years ago. we know he became the n°1 swordsman in the world, established a para-judiciary system and order in an otherwise lawless jianghu, that he used to duel just to win the right to pick flowers from someone's garden as gifts for every single lady in the sigu sect, and that he dated qiao wanmian and intended to marry her (judging by that flashback where he's seen drinking with shan gudao and the boys)
a lot of it is very heteronormative, and even a bit performative. and i don't want to say it's not genuine, i actually rly like the idea that many of those actions felt perfectly real to him at the time, and i genuinely think he had that show-off streak in him when he was a teenager
but regardless, everything about li xiangyi follows the heteronormative expectations of society, including his achievements, which command, among other things, admiration for his fighting prowess and his ability to establish rules. which is of course, ironic, as pointed out in the meta referenced above, since the jianghu itself does not follow those rules (and we slowly learn in the story that there was criticism of him for this even in-story).
but then we get to li lianhua, who does not fight, but cooks, learned to sew, to plant flowers, turns down every lady who looks his way, and who does not interfere in jiang hu matters if he can help it. and in particular, we get the conversation he has with qiao wanmian in ep 18, where she confronts him about his identity and asks him:
"if you'd already come back, why did you never reunite with us?"
and his reply is:
"all of this is so far in the past, now. i'm very tired. i just want to be free."
li lianhua is constantly put in contrast with li xiangyi. where li xiangyi performs, li lianhua just exists in the jianghu. where li xiangyi fulfils expectations and surpasses them, li lianhua turns his back to expectations. where li xiangyi establishes a domain and protects, li lianhua wanders freely, all by himself. where li xiangyi conforms to heteronormative standards, li lianhua doesn't.
we know that li lianhua is an unreliable narrator in that his opinion on his own past is biased, his knowledge incomplete. and he lies. almost compulsively. but there are also truth bombs that he drops between the lies. i personally believe that his willingness to detach himself from all the expectations thrown upon him and to finally exist away from norms, is part of those truths.
and this is very close to a type of queer experience, where you come out of some event or another in your twenties, suddenly realise you're queer and oh my god, it's time to live differently. and you start rejecting the norms and maybe your old friends wonder what got into you.
in the same conversation in ep 18, the following exchange happens between li lianhua and qiao wanmian:
LLH: "when we met each other, I was young and ignorant. I didn't understand what the feelings i felt for you were, either."
QWM: "what do you mean? are you saying... you never loved me?"
LLH: "back then, we were young. nothing of what we said then can still count now."
it can be interpreted in different ways, but it sure fits a queer narrative extremely well. the feelings were real, but he didn't understand whether they were romantic or not, he just followed the norms. but things are different now.
enters fang duobing
fang duobing feels like a different queer narrative. by family background, fang duobing is a person who has equal ties to the imperial court as he does to the jiang hu. the emperor and his family wants to engage him to the princess of the court, a perfectly normal thing in the societal context he lives in, and a luck few can hope to have. what does he do?
flee
i often joke that fang duobing's sexuality is to be a detective on the jianghu, but it really does feel like that kind of narrative. fang duobing never has any doubt that his place is away from the rules of the imperial court. In ep. 1, he tells his servants:
don't worry. once your young master makes a name for himself as a renown detective on the jianghu, they {his parents} will understand that, compared to the imperial court, i am much more suited for the jiang hu.
and yes, this is about escaping the rigidity of the court as such, but it's also analogous for the freedom to be who you are, to be queer, to not conform.
and fang duobing never backtracks. his parents want him to conform, and they want him to have the comfort that comes with this lifestyle. he rejects it thoroughly and consistently.
it's also interesting that in ep 25, once they meet the princess and they have gone through a case together, fang duobing still rejects the idea of the wedding. when li lianhua tells him "the jianghu is a place full of grudges and sinister schemes. why not become a carefree consort prince?"
fang duobing only looks forlorn and retorts "li lianhua, can you never say that again, please?"
in contrast, though, he has no qualms planning his whole life on the jianghu with li lianhua in ep. 15. so this is not about settling down with someone.
it feels very close to being confidently queer and knowing it from a very early age, and then rejecting the heteronormative expectations thrown upon you with assurance.
...
anyway, so what i want to say is: li lianhua is a tired millenial who discovered he was queer in his mid-twenties after a mild depression; fang duobing is a gen-z baby queer who doesn't know his queer history but is so confidently queer and he's never looking back
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>1.6k words on bi Gansey
Hi! This belongs to my big Raven Cycle analysis, click here for the masterpost.
Today we are diving into all the reasons why I think Gansey is a bi king (and then some more). Enjoy!
(I think there might be mild spoilers up to trk, nothing too bad though, more character interactions than plot)
b) Gansey
Alright hear me out. This man. There is nothing this rich boy can do to beat the fruit allegations. He is a bi king, through and through. Everyone but him knows, including you, because what I have to say is the absolute truth and I am great at convincing.
I once saw a tumblr post that said “Gansey has to physically restrain himself from kissing all his friends” and there has never been anything more true.
And it’s important to note that this is really not only reader interpretation. Or, at least, reader interpretation includes other character’s interpretations, which are sometimes incredibly straight(lol)forward.
After doing Adam a big favor, Gansey’s sister Helen (who is aro-ace btw, because I said so) immediately assumes he is sleeping with him, which is a conclusion she jumped to way too quickly if Gansey has never previously shown any interest in Adam or other boys. Like, she seems to know him quite well, and for her to just think he’s in a relationship with Adam says a lot about the homoeroticism prevalent in Gansey’s friendships with both Adam and also Ronan.
Because then we have Kavinsky, another canonically queer character, who thus might arguably have some sort of gaydar, assuming Ronan and Gansey are in a romantic (but most of all, sexual) relationship.
Admittedly, this has largely to do with Kavinsky assuming things about Ronan and his sexuality, as is explicitly mentioned in the book. However, you can very easily speculate about someone’s sexuality without knowing their (previous) partners, if there have been any at all, so to correctly believe Ronan is gay does not have to randomly entail relationship speculations. So somewhere, even from not interacting with them so much, Kavinsky must have gotten that idea.
That somewhere is the deep affection the two of them share, which is absolutely palpable for everyone around. Yes, I know their relationship is described as brotherly (please note I do not condone incest!), but also somewhere within “they’re bros” lies the implication they are gay. Two bros chilling in a hot tub. They’re having a bromance. Let bros kiss.
Another person who seems to believe in a Gansey romance above bromance is Henry, who at that point of book three had only interacted with him at school very superficially. We can assume the way Gansey behaves with Adam and Ronan at school is very much homoerotic, or elsewise Henry would have no reason to be surprised about seeing Gansey with Blue (“a chick”). He can’t be surprised about Gansey pulling… someone, considering he is apparently super good-looking, he just never had reason to assume Gansey was anything but achillean.
Now this was mostly people who don’t know Gansey that well, or at least people not part of the inner circle, so it can’t mean that much, right? Surely there would not be anyone who truly, deeply knows Gansey, who would assume he is queer. Right?
Wrong. I have since forgotten the context of that quote, but Adam, someone who is very close to both of them, thinks that Ronan and Gansey could date. Make of that what you will, but I will it to be homoerotic subtext. (Or text, as what Adam says is what he says, no room for interpretation there.)
Lastly, Adam’s father called him the f-slur. Ok, I will admit that it’s not completely confirmed to be that, but what else would a censored word with f stand for? Again, it’s hard to tell, because my two options would be the slur and just straight-up “fucker”, but both “f*g” and “fuck” are used directly in the following books. The f-slur was used directly in Ronan’s narrative though, in that of a character who talks very obscenely in general, so I have no trouble believing Gansey just wouldn’t have wanted to repeat that word, especially if it’s just a memory.
The line between romantic and platonic interactions is thin enough in this series as it is, but Gansey seems to blur it especially. I am going to touch on that at a later point, but platonic affection is given a very important role, so much that in some parts it carries as much significance as romantic actions do (as it should- relationship anarchy rules), if not more.
With Gansey that seems to be especially strong, a lot of the things he does with his friends seeming romantic.
First of all, he is co-parenting with Ronan. Yes, it is a bird, but Ronan loves her like a human daughter so the point stands. The two of them even squabble about it like an old married couple, Gansey’s legendary “this is exactly why I didn’t want to have a baby with you” speaks for itself.
Then there is the insomnia quality time, as I like to call it. We, as the readers, are probably supposed to focus on the late night phone calls and drives with Blue, the fact that “she makes [him] quiet”, and that he can sleep after talking to her. But what I find equally important is the time he spends with Ronan at Monmouth during those sleepless nights, them getting orange juice at three a.m. While it might not be something super comforting that makes them both fall asleep, this routine they seem to have fallen into, just spending time while not expecting anything from the other, is something that means a lot to me; they are very much giving platonic soulmates, but also what if they kissed?
Of course I cannot not mention “While I’m gone, dream me the world. Something new for every night.”
That boy is being unnecessarily dramatic about going away for literally one weekend. And why? Because “they had been a two-headed creature for so long, Ronan-and-Gansey. He couldn’t say it, though. There were a thousand reasons why he couldn’t say it.”
What are those reasons though? Is it because he is actually in love with Ronan but admitting to that would make the friendship super fucking awkward so he whips out a dramatic, half-romantic metaphor quote? Yeah, that makes total sense.
Staying on my Ronsey bullshit, let’s not forget the glorious, deleted pool table scene. In case you are not familiar with it, or have forgotten the way it sounds (probably the reason it was deleted), I’ll just let two quotes speak for themselves.
“There was something suggestive about how [Ronan] wore the suit” Oh yes, of course there was. Sometimes you wear clothing with a certain intention, and in Ronan’s case, that intention is to be bent over the pool table by Gansey.
This becomes even clearer here: “Gansey was well aware that Ronan rather fancied the way he looked while he played pool, and the way he reached across the felt now, intentional and elegant and coiled, indicated that he was fancying himself at this very moment.”
Once again, everything is super intentional, and Gansey wants to fuck him so badly. Not even kidding at this point, the way Maggie wrote this scene really makes it look like Gansey finds Ronan super hot; even as an aromantic asexual person I have to say, this is a lot more than “bro appreciating his best friend’s glow-up in a completely heterosexual way”. This iconic scene is gay brainrot, which is exactly why we did not get to experience this masterpiece within an actual, published book. The Ronsey shippers would have gone too wild.
[Speaking of which, I’d like to clarify that I do not ship Ronsey in the way some other people do, I do prefer them with their canon love interests, however I clearly see the potential of them having had some kind of mutual attraction in the past, I just think it makes the dynamic a lot more fun and interesting, sort of like how Jesper had a crush on Kaz in Six of Crows.]
Gansey has received at least one (1) dick pic of Ronan. The circumstances do not say anything about either Gansey or Ronan, but I think it’s funny, it builds character, so I chose to include it in this.
Perhaps the strongest evidence for him running with the lgbtq+ is the fact that he goes to an all-boys school. Come on, what is he supposed to do, surrounded by all those guys rich enough to afford good haircuts and a private trainer? Should he just not have gay thoughts? Impossible.
Now all this was mostly evidence for Gansey swinging that way, somehow, but of course he’s one of those doors that open both ways. Yes, he has a girlfriend, but there is even more proof for him being specifically m-spec, just you wait.
To begin with, apart from his friends Gansey has two true loves. Henrietta (the town with a female name, who his sister refers to as his girlfriend- the same sister who assumes Gansey is sleeping with Adam; Helen is a bi Gansey truther) and Glendower, the dead, male king. Obviously, this is totally serious business.
Additionally, I have talked through to a very full extent how he is in love with Ronan, but of course he is also in love with Henry, I do not have to elaborate on this. He is also very much jealous when Blue and Adam are dating, as is described multiple times, but we don’t find out exactly who he is jealous of. Yes, he likes Blue, and he is sad that his best friend is sort of being stolen away etc., but what if he also just wanted to hold hands. With both of them. At once.
It’s not only Gansey being in love with all of them, it’s also all of them being in love with Gansey. His bi swagger.
It was this: Blue finding him irresistible.
It was this: Ronan wanting to smash his fist through a wall because of how hot Gansey is.
It was this: Henry saying Gansey is a “Caucasian with great hair”.
Bi Gansey is the truth and I will defend that until the day I die.
However, I will admit that he is absolutely a cis guy, no question. At no point in his life has he had to be afraid to take up space or anything, but that man supports trans rights of course.
He would not wear a crop top on his own, but considering how he is in love with them, Blue, Ronan and Henry could bully him into it and he would rock it.
#trying a catchier title with this one#trc#the raven cycle#the raven boys#the dream thieves#blue lily lily blue#the raven king#gansey#ronan lynch#adam parrish#blue sargent#henry cheng#bi gansey
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A kinda funny anecdote: I asked my husband who he thinks tumblr girlies would like to fuck and he sighed and said Sanguinius or Magnus.
But he wished people would thirst over Jaghatai Khan more, since he's actually a good man, playing up a mysterious façade but actually being a loyal and intelligent man, a family man even, as he is from a culture that values family. Only thing faster than his sword is his wit.
So, if you please, I would love to see the Great Khan whisk away the reader, on his bike or horse, just something a bit romantic if you feel like it <3
[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]
Author's Note: YES! JAGHATAI TIME! I'm so glad someone requested him! He's really an awesome Primarch and one of my favorites, I would totally paint some if that didn't mean I had to paint white. It's sad how often people forget to mention White Scars when mentioning kinder space marines, they're awesome. Hope you enjoy.
Summary: Khan realizes he's in love not when he sees your beauty or your skills, but when he sees you in the mud with the horses.
Relationships: Jaghatai Khan/Gn!Reader
Warnings: None, Though I had a bit of trouble forming this one in a way I was happy with, so apologies if it reads a bit weird? It's also my first time writing Jaghatai
Word Count: 1143
While Jaghatai would be wrong to say this would be the oddest sight he's seen in his already long existence, perhaps it's up there.
"There you are."
His voice travels easily over the sound of the wind raking the tall grass, blowing fabric and hair along with it.
Sitting cross legged in the grass of a massive rolling field is where he found you, playing with the snout of a horse that has lazily laid on his legs to be at a similar height to you. He blows air through his lips, making an odd whinny at you when you turn and stop giving the stallion your full attention. You catch Jaghatai's eyes for a moment before looking away, a bit contrite.
"Apologies," You say, and he can hear the title Lord Primarch on your lips. You stifle it now, as he finds it far less palatable than his others.
"Do you have need of me?" You move to get up, but the Primarch gives a response before you're able. Jaghatai's mouth quirks up ever so slightly to one side, watching the horse attempt to get purchase on your clothing with his lips while you aren't looking at him.
"No. I was only curious where you had managed to lose yourself this time. My captain was beginning to think we were down one remembrancer."
You don't directly answer him, but the way you glance over at him with a guilty smile is enough.
Your hand brushes along the stallion's cheek, the thick fur of his growing winter coat raking through your fingers. The nights are getting colder, and the baseline humans that serve the massive, overheated Astartes find themself bundling pelts and fabrics tighter, skin burned from cold wind.
Jaghatai can hear you now whispering to the horse under your breath, even as the cold air whips across the barren, grass covered field. He can see the plume of smoke from another camp far in the distance.
They aren't hostile, but he never allows himself the sheer foolishness of assuming they will remain that way. Especially since they're carrying with them valuable cargo this time; Remembrancers and Navigators, and other such. Humans that would be an easy and worthwhile target, if they were ever so foolish enough to do so with a Primarch so close.
He gestures to the horse who's snout you gently rub, feeling the soft, tiny hairs on the stallion's upper lip. What a rare moment of relaxation you've gotten with no overseers looming over you as they would on Terra. How interesting that it seems the Astartes of the White Scars are less rigid than your old Imperium higher ups.
"I am surprised he's letting you do this. The last man that got close, he killed."
You look up at him as if he's telling a sort of terrible joke- then you realize that he is dead serious, as much as that soft, ever so slight upturn of the corners of his mouth might say otherwise. The Horses of Chogoris have always been so untenably wild, perhaps you shouldn't be surprised.
"I'm no stranger to that sort of thing, nowadays." He finds it amusing that you don't seem to state it negatively. "Going from Terra to Chogoris has been quite the adjustment."
The horse's tail whips sharply once, before settling again. You continue playing with him, occasionally looking to the Khan as he stays in silence. It's peaceful, far more peaceful than he's had in a long while, and the moment allows Jaghatai to finally piece together what has been gnawing at him since you'd entered his life. To think that was so long ago now, at least in the timeline of a mortal.
His eyes watch over you, your gentleness as you treat the stallion in the same, abit foolhardly way of kindness he's seen from you before. For someone who has seen more than their fair share of things that would make other mortals crumble, you seem to take it all in stride.
Perhaps its why you've managed to fit in so well. His men much prefer your attitude to the few other pompous, stiff Imperium operatives they've had the misfortune of being in the presence of. It may not be often, but more than once has he caught one of his captains rolling their eyes.
But now he finally understands what that feeling was that had dug it's nails into him; The one that had been heavy in his chest and on his mind. The one that had his mind drift to you in moments of slowness.
He is in love with you. Or perhaps more accurately, he's striding down the path closer to it. Each step he takes, each time he speaks with you, he makes his way closer and closer.
He enjoys the way you look at him, speak to him without so much formality, the way you treat the galaxy like it's full of wonders instead of horrors. You know in reality it is, but you once joked it's better to simply keep moving than to sit in the corner and weep. Perhaps that was the moment that this all started.
A part of him knows that something like this is only going to bring problems. To entangle this with a labyrinthine crusade of Astartes, of other Primarchs.
But in the end, he doesn't care.
The Primarchs were doomed to this feeling of being separated from humanity- their own internal humanity- by a pane of glass; So close and able to watch, but not truly feel. Even with how much they mimic, the Primarchs all feel a distinct emptiness within them from how cast away they are from those who they share species with.
To have a chance to maybe feel love, to actually feel truly human for the first time in his life, he isn't going to pass it by. Perhaps it's selfish, but he has little care. He is going to live his life the way he wishes any he will deal with the difficulties as they come.
Jaghatai Khan can easily vault the fence with zero effort, given his height. In doing so, he steps close to you, and the massive horse raises his head and begins to rise to his hooves, no longer allowed to slack off. He roughly gestures with his hand for you to rise.
"Up. I'll show you how to ride him."
You get up on your feet, and look up at him. He looks down at watches the light of the brightest moon of the month reflect on your skin. There's the faint smell of smoke in the air from the fires, and that stinging scent of cold air. You easily climb up onto the horse's bare back, Jaghatai even then still taller.
"Perhaps if you can tame him just enough, he can be yours."
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Okay, I’ve been a bit scared because I’ve been observing from the sidelines, but I do want you to know this isn’t a hateful or troll ask, I’m genuinely asking for clarification.
In my experience, “pro-shipping” has always meant ‘problematic shipping’, and all of the people I’ve talked to about this have said the same thing.
Am I the one who’s misconstrued? I really don’t get it.
Being called “pro-harassment” or “pro-censorship” is hurtful and confusing as all hell.
I don’t harass people for what they create. I don’t care to do that. I block and move on, and warn people if I know they could be upset by the content.
But I also don’t understand how certain things are justified.
I am personally not bothered by much, but I have watched friends and acquaintances go through visceral traumatic reactions because people have decided to air out their coping by sharing it with the public. (I.E, people who write romantic incestual fics, etc)
I don’t give a shit what people write. I really don’t. But it feels harmful to use the excuse of coping when you, in turn, could be hurting dozens of others.
Like I said, I genuinely am not trying to be hateful here. I’m confused, and still distraught that all of this is happening. I don’t think anyone deserves to be harassed. I just also don’t get the logic here.
Pro-shipping never once meant problematic shipping. It meant opposite of "anti" because antis would come and invade the tags and asks, calling them all kinds of names if they found their ships distasteful.
Sorry that being indirectly accused of supporting harassment hurt your feelings. Imagine how I felt, being DIRECTLY accused of supporting rape in real life because of my taste in fiction. You are throwing in your lot with people who can't distinguish fantasy and reality.
I don't like incest fics either, anon. They are triggering for me. So you know what I do? I don't read fics tagged as incest. For that reason, I have never been triggered by an incest fic. I suppose I would be if I read an incest fic that wasn't tagged as much, but you will never find a single pro-shipper who defends posting such content without a tag. You are responsible for your own experience online; it is your job to curate the content.
If it was just seeing that the fic exists that triggered the response, then I'm sorry to say they're still in the wrong. As a survivor, learning that triggers exist and how to navigate those triggers is on you. We are responsible for how we deal with our trauma. Your friends didn't deserve their traumas, and they deserve kindness and support, but requesting that people never be allowed to write distasteful fiction so that they don't have to be upset by the idea that someone somewhere shipped incest is not reasonable. Their feelings are valid; it's totally reasonable to be triggered, to strictly curate your online experience. It's reasonable to block everyone who ships the upsetting incest ships, to put an "incest shippers DNI" on your page, all of it. It's not reasonable to call them supporters of IRL incest or to accuse them of causing your trauma. It isn't hard at all on AO3 or Tumblr; they even give you the option to blacklist/filter out certain tags so you can avoid it without blocking users. There's easily half a dozen safeguards that already exist that are a lot less radical, a lot less likely to be weaponized against queer users, and a lot easier to enforce than trying to remove them.
Me writing fics, such as a character using kink to cope, can only harm a user who doesn't curate their feed (and who reads fics they know will trigger them, which I can only assume would then be a purposeful form of self-harm). Denying other survivors their coping mechanism, though, IS a direct form of harm. Stigmatizing recovery by saying that survivors are in any way akin to abusers for creating fiction is a direct form of harm.
It sounds to me like you've absorbed some very harmful and very narrow ideas of what recovery should and should not look like, and what is and isn't a good/valid survivor. You might want to reflect on why you're turning your attention to policing what survivors do to cope so much.
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