#Spanish Wine and Cheese

[winemastery]

Ramon Bilbao Crianza Rioja 2018 (Episode 390)

Ramon Bilbao Crianza Rioja 2018 (Episode 390)

[probablyintensemuses]

Tiny Little Good Things-

A. Aretas

PAIRING: ARMANDO X READER

synopsis: You and Armando get sent on a mission to stop a vicious drugs and arms dealer. Chaos ensues and you two find out why the lines between love and hate are constantly blurring for you both.

theme(s): eventual smut (+18), gore and blood, cursing, graphic imagery, angst, enemies to lovers, Armando is a dick and really hot when he speaks Spanish.

warnings: there is smut in this fic as well as many bloody scenes, if you can’t handle either, I wouldn’t read on!

authors note: hi, yes I know this fic is long as shit, but I felt it was necessary for what unfolds. There is more than 12k words here, so sorry to all my short attention span people. ❤️love you, k bye!

word count: 12.5k

“Ramos Malik, age thirty-seven and Miami’s biggest up and coming arms and drug dealer.’ Kelly says, fingers gracing her iPad as she swivels through pictures, displaying them on the plasma screen ahead.

“He’s a big fucking problem. 3D printing' slugs that are hitting the streets faster than crack in the seventies.’ Mike Lowery, head of AMMO, interjects. “Shells the size of a thumbs, sharper than lions teeth, are being pulled out of rival gang members, bystanders, and law enforcement all around the city.”

You turn in your chair, pushing away from your computer screen. “So, how do we stop him?”

Dorn rounds the steel table, a slab of guns, gear, and tech, gently taking the iPad from Kelly’s hand, and you don’t miss the way she blushes. It’s cute, those two. Kelly and you had grown close ever since you joined AMMO as their new technical analyst months ago. Dorn gave up the position, wanting to be present in the field—mostly to have Kelly’s six—he and his therapist had been making great progress and he felt it was time to be more than the brawny guy in the chair.

So that lead to you taking over and eventually many girls nights full of red wine, cheese, and pillow talking. A slip of a wine-jaded tongue later and you were the first on the team to know of their love affair. Sometimes you desired to have that of your own, but life and fate, as Marcus would say, hadn’t given that to you yet.

“Good question, followed by an even better answer.’ Dorn sails and the screen changes and a new scene plays. “This is Moxy, a new club on the strip. It’s where Ramos Malik and his crew hang out. Rumor has it he’ll be there tonight, and we're going to bind him with a sting.”

Intrigued you stand. “You need me to make inconspicuous body cams, don’t you?’ You gasp and breath deeply, a smile spreading on your face. “God I love it when you guys want me to make inconspicuous body cams.”

Dorn coughs and Kelly looks off to the side, biting at her nails. Mike walks over slowly, slapping a hand onto both your shoulders.

“Now, we know how much our sweet little, non-violent, girl here loves to just stay in her lane and chill here while we get into all the bloody action.’ Mike massages your shoulders, displaying you off to the group like a fresh piece of wagyu. You scan the crew's faces—mischief, panic, fear—but the one that snipes you the most is the one of Armando Aretas. He sits perched on a table on the far side of the room, combat boot clad feet planted on a chair as his brown eyes pierce into you, sending tiny, invisible sparks flocking on your skin. You suck in a sharp breath and look away. He always stared, so why did it bother you now?

When your ears finally stop buzzing, you dial back into Mike's speech. “But this time, it’ll be different. You’ll be out in the field.”

As if you were just tased, you jut away from his grip. “What?”

“Ramos can sniff cops a mile away. It’s what makes him so good at what he does.’ Marcus cuts in. “He knows our faces, too. The only face he doesn’t know, is yours.”

You take another step back, heart racing, completely stupefied. “So you want me to go and trick that bastard…by myself?!”

“No! Never!” Mike says. “Armando will be with you.”

A clatter echos through the room, all eyes snapping to where Armando was sitting, the little black stool wobbling on the floor. “The fuck I will!” He growls.

Your eyes narrow and you jut your chin up. What the hell was he so mad for?

“Okay, son, calm down. It’s a simple sting operation. If you’re careful, it’s an in-and- out kind of thing.”

Armando circles close, and out of habit you cower behind the wall of Mike and Dorn. You may have a high IQ but you’re no match physically for anyone on this team, especially not Armando. You’ve seen what he can do countless times. He was the silent beast, he always just stared and hardly spoke. No matter how much you tried to warm up to him, make him feel accepted, you two just never clicked.

You thought it might just be his past, how he was manipulated by his father and lied to by his mother, that made him so closed off, but with the way fury rumbles off of him so strong right now, pushing you deeper into Dorn and Mike, it makes you think there’s more unspoken. And if so, what?

Caged between Mike and Dorn Armando finds your eyes again, scolding your cheeks hot with his glare. It was as if he needed you to not only hear his words but feel them too. “I’m not going on any mission with the princesa. All she does is type and sit in that fucking chair all day. It’ll be suicide.”

Mike takes his son's shoulder, massaging them similar to how he’d done your own. “She’s the only choice right now, okay? She’s just the arm candy to fill out the picture we’re setting for Malik, alright?”

For some reason his words— “just the arm candy?”and “the only choice right now,” —sting. You may not be skilled in the field or in combat, but you were vital to this team and you spent months trying to prove your strengths otherwise. When you first joined the team, everyone insisted on making you their baby bird, some wounded thing they needed to protect in a gilded cage. You were the new young and stary-eyed cop, and they are all jaded-old bags who need someone to shelter. It happened authentically and you still couldn’t shake the box they put you in. You aren’t helpless, you are capable and strong and maybe this is what you need, an opportunity outside to finally prove yourself.

“If he doesn’t want to do it, I’m sure there is someone else in the field we can find.’ A surge of confidence flushes through you as you push past the Mike-Dorn barricade, chin help up high with defiance as you brush past Armando. “Whatever the case, I’ll do it. I can do it. I’m capable Mike, so let’s see my cover.”

A smirk peels on Kelly’s face as she passes you your file. “Okay, Ms. Bad-ass. I’m loving this energy.”

Armando scoffs, planting himself next to you, his broad shoulders brush up against your frail ones. The slight gesture sends a hear through you. Quickly you scoot away, no need to sweat through a perfectly good cardigan over mean-ass Armando Aretas.

You flip through your file. You’ll be playing Jenna Combs. A twenty-six year old dancer and model who is the new girlfriend of—

“You hijos de puta’s got me playing myself?” Armando argues. “What kind of shit disguise is that?”

Dorn shrugs. “It’s not. That’s the point. The Aretas name is still feared and no one knows you’re in with the cops. It’s a pretty believable story, you need new armory and he can supply it.”

“Last anyone in this circles heard, you was killing cops and slinging a new dope empire. Just get em’ to confess to making this bullets and where he does it, so we can get em’ off the streets for good.” Marcus chimes in with a smile.

Armando’s grumbles a few curses under his breath before his attention turns and latches onto you. Suddenly you feel hot again, like a solar flares are swallowing you whole. Armando’s eyes rack over your form, slow and tentative.

His gaze latches onto your lips before he says, “And she’s supposed to be my date? Suicide mission.”

“For who? You or me? Because the way I see it, with your attitude you’ll be made in minutes.”

The gap between you and Armando closes in an instant. Your faces mere inches from each other. His cool breath trickles down the crest of your neck and frosts the tips of your ears when he whispers, “Careful when you speak to me, Princesa. You’ll be alone out there with me, and anything could happen to you.”

Was he…threatening you?

Your balls must have really dropped in the matter of minutes, because instead of keeping quiet and apologizing, like you normally would if you managed to anger Armando, you bite back.

“Stop calling me that.” You grit your teeth.

“¿Por qué, eh?’ Armando whispers, pulling back from you and taking a seat on a nearby stool. His eyes are drunk with a flavor you can’t distinguish. “Only princesas get to sit up in their castle all day, shielded, while everyone else goes out and does all the heavy lifting.”

“I never asked to be shielded!’ You stamp your foot, moving in on him with a swiftness. Armando invites your challenge with grace, folding his muscular arms slowly over his wide chest, watching you stalk nearer.

You don’t know how, but you find yourself in between him, his legs two thick gates around you. Where it should bother you, in the moment it doesn’t because It’s your turn to invade his space. In this moment, the great Armando Aretas doesn’t scare you.

You poke at his chest with each syllable. “Rather you like it or not, Aretas, this princesa is going on this sting with or without you, and I don’t give a shit what you think, not anymore. Cool?”

A small smirk pulls on his face as he peels your finger off his chest, the digit so small in his his hand, his movements making you keenly aware of your closeness.

“Cool.” He stands, boxing you in with his large build before brushing past you and walking out of the compound.

You watch as the last bits of daylight leave with him as the door slams closed. This confidence was like adrenal coursing through you and suddenly you felt tired and zapped, being strong is exhausting. You take a seat, pulling at a loose curl atop your head, thoughts burrowing into your mind like a splinter.

To this day, you couldn’t understand the hatred he had for you. In the begging, when Mike had negotiated a deal with the D.A’s office and the department to allow Armando to work for AMMO, not wanting his raw talents to go to waste, no one trusted him. But still, you gave him a chance, because you knew how it felt to be the underdog and you didn’t want the same for him. Still, in his own fashion, he warmed up to the others…but never to you. But maybe he was right, everyone else here has put so much of themselves of the line, risked it all for the greater good, and what have you done? Nothing. You haven’t saved anyone or changed a life. You’ve sat and watched from the comforts of the compound. Their eyes and ears, that’s all.

You push to standing and gather your file. You may not be the strongest, or fastest on the team, but you had strengths and you’d make use of them tonight for once, no matter what.

Suddenly snickers and chuckle fill the room, bouncing off the walls of your mind and bringing you back to the room glazed with the smell of oil and pinesol.

Marcus breaks through the laughter. “Next time you two want to engage in some foreplay, ask for the room first.”

Your skin nearly peels off at his words. You could burn alive right now.

You and Armando?

“Never would that ever happen.” You shiver at the thought of being with any man, let alone him.

Armando is a mean man. A mean man you suddenly have to trust you life with.

But if that’s the case. Why does your heart not fall to your feet at the thought?

###

“You’ve memorized your role, right?” Kelly asks, tightening the final fixings of your dress.

“Yes,’ you nod. “I’m Armando’s new girlfriend, Jenna. I don’t speak, I just sit quietly and listen. I shadow him, basically. Anything he does, I do.”

“Good girl.’ Kelly winks. “One last thing.’ She digs into her pockets before brandishing a small knife. “Here, just in case things go south.”

Your eyes widen and you nearly flinch. “I thought you and Mike said this was an easy in-and-out kind of deal.”

Kelly sighs. “Nothing like this is ever easy. All things have the potential to go south.’ She grabs your face in her hands. “I just want my girl safe, that’s all.”

Reluctantly, you accept the knife, shoving it into your purse. “What about Armando? Isn’t he supposed to protect me—I mean Jenna?”

“And he will,” Kelly assures. “But you can never be too sure.”

You nod. “Right, whose to say he won’t abandon me if shit oops off,” your snicker is laced with fear.

Kelly walks you out of the compound and toward the front where you’ll be meeting the rest of the team. “He won’t. Trust me.”

“He did allude to it early, Kels.”

Kelly rolls her eyes, stopping you and giving your curls one last fluff. “Aretas is all talk when it comes to you, don’t take him for a grain of salt.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to be mean.”

Kelly smirks. “See for yourself.”

She steps out of the way and in the shinning exterior of Mikes Ferrari, you see yourself.

Do you look like a slut, yes, but nonetheless gorgeous.

Your curls are loose and defined, a cascade of shea butter and hibiscus around you. Your makeup is layered, yet light, elevating your high cheekbones, wide lips, and honey-brown eyes. And your plum colored dress pops against your warm-brown skin, somehow making even your thin body look full and figured.

You look fucking hot.

And for the first time in forever, you feel fucking hot.

Apparently you’re not the only one who thinks so as a whistle breaks loose in the yard.

“Goddamn girl!’ Mike claps. “If I wasn’t some old dog, I’d ask you on a date myself.”

“I’ll keep my comments to myself,’ Marcus smiles. “You know Theresa be listening.” He looks over his shoulders, head on a swivel.

“Dorn don’t say a word.” Kelly scolds her boyfriend, Dorn holds his hands up in defense.

“Staying silent.” He whimpers.

Your cheeks flush. “Stop, you guys.” You giggle. “This was all Kelly, besides you know I look better in a cardigan and jeans.”

“I agree.” A voice emerges from the darkness. A wide berth breaks before you as Armando strolls over.

Your throat goes dry and suddenly your head is dizzy with a feeling hard to explain, as you take him in.

He’s fresh with a new hair cut, faded low on the sides and thick, raven black up top. His beard is full and more manicured, enunciating the sharp cuts of his jaw.

He’s graced in a suit, black-on-black. The undershirt unbuttoned exposing much of his chiseled chest and the gold, cross necklace that dangles there. His suit jacket fits perfectly over the swells of his biceps and his pants expose every aching muscle in his thigh.

Like gravity, it’s hard to pull your eyes away from him. But somehow you become the void of space and manage to.

You can’t say the same for him though, because despite his insults that same burning, tingling sensation finds its way tip-toeing down your back and to the swell of your ass. One quick spin and you catch Armando’s eyes lifting from your backside to face you.

“I thought I looked better in a cardigan?” You say, breathing heavy.

Was he just? No…

Armando swings open the passenger door for you. “Get in.” He grumbles.

Not wanting to test his patience, you oblige, taking a step into the Farrier.

Armando closes the door behind you before climbing into the passenger side.

At the window, Mike approaches.

“Get in ask Ramos about the bullets, say you heard about them from word of mouth and you’re interested in them. You’ll pay top dollar. Once he confirms he can give them to you, we’ll move in. Got it?” Mike explains to Armando before turning his attention to you. “And for you, just be silent, pretty, and say nothing, okay?”

“Won’t be hard for her.” Armando grumbles as he starts the car.

You roll your eyes, ignoring his comment. “You guys will tail us, right.”

Dorn nods. “You should be fine though, you’ve got Armando.”

Armando reeves the engine, slowly idling off and away from your friends. And for some reason, when you whip off, you can’t help but wonder if he was right. This was a suicide mission, just not for him.

Fuck.

###

The drive is silent and smooth. You really could see why Mike insisted on such expensive cars, they rode well.

Your heel-clad feet tap against the bottom of the car, humming a tune in your head, making you realize just how much this ride needed some music.

Slowly, you turn to face Armando. His eyes are focused on the long road ahead, his jaw is clenched and he doesn’t seems to be paying you the slightest bit of attention.

As smooth as you can be you carefully lift your hand up and turn on the radio. Soon enough Ariana Grandes, The Boy is Mine, blasts from the radio.

You squeal and find a small groove with your fingers against your purse, humming the lyrics and bopping your head to the beat. The song is just reaching its second run through the chorus when the radio goes dead.

You turn, seeing Armando’s hand leaking from the controls. Annoyed, you give him a look before turning the radio back on, louder this time.

Armando’s jaw clenches tighter, like he might actually collapse through it with his bite force. He slams the radio off…again.

This time you don’t bite your tongue.

“Would you stop doing that!” You shout.

“No.”

“Why not? I was listening to that.”

“I don’t care. I need to focus.” Armando grumbles.

“Focus on what?”

“I don’t know, Princesa, making sure we both come out of this alive, because I damn sure can’t count on you to do that.”

His words bite, but if he wants to play a snake you have venom for him. “Why don’t you like me, huh? What have I ever done to you?” You hide.

Armando stays silent, his knuckles whitening as his grip strengthens on the steering wheel.

You snap at him. “I’m not talking to myself, Armando. Why do you hate me, huh?!”

“Cállte!” He shouts

You don't know much Spanish, but you’ve heard him say it enough to know it’s time to walk away from the conversation.

So you do, resting your head against the window seal, counting the number of streetlights you see flash and shimmer as you zoom by.

When you were younger your mother couldn’t afford fancy candles so she used a flashlight instead. You imagine the streetlights as just that, wishing that one day you’d know what you did to anger Armando so much.

Not soon enough, the car comes to a halt. The only sounds filling the cabin are those of Armando undoing his seatbelt.

Annoyed, you don’t even look at him as he speaks. All he’s done is tear you down in the past few hours, you’re done giving him the energy you need to conserve.

“When we go inside, don’t say a word. I don’t care how many questions he throws your way, you don’t say shit. Am I clear?”

Slowly, you turn towards him. Your mouth is scrunched and your eyes filled with no sympathy for the devil in front of you.

“Crystal.” You whisper, venom leaking off your tongue as you speak.

Armando’s chest rises and falls as he takes in your anger. He squeezes Mikes keys between his hands, and you you really do your best to ignore the heat that unfurls inside of you when he bites his plump lip between his teeth and runs a hand over his dark, full beard.

You adjust in your seat, because despite his constant cold front, It looks as if he has something to say. You wait in contemplating silence, the only sounds in the cabin being your breathing and Armando’s hesitant taps on the keys.

Part of you just wants to go in a get this over with and never speak to him again, but another part is desperate for him to say something meaningful to you. Something like the things you say to him before a mission.

“Don’t die.”

“Come back in one piece.”

“Be careful.”

“We should all have pizza when you come back.”

You knew how scary things could get on missions and you just wanted your team to know you were there, to take away even a slither of the darkness clouding them in that moment. And for your first time, you thought Armando might do the same—say something meaningful—but he doesn’t.

In a flash he’s out of the car, handing the keys over to valet, threatening them about what will happen if any scratches and dents are found.

You take in a deep breath and look down at the camera, disguised as a gold necklace resting above the cut of your breast.

“You guys getting all this?” You whisper, stepping out of the car.

“Do you mean Moxy, or your fight with Hotmando?” Dorn says over the earpiece.

You come to a halt. “Shit, I’m sorry guys. I’ll keep it professional, okay. From here on out, I won’t let him get to me…that’s not what’s important.”

“Good, get in and come back to us. I need my girl and our wine down Sundays.” Kelly says.

You smile, making your way over to wear Armando stands at the mouth of the nightclub, hoping he heard your words.

The sour look on his face as you walk through the door he holds open for you—sure to flip my hair as you do, giving him a nice taste of your leave in conditioner—tells you he certainly did, and perhaps he didn’t like what you had to say, but nonetheless…

He wont bother you anymore. Not tonight, at least.

Inside Moxy tore hit with a wave of a scent that nearly makes you gag—weed, sweat, and criminal activity. The club its self is large in scale, high ceilings with rope dancers stringing off the tops and flashing red and blue lights melting to make a purple haze over the club. Smoke and bubble guns are in constant effect and you’re pretty sure you can feel the bass of Wiz Khalifa’s Black and Yellow in your thoracic cavity.

From what you can see there are three floors, the first and second appear to be where the actual clubbing takes place. You watch the sweaty bodies corralled into dance floors, babbling nonsense either too drunk or too high for their own good.

But above, on the third, it is caged in and covered by glass. Yellow lights, different from the multi-colored ones below, remain at a halt and big , burly men with guns at their hips wander the halls. No doubt looking to take out any threat that comes for their boss—Ramos Malik.

“The glass. It’s bullet proof.” Armando says, eyeing the scene above, just as you do.

You would praise him for the impressive catch. But you’re Jenna now, and Jenna doesn’t speak.

“Any sign of Malik?” Mike asks.

“Not yet,’ Armando places a hand on the small of your back, making you flinch. “But we’re about to find out.”

Never moving his hands from your waist, Armando guides the two of you through the sweaty pillage of bodies and towards the elevators.

The ride up is quick, quiet. That’s not shocking. But what is shocking, as soon as the elevator comes to a screeching halt, Armando grabs your hand in his, completely engulfing your own with his size.

The burning sensation wraps up your wrist and shoots straight to your cheeks where you flush.

“What are you doing?” You gasps, trying to pull away. You did not sign up for this kind of role play.

Armando turns to look at you. “If you’re my girlfriend, we’ve got to play the part. Other than that you just look like someone who I brought out on a hit with me.” He squeezes your hand.

You suck in a deep breath at the motion, looking away.

“What’s wrong, princesa? This too much for you?” For a second, you thought he meant the fact that he was holding your hand, and in that case he wouldn’t be wrong, but soon enough the doors open and you shortly realize what he means.

The two burly men from early, dapper in black and white suits, wait outside the elevator, fingers in the triggers of their guns.

“Aretas.’ They nod, tuning your attention to you. “Whose this?”

“My girl, Jenna.” Armando says, gruffly.

One of the men nods, motioning you forward. You swallow, backing up a bit, hesitant on what to do.

Armando nudges you forward. “Esta bien bebe.”

You nod and walk towards them. They grab you up, calloused hands running up and down your body, and your pretty sure they linger to long on your untouchables on purpose.

Sweat begins to pile in your hands as a thought burst into your mind. What would happen if they found the knife Kelly gave you? She’d shoved it in a pretty good spot, but still, these guys were being thorough…and not in a good way.

You make eye contact with Armando as one of the guards continues to fill you up with what feels like excessive force.

In a blur, Armando pushes off the wall with his foot, slapping a hand on the guards shoulder.

“She’s clear, eh?”

The guard nods.

Armando grips his collar and pulls him in close. “The why the fuck are you still touching her, hm?”

The guard swallows, fear evident in his eyes.

“Just covering the bases, that’s all, sir.” He whimpers.

“Cover the bases again like that with my girl, and I’ll cut your fucking hand off and feed it to your other fat fuck of a friend.” Armando notions to the guard behind.

The guard nods and swallows, caressing his hand.

“The boss is this way,” he guides us with a motion.

Armando grips your hand once more, leading your down the long hallway.

“You okay?” He asks, holding his gaze forward.

You look up at him, even in heels he still manages to be taller than you. “Don’t pretend to care.” You scoff.

That makes him halt, conjoined with him you have no choice but to face each other. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, yet no words come out.

You roll your eyes, looking past his shoulders. Inside the bright room, you can see a shadow of Ramos. “Let’s just get this over with.” You say.

Armando’s gaze lingers on your longer than you’d like, giving you the shivers despite the fire leaking off him.

Soon enough, he pushes open the door and you follow behind him.

The room is small, club girls linger around either serving drinks or being felt up on. Ramos’s men, stand at each corner of the room searching for the next threat to their boss. Luckily they haven’t figured it is you yet.

“Armando Aretas,” Ramos claps his hands, jumping off of the white couch he’s sat on.

He stalks over, cigar between his lips, and you take him in. He is nowhere near as stalky as Armando, and his curly blonde hair is put up into a bun, exposing the undercut beneath. You can’t catch the colors of his eyes because they are covered by dark, Fendi shades.

His business definitely makes money, and lots of it. His three piece black and burgundy suit screams it all.

“To what do I owe such great pleasures?” He bows, lifting your hand up and placing a kiss on the back. “That goes for you too, sugar.”

Armando squeezes your hand a bit tighter at the pet name. You want to bite back and tell him to go easy, but you’re on stage now, and for your own safety and his, it’s best if you don’t break the act.

“I’m in the business of buying something from you. Streets are hot down in Mexico right now, and I need to establish some new territories…with a little force.” Armando says smoothly, sometimes you forget he was a hardened criminal not too long ago.

Ramos clicks his tongue between his teeth. “Ah. Come sit.” He motions you two over to one of his coaches.

“Good job. Keep em’ talking.” Mike says over the coms.

Armando takes a seat across from Ramos and you do the same.

A chuckle leaves Ramos’s lips. “I don’t think your pet likes you very much,” he motions to the space between you two.

Armando smacks his lips. “Nonsense. Ven aquí, bebé.”

You swallow and scoot towards him. When you’re close enough, in one swift moment, Armando’s slips you in his lap, running a rough hand up and down the exposed parts of your thigh, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps all over your body.

What the hell was happening.

Ramos chuckles, pouring himself and Armando a drink. He pushes it across the glass table, just out of reach.

Armando gives your ass a light slap, you turn and flare your nose, giving him your best “don't push it,” it glare.

He ignores it.

“Tráeme eso, mamá.” He says, motioning towards the glass.

You pick up the tumbler, suddenly realizing what he’s playing at. Ramos is watching because he isn't convinced. So you suck up your pride and do some convincing.

You grip Armando by his chin, rubbing the pad of your thumb in circles over his gruff beard before putting the glass against his lips, assisting him as he drinks.

Never once do his eyes leave you as he swallows the amber liquid, and the shivers that were once in your spine travel lower, much lower. You have to blink away the awful, dirty thoughts of you being in place of the glass out of your mind as you swipe away the spillage off his beard and plump, pink lips.

When you turn, Ramos’ shoulders drop and his smile is so wide it’s nearly reckless.

“So you’re in the business of buying my most popular product from me?”

“That’s right.” Armando says, a hand still caressing you slow and smooth.

“I am curious, though,’ Ramos takes a swig of his drink. “How did you hear about it?”

Armando shifts, the movement forcing you closer to his center. Your eyes go wide as saucers, your new position doing nothing for the growing pain massing within your heat.

“I’m an Aretas. Nothing in the streets goes past my ears…nothing.” Armando's confidence radiates off of him.

“Very well,” Ramos chuckles. “Let’s establish two parameters of this deal, then. One, you pay me before I give you any product. Two, you get caught with my product, you don’t tell a soul who you the fuck got it from. Sounds good?” He smiles.

Armando nods. “Just one thing,’ his hands enclose over your hips, sliding you off to the side, as he leans forward. “How do you make them? The bullets.”

Ramos frowns. “Why? You trying to steal my swag or something, Aretas?”

Armando chuckles. “Nah, just curious.”

“Feed his ego, he’s going to talk.” Kelly says.

“I mean, they're sharp, large, fast, quiet. It’s impressive. I just want to know how you do it before I invest any of my money into it.” Armando leans back, arms spread in a wide arch on the back of the couch.

“In our world now, with a little money, the right connections, and a fuck ton of fortitude, anything you can think of is a possibility.’ Ramos says, lighting another cigar. “It’s rare and hard to get everything right. But if you really want to know how I do it,’ he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper.

Armando does the same, you make the conscious effort not to. Instead you play with your necklace, making sure the camera catches his face and his face only when he confesses.

“It’s a three—,”

A sudden buzz swallows the conversation whole, swirling it down the dirty sink it had come up from. The buzz echoes once more before you realize where it comes from…your purse

Fuck.

Ramos straightens, likes a dog on guard, eyeing you fiercely. Your chest rises and falls with a weight heavier than gravity as your ringtone continues to blare out for everyone to hear.

Ramos licks his lips, like he’s hungry for what comes next. “Well don’t be shy, Ms. Jenna, answer the phone.”

You swallow and tuck a curl behind your ear. “I don’t think that’s appropriate right now. Let’s just finish up the deal—“

In a blur of fury, Ramos stands brandishing a gun, pointing it right at your chest.

“Make you perra answer the fucking phone, or I put holes in you both.”

“Answer the phone,” Mike calls to you. “Do what he asks.”

Armando gives you a cautious look as you slip your phone out of your purse. Your fingers are shaking, so answering takes a few tries but when you finally do get it, you see that it’s your sister calling.

“Make sure it’s on speaker too.” Ramos demands, clocking his gun.

You inhale deeply, press the speaker button, then answer, “Hey, sister, this isn’t really a good time.”

“Hey, I know you’re probably working late and all, but this is kind of important. My routers are not really working and I have a date with that guy, David, I told you about and I really need my tv to work.” She explains.

You bite your lip and lick the sweat that forms around them. “Have you tried turning your tv on and off again? You know I’m not really a whiz at that tech stuff.”

A pause, then your sister erupts in laughter. “Girl, are you high?’ She laughs. “You’ve been messing with wires and the internet since we were kids. That’s the whole reason twelve wanted you anyways”

Your hear sinks the moment she says those words, you hang up because the last thing you want is for your sister to hear you die.

“Well fuck me, Jenna, I’ll be damned.” Ramos growls, pushing his gun into your skull.

You pierce your eyes shut, brace for the burning impact of the bullet and pray for a quick death.

But it never happens, instead in a swift motion Armando pushes you off to the side causing you to collapse onto the ground. He makes a quick sweep of his leg, sending Ramos crashing onto his ass and the bullet that was meant for you soaring up and hitting the rafters, lodging into some wood.

Your breath is heavy as you watch all out war unfold before you. Armando takes on five men at once. The first man takes two tumblers over the head and one shard of glass to the neck, scarlett liquid oozing from the wound before he drops like dead weight beside you.

You let out a scream, backing away from the scene that moves like a riptide before you.

“Get out of there, now!” Kelly screams in your ear.

“I—I can’t just leave him!” You shout back.

“You have no training! We’re coming in, go, now!” Mike yells.

You gather yourself, undoing your heels, still watching Armando skillfully take out guys and keep clear of the gunshots that ring in the tiny room. You watch as he dropkicks one man, then shoots him in the face before stalking over to another man, dishing out a few punches, before finally gutting him with a knife.

He’s still on the move when you finally slip out of your heels. More of Ramos’s men are filing in and the fight expands,moving from the small room you were just in into the hallway where any innocent person could be hurt.

Unlike most times you weren’t in your gilded chair. You were in the field and you would help as many people as you could. So, you don’t think, you let the adrenaline cloud you as you bound down the hallway in hopes to get back downstairs and direct clubbers from the chaos.

Setting the golden elevator in your sites, you push faster. People below were already screaming, running wild. Who knows what could happen? How many people could be trampled and hurt. This only fuels you, quickening your stride. You nearly make it but a gunshot slows you, and the body of a bleeding girl drops before you, putting you into a full halt.

“Oh my god,” your voice is breathy and shaky.

“Why are you still in there!” Dorns’ voice becomes a far void as you rip at the bottom of your dress and use the fabric to compress her wound.

Two gunshots to the chests. The girl, who can’t be any older than yourself, gurgles blood which sprays onto her porcelain skin and leaks into her brown hair, sticking strands to the marble floor.

The girl coughs, sending blood splattering onto the side of your face, and claws at your arms, streaks of crimson standing out against your brown skin.

She murmurs, but it’s hard to hear.

You press deeper into her wounds. “Shh, it’ll be alright,’ You tell her “guys, I need a medic on the third floor when you get here. She’s…she’s in really bad shape.” You whimper.

The girl whines again, her eyes open and closing in two second intervals.

she raises her arm pointing a shaking finger in the direction behind you.

You wipe your eyes, blood no doubt trailing on your face now.

“What?” You croak. “What is it?” You turn around and see Ramos Malik limping over to you, a large knife in his hand.

You stand, putting distance between him, yourself and the girl.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?’ An injured Ramos says, limping toward you with his knife pointed. “Trying to get me caught up in some trap, but you weren’t even smart enough to shut off your phone!” He screams, lunging at you with the knife.

You tumble backwards, your back and head hitting the marble floor with the weight of you both. You cry out as pain sears through you, especially your hand.

It takes you a moment of readjusting to the bright lights and sounds to realize why. You caught the fucking knife in your hand.

You scream, as Ramos pulls it from your palm in a slice. Your hand open and bleeding, you cry out and roll away from another vicious attack by Ramos.

He growls and lunges at you again, grabbing a tuft full of your curls. You beat at his legs with your good hand, squirming in his grip. He pulls at your hair, making you scream, lowering his knife to your neck, pressing inward.

You let out an animalistic scream, pressing your thumb into the oozing wound on his leg. He screeches, falling to his knees.

Wasting no time, you crawl away.

You think you’ve gotten far enough.

You rise up on your knees and push the elevator button, but the cold hand on your ankle snatches you back.

You claw at the marble floors, leaving a trail of blood, as Ramos drags you like a rag doll. He stops, flipping you over and planting his weight on top of you.

You flail, kicking the ground and scratching at his face, desperate for him to let go. But he doesn’t. Instead, he cages you with his legs and wraps both hands around your neck, applying so much pressure that your vision blurs.

Under his grip, your breaths become distant and faint. Your muscles relax, and your eyes bulge. Turning your head to the side, you can barely make out the flashing blue and red lights from outside.

The team is here. But you're not sure they'll find you in time because Ramos is relentless, and the air in your lungs is vanishing. Your skull feels like it’s being crushed, the pressure intense.

You feel yourself slipping away, losing focus on your surroundings. Ramos moves your head to face him, and he’s a mass of incoherent clouds above you, the only clear thing are his dark, empty eyes.

“Look at me, baby. I like my victims to look at me before they die,” he growls, spit slipping from his mouth. “I hope Aretas finds you like—”

Ramos drops, and oxygen rushes back into your lungs like a clap of thunder.

You shudder on the ground, scraping at your neck and slapping your chest.

Warm hands engulf your cheeks, and it takes a minute for the blur to leave your vision. When it does, you see Armando before you, a smoking gun at his side.

“¿Estás bien, mamá?”

His voice barely registers before oxygen slips from your lungs again, and you slump over, hitting the ground.

Armando scoops you up, and even though it should be a relief, you can’t help but be saddened by the way your team jumps over the girl you couldn’t save.

Darkness swallows you whole as your team swarms you and Armando.

###

“The stitches will dissolve on their own in time as your wound heals itself.’ Kelly says, tightening the last of the bandages on the hand Ramos had sliced.

“Thanks, Kelly.’ You smiled softly, rubbing at the soreness that still lingered all over your body, especially your neck.

Ramos and his men had been arrested, not on the charges the team had planned, but still, getting him locked away for attempted murder of a police officer and soliciting drugs would have to be good enough for now.

Kelly rubs your shoulders, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “I’m really sorry this happened to you,’ she says, eyeing your injuries, the bandages on your knees and hands, the purple-ish bruise on your neck, and the small scratches and scrapes all over your body. You definitely weren’t as hot as you were that night.

“It’s okay.” You smile. “I’m still here, so.” You shrug.

“You were brave that night, saving that girl. We’re all so proud of you.” Kelly says.

You shake your head. “But I didn't save her, Kels. She died. Right there, she bled out.’ Tears start to rim your eyes as the memories of the girl and her blood in your hands flare in your mind. “Fuck,” you cover your eyes with your palms. “I could hardly save myself that night…if it wasn’t for Armando, I’d be dead.”

You sniffle, taking a seat on a nearby stool. “I’m not cut of for the field, and I don’t think I should ever do it again.”

Kelly swarms you. “No. Don’t say that.’ She shakes her head. “We’ve all been there, helpless, but that’s why we’re a team. We cover each other's six when shit gets rough. So don’t feel bad, we won’t let you.”

You nod slowly, trying to let her words penetrate your soul so that you could really believe them. But right now, you couldn’t. You put everyone at risk because you made a rookie mistake by leaving your phone on.

You were to blame for all the carnage, all the bloodshed and chaos.

Armando was right, it was a suicide mission. And it was all your fault.

Kelly’s phone ringing thrusts you out of your thoughts.

She reads the screen number and looks at you. 'I got to go,’ she motions. “But if you need me, call me, seriously.”

You nod and wave her goodbye. You turn and fully expect to hear the compound's heavy, steel doors slam shut and lock, but they never do.

On high alert you turn and meet eyes with Armando. He’s in his typical black on black, head to toe. The only thing different about him is the white bandage covering the bulge of his arm.

You try not to stare too hard at the way his black shirt clings to his body, flexing every taunt muscle as he strides down the steps and towards you with a force.

Refocusing, you work on the project at hand—Dorns broken drone. You mesh wires together and a spark comes alive, something like the sparks you feel when Armando takes a seat next to you, leaving up against the steel work table.

“So that’s it, eh?” He says, staring at you. “Gonna ignore me.”

You keep fussing with your wires. “Not sure there is much to say.”

Armando chuckles bitterly. “I’m sure I could find some words. How about we start with, lo siento or soy un maldito idiota.”

You slam down your tools and turn to face him, fire blazing in your eyes. “I don’t even know what the fuck you just said.” You growl.

Armando stands, towering over you. “I’d be happy to translate for you, princesa. It means you fucked up and cost alot of people their lives.”

You flinch at his words, more reality of your mistake clouding over you. “You don’t think I know that? I’ve regretted my mistake every night when I cry myself to sleep because all I can see is that girl's face.

Your voice wavers. “Her blood.”

“If you feel like that then you should have listened to me when I told you that mission was suicide.” He growls.

“Fuck you.” You spat, walking away.

Armando catches your forearm, pulling you back towards him. “I’m not done, so don’t walk away from me.”

“Let me the hell go!” You try jerking from his grip but it’s no use, you’re stuck, stuck taking his abuse.

“No, you need to know that it was your fault out there. That your place is in the chair,’ he motions to your desk behind you. “You can’t handle the field, you’re not built for it.”

The need to prove him wrong boils in your gut causing you to lift your hand and swing it out towards Armando’s face.

Bad idea.

He catches your arm with ease and now both your limbs are in his hands. You try to snatch away, but Armando keeps you steady, pulling you closer until the two of you are breaths away from each other.

The heat in your chest spreads like wildfire as you watch Armando’s eyes linger on your bruised lips, then trailing down slowly to your hands and legs, accessing all your injuries as if they matter to him.

“Besides,’ he trails on, his index finger glazing cautiously over the ring bruise on your neck. “If it wasn’t more me out there, princesa, you’d be dead.”

“I didn’t think…”

“That’s the point,’ Armando holds you steady. “You didn’t think, and you not using your head almost got you killed. And if you would have died I—.”

There's a quivering pause in Armando’s voice, his eyes slam shut tight. You don’t know what to make of this, one second he hates you and the next he cares if you’re dead or not. Armando is a mystery you’re too tired to decode.

You jerk from his grasps once more and this shocks his eyes back open.

“Are you done?” You manage to say.

Armando licks his lips, slowly releasing you from his grasp.

“I’m done,’ he says, backing away from you.

You hold onto the steel table for support, the scorch of his touch slowly fleeting.

You hear the steel door crack open and turn to watch him leave, but he’s halted at the precipice, “One last thing, stay in the chair next time. It’s where you belong.”

With that he leaves, the steel door slamming shut and your confidence crumbling down.

You tried your hardest to not let Armando affect you, but he does. His words cut you deeper than Ramos’s knife. Maybe he was right, maybe you should just stay in the chair. But what if there was another time they needed you in the field? Could you just say no without feeling immense guilt? Probably not.

So when you write your resignation and leave it on your desk and walk away from the compound, you do it because you can’t stand to see the people you care about get hurt, all because you’re not a good enough cop.

###

“Okay, seriously! Are you really going to be that stupid and go back into the house where you know the killer is! Come on Noah!” You shout at your television screen.

It’s been a week since you put in your resignation and the amount of discourse behind it has resulted in you shutting off your phone and locking yourself inside, watching shitty horror movies to pass the time.

Because if you step foot outside, you’ll be mobbed by friends from the department and your friends from AMMO who, to say the least, weren’t happy about your resignation.

All but one.

Not that he mattered anyway.

They all hated that you quit, saying you needed to come back immediately and talk this out. But you couldn’t.

How could you face them when you were such a coward and created all that chaos? They worked so hard to save lives and keep order and you did nothing but fuck shit up.

It was time to jump ship before someone else got hurt in the crossfires of your neglect.

The thought pushes you deeper into your plush green couch that sits far back into your home, well renovated garage. But hey, Miami is expensive, and this place was renting out, so you just renovated it. A little love all around and it became an actual home.

You let loose a small smile looking around, the walls, once bare and industrial, now are splattered with a lively palette of bright yellows, deep blues, and playful greens. They are decorated with framed posters of all the things you love: vintage video games, classic sci-fi movies, and beloved comic book covers, each one a nod to your past. Strings of fairy lights crisscross the ceiling, casting a soft, whimsical glow that contrasts beautifully with your high-gear equipment scattered throughout.

Your floor is a patchwork of colorful rugs, each with its own story. Some are intricately patterned, those are the ones your parents gifted you, while others are simple yet bold, adding a splash of color to the room. Together, they might be your favorite part of the whole place, just because they keep your bare feet warm on lazy nights like these.

In one corner, a plush, oversized bean bag chair sits next to a low coffee table cluttered with all your retro memorabilia – old gaming cartridges, Rubik's cubes, and a couple of well-worn graphic novels.

The heart of your home garage is the tech haven. Your large, custom-built desk stretches along one wall, supporting your impressive army of monitors in various sizes. High-end computers hum quietly, their cases glowing with neon lights. Cables and wires, though numerous, are neatly organized, snaking their way through the room in an orderly fashion.

Shelves above and around the desk hold a treasure trove of tech gadgets and components – everything from VR headsets and drones to soldering kits and spare parts. A 3D printer sits in a place of honor, its latest creation still cooling on the print bed.

Your home made you feel complete, but still after you quit you do feel a little empty. You miss the small talks at work, the laughter, the bickering, the teasing. It just wasn’t the same alone. But again, it was for the best, because if there is one thing you know—keeping your family safe is the most important thing, above all.

And you’d hate to be their reckoning.

Flipping open your laptop you continue to scroll through your job search.

“What do you think, Chester?’ You say to your golden retriever. “Tech support job? Or maybe we go dark and get into hacking for higher companies.”

Chester whines, fidgeting in his spot next to you.

“You’re right, no going bad. Tech support it is.’ Chester rummages around a bit more before springing over your coach, darting towards the door. “Hey, I can work from home with this one!” You say.

Chester’s barks ring out, bouncing off the walls relentlessly.

You stand and make your way over to what’s got him so riled up. At the door, you bend down and pet him, still doing nothing to soothe his barks.

“Chessy, what’s wrong, huh?” You grab his collar, pulling him towards the door and opening it.

You stick both your heads out the door, turning them left and right, the only thing you see and hear is darkness and the bad storm slamming outside. You pull back inside and Chester sticks to you like glue. “See, nothing to worry about.’ You squat down to love on your dog, who's growling like crazy right now. “We aren’t like Noah, we don’t go into scary houses for fun. We’re safe here, Ramos is gone. ” You pat his head, but that only makes him bark more.

“Chester, enough already.” you stand, moving towards the kitchen and getting yourself a glass out of the cabinet, flicking on the sink, and filling it with water.

Your just about to take a sip when a loud crack of lighting explodes, illuminating your dark house, revealing a cloaked figure behind you.

You scream and drop your cup, shards exploding on the ground around your feet. Chester is in a full on frenzy right now, and rightfully so. Could this be Ramos’s men, did he send them to finish you off?

“You’re one crazy bitch, you know that?”

“Look at me, baby. I like my victims to look at me before they die.”

You scrape at your neck, the tender bruise making you hiss as if the pressure of Ramos choking you has never left.

The figure steps forward and you screech, ripping a butcher knife from your kitchen sink, and pointing it at them.

“Back the fuck up!” You scream. “I’m a fucking cop!” You take wobbly steps back, watching Chester go up the figure and sniff them…then roll over?

Chester by no means is an aggressive dog, but he loves you, and if he sensed you were in danger he’d protect you with his life. So when he begins to receive pets from the intruder, you lower your knife.

“Kelly?” You say, she knows Chester, you’ve brought him to the compound many times before, but she’s the only one on your team who has a key to your place.

The figure doesn’t answer, they just move over to the corner of the kitchen, flipping on the light.

Your shoulders drop the moment you see his thick beard and warm-brown skin peeking from underneath his black hoodie.

Armando.

“How the fuck did you get in?” You cross your arms over your chest.

Armando shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto your kitchen stools. “It’s not exactly a place with state of the art security.”

“I could have killed you, Chester too.”

Armando snickers. “You and your pooch wouldn’t have done a thing.”

You grumble, crossing the kitchen landscape and moving towards the coaches. “What do you want, you're interrupting my movie night.”

Armando follows, hot on your trail. “I can see that. By the way, is that hello kitty on your pajamas?”

You look down and groan. Of course you’d be wearing something totally embarrassing when your least favorite ex-coworker breaks into your house.

“Stop switching the subject. Why are you here?”

Armando rustles in his pocket before pulling out a paper and shoving it into your hands.

You’re careful to unfold it because there is rain damage from the storm, but when you get it open, despite the smooshed ink on the page, you see it’s your resignation letter.

“Okay, and?” You shrug.

“Okay, and, take it back.” He says.

You chuckle. “You’re joking, right. Like you have to be joking.”

Armando’s face is straight. “I’m not.”

You plop down on your couch. “I’m not taking it back, I'm already looking at different jobs.”

A scoff leaves his lips. “So that’s it, eh? You’re just going to run away.”

You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Weren't you the one who told me I should quit?”

“I never said that. I said you needed to stay in the chair, and still, you did the opposite of that.” He says.

You stand. “What’s the point of saying I’m a cop, if I don’t actually save people. You said that entire night was on me, so I backed away from the situation and now you’re mad?”

Armando sits quietly for a moment, tapping his leg against the ground. “I never said quit.”

“It doesn’t matter what you said. I did what I felt I needed to do.”

Armando scoffs, turning in his seat. “Yeah I can see that, real egoísta if you ask me.”

You stand, marching over towards the kitchen. “You know I have no clue what you’re saying.”

Armando turns, follows you, taking a seat at the bar. And before you know it, just like that compound before, you're caged between his legs.

“I called you selfish.”

You let out a gasp. “How the hell am I selfish?”

“Because you left the team!”

“I left the team to keep everyone safe! Not because I’m selfish!”

“We're safe! And we’ll be safer knowing that you’re safe, too, especially with some of Ramos’s associates still out there! I—we need to keep tabs on you.”

You stumble back. “What?’ You swallow. “Are you telling me my life is in danger? That Ramos will send people after me?”

“It’s a possibility we’re considering,’ Armando says, his eyes never leaving you as you sit across from him. “But if you come back to work we can keep you safe.”

“And what’s to say they won’t come for me any other time?” You croak. “Being in that compound doesn’t guarantee my safety.”

Armando rubs a slow hand over his face. “But I can.” He says, hardly above a whisper.

“You. Protect me?”

“Why is that so far-fetched?” He says.

“Armando, you hate me.”

“You keep putting words in my mouth, princesa, and I don’t like it.”

“I’m not putting words in your mouth. It’s just, actions speak louder.’ You shrug. “Ever since you got into AMMO, we’ve been the least close out of everybody. No matter how hard I tried, we just never connected. So yes, I’m sorry if I find you putting yourself on the line for me, unprovoked, a little hard to believe.”

Armando stands, his frame opposing against yours. He lifts his shirt and you hiss at what you see. Bandages, dried blood, and purple bruises litter his torso.

You look away but he catches your chin with his thumb, pulling your attention back to him.

“I wouldn’t put myself on the line for you,’ he said, pulling his shirt back down. “I already fucking did.”

“I never asked you too.” You mutter, looking away ashamed that you caused that.

“You didn’t have to.’ He sighs. “I couldn’t stand to see you get hurt.”

“What?” You turn, slow tears building, blurring your vision now.

“I didn’t want you to go out there because, as much as I try to hide it, I care about you.” Armando says, hot brown eyes melting into you.

You blink, stalling and stepping back. Armando…cares about you? Those two things shouldn’t even be in conjunction and your brain can’t process that they are.

The man in front of you has never been anything but harsh towards you, now he comes to your home in the middle of the night begging you to come back to work and confessing his feelings for you.

You truly must be dreaming…this can’t be real. Not that you’d be mad if it was. Despite all your bickering and misunderstandings, you still held a soft spot for Armando. You could see he was trying to be a better person, a more open person, regardless of his flaws.

And there were moments when he was kind to you, like opening doors for you, walking side by side with you to your car late at night, never forgetting to get your lunch along with the teams if you couldn’t make it. You knew he had a nice side to him and that’s why you showed him yours time and time again. Showed him it was okay to be vulnerable, but now he is, truly is, and you can’t even compute it.

“Why would you say something like that?” You swallow, something weird stirring inside of you, making you step closer towards him.

Armando does the same, closing the gap between you two. “Say what, princesa? The truth.”

You don’t mean to, but you whimper as the nickname leaves his lips. You look down, heat flushing in your cheeks. “Please don’t call me that.”

Armando scoops your chin with his index finger, your eyes latching and twinkling under the soft glow of your house's lights. “¿Por qué? no puedo manejarlo.”

“No.” You breath, studying every bridge and sharp angle of his face. This close, his beauty is unbelievable.

Armando’s thick, kept beard, is just as dark as his hair. His brown eyes are surrounded by a shade of full lashes, and his plump pink lips, glistening in the soft light. Armando Aretas was hard to resist and that’s why you feel yourself falling closer into him.

Like your mind is on autopilot, your hands fall to his chest, resting there and feeling every muscle he’s worked so hard for.

“I can see that.” Armando smirks. “I can also see that you care for me, too.”

“I—,”

“Want me to show you how I know?” He whispers, lips touching your ear and making you gasp.

You nod. There was no point in resisting him at that moment. Not that you wanted to either.

In one swift motion, Armando bends down and then you're airborne. His hands rest underneath your thighs as he carries you to your bedroom.

Walking over, your eyes never leave each other. You open your mouth to speak as a thought holds you captive.

“Is this why you said all those mean things? To discourage me because you didn’t want me to get hurt?” You ask, caressing his face in your hands.

Armando leans into the touch, nodding his head just as you two pass through the door of your bedroom.

He sets you down gently and you cling your arms around his neck.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” You ask.

Armando’s hands encircle your waist as he sighs. “I didn’t know how. I was just so angry that they’d even ask you to do something like that anyway.”

“And you were angry because you liked me?”

Armando nods.

“And when I was pretending to be Jenna…were you acting then, too?”

Armando chuckles, biting his lip, you look away to keep from melting. “You mean when I smacked your ass? I might have taken advantage of the situation then.”

You hit his chest and laugh. “I can’t believe you. That’s a violation!”

Armando leans in close. “I’d be happy to violate you some more, princesa.”

You chuckle lightly and wither out of his grip, taking a seat on the bed.

Armando frowns, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong? Was it something I sa—,”

“No. It’s fine. It’s just…I’ve never actually been with anyone before.”

Armando stills. “Oh. I was just joking with you,” he stands. “I can leave.”

Quickly, you grab his wrist, pulling him back. “No. I don’t want you to.’ You stand, taking his face in your hands and pulling him close. His lips are inches from yours and you can feel his nose brush against yours. “I want you to show me, just like you said.” You moan, placing your lips onto his.

Armando shutters, placing a hand on the nape of your neck. He opens his mouth, swiping his tongue over the bottom of your lips, asking for entry. You oblige and he slips inside, turning the kiss hot and fierce.

Armando swallows every moan you release, gripping your hips and pushing you back against the bed, his weight gently hovering on top of you.

He uses his legs, he spreads you open, you gasp at the motion allowing him access to your neck.

Like a man starving, Armando attacks your neck with hot-trailed kisses, lingering sucks and suckles, and licks that drive you wild, the heat between your legs pulsing now with desire.

“Fuck,’ you gasps and he palms over one of your breasts, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear.

“Te gusta ese, bebe?” Armando whispers against your skin.

You shake your head “Yes.” You whimper.

Armando leans back, pulling at your top. “Let’s get this off of you, eh?”

You sit up just enough, allowing him access to pull the fabric off of you.

In a flash he peels your shirt off of you, leaving you bare in front of him.

Impulse has you covering yourself, but Armando reaches out, slowly moving your arms away from your chest.

“Don’t hide from me, mama.” He says, eyes darkening when he finally has a full view of your boobs.

“Mierda, you’re so beautiful baby.” He moans.

You shutter as he talks one breast in his hands, rubbing circles with it, while the other he latches his plump lips onto, sucking at your nipples.

The sensation causes your head to snap back and a deep, repressed moan to fly from your lips. Armando was doing the lords work with both his hand and tongue.

You squirm, squeezing your legs together and stimulating your spot, making your pants leak with want.

You had never had to opportunity to be with a man before, but in this moment you wanted nothing more than to fuck Armando.

“Fuck me,” you moan out. “Please.”

Armando chuckles, the sensation against your nipple makes you hiss. “Estás tan impaciente, princesa.’ He smacks your ass. “But eh, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” He smirks, pushing you down against the bed.

He hovers on top, snatching his shirt off. All of his rippling muscles on display before you. You bite your lip at the site, hoping to see more and soon.

“If you want me to fuck you, will have to get rid of these, no?” He pulls at the strings of your pajama bottoms.

You nod, eager to have him inside of you.

In a blur, Armando pulls off your pants, tossing them to the side.

If you thought you saw darkness in his eyes when he saw your boobs, the look he has now is nothing in comparison. His eyes are nearly pitch black as he takes in what is soon to be his.

Armando spreads open your legs, hissing once he gets a glimpse at your glistening cunt.

You moan just at the thought of bearing it all in front of him.

“God, fuck.” He says, pulling down his pants and revealing a surprise of his own that makes you gasp.

Though covered in boxers, you can see just what he was working with. And to say the least, he was huge, and thick.

“Come here, baby.’ He moans, pulling you by your thighs to the edge of the bed. “Let me taste you.” He says.

You watch as Armando’s head lowers between your legs and the second his mouth touches your pussy, you fell back into the bed.

His mouth makes quick work of you, versing between sucking on your clit and licking your slit in a rhythm that builds a euphoria inside your gut.

The force of his tongue against your pussy and the pressure of his lips wrapped around your swollen clit has your back arching and screaming out.

Your toys had nothing on Armando.

“Please,” you whimper and try to squirm, but Armando holds you in place, slapping your ass twice as hard as a repercussion.

With each pass of his tongue, circling arcs on your pussy you can feel yourself climbing to the edge. Armando must feel it too because he puts the cherry on top when he sinks a thick finger inside of you.

“Oh my—ugh!”

You’re a whimpering, whining mess. The sheets beneath you turning a new shade of green as you soak them with your slick.

Armando adds another finger in for good measure only adding to the build up in your stomach. Each pump, suck, and lick causes a buckle to snap inside of you and a high only the man eating you out right now can give you is climbing.

You reach higher, and higher. Your orgasm just around the bend.

One last pump and suck, and you come undone, all over Armando’s face.

Armando comes back up from the floor, crawling over top of you. With the little moonlight that shines into your bedroom you can see yourself covering his beard, droplets of cum covering most of it.

“Taste yourself for me.” He growls, lowering his lips into yours.

You latch on and a sweet, yet neutral, flavor slips onto your lips as you and Armando kiss in a harmonious rhythm.

You never let go from his grasps as your hand travels down. You grab a hold of his massive, bulging cock.

Armando hisses and whimpers as you begins to stroke it with a various pressures: soft, hard, slow, the soft again. He shutters above you, his faces desperate and pleading.

“You’ll make me come like that.’ He breaths, gripping your hands. “I thought you were a virgin?”

“I am,’ you hiss, still squirming. “But I think it’s a bullshit construct. I’m still highly sexual,’ you say, pulling at his cock, bringing it forth. “And I want to be highly sexual with you.”

Armando bites his lips, pulling you into his lap. “Eres un problema, princesa.”

“I know,” you say, kissing him once more.

You rock back and forth, feeling his cock press against your needing pussy. The pressure making you both shake in anticipation.

Armando breaks the kiss. “Do you have a condom?”

You shake your head. “No, but I’m on birth control.”

He nods. “Good, you’re going to need it.”

He flips you over so that he is on top. Finally, he reaches down and slips out of his boxers, his cock, thick, long and full, springs to life and you can’t help but moan. Your pussy is aching with the need to be filled.

Armando spreads your legs open, angling the tip of his cock with your pussy’s pulsing entrance.

“Are you sure about this, baby?” He asks.

“I’m sure. Now fuck me, please.”

Armando obeys, slowly slipping his cock inside of you.

You hiss at the burning, stretching pain, digging your nails into his back as he pushes in, your pussy swallowing him inch by inch.

“Mm,” you croak.

Armando stops. “Are you okay?” He shakes

You grip at his ass, forcing him inside deeper, despite the burn you’re desperate to feel all of him. “Don’t stop.” You moan. “Please keep going.”

Armando pushes in further and deeper, tearing you open, until you’re fully stretched and he’s reached the depths of your ocean.

You two stay still for a moment, him allowing you time to adjust to the new stretching sensation and his size.

You lean up to kiss him. He deepens it, molding his mouth to yours, before slowly moving.

You moan, holding onto him as he picks up the pace, thrusting into you faster.

You can feel the pain melting into pleasure the more he pounds into you.

Harder and faster you begin to feel yourself loose control, your euphoria coming to hit its second peak.

“Fuck me, ugh! Please, Armando!” You shot, lifting your legs, granting him deeper access.

Armando grips the tiny mound between your hip and leg, using it as leverage to drive his thick cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy.

Animalistic groans leave his lips as he drives into you at an unholy pace. The sounds of skin slapping and drawn out, breathy moans fill the room, reaching a devilish peak when you scream out, coming and pulsing around his cock.

Armando follows you not shortly after, his dick pulsing and pumping his spillage into you.

He rolls off of you, taking you in his arms and placing a sweaty kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He murmurs on your forehead.

“Okay.” You smile, your legs sore and your middle aching.

Armando lifts you up bridal-style and carries you into the bathroom.

Soon you’re surrounded by steam and soap as you two bathe each other down.

Showered, you two snuggle in bed, a burning question still at the forefront of your mind.

“Armando?” You say.

“Hm,’ he is hardly awake at this point.

“When did you realize you cared about me?” You ask, angling your head to head to get a good look at him.

Armando chuckles, stroking your curls you have yet to put in a bonnet. “I think I always did. I was just scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Maybe that you wouldn’t see me the way i see you.” He sighs. “I see only the good in you, and maybe that makes me a blind man, but I’m certain you’re a woman who can see through facades, and you wouldn’t see any goodness in me.”

You sit up. “That’s not true. Armando, of course you’ve done terrible things, but that’s not what I see when I look at you.”

Armando takes a hold of your bandaged hand, placing a small kiss on the palm. “So what do you see?”

“Now? I just see you, and all the tiny little good things that I love.”

A small smile graces Armando’s face before he leans in, kissing you softly. You sigh against his lips, not wanting this moment to end.

Though you two had some struggles, you wouldn’t have this pairing any other way.

You just wished you’d checked your blind spot early to see all the little signs you were missing.

[humansofnewyork]

“I was walking down Broadway with my friend from China. Everyone kept waving at me, and saying: ‘Hi John, Hi John.’ And my friend said: ‘Wow. Everyone knows you!’ I said: ‘C’mon. That’s an exaggeration.’ Right then the door to the Imperial Theatre opened up, and it was an actor friend. He gave me the biggest hug. I said: ‘OK, maybe it’s not an exaggeration.’ Everyone does know me. I’ve been dancing for almost seventy years. It didn’t run in my family. My father was a subway motorman. But when I was sixteen I signed up for lessons with a famous Russian ballet dancer. She was a little lady; told me that I danced like a lobster. Not exactly encouraging, but when I came down the stairs after my first lesson, Eartha Kitt was waiting in the lobby. Not that she was waiting for me; it was for someone else. But I saw it as a sign. I thought: ‘I’m on my way.’ A few months later I made my debut dancing to bagpipes at the Scottish Highland Festival. Then after that I got a gig at the Wine and Cheese Festival. And I never stopped. I wasn’t good enough to do it full time. I had to work as a Spanish teacher for thirty-three years. I was competent; my kids did well on the tests. But I wouldn’t say I was beloved. And when your name is Mr. Bate, the kids are going to call you Masturbate. It’s unavoidable. But each day when that 2:42 bell rang after eighth period; I got on a train and headed to my second life. I’ve danced it all. I was a flamenco dancer. I learned Afro-Haitian, Afro-Cuban, Afro-Brazilian. I danced in the Sambadrome during Carnival. I danced with an Appalachian clogging company. I’ve danced in every major theater on Broadway. My specialty was screwing up the choreography. I’ve actually heard audience members say: ‘Oh no, not him again.’ But I always figured out a way to work. I’ve played every kind of character role. I’ve played Von Rothbart, the evil magician. I’ve played Nutcracker. But the role I loved best was Handsome Haldor. He was a total flop. But in his mind,  he was the most magnificent man in the entire kingdom.”

[nofingjustaninchident]

⛧° Cooking classes with Uncle Leo

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: leo valdez x fem!reader blurb

warnings: probably cursing, bad spanish, not proofread. ig that's it?? lmk!!

a/n: i didn't really like this, but i'm posting it anyways lol. dedicated to covey and @/pinkdiorluvr cuz i know they both love leo hehehe

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

You never learnt how to cook. A disturbed childhood with a shitty mortal dad was not the best place to get cooking lessons. Or to learn anything, on that matter.  

The point is, cooking skills aren’t something you possess, and that annoys you beyond limits. That took you to asking your best friend, Leo Valdez, for cooking classes. Which he immediately accepted. I mean, who wouldn’t want to teach your crush how to cook? 

"So, when can I go to your house?” You asked, which made him snap back to reality from just admiring your features.  

“Uh... my house?” He asked, as he completely forgot what you guys were previously chatting about. He was too busy with noticing how the freckles coated your cheeks, and how your black hair framed your face in the prettiest way possible. Oh, he was down bad.  

“Are you even listening to me right now, Leo?” You asked, waving your hand in front of his face. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course I am. You were talking about the... cooking classes, right?” He asked, a sheepish smile making his way to his lips. You just rolled your eyes. 

“Yes, I am. When can I come to your house, hm?” You asked again. 

“Tomorrow at seven sounds good to you?” He asked. 

“Yeah, that’d be great.” You answer, smiling softly as well.  

“You’re gonna learn how to make the perfect pasta alla carbonara, my dear apprentice. It's one of my specialties.” He said, passing an arm across your shoulders and pulling you to him.  

Before you could even pull away so you could leave, he planted a kiss with a loud ‘mwah’ to it and darted off, laughing. You were left confused, blushing and smiling as a toddler who just got a pack of candy.  

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧ 

Leo stood in his kitchen, a grin plastered on his face as he waited for his best friend’s arrival. He was looking forward to it, since he knew that it was a chance of absolutely zero percent that this whole class didn’t end in absolute chaos.  

He leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently, trying to figure when you’d finally come, what clothes you’d be wearing, what shoes you’d wear and in which way your hair would be. Would it be down? Would you put it in a ponytail? A bun? A braid? 

Oh gods, he was such a sucker for that damned daughter of Poseidon.  

Eventually, he heard the rhythmic knock on the door, telling him that you were finally there, much to his happiness.  

“Come on, Valdez, it’s freezing out here!” You complained, just when he finally opened the door and you barged inside, escaping the snow from the outside world. You were in a black coat, wine-red leggings, gloves and a cute scarf so your nose didn’t get too cold. “Finally! Thought you’d leave me out there to die.” 

“I’d never do that, princesa. I mean, at least not today, I need an assistant.” He said jokingly, poking your shoulder and teasing you as you took your coat off.  

“I’m gonna punch you, I swear to all the gods that I know.” She threatened. He just smiled and walked towards the kitchen, with you following right behind him. “So, what’re you gonna teach me today?”  

“We’re gonna make the best pasta ever – carbonara!” He said happily as he pointed at the counter, which was filled with ingredients for the dish – bacon, eggs, flour and cheese were neatly organized in the counter, ready to be turned into a meal. 

“If this goes wrong, I'm ordering a happy meal.” You complained, putting the things you brought to make your favorite dessert, a classic that you learnt with a Brazilian friend of yours – Brigadeiro. It's actually the only thing that you can cook without burning down the whole house.  

“First, we gotta make the pasta.” The latino said, and you grimaced. 

“Why do we have to make it? Isn't it easier to just, you know, buy the pasta and cook it?”  

He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s easier. But making it is so much fun!” He said, with a smile on his face, and started pouring flour on the counter, making a small tower and soon making a hole in it. Then he stopped and looked at you. 

“What? Is there something on my hair?” You asked, brushing off your hair, which made Leo laugh. 

“No, no. I need you to grab six eggs and crack them here.” He said, gesturing towards the bowl.  

“Oh.” You mumbled and picked up the bowl, cracking the eggs in it and being extra careful with the shell. When you finished, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “What now?”  

“Put them here.” He said, gesturing to the hole in the flour. You nodded and poured the eggs there. “Now, you washed your hands, right?” You nodded again. “Great. Now, you have to mix the eggs and the flour until we have a smooth dough; the pasta!” 

You just nodded and put your hands to work. It was cute, since you didn’t seem to know what you were doing, and it was just so cute the way you were unsure on whether you were doing the right thing or not.  

“You’re doing great, y/n/n.” He assured. If you looked up, you’d see a proud smile on his face. 

After a few minutes of squeezing and mixing the dough, it was finally ready. You looked up at Leo’s face, a proud smile on your face and shining eyes. Maybe cooking wasn’t really that bad, after all. Not if you had a good teacher and friend around. 

He was starstruck. He couldn’t even move. You were just so pretty, flour all over your arms and hands, a little spot on your cheek white from when you rubbed the back of your hand on your face. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you in that moment.  

But he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t do it. Couldn't risk his friendship with you.  

And yet you were so tempting, so pretty like that. In his kitchen, with his apron – which was slightly too big for your tiny frame – and with him.  

“So, what do we do now?” You asked, interrupting the trance he was in. He shook his head and blushed, embarrassed to be caught like that.  

“Uh... the- the eggs. We need to make the eggs.” He said, blushing after getting caught staring at you. “You can whisk the yolks while I cook the bacon. Is that alright with you?”  

“Mhm. You just need to teach me how to separate the yolks.” You said, with a smile.  

You two continued the cooking, with Leo cooking the bacons till they were golden brown and crispy while you whisked the egg yolks and the cheese together. It was a fun night, where you ate the food you made – which was delicious, by the way – and had fun with your best friend. 

The only out of the ordinary thing was that the whole time you were there, the only thing you wanted was to jump on Leo’s lap and kiss the hell out of him.  

And his train of thought was not that far away from yours. 

Don't get me wrong, he loved to spend platonic time with you, of course. But he really, really wanted to kiss you.  

‘Oh, for my father’s sake, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her.’  

“...what?” You asked, your face clearly redder with his – more than sudden – confession.  

You never thought he’d want to kiss you, much less give yourself the hope that maybe someday that’d happen. No, it was selfish, and you knew – or at least thought – that he’d never ever like his best friend.  

But here he was, saying how much he’d give in exchange for a kiss.  

“Oh, shit- I said that out loud, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, Y/n, you can really pretend this never happened, I just-” AAAAAND he was rambling. Again. So, the easiest way out of that situation was, obviously, shut him up with a kiss.  

He immediately melted. His hands stopped flying around his face and went to graze your neck and waist, unsure, but ready to search.  

It was one of the best kisses you’ve ever had, and it was definitely the most awaited one. His lips were cracked and raspy, and he tasted sweet like the juice you had.  

When you finally pulled away, both of your cheeks were red and there was a smile playing on both of your lips.  

“I kinda love you.” You admited.  

“Good, ‘cause i love you too, princesa.” 

[wosowrites]

One Time Won’t Hurt (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

warnings: ⚠️smut smut smut. like… loads of it⚠️

prompt: in which you and alexia try to convince each other that one time won’t hurt, but it doesn’t end up being one time.

a/n: this is so bad but i wanted to get something out for u guys

Bodies tangled, lips a mess, hands feeling, touching, exploring, hips grinding, loud moaning. And that was all before clothes even came off. "One time," you exhaled into her lips, pressing your foreheads together and letting your breath get mixed. "One time won’t hurt," she added, putting her hands on your ass and pushing you impossibly closer into her.

You audibly whimpered and then gasped as she started kissing your neck. Alexia moved aside the strap of your shirt and then your bra, kissing your shoulder.

You breathed out, digging your nails into her back and moaning into her ear. "Yeah. One time," your cried out.

Five hours earlier

Alexia, Mapi, Ingrid, Sandra, Patri, Keira and Lucy were sitting in your apparement, having wine, cheeses, charcuterie and other snacks. You were all talking, laughing and having fun. Only issue was your spanish wasn’t great and although you tried to concentrate and really understand what they were saying, you were mostly just exchanging lost looks with Keira.

Eventually, you got up and went into the kitchen to open another bottle of rosé. Keira followed suite.

"Jesus. I don’t know what they’re saying. I heard my name and they all looked at me and laughed and I did too but I do not know what they said," you sighed. "I mean we take spanish classes like three times a week and then in real life they talk so speedy it just-" you started ranting. "They said you were clumsy during training today," Keira said, popping open a bottle of champagne. "I was gonna open wine, and how did you get that?" you asked her, leaning against the counter and crossing your arms. "Okay so maybe i’m becoming able to pick up sentences here and there…" she said. "No. No, no, I can not be the only non spanish speaker on the team Kei. I’m cutting you off from spanish lessons!" you groaned, walking into the living room.

You spent the rest of the gathering zoned out on Alexia. She was sitting with her legs slighting open and her arms crossed and all you could think about was how beautiful she would look in that position minute her clothing.

At 11:00, people started to leave which you were silently grateful as you were tired and honestly feeling left out even though that wasn’t the intention of the girls whatsoever.

You had moved to spain six months ago and had been playing for Barca since the January transfer window. You loved the style of play here and almost everything about it, but you did feel like an outsider.

You bid goodbye to the girls and then let yourself fall on the couch. You sighed heavily, your sigh turning into a tremble as you felt tears come to your eyes. Moving away from england had been harder than you anticipated. You heard movement behind you and shot up to your feet. Alexia stood in the doorway of the washroom. "Sorry, oh, everyone’s gone," she said, looking around. You swiped at your cheeks and nodded. "Uhm, yeah. Sorry I completely forgot you were in there," you said. "It’s okay, I ended up getting a call from Ona so I was in there for a while," she said. "Are you okay y/n/n? You look-"

"Spain is hard," you answered, not wanting to draw out the conversation longer than necessary. "What do you mean?" she asked, sitting down next to you. "I mean that I don’t know what you guys are saying. I pretend I do but I really don’t. And I feel like I’m not good enough to play here," you sighed, putting your head in your hands and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Don’t think that. You are one of the most brilliant players i’ve ever seen. And as for spanish, ditch your tutor. I’ll teach you for free," she said, brushing her fingers through your hair.

And then your feelings of sadness were gone and all you felt was an extreme need for Alexia to be under you.

You straightened up and looked into her eyes. And then you stood up and walked into the kitchen. You poured yourself a glass of water and downed it. Alexia stood up and gently walked towards you. Her movements were careful, calm and composed. But the last thing you wanted was careful, calm, and composed. You wanted loud, harsh and possessive.

So that’s what you did. You spun around and almost charged towards her. She looked taken aback but also turned on. You placed your hands on her waist and backed her up into the wall with a loud thud. You moved your hands up and down her hips before squeezing her waist. "Is this okay? Because I don’t want soft and nice. And if that’s what you want tonight I don’t want to push you," you said, looking into her eyes.

"Do whatever you want with me," she moaned.

Bodies tangled, lips a mess, hands feeling, touching, exploring, hips grinding, loud moaning. And that was all before clothes even came off. "One time," you exhaled into her lips, pressing your foreheads together and letting your breath get mixed. "One time won’t hurt," she added, putting her hands on your ass and pushing you impossibly closer into her.

You audibly whimpered and then gasped as she started kissing your neck. Alexia moved aside the strap of your shirt and then your bra, kissing your shoulder.

You breathed out, digging your nails into her back and moaning into her ear. "Yeah. One time," your cried out.

"Oh i’ll make it hurt," she whispered to you. And although her words made you want to scream of pleasure, you wanted to be in charge.

You lifted Alexia’s legs to wrap around your waist and carried her into the bedroom, attacking her lips and making sure to leave them bruised and swollen. You pushed your stomach against her pussy, wanting her to feel the temptation at her core before you gave her any kind of relief.

You dropped her on the bed and then towered over her. You took a pause to pull off the shirt you were wearing, never looking away from her. You looked straight into her eyes but she was staring at your and, your tits peaking through your bra and the way your arms looked so strong. A crack of thunder echoed outside and the brief thought of how Mapi and Ingrid, who had walked to your appartement, we’re probably stuck in the rain while you were standing over the most beautiful woman in the world.

You snapped out of your trance and looked at her hungrily. You un buttoned her shirt, wanting to be rough but knowing very well her shirt was silk and she would kill you if you broke it. Or at least that’s what you thought. "Fuck just rip it off. Rip it off y/n," she groaned. You did as she wanted, grabbing the shirt above the buttons you had undone and ripping it apart. She shrugged it off and you unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off. You then quickly abandoned your own pants and panties. You pulled off her own panties and then unclipped her bra and your own.

The sight of her was intoxicating. The shape of her breast, the little birth mark just under the left one. "You’re fucking hot," you growled at her. You were much more the kind of person to call girls beautiful but today was a different case. You had one night with her and you would make the most of it. Slowly, you placed yourself on your knees so that your core was over hers. You flattened your body on top of hers while supporting your upper body with your hands at her sides.

You started your attack on her neck by kissing it roughly, sucking it and then nipping at all her sensitive spots.

Alexia was a mess within seconds. Groaning at your touch and screaming when you would randomly collide your knee with her clit. Dripping all over her, you positioned yourself so that her left leg was wrapped around your waist and your pussies rubbed together. You slipped the slow stage and went right into grinding onto her. "Fuck, you’re so perfect," you moaned into her ear, feeling her nails digging into your back. "I thought you were going to be mean," she huffed, dragging her nails down your back. "Rough, not mean," you said to her.

With one last push onto her she came first, moaning your name and crying of pleasure.

You came soon after, your brain fuzzy, your body ecstatic. You didn’t want to push your luck with Alexia, so you let yourself fall beside her. "You okay?" you asked her, your bare chest heaving. "More than. Are you?" she asked. "So okay," you smiled. "I knew you were soft. You’ve always been soft," she said, turning on her side. "Maybe only for you," you giggled.

Needless to say, it didn’t happen just once.

[killxio]

dinner and dessert | e. yaeger

word count: 1,150 [4 min 10 sec read] | �� content warning: porn w a plot, medium-slow burn (?), p in v sex, semi-self aware cringe writer, missionary, creaming, creampie

eren x black!latina!reader / afrolatina!reader

✭ eren appreciating his sweet lil’ wife

your girl ever put down a plate of food so good you just have to take her soul? eren knows what that’s like.

he had that happen today, when he walked in after a long day of work to a plate of hot honey tenders with a side of mac and cheese and hand squeezed lemonade.

his beautiful wife, y/n, having just wiped her hands on her apron smiled when she caught his gaze.

“welcome home papi. yo cocinado para ti.”

he’s learning spanish but didn’t bother to listen to the second part, completely zoned out with his focus on her lightly glossed brown lips moving, smiling at him.

“‘rennie? i have a hot meal infront of you and you’re just staring at me?”

“‘cause i can’t tell what’s sexier. you or that plate of food.”

she bursts into the most beautiful giggles he’s ever heard and he can’t help but return the smile she’s beaming. everyday he comes home and is reminded to just how good of a catch he made, how stunning and amazing his wife truly is.

and so, over some RnB, she and eren sit for dinner. she has her legs to her chest in the dining room chair, pedicured toes and anklet resting comfortably. she waits, satisfied at the sight of her husband filling his stomach, until he’s ready to eat her up too.

——

“the only thing i can feed you that’s better than that food is this dick, even then it still might not compare.” he compliments in between neck kisses, you playfully swat him away and cower away into the bed. eren has since taken his shirt off and changed into a pair of shorts, you two deciding on movie and a glass of wine for yourself.

a glass of wine that you're close to spilling if he doesn't lighten up on the smothering.

"eren jaeger! these are white sheets! compartas y sientate!" you scold, still giggling, swatting at his bicep.

eren scoffs at your tone and moves lower on your neck, from the spot that makes you giggle to the one that makes you moan. and you'll be damned if you break your favorite wine glass.

"eren. let me- ahh- let me put down the glass. or i'll have you buy me twelve." he takes the glass, sitting it down on the nightstand himself while his other hand pulls you down the bed a little bit. he's leaning over you, dragging his kisses from your lower neck to your shoulder blades while his hands travel under your satin pajama shirt. his kisses are sloppy and you can hear the smack of his lips everytime he comes up to go elsewhere.

"thank you, my love, for the food." he says, finally using his lips for things other than trying to suck your skin off. he pulls up your shirt to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and at attention for him.

"mmm," you purr out at the sensation of his tounge dragging over your nipples, licking and sucking passionately. your hand goes up to his sloppily done bun, gently scratching at the back of his neck in a silent praise. through his own light moans, his green eyes focus on yours. the eye contact drives you crazy, he keeps it no matter what he’s doing, switching from kisses to licks or sucking.

“reeeeenn. ren bebe please,” you plead, beginning to grind your hips onto his thigh.

“you want something, princess?”

“yeah. you.” you flash him a smile that makes his dick throb, clearly feeling the wine with that smooth response.

it triggered something in him, if he wasn’t on a mission to break your pussy in before he was now.

in an instant, he’s between your thighs and ravaging at you. you can’t tell if that’s his spit or your pre running down your slit— probably a mix of both, but he digs in like you didn’t just feed him one of the best meals of his life. his tongue switches between moving your bud in circles, and placing deep kisses up and down your pussy. if there was a way to give a pussy hickies, yours would be littered with them.

his shoulders are flexing under the dimmed lighting of the moon and the tv long forgotten, drowned out by your moans. years of eating you out has perfected his science to a t, so needless to say the sucking sounds he’s coerced from your dripping cunt are beyond sinful.

“i don’t think you’ll ever know how fucking hard your pretty sounds make me.”

“mmmmm.. s-show me instead?” you ask rhetorically, rolling your hips into his face.

he pulls away to sit up, tugging off his black boxers to reveal his cock, standing hard at your attention. you spread your legs to allow him space between, and eagerly stroke him after he’s lined himself up with your entrance. the precum coating his dick gathers around your manicured fingers and the web between your thumb and pointer with each pump. he stops your movements and while he pushes himself into your cunt, he licks it all straight off, circling his tongue around your wedding ring. both sensations make you cry out.

and while he starts off slow, his pace never gets too fast but it’s still rough, making sure he hits your g-spot with every thrust and dragging the apparent vein of his cock along your walls. the one that splits in two from the middle to the left of his shaft that you’ve dragged your tongue up and down so many times.

“papi.. oh s-shit please..”

the feeling leaves your hands scrambling to ground you, and eren can’t help but find it adorable how you loose it no matter how many times he fucks you.

“calm down princess. you’re too tight, don’t end this too quick now. relax.” he commands, his hips stuttering slightly.

“c-cannn’t ren, hhhhn,” you voice over the wet squelch of eren driving his cock in, knocking into your walls harshly, and slowwwwly back out.

plop, slap, plop, slap, as the squelching sound of him entering you and then the rough slam of his hips once he was almost all the way in interchange. soon, your eyes rolled back as you barely mentioned something about cumming at your husband.

“cmon baby, cum for me.”

your orgasm sent your back flying up off the mattress, arching you towards him. the sensation of you contracting around him while you creamed and cried out sent him over the edge,

eren’s letting the most desperate groans out right into your ear as he empties his cock in you. the load spurting quickly then oozing from his tip as he slows his thrusts to a shop, eyes screwed shut while he holds your hips down on his dick.

all is still as you catch your breaths until,

“now roll over and arch for me princess.”

[chaoticm0therfvcker]

Hollyberry Cookie Headcanons

In game

She knows how to make her own berry juice. Wildberry has tried to restrict her a few too many times so now she just makes her own

She’s really close with all of the dragon cookies. Pitaya introduced her to the rest of the dragon fam and they all kind of view her as part of the family

She babysat Princess Cookie a lot when Princess was younger, and that’s why Princess is so bold and chaotic

After Tiger Lily went missing, Hollyberry spent weeks searching through the kingdom and the surrounding jungle trying to find her granddaughter

She does her best to visit her friends in their other kingdoms, though the only ones she’s able to visit are Pure Vanilla and Dark Cacao. She’s got a lot of experience going on high stakes adventures, so as long as she has climbing gear and an extra insulated, extra puffy, full-on “I can’t put my arms down!” Jacket, she’s got no problems

She has a lot of survivors guilt being the only one in her friend group without excessive trauma. Sure, she as a dragon ex who she got to see almost burn a village down and a missing granddaughter, but that’s barely anything compared to all the crazy stuff her friends have been through

Her and Golden Cheese used to go on adventures together as kids. They’re both practically immune to high heat, so it’s no wonder they stuck together

Modern au

Her and Pitaya are exes, but they fake flirt so much that if people didn’t know that they were divorced, they would think that they were dating or married

She teases Wildberry for having a crush on Crunchy Chip. Obviously not enough to make him self conscious, but she can’t help but tease him for how he goes from this deadpan tough guy that’s almost as intimidating as Dark Cacao into a total giggly and smiley mush ball whenever Crunchy Chip is around

Since Golden Cheese is ace-aro, her and Hollyberry fake dated throughout high school to keep bigoted assholes away from Golden Cheese

She hates wine snobs with a burning passion. She’s able to appreciate a good glass of wine, but she appreciates it for the taste, not for the “aromatics” or “how well it can swirl around in a glass”

She’s secretly an art nerd. She took a ton of art classes throughout middle and high school and took an art history class with Pure Vanilla

Her room is full of random plushies and video game figurines. She can barely fit in her own bed from the sheer amount of stuffed animals she has on her bed

She has the biggest house and the biggest family out of her friend group, and she has a lot of dinner parties with her friends and her family. She even has a special place for the kiddos so they don’t have to be stuck with random babysitters

She’s not a very good chef, but she is an amazing baker, and she’s really good at decorating cakes. She makes almost all of the birthday cakes for family birthday parties

She can speak fluent Italian and Spanish

Let me know if you have any other headcanons!

Taglist: @janayuga @katsunemillennium @trustymikh @tartelongan @cedric-my-beloved @c00kietin

[linguisticdiscovery]

Ways English borrowed words from Latin

Latin has been influencing English since before English existed!

Here’s a non-exhaustive list of ways that English got vocabulary from Latin:

early Latin influence on the Germanic tribes: The Germanic tribes borrowed words from the Romans while still in continental Europe, before coming to England.

camp, wall, pit, street, mile, cheap, mint, wine, cheese, pillow, cup, linen, line, pepper, butter, onion, chalk, copper, dragon, peacock, pipe, bishop

Roman occupation of England: The Celts borrowed words from the Romans when the Romans invaded England, and the Anglo-Saxons later borrowed those Latin words from the Celts.

port, tower, -chester / -caster / -cester (place name suffix), mount

Christianization of the Anglo-Saxons: Roman missionaries to England converted the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity and brought Latin with them.

altar, angel, anthem, candle, disciple, litany, martyr, mass, noon, nun, offer, organ, palm, relic, rule, shrine, temple, tunic, cap, sock, purple, chest, mat, sack, school, master, fever, circle, talent

Norman Conquest: The Norman French invaded England in 1066 under William the Conqueror, making Norman French the language of the state. Many words were borrowed from French, which had evolved out of Latin.

noble, servant, messenger, feast, story, government, state, empire, royal, authority, tyrant, court, council, parliament, assembly, record, tax, subject, public, liberty, office, warden, peer, sir, madam, mistress, slave, religion, confession, prayer, lesson, novice, creator, saint, miracle, faith, temptation, charity, pity, obedience, justice, equity, judgment, plea, bill, panel, evidence, proof, sentence, award, fine, prison, punishment, plead, blame, arrest, judge, banish, property, arson, heir, defense, army, navy, peace, enemy, battle, combat, banner, havoc, fashion, robe, button, boots, luxury, blue, brown, jewel, crystal, taste, toast, cream, sugar, salad, lettuce, herb, mustard, cinnamon, nutmeg, roast, boil, stew, fry, curtain, couch, screen, lamp, blanket, dance, music, labor, fool, sculpture, beauty, color, image, tone, poet, romance, title, story, pen, chapter, medicine, pain, stomach, plague, poison

The Renaissance: The intense focus on writings from classical antiquity during the Renaissance led to the borrowing of numerous words directly from Latin.

atmosphere, disability, halo, agile, appropriate, expensive, external, habitual, impersonal, adapt, alienate, benefit, consolidate, disregard, erupt, exist, extinguish, harass, meditate

The Scientific Revolution: The need for new technical and scientific terms led to many neoclassical compounds formed from Classical Greek and Latin elements, or new uses of Latin prefixes.

automobile, transcontinental, transformer, prehistoric, preview, prequel, subtitle, deflate, component, data, experiment, formula, nucleus, ratio, structure

Not to mention most borrowings from other Romance languages, such as Spanish or Italian, which also evolved from Latin.

Further Reading: A history of the English language (Baugh & Cable)

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Festive Favourites

you might also enjoy: @f1hallmarkfest - for more festive treats🎄🎁

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want me to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

Wishing all who celebrate a very Merry Christmas, and a peaceful New Year. Thank you for all of your support in 2023 ❤️🎄

Love,

Briony, Alison, Esra, Mandy, Caroleen, Clara, Leaf, Katie & Tia 🎅🤶❤️

Carlos/Lando

nsfw: Glitter and Be Gay by @phebess | E | 14.7k

Lando is an out and proud primary school art teacher, and Carlos is the hot dad who has caught his eye. This is such a sweet and tender story of self-discovery and identity. As always, Phebes' humour is on point - I laughed out loud several times!

'Lando is wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and waiting outside the school for the bus to take them all to the Christmas Village - he's been before, and it's cute. There's little food stalls, a big man dressed as Santa, tons of fake snow, and even a reindeer petting zoo. A small childish part of him is excited, even if he's going with the company of a bunch of five year olds.'

Fernando/Mark

Lonely This Christmas by @seafoampearlygirl | NR | 19.5k

Mark is stuck at home for Christmas with nobody but the dogs and nothing but what's in the freezer during the worst snowstorm in 40 years. Fernando won't hear of it. He turns up on Mark's doorstep with a metric tonne of food and a plan for seduction. Mark is completely clueless. This fic combines all the best elements of Christmas fic and cosy, snowed in snugglefic. Fernando is written here as he seems IRL - larger than life with emotions to match. Mark is quietly pining and completely unaware that he is being wooed.

'He made Fernando's bed up with soft sheets that he knew were the warmest he owned. He added some heavy throws, because Fernando was Spanish and used to warmer weather. If Mark had had mints in the house, he'd have put one on the pillow. Fernando had brought dinner, dessert, wines, snacks, a frankly terrifying amount of cured meats and cheeses, a very stuffed overnight bag that suggested a longer stay, his laptop, hot water bottles and candles (“in case of power problems”), DVDs (no Christmas movies except Die Hard, Mark was glad to note), and some groceries. The last, even though it wasn't festive, really blew Mark away. A Christmas surprise was magical, but someone had to really care to bring you milk and bread and teabags. He'd even remembered Mark had a fireplace, and had brought firewood, firelighters and coal from the car. If Mark had a spare kidney, he'd have put it on Fernando's pillow, never mind a stupid mint.'

Alex/George

slip a sable under the tree by @strawberry-daiquiris | M | 5k George and Alex are roommates, and George takes a Christmas job as a Christmasgram. This story is everything - the humour, the pining, the festive vibes. I loved it!!

George can feel his cheeks turning as red as his Santa hat, sweat trickling down his back under the polyester, and he’ll need to wipe that off before he gets his top off.

Daniel/Max

home among the gumtrees by @albertparks | T | 10.3k

A love letter to Australian Christmas; Max and Daniel spend the holidays together. This story is stunning, and encapsulates Australian Christmas perfectly. It's so immersive and sweet.

'They walk, and walk, and walk through the yellowing grass. The sky is an endless mirage of blues, pink, and purples, the stars beginning to peak out as the sun lowers its harsh gaze. It's beautiful here, there's nowhere quite like Perth in the middle of summer. LA is fun, Monaco is relaxing, but nowhere will home quite like here.'

Esteban/Pierre

People You Know by @estemick | M | 6.4k Esteban invites Pierre to spend Christmas with him after Pierre's flight is cancelled. Set during Christmas 2022, after Pierre's move to Alpine has been announced. Esteban inviting Pierre home with him is something of an olive branch, which Pierre warily accepts. They take a zigzag path toward reconnecting with one another. Their awkward, yet heartfelt conversations show the gradual unfurling of their old friendship, and a little more besides. This fic is gentle and soft, and it's cosy atmosphere of a Christmas for two, curled up safe and warm while a snowstorm rages outside, makes it a perfect festive read.

Esteban had been alone in motorsport for years, and now he’s best friends with Mick Schumacher of all people, the son of his childhood hero. How does something like that even happen? After another stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence, Pierre decides to ask. It’s not like he can make this any more awkward. “You and Mick seem close.” Esteban keeps his focus on the snowy road in front of them, but Pierre can see a vein bulging in his temple before he sighs and responds. “We are.” “How did that happen?” “What do you mean?” “You’ve just never been great at making friends.” As soon as the words have left Pierre’s mouth, he realises how cruel they are. Esteban is silent for so long that Pierre isn’t certain that he’s going to respond at all. “I didn’t need to. I had you.” “You were friends with other people.” They had been close with Charles and Anthoine for almost as long as they had known each other. Esteban had been shy, but it’s not like he was alone . At least, he had always been present by Pierre’s side. "You took them with you. When you left.”

Charles/Pierre

you set my heart on fire by @boxboxbrioche | M | 14.7k

Charles returns home to the small town he grew up in for Christmas. His career as a photographer has kept him away for several years. After being volunteered to help with a charity calendar, he reconnects with his childhood friend, Pierre, who is now a firefighter.Why I liked it: This fic has a lovely Hallmark movie vibe, leaning into the trope of career-motivated protagonist coming home and realising what is important in life. The Leclerc family vibes are exquisite, Charles's mum and brothers just the right mix of teasing and loving. Pierre, of course, is as knee-weakeningly attractive to Charles as he always is.

Pierre gave him a thumbs up, still grinning. Charles watched with wide eyes as Pierre did the one thing that no one else had - headed straight for the fire pole. “You’re not really going to–” Before Charles could finish that sentence, Pierre had grabbed the pole with two hands and was hanging off of it, feet planted firmly on the floor, his head tilted back. He looked - ridiculous, was the first word that came to Charles’ mind, closely followed by (to his horror) hot. There was something about the way he held himself; the curve of his body, the angle of his chin, that had Charles wondering if he’d done this before. Pierre glanced at him, grinning. “Well? Are you not going to take the shot?"

All's Well That End's Well (To End Up With You) series by @welightitup, @boxboxbrioche and @redyellowstupid | T | 15.7k

Due to both of their hectic calendars, Pierre and Charles have a tradition of celebrating their birthdays late - in July for Pierre's, and in December for Charles'. This series is all about celebration, long-time friendship and a delicious slow-burn friends-to-lovers. I love the way these authors capture Pierre and Charles' dynamic - their friendship shines through in a way that feels so beautifully real and true to them. These fics even come with a bonus piece of art in the third part of the series! All in all, the series is just incredibly heartwarming, nostalgic and beautifully written, and will leave you with the biggest smile on your face, just like a true Hallmark holiday rom-com. (Because after all, what's more Hallmark-y than realising you've been in love with your childhood best friend all along?)

The air is sprinkled with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate as they make their way through the market stalls lining the centre of Rouen. Despite the late evening hour, it is teeming with more people Charles remembers there ever being. There’s an empty cup that had contained mulled wine in one hand, the other clutching onto Pierre’s sleeve as he trails behind him to make sure they don’t get separated.

Lights from the market and the fair at the far end twinkle like coloured fairy lights strung across the entirety of the area. There is a contagious merry mood, everyone sharing smiles and nods and the odd “joyeux Noël”, no matter who they are, and bitter bite of the weather - now in the single digits - is soothed by the heat radiating off the bustling crowds and the food stalls.

nsfw: wishing for a blue christmas by @duquesademiel and @wolfiemcwolferson | E | 29.4k

This is a non-drivers AU and soulmates AU. Pierre and Charles have a meet-cute moment when their luggage gets mixed up on a flight. Pierre is on holiday alone after his long term girlfriend left him after finding her soulmate. Charles's family immediately adopts him. What I liked about it: This fic is a lovely feelgood Christmas read. The Leclerc family scenes are wonderful, I'm not sure if I liked matchmaker Pascale, annoying brat younger brother Arthur or kind older brother Lorenzo more but between the three of them Charles's dignity doesn't stand a chance. Pierre and Charles are made for each other, obviously, but the tension arises from the fact that Pierre already has a soulmark and has SOMEone out there already. Hmm.

“I got you something else,” Pierre tells him. “Sit up so you can see.” Charles glares at him but allows himself to be pulled up to a sitting position and then he sets the bag into Charles’ lap and Charles immediately sticks his hand down into the bag to pull out…a - He throws his head back to laugh, reaching for the gift he got Pierre and setting it on his lap. Pierre only has time to look momentarily confused before he is pulling out an identical keychain that Charles is also holding. Charles had purchased it because it looks vaguely like his soulmark and Pierre never has to use it, but it had made Charles smile and apparently Pierre as well. “This is perfect,” Pierre says, and Charles is about to be the one to lean over and kiss him, but he hears Arthur shout from the main room and they both freeze, wide eyed. “You can escape now.” Charles whispers. “Save yourself.”

Charles/Max

As long as I get to keep you by @babysharl | T | 34k

When Charles and Max find each other at Daniel's New Year's party, they find themselves in a little predicament–when the clock strikes midnight, it grants a wish to the one who winds it up. It turns out–he's wished for a dream to come true: to be surrounded by love. Oh my goodness, this is one of my all time FAVORITE magical realism fics! The magic of the clock, wish fulfillment, it's amazing and so well-written. Literally, every moment of the fic took me somewhere new, and I definitely recommend it wholeheartedly!!!

It were moments like these that highlighted just how much of a different reality this was. They weren't supposed to take naps in real life, it fucked up their sleep schedules. He and Max, even though closer, were never this close until probably last night, where Charles had a vague recollection of falling asleep on Max. The general softness of the moment, their breaths slow and gentle, Max's eyes lazily moving from their nephew to Charles again, fondness mushing up the edges of the piercing blue. None of this was reality for Charles. He felt so at peace, though, that he chose to ignore the obvious. He chose to ignore the phone call, and that this wasn't his to have, that this wasn't the Max he wanted in his bed despite how similar he was, that this was just a dream he would wake up from. He wondered if he and Max could ever have something resembling this. He doubted it. Not with their lives.

Christian/Toto

the season of eyes meeting over the noise by @nobrakesdown | T | 9.1k

Toto and Christian are a pair of mildly antagonistic music teachers fighting over space in a concert venue for their respective classes. Gradually, they find themselves like one another more than they expected. This fic captures the snarky back and forth thise two have irl, and also the hint of affability you see in some of their interactions. A lot of the snark in the fic seems like it's for habit or show, and the gradual bloom of affection is not a surprise considering the groundwork's been done. This is a sweet little holiday story, perfect to curl up with.

He’s still holding his own coffee cup as they walk out of the shop, with Daniel waving after them as they go. The cold hits them as they go through the door, and Toto sees Christian shove his hands into his pockets again. He acts without really thinking, putting his cup down on a low wall that runs along the sidewalk. He slips off one glove, and then the other. Placing them carefully together, he holds them out to Christian, who stares at him. Toto huffs, his breath hanging in the cold air. “I’m not the one who didn’t bring appropriate clothing. Go on, take them.” “But that’s a terrible solution,” Christian says. “Now your hands will get cold.” “They won’t,” Toto says, not getting pulled into this. “I still have a warm cup to carry back with me.” Christian shakes his head, but when Toto holds the gloves closer to him he takes them. He turns them over in his hands before, apparently approvingly, putting them on. Toto finds himself watching, but he forces his mind away from thinking that his gloves look good on Christian. That would be ridiculous to think, because they’re just gloves.

[winemastery]

Ramon Bilbao Tempranillo Wine Review (Episode 391)

Ramon Bilbao Tempranillo Wine Review (Episode 391)

[archibaldtuttle]

Sunday French family lunch is like *gets one glass of beer before the meal, gets one glass of hard cider for the appetizers, gets one glass of wine with the main course, gets one glass of wine when they get another serving of the main course, gets a few ounces of hard liquor while everyone takes a break to smoke outside, gets a glass of wine with the cheese, gets a glass of hard cider with the dessert, get a few ounces of hard liquor for the second cigarette break, gets a few ounces of three different spirits because the host wants you to taste his new whiskey his new rum and his new Spanish vinegar-barrle aged wine*

me on my way home at 4pm : 👁️👄👁️

[lambilegs]

Sooo, the song "Eat Your Young" by Hozier and Rick's thoughts about Lee's diet mixed up, and my brain took the memo and shitted an idea.

Imagine Lee coming home after the shift and instantly recognizing the scent of food wafting through the cabin—bouncing off the log walls and making a mix of wood and... wine? Maybe you did pasta with it, or, as you mentioned to her the other day you saw a new Spanish recipe for Sangria that you wanted to try.

So, shrugging the light coat that was making her feel like she was suffocating, and throwing it on a hook a bit more carelessly than she usually would do—her fingers undid the first two buttons on her dress shirt as she found you already seated behind the desk. Two plates of—bingo—pasta, glasses of wine, and a piece of cheese with a cheese grater to add.

I mean, even the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled oh-so-gently, greeting you, "Such a warm home welcoming, huh."

Wrong! Because as soon as Lee plopped on the chair, and as those lithe fingers closed around the utensils, scooping a bit of pasta with the fork and twirling it on the spoon—opening her mouth and slipping the meal into her mouth, her teeth slid against the fork. And oh... now, that was an interesting reaction. You couldn't take your eyes away, forgetting about the steaming plate altogether as you glared at the way Lee ate. Ate food, goddammit.

How her lips would close and suck on the pasta that seemed to slip outside or fall from her greasy lips—moving her jaw from side to side as she chewed slowly, savoring it.

How she would throw her head backward slightly and lean against the chair, spreading her legs under the desk and roll her neck with cracking noises from how sore she was (you needed to give her a massage ASAP).

Or how she would wrap her lips around the rim of the glass and tilt her chin to let the liquid slide down her throat, making it bob in the process, and the muscles would protrude from the action.

And only then would she notice your piercing gaze as she was too focused on her plate (same), her pupil slowly moving to the side and catching your staring, before raising a confusing/inquisitive eyebrow. Not that she would potentially blush, but she would definitely stare you down for a moment, trying to understand the emotion on your face—as it wasn't obvious from how you were shifting in the chair—while chewing.

"Do I have something in the corner of my mouth?" she would ask, wiping something with her pinky before popping it into her mouth.

...ah.... Anyway! Your thought <3

HELLOOOOOO OMG I, TOO, WAS PANTING JUST LIKE READER DURING THIS. lorddd, like, the amount of times I've stared at lee's mouth in that film, thinking about how pretty and soft her lips look like DKFJDKFJ this entire blurb fed into that fixation SO much, oh my god.

like, this was so fucking well-written and you did an AMAZING job at building the tension, and in highlighting just how unintentionally seductive lee would be when doing the most casual shit, like AHHHH. like, she is one thousand percent the type to not realize just how sexy she is when doing something completely normal, like eating, driving, working out or building something. she'd just proceed as usual, totally oblivious to the impact she's having on those around her. and you captured that AMAZINGLY well -- like, I was thirsting after her so bad when reading this. and the tension was just so well-built, like, I was so entranced by the image of her eating you painted in my head. this was just pure gold and beautifully written. like. I need lee harker SO bad, this entire thing had me so sucked in and giddy omg. love it love it love it

AND YOU CAPTURED SO MANY BEHAVIOURS OF HERS THAT I LUSTED AFTER IN THE MOVIE TOO LOLLL. like, the way her jaw moves, the bob of her throat, her fingers, her eyes crinkling. and lord, omg, the mere idea of her cracking her neck, spreading her legs under the table, UNBUTTONING her shirt?? oh I am too weak for this just the mental image alone will have me drooling this was SO good omg you are feeding us so well

[absolutebl]

not bl related but I was too curious. What dishes can you whip up for 10-12 people!?

heh heh

Cheesy potato casserole (I do mine with a rosemary rarebit-based cheese sauce) + whatever meat or veg is lying around.

Chicken (or veg) enchilada casserole - made with corn tortillas.

Any kind of noodle casserole (chicken, mushroom, tuna).

Thai drunken noodles. Pretty much any basic Thai curry (red, green, yellow, panang).

A full roast chicken + stuffing, gravy, and potatoes.

This fun one-pot Spanish dish I picked up when I was living there. It's chicken, chorizo (or whatever spicy sausage), mushrooms, gravy and white wine (although I can do a cream and stock version instead)

Shepards pie (usually mixed meat, but I can do a veg version)

Lamb stew (and, frankly, most stews, they are super easy).

Lamb vindaloo

Whatever salad is needed to go with any of the above.

I'm also pretty good at crepes, omelets, Bismark pancakes, and these "egg in cups" that are made in muffin tins, so I can do a breakfast for 10-12 pretty fast too.

Oh and I can pretty much always bake: gf orange chocolate cake, banana bread, and fruit crisps.

When I am in any one place for any length of time I tend to become the party house host and I love feeding people. So I've developed a back catalogue of quick reference feeds a lot foods.

I've also lived off the land and weird stuff like that, so I'm basically a "make it work" kinda cook. I'm one of those who can walk into a kitchen, assess the state of the canned goods, carbs, condiments, fresh & frozen food, and the pans/heating elements and come up with something. More art than science.

[nochearecipebook]

Cuban Style "Macarrones"

When we arrived home today from vacationing in Fort Myers Beach here in Florida for a few days, I was tired and hungry. At first, I said that I was not going to cook. But when I thought of some of the ingredients that I had in my freezer and in my pantry, I decided to put together this comfort food type of dish, and I'm glad I did!

A type of Bolognese pasta dish, in Cuba the combination of some type of thick pasta with meat sauce are simply known as "macarrones."

The pasta could be either penne, ziti, or elbow, but not spaghetti in order to be considered macarrones.

In a steel pot, brown one pound of ground sirloin in olive oil and add some salt, ground black pepper, dried leaf oregano, rosemary, paprika, or some type of red powdered Spanish seasoning called Sazón while stirring at medium-high heat. Add one cup of diced yellow onion, some minced garlic, one cup of tomato paste, one cup of tomato sauce, half cup of Spanish golden cooking wine, and two bay leaves while continuing to stir, cover and simmer for 45 minutes.

In a separate pot, bring some water to a rolling boil and cook a box of one of the pastas mentioned above, drain well and add the pasta to the meat sauce, add one cup of grated parmesan cheese and stir well to mix the pasta with the meat sauce, cover and simmer for an additional 15 minutes. You can drizzle a bit of olive oil on the pasta and stir to obtain the perfect consistency before serving.

Garlic bread or pieces of a baguette to be dipped in salted olive oil are great sides for this recipe along with a red cabernet, enjoy!

[themostlesbianever]

9-1-1 opinion time🥳

- oh theyre not telling anyone yet

- thats such a healthy behaviour buck woah

- so many loafs

- dont jump back in the pond

- GET THAY CHEESE OUT OF HERE NO PUKING PLS

- buck ur so smart

- BRAD🥳

- hello gerrard😔

- lets hope buck is okay during this call

- i hate my wifi so much omg

- bucks going up?

- HEN SCREENTIME CRUMBS

- athena injury😔

- pls dont turn this into retirement

- ROOKIE

- lets see if we like this sparks guy

- damn he is really sucking up

- buck the cook

- also HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO AISHA

- GARLIC BREAD

- hen screentime crumbs

- HES BUBBLING YOU

- UH OH

- DO NOT CALL TOMMY

- hihihi

- hello chief

- uh oh bad news

- BOBBY IS NOT GOING BACK HE IS STAYING AT HOME

- but nobody is a fan of gerrard

- brad please just suck it up🙏

- NO BOBBY DO NOT GO

- 🙏🙏

- smart guy

- of course his dad

- oh drunk abusive dad

- oh hes power thirsty

- WOAH NO TALKING ABOUT RETIREMENT HERE

- PAY ATTENTION MY GUY

- its giving tim bradford

- BOOM IVE BEEN SHOT WHERE ARE WE BOOT

- YES WERE GETTING ATHENA AND HEN WINE AND GOSSIP SCENE IVE BEEN PRAYING FOR THIS

- doctor hen you're adorable

- hen youre so nice and cute i love you so much

- god ive missed hen scenes that are longer than 2 seconds damn

- positive scenes obviously

- vincent be more likeable pls

- ur a dick vincent

- THE FUCK YOU MEAN "how can i be a dick"

- NO BECAUSE WHY DO WE HAVE TO TEACH THIS OLD ASS MAN MANNERS

- OMG ask him out to dinner

- omg dates

- spanish??

- okay brad youre laying it on a bit thick

- WHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HES CRYING

- god theyre trying to like change him up and make him more likeable bit its not working

- oh rookie is smart

- smart guy

- i think i like him

- hello justin ive seen stills of you

- GO AFTER HIM ROOKIE

- okay not like that

- right okay this seems safe my guy

- HANG ON MY GUY

- what a guy oh my god

- bro you are going to die

- DONT BE A BITCH ROB

- hiya

- "thanks for the assist" no now youre being annoying

- him being young is not an excuse, hes being dangerous and one day him and others will end up dead

- oh rude

- oh no youre gonna shut up now, that is not thr only reason

- HELLO GEE

- uncle buck you have my heart

- oh dude uhm most expensive

- NEVER order the most expensive thing when youre not paying

- damn brad you sound like a toddler

- gerrard is a knob but bobby is ours

- NO HES A BITCH TO STAFF

- brad youre being a dick

- oh brad not in public

- brad fuck off

- HIT HIM

- HES GONNA PUNCH HIM

- MAN CHILD

- PUNCH HIM

- KICK HIS ASS

- oh theyre the police

- "thugs with guns" its the police

- I KNOW HER

- IS THIS THAT NURSE THAT GAVE GEORGE SYPH IN GREYS??

- oh hes suggesting tearing up a ticket thats illegal no?

- yeah hes bad

- yeah fire his ass

- WHAT THE FUCK DUDE

- HOW DO YOU THINK YOUR GUN IS YOUR TASER

- THATS WHY THEYRE IN DIFFERENT SIDES

- in the rookie at least

- no shes 100% gonna die

- fire his ass

- she has a crutch😨

- oh she survived🥳🥳

- retirement?

- ROOKIE

- mama a girl behind YOU💜

- brad ur so weird

- do not cling onto him

- NO BRAD FUCK OFF

- "they put me in a coma"😭😭

- me too bobby, me too

dont we have to wait like 29 thousand years for the next episode now??

[footygirl114]

Did I just get through a wine tasting fully in Spanish and understand quite a bit of it? Yes. Was it because I was too distracted by the wine and cheese? Maybe. Am I going to pat myself on the back? You bet I am.