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localplaguenurse · 3 months ago

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What Could Go Wrong?

Mothman Dottore X Fem Reader Smut (Kinktober Week 3)

Give it up for week three! FINALLY I write Dottore smut after two years jfc. Harpyttore was very tempting, but part of the challenge is that I can’t write anything I’ve already read in another fic. So Mothman.

WARNINGS: Moths, inaccurate/inappropriate use of moth facts, scent kink (?), mating/in heat, I think this one is actually pretty chill compared to the last two, more silly I think

Minors DNI

“I know you’re smarter than this,” you hear your lab partner and best friend remark, “you have to know this is stupid, right?”

You finish loading your film into the kamera and delicately put the spare film back in your bag with your notebook, your pencil case, lamp, fire starting kit, jasmine oil, jar of honey, and a vile wrapped up in cloth and secured in a wooden box. There are other supplies in the bag, but these are absolutely essential for your task tonight. The little box is especially important.

“You can’t honestly believe there is a man sized moth living in the forest,” they continue as you take inventory of your gear.

“I’m skeptical too,” you say, “but can I call myself a lepidopterist if I pass this up? Or even just an entomologist?”

“You even admit it’s bullshit!” “Hey, I said I was skeptical, but not why,” you state. “Do I believe in a man sized moth? No. Do I believe there is a large species of moth living deep in the Dharma Forest that has yet to be properly discovered and identified? That’s more likely.”

“Even then, the driyoshes who came screaming about seeing the moth admitted later that it was probably just a large bird of sorts.”

You close your bag up. “You can just say you’re not coming with me,” you tell them, “you can just say you don’t believe it and don’t want to come, but you don’t have to talk to me like I’m dumb.”

“I just don’t want you getting eaten by tigers while you’re out there.” “I know which paths to avoid, and I’m pretty sure the driyoshes were on one of the safer ones.”

Your friend shakes their head in defeat. “I can’t convince you otherwise, can I?” “Nope.”

They pinch the bridge of their nose. “Just… explain the thought process behind what you’re bringing.”

You smile. “Okay, so the kamera, the notebook and my camping supplies are self explanatory. I’m camping out there for the next few days, and I need actual proof this thing exists.”

“Okay.”

“The lamp is for navigating in the dark, and the fire kit is for camping out in the forest,” you continue, “but they also double as sources of light and heat, which can attract moths.”

They nod along.

“Jasmines are a commonly liked flower among moths,” you say, “so I figured the smell of jasmine oil would attract them. Honey is a food source.”

“And your source for that?”

“Adult moths primarily consume nectar or sugary substances if they have mouths,” you state, “especially the death’s-head hawkmoth. They actually create a squeaking noise similar to queen bees that allow them to sneak into hives and eat their honey. Not that I think this is a death’s-head, but it can’t hurt.”

“And that little box you snagged from the Amurta labs?”

“You make it sound like I stole it,” you say. “I have permission to use it.”

“Well, what is it?”

“...” You sigh. “As a last resort… I’m packing a vial of distilled moth pheromones.”

At this, your partner’s eyes widen and they bury their face in their hands, embarrassed for you. “Like mating pheromones?”

“Yes, like mating pheromones.”

“Okay, cool, interesting,” they say, “very important question though; what the fuck are you going to do if a horny, man sized moth swarms you thinking you’re a potential mate?”

“That… is a bridge I will cross when I get there.”

“Are you going to–”

“I’m not going to have sex with the giant moth,” you quickly interrupt, “I don’t even know how that could happen.”

“It’s a man sized moth, anything is possible.”

“I’m not that dedicated to my research,” you state, face burning.

“Whatever, just… be safe, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll only be three days,” you tell them, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You heave as you lift your bag up, and offer your partner a smile.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

—

You’re thankful the moths seem more interested in your light and the honey you set out, but the stray little males still flutter up to you as you eat. You gently swat the fortieth one away, and two more come looking for the fertile female they’re smelling. You swat them away as well, ad infinitum.

At some point in your trip to your designated camping spot, the vial of moth pheromones had broken and leaked out of the box you kept it in, seeping into your clothes. The vial wasn’t that large, but by the great wisdom given to the researchers who made it, was it ever potent. It’s so potent, in fact, that there are several different breeds of moth trying to mate with the clothes you hung up to dry. You were hoping and praying the rain that suddenly came down last night would have helped wash away some of the smell, but no matter how much water you wrung from them, the pheromones are still noticeable to every moth in the vicinity.

Your pajamas weren’t too affected and dried quickly, but clearly they still smell if the moths are still trying to get your attention. You’d wear the clothes from yesterday, but they’re just dirty in general and not ideal for sleep. It’s not like you’re getting much sleep, though. The flapping of hundreds of moths is getting annoying. On the bright side, at least you have something interesting to tell your partner when you get back to the Akademiya.

You finish up your little meal and begin tidying up. You pack away your dirty dishes while moths continue to harass you. Yeah, this was probably a really dumb idea, trying to hunt down a big ass moth. You’ll pack up and head back home tomorrow morning, still being swarmed by moths.

You manage to shoo the moths out of your tent before you secure the flap. You sigh and crawl into your sleeping bag. You shut your eyes, listening to the fluttering wings and little chirps.

Wait, chirps? Moths don’t squeak unless they’re trying to throw off predators like bats, or they’re trying to steal honey from bees undetected. As you sit up, you can hear the squeaking is getting louder, and the flapping of little wings is growing faster, more frantic.

You hesitantly peak out of your tent to see swarms squealing and screeching as they begin to escape into the night sky. Astonished, you step outside and look up. There are so many they nearly blot out the light of the moon, still squeaking in absolute terror. Your blood runs cold. It makes sense that once one moth lets out the alarm of a predator, others would follow, but with this many moths still drowning in the pheromones staining your clothes? This many moths in general?

You get your answer when a massive, solid shape blocks out the moon, and like a divine plague, the moths go into a desperate and swarming frenzy, pelting into your body and your face as they frantically make their escape. You drop to the ground and cover your eyes and mouth as the storm rages. You can only imagine how this looks from the outside. You wonder how far the eclipse of frightened bugs can be seen.

You lift your head up when the flaps quiet down, and the squeaks grow distant, and you’re no longer being violently bumped into. You look up to see clouds of moths literally eclipsing the moon and disappearing among the stars in the sky. You stand, looking around your campsite, at the surrounding treeline. Something is horribly wrong, what was that big thing in the sky? You only saw it briefly, but it was much larger than any man. There’s no way, it can’t be–

You snap around when you hear rustling in the shrubbery behind you. You swear you see something move in the shadows but it disappears too quickly to get a grasp on it. You try to recall the story of the monster the driyoshes told. It was a large, shadowy winged beast, and the only other thing they saw before they bolted were a pair of big, red eyes.

You dive for your pack, pulling everything out until your fingers make contact with the kamera. You yank it out and stand, eyes darting around at every little noise and movement. Then it’s quiet, and it stays quiet. You look up at the sky, and you can’t see the moths anymore.

A twig snaps behind you. You whip around and hit the button on the kamera. The flash blinds the red eyed creature, and it snarls and covers its face with a black arm. You scream and stumble back, falling on your ass and attempting to scramble away.

It’s not a man sized moth, it’s a moth man.

He stands tall, black wings with pale blue patterns along the edge flying open in defence. Black fluff covers his shoulders and chest, and though his arms and legs, clawed and covered in fine little hairs, are black, his torso is primarily pale flesh coloured, as is his face. His scowling face is surprising human, save for the pointed teeth and large, glowing red eyes. His hair is pale blue, like the patterns on his wings, and the feathery antennae sprouting from the top are black.

You get a much better look at his features when he descends upon you, pinning you beneath his barely humanoid form, claws grasping at your wrists and holding them down to the ground. You feel shivers run up your spine as he stares at you, antennae twitching. He tilts his head, and leans in closer to your face. You close your eyes tight and turn your face away, scared he’s going to bite your face off.

You’re surprised when instead, he curls his body so he can rest his head on your chest, His antennae brush against your neck, and begin shivering. You squirm at the ticklish feeling. Then his wings begin to shake, and he lets out a deep groan as the rest of his body shudders. He lifts his head, lips pulled into a large grin that borders on predatory as he just stares.

“Oh… how lovely,” he purrs, “I can’t recall the last time I had the chance to mate.”

Your eyes widen, skipping over the fact this man-thing speaks common and jumping right to the meaning behind his words. “What?!”

He chuckles. “Your scent,” he clarifies, “it’s strong enough that it has brought almost every mature male moth to your location, myself included. But I know that’s not your natural scent, is it?”

You nervously shake your head.

“Of course not, you’re human,” he says. “And you’re one of those Akademiya students. That’s how you acquired those pheromones, no?”

“Y… Yes.”

“And you know what they do, don’t you?”

“I-I’m a lepidopterist,” you tell him, “I p-primarily study moths. I know what the pheromones do.”

Blood rushes to your face when the monster nuzzles his cheek against yours. His breath fans over your ear, and you question the flutter in your stomach when you hear the rasp in his voice.

“Then I have to wonder what your intentions were…”

You recall your roommate asking what you’re going to do if you encounter a giant horny moth, and you stating you would not fuck the giant moth. Well… he’s not really a full moth, is he? He’s pretty humanoid, oddly handsome at that, too, and is a self aware being. He’s into you, so… fuck it, why not. It’s not like you promised you wouldn’t have sex with a moth person, just no giant moths.

“I-It was intended as a last resort to see if you were real,” you say, “but accidents happen. Might as well m-make the most of it, haha…”

The moth just laughs. He lets go of one of your wrists and grabs the front of your shirt. With one pull, he rips it open. You squeak in surprise as the cool night air hits your skin. Rough, almost scaled hands grasp your breasts, and he trills at the squish of your flesh. You whine when he presses his body against you, slotting between your legs with willing ease.

“So soft,” he purrs, “so warm. Though I prefer my solitude away from humans, I must admit your body heat is divine.”

You don’t say anything, simply letting out breathy moans as he kneads your breasts, clawed fingers occasionally pinching your stiffened nipples. He doesn’t seem to mind, rather he relishes your little noises and fidgets. He lets out a little laugh when you try to lean into his touch some more.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Archons, his fur is softer than you expected. He seems perplexed by the gesture, and a surprised little noise gets caught in his throat when you pull him into a kiss. You wonder how often he’s done something like this with another human or perhaps moth person when he slithers his tongue into your mouth. His tongue tastes sweet, sort of like honey with floral hints, perhaps he feeds on nectar and honey?

You stop wondering why he tastes sweet when you feel him rock his hips against you, feeling something grind into your clothed sex. He grunts into your mouth as he humps against you, and before you can process that, you jolt when you feel it shake. You pull back and try sitting up to look. You blink, face somehow getting warmer at the fascinating and arousing sight.

It’s a decent size, bigger than what you’re used to but not completely out of the realm of possibility. It’s dark, the ridges fading from black to red at the tip. It’s coated in a layer of slick, which you think you can attribute to the dripping slit it’s protruding from. When he chuckles, his twitching cock vibrates, but only in a short burst.

“W-Wait, you can–”

“I’m sure you know that trait is meant to ward off predators in most moths,” he states, “but since I have no natural predators, and am not a measly little moth… well, past humans I’ve mated with have found the trait useful.”

It’s true. Some moths, primarily male hawkmoths, rub the scales near their genitals to make a chirping noise that confuses bats. With that in mind, it sort of makes sense that this moth man has a similar ability that is simultaneously very different. You think a less horny and somehow less rational version of you would immediately sit up and ask a hundred questions, but all you can ask is how is that going to feel when it’s inside?

The moth’s antennae twitches, and he chuckles. “Oh? Eager, are we?”

“What?”

“Your pheromones are becoming stronger moment by moment,” he states, trailing a hand down to grasp his cock, “especially after observing this.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Such a lovely scent, I think I prefer it over the moth pheromones.”

Why you find that so flattering, you don’t know, but you do know from the pulse in your core that you want that thing in you as fast as you can get it in. You lift your hips up so you can slide your pajama bottoms and your underwear off. You barely get them off before the creature grabs your thighs and forces them apart, exposing your dripping heat. He wastes no time, urging you to wrap your arms and legs around him as his tip nudges against you. You let out a little whimper as he slowly grinds against you, then stills his hips. You gasp at the burst of vibration against your clit, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you’re going to be a fun little thing.”

Without any real warning, he presses the tip against your hole, pushing into you slowly. You jolt when he finally slips inside, moaning softly as he sinks deeper into your warmth. The ridges rubbing all along your walls are a feeling quite unlike anything else. Very different, and not at all bad. He groans so sweetly in your ear as he works his way down to the base. You whine at how full you feel, barely fitting him. The pressure of it all without adequate preparation makes you ache, but no sharp pains or anything of concern. You attribute that to both your bodies’ natural lubrication. Still, even with the ache, or perhaps because of it, you feel a deep arousal, a deep want for more, more, more.

He doesn’t wait for you to give the okay before he begins thrusting. You yelp as he sets a surprisingly quick pace. Your hands claw at his back in an attempt to orient yourself. He’s not even being that rough, just quick, but with his size still stretching you and the ridges grinding against your sweet spot when he draws back and slips back in, trying to focus on one thing or another is already a little overstimulating.

He buries himself to the hilt, and you’re embarrassed at the loud, high pitched sound that rips out of your throat when you feel him shudder inside you. He laughs, and his tone seems almost mocking as he draws back, slams back inside, and does it again to hear you squeal and feel you shudder. He leans down, pressing his fluffy chest against your soft chest, so he can really see every little reaction to his little trick.

“S-Stop teasing!” you cry out when he does it a third time.

“This is the most effective way for me to– ngh… do this,” he tells you through a clenched grin. “I can only do it in quick bursts, not continuously.” To emphasize his point, he does it a fourth and fifth time, relishing in the feeling of your walls clamping down around him. “Do you want me to stop?”

He does it a sixth time, and you try to shoot him a glare, but with how smug he looks about it and how you imagine you look right now, it has no effect on him. You just pull him in closer, nuzzling your face into his neck fluff to hide your face. He does it one last time before he returns to his regular thrusting, making you moan in pleasure and relief.

Your fingers brush against his wings, and he stills for a moment, his breath hitching. It gives you an idea. When he starts up his tempo again, you rub along the scales where his wings connect to his back. He shudders against you, and his voice pitches slightly higher. He immediately stops moving, looking down at you with his shining red eyes. You offer a smug smile, but your lack of confidence is very evident. He chuckles.

His hand moves up your thigh and his thumb finds your clit. Your hips buck when he begins to rub it in quick circles, and that’s when he slams down to the hilt and you feel his cock’s vibrations again. This time, he stays buried inside you, his cock vibrating in shorter, but more frequent bursts. You cry out, the heat in your core quickly growing too much for you to handle.

“Wait, w-wait, stop!”

“Why should I?”

You sob as he presses as flush against you as he can, somehow reaching even deeper, rubbing and buzzing against your sweet spot even more. You try to move away, but his other hand holds you in place. “T-Too much,” you tell him, voice cracking as he continues to quiver inside you. “I-I’m gonna cum if you keep– hah!”

“No one’s stopping you,” he teases, “so feel free to let yourself go.”

You try to hold yourself together, but that’s when he starts rocking into you while he’s already so deep inside you, when he keeps convulsing inside you and starts rubbing your clit faster. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you shudder and claw at his back desperately, unable to hold your moans.

Your back arches obscenely and your hips buck when the moth man pushes you past your limit into climax. You imagine your debauched cries can be heard throughout the forest, but the white hot pleasure shooting through your nerves makes you unable to care.

You’re not even through the first waves of your orgasm when he starts thrusting into you again, making you actually start crying out as overstimulated tears slip out of your eyes. He’s at least let up on the vibrations and rubbing, but his cock is too much when you’re still reeling from the overwhelming pleasure.

“My turn,” he grunts out before you can ask what the hell he’s doing. You wouldn’t have been able to ask anyways, as each thrust knocks the wind out of you, building up your next orgasm quicker and quicker while you’re still riding out your first. You want him to stop, to slow down, to keep fucking going because you’re never going to feel this good ever again with a human cock and you need to sear this into your memory.

He lurches forward, and his sharp teeth clamp down onto your shoulder. You scream, and he slams hard into you as your eyes roll back with your second climax. You whine, the sound almost pathetic, as you feel warmth flood your core. He holds you still so he doesn’t slip out, but there’s still so much that his seed leaks out anyways.

In the stillness, you can finally get some air in your lungs as you pant. You feel the moth man pull his teeth from your shoulder, his tongue lapping at the blood. You feel your body going limp, only to tense up again and sob when you feel another burst of movement inside you.

“I hope you didn’t think that’s all it would take,” he goads, lifting his head to meet your gaze. Red stains the corners of his lips. “I don’t often get the opportunity to mate, so I intend on properly breeding you while I still have you here.”

You swallow nervously, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You don’t hate the idea, Archons no, but at this rate, you’re going to be fucked too stupid to think of an excuse for what happened here when you return to the Akademiya. Would they even believe you if you said you had sex with the giant moth in the forest.

Another shudder snaps you out of the last rational thought you’re going to have before you return, and you simply brace yourself for more.

#dottore #dottore smut #dottore x reader #minors dni #genshin smut #kinktober #tw monsterfucking

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year ago

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Give Me Your Heart, Make It Real, Or Else Forget About It

Pairing(s): Manolo Sanchez x Reader, Manolo Sanchez x Maria Posada, Joaquin Mondragon x Reader

Warnings: soft nsfw, implications, break ups, Manolo might be OOC since it’s been a while that i’ve written for the book of life, bsf to lovers, gonna try writing for gn reader for first time, probably not as fluffy as anon may have wanted, a lil angsty cuz that’s my bread and butter, world expansion, alcohol consumption, both reader and Manolo are of age, dancing, young horny adults

Words: 8029 (jfc this has got to be my longest fic ever. fingers crossed it doesn’t suck lol)

Summary: Only one thing comes to mind when faced with mending your friend’s broken heart: drinking.

* inspired by Santana’s “Smooth”

*Man now I really want pan dulce

“Jesus, Manolo.” You breathe out when you open your front door. His eyes were red and puffy, shoulders slouched forward utterly defeated. Even his hair, meticulously styled was a mess that drooped over his face. It was starting to get dark, street lamps were barely starting to be lit.

When he brings his big brown eyes to look up at you, you know whatever happened was bad. Worse than anything you had seen him go through before. Your heart plummets. The worst thing was seeing your best friend in shambles.

His lips move, about to say something but thinks better about it when a glossy sheen grows over his eyes like he’s about to cry. Immediately you usher him inside your hacienda and settle him down on your sofa. He looked like a giant sitting on it, especially as you wrap him in one of your thick, quilted blankets your grandmother had made you. You scurry to your little cocina to grab a warm drink for him and perhaps some pan dulce if he wanted it although you doubt he has much of an appetite. Upon your return, Manolo is blankly staring at your wall. Normally lively eyes were dull, nearly lifeless. That scared you more than anything. You put aside what you brought him on a small end table and get on your knees in front of him, imploring to tell you what was wrong. His hands were large in your’s when you grab onto them and pull them close to your chest. Never before had Manolo been as broken as he was there on your sofa. Not even with the whole thing involving literal immortals like La Muerte and Xibalba. When Xibalba fooled everyone into thinking Maria was dead. Absolutely cruel of them to use your friends’ lives in a messed up bet just because they were oh so bored of immortality. Thankfully since then, life in San Angel returned to relative normality. Or as normal as San Angel could be.

He wasn’t ready to talk. Not just yet. The only thing you knew he needed right now was to bury his face in your shoulder as you held him in your arms. His shoulders tremble and you feel wet plops against your shoulder. Allowing him to take however long necessary until he gathered his thoughts. The only thing you could think of that could put him in such a state was something bad happening to Maria. They definitely couldn’t have broken up. They were still in love with each other after all those years of waiting and pining. Surely their love would last forever. Unlike you and Joaquin who’d been doomed from the beginning. That had only lasted a year before things disintegrated between you and Joaquin. One of those situations where it turned out you loved him more than he loved you. Not everyone could have a fairytale relationship like Manolo and Maria. Funny how back then you were in Manolo’s position and he’d been the one consoling you.

What you had thought was a baseless fear was actually reality for him.

They had broken up.

Even as he told you the lead up, you still didn’t want to believe it. Sometimes love wasn’t enough to keep two people together. Maria has always had an adventurous spirit. It led her to many escapades and mishaps that your parents didn’t necessarily like. She got you and the boys into plenty of trouble. Her fun loving nature was what broke her bond with Manolo. She wanted to travel, see more of the great big world out there. Manolo though, he was all too happy staying in San Angel. While his family no longer walked on this plane of existence, he loathed the idea of leaving his home. Not after all he went through to get back and save it. Plus you and Joaquin were still here. He couldn’t up and leave his best friends. Maria exasperated herself with begging him to go with her, for she was leaving either way. She loved her work at the orphanage she missed traveling Europe. There was still so much of it she hadn’t seen. Both tried to come to a compromise but could not come up with one that would would satisfy them. Manolo was equally set with not leaving. He’d give Maria everything and anything but not this. His home was everything to him. All his memories of his family reside here. the last pieces of his father and grandmother.

While not as close to Maria as you were with Manny, you knew she would be equally devastated with this drastic turn of events. She’d loved Manolo, even as little kids you remember Maria as having a soft spot for the guitarrista. She didn’t have any other friends besides Manolo, Joaquin and you. You wonder, albeit bitterly, if she had sought comfort for Joaquin. After all, she had been the catalyst for your break up with him. He was still in love with her but accepted that she had chosen Manolo. You would always be second best to him. Unlike Maria, you had no great beauty and no talent to boast of. Not even your parents were of incredible birth like the great General Posada. They had humble jobs that kept you and your siblings fed and a roof over your head. You never held any of these things against her though. She was modest and kind and was someone who would help you up if you ever fell down.

Finishing up his retelling, he slumps further into the sofa; weariness causing deep set lines under his eyes. He didn’t want to be alone in his own casa. He would be all alone there. You told him he could stay at your small house, for as long as he needed. Providing him with blankets and pillows, you leave him in your living room to get much required rest. Even when you woke up the following morning, Manolo was still sleeping like the dead with the blankets wrapped around him as tightly as a tortilla in a burrito. You let him sleep and go about your day, having sent word to your parents that you wouldn’t be able to work at the family panaderia. Manolo slept like the dead. Even when you broke one of your clay bowls as you toyed around with recipes to propose to your father with. He didn’t even twitch. Several times you checked to verify he was still breathing. Still alive. This was Manolo’s first ever breakup. You were much the same after your own. He rouses at your gentle prompting, reminding him to eat or drink water before going back to the numbness of sleep.

Two days pass like this, with Manolo talking a little bit more each day but still looking blanched. When you return to work and tell your parents what has been going on, your mother says in inappropriate to have Manolo staying with you for as long as he has. You want to support your friend though and ignore her wary glances that she shoots you.

After bidding him goodbye one morning, you make your way to work. Your little brothers are already under foot, running around the store and getting it ready to open for the day. In the cocina you hear your mother shouting at your brothers instructions and reminders as if they hadn’t been working here since the day they started walking. Mama made sure her children didn’t have idle hands. She’d even send the boys out to the town center to sell churros, not understanding why they would come back with white frosted churros and no sales. In time you hope she learns that little kids are not responsible sales people.

“There you are.” Your mama exclaims as she whirls out of the cocina and to the front counter. She’s already tossing you an apron. Prattling off the list of orders and tasks for the day, you nod absentmindedly while reaching around your back to tie together the straps of your stained apron you’d had for years. When the boys get too rowdy for her liking, she snaps at them, brandishing a wooden spoon and light threats.

She sighs and pushes you into the kitchen. “Go on. Your pap needs help with Senora Bigote’s order of three dozen conchas for her conquian night with the other ladies in her group.”

Papa is kneading dough with his strong hands that you’ve personally seen split a whole apple perfectly in half. He’s a big man and looks comical in the panaderia’s kitchen. In one corner of the room sat a wood fire oven, ready to be worked and seemingly standing in vigilance over the cocina. Automatically, you grab large baking trays and place them next to your father. You give him a quick peck on his cheek before grabbing half of the smooth, elastic dough to start shaping them.

He makes a grunting noise as he gently stops you. “I can handle the conchas. Start on the wedding cake for the Torres’.”

Obediently, you wipe off your hands and set out to gather everything you needed. You pass by clay pots and bowls used by generations of family bakers.

Solemnly your mind travels back to Manolo whose probably still fast asleep on your couch. There would be no wedding for them after all. Manolo always said he wanted you to make their reception cake when the time came. you’d already planned the flavors, layers, fruit and decorations. An occasion that had been anticipated for a while. Alas, no one would get to see the splendor of the cake you would have created for your best friend.

Your mama takes care of the front of house often leaving just you and your dad in charge of the actual baking.

Focused on your task, you lose track of time. When your mom goes into the kitchen to take over for you, it’s already lunch. Gently, you rotate your neck to work out the kinks and give your back a good stretch. You push open the half door that connects the front of the store to the kitchens. Both of your brothers had been sent out once again to sell churros in the heart of San Angel. You check the clock that fixed above the front door, wondering how Manolo was doing.

Front door bell jingling, your eyes move back down to the moustached face of Joaquin as he enters. You’re more than confused seeing him there. He’d avoided the panaderia after the break up. Even he shifts awkwardly in front of your widened gaze. His lush moustache wiggles as he tries to find the proper words.

Saving him the effort of speaking first, you ask him with saccharine politeness “What can I get for you today sir?” Two years the both of you had been separated, but you still felt tender once you were back in his presence.

Joaquin exhales and rubs at the back of his neck. “Hey. Long time no see?” In reply you simply deadpan your face into a neutral stare. If he was going to beat around the bush you might as well get your mama to chase him out. He was wasting your time. Thankfully he was aware and gulps before continuing. “I gather you know about Manolo and Maria?”

Ah, of course. You stiffly nod “Yeah. Manolo showed up at my door the other day. He’s been sleeping on my sofa.”

He lets out a clipped laugh making something ugly in you unfurl. There’s a cruel little smirk subtly tugging up his lips but he hides it with his hand. “Of course he did.”

You didn’t bother to hide the sharpness of your frown, your elbows on the wooden counter and narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instantly regret slaps across his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Really. I came here because we have to do something. This an’t be how their relationship ends. Not after everything they’ve been through.”

You’d tried plenty of times to get Manolo to go back and talk with her. “It’s none of our business.”

Squinting his eyes at you, Joaquin places his hands on his hips. “You can’t be serious. Manolo literally died for Maria! They-They can’t end over something as stupid as this!”

“Apparently it’s not that stupid if it’s caused such a rift.” You counter smoothly.

A moment passes where neither of you say anything, just stare at one another. His nose scrunches up in frustration. Nostrils flare and chest heaving as he tries to prevent himself from saying something he’d truly regret. But you wore him thin. You’d always been able to get under his skin so easily. As kids you liked teasing him because he made it so easy. Nowadays it took a little more to ruffle him.

“Maybe you’re secretly happy about this.”

This merry go round. You were familiar with this ride. “Not this again.”

When you roll your eyes, Joaquin prickles. “You and Manolo have always been close. Maybe too close to be just platonic.”

This had been a constant point of contention when you were still together. That had never been a problem before when you were kids. Those were simpler times when emotions such as jealousy wasn’t as toxic as in adulthood.

Remembering your parents in the back, you lower your voice. “Look, if you want to talk this over with Manolo, be my guest. I’m not poking my nose in his business unless he asks me to. I don’t want to talk about this here.”

His eyes follow your’s to the still swinging door. He understood and immediately straightens. If your mom caught Joaquin in her store, she’d froth at the mouth before lunging at him. Mama had never liked him and was more than happy when you told her you’d broken up. From his face you could tell Joaquin wanted to argue with you more. The medals that decorated his chest clink together as he lets go of a heavy breath. Reluctantly he turns his back to you and leaves the store.

Joaquin’s appearance leaves you agitated for the rest of the day until your mom could no longer suffer through your sulky attitude. Your brothers having returned some time after lunch, its you whose being pushed out of the door with her wooden spoon. You’re of no use to her in that state and you were better off at home. She was right. You’d wanted to go home anyway to see how your best friend was faring.

Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets that lead to your hacienda. An orange tint painted the sky and buildings. You many not be able to mend his heart right away but you know music and dancing always managed to revive his spirits. Anything that might act as a soothing balm for him. Worth a shot.

Front door unlocked, you turn the knob without any resistance. Manolo was still on your sofa but now he was sitting up. Recognition brings life to his eyes. He offers you a half-hearted smile just like with the other days you’d come home to him. “Welcome home.”

You go to his side. “Did Joaquin come over?”

He nods. You want to congratulate him on actually brushing his hair today. “Yeah. Tried to talk me into going back to Maria. But. . .” Manolo shakes his head. “There’s no more talking left to be done with her. You know how Maria is.”

Yes, once she made a decision, she didn’t go back on it. General Posada tried for years to rein in that part of her to no avail. She was too much like her mother who had also left San Angel to pursue travel.

“And you’re really sure you don’t want to go with her? You won’t be gone forever.”

Sadly chuckling, his shoulders sag forward. “I did enough traveling in the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten.”

Pursing your lips you affectionately pet his hair and feel him relax a little under your touch. “Why don’t you go clean up and come with me to listen to some good live music.”

From the down turn of his mouth, you know he wants to reject the offer. You’d let him. Of course you wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to. You wanted this to be his choice, his decision. An after thought seems to change his mind though as he slowly nods his head. “Okay. That sounds like it could be fun.” For your benefit, he puts energy into his smile before you leave him to get ready and head for your room so you could change and freshen up as well. You’re sure there is flour dusting the top of your head making you look like an old lady.

In the local cantina, they’d recently been hiring more live entertainment which included the Rodriguez brothers and even young Ignacio who Manolo had been teaching guitar to. Plus others in the neighborhood as well as musicians from nearby towns. The night life was really picking up in your once quiet San Angel. Plays were performed in the old bullfighting arena now, equally titillating the masses. Torches would illuminate the outside walls and if you lived close enough to the arena, you could hear the boisterous laughter of the crowd. It was nice to walk through the town at night, listening to joyful people. All four of you had gone out to enjoy such activities. And when you ended things with Joaquin, you and Manolo made it a point to have best friends night. They were always the best. Drinks were had (never too much because you always worked early in the mornings at the panaderia) and by the end of it your feet were about ready to fall off thanks to all the dancing. He always got you out of your reserved shell. You really shined brightly around him. Unsurprising that Joaquin may have been jealous by your closeness to the former matador. You’d always told him that was nonsense. Manolo had always been your friend. Just friend. Joaquin continually persisted that there was something more to your feelings for Manolo.

Funny because Maria never saw an issue with how much time the two of you spent together. Sometimes she would even join in on your revelry. You weren’t jealous toward Maria being with him. Joaquin just likes to say stupid things. He still had to work on himself, undo whatever whispers were left over from Xibalba.

The both of you having dolled yourselves up (you had to admit that Manolo cut quite the figure in a matador outfit), you head out and down the street arm in arm. A lightness in his step that you were happy to see. His smile was still a watered down version of what it normally is. The goal of tonight was to get him out of his own head. Even if it’s just for a few hours.

That night’s air tastes sweet on your tongue as you and Manolo are already laughing when coming upon the cantina. Music from inside so loud that its making the ground softly vibrate against the soles of your shoes.

Manolo leans into you to ask “Do you know whose playing tonight?”

You list one out of town band and two local performers. From the entrance to the bar, everything becomes hazy, almost dream like as you and Manolo throw back drinks and grow more deliriously jubilant. Thankfully the music was good, aiding to the overall atmosphere. As music plays on, glasses were raised, you watch a glimmer of life return to Manolo’s eyes. Liquor infused a vibrant glow to your surroundings and the intricate patterns of the tiles beneath your feet. You spend time reminiscing of days past. Manolo couldn’t resist bringing up your terrible partners before Joaquin took that position. You tease back in return by making fun of how hopelessly moon eyed he’d been around Maria when you were kids. Thankfully it made him laugh instead of diminishing his smile. You hadn’t meant to bring Maria up but you’re happy that he didn’t react negatively to it. That was the only hitch and was quickly forgotten.

Manolo’s shoulders bump against your’s as he laughs or when he bobs to the flow of melody. He’s having an authentic good time. Relief blooms in your chest. Good. That was really good.

The band playing strum their guitars with fervor and an impulsive spirit rose within you. You stand and extend your hand to Manolo, playful mischief lighting your smile.

He lets out a soft chuckle and regards your hand. Encouraged by the music and your inviting gesture, he takes your hand, his lips curling into a reluctant but genuine smile. The two of you stumble, making your way to the center floor where others have already coupled off in small groups. Laughing about your clumsy feet, you cling to Manolo to make sure you don’t take a tumble. Manolo’s chest rumbles in his own giggling as his hands securely tighten on you.

Your dancing is simple swaying at first as both of you try and find your groove. Two puzzle pieces finding their fit. He’s twirling you around, making you dizzy but you enjoy the lightheaded buzzing that it delivers to your head. Manolo insists you spin him as well and you do your best but he’s taller than you and he has to bend down a little bit in order for you to complete the move. You feel like children again.

In the midst of rhythmic, drunken chaos, something extraordinary began to take shape between you that took you some time to recognize. The goofiness that was making the air silly and fun turns into something else. Manolo’s laughter, a sound as familiar to you as your own heart beat, melds seamlessly with the guitar chords in the background. His footing and turns grow surer with each passing minute as he acclimates to your pace. Distance between you shrinking as your bodies synchronized to the melody. Fingers brush against fingers and glances began to hold more weight than previously. A heaviness in his dark eyes when they land on your face. It makes your heart spasm in your chest.

You want to pin it on the alcohol flowing in your system. Maybe even the lighting in the bar that sharpened Manolo’s already exquisite face. The hitching beneath your breast as you become aware of just how close he is to you and the parting of his lips as his breathing becomes strained. And by his blown out pupils, you could only surmise that he was going through the same odd feelings you were. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously, his yearning becoming profoundly clear as he leans his face closer to your’s; drawn to you like a magnet.

Realizing the hungry fire that ate away in your belly was attraction and want. For Manolo. Your best friend who had just broken up with the love of his life just a few days ago.

His nose brushes against your’s. He says something, low enough that you would have been able to hear despite the loud music. Your brain is malfunctioning though. Unable to process his words.

This wasn’t right. Whatever it was.

You had too much respect for yourself to be his rebound.

Abruptly you tear yourself away from him, horror turning that once bright fire into ash in your mouth. Music becomes white noise in your ears, you watch Manolo’s mouth move but couldn’t hear the words that he was actually saying. Slowly you back away from him. He follows you back to the table the both of you had previously sat at. Gripping the edge to stop your head from reeling further, you don’t hear Manolo come up from behind you.

“Please-”

You shake your head furiously and pivot on your feet. Too many emotions were hijacking your body. Unable to even look him in the face unless that feeling of attraction was to bloom in you once more. The buzz you’d been enjoying betrays you.

It’s just the alcohol. You’re not really in love with him. Not after all this time. It just had to be your inebriated state. Any other reason for it, you refuse to acknowledge. If you stayed on the dance floor any longer, you would have kissed him. Or he would have kissed you. Someone would’ve initiated it. And if it were Manolo, you’d let him kiss you.

He tries to put a hand on your shoulder but his touch scalds you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . I-I”

Taking a deep breath, finally you manage to meet his desperate gaze. Fear flashes vividly in them. Neither of you could even describe what had transpired as an accident. Vulnerability has your stomach curling into itself self-consciously.

Joaquin was right all along. You and Manolo weren’t just friends. Definitely not anymore. What were you then if not friends? This would justify all of Joaquin’s accusations. going out was supposed to be for Manolo’s benefit, get his mind off of romance and relationships. Not to confuse him with these feelings that have sprout up so suddenly that it gives you whiplash.

“W... We should leave.” Your lead tongue finally moves to articulate words. Disappointment leaks from him but there nothing you could do about that. Wordlessly, the two of you leave the cantina. You don’t bother to look back and check if Manolo is following you. His soft, sad footsteps trek after you. Unlike early, the walk home is quiet. As much distance as possible is forced between you and Manolo. It just then reenters your mind that Manolo was sleeping on your couch. That had to end. Tonight though, you’d let him stay. He was in no state to be alone in his empty house. Now that would be adding cruelty.

Inside of your home, you mumble a hasty goodnight and retreat to the safety of your room. Quietly you listen to his shuffling outside. A creak comes from the floorboards before you hear the sound of the couch as Manolo sits down.

What’s he thinking right now? Is he realizing he almost made a huge mistake in kissing you? He’s gotta be. Maybe this will make him go back to Maria to talk things out. Good. For the best. They were meant to be together. Everyone said so. Yet when you think about them going back to each other, a lump forms in the back of your throat that chokes you up.

You wanted very much for the void to swallow you whole. Leave nothing left of you in the mortal world. You desired to go to the Land of the Forgotten and to have Xibalba tear you into pieces.

When cruel morning light peeks in through your curtains, you pull your covers over your head. If you didn’t get up soon, you’re certain your mom will come and break down your door. Whether out of motherly concern or as your boss, you weren’t sure. But once you didn’t show up for work without a notice, she would hunt you down to the end of the earth. Drinks last night hadn’t been too bad to where you had a severe hangover, simply a dull ache that resonated at your temples. A cup of coffee will help with that. If you could gather the courage to get out of bed and face Manolo. No way you could put it off any longer. Prolonging the inevitable.

Running a hand over your face to dislodge signs of sleep, you roll off of your mattress and set about getting ready for the day. Dread is heavy in you after getting dressed, your hand hovering over your bedroom door knob.

To your surprise, your living room is empty. The pillow and blanket Manolo had been using were neatly folded and placed atop of the sofa cushions. A folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on the front begs for your attention. Manolo became a fixture on your couch that seeing him not there makes you more uneasy than relieved.

You can’t bring yourself to read it. Instead you tuck it into your pocket and head into your cocina to get coffee before going into work.

The sinking feeling you’d experienced last night lingers in you. Your rambunctious little brothers, always running around, even notice how quiet you are and in turn aren’t as loud as usual. They even cast worrying glances at you when they think you’re not looking. Head down, you just worry yourself with keeping busy and numb.

What happened last night. . . You replay every moment. Turning them over and wondering what exactly went wrong for you to so suddenly be in love with your best friend. Because now that you weren’t drunk, those feelings stayed. You overanalyze everything until you mentally exhaust yourself.

At some point while you’re in the kitchen with your dad, the note Manolo left for you soundlessly slips out of your pocket. Papa maneuvers around you for something when he notices the slip of paper on the ground. He bends down to pick it up and stares at your name in print. He recognized that print. Seen it throughout the years change but he’d known the familiar swirls in the letters. Manolo’s writing. Papa opens it without any regard for your privacy.

His bushy eyebrows shoot up in shock at its contents and his eyes dart from the piece of paper to your shoulders as you fix together dough for the orejas.

He makes you jump when he calls out your name. You turn and he’s holding the note with your name facing you. Gawking, your hands immediately pat down your clothes before realizing too late. “What is this?”

You knew he wouldn’t give it back to you, not until you explained it to him. Difficult when you didn’t even read it yourself.

“What is he talking about?” Your normally stoic father was now shaking the paper in his hand. “What happened last night?”

The fever-like blush that stains your face embarrasses you. Yeah this was not a subject you wanted to broach with your dad. “Papa-”

“What is all the noise?” Mama hangs over the half-door to peer into the cocina. Papa bypasses you although you desperately make grabby hands at the note in his hand. He hands it to your mother and now she’s reading Manolo’s handwriting. She gasps, scandalized and her eyes round as she clutches the front of her apron like she was having a heart attack.

Your brain feels like flan as your mouth makes lame attempts to explain yourself to your parents. You felt like a kid again after getting in trouble. As if you didn’t feel bad enough already. The best thing for you to do was to wait until they exhausted themselves. If you tried to talk now, they would only raise their voices.

And eventually they do run out of wind. You even wait an extra minute before explaining to them how Maria and Manolo broke up, he’d been staying with you since and that the two of you went out for some fun last night. Nothing out of the ordinary, your parents knew Manolo since he was a kid and always liked him. He was sweet, considerate with helping out around the panaderia if he was visiting even though he definitely didn’t have to. Another thing was how respectful Manolo was to your parents. They thought he was a good boy. Nothing like Joaquin.

The note still troubles them and they bring up. “And this? What is he talking about?” Finally you snatch it from his hands to read it.

They leave you be for a few moments as your eyes hungrily eat up Manolo’s written words:

I’m sorry. I never meant to make things awkward. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on your couch while you’re out at work. What else was there for me to do? I thought a lot about what Maria and I went through with Xibalba and La Muerte. Even before then. Everything seems to start and end at you though. When I worried about my future and what would happen, I knew you’d be there beside me as you’ve always been. And that gave me such relief. I thought I’d never feel joy again but then you suggested we go out to listen to music. You and the music woke me up to life again. I’m sorry I screwed everything up and probably hurt you. Separating from Maria was world ending, but life without you would thrust me into a completely endless void. I don’t know what any of last night meant. I understand if you’re upset with me and don’t want to see me. I hope some day soon you can forgive me and we can talk.

Manolo was always eloquent with his words. You weren’t angry with him. Not even when it happened. There were a lot of emotions swirling inside of you last night, not anger toward him though. An actual adult would have spoken to Manolo that same night to figure things out. You’d been so flustered and confused, even embarrassed and you just couldn’t face him in that moment. This couldn’t go on any longer.

You fold the note back up before addressing your parents. “I’m gonna step out for a little bit.” The seriousness in your tone as them quietly nodding, staring after you as you take your apron off and leave the panaderia.

You’d try his house first to see if he was there. A few places in mind to where Manolo could be. Mentally organizing them from the most possible to least. At this time of day, the streets were deserted except for a couple of vendors and stray chickens. Your work shoes, while perfect for standing hours at a time, were not exactly the best type to run in.

The Sanchez home was quiet. Weird trying to adjust to Manolo’s great-grandmother not sitting out front while she’s knitting, her glasses nearly as big as her head.

A few birds above twitter and swoop over the roof of the house.

No one answers your persistent knocking. You even peek in through his windows to find not a soul in sight. Just the lonely chairs that once occupied his father and great-grandma.

That’s when you pick out the gentle strumming of chords not too far away. You close your eyes and concentrate on the forlorn chords. They sang of the ache in Manolo’s heart. They came from the direction of the decommissioned bull fighting arena. Only a few blocks away, you start the short walk there. As you drew closer and closer, the singing of his guitar becomes stronger in force.

Outside the arena walls, there are already a few individuals who had stopped to listen or try and peek their head inside. Instead of matador posters on the walls, there were now posters of performances that would be happening.

The inside of your mouth is uncomfortably dry and the ramming of your heart nearly nauseates you into stopping. You had to. You loved Manolo too much to ruthlessly ignore him. That would be like ignoring the other part of you. He was ingrained in your every day life. It was weird not to talk to him.

You find Manolo alone, sitting silently in the middle of the ring. The old bull fighting arena where generations of his family had come to face off against the hoofed beast that furiously charged at them. All of that infamy ended with Manolo. He was never meant to be a killer. A lover, not a fighter.

He’s mindlessly strumming the metal strings, face tilted up to the clear blue sky and letting the sun gift him with besos upon his cheeks. It sounded like the melody of whatever song was being played last night when you and Manolo danced together in the cantina. Only it lacked the vibrant energy. Dampened by his own mood. His only audience were a few birds that sat on the bench seats where spectators normally were.

Sitting atop of the fence of the ring, you observe him silently. You don’t want to startle him. Plus you always loved when Manolo played guitar. He’d tried teaching you once upon a time but you lacked the patience for it. Wearing his traditional black and red traje de luces short jacket, you catch the sunlight glinting off of gold tassels. Your Manolo.

Just thinking that to yourself had you ruffled and blushing. He wasn’t your’s. You never saw him like that. Not before last night. Was that true though? There had to be other moments where your heart was struck by something you’d never felt before. You did get rosy eyed whenever you hung out in the arena while he was forced to train by Carlos. You’d do stupid little things to make him crack a smile as his father cracked down on him. You never liked seeing him despondent. Especially when the source was from Carlos Sanchez whom Manolo only wanted to be proud of him.

As Manolo continues to play his guitar, he starts moving slowly until he’s completely turned around to face you. When he lifts his eyes to where you sat, you see him startled and nearly drop his guitar. You smile shyly. Now or never. So much was riding on this interaction with him. Your friendship dangling on the line. But as he registers you there and begins walking over to you, the courage you’d been able to nurture has shriveled up and died. This was scary. This was new.

He’s tentative about approaching you, every movement he executed was calculated like he was coming up to a stray, scared animal. You couldn’t blame him. You’d completely ignored him the rest of last night.

You run your tongue across your cracked lips. “Hey. . .”

His breath is shaky. “H-Hey.”

Patting the spot next to you on the fence, he carefully sets down his guitar and sits next to you; making sure he puts space between both of you.

“I just read your note.” Slowly you kick your legs back and forth, something to release the pent up anxiety that needed an outlet. “I. . . You didn’t upset or hurt me last night. It was all just so confusing. You just broke up with the literal love of your life. I know I’m your best friend but the last thing I want to be is your rebound.”

Manolo blanches and attempts to stutter out his own exclamation but he required a moment to come up with his reply. “I never thought of you as a rebound. I’m not going to lie, everything is still confusing to me. Nothing has made sense since breaking up with Maria, but you’re a comfortable constant I can always cling to. Whatever last night meant to you, well. . .” The way he just refuses to look at you tells you more than he ever could verbally.

“You. . . meant to kiss me?”

The tips of his ears actually BURN pink from his blush and a smile breaks across your face. “Not exaclty- well, i mean. . .” He huffs, frustrated with himself. “I figured, if it happens, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.”

Holy shit.

Your brain hums and that not so bad nauseous feeling rises back in you again. Realizing that it wasn’t nausea. It was something entirely different.

“Meaning?”

Fiddling with his strong, callused fingers, Manolo chews on his bottom lip. Then his chocolate dark eyes land on you. That look, it screamed love and desire all bundled into one great feeling.

He goes on to tell you “You know, there was a time while Maria was gone that I hoped you would look my way and see me as someone who was more than a friend to you.”

How could that be true? He’d always loved Maria and that love had neither diminished nor left his constant thoughts. He let everyone know that. Manolo and Joaquin would get into contests about who would win Maria over. Lighthearted fights of course. There was no hitting, more like bragging. You found these debates amusing and added your own commentary.

“You liked me?”

Manolo chuckles and nods. “Of course I did.” Making sound like it was only obvious that he did. “I started to think that maybe Maria and I weren’t meant to be together. That maybe I would be leagues happier with you. Why do you think I followed you around like some puppy?”

You never saw it like that. You thought you were the one to always be tagging along with Manolo and Joaquin. Little Joaquin even complained loudly to Manolo that you were annoying.

Hands that were gripping the wood of the fence post you sat on grew sweaty as the damn hummingbird in your chest was going wild.

“I never thought of you as a rebound or second choice.” He whispers and fluidly places his large hand atop of your’s. “I just thought. . . it was meant to be when we were dancing. All signs pointing to you. I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” You airly laugh. “I told you I wasn’t mad. But, I guess it makes more sense now.”

Cautiously, Manolo asks “Did I misread any signals?”

“Absolutely not.” Now it’s you chewing at your bottom lip. “I felt bad though. How sudden it was. Even worse is that this proves Joaquin was right. And he’s never right!”

Manolo almost falls over from his laughter. “What was he right about?”

“That we were more than just friends. He never did like how much time we spent together.” How many times had you fought with your ex about it? Too many. Now you would have the egg on your face when Joaquin finds out. You didn’t want him gloating how you were wrong. And you didn’t want to hurt Maria either. You knew you wouldn’t like it very much if your ex partner got over you quickly and was in a new relationship. “Did Joaquin know about your crush when we were kids?”

Lips pressed in a thin line, Manolo nods. “Yeah. That could probably be why he thought us hanging out so much was weird.” He groans too when he realizes that he’ll be getting an earful from Joaquin once news of of this got to him. Plenty of times they had the same argument that you and Joaquin did. How both of you spent too much time together. You guys didn’t act like just friends. You were always closer. Always seated next to each other. Always laughing so loud that it annoyed your other companion.

“You’re right that this is sudden.” He acknowledges your previous comment. “I think I need more time before we officially become a couple.”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Oh? Who said I wanted to be with you?”

That made him pale and you knew your joke was a little too mean. You laugh and reassure him you were just kidding, his easy going smile once more on his face.

In the meantime, you carefully angle your body so you’re closer to him and reach your hands out to cup his face. So handsome. That dumb smile on his face made you want to eat him up. He leans into your touch and before he knows it, you have your lips on his.

And that’s how the both of you went tumbling off the fence.

Manolo’s body softens your fall at least. Both of you are laughing though. “Oh dios mio Manolo are you okay?”

His chest moves up and down as he gasps out his own laughter. “Never better.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You hover above him before taking his lips once more in a drawn-out kiss that left him breathless and starry eyed and you with fire in your blood. Hands found their way on your hips and by a force of magic, you end up straddling his waist.

Choking on your own breath, skin underneath your clothes tingle when he runs his hands from your hips to the swell of your thighs. A simple action that left you overly sensitive and wanting for more.

Pressing yourself flat against him, your lips devour his neck with the gentlest of nips that leaves Manolo a panting, squirming mess under you. He’s trying to say something but moans when your own hands do their own exploration.

Restraint is needed for you to peel away from him and to stand up on wobbly legs. Manolo looks up at you with disoriented eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Well, we very well can’t be making out in public. Not when we’re not officially a couple.” You smirk at him and wait for Manolo to get to his feet and run after you.

His house being the closest, you race him to the front door but he caught you in his arms and you let out a surprised squeal as this matador gone guitarrista hauls you into his arms. When the door clicks closed, you’re on him once again. Tongues wrestle, and clothes are discarded haphazardly. Your brain barely registers your back being pressed up against his wall or how he’s supporting the bulk of your weight with his arms.

A blur of kisses, caresses, and moans ensue along with a glowing sheen of sweat that makes your skin tacky but you hardly mind. Not when you’re entangled with Manolo.

In his thrusts, Manolo was making you a promise that this was true. He’d give you his all. When the time came the both of you would tell the world of your love. By then you’ll be ready to face Joaquin’s scrutiny.

At some point your bodies had made it to his bedroom but not necessarily to his bed.

On his floor, you stare up hazily at his ceiling as your head rests atop of his arm. He’s sated and content to stay down there if it meant you could remain in his arms. Free hand swirling patterns along your bare skin. Manolo’s humming softly while you nuzzle the crook of his neck that has little love bites scattered.

“Are you sure about this, Manolo?” This feels like a dream. But none of your’s had ever felt as real as this one. The heady delirium of sex lightened and reality was creeping back on you. Specifics would have to be ironed out to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings. Admitting that he wanted you, there was no willpower in you to stop yourself from tasting him. Common sense had fled from you in the split seconds before you kissed him.

His prominent curly cue bobs as he shifts his head. “I am a little worried. But you’re with me, so things can’t be too bad.” Face optimistic, it smothers the negative thoughts that had been slithering around you.

“Oh you should most definitely be worried. ‘Cuz when I get back to work, my parents will definitely know something happened. And they will know it’s you since they read your note.”

Comically, his eyes bug. “They read my note?! Why did you let them read it!” Face red, he’s mortified that your parents were aware of everything that happened.

You laugh and clutch your stomach. “I didn’t let them! It slipped out of my pocket. Besides, I hadn’t read it yet so I didn’t know what it said. Otherwise I would have made sure not to take it with me!”

Manolo truly looks concerned for his life. “Your mama is gonna kill me. I saw what she did to Joaquin!”

Ah yes, she’d broken her wooden spoon on top of his head. She would have done a lot more were it not for your dad and Manolo restraining her.

“Just make sure to duck and you’ll be fine.”

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