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wheresarizona · 1 month

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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!”

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

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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iwaasfairy · 1 year

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HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

bachira nii who is just the best and sweetest big bro!!! he's always so attentive and so clingy to you! there's not a single moment that you go without having him touch your tits or kiss/lick your neck, he might even just feel up your pussy to make sure you're wet!!

he loves his lil sis so much, he cant help but fuck you as if you're his personal fleshlight. expect him to breed u like a bunny and dont stop until you're overflowing with cum ♡♡♡ oh and dont worry about holding back your moans! he loves to hear them and he loves when you cry out his name! mommy yuu wont mind that her two children r keeping it in the family :)

i heARD AND I RAN okay i spent the wHOLE DAY thinking about this yesterday hhhhgftdsguyfdisgi

tw incest, dubcon, codependency

He likes the shape of your mouth. He likes it so much. Enjoys kissing it, watching it, puffy lips and raw, likes hearing the little sounds that come from you when he claims that mouth. He even likes the way you say his name, his name that’s been called a thousand different times in a thousand different ways. But you say it differently still, cherish it on the tip of your tongue as he pulls your face closer in the evening glow and stares. “Meguru nii,” you say it all pouty and knowing, chest puffed with it. You say it like you know what comes next— and it only feeds the thirst that trickles down his muscles and aching heart.

When he doesn’t answer it, and he doesn’t, can’t, you grow restless and fidgety, and he gets to hear his name in a wholly different way, one reserved for only you. It pushes your lips to the brim with how cute and pouty they can be, without being kissed to shreds by him. “Ru nii~” you beg.

And he answers it by pushing you down onto his bed and pulling the covers a little further over you, until the world is almost completely shut out from the both of you. He lies down on top of you this way, caging your body under him— how he likes it. How the monster says it’s meant to be. And the heat that plays over your cheeks is nothing but further encouragement, because you look so damn pretty when the lowest light catches the glittering of your teary eyes.

“I’m supposed to be in bed. I’ve got an early cl-mhm!”

He kisses you square on the mouth, or teeth, no matter, because when his hands slide along your sides and start fondling your soft tits, tugging at sweet, puffy nipples— it’s all too easy to get you to play along. “I just wanna play with my little sister a little,” he breathes into your mouth, and you hum. You always hum so softly, like his word is truth, or gospel. “Just a little bit more, m’kay? Then you can go to bed.” The assurance calls for another drag of his name, that filthy mockery of the word ‘niichan’ that you have long mastered. It draws all the blood from his conscious thought to his hard cock as he grinds it against your pussy.

Picking at the bow of your panties, at your tits through your shirt- you curl under him and under his tongue, his hands, his twitching, leaking cock and balls like his own personal little toy. No, play-date. You always used to be his play-date growing up, and though the word has taken on -slightly more insidious- interpretations, it still fits you so well. Peeling your panties halfway down your legs to push the head of his cock into that dripping little slit is all too easy when you’re going “Ru nii, Meguru nii~” over and over so obliviously, unapologetically needy.

“You love your big brother?” He asks, and you nod, and it sends a spike of heat through his heart and makes him bottom out inside his own little sister with a groan. “I definitely love you. The most, love you- t-the most.” The covers won’t drown out the way you’re whining as he uses all his weight to fuck deep into you, your knees pressed to your ears and your tongue wrapped around his fingers. It doesn’t shield the squeaking of the bed and the rhythmic ‘pap, pap, pap’ of his balls hitting your ass each time he bottoms out. It doesn’t even cover the way he breathes your name back like he should, like he knows will get you there again and again.

But it’s not a lie when he leans down for a few seconds to pull your mouth back to his, tangle wet tongues and take what he needs from that pretty mouth of yours, and says, “You’re fine, just cum. Just cum on niichan's cock, you'll feel good. It’s okay. Mom wants her two babies to get along.”

#tw.incest #bachira meguru #bachira smut #bllk smut #bachira x reader #blue lock smut #bllk.txt #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.bachira

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i-loved-silly · 3 months

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Can you write a yandere piece on a yandere guardian angel?

Been looking for some good non fandom specific x reader blogs, happy to see a new one kicking around with a cool example written already :)

AUUUU I LOVE NONFANDOM ANGELS!! Thanks anon, for being my first request

Yan! Guardian angel who was supposed to be specifically made for you, to keep you from harm, gently warn you but absolutely NOT reveal themselves to you.

You were at the lowest point of your life, so the universe did its thing and assigned you a guardian angel to guide you! You werent their first human, they were experienced and always got the job done successfully.

But…strangely enough upon being assigned to you they just..felt different. Guardian angels weren’t supposed to connect with their humans, they weren’t supposed to feel anything at all.

While not a connection, it was still something that morphed into sinister obsession. How is a guardian angel supposed to know how to love like a human?

At first they wanted the best for you. Guiding you without making themselves obvious, breaking the rules just a tiny bit for you and hover next to you while you slept. You seemed so delicate, no one understood you the way they did. They knew everything about you afterall. They were always watching, wasn’t that heartwarming?

Occasionally you’d feel warm gusts of air either pass by you or barely caress your skin. They thought it was cute how you would look all around you trying to figure out the source.

Imagine having such a possessive but caring guardian angel that they even ‘kept you safe’ spiritually. They didn’t let any evil energy get to you, hell, not even the good energy. With them you had enough, you didn’t need any other spirits around you!

You didn’t even need humans around you. Over time they got more bold, appearing to you out of the corner of your eye as a bright light. Things started looking up, their job was almost complete. But oh no, they couldn’t lose you. They plotted out little…inconveniences so you could keep coming back to them.

You started to doubt that you even have a guardian angel, why is everything going so wrong? They’re so distraught at this, why can’t you tell that they’re doing this for you? But they can’t handle this, in their eyes, this is rejection. Despite going against all their rules and probably one of the more serious offenses, they must appear to you. If they don’t, you might stop believing in them and they can’t have that. Or worse, you might hate them.

While they prefer to send discreet messages to their humans in their sleep, you were the exception. You were having a particularly bad day and crying in your bed, hugging your covers and sniffling. Appearing took a lot of energy, but anything for you. They didn’t like seeing you sad.

Slowly, you began to feel warmth emitting next to you. You didn’t bother turning around at first, but then this sensation slowly began to prick at your skin. This light was burning hot. You rubbed the back of your neck before turning around, you flinched when a larger but dainty hand held you still by your shoulders, stopping you from turning around. It was glowing a bright yellow, slightly stinging your eyes if you looked too long. You froze, eyes wide and your tears dry at this point.

“Whu-who are you?” Your voice trembled as your eyes tried to peak at the perpetrator. All you saw was a radiant light behind you and that scorching heat traveling from your neck to your shoulder.

“Your savior, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve held back from being here with you. But I’m willing to break my rules for you.” They mused, their voice coming from straight behind you but booming all around the room like an orchestra in a theater.

You felt tears prick your eyes, you struggled against their grip. “What are you talking about? Y-you’re hurting me.”

The guardian angel wasn’t aware of their strength.

But they were aware of the lengths they’d go to spend longer time with you. Their hand rubbed your shoulder reassuringly as they let out a “sh sh sh” that sounded more like a hiss rather than a hush.

“You’re safe, my angel. Do not fret. Do you believe your savior is here with you now? Or shall I visit you more often?” At this point they were talking to themselves as some seemed to twirl your hair distracted.

You winced as a hot hand brushed against your cheek. “I’ll need to see you more often, you need me to care for you afterall. Sleep well, my adoration.”

#oc x reader #yandere blog #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere x darling #yanblr #yancore #yandere #yandere scenarios #angel x reader #yandere angel #gender neutral yandere #gender neutral reader #gn reader #obsessive love

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factual-fantasy · 2 months

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26 ASKS!! THANK YOU!! :}}} 🥪

(Post in question)

WAAHAHAAG THANK YOU SO MUHC!!! :DDDD As for your questions-

Spider crab's name is just a place holder for now, much like a lot of the crew has.. I want to give them all proper names at some point. Like Ellie and Louis have.. But I'm just really bad at coming up with names for stuff- <XD 💔💔

For Luigi- no one in particular! I just wanted to draw him with that expression <XD And don't worry, Mario cheered him up in the end :}}

As for the FNAF doodle, thats Foxy, Roxy and Mangle! I get that its hard to recognize her by her side profile and without color though-- <XD I had experimented with some ideas of a pirate themed Glamrock Mangle being added to one of the AUs. Though that sketch was the only one I really liked. :/

I have seen Encanto! :D It was alright, I liked the living house aspect of it :00

As for Red, I thiiink he might be too young to understand fusion or how to do it.. I pictured him being.. like what, five? Or something? That's like half the age of when Steven first learned to fuse-

That, and it felt a little odd for him to fuse with any of the crew, since they're all so much older than him. :/

@astaherussy (Post in question)

XD Sure were! Convenient aren't they?🤣🤣

I've definitely heard of it, and I've seen some gifs/posts about it here and there.. but truth be told I have no idea what its about. :( I think I've seen two Mario's and one wears a black suit...?

(Link/video in question)

XDD I imagine Ellie would shut that down real quick. But in the off chance that they get away with it.. I feel like Louis would come out on top.

He could block any oncoming attacks with his unbreakable claw arm, then whip around and launch whole watermelons and pies with the other XDD He would probably think it was fun too!

Does the game have large birds like that?? :0 I had no idea! They gotta be on the look out for those then--

Oof, I suppose they could.. though I don't intend for either party to experience that. It just sounds miserable! D:>

(Link/video in question)

XDD Oh man, that's hilarious! Poor Red--

@yourstrulylightstar283 (Referencing this post)

Thank you! I hope I get better soon too.. I hope to have some answers by next week.. <:) 🙏

:DD Thank you! I'm so glad you like my Freddy! :))

I always kind'a felt like a certain.. gloomy-ness, would be fitting for him. He already has some of that in the game. But with everything my Freddy's been through.. just.. having this weight to his tone. This lingering exhaustion.. I felt like it would suit him. :(

Hmm... I imagine that Seam and Jevil would be options.. Maybe in bad cases Calico Jack would.. Almost everyone in FNAF is an option <XD

No.. in a sad twist of fate, no one ever heard his cries in the dungeon. Imagine how much more lonely he felt becuase of that..

I don't know if he gets phantom pains from getting beat up.. but I imagine his horn stumps give him some aches and soreness that can be attributed to phantom pain.. :(

Who's gingerbrave? That's the main character right..? I have no idea if he'd come across my crew.. I don't know what kind of shenanigans he gets up to.. wait "gang"? He travels in a group with other people??

@chickenmilk120

fank uu! :}}}

@couchwow

Yeah,, I'm aware.. 😔🙄 ya hate to see it. But hey the watermark is right there saying "this art is stolen." so it could be worse I guess.

@littlelightfish

Tuna:

He is not being normal about it XDD You've totally flattered him!

@potatocryptid

Thank you!! :DD Yeah,, I think I WILL work on what ever I want!! XDD

Off the top of my head, there's an AWESOME Mario artist by the name of @katlyntheartist! I love her work, I highly recommend you stop by her blog! :D

I've also seen some jaw-dropping Mario artwork by @suedoodle! Both blogs are worth a visit! :}}

(Post in question)

Ah yes! The idea behind that was to show the initial divide between Grillby and Spamton.

You see, Spamton hails Jevil as his savior of sorts. He was at his lowest low, and in unimaginable pain.. then Jevil just swoops in and offers his hand. Bringing him outside of his AU. Away from the pain, away from the torment.. Jevil is awesome!!

But then you've got Grillby.. Jevil saved him from his AU right before it collapsed in on itself. He "saved" his life, but at what cost? Grillby lost everything. And he cant help but be angry at Jevil for it. Thinking that if Jevil hadn't been there, he could have just peacefully disappeared along with his family and everyone else in his AU..

So Spamton is endlessly respectful towards Jevil, and Grillby cant help but roll his eyes and spit sass at him all the time. Those two opposing views are bound to cause problems someday..

I imagine one day the whole group is tired and cranky. Jevil did something that Grillby didn't agree with. Some bitter remarks there, Spamton defending Jevil's decision here.. some back and fourth and next thing you know a fight breaks out. :x

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

XDD idk!! Why are YOU into almost every single fandom I'M into?? Also than you so much!! :}}

Thank you! I'm glad you like my sona! But aaa sorry, no can do.. I don't want fanart at all, of anything. Just comments/asks/reblogs. <:}

@canonickero (Sent after this post)

XD Thank you! I'm glad you like him :}}

I pictured Yendo being another one of Funtime Foxy's nightmare-ish visions. Though I should consider passing that onto Bon Bon.. 👀

The story goes that Funtime Freddy is a frequent flyer in parts and service. The employees groan that there's always something wrong with Freddy that needs fixing. Nobody really knows why..

Now at some point Freddy was shut down and in parts and service. As per usual.. Foxy was nearby, and heard a sudden thud/crash coming from that room. He rushes inside to see what happened and finds Funtime Freddy on the floor, what ever he was propped up on had broken, causing him to fall.

He looked at Freddy's face.. and.. his face plates were wide open..

Foxy. freaked. out. If I remember correctly, he was supposed to start shouting and panicking. Trying to help Freddy, thinking he was hurt. When he couldn't move Freddy and he wouldn't wake up, Foxy ran out of the room to get help. He runs into some employees and tried to tell them what happened. They end up just forcibly shutting him down because he cant stop freaking out..

Later on he's reactivated and the rest of the gang is with him. Including Freddy. He uncharacteristically runs to Freddy all worried and frantically inspects his face for injuries. They ask him what he saw but he just.. doesn't have the words to describe it.

Part of the horror is Foxy's inability to understand what he saw. Therefore being terrified of it and being unable to describe it..

After that Foxy began to develop these hallucinations of sorts. Overtime the image of Freddy's skinned face kind'a turns in to its own nightmare. Yendo.. overtime it feels more like "Yendo" is an entity separate from Freddy. Foxy begins to imagine this skinned bear like creature that is out there somewhere.. wanting to hurt Freddy and take his face.. its not fun :(

This idea is still in development. Well, the whole AU is. But this was my initial idea for Yendo :)

Now old man consequences is tricky.. I had intentions of him being this weird vison that Foxy sees now and again. But with recent developments to the AU.. I might need to scrap the old gator. Or at least re-write his role and function in the AU-

@stripetkattelalala54 (Post linked in question)

No problem! I'm always up for Mario questions! :DD

And as for the question, I pictured that Mario never really liked the ice flower to begin with. I imagined Mario loving the heat and the sun. Always enjoyed being warm/hot and functions the best in it.. You know like a maniac-

So the Fire flower was naturally his favorite powerup. And that experience did leave Mario with some kind of trauma, which just added to his dislike of it..

@beryl-shade

OOO I like Tendrilfoam! :00 Hmm, Captain Tendrilfoam.. I'll have to consider that one! :D

#my response #fnaf security breach #fnaf sister location #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #undertale #deltarune #octonauts #super mario bros

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lyszyx · 4 months

Text

Platonic Date

୨ . . . . 𝘈 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 . . . . ୧

˗ˏˋ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.7𝘬 ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 ˎˊ˗

You had known Heeseung for a few months now, after your best friend Jungwon had introduced him to you. Jungwon always loved the idea of his best friends getting along with you since you were an important person to him, in a platonic way. His best friend group consisted of Jake, Sunghoon, Jay and Heeseung, the latter one being the oldest.

Apart from your best friend Jungwon you didn’t have many people you liked to see often. Sure, Yujin here and there but apart from her that’s it. Mentioning ‘liked’ because there were also other people you had to see, just not with much enjoyment. These people were your father’s colleagues their sons and daughters, which your father forced you to like. You always agreed to meeting them to make sure your dad’s connections don’t fall apart.

You did not click with these people at all, in fact you somewhat despised them. They always threw obvious glares at you and after that acted like you were their favourite person roaming earth when in fact they disliked seeing you as much as you did. Your dad was the lowest position among all of your parents, which made them believe that looking down on you was the way to go. They did well at looking down on you, making you walk out at the end of the night with a heavy heart, doubting yourself and your abilities along with those of your father.

It was another of those meet-ups but this one was a little different, challenging. All these years all of them had brought dates to the meet-ups, you never bringing one because who would you bring? But this year they asked you, well practically demanded you, to bring a date.

“Wonie please save me from this hellish dinner that I have in two days.” you whined and cried, “I mean how the hell am I even supposed to find a date in two days?!” Jungwon chuckled, “Don’t act like you haven’t known about the date thing for a while, y/n. Just ask one of the guys, no? I mean Heeseung’s a good looking dude, they’d be drooling all over him the entire night but he’ll be right next to you. Great way to get back at them.” He gave you his oh-so-amazing idea, your face immediately lighting up at the thought of them drooling over your date. Although you loved this idea, since Heeseung is one good looking man, worries washed over you. “Won’t Heeseung think this is weird? What if he thinks I’m just using him?” You explained your worries to Jungwon, him immediately shaking his head. “I know Heeseung and so do you, he’d be more than down to help you.” He reassures you. You nod at Jungwon, “Thanks wonie, I’ll go now. I’ll give someone a call.” You smile at your best friend as you headed towards his front door, opening it and leaving to go home.

“Hey y/n, what’s up?” Heeseung picked up the call basically immediately, not leaving you waiting. “Hey Heeseung! I um-“ you stutter. “I wanted to ask you for a favour.” You managed to finish your sentence somehow. Heeseung hums in response, “How can I help?” he asks you carefully. “Well you see, this is something very annoying to ask but Jungwon kinda convinced me to do it.” You hesitate continuing to explain the situation but realise that you’d rather ask this than go through hell if you show up without a date. “I have this annual thing with my dad’s colleagues their sons and daughters and I’m kind of forced to bring a date. These people are actually really annoying and kinda horrible and honestly I wouldn’t want to take you there, I’m just really desperate. I don’t want to humiliate myself showing up without someone once again, y’know? It’s been like this every year.” You catch your breath, “So I was wondering if you would want to come as my platonic date.”

“Sure” His answer was short and easy but clear “One thing though,” and it was too good to true. “I’ll go if I can take you on an actual date sometime.” Heeseung blurted out, this was past your expectation of what he could’ve possibly said. “Huh?” You audible questioned what had just been said. “I think you heard what I said, y/n.” He said shyly, from the way he sounded you knew he was smiling brightly. “Um, yeah. We can make that work,” you hesitated on saying what you want to say next “But why?” you questioned. “Why what? Why I want to go on a date with you?” He replied and you nodded, even though he can’t see you. “Because I think you’re pretty, inside and out. So I’d like to get to know you on a more personal level.” He continued, as if he knew you were nodding. What he said left you baffled, Heeseung had an eye on you and you never noticed.

“Deal.” You reply to his confession. “We need to be there at 7pm this saturday. Dress code is formal but you know, the young adult type of formal. Dress shirt with jeans, tie is optional.” you explained, going too much in detail and blabbering out of disbelief of what Heeseung had just told you. “I’ll come to yours at 6:30, is that fine?” He asked. You nodded again, this time also replying to him “Yes, that’s good. It’ll be dinner so make sure you have an empty belly.”. “Alright, see you then y/n.” You exchanged your goodbyes and with that you ended the call.

Your doorbell rang through your apartment sending shivers down your spine knowing who was at your door. You were wearing your dark blue silk dress, make-up half finished as you ran towards the front door. You swing the door open, revealing the tall male wearing a white dress shirt with black jeans, as told. “Hi” You shyly say as you open the door more, inviting Heeseung in. “Hey y/n, you look stunning.” You gave him a little twirl as you smiled at him. “Thank you so much, I got this dress last week! Jungwon helped me pick the color!” You told him excitedly. “Jungwon has good taste, as we’ve been knew.” Heeseung laughed as he said that, trying not to look awkward.

“I still have to finish my make-up, if you wanna join me in the bathroom.” you invited him along as you make your way towards the bathroom. “It already look good though?” he questioned as he examined your face. “I’m missing lashes and eyeliner.” You help him out as he seemed to struggle figuring out what you hadn’t finished yet. He muttered out a small ‘ah’ as he walked into the bathroom with you. You took out the small stool you were previously sitting on, placing it next to Heeseung and allowing him to sit down. “Weren’t you using that?” He asked you with a confused face. You nodded at him, “I need to be closer to the mirror for this, so it’s best if I stand up now.” You explained to him. You noticed he still hasn’t sat down, “Please Heeseung, I insist.” You pout your bottom lip, causing the male to sit down immediately.

As time ticked by, your realised it was time to go. “I dread this.” You looked at Heeseung, sad and worried expression on your face. “If anything’s wrong, you tap my hand and I’ll tell them I don’t feel well and that we’ll go home. Okay?” You smiled gratefully at him, thanking Jungwon in your head for giving you the idea of asking Heeseung along. The drive towards the restaurant didn’t take long, around 7 minutes. As your arrived Heeseung noticed some of the cars parked in front of it, “Are these those guys’ cars by any chance?” He questions. “There’s a huge chance, yes.” Heeseung gave you an impressed look, getting ready to open his door and leave the car before you stopped him. He turned his head to look at you. “Look, these people are the absolute worst. Please let me know as soon as you want to leave, okay?” you told him, to which he nodded, “I tap your hand, you tap mine.”

“Y/nie! So nice to see you again sweetheart! Who’s this fine gentleman you brought along?” There was Karina, the one who loved picking on you and encouraging the others to do so as well. “This is Heeseung, he’s my-“ “Boyfriend” Heeseung finished. You tried hiding your face of disbelief, being sure that you were not hiding it well. “Oh my god? You didn’t tell you had a boyfriend?” Karina says in the most mocking voice possible. “Since when do you bag fine men?” She added. Heeseung’s hand that was positioned on your waist tightened, obvious discomfort and anger in his body language. As more people walked into the restaurant, Karina left the two of you. “You just let them walk over you like that?” Heeseung questions you. “I have to, for my dad.” You reply to him. Heeseung turned his head around, ruffling his hair a little. “I won’t be able to stay here for long if it’s like this all night, y/n.” He confesses to you and you appreciate his honesty. “That’s okay, just tap my hand.” Heeseung nods at your reply.

As dinner progresses, comments got worse and worse. ‘Did you pay him to come?’ ‘Is he your cousin?’ and many more. So many that Heeseung felt like giving up. He tried his best to stay the entire night to please you, so you wouldn’t disappoint your dad but these he was tired of seeing you get walked over. So he taps your hand, it’s light so you weren’t sure it was on purpose. You turn your head to look at him as he looks back at you, tapping your hand once again, clear this time. You nod at him, giving him the go, “Hey, I’m so sorry for cutting off your conversation but I’m actually not feeling too well and I think it’s best y/n and I head home.” He starts off. “See you again next time, everyone.” And with that he stands up, one hand grabbing yours, the other your purse. Heeseung didn’t even give the others time to respond, he just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

At last the two of you made it outside. “I’m so sorry Heeseung…” You were staring at your feet on the ground. “But thank you for putting yourself through this to do me a pleasure. I appreciate that, a lot.” Heeseung seemed to have calmed down at your words, forgetting about the previous two hours as if it never even happened. His hand found its way on top of your head, caressing your hair as a way of showing comfort. “It’s okay.” he whispered. His hand fell for from your head to your shoulder, squishing the skin and pulling you a little closer into a side hug. “I have an idea.” he suddenly says, causing your head to pop up. “How about we park the car at your apartment and get some drinks, talk and get to know each other better?” He suggests, immediately earning a bright smile from you. “That would be very nice mr. Lee” You chuckle.

Both of you were now walking to the nearest convenience store, a CU being 7 minutes away from your apartment. “I still have some soju at home but that’s it.” you tell Heeseung. “Let’s get some beer then.” Heeseung says as he smiles at you as he holds the door of the store open for you. You mouth a ‘thank you’ as you walk in. Heeseung heads straight towards the alcoholic drinks, taking some, as you look at the snacks.

You both found some things, Heeseung had the drinks and you had the snacks. As the cashier was scanning you were taking out your card but before you knew it Heeseung had paid. You sulk, “We’re going to my place, I should provide!” Heeseung just chuckles it off as he grabs the two bags from the cashier, saying thank you and goodbye before he walks off. You stay there for a bit, sulking at Heeseung back as you watch him walk away, before following after him. “Not fair ya know?” You mutter as you were now stood beside the male. “It was my idea, it’s only logical that I pay, y/n.” he defends himself with an ear to ear smile on his face, a smile you can’t be annoyed with.

It was now well into the evening, both of you being a little drunk. The more drinks you had, the more tension started building up. Sexual tension that is, coming from both Heeseung and you. You previously played some drinking games, asking each other questions. As time passed, questions got more personal and sensual. “Wanna get more comfortable in the couch?” You proposed to him, him immediately agreeing. You stumble towards the couch, Heeseung tagging along. He sneakily finds your hand, as a way to ‘support you stumbling’. Good thing you were drunk, your face was already red so he couldn’t notice the blush spreading on your cheeks.

Heeseung had the entire couch yet chose to sit right next to you, leaving your heart pounding. You were sat in silence, taking each others faces in and smiling like a bunch of idiots. “Can I lay my head on your lap?” you ask him shyly. “No” his reply is stern, leaving you confused. “I mean, it’s just…” he was stuttering, not knowing what to say or how to explain his current situation. Fact is, you knew his current situation, having noticed the bulge in his pants as soon as you stood up to go to the couch. You just wanted to tease him a bit. You change your sitting position, now slagging to the side looking at the male sat beside you. “It’s okay, I understand.” you smile sheepishly at him.

It doesn’t take much longer before your hands found their way on his cheeks, pulling him closer to attach your lips to his. Though the tension was strong, the kiss was very soft and innocent. It was more a way of showing liking rather than initiating something sexual. The kiss lasted around 3 seconds. After you pulled away Heeseung’s eyes were still closed, as if anticipating another kiss, so you comply. This kiss was deeper, less innocent than the previous one. You knew after this kiss there was no turning back, you wouldn’t be able to get enough of him from now on. That way a make out session started, sloppy and messy kisses being exchanged. It didn’t take much longer before Heeseung latched his hand around your knee, pulling your leg over him so you were straddling him, making you feel his hardened member. “Just for me?” You tease. “Mhm, just for you.” he replies, leaving you thirsting for all of him. Everything and all of him.

Even though you were drunk, you were still aware of what was happening. Because of that panic shot through your head, thinking this might be stupid since you’re drunk. “Hee-Heeseung” you tried whispering in between kissed. He hummed in response, pulling away and allowing you to talk. “Let’s leave this for another time, when we’re both sober?” You weren’t sure if you just asked a question or made a statement but you were sure that going on would be stupid, since this could possibly ruin your friendship. “Oh my god, yes. I’m so sorry y/n I-“ You cut him off immediately with a small peck, “Heeseung, I loved this don’t get me wrong. I just want us to be fully aware of what we’re doing. Hence why I think it’s best to wait…” you trailed off, scared you sounded dumb or afraid. Heeseung nodded his head vigorously, clearly agreeing with what you were saying. “Maybe it’s best I go home, it’s hard to keep my hands to myself right now.” He suggested, you immediately jumping up “No! You’re not driving in this state Hee. Just, spend the night here. I’ll take the couch ‘kay?” You started walking towards the blankets piled up next to the sofa when Heeseung started talking. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. I’ll be fine here y/n, just slee comfortably in your bed.” You didn’t feel like bickering or denying his offer so just complied, nodding your head. And like that the night had come to an end

note: i disappeared for a while and i’ll probably do it again but hope you enjoyed this!!! definitely more parts coming up so stay tuned <3

#lee heeseung #heeseung #fanfic #enhypen #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung fic #lee heeseung fic #lee heeseung smut

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lambowverde · 2 years

Text

Blood Of The Faithful (1)

Pairing: Ran Haitani × Married, Older! Reader

Content warning: Age gap. Brief description of a stab wound. Implied sexual content

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: In a chance encounter, Ran comes across you, a newly married woman with a husband who couldn’t give you the time of day. He thinks he can fill the vacant hole in your heart quite well…if you would only stop treating him like a kid.

Note: In just about every story of Ran I’ve ever read, he’s always had the upper hand. I wanted to see a story of where he desperately tried to win the love of a woman he couldn’t and shouldn’t have. And because of that wish, this story was born! Please enjoy :)

Ran first met you at his lowest, on a very dark, dark day.

Bleeding through his new Yves Saint Laurent shirt wasn’t his thing—and getting grazed by a knife in a fight wasn’t either. But you can’t always get what you want, Ran supposes. He’ll just have to buy another one later. He’s sure his father could spare the money. Better to spend it on your son then his typical prostitutes, right?

“Fuck…” He grumbles, his vision blurring and dimming by the second. It’s one of those nights where Rindou wasn’t with him, maybe out with a girl twice his age, or with his ‘friends’ who couldn’t stomach being around Ran for too long—much too nervous. It didn’t help that he broke his phone during the fight and lost his wallet somewhere amidst the bodies he left in the alleyway. What kind of gang brings 15 people to jump one person?

Either way, as he stumbles through the streets with crimson painting him, Ran finds solace in knowing that he’s at least in his neighborhood. He’s desperate to at least make it inside his own house before he collapses, but when Ran’s foot catches up on a rock, it sends him toppling forward in one of the most humiliating ways imaginable.

His body hits the concrete with a thud, the only light source illuminating him being the poorly lit street lights. For something that should’ve been expensive, (because his neighborhood wouldn’t settle for anything less) one might’ve thought it’d at least work better.

But it doesn’t, and as Ran tries to pick himself up and stand again, he finds himself completely unable to do so. The stab wound near his stomach throbbed painfully, his legs so weakened they were shaking.

How awful. His new shirt is an absolute goner, then.

And he might be too, soon.

Or, so he thought until he heard an oddly calm, melodic voice in the midst of a storm. “Oh my god, are you alright sweetie?”

Sweetie. How strange. Ran is usually the one calling people that, typically pretty girls who didn’t know any better when they approached him. And the last woman, used to be the only one, who has ever called him that was his mother.

That was until she stopped breathing, of course.

Looking up with whatever little strength he had left, Ran’s eyes widened once he met yours.

You’re in your late 20’s, no older then 30 but almost there, the maturity in your eyes and the plush to your skin told him so. There’s a bag of groceries in one of your hands, and you’re wearing an awfully, awfully tiny shirt, one that could never fully cover your breasts. Not when it was practically spilling out of the thin material, and ah—you’re coming closer.

The bag of groceries is the first to hit the ground, you following right afterwards. You look even more beautiful up close, Ran realizes, and when you put his head on your lap as you inspect the wounds, he thinks maybe dying right now wouldn’t be so bad. It’s much better to die in the lap of a gorgeous woman then it is to die alone in the middle of the dirty, insect ridden streets in his opinion.

But when he thinks of Rindou, his no good little brother and the most precious thing in his life, Ran thinks there’s no way in hell he could die now—or ever.

“C-Can you stand? You need treatment dear.” Your voice shakes as you attempt to help him up, but Ran must’ve been heavier then you originally thought, so he used whatever strength he had left to stabilize his footing.

There’s something comforting about your scent, it…it smells like a home. Not the one he lives in, with the shiny marble floors and the high ceiling with glass planes for windows, but an actual one. One filled with laughter, small corners and secret hiding spots, a room with regular windows and not ones made from colored stained glass.

As you speak to him, one sentence after the other, Ran doesn’t pick up on any of it. All he remembers through the haze of his injury and his squinted eyes was a door, and the warmth of your hand on his back.

And then, nothing.

The next time Ran wakes up, hes somewhere unfamiliar, and whatever he was laying on was…soft.

It all comes to him slowly, like pieces of puzzles falling to its place, but when he blinks and sees you above him—Ran realizes that he was sleeping on your lap.

He gets up much faster and rougher then he should’ve, especially considering that you were snoozing off with your head angled so low, it makes him worry that you’ll hurt your neck that way.

Grabbing your head, he slowly pushes you back so you lay normally on the couch. He’s in a living room, an extremely spacious one that rivals his own, and all around him were first aid kit materials like bandaids and disinfectant.

You…You him, it seems.

Looking around, he quickly realizes that this was your house. He’s standing in the middle of a spacious living room, looking eerily similar to Ran’s own. There’s a dog bowl in the corner (though he hasn’t seen any pets yet) and general decorations. There’s also pictures hanging on the wall that tells him so, of you smiling with an unfamiliar man, his hands around your waist, beaming into the camera. Or at least you were, the man that you were with looked somewhere between a scowl and a grin.

He must be your boyfriend—this man.

With brown slicked back hair, boring golden eyes and a somewhat sleezy smile, your boyfriend reminds him of a man he’d see hanging around his father. He’s undoubtedly rich, probably has a charming smile if he flashes his teeth, but at the core, they were all the same.

Just people hungry for power.

There’s more where those pictures came from, of just you and that man, one where you were at a Zoo, some restaurant, and…your graduation?

“His name is Minato, we married each other just about a month ago.”

Ran whips his head around more calmly then he felt, because quite frankly, he was too enamored by the pictures to have heard you walking behind him, a fond smile on your face.

Ah, husband then.

He doesn’t know how he managed to miss the golden band on your finger, a small diamond glinting back at him in the low evening light. It’s much too small, he thinks, and if he were to be your husband, he would’ve bought you the most expensive, beautiful ring there was. And if he couldn’t—then that just means he wasn’t worthy.

“You make a lovely couple.” Ran says, and he means it. Or at least, he thinks he does.

Blinking, he backtracks. Wait…think?

“Thank you, are you alright?” As you approach closer with concern on your face, Ran somehow found himself backing up until he hits the wall, your hand touching his forehead. “You were burning up earlier, and you had this wound—I was worried you’d get a fever on top of your injuries.”

Heart beating fast, much more faster then it’s ever had before, Ran took a moment to calm himself. “Y-Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for treating me.”

It fails, god does it fail when you flash a blinding, bright smile at him. “I’m so glad.”

Ran Haitani doesn’t get nervous. Ran could count on one hand, during his 19 years of living, just how many times his nerves took over him.

But in front of you, as you harp around like a worried mother hen, he finds himself absolutely frozen. Not with fear—because there was absolutely not one thing scary about you, but just…

Nervousness. He’s scared of messing up, somehow.

What was going on?

“Your clothes were soaked with blood, I’m not sure where you live, but you should probably take a shower first. You don’t want to scare your folks or passing pedestrians.” Ran doesn’t tell you that he only lives with his brother. Or how his father was abroad and his mother six feet under. Instead, he smiles.

“No, I couldn’t intrude more then I already have.” Ran began to step away from you, slowly, one foot at the time, eyeing the door. Something about you makes him feel not like himself. He’s never felt so out of his own skin until now, and he couldn’t pinpoint just exactly what it was. “Thank you for all that you’ve—

“Nonsense!” It absolutely startles Ran when you grab his hand, pulling him somewhere with much more strength then he thought your little body could hold. “You’re still so young, what if someone calls the cops on you? That could go on your record you know.”

Ran absolutely does not mention that he’s already been to juvie two times, or how he’s already taken a life at the ripe age of 13. If anything, he keeps his mouth firmly shut and lets you lead him.

Turning the corner, he sees a restroom, and you’re quick to push him in. “Take a bath for however long you want, please also make sure not to scrub too hard around your wounds, okay?”

Ran could only blankly nod, swept away by your rhythm.

“Take your time, dinner will be ready soon!” And with that, you closed the door and left, your footsteps receding and leaving Ran alone.

It takes a few seconds for Ran to snap out of his daze, still somewhat recovering from the hurricane that was you, but when he looks in the mirror by accident, he freezes.

There’s a color decorating his face, spreading through his cheeks and especially to the tip of his ears.

Ran was blushing a shade of cherry red.

“What’s your name?”

“Ran, Ran Haitani.”

Dinner, turns out, is yakisoba with chicken. The noodles were still steaming and shiny since it just got out of the pan, and the green onions topping it only made it look tastier. Ran has had yakisoba many times, due to that little store near the station, but it never quite look as delicious as this.

When was the last time Ran had a home cooked meal anyways?

“Okay then Ran, I hope you don’t mind some yakisoba. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I didn’t really plan a grand meal…” You trail off in a way that hints at signs of nervousness, darting your eyes to land on everything except Ran. And that was cute, adorable even.

“Don’t be, thank you for saving me and doing all of this. You’re a very sweet woman.” He talks like how he would to any girl, with flattery laced in every word and a smile just small enough to be genuine. You clearly believe it, by the way your eyes light up, but you don’t…you don’t quite look at him like the other girls do. What was missing?

“How could I just let a kid bleed out on the street?” You say, passing him a glass of water. “I could never live with myself if I did that. Now, eat up dear, it'll grow cold.” There’s excitement in your voice as you eye the food, like you couldn’t wait for Ran to try it.

Well, even if it was bad, he would never tell you so. The reaction you so clearly want from him is one you will get regardless if it’s genuine or not. He swirls the noodles on his plate and puts it in his mouth, he’s already prepared his next few words before—

“It’s delicious.” Ran says, his eyes widening with how much he meant it. You looked so eager for him to eat it, he assumed that perhaps cooking wasn’t your forte, but it clearly is if this is what it tastes like. The way the flavors all blend in his mouth was masterful.

You don’t reply, and when Ran looks up to realize why, he finds your shoulder shaking with barely contained laughter, until you break. “Pfft, so you are still a kid!” You holler, little giggles ransacking your body.

Your words bring heat to his skin, and Ran doesn’t understand why.

Sensing that, you’re quick to explain. “You seem…quite mature for your age. I saw uh, your tattoo’s.”

Ah, that's right, while treating him, you must’ve lifted up his shirt and saw the tattoo that he got matching with Rindou. Which, you did terrific at, patching up his wounds way better then Ran and Rindou had ever learned how to, despite the many times they’ve injured themselves and required it.

Grinning, he tilts his head. “Are my tattoo’s the only reason you think I’m ‘mature’?”

It’ll be a lie if he were to say he didn’t get injured lower, right below his v-line and very close to something rather private—but you treated that too, he saw it when he was in the shower trying to scrub blood from underneath his fingernails. He received that wound when one guy was clinging to his waist, trying to save his comrade from being choked in the midst of the fight.

Unexpectedly, you blush a daring red at his comment, and Ran is shocked by how quickly you switch from a doting hen to a shy, bashful woman. He feels like there’s so many faces to you, he couldn’t keep track of them all. Not when your expression was always changing. “I-I didn’t mean to violate you like that, it’s just, you were bleeding particularly hard down there! And I didn’t see anything…private.”

It seems like you really didn’t, and even if you did, Ran wouldn’t have a problem with it anyways. His dick wasn't something he felt like he had to hide from women—especially beautiful ones at that. “I wasn’t worried about that.” He says gently, and the smile he gives you seems to calm you down, making you sigh in relief.

“Oh thank goodness. I would never want you to think I violated you like that in your sleep.”

There’s something so…so cute about you. It would almost scream naive, but with your age, he wouldn’t think so. It was more like you were truly sweet from the heart down.

Rindou would like you, Ran thinks. Rindou liked his girls as sweet as sugar and as nurturing as a mother. Though the girls he usually sleeps with are none of that, having zero of the traits he liked with the exception of the physical department.

Now that Ran is looking even closer though…your breast would 100% catch Rindou’s eyes.

Stopping himself from staring before you could catch him, you gladly didn’t seem to notice it. It was a shame he’d never see you after this again. And quite frankly, he finds it to be a waste for a woman such as you to be tied down so early.

As Ran exits your house, truly expecting to be somewhere he wouldn’t recognize, he’s utterly baffled to be met with…

His own house, just right across from yours.

That’s right, wasn't there moving trucks here just a week ago?

The next time Ran sees you again, it was you who appeared first.

A week or two had passed since his last encounter with you, and while you appeared in his mind much more often then he would’ve liked to admit, Ran swore all he needed was time.

Time to forget you, and maybe a little bit of a distraction to help speed the process too.

Gripping the girl's hips, he helps guide her up and down, a steady yet rough rhythm that she doesn't seem to mind. “Move your waist, like that, hah…”

“Ah, ah, R-Ran—!”

He’ll have to change the sheets later, he knows, but that’s in the back of his mind. Right now, he could only focus on the warm heat enveloping his cock, and the pair of breasts that were bouncing in front of him wildly.

And just as he was about to cum, his cock swelling and his breathing uneven, a knock startles the girl who’s name he couldn’t quite remember, and your voice startles him.

“Hello?” There’s absolutely no way in hell that Ran wouldn’t be able to recognize your voice, not when he has been recalling the melody of it in his brain for the past two weeks. “I-Is anybody home?”

Rindou is out right now, he never liked to be here when Ran had his girls over, and it was just your distressed voice that rang inside his hollow home.

You sounded like you were in trouble.

Once he realized that, he pushed the girl off of him and told her, “Be a good girl and wait for a second, okay?” beforeputting on his pants and rushing to the door.

He thought he had been too slow and that you would’ve left by now, but you didn’t, and the woman he’s been thinking of since that fateful day was right in front of him. You were wearing a worried expression on your face, furrowed eyebrows that quickly shifted to pure embarrassment once your eyes landed on his chest.

“R-Ran?! You live here?” Ah, so you had no idea that he lived just right across from you. Which meant that your visit wasn’t for him.

He smiles his usual smile, hoping it’d offer you some assurance. “I do. Quite a surprise, isn’t it? Neighbor.”

Bringing his face closer to your own, he tries to make eye contact with you again, but you only blush and look away. It’s endearing. “I had no idea.”

“Now you do. Do you need something?”

At his inquiry, you snap out of your embarrassment, the concerned look returning to your face. “It’s Momo…” Your face turns considerably more pale as you speak. “He’s missing!”

Ran blinks. “Momo?”

“My dog that I got a week ago.” Now that he thought back on it, Ran recalled seeing pet food and an unused dog bowl in your living room, was that you preparing for Momo? “He must’ve gotten out when my husband accidentally left the door open, and I caught it too late.”

It was clear how worried and anxious you were, your fingers never took a rest with fiddling at the hem of your shirt, and your eyes would shift from object to object, never staying anywhere for too long. “He’s a Pomeranian with brown, fluffy fur and a yellow collar. Have you seen him at all? This just happened about an hour ago. I searched everywhere.”

Shaking his head, Ran runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t, but I’ll help you search for him.” Your eyes lit up immediately at his words, and Ran’s heart clenched. “I’m sure he hasn’t gotten far. The more eyes the better, right?”

A relieved smile makes way to your face. “Thank you Ran, I—“

“Rannn~” There’s goosebumps that reach his skin once he heard a whiny, high pitched voice coming from behind him. Soon after, someone clings to his back, their arms wrapping around his waist. “You’re taking sooo long, come back to bed.”

It’s the girl from before, the one he should’ve never took home. Not when she couldn’t follow simple directions and stay inside like he told her to, having the guts to come out at the worse, possible timing.

Your eyes widened once it lands on her, and it seems as if you put two and two together. A look of realization dawns on your face with a blush. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had your girlfriend ove—“

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Ran quickly says, and perhaps it was much too fast, and much too firm for his smile to soften the landing of it. You flinch at the solid tone of his voice. “She’s…give us a second.”

Closing the door a little in hopes that you wouldn’t hear (or see) what he was about to do, Ran grabs the girl by the cheeks. Her eyes bug out as he did so, and he hopes that his smile was as sweet as intended, because his next words would be anything but. “What happened to being a good girl and staying in the room, doll?”

The girl begins to shake, but she’s also blushing. “U-Um, You were taking so long, and I—“

“You’re a bad girl, Izumi.” Her name came to him when his eyes caught on the embroidery on her bag, and he remembers the way she introduced herself to him a week ago. She had hair just like yours, and maybe if she behaved just a little bit cuter, she could’ve been more like you too. “I don’t like girls who don't follow directions, no matter how cute.”

Her eyes darkened with sadness, but she nodded in acceptance. “If you understand, put your clothes on properly and leave.”

Ran swears to himself, just then, that he’ll never get caught with another girl as long as you were around again. He doesn’t know why it matters so much, or why it bothers him so, but the thought of you thinking he was taken oddly…pissed him off.

Ran belonged to nobody, and that's how its been since he was born.

Searching for Momo proved to be much more troublesome then Ran thought.

Although he scoured every street, peeked in every corner, looked in even the dumpsters and trash, the small, brown pomeranian was still nowhere to be seen. Either Momo really knew how to play hide and seek, or someone else had already picked him up the streets and claimed him as their own.

You already alerted the nearby police department, so that if anyone were to bring in a lost dog, you’d be the first to receive a call. Other than that, it was just simply you and him out here, searching for Momo until the sun had began to set.

Your eyes are glossy, and you look exhausted from inside and out. The hair you had pulled so neatly in a bun was coming loose, random strands sticking out in all directions. There’s a tiredness to your footsteps that wasn’t present before until now, and you forgo your cardigan a while ago, but must’ve been starting to regret it as the wind started to pick up.

The sun casts you in an orange, dull light. But perhaps it only looked that way because your expression was so dejected, not that it lessened your beauty by any means. Ran doesn't think you could look anything less then stunning, no matter how worn out or fatigued you might be.

Taking his jacket off, Ran drapes it over your shoulders, hoping to ease your shivers as he does so. He doesn’t acknowledge the way it makes him feel, to see you in clothes that clearly don't fit you—his clothes that clearly don't fit you.

“Thank you Ran.” Ran smiles back at the drained, low energy smile you gave him in return for his jacket. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so cold out.”

Momo most likely won't be found soon, especially since it was getting darker and darker out. Not to mention, he doesn't want you out in the streets once the sun falls below a certain line. It was never safe for his mother, and it especially won't be for you. “You should head home for the day.” He suggests, and you open your mouth to argue back, but stops once you see the expression on his face, the one mirroring your own. “It's getting late, and it'll be harder to see. If he was around here, then we would’ve found him by now. We’ll take the search to a larger scale in the morning, you're tired, aren’t you?”

Though you didn't want to admit it, you nod anyways at Ran’s question. Perhaps knowing it was fruitless to lie. “We’ll make missing posters tomorrow, I’ll help you with that too.”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears, Ran was completely cut off guard when you embraced him, your body trembling in little shivers. You weren’t crying, not yet. But he gets a feeling you could only hold the tears for so long before they escaped.

And you didn't want him to see it—the kid you saved from the streets he still must’ve been, in your eyes.

“Thank you so much Ran, thank you.” You whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Ran hugs a woman. Not for the sake of it, or for an act he felt like he had to do to pull something off, but genuinely because he wanted to. Because he wanted to comfort you. “Of course, love.”

It was impossible to miss the way you freeze up upon hearing the term of endearment. Ran quickly realizes that while he called many other girls pet names, he has never once called you one—until now.

But if the way you flush and smile up at him meant anything, then he doesn't think you mind it that much.

By the time the sun came down, Ran had already saw you off home.

And in the next second, he called his brother.

“Hello?” Rindou answers, his voice a little bit raspy, and there’s a moan in the background that follows right after.

Brother and brother indeed, but he’ll have to cut Rindou’s fun short. “I need help, something has come up.”

The moans stop, and Rindou’s tone is a bit firmer, filled with more urgency when he asks, “What? What is it?”

“A lost dog.” Ran says, perhaps a little more nonchalantly then he should’ve. “I need help finding a lost dog.”

“…What?”

As of the current moment, Ran has over 50 people searching for Momo, Rindou and him included.

His brother couldn’t fathom Ran calling people out to do this, but he surprisingly didn't question Ran like he was expecting Rindou to. His men, on the other hand, seem eager to help out, be of some use and prove their worth to Ran. Though he tried telling everyone to be quiet when walking through the neighborhood, Ran wasn’t sure if everybody heeded his warning as they should have.

No matter, he’ll deal with the consequences later. For now, Ran just needs to find that dog.

Your Momo, who you obviously have grown to love despite not having him any longer then a week, was the sole purpose of Ran’s search. You must have a big heart, and therefore have an abundance of love to give. How could the dog decide that the cold streets was better to be in then your warm arms?

Walking endlessly, checking every corner he could, Ran landed on a common playground.

It was a very small one, with little play equipment, nothing but one lone slide and three swings, but Ran found himself wandering over to it anyways. It reminds him of the one Rindou and he used to play in, where they would pretend to be rulers of a kingdom concocted from dreams and too many tv shows. But it was one of his favorite memories with his brother, and—

From his peripherals, a fluff of brown fur and something bright yellow catches his eyes.

Ran stops in his tracks. There was no way that…

It was.

Hiding in the slide, or rather—sleeping, was Momo. Your dog who has been missing this entire day, the one he left no stone unturned for.

This entire time, the little creature had been dozing off in the slide.

Even when he picks the dog up, it only stirred for a little bit, staring at him for a few seconds to only snuggle up in Ran’s arms and head right back to sleep. No survival instincts, huh?

While walking back to your house, and after calling off the search, Ran checks for any sign of injuries. Aside from simply being dirty, Momo seemed to be fine, like he spent most of his day cozying up in that slide and napping.

You would be happy to hear that, no, ecstatic. You’d smile widely, and your eyes would twinkle and you would thank him and mean every ounce of it. Would you still be awake at this hour?

Would your husband be home?

Was he consoling you right now? Wiping your tears away, offering you his chest to cry on, giving you comfort in ways only a lover could?

There’s only one car parked in front of your home, your car he’s guessing, and Ran takes it as a no, nobody was home. Nobody but you. The lights to your living room were still on as well.

Most likely, you would want to be reunited with Momo right away. Or at least, that’s what Ran tells himself as he knocks on the door. Not at all listening to the pitter patter of his heart that says he only wanted to see your happy face.

It takes only a few minutes for you to appear, wearing your pajamas as you stilled. “Ran? Wha…” Once your eyes landed on the peacefully sleeping creature in his arms, your lips tremble, and you gape. “…Momo…?” You whisper, in utter disbelief.

Unable to stop himself from smiling, Ran hands your troublesome pup to you gently, afraid of waking him up. “He was sleeping inside the slide of a playground. From what I checked, he isn’t injured.”

“But…How? Wha…?” You close and open your mouth with shock, holding Momo and peering up at him with the most beautiful eyes. It’s incredible how cute you can still look with such an incredulous face. “I thought you said—“

“I said that women shouldn’t be out alone this late at night, not men.” He smiles, and slowly, you do too. “Does this make us even for when you saved me last time?”

Teasing, he leans in a little closer, expecting you to blush as you always do. But there must’ve been something in the air that night, because you hug him close, Momo still peacefully sleeping in your arms as you found solace in his. “Thank you, Ran.” You whispered, voice low.

Slowly, hesitantly, because he’s scared you’ll hear the pounding of his heart, Ran hugs you back. His throat felt dry and rendered speechless.

“You’re such a good boy, thank you.”

There was a time where Ran was convinced he could have escaped your hold. That there was a universe out there where he didn’t fall for you, and he saw you for what you should’ve been—his beautiful, sweet neighbor.

Somewhere in his heart, he knows that it isn’t true.

Ran Haitani was gone from the very moment he laid eyes on you.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #ran x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #haitani ran x you #ran haitani x you #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x y/n #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani hcs #ran x y/n #ran x you #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev x y/n

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beauty-and-passion · 7 months

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Selfishness v. Selflessness: Deceit’s reasons

And then, we finally reached the last episode of Sanders Sides.

Or what was the last official episode, until recently Mr. Sanders finally realized that hey, the Asides are following the main plot, maybe it’s time to consider them official episodes and not Asides.

And so, he changed the titles. If you check FWSA and DWIT now, you will find that their names are not followed by the title “Sanders Asides” anymore, but “Sanders Sides”.

While the infamous plushie episode which angered everyone because it was nothing more than an ad, magically became and Aside episode:

What can I say? Better late than ever, Mr. Sanders. This wouldn’t have happened at all if you planned everything from the start, you know that, right?

Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed: maybe you should also take FWSA and DWIT away from the Sanders Asides playlist. You know, just to keep it organized.

But let’s come back to Selfishness v. Selflessness: this was the first episode I ever wrote about - even if at the time it wasn’t a full analysis, but rather just some random, scattered thoughts. And they weren’t enough, because there is still a lot of stuff to talk about! Hence why, this post was needed.

This post will clarify a couple things I previously talked about, starting from the whole Wroammin thing which (sadly) turned out to be wrong. It can even be considered part of a triptych: THIS is the first part, THIS is the second one and the post you’re reading is the third and final part. Hope you will enjoy it and, as always, if you have anything else to add feel free to do it.

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Why did Deceit appear?

[Logan]: -pops up- Eh... Speaking for someone is a disagreeable practice, Patton. If Thomas would rather go to the wedding, then I, the brilliant Logan, think we should hear it straight from the horse's mouth. Thomas, the floor is yours. Wedding or callback?

My gosh, this man isn’t even trying. First, he drops a character lie (“I, the brilliant Logan”) which is the exact same kind of lie he used the first time. Then he uses two idioms in a row. And scolds Patton in the meantime (“Speaking for someone is a disagreeable practice, Patton”).

I suppose he just wanted to appear, but he couldn’t do it without being ✨ dramatique ✨

But now your question could be: why did he appear? Well, as I anticipated in the analysis of CLBG, Mr. Sanders explained in a tweet that Character!Thomas’ relationship with Lee and Mary Lee is as strong as the one with Joan. Once again, a very strong relationship is at risk. And, this time, there’s also an event that might bring a major change in Thomas’ life. Everything basically requested Deceit’s presence.

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The dark sides are all anime tsundere girls

[Deceit]: Virgil's very right. You can't trust me! It's not like I'm trying to look out for you or anything.

[Anxiety]: He thinks he’s so great. Well, he is not! Look, I’m just trying to look out for him. (Taking on ANXIETY)

Okay, jeez, fine, you definitely don’t know each other and you’re definitely not father and son. That’s all a huge coincidence, I surely believe that.

Now I can’t wait to see Orange saying: “it’s not like I’m looking out for you, baka!” to Thomas, then I can close everything and disappear forever 😂

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“He's against Nazis”

[Thomas]: ... Alright, he can stay. [Patton]: Hm? [Roman]: -incredulous laughter- Ah, wait, seriously? [Thomas]: Sounds like he's against Nazis, so... Why not hear him out? You know? [Virgil]: That... cannot be where the bar is!

I just love this part too much and it cracks me up everything. Remember, kids: you can be a snek, but if you’re against nazis, then everything is okay. I can’t wait for the moment Thomas will try to send Remus and Orange away, only for them to reply that, hey, they’re against Nazis too, so they deserve to stay! And Thomas will let them stay.

And then we will reach the lowest bar in the world and everything will be perfect.

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“Social engagement”

[Deceit]: Well, the bar for skipping an important opportunity should be higher than a... social engagement. [Patton]: Come on, a wedding is more than just a social engagement! [Virgil]: He knows that.

Of course he knows that, he bears the name of a god who presides over weddings. Which yes, it’s hilarious and I love it.

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Same area of expertise

[Patton]: What is this wacky talk? I- You don't mean any of this. I'm your morality, I wouldn't be here if you did! [Thomas]: Right, right. Yeah, you're right. I- I don't mean that. [Patton]: And Roman, I thought you fought for honor! Why are you pushing Thomas to be dishonest?

Deceit knows what Thomas truly wants and it’s to go to the wedding. However, two sentences from Patton were enough to make him understand that:

Patton is the one who is truly in charge

Patton’s ideas are strong enough to influence Thomas

Thomas could change his mind because of them

Roman desperately wants to go to the wedding

Roman could change his mind because of Patton

And so, Deceit intervenes and makes Patton aware of something: sure his presence means Thomas still thinks about his morals… but he’s not the only one here:

[Deceit]: Do you know who else is here? Me! So perhaps, Thomas... isn't so innocent. [Patton]: Well... Nobody's perfect... Except for Thomas! He loves his friends! [Deceit]: You can defend him all you like... But you can't change the facts. Is Thomas an innocent little lamb? Let's let them be the judge of that.

And with this, Deceit:

proved he’s Thomas’ Side and not a random guy. He is a Side, just like all of them and he won’t go anywhere.

brought up the problem that will be solved in POF - i.e. Patton’s view of Thomas as a perfect, innocent boy.

moved the entire problem to a higher, moral level. This isn’t just a “choosing wedding or callback” problem anymore: this is Deceit’s way to prove Thomas’ fallibility and humanity.

And he wants to prove it to Patton. And if Thomas is confused about all of this, Patton is not:

[Thomas]: Um, I'm a little confused as to what this is all about. [Patton]: Basically, Deceit is trying to prove that you care more about yourself than your friends, but don't worry, kiddo, we'll show him.

Again: the supposedly stupid guy immediately understood what Deceit was trying to prove and followed him in his reasoning. Because, in case it wasn’t clear enough, these two work in the same area of expertise.

And if you need another confirmation that these two are a lot more similar than it seems:

[Deceit]: He's clearly manipulating the witness into doing what he thinks is best. Wait a minute. Who was it that was called a Scooby-Doo villain for doing the exact same thing? Oh, yeah! It was me... disguised as Patton.

So not only Deceit confirmed Patton isn’t perfect, but they are similar enough, he can do what Patton does and there would be no difference.

These two work in the same field and they’ve been hinting it here all the time, before clearly stating it in POF.

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Multiple arms

I forgot about this detail and thought that the multiple arms thing Remus brought up was a metaphor. Well… maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the noodle snek really has six arms.

This goddamn man, he really has one arm for each Side. And he probably uses them to smack the Sides in the head/stop them from doing something stupid. I love him.

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An attempt at maturity

[Thomas]: And that's what you stand for. Truth. [Patton]: But I don't know what's true at this point. I just know what I want to be true. I want to believe you're an honest person... but... Deceit's right! He's here... and that means something. [Thomas]: Are you serious? I- I've been following your lead this whole time. I'm in the dark here, Patton, and I need something to light my way! [Patton]: I'm sorry... b-but... I don't know the way. [Thomas]: I don't want to be a bad person. [Patton]: Okay, then I'll do whatever I can to make sure you're not.

Do you know what is this? This is the moment that led to POF.

Patton was getting Deceit’s message. He was starting to understand Thomas isn’t perfect. He even admitted he didn’t know the answer.

But Thomas was too scared, too afraid of being seen as a bad person. And so, Patton had a choice: to side with Deceit, accept that his morals have been too extreme and guide Thomas by giving him a more mature, multifaceted understanding… or doing POF:

[Patton]: Like I told you before, sometimes... I don't know the way. But... When I told you that, you were so scared. I couldn't bear it. So I said to myself... "Alright, Patton. Thomas needs you. You're responsible for his morality. You can never not have an answer for him." And then I promised you I'd keep fighting. Unfortunately... I learned the hard way that... giving too simple of answers to complicated questions... can do more harm than good.

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Virgil’s interrogation

[Deceit]: -chuckles- Very well. As Thomas' anxiety, do you have any relevant information about his norepinephrine levels in regards to these two conflicting commitments?

I’m pretty sure someone already said something about this hormone back when the episode came out, but I don’t remember - also, I found this very interesting paragraph from Wikipedia I would like to share:

“The general function of norepinephrine is to mobilize the brain and body for action. Norepinephrine release is lowest during sleep, rises during wakefulness, and reaches much higher levels during situations of stress or danger, in the so-called fight-or-flight response. In the brain, norepinephrine increases arousal and alertness, promotes vigilance, enhances formation and retrieval of memory, and focuses attention; it also increases restlessness and anxiety.”

As you can see, Virgil’s two main functions are both involved in this hormone. And norepinephrine has a spike during stressful situations - like, you know, choosing between a callback or a wedding.

But the mention of this particular hormone implies something else. Something very important, that will connect with the second part of this conversation.

Deceit mentioned an incredibly specific hormone and, by doing that, he proved how well he knows Virgil. He doesn’t know just his roles, but even the effects he has on a chemical level. It’s a bit like the difference between knowing your colleague from their job and knowing how many miles they can run on the weekends. It implies a much closer relationship.

Also, since he asked how high the levels of norepinephrine are, that means he knows Virgil is stressed. He knows this situation makes him more anxious and, with his questions, he wants to prove to Virgil (and to everyone else) that he is anxious because he knows what Thomas wants: to skip the wedding and go to the callback.

[Virgil]: I think it's ridiculous that anyone is entertaining any of this. Guys, he's a liar. You literally know him as Deceit. [Deceit]: Glass houses, Virgil. You yourself said that you are not a beacon of truth.

The famous “You literally know him as Deceit” line is a clear reply to Deceit’s question about norepinephrine. It’s Virgil’s way to say that yes, he knows him extremely well too. The others “know him as Deceit”, but he knows Deceit for who he is.

And, okay, now that’s probably me looking too much into things again, but the way Deceit replied by saying that he’s not always right and shaking his finger… it’s almost like a warning. A (maybe unconscious) way to say to Virgil to not reveal more, because he’s not always right.

And to further prove his point, he proceeds with a subtle threat:

[Deceit]: Oh, so you've never been reluctant to share anything with the group, then? [Virgil]: Don't. [Deceit]: What? I just meant your name. [Virgil]: Don't! [Deceit]: Maybe that's why it's so easy for you to recognize me for what I am. Like I said before... it takes a liar to know a liar.

And with that, Deceit proved to Virgil that:

He knows what he’s hiding from the group (i.e. that he was one of the Others)

He knows him extremely well, because he knows Virgil doesn’t want to talk about it yet

He has the upper hand, because if Virgil says something, he can immediately drop his secret and screw Virgil’s position in Thomas’ eyes.

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An unexpected help

So, after threatening his son and showing how much of a villain Deceit can be, what does Patton do?

He pushes him to show his soft side, by forcing him to reveal his agenda.

[Patton]: You... always seem to have some... bigger plan. Some... agenda. [Deceit]: Doesn't everyone? [Patton]: Well, not everyone is so secretive... about theirs. [Deceit]: Everything has a purpose, and sometimes fulfilling your purpose requires keeping things close to the chest. [Patton]: Well, you're under oath, which I think means you gotta tell us. Why the courtroom scenario? Why pick a setting where... uh, the truth comes to hang out?

As soon as Patton had the chance to ask him a question, he immediately ignored the wedding/callback thing and went straight to the point. And it makes sense, because the point of their conversation is a bit more important than a single choice.

Patton wants to know what this Side is trying to do. And when Deceit brought the conversation to a higher level by talking about society, Patton brought him back to the main topic: Thomas. What does Deceit want to do with Thomas?

And by forcing him to be a little more honest, Patton helped him. He helped Deceit to drop some of his convoluted plans, to clearly say he cares about Thomas.

[Patton]: Okay... What does any of this have to do with Thomas? [Deceit]: I don't want Thomas to be disadvantaged in a world where you can die for not following the laws made in the name of a lie.

That’s why I always say Patton is incredibly mature. He’s working against Deceit, they are literally against each other in this courtroom scenario… and yet, he helped him. He gave him a chance to show his soft side, to prove he’s not a bad guy. And to tell how useful he can be! A bit like “an inner coach that acts with the intention of self-preservation”, as Patton said in CLBG.

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Always and forever on Thomas' side

[Deceit]: Look, the point is, Thomas is an unconscious egoist and this dilemma is actually between something that serves him versus something else that serves him. Between looking and feeling like a good friend and a dream come true. If Thomas wanted to be seen as a good friend more than he wanted the role of a lifetime, well then I'm all for that. But I just don't buy it.

This part is extremely interesting, because Deceit said both choices are something Thomas wants. From one side, there’s personal gratification (Thomas wanting to be a good friend), from the other there’s personal fulfillment (Thomas doing something he loves). They are both selfish wants, in a way. So, if all Deceit cared about were selfish wants, he would have no problem with them. This whole courtroom scenario wouldn’t take place at all.

Be he has a problem because he wants what Thomas wants. And since Thomas is denying his want to do a different thing… well, that required Deceit’s intervention. As he said: if Thomas wanted to go to the wedding, he would’ve accepted that choice. He doesn’t care about Lee’s feelings, just like he didn’t care about Joan’s feelings in CLBG. The only feelings that matter for Deceit are Thomas’.

And only when Thomas finally admits his want, Deceit is satisfied.

[Thomas]: Fine! I want to go to the callback! I was planning on playing Word Crush on my phone during the wedding ceremony to keep my mind off the fact that I'm single. I don't want to go! I'm afraid to go. And on top of that, a dream come true fell into my lap scheduled on the same day. Anyone would want to go to the callback! So, yeah. I tried to force myself to forget about the wedding, and now I want to lie to my friends, so they don't hate me for not supporting them. I'm a liar. I'm a liar.

Deceit put on a whole courtroom, just to force Thomas to be more honest. This alone would be enough to prove he’s not just the embodiment of lies, but I suppose the correlation “snek = liar” was stronger than 200 proofs, so Roman did the wrong thing and made a choice no one wanted.

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A mature Side

[Roman]: It's my sworn duty to help Thomas achieve his hopes and dreams. But Thomas wouldn't dream of attaining his hopes through deceitful means. [Deceit]: But that's not true! [Virgil]: And you're a beacon of truth? [Deceit]: Oh, did I say that? I missed the part where I said that.

Please let’s focus on Deceit’s words because they are very, very interesting.

1) Deceit openly admitted his means weren’t deceitful. Just like when he asked Thomas, during the courtroom if he was “the snake come to trick you into sinning, or have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback?”. Deceit had no intention of deceiving Thomas, from the first moment he appeared.

2) Deceit is a very mature Side. I talked about it during my POF analysis part 3, when he openly recognized his own mistakes. Here he openly admits what Thomas is having trouble admitting: that he’s not perfect. He never said he was. He never pretended to carry the truth. Even if he’s 100% right here, he still admits he’s flawed. He and Patton are truly the most mature Sides here.

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Caring and criminal

During the episode, he said that “fulfilling your purpose requires keeping things close to the chest”. And where did he keep his logo? On his chest. Even better, on his heart. What else does he have to do, to prove how deeply he loves and cares about Thomas? This man is the most caring Side.

[Deceit]: I'm not going anywhere. And there are smarter ways to get people to do what you want, anyway.

Uh, so “smarter ways to get people to do what you want” means “let’s release Remus”?

You know what? That really was a smarter way. With one decision, he introduced Remus, proved he’s harmless and even useful, showed Thomas that ignoring his needs leads to an increment of his intrusive thoughts and confirmed that he was right and Thomas should’ve listened to him.

This man is a criminal and I love him.

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Why Logan can’t work in the moral area

[Logan]: It's still difficult to believe that my participation was as restricted as it was. It was Deceit's doing, I'm sure. I would have been a more than worthy foil. Unlike him, I'm skeptical about whether a society could function without some sort of system of laws by which all of its citizens abide.

Oh Logan, you huge nerd. I love you, but this is why you don’t work in Deceit’s and Patton’s same area of expertise.

Deceit’s whole monologue about society wasn’t practical, but moral. He didn’t say “we should surrender to anarchy”, nor presented a point about why rules are bad: he said society is a concept and we all collectively choose to believe this concept was true. He talked about how scary the concept of society is. And he clearly saw it on a moral level, not a practical one.

And yes, we can add this to the list of reasons why Logan was pushed in the back: just imagine if, instead of talking with Patton, the other moral side, who was incredibly quick to get his points and ask him about his agenda, we got Logan: a neutral Side, more interested to practical things than metaphorical/moral ones. Deceit would’ve spent most of the time rephrasing everything and the conversation would’ve been just about this choice, rather than a multilayered conversation about selfishness, selflessness, Thomas’ fallibility, and choices in general.

Deceit needed Patton as interlocutor and he needed to remove the cold, straight logic from a conversation that was mostly about morals and emotions: two areas Logan is not an expert about - as he will admit in POF.

[Logan]: Well, determining what feels right or wrong for you isn't really my area of expertise.

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Truly taking care aka the wedding from Lee and Mary Lee’s perspective

[Patton]: Well, here's the thing, kiddo. People hurt all the time. By going to the wedding, you're making sure that two of your friends aren't hurt by the absence of someone they really care about.

Okay, time to put the most cynical part of me here.

Patton’s words are cute and nice and everything… but seriously. Come on.

Just imagine being the bride or the groom: you spent the previous days, weeks and months organizing for this event. Locations, entertainment, ceremony and everything. Then the day comes and you want to be 200% sure everything goes as smoothly as planned. You have people coming to ask you about this or that detail. You have to be sure your dress/make-up is okay, your best men/bridesmaids are okay, the photograph is here, the meal is good, the place is ready, the staff is preparared.

And, when it’s time, you have the ceremony, the people to greet, photos to take, meals, events, dances and so on.

Do you really, REALLY think that Lee and Mary Lee would be so devastated by Thomas’ absence? I’ve never been married, but I really doubt that one missing guest (and not a best man or a bridesmaid or another important guest: just a guest) would have made them feel so devastated. Weddings are huge, stressful events, a ton of things happen and the newlyweds barely have time to eat, let alone feel devastated by a missing guest.

And I would like to repeat that: a guest. Thomas didn’t play any important role. He wasn’t supposed to be Lee’s best man or anything else. He was just a guest.

Do you know what it would’ve happened, if Thomas skipped the wedding? That Lee and Mary Lee would’ve thought “Oh, Thomas didn’t come”, to completely forget about it two seconds later, because someone else would’ve called them to do something else.

And no, going anyway isn’t a question of empathy, but of naiveness - and egoism too. Thomas himself proved it in POF, when he showed his frustration, because he wanted a little more than a “hello”. He literally wanted them to throw him a party, just for coming! Who would ever think the newlyweds would give a damn about them, on such a huge day? No one, except for a very egoistical, naive person: egoistical enough to think they are the only one who matters, naive enough to think the bride and the groom have time to do a party for them. That’s childish, immature and very selfish, not empathetic.

Do you want to know what Character!Thomas could’ve done, if he wanted to show some empathy? Skip the wedding.

Think about it. What would’ve been better? Thomas moping around and not enjoying himself, thus ruining the party for everyone else… or Thomas not appearing at all and letting everyone enjoy the party? Which choice is the most empathetic? Call me a bad person, but I think the second one would’ve been a better way to care about other people’s feelings.

Also because Lee and Mary Lee noticed it:

[Lee]: Really? 'Cause you're sitting alone at the reception.

And, at least to me, that’s way worse than not attending it at all. Thomas was such a buzz kill, he ruined the party for the bridal couple too. That’s literally the most selfish, bad thing he could’ve done. And only because he didn’t want to listen to the snake boy.

This event deserved to leave strong consequences. And POF is proof of how huge the impact was on Thomas’ life and how deeply things will change from now on.

( Support me on Ko-fi )

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

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@riseofthewerewolf @frog-candy-bee @bosspotato01 @rosesandlove44 @sololad @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan @croftergamer @thedevilseyes @arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @queen-of-all-things-snuggly

@virgildarknessdementiaravenway @mishanthropist @dracayd-universe @unknown-artworks @lonelyfangirl453 @starlightnyx @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @iloveeverytjing123 @bookedforevermore @joyrose-fandomer @anachronismes @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

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@virgildarknessdementiaravenway @mishanthropist @dracayd-universe @unknown-artworks @lonelyfangirl453 @starlightnyx @alienvamp-hesitantflowerface @stubbornness-and-spite @alittletoo-extra@averykedavra @iloveeverytjing123 @bookedforevermore @joyrose-fandomer @anachronismes @the-cloud-14 @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

@thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @boopypasta@nevenastark @varthandi @floofyconfusednerd @nothing-worth-mentioning @mikalya12 @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @coldbookworm @orchidstanslogan @snixxxsmythe @frog-candy-bee @holleratyour-buoyancy @alexowlndra @fadingbagelbananapatrol @our-bloody-mari666 @cxsmospooks @riverraysong @sanity-whosshe-neverheardofher @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat

#sanders sides #sanders sides theory #rewatch #analysis #thomas sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #ts thomas #ts janus #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #ts virgil #ts remus #selfishness vs selflessness

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jerzwriter · 23 days

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Body Positivity:

TW: body shaming, fatphobia, skinnyphobia, eating disorders, and the like.

I'm so fucking angry and triggered right now, and I need to vent. I was at what was supposed to be a fun family event, and because I didn't want to completely blow up, I stepped outside. But I am SO PISSED that I need to get this out. While trauma dumping on a toxic website is probably not the best idea, I literally have to vent, or I'm going to explode, and I REALLY HOPE someone will read this and learn something.

I think the body positivity movement has been great—and I wish we had something like it when I was growing up because, trust, it was non-existent. But, like many things, it's great on the surface, but a certain segment has morphed it into something that is as destructive and hateful as the behaviors/actions that led to the need for such a movement.

Some background, so you understand my perspective. I've struggled with my weight my whole life. I've been everything from a size 6 to a size 22. I'm very tall, and when I was at my thinnest (mostly because I was starving myself), people came up to me constantly to tell me how amazing I looked. I'm talking friends, family, co-workers, people at the club, and strangers on the street. I was literally dangerously underweight. My family doctor, who had treated me most of my life, was begging me to get help.

I wound up getting help for what turned out to be an eating disorder and moved past that as much as I could. Since that time, my weight has fluctuated from average, to "a few extra pounds", to very overweight. While I am usually OK with myself and try to be positive about my body, it can be hard. I don't like the way I look right now, and I’m ashamed to say that because I don’t feel that way about others. Beauty is not a number or a size, and I know that, but I am my own harshest critic. It doesn’t help to have the voices of many people, people who were supposed to love me, in my head constantly at these times.

“Do you think you should wear that?”

“Oh, that dress is so becoming on you!” (Meaning: it hides some of your fat!)

Or my favorite, coming home in an outfit that I felt so good about that I thought I looked adorable in, just to have my mother (and later my husband) say something like:

"Perhaps you should retire that until you lose some weight." or "You actually went out in that?"

(PS - I am divorced and barely speak to my mother)... I'm doing so much better, but I know I'll never be 100% comfortable, and, as with most things, the voices seep in when I'm at my lowest. So I GET IT. I get it big time.

But - on to today.

We have a wedding taking place later this week, so the family has descended like the buzzing locusts they are. The ten women in the bridal party, of all shapes and sizes, are at my house for a get-together, and they began complaining about how ugly the dresses are. (They really aren't the nicest dresses.)

The eight anti-dressers were commiserating when one, we'll call her Obnoixous Bridesmaid (OB), loudly announced that another bridesmaid had to shut up and leave the conversation because she's thin (we'll call her Thin Bridesmaid—TB), and therefore has no business being there. I should point out that TB's contribution to the conversation was the dresses were cheaply made and "is so damn shiny" and, for the record, OB is not thin but not overweight.

So another bridesmaid, who is extremely close with TB, jumped in to defend OB, going on and on about how much she "hates" TB for complaining when "everything" looks good on her. TB looked like she was going to burst into tears but stayed silent. It morphed into four grown-ass women bullying TB, so I stepped in and told them all to shut the fuck up. Minutes later, TB left the room, and I found her in the bathroom in tears, saying she wanted to go home and skip the rest of the events - up to and including the wedding.

I went back to the room where the 4 were still mocking TB, and I told them I was appalled by their behavior and they could shut the fuck up and apologize, or they could leave my house. I was told I should understand because I'm a "big girl," too, and therefore should be on "their" side.

Are we fucking kidding me here?

I should point out that 3 of the 4 asshole bridesmaids are well aware that TB has dealt with a serious eating disorder that stems from being body shamed by grown-ass men in her family when she was a mere child. She's dealt with outright abuse and trauma, and they know how bad it's been. She doesn't walk around mocking other's bodies or bragging about how "good" she looks; in fact, she struggles to feel positive about her looks at all.

Body positivity should be about everyone loving their body, no matter its shape and size, and never subjecting ANYONE else to shame because of theirs. When the fuck did it became "fat chicks have to stick together and fuck them skinny bitches."

I'm so on fire I had to step away before I ended up on the evening news. On a micro-level, I'm disgusted with these people, and this has put a total damper on the wedding events this week.

But on a macro level, I have seen this time and time again. Yeah, our society is fucking horrible when it comes to how it treats fat people, especially fat women, and that should change. But it's as fucking wrong to be skinnyphobic as it is to be fatphobic. Perhaps, ESPECIALLY AS FUCKING WOMEN, we should be uplifting and supportive of one another. PERIOD. Don't we see that the obsession to be thin and eating disorders stem from the same fucking toxic place that shames fat people? That's where it is BORN.

I'm so sick of seeing this trend in everything. Every movement I'm involved with is dealing with this... YES, be proud of YOU, ESPECIALLY if you're in a marginalized or maligned group. YES! DO IT! I've got your back in every way! But don't fucking turn it into an us vs. them... even with people you supposedly love! Don't become the fucking monster you profess to hate.

Is asking for human decency really too much? I'm literally shaking.

We really, really have to do better than this.

#elsa rants #body positivity #fat shaming #skinny shaming #STOP THE FUCKING BULLSHIT #tw: eating disorders #tw: fatphobia #tw: skinnyphobia #delete later

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volos-togepi · 8 months

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Intentions - Volo x reader

“heyyyy i loved ur last fic!! do you think you’d be willing to write another? i thought this sounded like a fun idea: a volo x reader fic where the reader is just as secretly unhinged and resentful as him and have the same goal. they think they’re manipulating each other into what they want, but then they realize that they’re both after the same thing and escalate their friendship into something more? 🤭 thanksss <3” - anon

i FINALLY got this one finished!!! it only took me a month and a half :')

i hope you enjoy! <3 (also thank youuuuuu!!!!! <333)

y/n - your name 2k+ words (2,076) friends ⟶ lovers

Plates.

Plates are what you’re after.

You’ve been searching and searching, seeking them out to meet with a higher being: Arceus. You’ve devoted so much of your time and efforts into studying the Almighty Sinnoh. Laying low is so hard to do. But, despite how much you want to express your true feelings toward this land you call ‘home’, it’s better you didn’t.

You’ve been watching Volo and the new recruit from afar; watching them both gather the plates you’ve been longing to find. You sigh in frustration.

They were supposed to be yours.

Once you return to the village, you run into Volo. It seems he’s stocking up on wares to ‘sell’. You already knew he had the lowest numbers in the Ginkgo Guild. It’s not that hard to overhear, especially where you like to sit on Kamado’s balcony to do your work.

“Seems like someone’s heading back out.”

He turns to you with a rather shocked expression. “Y/n! You startled me.” Quickly gathering himself, he calms down and and smiles. “How did you know I’m heading back out?”

“Well,” you begin, tilting your head. “firstly, you’re stocking up on more wares. Perhaps to sell, or… to use for yourself.”

You see his cheeks flush slightly. “How do yo—”

“Second, your trousers are already splattered with fresh mud, most likely from the Mirelands. Nowhere else has dirt so… red.” You pause. “What were you going to say? I’m sorry for interrupting.”

He purses his lips. You can tell he’s trying to read you. “Nothing… we’ll pretend it didn’t come up.”

“Mhmm…”

Silence takes over. It’s not like either of you to stay this way for very long, as you both like to carry on lengthy conversations on the interesting facts of the region. Volo finishes stocking his bag and throws it back on, grunting as the weight of it almost pulls him to the ground. “Well, I’m off to… sell.”

“Before you go—”

His eyes widen, eager to hear what you have to say. Any information to him is important, and you know that oh so well.

“Would you mind telling me why you were the one chosen to help the new Survey Corps recruit over me?”

He’s taken aback by your question, almost offended that you had asked. “You know how well versed I am in these studies, y/n. You wouldn’t understa—”

“I wouldn’t understand?” Your eyes grow angry. “Do you know how long I’ve been studying each and every ruin and artifact I’ve found in the Hisui region? How much time and effort I’ve put in to piecing together this stupid binder for Cyllene, just so I can spend more time out in the open air? I wouldn’t understand?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“What I don’t understand is why they let an outsider take the lead on this one.”

You’ve offended him.

Oh, how you’ve offended him.

“Excuse me?!” he shouts.

You glare at him, lowering your voice. “You heard me, Volo.”

—————

It’s been a few weeks since your argument. Volo’s been trying to apologize since the day after is happened, but you don’t want to hear it.

“Y/n, please! Do you think I want to help Akari on my own?”

“Who?”

“The new recruit…”

You shrug. “I never bothered to learn her name.”

Volo lets out a hearty laugh. You’ve never seen him so genuine; so true, even in your past conversations. “That was good.” he responds. “I wish I could say the same.”

You both joke around for a while. It’s nice to have a friend back on your side.

“Hey…” You break the silence, a more serious tone taking over. “What if I… help you? You know, with finding plates?”

A coy smile spreads across Volo’s face. “I love that idea.”

—————

“For safe keeping. You both travel quite a bit, and I would hate for either of you to lose them.”

Weeks have passed. You’d convinced Volo and ‘whatever their name is’ to let you keep the plates in your possession. Volo was a bit apprehensive at first, but the girl seemed to trust you. “I think it’s a good idea, Volo. Y/n does have a point: we do travel a lot.”

“Fine.”

More days pass. You have all but one. You cannot believe how easy it was to just… take them. You smile as you sit on the bank side of Lake verity, taking in the fresh air around you. You feel a hand touch your shoulder. Startled, you look up to see Volo.

“What are you doing here, y/n?” He sits down next to you, setting his bag to the side.

You shrug. “I needed some air, and Lake Verity is so pretty this time of year.”

He nodded in agreement. “And the plates? Are they safe?”

“Of course! Do you think I’d let them out of my sight?”

He smiles, looking to the water glistening in the sunlight. “Good.”

You sigh. “Hey, this may sound strange, but…” You take a deep breath. “Do you ever feel that… the girl is… getting in the way.”

His eyes light up, and even though he’s not looking at you, you can tell he’s interested in what you have to say.

“I mean, she wouldn’t even know where to look if it weren’t for you. And, if I’m being honest, you know more about these plates than she does.”

“She’s gotta get home somehow.”

You shrug. “All I’m saying is that you deserve this more than her. We deserve this more than her.”

You watch as Volo’s lips curl into this small, almost unnoticeable smile. “You know,” he says, looking out at the water, “I was wondering when you’d come around.” He turns to you, the smile on his face growing bigger. “I mean, it was only a matter of time.”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.” you reply. “I was only trying to ma— wait… you’re not doing this for the sake of helping are you?”

He laughs.

Oh how he laughs.

It’s a beautiful sound; a melody. Tears start to roll down his cheeks from the laughter. “Oh, y/n!” he chokes out. “I never have been!”

You start to giggle.

“I was only trying to get you on my side.” he continues. “I figured it would be—”

“Volo,” You interrupt. “Why do you think I asked to keep the plates?”

He stares at you, unsure of what to say. His eyes are wide, and he seems surprised that you, you, would be trying to sabotage not only the girl, but the entire Survey Corp? “Y/n…” His voice is soft; hushed. “I never thought that you—”

“That I’d want to turn my back on the people of Jubilife? Because I’m not.”

He’s silent.

“I’ve always had this intention. It just took me years of acquiring the knowledge and the connections to feel comfortable enough to go for it…” You pause, watching a Magikarp leap out of the water. “Besides… the girl makes it easier.”

Volo gently slides his hand over yours. You don’t think anything of it.

You’re friends.

“Meet me in the Highlands tonight.” he says. “There’s something I need to say.”

—————

The Coronet Highlands were so pretty at night. You lay on your back in the patch of flowers at Fabled Spring, looking at the billions of stars just above you in the sky. Volo arrives not too long after you, setting his bag against one of the trees. For once, he’s not in his uniform, wearing a dark green kimono and matching trousers. “I thought I’d dress little casual this evening.” He sits down next to you, pulling something out of his pocket to hand to you. “I thought you may like this.”

You sit up and carefully take what he’s holding. “A comet shard!” you squeak. “How did you—”

“I found it in the Mirelands; the day you caught me with mud-stained pants.” He bit his lip, looking to the ground. “The day of our little spat.”

You’re silent.

“I’d been wanting to give it to you for so long, and…” He looks at you, eyes filled with starlight. “I just didn’t know how.”

“Volo, I…” You exhale. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “No need to thank me, y/n.”

You both lay there for a while, listening to the nature around you. It’s so peaceful; serene, the fireflies lighting up the spring.

“I wish every night were like this.”

Volo squeezes your hand a little tighter. You watch as his lips curl into the smallest, yet sweetest smile. It makes your heart flutter.

Had you always felt these things?

“Feeling content with sharing the experience of a serene, summer night.” he continues. “It’s easy with you.”

“I agree.” you reply in an almost whisper. “It’s… it’s nice.”

You can feel his eyes on you, even when you’re focused on the stars above. “So what did you want to talk about?” you ask, trying to break whatever tension you were both feeling.

“Never mind that.”

You look to him once more. “Volo, I—”

“I just want to share this moment with you.”

He rolls over on his side to face you, his hand caressing your cheek. “Do you know just how pretty you are?”

Your abdomen feels like it’s going to explode. You can’t help but to blush as Volo says these things to you. You hope he doesn’t notice, but…

“Do you like it when I say these things?” He scoots closer, his chest barely touching your arm. “Hmm?”

You look at him, and it’s hard to keep yourself contained.

“I did, actually, want to talk with you about something tonight.” he whispers. “If you’ll allow me to.”

You nod. He takes a deep breath, his hand still placed on your cheek. “Y/n, I— if we’re to use the plates for ourselves, and forge this new world, would you… would you mind if we did it together?” He gulps. “Because I don’t want to do this without you.”

“Volo…”

He pulls you in close.

So, so close.

“I can’t do this without you, y/n.”

You wrap your arms around him tightly, tangling your limbs together in the patch of flowers you lie on. Volo nuzzles his face into your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his fingers tracing the seams of your Survey Corps uniform. You feel your breath hitch. Volo feels it too, looking up at you when he does. “Are you alright?”

You nod quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Y/n, promise you’re not lying to me.”

“I promise.” you breathe.

His fingers continue to trace your uniform, every seam; every outline; every wrinkle in the fabric. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” You watch as his fingers slowly trace their way up to your neckline.

“You do know I meant it when I said you were pretty, right?” His tone has completely shifted. He smirks lightly as he looks at you, lust in his eyes. “Because you are.” Untangling himself from your grasp, he sits up, pulling you up with him. “My pretty y/n.”

You were feeling those things again.

And he knows it.

He leans in as close as he can, noses almost touching. “Promise you won’t leave me behind.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grabs your waist tightly and presses his lips to yours, pulling you into his lap as he does. He’s so passionate, yet so soft; his lips warm against yours in the cool, summer night. He pulls away to look at you, his eyes meeting your gaze as your lips part. You both smile at one another, and Volo is quick to kiss you once more.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” he says, holding your hands in his.

“Then why didn't you?”

“Because I needed to know where your intentions were.”

You giggle softly at his remark. “Obviously, I made the right choice.”

“That you did.” He pushes a stand of hair out of your face. “Not completely off topic, but how many plates do we have so far?”

“Seventeen.” you respond. “Why?”

He starts to get up, you sliding off his lap into the flowers. Volo extends his hand to you to help you up, not letting go once you’re standing. He looks to the mountain just up above, and a mischievous grin quickly forms on his face. He turns back to you, squeezing your hand tightly.

“Let’s go.”

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multifandomsimagine · 2 years

Text

Best of Intentions [Poly!Bill Weasley x Reader x Fleur Delacour]

Summary: The results for the exam are in but they are not what you were hoping for

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1000

Author's Note: Ravenclaw!Reader cause this is a comfort piece for me. This was originally going to be a gif imagine but as I was writing it and using it as a place to vent, it kind of got out of hand 😓

You hear the jingle of keys being inserted into the front door's lock and the door opening a few seconds later as you hear your partners return from their trip to the grocery store. "Mon cœur, we're back" Fleur called out, nudging the door open and walking in with Bill close on her heels. They both come in with grocery bags in hand. Setting them down on the counter, they turn around to greet you. They spot the mail first right on the dining table where you had placed them when you came in with them. They then see the open envelope a few inches away from you with the logo of the Ministry clear as day before they see you with papers in hand.

"Oh!" Fleur claps in delight as she makes her way toward you. "Are those your results? How did you do?"

"Do I need to start referring to you as Professor [Last Name]?" Bill teases, moving to stand behind your chair in an effort to read the letter.

They're both taken aback when you burst into tears. They aren't able to look at the results as you quickly flip it over but they could infer that what was written wasn't anything good.

"Love / Ma chérie!" They kneel by your side and look at you. "What happened?"

"I know it's not a big deal," You tell them, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your sweaters. You don't meet their gaze though as you stare down at your lap and look at the facedown results. "I can take this exam again; I just have to pay and submit my material again but I'm just so disappointed in myself! I was a Ravenclaw. I've never failed a test before; the lowest grade I've ever gotten was an 'Exceeds Expectations.' I studied so hard for this test and it was the last thing I needed in order to become a professor but I got a 'Dreadful.'" At the revelation of your grade, your voice wavers.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you grab the paper and clench your hands into tight fists, trying to make the results as small as possible. You wipe your face again, to clear it from your tears and runny nose but it's no use as you can't stop yourself from crying and you just continue your speech. "The exam cost so much to take and now I have to pay that again. What did I do wrong? Does this mean that I'll be a terrible professor? Am I just going to fail the students? How am I supposed to be able to teach them what they need to know when I can't even prove that I'm qualified to be a professor? I'm just a failure." Your breathing becomes quicker as you tell Bill and Fleur what you're thinking. You try to hold back the next sob but you're shaking too much to succeed as your crying gets worse; your tears going from pooling in your eyes to streaming down your face.

You cover your face with your sleeves as you avoid looking at your partners who have stayed quiet and let you finish your rant. They must think you're so foolish for crying over a bad grade. Bad grades are a regular occurrence in people's lives and they're able to move on with their life. And yet here you are acting like it's the end of the world. You're too embarrassed to look at either of them and you're gathering up the energy to leave the room and lock yourself in the bathroom until you can calm yourself down when you feel a hand on your knee and another gently uncurling your first to grab the results.

"Mon amour, this test doesn't define you," Fleur speaks first, making a point to show you the paper in her hands and folding it up until it's just a tiny rectangle before placing it on the floor. "Bill and I know firsthand how incredibly smart and what an amazing teacher you are. I've seen you teach Gabrielle things that I have trouble understanding with such ease. She's told me just how much she prefers you teaching her than me." At this, she gives your nose a little tap which makes you smile. "You explain things better than I do she says."

Bill nods. "I second that statement. Without you, there would have been no way that I pass Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in my third year. The exam doesn't show how much the impact you have on your students. Only that you were able to say what they wanted to hear." Taking your hand in his own, he intertwined your fingers together. "I know how hard you worked planning out those lessons for your students. You took into account all of their needs and the support they needed and taught a wonderful lesson. Didn't you tell us how much your students enjoyed the lesson?"

With a sniffle, you nod your head. "Yea, Tomás participated in the activity and KC told me how much she liked that day's lesson."

"You see, you're a wonderful teacher." Fleur kisses your forehead as she runs a hand through your hair. "And don't worry about the money. We have enough of it for you to take the test hundreds of times. But we know it won't take that long cause you're amazing."

Bill stands up from his kneeling position and gives you a hug. "And Fleur and I will help you in whatever way we can. So don't pay this grade any more thought. We love you and we're here for you. No grade will change our mind on this."

"Thank you, you two." You say as you take the napkin Bill was offering you. Wiping your eyes from any rogue tears still left, you used it to blow your nose. "For being here with me and always helping me feel better. I'm going to pass this next attempt. I know I can."

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley imagines #fleur delacour x reader #fleur delacour imagine #fleur delacour imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #poly x reader #poly writing #yoshino writes one shots

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silicon-tmblr · 4 months

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Do go off about the logical fallacies in Chapter 4, I always thought something was off about it. I'm curious to know your thoughts

Oh... if you insist... (currently bouncing off the walls with excitement ask??? I love answering ask—) ahem.

I suppose I can categorize my perceptions of Chapter 4 into levels of objectivity, with the highest being "I'm sure anyone with reading comprehension can understand the point I'm making and how this logic plays out" and the lowest being "I'm just petty about this"

Disclaimer: I'm a Kokichi liker but I kinda bash the guy in here. I insist it's out of a sense of love, as in "why the hell did you do that you little—" (my point is maybe don't read this if you're too too attached to Kokichi and don't like the insinuation that he did some bad stuff. Generally I assume this is a safe topic though.)

Let's start with my most objective take!

The murder setup was kinda garbage (might rephrase this heading later) (I didn't. fight me)

I know this sounds like opinion but hear me out. This is where the phrase "logical fallacy" really comes into play.

Let's outline Chapter 4 real quick. Miu is planning to kill Kokichi, and obviously Kokichi doesn't want this.

What are Kokichi's options from here? Apparently, one of them is reusing the motive from earlier in the chapter (the truth of the outside world) on Gonta to convince him to kill Miu under the guise of a mercy kill plan. This way, Kokichi doesn't die. This is what happens.

There's a lot to be speculated about regarding Kokichi's motivation for enacting this plan, but let's take the view that, first and foremost, Kokichi did not want to die to Miu.

With that out of the way, let's move on to the next piece of this defective puzzle: Miu's motive. We can cover this in two parts:

Part 1: Miu wants to kill Kokichi to escape the academy.

We can assume this much because she tried to set up a murder that would be near impossible to solve, as she would have had power over all the information available regarding the workings of the virtual world.

Kokichi makes the point in trial 4 that Miu coerced everyone to enter the virtual world so that she could manipulate the setting of the crime completely. She wanted to set up a murder that looked like it could only have happened in real life, while withholding the information that would reveal it was possible in the virtual world.

Kokichi was the only one who knew quite a few of the finer details that allowed case 4 to be solved, and she planned to kill him anyway, meaning these details wouldn't have come to light. Since her intent was an unsolvable murder, she wanted to get away with it and escape.

Part 2: For what reason did Miu want to escape?

We can see that she wanted to change the outside world with her inventions based on her own words in Chapter 4. In a flashback of the moments before she was killed, seen in the Chapter 4 post-trial, she explains this explicitly.

Her belief is that the outside world can be saved if she can only escape back out into it. She believes this is her duty as the Ultimate Inventor.

And finally, we reach the point that the logical fallacy falls into place. If we first assume that Kokichi Oma is a cunning individual who plans things out meticulously and considers all possibilities (thus allowing him to do ridiculously clever things like plan his own, truly unsolvable murder and write an entire script of dialogue for Kaito to use in trial 5), then we can assume that his actions in Chapter 4 are reflective of what he views as his optimal plan.

And yes, in-game evidence shows that we are, in fact, to believe that Kokichi Oma is inhumanly smart and analytical. A script. A SCRIPT, with lines for every possibility he could possibly envision. It's a freaking tome of borderline clairvoyance ahksfwosfawei (as you may notice I do not like the existence of Kokichi's script. A SCRIPT. I may be a Kokichi liker but am I really supposed to believe he's a freaking clairvoyant????? like can't you clairvoyant the end of the killing game bro????? and I adfkaweoiefdfshkj)

See, the thing is... Kokichi's optimal plan, having Gonta murder Miu... is... not... optimal...

There's an alternative solution. All the pieces are in place for it to work. And the salt in the wound, the twist of the knife...

...Is that Kokichi himself already knew the mechanism I'm about to propose.

If Kokichi wanted to survive Chapter 4, he could have removed Miu's motive to leave.

Using the already planted Flashback Light in the Virtual World which contained the memories of the true outside world, Kokichi could have demotivated Miu from even killing him. Her motive was saving the outside world, and Kokichi had what would have been irrefutable evidence that the outside world was unsaveable.

This logical fallacy could be explained by reasoning that Kokichi's motive for having Miu killed was not only to survive, but what then? What would Kokichi's motive have been otherwise? Maintaining a mastermind act?

Why would he even need to do that if he could have lobotomized the killing game by letting everyone find the Flashback Light in Chapter 4 to begin with?

Maybe that means the logical fallacy stems from the ultimate use of the outside world motive in Chapter 5, when the truth of the outside world is used by Kokichi to demotivate the entire group. If, say, seeing the outside world led everyone to become bloodthirsty for some reason (?) then I guess that dodges the fallacy?(??????) It's just kind of a garbage motive in general... it didn't even work as a motive when Kokichi used it, and it demotivated the others. Makes you wonder why it was even included.

I guess my point is that the logic really doesn't add up in Chapter 4 and 5 in exchange for some thoughtless added drama. Y'know, typical writing issues stuff.

Um... I spent quite a while writing this one part up, and this is the view that I care about most, so I might split the others into another post, if I even do another one.

In case I don't, I'll just do a quick overview because they're really not nearly as necessary to explain in depth:

The cord switching bit. With the rest of the Virtual World segment riffing off of games and gaming knowledge, the dissolution of suspension of disbelief hit me like a truck when I was told to believe that Gonta reversed the cords and the whole thing basically ran fine, with just the one issue of memories not transferring back. I... am a modder. I type C007_Ki-bo instead of C007_Ki-Bo, the game crashes. Hell, even without being a modder, I have a drawing tablet with 3 cords and if I don't plug them in right, it won't do anything (duh). No way am I buying this.

Not a logical fallacy, but more of a story writing shortcoming. It kinda sucks that Gonta barely had a substantial role in this chapter despite being the culprit. He didn't plan the murder he committed, and he didn't defend himself for the murder he committed. I get that the idea was probably to make a case centered around Kokichi more than Gonta, but (and I say this as a Kokichi liker) we see enough of Mister Oma as it is. Too much, maybe even. (I mean Kokichi has Chapter 5. He DIES in the Chapter 5 case but still plays a role in the trial. And we're really gonna just have him take over trial 4 when Gonta isn't seen for the rest of the game?)

(content: discontent towards Kaito) Also not a logical fallacy. Maybe not that much of a fallacy at all. I might just be petty but I thought Kaito was cringe the whole time. (okay me and Seb literally had to get up, close the game, and go take a walk outside because we were losing it from everything Kaito was saying. DO YOU???? NOT KNOW WHAT A HYPOCRITE IS????????)

A bit of a shill I guess, but I did write two fanfics which were heavily influenced by my views on chapters 4 and 5, which tried to remedy these fallacies and others in V3. Canon-compliant Bloodied Hands renders Tsumugi the ultimate mastermind behind every murder (not just Rantaro's) with her dramatic meddling leading to the emergence of V3's logical fallacies, while The World is His takes the same premise, just diverging from canon such that Kokichi lives.

#maybe if I was a Kokichi hater I could've dismissed the entire fallacy as “kokichi bad”#if Kokichi's just evil I guess????? it makes???? sense????????????#weird belief to subscribe to in my view because evidence implies that Kokichi was not evil (DICE were just pranksters who hated killing etc #“kokichi bad because chapter 4 and 5 make no logical sense unless we assume he's just illogical”#hm. hm hm hm #I think I'd rather just dislike chapter 4 and 5 instead. I already didn't find them enjoyable subjectively speaking #drv3 #danganronpa v3 #silicon-writes #kokichi oma #miu iruma

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sweetdreamsbuck · 2 years

Text

soft

beefylumberjack!bucky x f!reader (lumby and bunny au)

prompt: Bucky reflects on just how soft you are, just how necessary it is to love you– every last bit of his perfect little bunny and those goddamn thighs.

wc: 4.4k

warnings: FLUFFY FLUFF, suggestive language, lots of body love, insecurity, mention of a hard-on

a/n: i've been having a very hard time. thanks for being so patient. this is a shitpost of my rambling and is completely self indulgent. someone sent in this ask as well, so i sort of combined it with some thoughts. there isn't a clear narration and normally that makes me self destruct and delete every sentence, but i just needed to write some things down really. not much plot or substance but just some things everyone deserves to feel about themselves. you're all perfect and beautiful and deserve a Lumby to remind you of it every second of the day <3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

Bucky’s never known something to be so soft.

His scruffy cheek nestled so perfectly against you, harmoniously breathing with the thud of your heartbeat and the soothing rapid of rain pattering against his cabin roof. Bucky enjoys this time more than anything in the world, stroking his name and secret confessions of love within the confines of your thighs.

Any semblance of his control is long gone– your body is his own personal haven, the softest landscape with its own song and prowess fit for heaven. This softness is all he needs, and he’s known that detrimental truth since the first time he had the pleasure of looking at you; home rests in the curves of you.

It’s all your fault, bun.

On days you’re feeling your absolute lowest– everything having gone wrong, dying to try and hide every last bit of yourself from the view of the world; to the days you feel like magic– weightless smiles and heavy laughter dancing with every step you take– he’s mesmerized. Overwhelmingly so.

It doesn’t matter the state he finds you in; Bucky’s enthralled with every last bit. Those you deem ugly and unworthy, those parts you don’t always feel the beauty and strength of in simply existing– he’s always there to love them. To love you even more.

But your thighs… they're so necessary– strong enough to carry you and soft enough to dream of. How’s he supposed to do anything but worship them? He thinks about them a bit too often– even apart from now, peacefully snuggled against them– how they jiggle and sway with every step that carries you, how they conceal yet lead straight to the absolute bliss only you can grant him. How they house him so safely; when they wrap around him with the bruising desire to strike and never let go, showing just how powerful they actually are, just how forceful of a spell they’ve trapped Bucky in.

He tells you daily– ‘could live between these thighs, bun’– and he means it– ‘fuck– could die by these thighs,’ if only he were so fortunate.

Laying on them now, with that blistering warmth and security they grant his usual anxious nerves, Bucky can’t do a damn thing but allow himself the pleasure of melting within your hold.

Your ethereal voice and soft caress only add to the pure delight he feels after such a tiring day, tranquil background noise he wishes he could pay attention to– and he really tries to listen– but falls victim to just how soft his bunny is.

“And oh gosh Bucky! You should’ve seen what I did this morning. It was so funny, a bit embarrassing but still I–” your voice animatedly drones on, the well-known hum of you comforting him as his mind continues to venture deep within his thoughts.

Feeling you rattle on about your day, hearing and not seeing that memorized crinkle of your eye and the teasing curl of your mouth with every chuckle and shy reflection; you’re perfect. Every part of you is perfection. Bucky has never faltered from letting you know of it. But especially now, when you’re doing the most simple of things and he doesn’t have to be looking at you to know exactly what you’re doing– he can hardly fathom just how perfectly you fit him.

The way you care for him, the way your voice both accelerates his pulse and calms the buzzing anxiety steeping through his veins, the way every inch of your supple skin cradles and supports him so flawlessly.

People would probably find it funny– comical, even. How ingrained your being is in Bucky’s world; but he’s hardly embarrassed by it– by his need, by his burning passion and agonizing greed. By his searing magnetism for every last part of you, the tremors and tingles buzzing along his spine and manifesting deep within his stomach, spreading, painfully hard and bulging against the zipper of his jeans.

Fuck, it feels good. So fucking good for me, bun.

His friends poke fun often, and he’s entirely okay with it. Bucky knows how he gets, but he just can’t help it. Bucky knows exactly how he seeks you out in every room, how his hands twitch nervously until they can get their fingers flush against your skin, bursting with delighted reverence across every inch he can get his hands on– like right now.

He’s helplessly captivated and so thankful for every angle of that fact.

Bucky shifts, his heart rate picking up right alongside the tease of your fingers rubbing against his muscles. A groan of contentment slips from his lips, a small token of gratitude for always keeping the newfound fire in his world burning bright.

It’s all your damn fault, bun.

He knows the second he thinks of that sweet laughter of yours or the curve of your hip– that’s it. Bucky’s pulse goes flying and blood goes rushing through him like it’s only ever meant to be searching for you.

Bucky doesn’t ever want it any other way– struggling to keep his head treading above water while feeling the breath go in and out of the body he’s spent hours and hours understanding and impressing to his very heart; it’s a different type of serenity he no longer has to search for.

A chorus of your laughter floods the room, a soft moment of reminiscence you for sure thought Bucky would’ve joined in on– sometimes your embarrassing moments really are too funny to be true. But the amusement you certainly thought he’d grant you with never came. Instead, it was the jiggle of your thigh against his arm that brings his mind back to reality for a moment, kissing your hip with a pleased hum and smoothing his palm around your knee.

It’s so natural– the way Bucky loves you. It’s not even second nature to him, Bucky loves loving you. Sometimes it seems easier for him than breathing; he longs to be with you, to spend hours doing absolutely nothing and everything– as long as he gets to love and kiss you, it’s meant for him.

You long for it now, too. It wasn’t always comfortable or easy to have someone so infuriatingly perfect, desperate to cling to you with every gorgeously sculpted inch of their god-like body.

It was a long day– having discarded your work attire for a ratty old top and worn-out sleep shorts lying against the headboard is how he found you. Those playful blue eyes pleaded with you the moment they settled on your perfect figure, whining a bold ‘without me, bun?’, winning you over before performing his dramatic monologue as to how it's not fair to be lying around so sexy all the time, especially when he’s not there to witness it.

Your soft giggles fuel his desire to breathe most days.

And he feeds off of it– always pouting so handsomely, a pink hue dusting across his angelic features, batting his thick lashes at you until you pull him inside your lap wrapping him in your embrace. It always works on you– and he always knows how to get what he wants.

Tears of laughter from his antics are long gone, now resting with a pillow propped up behind you, carding your fingers mindlessly through his chestnut locks, telling him all about your day.

You feel it– that boyish ease and joy melting against you. The undying love and throbbing ache nudging against you with no other intent but to lay with you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing that makes the bad days worth all the pain and tears.

It’s so hard to concentrate– nearly impossible not to lose himself to the gentle vibrations of your voice, the soft pillow of your stomach cushioning his head so precisely, the tender divinity found in being enveloped by your thighs.

His hands have met a lot of things– destroyed and taken apart, even built and created a life for himself. Nothing compared to feeling you all around him.

So fucking soft.

And it’s warm; a warmth your body burns, a maddening fire that only your insides ever got to experience– until he let himself crash into you. Now, it’s the only thing on earth Bucky could ever plead and beg for with every tissue of his palpitating heart.

But when he acts this sweetly, it’s hard for you to tell him about nearly anything. Your voice attempts to continue carrying through the room, pausing and jumping frequently as his nose faintly travels the span of your most sensitive skin.

He just can’t help himself.

The timbre of your voice, the twinkle in your kind eyes, the radiance your sweet smile grants to every room; he’s found everything he never knew existed. And it drives him mad; with love, with desperate desire, with gratitude. What an honor it is to feel you, to think of you, to mark and claim you– to know just how powerful it is to love something so soft.

Bucky acts before his brain tells him otherwise, moving his hands down your legs and lifting them over his shoulders until he’s trapped comfortably against your stomach. It surprises you, a quiet squeak stammering out in between your pointless storytelling as his mouth gingerly meets the flesh of your thigh.

Right one then left.

“Bucky,” you breathe. He feels the barren weight of your reprimand festering beneath him, the vague jolt of your squirming body lulling him prisoner to your air. Oh, but he lives for it. The chuckle rumbles deep in his chest without it ever sounding, smug as ever– you don’t seem to understand the effect you have on him, unknowing of the stake you have pierced with a tantalizing plunge strangling every last inch of his heart– so he’ll be as conceited as he wants.

He knows you feel it, warm and large resting against you. It’s not his fault you’re the personification of everything perfect and needed, glorified with a golden halo and painted straight from his wildest of dreams. But do you really feel it? Feel what it’s like to love you?

The space you take up, the shapes your figure mocks his restraint and concentration with– it’s almost too difficult to breathe sometimes.

It’s terrifying, being so desired and craved in such a thoughtless way, inside the most insecure and vulnerable parts of you that you never imagined anyone seeing the worth in.

But you’re all his to consume. It’s all your fault, bun.

“‘M right here sweet girl,” nuzzling his body within the relief of you further, he sighs, “just wasn’t close enough. Should be good now.”

It’s even more difficult to remember what you’re telling Bucky about, with the air in which he acts as if it’s completely normal to be needed in such a way. And yet, existing with you seems to be the only thing he knows how to do without faltering one bit.

The pads of his fingers trailing along the width of your thighs and the tickle of his soft hair rustling against your stomach is enough to start you shakily back into where your rambling left off.

Bucky can’t help but kiss your thighs, humming in agreement with whatever the statement is that just left your mouth. Mhm, no idea what you’re saying, bun. But you sound good saying it.

Who could blame him for needing to kiss you right there? It’s your fault really– you shouldn’t have a body this forgiving if you didn't want him addicted to every last bit of it. Warm, sexy, pliant, voluptuous, safe– you know what? Fuck gotta keep kissing you right here, pretty girl.

You know Bucky felt the brief stutter in your speech the second his lips continue to brush gently across your skin, the flutters that ripple down your spine the moment he presses his soft lips to the inside of your thigh again. And again– and again and again. You always know. You know better than anyone that Bucky craves your breathless acceptance, your timid surrender of just how crazy you make him.

He’ll do whatever it takes to always have your breathing dance teasingly against him like that.

Bucky’s greedy.

Bucky’s a man of routine, finally, found peace in knowing what he wants.

His hands hadn’t ever known something other than the egregious efforts of his labor, the push and pull of something firm in necessity and unrelenting in dexterity. Bucky knew routine, he knew the force he wielded, needing to exert his brute talent and apply it to perform his role effectively.

It’s why he was able to keep his father’s business alive. It’s why he was able to feel useful for a few hours in his practiced days; the only time in his life he ever felt worthy of doing something, of being something.

But then you happened, and all semblance of controlling his strength went floating in the wind; quite literally knocking his world off its axis, stumbling straight into his vigorous hold. Your gentle hands slipped straight into his jacket pockets and wrapped your entire being right around his heart, his brain, his fucking lungs. Now, Bucky knows warmth; inhaling security inside of the softest home, the most sacred feeling to burrow himself deeper within.

You. And it’s changed him; effectively rewiring that burdened brain of his to help wear down any remaining abrasions from his past– to soften. To be himself– and it’s all your fault.

You feel the way his mind has slipped elsewhere, his breathing all too purposeful to be actively listening to your day. Calling his name a few times hardly does the trick, but a quick and determined tug at his hair gets him to open his eyes.

He hadn’t heard you calling for him, but he felt the familiar resonance of your voice singing his name. And how was he supposed to do anything but bask in it?

Your playful scolding of his name dances teasingly against his ears, the sprite and peaceful sound enough to render him brainless. The joy on his face is apparent as ever– you see it in the awe-filled gloss twinkling in his eyes, the warmth of his stubbled cheeks, the slight tremor in his curled lip.

If you could live inside a moment forever, it would be this one. There’s never been a gaze more adoring reserved for you than the light in which Bucky shines on you.

You’ve only ever felt something so palpable, so honest, in the chill of winter– the sun peeking its rays through an overcast sky. In the blazing inferno of summer– the humidity and fervor of the summer sun swirling in visible waves straight off of the concrete, rising towards the bluest of skies and raining down on your starved skin with a unique whisper.

Bucky’s love rivals the sun’s– nothing ever felt more certain than the crystalline azure he submerged you in. The sun may look at you, but it doesn't know what it’s like to feel you. And Bucky’s anything but nonchalant.

He’s possessive, obsessed with being the only thing to truly know you. Bucky gets what that Sinatra fellow used to blab on crooning about, an alliteration of his own namesake: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered– by every conversation gifted from your beautiful mind to the lush contours of your body. A simpering, whimpering, child again– set on having you forever.

And right now, Bucky’s in heaven– wouldn’t anyone be after such a rebirth? The feel of your fragile fingers on his starved skin, the strength of your palm brushing through his hair; the shortness of your breath and stammer in your heartbeat the second his calloused fingers spread up the length of your thighs, tingles erupting across your flesh in giddy waves and spreading through his veins like the only oxygen he’ll ever need.

Bucky’s grown dependent on the newfound discovery of it. Half the time he can’t distinguish want from need– it’s all muddled together. Hazy and giddy and purposeful in intent; desire and necessity are no longer two separate entities to him. Just like now, his eyes closing reverently in this blissful moment of serenity: but your soft giggle sweeps past his ears, and who’s he to deny himself of something so delicate?

He finally understands what all those ancient sculptors and artists were vying to portray in their works– but not a single statue of even the strongest, smoothest, most sensual of images could ever emanate the allure of the goddess wrapped around him.

“Are you even listening to me, Bucky?”

“Hmm?” he turns against you, pressing his chin into the lower pudge of your stomach.

“Have you been listening to me?” it’s impossible to not melt under those stunning slate blues, peering up at you with that rosy hue dusting past his broad chest and up the curves of his neck.

“No,” a whisper, chestnut tendrils teasing at your stomach with a jovial shake of his head.

“And why’s that?” your fingers trace the pure flush painted across his features, trailing along until they stroke at his scalp.

Bucky swallows. Your words are playful– challenging, even.

He knows you love to tease him more than anything, but he still hears the lingering honesty behind them. ‘And why’s that?’. You don’t get it– unable to comprehend just how burdened with love he is for you.

Adoration trickles through his veins, shifting his weight on top of you. Gentle fingers clasp around your wrist, glazed over eyes never once leaving yours, bringing your palm to his lips.

Is it normal to want to embed yourself under someone’s skin? Bucky would say it is.

His insides shake just thinking of you, needing to touch you, to hold you, to feel your warmth spread like wildfire across his entire body. If only you knew how bad he has it for you.

He could spend hours tracing every last inch of you with just his nose alone– the marks that decorate your supple skin evidence of the care your ever-changing body reveres for you. It’s only right he gets to do the same.

The stretch marks, the dimples, the bumps and scars– they taunt him. He’s not certain he’ll ever be able to memorize them in the way they deserve, and that pains him. But hell, if he won’t die trying.

They grow and fade and lighten and darken along with you, never leaving and always existing; even in a time Bucky was not a part of your life.

Jealousy. Jealous of your own damn perfect skin, bun. The way marks trail your sides, envelop the swell of your goddamn tummy and thighs– they're just begging to be followed, bunny.

And does he worship them.

He’s always had trouble articulating his thoughts, but it’s near impossible now. Bucky struggles to think of anything but you. But he tries, just to be able to get through even the most minute of tasks; the dumb boots Sam just got, the few pines he’ll have to chop and load on some pallets for the courthouse, that new incredibly boring reality tv show Torres won’t stop yelling about– anything to pry his mind away from the harrowing spiral just thinking or glancing in your direction spins him down.

‘And why’s that?’

Bucky brushes his lips across the lines of your palm, gently pressing up each finger until he meets the very tip, returning to a new crease and starting again.

He knows what it’s like to lose himself to you, to be consumed by you, to be pulled in by the ebb and flow of your tide– he can’t get you out of his nervous system.

It’s so powerful. But so soft– so fucking soft. He can’t take it:

It’s the divots and curves of your physique; the way the air and light itself seem to cling to you; he’s wholly at your command. Every second you’ve smiled at him, every moment you’ve kissed his chin or cheek so gleefully, every second you’ve roused insurmountable bouts of feelings and pleasure within him.

And he can’t keep himself away from the very legs that introduced you to him. He craves the softness you bring into his world, but your thighs carry the consequence of a whole other dimension to Bucky.

Bucky takes none of it lightly.

Every breath of confidence, every tear of frustration, every word of self-doubt or ridicule– he accepts it all. It’s plaguing. Every single moment he’s spent with you is seared into every crevice of his brain, burdened with the overwhelming love he’s learned he could revel in.

That day you excitedly wore that new sundress, the way it clung to you with the very same vigor Bucky wishes to feel you with– that one afternoon he heard your soft voice on the phone, ‘I don’t know, I just can’t. I can’t– my legs are just… ya know? I can hardly look at them, I don’t really want them out in the open like that…’– the time he saw you pinching at the bulge of skin peeking out from under your shirt sleeve– every time he sees you fixate a bit too long on your reflection, on the way a shirt or pair of shorts didn’t fit you the way you’d hoped they would– the evenings he spends watching you lather your favorite lotions into your skin, a confident smile sparkling back at the gorgeous girl seated so prettily in the mirror.

It’s all just a torturous loop, especially now– laying in between your thighs on the plush mattress, nestled under a duvet reeking of your perfume and the perfect tenderness he’s only ever found with you:

His baby, his sweet girl, his bunny– his muse. He sees your beauty in every little thing now; the titillating shape of you and the promise of your sweet voice in every song and every gust of wind. Your thighs are one of the only reasons he makes it through his day, the reason he can’t keep his thoughts concentrated on anything else but feeling you all around him– you deserve to know it, every second of every day.

And looking down at you now, the honest fervor of a million suns shining upon you– one day; maybe you’ll understand it.

But much to Bucky’s frustrations, you are only human. You experience the same disdain and bad thoughts just as much as any other person, just like he does. And as much as that truth hurts him, his reason for living has real human emotions.

The shock of that revelation never truly leaves him, you’re the only beauty he’s ever come to know or want to have. But if anything, it encourages his mission of loving you further.

Beauty exists even in the misfortune of not recognizing it.

And he’d do anything to help you see it– whether his actions are a bit selfish or not.

His plush lips ghost down your wrist, breathing in the warmth of that soft skin of your arm you sometimes fuss about. The tender feel of his kiss is agonizing– who knew someone could love you just as you are?

Bucky trails quickly across your shoulder to your face. Was gettin’ ahead of myself, bun. Need a kiss first.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you softly slant your lips against his. It’s always the same practice, a kiss or ten to his emotionally eager lips, and then Bucky lets himself wander.

He’s a man of routine, after all.

Soft lips cant down your neck, atop your shirt, moving swiftly under the fabric bunched up around you and across your tummy. So fucking soft, bunny.

Caressing your skin with nothing but moans of love and sighs of contentment, completely fusing himself to you and resting his forehead against your soft middle to not overwhelm you. He grasps your thighs, burrowing further and sighing within their warmth, closing his eyes in genuine surrender.

Bucky’s fingers treasure your skin; gentle circles and patterns worthy of honoring your body, all to turn your insides to goo for him to bathe in.

“Thought you knew better by now,” he chuckles.

“How perfect you are,” his hand sweeps across your soft curves, stroking and squeezing ardently, “how you’re made for me.”

It’s almost too perfect, the feel of your skin forming to the grip of his rough palms, his featherlight touch met with desperate squeezes for all your body will give him, “You’re so pretty– so beautiful and I just can’t focus anymore, bunny. So sexy and all mine, every last bit.”

You shiver under his breathless tone, trembling demurely beneath his heated sincerity, feeling it as heady and deep and weighted as ever against your heartstrings. It sends you dizzy, shakily arching into his adoring touch, meeting the very hands that make you feel nothing short of perfection.

“I could spend days telling you all the things I love about you. Weeks showing you just how much I love every part of you…” he tapers off, his eyes roaming over the swell of your breasts and down your stomach, “and trust me bun. That’s all I’d do every day if you let me.”

His name rolls off of your tongue in vibrant waves, an incantation Bucky will never ever get used to drowning in. But his hands, his eyes, the raging love you feel beating within every part of him– it’s enough to send a person mad.

He means every word, every single stroke of the gentlest finger and every brush of the most firm of palms. Your body fights with itself– to cling to him wholly and revel in his praise, to recoil and hide every part of yourself from his unwavering commitment. But your Bucky would never allow that.

“So fucking sexy. Just–ugh,” frantic hands grasp your squirming waist, “don’t get shy on me now, bun.”

Bucky tries to keep his eyes locked on you while his lips map their love across your body, he really tries.

But his own desire and pleasure overwhelm him– his heavy lids and chest betraying his very intentions with nothing but need and the want to feel all of you. To revel in your softness.

He’s never had something so soft, entirely all for himself. And Bucky’s greedy– a greedy, lovesick man, incessant on maintaining routine.

And he’ll spend every second he can smugly reminding you of this.

But it's the widening smirk that seals your fate, a harsh storm of love and lust and rapturous awakening in the thinning blues of his eyes that sends torrents of warmth crashing through you. Don't worry, bun... I gotcha.

"Bucky..." an excited squeak pips out, he chuckles deeply all while his eyes eat up your widening realization of what you've just unleashed. Let's face it– he's just uncontrollable when it comes to you. And his hands have found something else, far more precious than any cut of wood, that they're really good at taking apart and caressing back together.

“In fact, we're going to spend some time loving every last bit of you. I’m gonna say something I love about every gorgeous bit of my little bunny, and you're gonna repeat it. Until I feel you're finally getting the answer to that little question of yours, you're gonna be good for me– okay?"

Can’t wait to get back to those thighs, bun.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky fanfic

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