#my spanish speaking red wine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

probablyintensemuses · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#armando aretas #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #armando x reader #armando aretas x reader #hot #fic #angst #smut #bwwm love #blackoc #fanfiction #fanfic #jacob scipio

383 notes · View notes

smicksstuff · 2 years ago

Text

lets go racing in Jeddah! its the second race of the season and it is packed with twice the amount of drama you could have expected! drama unfolds, trophies passed around like hot potato and secrets spilled like red wine on a white dress. what has yn gotten herself into ? is all this worth it ?

read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here

The PitBox Crew Series

Land of Pizza and Pasta

(f1drivers x yngasly)

a/n: sorry for the google translate french and italian. please note this is a work of fiction.

20 March 2023

yngasly

Jeddah

liked by lancestroll, estebanocon and 982, 792 others

yngasly i guess everyone is an aston martin now ?

view 791 comments

fernandoalo_official Vamos Yn !! 💪🏼

yngasly congratulations on P3 !

fernandoalo_official are you sure?

yngasly congrats to george then ?

yngasly someone help this is more confusing then trigonometry 😫

sharl she is so real for this

pierregasly what is with the memes

yngasly arent they cute !! i love Pear Gasly, gonna be your new contact now 😎

pierregasly no why?!

yngasly why not?

pierregasly at least its better than the current one

pedrogaseoso pls tell us what the current one is !! i need to know !!!

yngasly hint: its his spanish name 😉

pedrogaseoso NO WAY !!! MY USERNAME??! i have made it 😍

formulauno can someone tell me where to sign up to be yn’s friend ?

yngaslyfans SAME !!! drop the signups here 😃

charles_leclerc why am i a red flag ?

yngasly gee i dont know charles, maybe the fact that all my dates ditch me the second they find out i know you ? 😤

charles_leclerc well they weren’t good enough anyways 🤷🏻‍♂️

sharl where can i get a bestie like this ?

lancestroll green is definitely a good colour on you!

liked by yngasly and 67 others

lancelot ummm 👀 je suis pardon ? (translation: im sorry?)

f1fandom not another colour debate 😂

20 March 2023

charles_leclerc added to their story

24 March 2023

yukitsunoda0511 added to their story

26 March 2023

yngasly

Italy

liked by isahernaez, lilymhe, katerinaberezhna and 799, 793 others

yngasly Mi è mancato questo posto! Bello essere tornato ❤️ (translation: i have missed this place! great to be back ! )

view 799 comments

isahernaez come to spain next !! i miss you 😫❤️

yngasly buying my plane ticket to spain after the race!!

carlossainz55 you dont miss me this much 😧

isahernaez i see you too much 🫢

carlossainz55 WOW

isahernaez come on i only see her at races or during breaks ☹️

carlossainz55 fine 😕

isahernaez im planning our date as we speak !! keep a whole day free babes 😘

yngasly you can have the whole week 😉

ybfusername GOD I MISSED YOU SO MUCH !! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yngasly ME TOO !! 😭😭😭 you need to come to UK next

ybfusername planning my trip to UK rn

landonorris if you need a tour guide, you know who is the best ! 😎

yngasly thanks lando for the offer! @maxfewtrell when are you free ?

landino oh no she did not 😧

maxfewtrell anytime mate! text me and ill bring my chauffeur too 👍🏼 (hint: he drives a mclaren)

quadrantmania not max joining in too

yngasly sounds like a plan 👍🏼

landonorris lando has left the chat

lilymhe im obessed with your outfits babe!! we need to go shopping together soon!!

yngasly awww thanks lils!! i learnt from the queen herself 😉 a shopping date is a need !!

alexalbonfans yn calling lily “lils” my heart 🥹❤️

charles_leclerc 10/10 for the maranello tour

yngasly how are you so sure

charles_leclerc what is your rating then ?

yngasly tour is a 10 but the the tour guide……

carlossainz55 i was so much better

charles_leclerc not trueee

yngasly he made me coffee !!! thats like +10 points

charles_leclerc 😧

yngaslyfans OMG this comment section is getting me pumped for the rest of the season!! cant wait for all the potential dates yn has !! im so excited!!!

emmainmilan this is just a phase. you dont even know the real yn! if you knew her, you would make sure these people dont mix around with her.

yngaslyfans no one asked mate

emmainmilan its just a friendly heads up. i know the real yn, to her this is just a game. when she has got what she wants she will bring them down instantly.

emmainmilan i was one of her closest friends and let me just say she is a real piece of work.

username7 pls i agree, i heard from a friend that yn is such a brat! im amazed her family took her back after all she did

user6 spill what happened

emmainmilan when she moved with her family to italy, it was all great until the passing of AH. she became a wrecking ball after that, she partied all night, skipped school, and did all sorts of nonsense. pierre and her got into many fights and it got to a point they didn’t talk anymore! she would come home black out drunk and she got into many fights in public too. her family kicked her out and she ended up staying with me. after that she dropped out of school and lived off the money in her trust fund.

user6 WTF i can’t believe i looked up to her

emmainmilan it gets worst, one night she got so drunk she got into a fight with a stranger and ended up in the police station, her parents were called and they had to bail her out ! thats the first time they heard from her since she left their family house 1 year before that. man she begged her mum and dad to take her back. and i honestly can’t believe how her mother took her back.

user5 if that was my daughter, i would have left her to rot in the cell. she deserves it.

emmainmilan same! after her parents took her back, she dropped me like a fly and never looked back! honestly she thinks that she can just forget all this but hell nah im not going to allow that.

yngaslyfans PLS STOP! this isnt your story to share ! its hers!

emmainmilan pls i suggest you find a better person to be a fan of, yn gasly is just an entitled brat!!

yngaslyfc Hey Yn!! if you read this, please know that we still love you so much!! and if this is all true, we are proud that you got better !! dont let these nobodies bring you down❤️❤️❤️

liked by yngaslyfans and 69 others

username8 what a suck up!! she doesn’t deserve it

26 March 2023

charles_leclerc

Maranello

liked by yngasly, carlossainz55 and 1, 893, 727 others

charles_leclerc Maranello Tour ‘23 🏎️

yngasly thanks for the tour! got to admit i really liked it 😍

charles_leclerc happy to hear that! what was the best thing ?

yngasly well carlos was amazing and i really liked the coffee and merch! im ready for australia now 😃

charles_leclerc and me ?

yngasly you could learn how to make coffee ?

carlossainz55 give it up charles, she is a chilli fan 🌶️

charles_leclerc 😞☹️

yngasly omg i love both ferrari drivers equally !

sharl when will it be me !!!!!

f1fans charles and carlos need a better friend to be honest. just stick with pierre.

liked by 3789 others

scuderiaferrari thank you for visiting us Yn !! Come back soon! We love hanging out with you ❤️

yngasly Thank you @scuderiaferrari definitely loved hanging with you too ❤️

alpinef1team stop stealing our Yn ✋🏼

yngasly no need to fight, @alpinef1team you will always have me 😉

comments have been limited

27 March 2023

yngasly posted on their story

27 March 2023

carlossainz55 have posted on their story

taglist: @fangirlika @threedalla @sticksdoesart @ophcelia @gothicwidowsworld @nmw-am @h0e-xoxo @inthestars-underthesun @tyna-19 @champomiel @pitconfirmbutton @clcspeonies @67-angelofthelordme-67

credits: all pictures are found from pinterest and instagram

a/n: thank you for reading this far !! If you have any suggestions send them to me!! I would love to hear them ◡̈

if you would like to be tagged when new parts are released, drop your usernames in the comments!! 😁

562 notes · View notes

layla4567 · 11 months ago

Text

OPLA MEN WITH A SPANISH SPEAKER READER (Female)

Feat Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy

This is purely self-indulgent sorry not sorry 👀

warnings: a little suggestive

MIHAWK

🌹 Honestly, he wasn't surprised when he heard you speak Spanish. You were in his castle sitting in the armchair reading while you had a cup of tea, he was doing the same thing near you only he had opted for a glass of wine. You could only hear the fire crackling in the fireplace, the silence was so quiet that your voice could be heard loud and clear. You were reading a book in Spanish and in a low voice you murmured the phrases you read. Your voice was just a whisper soft and delicate enough to cover a child, yet Mihawk heard it and raised an eyebrow, momentarily taking his eyes off his book with slight curiosity to look at you.

🌹 You were very focused on reading, your eyes slowly scanned the pages from left to right while your lips moved as if you were praying. The only thing that caught the warlord's attention was that you were reading in a low voice. Being such a cultured man, he was quite knowledgeable about different languages, he himself spoke Romanian, and Mihawk had already heard you without wanting to speak in your language when one day you had slightly cut your calf with his sword when you tried to grab it and you had let out a expletive in spanish

🌹 "My dear, you don't need to mumble to read a book, did you know that?" He said with his gaze on his own book. You raised your head from your book, looking at him surprised and blushing with embarrassment. He wasn't looking at you but you knew he was paying attention to your reaction, watching you through his peripheral vision. You hid in your red book again, with shame. You didn't want to bother him, you knew that he appreciated silence above many things, but sometimes you couldn't help but read quietly, you felt that this way you remembered the plot better and lived it with more intensity. But not only that embarrassed you, but the fact that he had heard you speak Spanish, you weren't stupid, you knew that he had already heard you before. You still remember that time when he scolded you for trying to hold his sword and you let out a "Mierda" when you cut your leg. Obviously he had heard you say that but he hid it pretty well, and you didn't know why he downplayed it and wasn't surprised.

🌹 What you didn't know is that he knew how to speak more languages. He had never mentioned it before so you didn't know this fact. Since you loved to read, you felt great security being in the castle library, so I took refuge there several times in a row to read your favorite books, which were always in Spanish because you felt more comfortable reading in your own language. One afternoon Dracule entered the library to read just like you and when he saw you he stopped dead, you were there again reading in a low voice. He pretended that it bothered him that you murmured but internally he found it adorable how your mouth moved and your eyes ran over the pages of the books. He grabbed a book from a shelf and walked up behind you. “What are you reading, darling?” His deep voice surprised you so you looked up and met his yellow eyes, Mihawk swore he could become weak if you gave him that doe look and from that angle. "Oh it's called "100 años de soledad" It's about a family that lives in an isolated town called Macondo without having contact with anyone." Dracule Mihawk raised an eyebrow intrigued "I'll have to read it someday then" And then he sat down in an armchair to read. He could have gone somewhere else but you had the habit of reading together, even if he didn't say it or show he appreciated your company.

🌹 He wanted to continue reading but you couldn't help but stop reading and look at him, he was focused on his own book. You knew this would upset him but you had to ask him "Mihawk… why aren't you surprised that I speak Spanish?" You said shyly. He looked at you slowly and sighed, "Did you want me to be surprised?" He seemed to dodge the question with indifference and a slight degree of irritation "No but… it's just that… I almost never speak Spanish" He sighed long "Little bird, you haven't discovered America, I also know how to speak other languages" This made you go down. your book completely rested on your lap, you looked at him really amazed "Wait, what? Why didn't you ever tell me?" "For the same reason that you never told me that you spoke Spanish, I don't like to talk about myself." Yes, since you knew him he has always been very secretive about his personal life and he knew you well enough to know that you were the same.

🌹 The days passed and you tried to find out what languages he knew how to speak. You imagined the most "exotic" ones you could think of: Russian, Japanese, French, etc. Even, why not? Maybe he also spoke Spanish. Your mission from now on was to follow him closely to get information from him.

🌹 You obviously failed. His lips were sealed like a tomb. "If you want to know more about me, you'll have to try harder than that" He told you one day, and you listened to him. Your strategy was to always be as close to him as possible and listen carefully. Just listen in silence, stealthy like a little mouse

🌹 Until the day arrived, slowly but surely. One morning Mihawk was looking for his cross that he had taken out the night before and now he couldn't find it. Then he quietly muttered some words that you didn't know the meaning of but that sounded similar to Russian or German. You tried to hide your excitement by simply glancing at him out of the corner of your eye and smiling slightly even though inside you were doing the victory dance.

🌹 One afternoon you couldn't help it and you asked him what language he had spoken that morning "Please just tell me" You said pleadingly to which he rolled his eyes. But you insisted so much, giving him pouts or puppy eyes that he responded, "It was Romanian, now will you leave me alone?" Smiling happily, you jumped and gave him a hug and you didn't care that he didn't return it, your satisfaction was greater.

🌹 You never knew how, but the following weeks you insisted that he teach you some words in Romanian (and other languages) and you taught him some in Spanish (although he already had a slight knowledge of that language, it was good for him to reinforce it) "Repeat, ingerul meu" He said. You repeated the phrase slowly. "What does it mean?" You asked, he approached your ear "My angel" And then you blushed and smiled. Other times you two competed to see who could seduce the other better or which language was the most romantic. It was a constant teasing where none of you gave up.

SHANKS

⛵ You had joined his crew a long time ago and the pirates, including Shanks himself, already thought they knew everything about you, except that you knew how to speak Spanish.

⛵ You were coincidentally on the island one day along with the crew, you and Shanks had disembarked to buy supplies. You had separated to buy some trinkets at a nearby stall, large and pleasant, it was your surprise when the saleswoman spoke Spanish just like you, so you got involved in a pleasant conversation while you bought what you wanted. When the red-haired pirate finished buying everything, he turned smiling in your direction and realized that you were talking animatedly with a saleswoman, but what caught his attention the most was that you were speaking in another language.

⛵ The closer he got to you, the louder he heard your conversation, but he still didn't understand a word. Even so, he did not overlook how delicious and seductive your voice sounded speaking that language unknown to him, it almost made him purr.

⛵ He took a few more steps towards you and was soon standing next to you, when he immediately approached the saleswoman and you fell silent. "How are you, ladies? What were you talking about?" He asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. “Oh nothing, girl stuff.” The two of you said in unison, smiling goofily.

⛵ Upon returning to the ship, Shanks had not forgotten your little conversation out there a few minutes ago. And every time you were concentrating on doing something he would look at you smiling flirtatiously until you realized and when you looked at him he would pretend to look away.

⛵ Your melodious and sweet voice still resonated in his mind as if he were listening to you all the time. He would never have guessed that you were bilingual and he wondered why you hadn't mentioned it before, but now it didn't matter, he respected your secrets and was more than happy to have had the opportunity to listen to you. And of course he wouldn't tell anyone that he had heard you, he wanted to have the honor of being the only one who could hear your honeyed voice speaking another language.

⛵ But of course he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to find out a little more about that, without pressuring you, of course. One hot afternoon where you were sitting on a barrel fanning yourself with your hand, the red-haired pirate had sat near you on another barrel and with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Shanks began testing the waters. "So don't you want to tell me what you and the saleswoman were talking about the other day?" You felt a little embarrassed when he mentioned that, you didn't think he would still remember "I already told you, girl things…" You smiled, rolling your eyes slightly. Shanks laughed, taking a sip of the drink. "Oh yeah, of course. Although I didn't know that girl things were talked about in another language." Your jaw dropped slightly and you opened your eyes wide, looking at him to which he let out a laugh, before That you could say anything he responded "Don't worry gorgeous, I won't say anything, your secret is safe with me." You knew he wouldn't say anything but you still didn't feel comfortable knowing that someone had heard you speaking in your native language.

⛵ The days passed and the pirate kept his promise and didn't say anything, even so you felt somewhat embarrassed now that your secret had come to light. One afternoon you were leaning against the railing of the ship staring at the horizon with a frown but your mind was far away from there. The red-haired man had come out to get some air on the deck and when he saw you standing there he decided to approach. Seeing that you didn't even turn to look at him and seeing your worried face he asked "Hey doll, what's wrong?" He said slightly worried. You sighed "I don't know, I don't know what to think about you now knowing that I can speak Spanish" Shanks raised his eyebrows, so that's what it was, Spanish. "It's not that I didn't trust you, but I would have preferred it not to be known." Shanks smiled sideways and moved closer to you. "Listen, I'm not going to ask you why you don't want to speak your native language, but I swear you don't have to be ashamed of it. nothing. In fact I'm kind of envious of you, you know?" You looked at him with a hint of hope and warmth at his words. He hugged you and you put your head on his chest "You don't know how pleasant it was to hear you talk like that, I wish I could always listen to you. It was sexy" You let out giggles against his torso and you could feel him smile as he kissed your hair.

⛵ You felt a little better now and you really wanted to thank Shanks for not judging you and being understanding. At first you thought about speaking in Spanish with him but then you remembered that he wouldn't understand you at all. You were wracking your brain trying to think of a suitable outfit for him when he came into your room announcing that dinner was ready. Seeing you sitting there thoughtfully, he smiled and asked you what you were doing. "I uhh.. I was trying to think of giving you something for not telling my secret.." You said blushing. He laughed and crouched down to be at your height "You don't have to give me anything sweetie, just seeing you every day makes me fine" You smiled shyly but you really wanted to give him something, even if it was your words "But you know, I was thinking that maybe I could speak in Spanish… just for you. I know you're not going to understand me but since you said you liked it" Shanks smiled warmly, nodding "I think it's perfect, dove"

⛵ And so every time you were alone you would tell stories to Shanks, sometimes they were banal and irrelevant things like a pretty dress you had seen in a store or an exotic bird you had seen in a tree. But seeing your wide smile and your face lighting up were the most precious treasure for him, much more than him One Piece. It was true, he didn't understand anything you were saying but seeing you so happy talking about what you were passionate about made him smile and sigh while he felt his heart burst out of his chest. But one day you decided that he deserved to understand you, although he insisted that it wasn't necessary and he didn't care. You got to work and taught him everything you knew. For him it was a tender gesture that you went out of your way to teach a pirate like him the art of your language. They were arduous days where you found small breaks to teach him. "Come on, you can do it, repeat after me: Barco" He was pouting like a child "Ok but only if I can get a kiss" He smiled flirtatiously and cheekily. Weeks later he spoke the language quite well and was able to follow your conversations at ease, he felt as if he had discovered a new world full of possibilities. You two were on the deck holding each other. "Guess what new word I learned today?" He told you. "What is it?" He kissed you on the lips and then said "Te amo"

BUGGY

🎪 When he heard you speak Spanish for the first time he thought you were speaking in Chinese, he didn't understand a single word you were saying. You were quietly reviewing what you had to do in the next performance so that you wouldn't forget.

🎪 He slowly approached you without you realizing it. His face expressed confusion and extreme astonishment. He walked towards you like a zombie with languid steps, as if he were in some kind of trance. He just couldn't believe you were speaking another language.

🎪 You kept saying words that were incomprehensible and made no sense to him. Until you finished and turned around only to see Buggy standing near you like a fool. "Hello Buggy, is something wrong?" You said smiling. He blinked several times before answering, "A moment ago you were speaking another language, wha-what was it?" You were a little surprised that he listened to you. "Spanish why?" Buggy did not hide his surprise by raising his eyebrows, but then he made a movement with his hand, dismissing it. "Oh, for nothing. Keep rehearsing, I want my star to shine brighter than ever today."

🎪 The days passed and in each rehearsal you unconsciously went over your steps, always in a low voice and in your native language. And Buggy couldn't help but listen to you. First he was staring at you dumbfounded with his chin resting on his hand trying to figure out what the hell you were saying. But then came the anger for not understanding a single word you say.

🎪 And since Buggy is quite irritable, his bad mood did not go away immediately, on the contrary, it continued for weeks. He couldn't stand knowing that you spoke another language and he didn't, he felt useless. He wanted to understand you because he was genuinely curious about you but it was terribly difficult for him to retain a phrase or word that came out of your mouth.

🎪 The pirate clown became more surly and spent several hours in his dressing room without speaking to anyone. At first you didn't give it any importance since you thought it was one of his typical tantrums, but his distant attitude continued for longer than usual so you got worried. Had he gotten angry with someone from the circus? Had you done something wrong? There was only one way to find out.

🎪 So that night you sneaked into his dressing room, opening the door slowly to show your face. You saw him sitting with his back to you, he had his hat in his hands twisting it furiously, it seemed like he wanted to eat it. "Why she can speak another language and I can't?" He sputtered, chewing the words.

🎪 You walked in, clearing your throat and saying his name cautiously. When he heard you he jumped in his seat and turned quickly to look at you. "Oh y/n! I didn't hear you come in." You apologized and asked him what was wrong, he frowned and turned around "Nothing, nothing's wrong with me. Why do you think something's wrong with me?" His anger was so evident and he made so little effort to hide it that you couldn't help but smile in amusement. You knew that he wouldn't say anything if you didn't pressure him a little, but always with delicacy and kindness. You stood in front of him and squatted down to look him in the eyes. "Come on, Buggy, I know there's something wrong with you, and I'm afraid it has to do with me. Did I do something to upset you?" You said a little distressed. Buggy opened his eyes wide and looked at you as if it were the first time, he realized his sadness and said in a softer voice "No, it's not that, it's just…" He covered his face with his hands, sighing "It's your native language" You furrowed your brow in confusion but he didn't let you speak "I think I'm…jealous that you know a language that I don't" You relaxed your face and smiled in relief, phew, it was just that. You grabbed the clown's wrists and pulled them away from his face "Buggy dear, if it was just that you could have told me. If you want I can teach you to speak Spanish" Upon hearing that Buggy's face lit up slightly "Would you really do that for me? " You smiled and kissed his nose "For you, whatever you want."

🎪 From that day on every night you sneaked into Buggy's dressing room to teach him Spanish. It was hard work. Buggy seemed like a small child who had a tantrum every time he made a mistake about something, and if he didn't understand he would get frustrated and kick the ground. Rolling your eyes several times and gathering patience, you taught him everything you could, but from time to time you had to play the role of "strict teacher" and scolded him when he became a brat.

🎪 As Buggy slowly learned, he was as enthusiastic as if he were 7 years old. There were still words that he didn't know how to pronounce well and when he said them out loud with complete certainty, thinking that he was saying them correctly, you couldn't help but laugh. Even the other members of the circus, although they didn't know what the clown was saying, laughed anyway, causing him to get angry, but then you calmed him down by kissing him on the cheek. Other times Buggy would get into flirty or horny mode and want you to teach him more bawdy or lewd words. Which he achieved by touching your thighs and sitting you on his lap when he was on the throne.

for my gente latino

#imagine #one shot #female reader #x reader #oneshot #fluff #drabble #opla #opla buggy #one piece netflix #one piece live action #op #one piece #shanks one piece #mihawk one piece #opla shanks #opla mihawk #opla x reader #y/n

89 notes · View notes

emjayewrites · 3 days ago

Text

all mine (in between the lines epilogue) • jules kounde

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: This story is finito! Thanks again for all of the love/support for my football baes series! Gif by @doinggreat

one month later.....

Senait watched the French countryside blur past their van window, still jet-lagged from her NYC trip. The visit home had been productive – boxing up most of her Bushwick apartment, moving things to her parents' house. The decision to leave New York hadn't been as hard as she'd expected. Barcelona had become her new home, complete with friends, a thriving business, and Jules.

The meeting at the Spanish embassy had been encouraging. The visa process would be complex but doable – she'd need to prove financial stability (her business was helping there), show ties to the community, and complete the necessary paperwork. Spring 2025 felt like a reasonable timeline, especially with her subletter already lined up through April.

"I still can't believe you're really moving to Spain," Zuri said, squeezing her hand. The three girls had claimed the back row of the luxury van, leaving their men to occupy the middle seats.

"Neither can I," Senait admitted. "But it feels right."

"Speaking of right," Lila wiggled her eyebrows, "let's talk about how Jules calls you chérie."

"Oh my God, stop—"

"No, no," Zuri jumped in, grinning. "We need to discuss this. The way you melt every time he speaks French."

"Like you're any better with Aurélien," Senait shot back. "Miss 'oh daddy' in two languages."

"At least the French make it extra sexy," Zuri defended.

"Excuse me," Lila protested, "try teaching an Englishman to sound sexy. Though trust me, Daddy works just fine."

"Unless you want to get fucked in this van, Li," Jude turned around, smirking, "I think you should cut it out."

Lila's face flushed as red as possible, while the others erupted in laughter.

"Look who's quiet now," Senait teased.

"Leave her alone," Zuri said, though she was still laughing. "Not her fault Jude's got her trained."

"Big Daddy Bellingham," joked Senait in a low voice that was somehow still heard by the guys.

"And you better not forget it," Jude chimed in with a wink and it made the whole van erupt into another fit of guffaws.

"I hate all of you," Lila muttered, but she was smiling.

The lodge appeared through the snow – a massive wooden structure with huge windows and multiple balconies.

"Proper winter wonderland," Jules commented as they unloaded their bags.

Even knowing Jude and Lila could only stay until Christmas Eve – family obligations in Bergen calling – the mood was festive. The couples claimed their rooms, unpacked, then reconvened in the main living area where a fire already blazed.

"To friends," Aurélien raised his glass of wine. "And to being together."

"To being together," they echoed.

______________________________________________

Senait stood on the lodge‘s porch, wrapped in one of Jules' sweaters (stolen, of course), watching snowflakes dust the fairy-light draped chalets of Megève as she thought about last therapy session before the trip, which had been particularly enlightening.

"You're not running anymore," Dr. Obazi had observed. "You're moving forward. There's a difference."

The difference was currently in the kitchen with Jude, both of them playfully judging Lila's hot chocolate methodology. Jules caught Senait's eye through the window, throwing her a wink that still made her stomach flip, even after all these months.

"Senait," Zuri's voice broke through her thoughts, appearing beside her with two steaming mugs. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That soft smile you get when you look at Jules." Zuri handed her a mug. "You know, the one you swore you'd never have?"

Senait accepted the cocoa, breathing in the sweet aroma. "Therapy's helping," she admitted. "Making me see things differently."

"Like?"

"Like maybe being scared of something good is worse than risking getting hurt." She took a sip, the warmth spreading through her chest. "And maybe Jules is worth the risk."

Zuri's smile was knowing. "Finally figured that out, huh?"

Inside, laughter erupted from the kitchen. Jude had lifted Lila away from the stove, declaring her marshmallow-to-cocoa ratio "criminally sweet." Jules was recording the whole thing, Lila protesting in between giggles, and Aurélien continuing to instigate the entire ordeal.

"They're good people," Senait said softly. "Your friends."

"Our friends now," Zuri corrected. "That's what happens when you stop fighting the good things, Sen."

Later, on the slopes, Senait felt that truth in her bones. She and Jules moved in sync on their snowboards, their bodies finding that natural rhythm they'd always had. But now it felt different – less like running away from intimacy and more like running toward it.

"Show off," she called as Jules executed a perfect jump.

His grin was wicked. "Want me to teach you?"

"Want me to end up in the emergency room?"

"I'd catch you."

The simple certainty in his voice made her heart stutter. Because he would – had been catching her, in fact, since that first night at Zuri's engagement party. She'd just been too scared to let herself fall.

_______________________________________________

The next evening, after saying their goodbyes to Jude and Lila, Senait curled up by the lodge's fireplace and watched her friends. Zuri and Aurélien shared a blanket and whispered jokes as they played a card game. Jules sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not so close as to pressure. Always giving her space to choose.

"I have another therapy session scheduled for when we get back," she said quietly.

"Good." His hand found hers under the blanket they shared. "Proud of you."

"Jules?"

"Mm?"

"I think… I think I'm ready. To make this official."

He turned to look at her fully, his expression serious. "You sure?"

Senait thought about Dr. Obazi's words about moving forward versus running. About how Jules had become home without her even noticing. About how being scared of happiness was worse than being scared of pain.

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure."

His smile was slow, beautiful. "About time, chérie."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So she did, kissing him right there in front of their friends. Zuri's whoop of celebration made her laugh against Jules' lips.

"Finally!" Aurélien called out, abandoning their card game. "Does this mean we can stop pretending like we don't know you practically live together?"

Senait felt her cheeks heat, but Jules just pulled her closer. "Means whatever she wants it to mean," he said simply.

And that was it, really. The beauty of them – how Jules let her set the pace while making sure she knew he wasn't going anywhere. How he'd waited while she worked through her fears in therapy, supported her growing business, given her space to choose him properly.

The Alpine night wrapped around them like a blanket, fairy lights twinkling against fresh snow. Senait curled into Jules' side, feeling the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart, and was finally at peace with everything in her life.

This was what choosing happiness felt like. What moving forward felt like.

THE END......

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY FOOTBALL BAES SERIES AND HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR SENAIT & JULES......

June 2030

Senait couldn’t help but marvel at how far life had taken her, from bustling streets of New York to the enchanting city of Barcelona. When she left New York officially in 2025 to be with Jules, she had no idea how seamlessly her life would transform alongside his. Those first three beautiful years together were filled with long, sun-kissed vacations to bucket list destinations, late-night drives along the Mediterranean coast, and spontaneous adventures as a couple. Jules had showered her with love in every corner of the world, and she’d fallen for him over and over again. Then, one balmy summer evening, he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed, making the life they’d built together official.

In those years, Senait’s career blossomed into something she was truly proud of. Her lifestyle brand had taken off, focusing on manifestation journals, productivity planners, and sleek, minimalistic calendars designed to keep life inspiring and organized. It wasn’t a multimillion-dollar empire—at least, not yet—but her profits had been steadily growing, and her work was loved by an ever-expanding community of motivated women. Venturing further into her passion for design, she had opened a small floral shop in Barcelona. Designing arrangements brought her a unique kind of peace, a creative outlet that felt like love in bloom.

Jules had been thriving, too. His football career soared to new heights: winning two Champions League with FC Barcelona and even lifting both a Euros win and World Cup with the French national team. The two of them had created a life bursting with love and dreams realized, and now they were eagerly awaiting the newest chapter—becoming parents.

Today, though, they were in Tuscany, celebrating Jude and Lila's wedding. But first, they had a mission in Florence.

"Chérie, we've been to six different shops," Jules said patiently, watching his pregnant wife peer into yet another chocolate boutique window.

"It has to be the right one," Senait insisted. "The one with the gold wrapper and the hazelnut filling. Remember? We found it that time we came for your Champions League match."

Jules wrapped an arm around her expanding waist. "That was two years ago, love."

"But it was perfect." Her voice wavered dangerously. "And the baby wants it."

"The baby, huh?"

"Don't tease me when I'm emotional."

Three more shops yielded nothing but frustration. By the time they reached the wedding venue, Senait was fighting back tears.

"Hey, Jules and Senait are here," she heard Aurélien call out.

Zuri appeared immediately, taking in Senait's flushed face and teary eyes. "What happened?"

Senait sniffled, one hand resting on her five-month bump. "I wanted a chocolate bar from that shop we loved in Florence, but they're out. And it's not available anywhere else in Italy!"

"Oh honey," Zuri pulled her into a hug, careful of her bump. "Pregnancy cravings are the worst."

"It's not just cravings," Senait hiccupped. "I wanted to share it with the baby. Tell them about our first trip to Florence, how their papa scored the winning goal that night."

Zuri bit back a laugh, exchanging a knowing look with Aurélien. Pregnancy hormones were no joke. "Hey, they've got some amazing snacks in Lila's room," she said, wrapping her arm around Senait. "Go on, I promise it'll make you feel better."

Senait nodded, allowing herself to be comforted, and made her way to Lila's room, leaving Jules and Aurélien to talk. The men shared a chuckle, with Jules shaking his head in disbelief. "Pregnancy, man. Never a dull moment."

As Senait walked down the hallways, she couldn't help but remember her own wedding. Now here she was, five months pregnant, crying over chocolate.

"There's my favorite pregnant lady!" Lila appeared in a silk robe, her hair in rollers.

Senait laughed. "You're beautiful!"

"So are you. Even with those tears. What happened?"

"I don't want to go there," Senait sighed dramatically, but she was smiling now. The baby fluttered – their newest trick. She placed a hand on her bump, still amazed by how natural this felt. How right.

"Come here, you emotional mess," Lila pulled Senait onto the sofa, where an impressive spread of snacks covered the coffee table. "I had them bring up everything – sweet, salty, spicy."

"You're an angel," Senait grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry. Not the same as her Florence chocolate, but it would do. "This baby needed some chocolate."

"Speaking of babies," Lila said as she was helped into her gown, "have you two started thinking about names yet?"

Senait smiled, remembering Jules' late-night conversations with her bump. "Jules likes Feven for a girl. It means 'bright' in Tigrinya."

"And for a boy?"

"Théo. After his grandfather."

Lila nodded approvingly while the bridal stylist buttoned the back of the dress. "That's great. Some men have awful taste in names."

Just then, Zuri made her way into the room and smiled brightly at both of her friends. The baby moved again, more pronounced this time. Senait had noticed they were most active during these moments of laughter and joy, as if already wanting to be part of the fun.

"Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life," she admitted softly from the couch. "Barcelona, Jules, the baby... if you'd told me six years ago this is where I'd end up..."

"You'd have run screaming in the opposite direction?" Lila supplied.

"Probably."

"And now look at you," Zuri squeezed her hand. "Living your dream life with your dream man, growing your dream baby."

The tears threatened again. "Stop, I just fixed my makeup."

"Blame the hormones," Lila suggested cheerfully.

A knock at the door interrupted their laughter. Jules poked his head in, his expression softening when he saw Senait surrounded by snacks and friends.

"Better?" he asked.

Senait nodded, holding out her hand. He crossed the room to take it, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Guess what?" he murmured against her hair. "Aurélien made some calls. That chocolate shop? They're sending a box directly to Barcelona. Should be there when we get home."

Fresh tears spilled. "I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur." His hand found her bump. "Both of you."

"And on that disgustingly sweet note," Lila announced, "I need to finish getting ready. I have a wedding to star in."

The bridal stylist jumped in at that moment and helped Lila with her veil.

When she was done, Senait watched as Zuri placed a gentle hand on Lila's shoulder. "You look so perfect," she whispered.

Lila smiled, her eyes glistening. "Thanks, Zu. I just can't believe this is finally happening."

Zuri smiled, her hand resting protectively over her own bump. "Believe it, girl. This is your moment."

_______________________________________________

The reception was nothing short of magical: fairy lights draped over ancient olive trees, long tables adorned with white roses and silk drapery, and soft music that danced on the breeze. Senait felt warm and content, holding little Eti, who had been passed to her while Zuri and Aurélien took on their wedding party duties.

Later, Senait swayed gently with Jules as they danced under the canopy of stars, surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. The DJ shifted the song, and suddenly Hey There Delilah started playing. Jules grinned, his eyes bright with mischief, and the two of them began singing along jokingly with the rest of the guests, trying to outdo each other with exaggerated gestures.

After dancing until her feet hurt, Senait noticed a young man she recognized as Jude’s brother, Jobe, standing off to the side, deep in conversation with a stunning young woman somewhat familiar. She nudged Zuri, who had just returned from mingling. "Who’s that?" she asked, nodding toward the pair.

Zuri followed her gaze and let out a little laugh. "That’s Justine, you remember, Jobe’s ex from Birmingham. Lila invited her, of course."

"That's her?" Senait said, eyes alight with curiosity. "Spill the tea."

Zuri smirked. "Well, you know they broke up a few years ago, and Justine moved to the States to go to grad school and teach for a while?" Senait nodded her head vehemently and her friend continued. "So now she’s back in the UK, and Lila is playing matchmaker, hoping they rekindle things."

Senait's smile grew. "I kind of like that idea."

Before she could comment further, Jules came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his lips brushing against her ear. He whispered something filthy, making her cheeks flush furiously. Senait swatted his arm, laughing. "You have to wait. We’re not doing that here."

Jules sucked his teeth in mock disappointment, then turned to Zuri with a grin. "Sorry, I’m stealing my wife now."

Zuri rolled her eyes with a chuckle, "Go on, then. Just don’t keep her too long."

Jules didn’t hesitate, pulling Senait away from the lively crowd to a quieter corner of the reception. He pressed her gently against the wall, cupping her face and kissing her deeply, passion igniting between them once again. When they finally broke apart, Senait laughed, breathless.

"Ugh, I hate you," she said jokingly, her voice husky.

Jules brushed a lock of hair from her face, his gaze softening. "I love you too," he replied simply, and then he kissed her again, both of them lost in the moment, savoring every heartbeat and memory shared between them.

____________________________________________

four months later…

The Barcelona hospital room was filled with anticipation and the soft beeping of monitors. After twelve hours of labor, Senait was finally ready to push. Jules hadn't left her side once, letting her squeeze his hand through each contraction, whispering encouragement in French and English.

"You're doing amazing, chérie," he murmured, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Her mother, Askalu, stood on her other side, while her father, John, paced the waiting room. Sophie, Jules' mother, had been in and out, her limited English made up for by her expressive face and comforting presence.

When Feven Sidonie Koundé finally entered the world at 3:47 AM, her powerful cry filled the room. Jules' eyes welled up as the doctors placed their daughter on Senait's chest.

"Elle est parfaite," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Perfect like her mama."

The next few hours passed in a blur of skin-to-skin contact, first measurements, and proud grandparents meeting their granddaughter. Askalu and John couldn't stop crying as they held Feven, marveling at her tiny features.

"She looks just like you did," Askalu told Senait, gently touching Feven's full head of curly hair.

Sophie was equally emotional, her broken English mixed with rapid French as she cooed over her granddaughter. "Ma belle petite-fille," she kept saying, tears streaming down her face.

The nurse brought in Senait's first 'push present' – a large tray of sushi she'd been craving throughout her pregnancy. Her mother shook her head as Senait did an excited wiggle in the hospital bed.

"You have more presents at home," Jules said, amused by her reaction to raw fish.

"Nothing better than this," Senait declared, already reaching for a piece of salmon nigiri.

Her phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Zuri. On screen, her friend appeared with baby Zulaika in her arms, two-month-old and perfect, while little Eti peeked into frame.

"She's here!" Zuri squealed. "Show me my niece!"

Jules carefully tilted the phone so Zuri could see Feven, now sleeping peacefully in her bassinet.

"Oh my god, she's gorgeous," Zuri gushed. "Our girls are going to be best friends."

"Unless it's El Clásico time," Aurélien's voice came from off-screen. "Then they're enemies."

Jules chuckled, but the sound was cut short by Feven's hungry cry. "Speaking of enemies, time for another feeding."

"Go be a mommy and daddy," Zuri smiled. "Love you all!"

Jules carefully lifted Feven, still amazed by how tiny she was, and brought her to Senait. He helped position the baby, remembering all the steps from their parenting classes.

"Support her head like that," Senait murmured. "There we go."

Watching his wife feed their daughter, Jules felt his heart might burst. He couldn't stop staring at them – his whole world in one hospital bed.

"Can we have another?" he asked suddenly, eyes locked on Senait's.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. "Give me six months and I'll think about it."

His grin widened as he leaned in to kiss her. "Je t'aime, chérie."

"I love you too," she whispered back. "All of this. Even if your daughter already has your appetite."

Jules laughed softly, careful not to disturb Feven's feeding. Their families would be staying to help – Sophie for two whole months – but right now, in this moment, it was just them. Their little family of three.

Complete. Perfect. Everything they never knew they needed until they found each other.

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x reader #jules kounde fanfic #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #fc barcelona fanfiction #fc barcelona fanfic #in between the lines #jules x senait

27 notes · View notes

may--hawk · 3 months ago

Text

common burn (ineffable remix)

XXXI. Common Burn - Mazzy Star

Simple things like your overcoat / And your beauty that’s still burning me

Once, Aziraphale leaves his coat at Crowley’s flat.

They’ve been drinking their way through the whole of the European continent, a cheap bottle of vagrant red turned Spanish, turned French, turned a long-forgotten date wine from Babylon that only Crowley and Aziraphale still remember. “Do you remember…?” Aziraphale says wistfully, his eyes half-closing, that angelic little smile on his face, the two of them on Crowley’s sofa. Crowley’s arm is slung over the back, almost touching Aziraphale’s shoulder, his coat. Aziraphale turns those blessed eyes onto Crowley. Instead of speaking, Crowley concentrates, thinks of those dark heavy-starred nights so long ago, thinks of the two of them on the balcony, Aziraphale standing straight, hands on the railing, Crowley draping himself over it to look at some plant or another, Aziraphale’s chiding voice, hiding a real nervousness, “You’re going to fall-” and Crowley turning back, throwing him a sharp grin that made Aziraphale blink, and flush, “Too late for that, angel.” He thinks of the gardens, of the goats, of the smell and flicker of the little fires burning in thousands of braziers throughout the city. He thinks of the Crowley he had been, once, long ago, and how, even then, he had looked at this angel when the angel looked away, standing like a marble column in the moonlight in those gauzy white robes. A palace Crowley wanted to live in. A sepulcher to be buried in.

Now, Crowley pulls up, and over, describing a perfect, gentle, lazy shape with the hand not holding the glass, the shape of the tendril of a hanging wine. Their glasses fill up again. Aziraphale leans forward to meet his glass, a sure sign that he’s drunk, closes his eyes, and takes a noisy sip.1 Then he wriggles, settling his shoulders down and back, and he turns to Crowley. He opens his eyes, beams. “My dear,” he says. His eyes shine.

“S’nothing, really,” Crowley says, shrugging and sliding his way along the couch, away from the angel’s beatitude.2

So they keep drinking, and Crowley’s got the heat up in his flat, because he’ll be damned - ha - if he’ll live in London, in bloody England, in bloody February, without forced air heat. After a few more bottles, Aziraphale starts tugging at his collar, his coat. He gets up, nearly knocking over their glasses in the process,3 tugs his coat off, huffs at it, and drapes it on the back of the sofa. He pats it, lovingly, and then settles down again, straightening the bottom of his waistcoat, tugging at his bowtie, loosening his collar. “S’hot in here, dear boy,” Aziraphale says, seriously, and Crowley says, “Nuh uh,” and Aziraphale says, “Oh, really?” guilelessly, blinking, his pink lips parted and his cheeks wine-flushed and his eyes glittering and glassy, so close to Crowley’s he’s a tangible heated presence like a lamp Crowley wants to drape himself over. Under. Whatever. Oh, Lord, as Aziraphale would say. And it’s just yet another night in yet another century of almost-could’ve-sometime, and as the days start winding down, Armageddon getting ever closer, Crowley starts to think perhaps it’ll never happen, this - this thing - between him and Aziraphale, forever to remain nothing more than a drunk-dream, so vivid in the night, lost to the morning. As they always are. That’s the great thing about Earth, Crowley thinks. It’s the perfect environment for dreams.

Eventually, because it’s not a dream, Aziraphale has to go, and Crowley tries to drive him home, but Aziraphale fusses, and says there’s no reason they should both have to sober up, or either of them, really, and he thinks - hic - he’ll just - hic - oh dear - walk back to the shop. “We’re not so very far apart, after all,” Aziraphale beams, white teeth, white hair, like he’s just discovered that, like it’s not a constant awareness in Crowley every second of every day, awake or asleep, like Crowley hadn’t picked this exact flat for that exact reason. “Could use a walk,” Aziraphale admits, “Clear the old head out, what ho,” and Crowley groans, and makes a face, and tells him nobody, absolutely nobody, says what ho anymore, tells him that as usual the angel is nearly sixty years too late. Aziraphale’s face falls, very briefly, or maybe it’s just a shadow, or maybe he’s just remembering the shadows that had fallen across Aziraphale’s face in the Bentley as he’d said, You go too fast for me, Crowley.

It’s only after Aziraphale leaves Crowley realizes he’s left his coat behind. It’s still draped over the back of the sofa, where the angel left it, tan and sturdy and completely incongruous in Crowley’s sleek flat. Crowley should reach out to snatch it up, should run after Aziraphale, should yell, “Angel - !”

He really should. It’s cold out. It is February in London, after all. This is no Babylon. And yet -

The angel won’t even notice, most likely. He doesn’t seem to get cold the way Crowley does. He seems to have his own internal fire, the burning flame of righteousness, of goodness. The vestal hearth of loving and being loved.

Crowley waits a very long time. He waits long enough that he knows the angel is back in the bookshop, likely none the wiser, and then he turns the lights out with a snap and he reaches out and he touches Aziraphale’s coat beside him on the sofa. It’s a thick, warm wool, rough nap worn almost soft by age and wear, by the physical interaction of Aziraphale with the physical world. Crowley’s palm smoothes over the lapels, down a sleeve, the chest. His fingers tremble a little as he pets it. The only light in the room is what comes in from the great big windows, cold and open and empty on London. Crowley can hear his own breath, harsh in his throat, as he picks up the coat, then, before he can think about it, gathers it to his chest, and holds it. It’s heavy and warm, and it, Satan, it smells like Aziraphale, his musty old bookshop and the clear tang of tea and Aziraphale’s human corporation, Christ -

Crowley buries his face in it. He doesn’t sleep that night, not at all, just sits there in the dark, holding the coat to himself, staring at the big windows, not seeing the city, looking, instead, at his own reflection in the glass, his blazing eyes just another city light, his figure cloudy and obscured by the night, just a vague union of black and tan, like it would be if -

(And if sometime just around dawn he slips Aziraphale’s coat on, just to know what it feels like to be Aziraphale…? It doesn’t fit, when it comes down to it; it’s too big, too short in the sleeves, his useless wrists and hands dangling out the cuffs. But it’s. Well. Crowley’s seen humans hug before, seen them hold each other. It was practically the first thing they ever did, once they’d mastered looking, and pointing.

No demon, anywhere, has ever, ever, been hugged, and that includes Crowley.4)

He saunters into the bookshop the next morning with the coat over his arm.5 And hey, at least if he gives up the coat, he gains seeing Aziraphale two days in a row. “Oh, my coat!” Aziraphale says in sheer relief, and, well, if Crowley’s allowed to take him to lunch to help him get over the worry, this could be shaping up to be one of Crowley’s top twenty-five weeks. And lunch turns into cocktails, which turns into dinner, which turns into a nightcap at the bookshop, because “it’s raining, Crowley, it looks miserable out there,” Aziraphale’s voice soft in the candlelight, a little flutter of his hand like he wants to lay it on Crowley’s arm, he really does -

By the time Crowley leaves - “It’s quite late,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley gets the hint, and stands up, stretching, and if he notices the way Aziraphale’s eyes are dragged down his body as if he can’t help it, well - the Bentley nowhere to be found, it’s stopped raining. Fog hangs thick and heavy in the streets, little traffic this time of night, although there’s always some, of course, they always live where there are humans, where they don’t have to be alone. And Crowley, stumbling home, drunk as a lord, drunk as Aziraphale had been, last night, is pretty sure he’s left nothing behind, nothing he needs.6 He can’t see a blessed thing, what with the fog, and the night, can’t see the stars in the Heavens above him, can’t even see the bookshop once he gets a few meters away. Nothing. Still, he keeps walking, because Aziraphale said go, so he goes. He thinks he’s pointed in the right direction. No, he knows it, because each step away from the bookshop leaves him feeling colder and colder, the fog collecting in cold misty pinpricks on his face, his eyelashes. He’s cold the whole way home.

1. His neat manners go out the window when he’s really, really soused. Crowley’s only seen it five times, remembers about half of them. A real pity.

back

2. Aziraphale is the most beautiful thing Crowley’s ever seen. He means that. On the other plane, too, Aziraphale looks like - well, he looks like if goodness and kindness and charity were personified, whereas Crowley looks like if sullenness and petulance and avoidance were personified. back

3. Crowley glowers at them. They teeter, then stay put. back

4. Most of the time it’s enough to just hang around Aziraphale, close enough to get just a little singed by his holiness. That’s what Crowley attributes to the way his heart rate picks up around the angel, the way his hands sweat, the way it burns inside him, this awful, stretching, gnawing need that he is certain the angel has never, ever felt. back

5. He won’t wear it there, he won’t, he’ll look a fool, in more ways than one. back

6. Just Aziraphale, sitting in his armchair, a forgotten glass in his hand and his other hand clenched tight in a fist on his lap, staring at the now-empty sofa, his mouth half-open, as if trying to work up the nerve to say something - back

Read the rest of them on AO3.

#good omens #crowley #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #my fic #aziracrow #aziraphale/crowley

24 notes · View notes

seaoflove07 · 1 year ago

Text

🌹 Oc Introduction 🌹

• Artwork by The Drawables •

The red rose symbolizes romance, love, beauty, & courage.

It was the beginning of you and me,

Little by little,

You haunted my heart

and I

Became your Rose.

- By Me.

• I created my Oc on Picrew •

~ Diabolik Lovers Oc ~

A human young adult.

Name: Christine Melendez.

Gender: Female.

Pronouns: She/her.

Age: 20 years old.

Nationality: Hispanic American.

Languages she speaks: She is fluent in English and Spanish.

Blood Type: A+

Favorite Color: Pink.

Birthday: October 21st.

Favorite Flower: Pink and Red Rose.

Favorite Season: Summer.

Favorite Food: Pizza.

Favorite Drink: Coffee. She's a coffee lover who drinks 5 or 6 cups a day. Please don't judge her. She also loves Red Wine. 🍷

Hobbies: Reading Poetry, Coffee Dates, Listening to Music, Baking Cookies and Nature walks.

Favorite Novel: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.

Places she loves going to: The Beach, Botanical Gardens, Mall, Coffee Shops, Museums, and Bookstores.

Christine is very hard-working and responsible. She hates laziness. She is a very outgoing person, loves hangouts and she's very talkative. She is not a shy person when it comes to meeting new people.

She lives in the United States and works at an Elementary School. She's one of the younger Teachers and she loves working with children.

Christine has a kind heart and loves helping others. But her little self can get moody at times and she gets angry easily. But she knows how to control her temper.

~ APPEARANCE ~

• Artwork by December Custom •

Eye Color: Medium Brown.

Hair: Blonde and her hair is 24 inches long. Sometimes she will have two different hairstyle.

Example: Left soft wavy. Right soft curls.

Height: 157.48 cm.

Breast size: C cup.

Scent: Roses.

All her body care and hair products are rose-scented. Her favorite perfume and signature scent is Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel. 🌹

A classy and very feminine fragrance. It’s a lovely floral scent with main notes of Rose, Patchouli, and a tiny hint of citrus. These notes together make the fragrance smell elegant and fresh. It's described that it smells like an imaginary fairytale garden. 💐

Christine loves this perfume and she wears it every day.

Azusa is obsessed with her scent. The scent of roses mixed with her blood scent is intoxicating to him.

• Artwork by The Drawables •

Style: Girly and Feminine.

• Character Sheet. Template by @/eternalchiyo •

My Oc will not have a main outfit. She will have different outfits in all her artworks. Except for her uniform that will be her main uniform style.

Christine loves fashion and getting doll-up. Dresses and high heels are favorite.

She also loves skirts, cute blouses, black boots, and gold jewelry. Her favorite everyday necklace is a Gold Cross.

~ Diabolik Lovers AU Story Information ~

Story Title: Love Planted a Rose. 🌹

It will be a Trilogy. Dark, Maniac, and Ecstasy.

Art Cover and Story Description, Here.

Christine Diaboy Ship: 🔪Azusa Mukami.

• Artwork by The Drawables •

Azusa will be her one and only, I will NOT do Love Triangles or Multi-ship with the other Diaboys.

~ Why he calls her “Rose?” and not “Eve?”

Azusa calls Christine “Rose” mainly because of her scent of roses. But he has also said that the Red Rose in general reminds him of her.

Quotes is from a short Fanfic I wrote.

Azusa: “… I was… walking in the garden… and I picked up this… red rose for you...”

Caressing her cheek, he looks at her with so much love in his eyes.

Azusa: “You are… just… like this rose… You’re pretty… like this rose… you smell nice… like this rose … your skin is soft… like the…rose petals… and your blood… is the same color… like this rose…”

Quotes are from my Novel, Chapter 3.

Christine: “Rose? Why are you calling me “Rose?” When my name is Christine.”

He moves closer to her, runs his fingers through her hair, and strokes it. While caressing her arm with his other hand.

Azusa: “Your scent… is so good… and your skin… is so soft… like rose petals… you remind me of a beautiful red rose… The name suits you…”

“So nice... my own... little rose...”

Azusa likes to give roses to Christine as gifts, he also loves to place roses and other flowers on her hair. To him, she looks adorable. Later on in their story he also bought her a Red Rose hair clip. (The Red Rose in her hair that you see her wear in most of her arts, that's the clip he bought her) ☺️ Azusa also knows how to make Flower Crowns but he will only do those on special occasions.

Azusa and Christine both like going to the Garden a lot. They love taking walks together, holding hands, and enjoying the beautiful view of the different colors of the roses.

Roses are a huge symbol of their relationship.

The reason he doesn't call her “Eve” is because Yui Komori is in my story. She is the only true Eve. I did not want to replace Yui with Christine for the Eve Tittle. So I came up with another plan instead. Yui in this story her Diaboy choice is Ayato. (They are my favorite Ship) 🤭

Yui and Christine become good friends and you will see lots of interactions between them in the story.

So there is no reason for Azusa to call Christine “Eve” when she's not Eve.

Karlheinz has a different plan for Christine. He personally chose her. But I won't reveal that plan yet because it's a huge spoiler and a big character change. I'll probably reveal that plan in Maniac.

More information about their canon story and Ryoutei Academy. This will all be in another separate post.

~ Past Relationship ~ ⚠️

Before Azusa, Christine had a 4-year relationship with a guy from her hometown. His name is Mark. He was her first love.

Their first two years together was fantastic, and she was madly in love with him. But in their third year together everything changed. Mark started to be cold, he became verbally abusive to her. It was so bad to the point she started to believe his words. Making her feel worthless. They had lots of heated bad arguments. One time out of anger he almost raped her. He didn't succeed because someone knocked on his apartment door.

They continued this terrible relationship.

Christine even though she was unhappy she still loved him and tried to make it work. But nothing was good enough for Mark and he still continued to treat her like garbage.

One day he told her that he had been seeing someone new for a while now and that he wanted to start a serious relationship with that woman. He ends the relationship with Christine.

The fact that he was cheating behind her back, that he ended it first and moved on with someone else like she was nothing.

That broke her.

• From Picrew •

There will be Flashbacks of this topic in Love Planted a Rose, and the asshole Ex will make his appearance in Maniac.

Love Planted a Rose, Masterpost.

Admin Note:

If you read up here, thank you! I did try to not make this extremely long.

If you decide to read her story with Azusa, you will get to know Christine's personality even more. And of course, you will see her relationship with Azusa bloom. 💗🔪🌹

I do plan soon to open my Ask box again and maybe to do some Interactions with other Ocs.

I don't do Rps here on Tumblr. Only on Discord. If you want to Rp with Christine, just send me a DM and we can plan.

Christine Aesthetics.

~ Flower Crown ~ Angel ~ Flowers ~

~ Lavender Haze ~ ~Christmas 2023 ~

~ Reading Azusa’s Love Letter

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers oc #christine #his rose #azusa mukami #diabolik lovers fandom #diabolik lovers fanfiction #azusa & rose #mukami brothers #love planted a rose #diabolik lovers fanfic #diabolik oc #oc introduction

70 notes · View notes

luneemeritus · 1 year ago

Text

Don Juan Triumphant — An analysis of Erik's masterpiece

Warning: i don't speak French and i don't have english editions of PotO, only Portuguese, so i will translate it directly from my text

Gaston Leroux's novel narrates the fact that Erik was producing an Opera of his own with the theme "Don Juan Triumphant". Unfortunately, we never hear it because it's a book, but a few adaptations brought his work to live with different interpretations.

Let's analyze what Leroux intented to write with Erik's character.

Don Juan is a Spanish archetype of a lascivious and libertine man, created by Tirso de Molina, a poet and religious playwright of the Middle Ages. His character was supposed to be an antagonist of what society considered to be moral and pure at that time. And as any other story, it has its adaptations.

Don Giovanni (the same as Don Juan) is the work of Mozart (composer) and Lorenzo Da Ponte (writer), where Don Giovanni is a scoundrel who seduces and abandons women; one of his victims has his father murdered by Don Giovanni after he tried to prevent the seduction. The spirit of the Commander (Donna Anna's father murdered by D. Giovanni) returns in the form of a statue and drags the protagonist to hell with the help of demons.

Erik, after Christine asks him to play Don Juan Triumphant, says: "Never ask me that. This Don Juan was not composed for the libretto of a Lorenzo Da Ponte, inspired by wine, by furtive loves and by vices finally punished by God. I can play Mozart if I so wish, which will bring beautiful tears to your eyes and inspire you with frank reflections. But my Don Juan burns, Christine, and not because he has been hit by heavenly fire!" (...) "You see, Christine, there is a song so terrible that it consumes all who approach it. You haven't reached it yet, and that's good, because you would lose your soft colors and they wouldn't recognize you anymore on your return to Paris" (...)

Erik says that his Don Juan "burns" and that Christine was in no condition to understand the somber depths of his masterpiece. He refuses to play Don Juan at first (although he is willing to play other Mozart pieces), but after being unmasked, he plays in a form of escapism. Christine is enthralled by the terrible, somber performance. Erik's Don Juan is a reflection of the pain he feels.

He apparently has no interest in writing a story like Don Giovanni, possibly an inspiration for him is Lord Byron's version, where Don Juan is neither a seducer nor a villain: but a victim of a cruel and false love of a woman. Erik says that it took him years to finish his work, as if each event in his life influenced the work more. He also says that, when finishing Don Juan Triumphant, he would die and be buried along with the scores: he changes his mind when he falls in love with Christine.

Don Juan is an archetype that contradicts everything Erik is and believes. Erik scares women by his ugliness / Don Juan seduces and conquers them all. Erik wants true love / Don Juan wants to deceive women in exchange for sex. Don Juan is a handsome, seductive man who is admired by people / Erik was born deformed and was abused, humiliated and rejected by (almost) everyone he met. Erik would probably change the character of Don Juan just as Lord Byron changed it according to his own life experience. That's why he is "Don Juan Triumphant", rather than the protagonist's defeat.

Christine's words after hearing Don Juan Triumphant: "His Don Juan Triumphant (for there was no longer any doubt that he had rushed his masterpiece to forget the horror of the present minute) appeared to me only one long, frightening, magnificent sob, where poor Erik had deposited all his misery." (...) "I remembered the notebook with red notes and easily imagined that that song had been written in blood. It guided me through all the details of martyrdom; it made me enter all the corners of the abyss, the inhabited abyss by the ugly man; it showed me Erik atrociously banging his poor, ugly head against the funereal walls of hell, where he had taken refuge so as not to frighten human eyes any longer, where Pain was deified, and then, the sounds that saw from the abyss and suddenly grouped together in a prodigious and threatening flight. the world. I understood that the work was finally done and that Ugliness, borne on the Wings of Love, had dared to look Beauty in the face!" (...)

For me, Erik's Don Juan is an expression of his life and inner demons. The rejection, the suffering, the pain, the hate, the jealousy, and at the same time, the love, the desire and the will to be loved like any other human being. Erik is as much compared with Death as with Sexuality. This duality would be expressed in his work. And since the work is Triumphant, in the end he would find the love and happiness he longed for.

Adaptations

youtube

In my opinion, Andrew Loyd Webber's "Don Juan Triumphant" doesn't make much sense because it only explores a carnal scandal between Don Juan and Aminta. It looks like the same character as Tirso de Molina and Lorenzo Da Ponte, not the alternative — painful and suffering — version of Erik. There is no tragedy, no hellfire and no suffering. It just seems like an empty work made to shock the society of the 19th century. "Oh but it's Erik's self insert", the original work was clearly an escapism, a reflection of his life, a form of expression of the pain he felt. It's not that Erik's work in the book doesn't explore the theme of sexuality, but that's not all. It's not just a horny show between Erik and Christine. Especially because it gives off a weird vibe that Erik just wanted sex with her, and that's a lie. I do love The Point of No Return by its beautiful melody and my E/C bullshit that likes some horny fanfiction.

I adore, however, the 1925s (or 1929s rebuilt) "Don Juan". Not only because it's the main theme scored by Gabriel Thibaudeau, but also because this specifically is the unmasking scene and it captures everything that I imagined as Leroux's description. The pain, the passion, the tragedy, is all there. Lon Chaney's Erik says to Christine that since the first time he saw her, he was inspired to write such a magnificent piece of music. Not 20 years writing it as originally, but more a romantic inspiration coming from his heart. This adaptation, to be fair, is my favorite.

youtube

And another version which I apreciate a lot is the 1989 slasher movie with Robert Englund. It's such a sublime song that remarks the exact 'Dark Romance' vibes of E/C relantionship. Obviously is not the best adaptation, actually it has little to do with the original work as Christine is a time traveler, Erik is a murderous psychopath villain and the story goes totally into a supernatural horror. But if you put in your mind that PotO and A Nightmare On Elm Street were merely an inspiration to a slasher/supernatural movie, it's actually an interesting experience.

youtube

So in conclusion, this was my analysis of the mysterious Don Juan Triumphant. Feel free to disagree or point out new things in the comments 🙏🏽❤️

#erik #the phantom of the opera #poto #gothic #gothic literature #gaston leroux #andrew lloyd webber #musical #broadway #lon chaney #poto 1925 #the phantom of the opera 1925 #silent movies #robert englund #don juan triumphant #the phantom of the opera 1989 #erik destler

116 notes · View notes

dawnthefox24 · 8 months ago

Text

Doomfist:*is in a meet talking to Sombra,Mauga, Maximilian, Cole and Widowmaker clearly annoyed* Look for the last time,as your boss just because Cassidy and I are in a relationship, I don't let Cole boss me around. Cole:*Sets down a file he was reading down*Babe, stand up Doomfist:*stands up* Cole: Sit down Doomfist:*sits down* Cole: *finding this quiet adorable*stand up again~ Doomfist:*stands up again * Cole: Look over here~ Doomfist:*looks at Cole lovingly* Cole: *smiles sweetly as he rests his chin on his hand* hmm interesting ~ Doomfist:*feels his face flush red and coughs* Anyways, Cole can you get me more wine? Cole:*gets up and leaves* Of course dear Doomfist: See he listen to me Mauga,Sombra, Widowmaker and Maximilian:… Sombra:*is stifling a laughter as she speaks in Spanish*No puedo esperar para decirle a Gabriel cuando regrese de su misión con Siebren, Ram y Moira que Cole lidera la relación. (I can't wait to tell Gabriel when he comes back from his mission with Siebren, Ram and Moira that Cole leads the relationship.) Windowmaker:*seems very annoyed* I don't ever want to hear about your relationship with Cole. Mauga:*laughs* Whatever you say boss Maximilian:*with his head on the desk grumbling*Oh hé, rejoins Talon, sois notre compte hé, hé, hé… c'est parti, parlons finances… voilà mon patron amoureux d'un putain de cowboy…(Oh hey join talon be our account hey,hey,hey…here I go let's talk about the finances…here's my boss being in love with a fucking cowboy…)

31 notes · View notes

eirinstiva · 11 months ago

Text

All the world's a stage: His Last Bow

Today I received the last story of the year from my dear friend Watson. Did he write it? Apparently he didn't. It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Billy again? Mycroft Holmes? We don't know, but at least I'm sure the author wasn't Sherlock Holmes because there's not a single cry of "my Watson would do this better". We know our drama queen. My theory is that Mycroft wrote it after hearing Sherlock and John talking about this case, and then ACD edited it.

[ID: Cover of The Strand Magazine vol. 65, no. 321, September 1917. And illustration of a street in navy blue. Crossing the middle of the page there's a red band with Sherlock Holmes profile that says "Sherlock Holmes outwits a German Spy]

There are many reasons of why I love this story: Holmes has the chance to use chloroform:

[ID: Sherlock Holmes (as Altamont) with a goatee, using chlorofom-soaked rag to sleep Von Bork. Illustration by Alfred Gilbert]

Holmes and Watson working together once more:

[ID: Holmes and Watson walking Von Bork slowly. Illustration by Alfred Gilbert]

Holmes in disguise with longer hair and a horrible goatee, the references to professor Moriarty, colonel Moran and Irene Adler Norton, Martha the housekeeper (Mrs. Hudson? I don't know) there's a cat! but what I really like is how Sherlock Holmes used all his knowledge, talent and expertise to work as a spy.

This is his last case. This is his last play. That's why the title of this story has been translated into Spanish as Su último saludo en el escenario, El último saludo (as in my copy of Todo Sherlock Holmes) or La última reverencia. The detective works incognito for two years: he changes his appearance, he speaks with American accent and he travels to another places. Sherlock is an actor and all the world is a stage, and for his last show he calls his friend Watson to work with him at his side for the grand finale. Holmes takes the time to drink wine with Watson and to talk about everything and nothing while Von Bork is tied (somebody is third-wheeling here, or as we say in Chile, Von Bork is playing the violin). The detective takes the chance to steal £500, use his own book Practical Handbook of Bee Culture as a decoy, and make a dramatic identity reveal because Holmes loves to be dramatic, and he really loves to be dramatic when Watson is at his side. The previous short stories are the evidence.

What happened after this? my friend Doctor Watson answer this question in the preface of the book His Last Bow:

The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn tha he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retorement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical results which are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as to complete the volumen JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.

It's been a year since Letters from Watson reunited old and new fans to read the short stories on Sherlock Holmes and next year it's time to read the novels!

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #john h watson #acd canon #his last bow #LAST #infinite love to letters from watson #todo sherlock holmes #lost in translation #alfred gilbert #drama queen #letters in the underground

44 notes · View notes

delightfulkingtyphoon · 10 months ago

Text

Hi 😀

I'm going to share with you guys some headcanons I have of my dear, beautiful and wonderful princess Daniel Robitaille :3 (aka. Candyman)

❗Remembering❗

Everything I say here is my interpretations of the character and >>my<< headcanons about him. If you have another interpretation, agree or disagree, you are free to share your opinion in the comments 👍

Let's start

✿~Favorite hobbies, skills and talents

• Daniel Robitaille is a talented and very detailed artist. He always seeks to do the best in his paintings. He likes to put passion into everything he does.

He has loved painting since he was young, which is why he studied at the best schools of his time to create magnificent works. He enjoys learning and applying new techniques to his arts.

• In addition of learning the best painting techniques, he also learned to behave like a polite gentleman in the society, learning to dance, speak several languages and play an instrument.

Not that he needed to prove something to someone, but to challenge himself. He likes to learn new things.

• He knows how to lead a waltz like no one else. He is a gentleman from the 19th century, and at that time, if you wanted to conquer and impress the most beautiful women in the ballroom, you needed to know how to dance. And Daniel is the best in terms of charm and elegance when dancing.

• He is bilingual, knowing how to speak French perfectly and a little bit of German. He knows how to speak other languages such as Greek and Spanish, but due to lack of practice, he remembers very little of the lessons from his time.

• One of his favorite hobbies, besides painting, is literature. He loves romance and poetry books. His favorite type of romance is those that end in tragedy. For him, there is something poetic about death and love. If you mix the two in the right amount, it's a perfect dramatic love story.

• He was taught to play instruments such as piano and violin, but he was not very interested in learning that. He is more of a listener than a musician.

• He loved going to concerts and theaters when he was alive, his favorite type of music is serene, sweet as honey. And his favorite type of theater plays are mainly dramas. But he loves a good comedy.

✿~Favorite foods and colors

• Daniel Robitaille loves good food (and who doesn't, right?) He loves roast meats, savory pies, cakes and any type of sweet.

• He loves shortbread cookies accompanied by good coffee sweetened with honey. After all, he loves sweets and sugary things.

• His favorite type of sweet pie is lemon or cherry. He loves chocolate and strawberry cakes.

• He is also a fan of good wine. He likes the ones that don't have a very strong flavor more.

• He loves colors like yellow or red (he looks good in red.)

✿~Love, sexuality and relationships (and a little of lore)

• Daniel Robitaille was and IS a very charming, seductive and charismatic man. So much charm that he could have the most beautiful girls he wanted... And the most beautiful men too.

Daniel has been interested in many women of his time, even men, but he can never date or seem interested in any man, oh no. Never!

It was a difficult time for a black person, imagine a black and queer person. Bisexuality was something abominable in those times. Many desires were repressed, forcing him to hide in the shadows. But he found safety in the lips of his beautiful muse and beloved Caroline.

• Daniel loved Caroline like he never had before. His passionate young heart was emotional, and full of affection. The two loved each other very much and swore their love every day and night. For him and Caroline, their love was strong and not even that prejudiced society could separate them. Even after their deaths.

• Daniel after spending years wandering throughout the afterlife like a ghost, waiting for someone to summon him again, he found a shelter in the underworld so he could rest while waiting to be called again. There, he sympathized with a hideous demonic creature not receptive or pleasing to people's eyes, but to his, he was the most beautiful in all of hell. The Hell Priest Pinhead

• It took a while for the cenobite's heart to soften, but he was unable to resist Daniel's charms. The two fell in love and live off the pleasure of each other's love, the comfort in each other's arms. Daniel loves his beloved Pinhead intensely, just as he loves him just as much. Intense, pleasurable.

• Daniel can finally explore his sexuality, discovering new things about his own body and mind. Feeling and satiating every bit of what Pinhead had to offer him. Intensifying the love he felt for Pinhead and his pleasures. He loved him. He loved him so much that he chose to remain in hell with his beloved for all eternity. Even if someone summoned him again, and he went to the world of the living, he would always return to his beloved.

Bonus:

✿~Other things he likes

• Daniel loves cats. He always wanted to have cats when he was alive, that's his favorite type of animal. He acts tame when around kittens, always wanting to pet them and play with them.

• He also really likes birds, he likes to hear their serene singing when he is in the world of the living.

• He also likes butterflies, they are his favorite insect. He likes how their wings are colorful and have different patterns. It gives him a lot of inspiration to paint when he see one flying.

• He doesn't get along very well with dogs, they are too noisy and agitated for him, so he avoids them.

• He loves flowers, all kinds of flowers. He likes their colors, their smells. They are all beautiful to him. Red roses, lilies, hyacinths and chrysanthemums are his favorites.

End of Headcanons (for now)

#slashers #candyman #daniel robitaille #daniel is my special boy #horrormovies #horror films #slasher headcanons #headcanons #candyman headcanons #horror #horror movies #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #fanfic slasher #my headcanons #my fanfic stuff #my fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

noemilivv · 9 months ago

Note

I was waiting for an opening as I saw you had match ups available and would love to see who you'd put me with.

Preference for male characters from Hazbin Hotel

About me: You can call me Claire. I'm AFAB she/her, 5'3", panromantic demisexual. I'm Tim Burton pale, brown eyes, messy curly bob brown hair, glasses with glasses chains usually, chubby but strong, dress either romantic gothic feminine or butch cryptidcore, like no in between, never wear make up because sensory hell.

Some type of neurodivergent but not diagnosed specifically. I tend to know a little about a lot of things due to jumping from focus to focus. Queen of Dad jokes, rather blunt since I'm not subtle. Aside from English can speak Latin, some Gaelic, some Spanish, a little bit of Turkish/Arabic, Church Greek and Slavonic, and random phrases in Russian, German, and Italian. I'm ENFP, Ares cabin from PJO if that means anything.

I teach preschool, love children as they're so fun to be around and the possibilities they have ahead are wonderful. I also bake, sew, knit, read tons of books, collect rocks and other nature stuff, tend to the gardens, I sing in my choir, and like to listen to music. Not specific music genres that I care for, more vibes, but been into some Bauhaus lately, along with SJ Tucker and The Dead South.

My faith is important to me, I even am considering pursuing becoming a religious sister at a convent, like a nun.

I do love horror, romantic gothic poetry (Think Poe and the like), analog horror(DOAI, Mandela Catalogue), Dr. Who, bad b movies (think Redletter media level bad), animation in general, HB HH, stuff like that, I read everything and anything so long as the narrative is interesting or the subject is a hyperfixation of mine, such as Religions, Mythology, History relating to late Medieval to Elizabethan, textiles, fantasy, or speculative biology (like thought potato on youtube). I also do dress in character for the Renaissance Festival, people assume I work there as I have season passes for the last 5 years and attend all weekends from open to close.

I tend to be a sweet tooth, love any chocolate, baked goods with richness or chocolate flavors, drink lots of coffee, tea, sweet red wines, mead, rum based cocktails or dark malty beers if we're going alcohol, though I tend to be the driver if I'm going to party somewhere. My giving love language is touch and words, along with acts of service. My receiving love language is words, touch, and gift giving. I love to cook or make gifts for others, usually don't expect it in turn.

I'm loud, maternal, weirdly dark yet wholesome, and able to lift a toilet with my bare hands up two flights of stairs. I tend to talk either like a southern grandma or terminally online weirdo with random swears. When friends have a bad breakup I'm like do you want a hug or does someone have to die?

In relationships I can be very talkative, but also in a sense the less dominant partner. Like, I handle the day to day, but not great at organizing the dates, the stuff like that's more romantic. I'd hope my partner could handle that part. I'm also romantically easily flustered. Like squeaking and burning red in the face from genuine good flirting.

So hope you can find someone right for me, God Bless you dear.

hello claire!! i decided to pair your with…

Lucifer !!

First of, he loves your love of kids, and let’s be real, he probably has a love of kids as well, as much as Charlie is an adult, he would probably eagerly introduce you to her after finding out this tidbit of info

Honestly, to him, you give off very strong, emotional support wifey vibes and honestly he is all in for it haha

Lucifer doesn’t mind that you can be very talkative, infact, he enjoys it.

He tries to make it fairly easy when it comes to planning dates for you, so most of the time, you both just stay in

Also, Luci is definitely someone who gets flustered easily, so you both just end up giddy and smiley at eachothers shy little flirty comments and it’s the most heart warming thing

27 notes · View notes

dreamersbcll · 1 year ago

Text

“The end”

Screaming. She could hear screaming. Why was there screaming? It was almost Christmas. Santa surely would put them on the naughty list.

Tara toddled down the stairs, holding onto the railing as she went. The walls felt as if they were rattling from all the yelling. She could tell it was Sam and her mami going at it. It wasn’t unusual for the two to scream at each other. But there was typically some peace before Christmas that they usually adhered to. It was uncommon for a fight to happen so close to the holiday.

She peeked around the corner, seeing that her mami was holding a wine bottle, red-faced and screaming at Sam. Her big sister was halfway between the kitchen and living room, holding a book. Both were tense, hands at the ready for some fight.

“Your father did this to me! ¡El mismísimo diablo! He forced me to have you; I didn’t want you!” her mami screamed, spilling wine as she threw her hands around.

(The devil himself)

Sam bared her teeth, her muscles taut. “Oh yeah? Did he force you to fuck him and have me? I wish you didn’t have me! ¡Ojalá no me hubiera enterado de que era mi padre, zorra!.

(I wish I hadn’t found out he was my father, you bitch)

Tara walked out into the line of fire. Sam was upset. She hated seeing Sammy upset. She usually reverted to Spanish when she was feeling emotional. Normally she tried to speak English when Tara was around so she could learn better, but right now, something was wrong. Her big sister looked like she needed a hug. Tara could help her.

“¿Por qué gritas? Es Navidad. We don’t yell on Christmas?” she softly said, her big brown eyes widening at the sight of the two women screaming.

(Why are you yelling? It’s Christmas)

She turned to her big sister. “¿Qué pasa mi fuerte guerrera?” she whispered, staring up at Sam with big doe eyes.

(What’s wrong, my guardian?)

Sam faltered at the sight of Tara, her voice dying out. She swiftly descended the floor, kneeling at Tara’s feet.

“Oh mi cielo. No deberías estar aquí abajo. Why don’t you go back upstairs? Subiré pronto. Podemos jugar con muñecas, ¿sí?” she soothed, moving a piece of hair behind Tara’s ears.

(Oh, my sky. You shouldn’t be down here. Why don’t you go upstairs? We can play with dolls, yeah?)

Tara nodded, turning around to go back upstairs. But she was stopped by something hitting her in the back of the head, shattering onto the ground. She fell forward, crying at the pain in her knees and head. Glass. There was glass around her. A broken wine glass. What did she do?

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you? Ella no es parte de esto. ¡Déjala en paz!” Sam screamed, throwing the book at her mother. Sam missed, her mother ducking as the book hit the china cabinet, shattering the door.

(She’s not a part of this. Leave her alone!)

“Mami,” Tara whimpered, her head aching. There was blood on her knees. She had just gotten this dress. It was ruined. Sam was at her side, helping her stand up. She spun Tara around, hands firmly on her shoulders.

“Tara. Mi Amor. Necesito que corras arriba y cierres la puerta. I’ll be there soon, okay? ¡Vamos, rápido!” she hissed, pushing Tara towards the stairs.

(My love. I need you to run upstairs and shut the door. Quickly.)

Unfortunately, their mother had other ideas, lurching forward as if she was going to grab Tara. Sam stood up, pushing Tara behind her to shield her from her mother.

“Don’t you fucking touch her! This is between you being a slut and sleeping with a serial killer, not Tara!” Sam shouted, pushing her mother back.

Christina Carpenter smiled a wicked, chilling smile. It gave Tara goosebumps, shivering despite the pounding in her head.

“She’s a part of this just as much as you are. She is a Carpenter through and through. Es hora de que tu hermana descubra con qué clase de monstruo estás emparentada. ¡Un asesino!”.

(It’s time for your sister to discover what kind of monster you’re related to. A killer!)

“No, I’m not! I’m not like him! This is your fault! It’s all your fucking fault!” screamed Sam, one of her spare hands reaching for Tara’s. Tara caught them, holding her hand tight. Sam needed comfort. Tara would give it to her.

Instead of answering, her mother threw another dish at Sam’s head. Sam ducked, scooping Tara up and shielding her from the explosion of shattering glass.

“Fuck you!” Sam spat, holding Tara to her chest. Tara buried her head into her big sister’s shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut and started counting to one hundred. Sam would take her away from this. She would be safe. This would be over. Sam would make sure she was okay.

One. Two. Three.

Before their mami could retaliate, their papi walked through the door, clearly perplexed at the broken glass and blood on Tara’s dress.

Doce. Trece. Catorce.

“Jesus Christ, what’s going on?” he asked, struggling to decide which person to comfort. His eyes darted between the blood dribbling onto Sam’s shirt from the cut under Tara’s eye to his wife holding a stack of ceramic plates like it was a weapon.

Veintidós. Veintitrés. Veinticuatro.

“Oh, nothing, Mr. Carpenter,” Sam said cooly, holding Tara tight.

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly annoyed. “I’m your papi, mija. You’ll respect me by calling me papi in my own house, got it?”.

Cuarenta. Cuarenta y uno. Cuarenta y dos.

Sam laughed, throwing her head back and interrupting Tara’s counting. A cold, hollow laugh. It made Tara sob, hearing her sister sound like that. Sam patted her back, laying the final blow on her parents.

“Oh no. Tú no eres mi padre. See, your wife here fucked Billy Loomis. You know, the serial killer of Woodsboro. Don’t worry. I’m not yours. Not that you ever wanted me anyways,” she hissed, staring daggers at her mother.

(You are not my father)

Tara remembers the fighting after that. The way Sam sprinted up the stairs holding her tight, barricading them into her room. She remembers helping Sam push the bed against the door and how their mami put her fist through the wooden door.

She remembers Sam sobbing, holding Tara to her chest like a teddy bear, the two hiding in her closet from their mami and Papi.

That was the last time Tara was held and kissed by Sam again.

That fateful night in December.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #au where tara doesn’t understand bc they fight in english #angst bc happy friday #tara was there but she didn’t understand :(#THEE fight #fuck christina carpenter club #ao3 author #my writing tag #AU: a house in woodsboro

60 notes · View notes

aces-and-angels · 7 months ago

Text

Title: Not My Birthday

A/N: what the hell is up, gang? i've been dying to share this one with y'all for weeks and now it's finally here 🎊🎊🎊 please enjoy the thing that's been plaguing my very being for hours on end 🖤 @choicesficwriterscreations

p.s. a big thank you to @noesapphic for helping me out with some of the spanish dialogue

Characters: Xiomara Calloway (oc: @a-cloud-for-dreams), Ryan Cortazar, Amalia de León (oc: @itlivesproject), Beau McGraw, Enid Mendoza, Cameron Rose, Tommy Rose, Gigi Sinclair, Martin Vanderweil, Wind Velez (oc: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

Pairing(s): Martin x Wind (not yet official), Gigi x Xiomara

Summary: Set sometime before Magnus gets hired; Wind does their best to get through another birthday.

Content Warning(s): brief mention of blood, language, childhood trauma

Word Count: 3.9K

read below cut or...

AO3 LINK

---

McGraw Byrne, morning…

It’s just a day. A set of numbers written in the margin. Zero three zero two. Yet Wind’s calendar remains flipped to February, its page marked with thick black lines crossing off each date. What they’d give to be able to take a sharpie to the day and scribble it out entirely. But they can’t- not for another 14 hours and 32 minutes. Not like they’re counting or anything.

Amalia saves them first.

“Mx. Velez, I know you’re busy with that case for Landon, but can you-”

“Yes,” they say all too quickly.

Amalia blinks, perplexed by their eagerness. “You don’t even know what I’m about to ask for yet.”

“Does that matter? You know I’d do anything for one of my favorite paralegals.” Their desperate need for distraction aside, the sentiment was sincere. Without Amalia, completing any case would be nearly impossible.

“Wasn’t fishing for compliments, but I’ll take it,” she breathes with a hint of a smirk tugging at her lip. “Hopefully, you’ll still hold that sentiment after this conversation.”

“Pretty sure I will. What can I help you with?”

“It’s a bit… Es una tontería, de verdad,” she warns, absently toying with the hem of her wine red blazer.

Noticing her nerves, Wind pushes their notebook aside. “Amalia, no te preocupes, puedes decirme lo que pasa.”

The warmth and reassurance in their tone do something to soothe her nerves, as her hand noticeably stills. “Mr. Vanderweil tasked me with redacting these documents yesterday. Simple, right?”

They nod along to her story. “I’d say so.”

“I thought so too, but then I had an issue with loading the PDFs on my computer, so I…” she pauses, sucking in a breath. “I took an alternative approach.”

“What kind of approach?”

“Converting all the files to Word docs so I could highlight all the info in black instead of contacting IT like I should have.” Her words fly out of her mouth faster than she can speak, jumbling into a mess of syllables they barely manage to catch. But they do- and oh, how their stomach plummets to the floor.

Panic cracks through the otherwise calm demeanor they’ve maintained thus far. “Amalia-”

“I know- I know,” she laments, rushing up to the foot of their desk. “Ryan already told me how wrong that was half an hour ago, which is why I haven’t uploaded anything yet.”

“Oh, thank God,” they sigh, visibly slumping into their chair. “This’ll be easy to fix then.”

“Except it won’t be because Mr. Vanderweil wanted this done before the partner meeting, and he’ll definitely chew me out when he learns that it isn’t.” Whatever nerves were kept at bay came rushing back in full force. Amalia began pacing, her heels scuffing up the floors beneath her with every anxious step. “This is the easiest thing to do, and I found a way to mess it up. It’s no question- I’m gonna get fired. And what respectable law school is going to accept someone who can’t even-”

Wind jumps from their seat to block her path. Their hands fly to her shoulders, stopping her in place with a firm grip. “Amalia,” they say gently, careful not to agitate her any further. Her dark brown eyes dart around the room, desperate to cling onto something- anything. Wind squeezes her once, steadying her frenzied gaze at them. “Inhala. Exhala.” So that’s what they do. They breathe.

In and out.

Inhala. Exhala.

Eventually, the dust settles and Wind’s arms fall back to their sides. “Better?”

She nods. “Better.”

“Good. Now, how much work do you have left?”

“I managed to fix around half of what Mr. Vanderweil sent me, but there’s still over a hundred pages left to deal with.”

The wheels in their head spin, formulating a plan. “Okay- here's what we'll do. Forward the files to me. I'll take the first 50 or so, you get the rest. Can Ryan pitch in? That would really speed things up.”

“He’s tied up with logging discovery for Ms. Tanaka. That’s why I came to you,” she grimaces.

“That's fine. We’ll manage on our own.”

“Are you sure? Even with help, it'll take some time.”

The honest answer was that they weren’t. Meetings at McGraw Byrne are notorious for being pushed up at the drop of a hat. There’s no guarantee Martin wouldn’t decide to do just that; he certainly flaunted his authority to do so around the office enough. But Wind knew one thing: they can’t cross today out, but they can redact a few dozen documents. And that was enough. “Positive. Hand the files over- we've got work to do.”

—

It’s a tricky thing- pretending to be fine. Until it isn’t. Their smile is a reflex. Their lies, sweet little things, mask the bitter truth buried deep inside them. It’s almost scary how easy it’s become.

Almost.

Gigi nearly crushes them next.

It starts with a playful hip check by the break room counter. Nothing more than a soft bump that Wind returns as a greeting. “You avoiding me, Velez?”

“Of course not,” they reply automatically. Not on purpose.

“Then why is this the first time I've seen you all day?”

The corners of Wind’s mouth pull upwards. “You’re exaggerating. Our offices are across from each other, glass windows and all.”

Gigi scoffs, a fond yet exasperated look on her face. “You know what I mean. How much work did Martin stick you with?”

Actually, he didn't. I asked for more. And I would've stayed in my office, but I physically can’t ignore the gurgling in my stomach with paperwork anymore. “Not much, really. Guess it’s just been one of those days.” There’s a part of them- the smallest, stupidest part- that wishes she, or anyone, could see through their cheery disposition. Lift the mask they’ve clutched onto for years.

It’s a hollow victory when she doesn’t.

“Tell me about it. Linda roped me into working on this painfully boring property dispute,” she complains.

“Think of it this way: maybe the land is haunted.” They wiggle their fingers spookily, throwing in a few ‘oo’s and ah’s’ for good measure.

“That would explain the urge to blow my brains out anytime I redraft these contracts.”

“Poor little Millie. She’s just trying to protect her property from the grave.”

Gigi stifles a laugh. “Millie?”

“Judging me only angers her spirit,” they retort, their own bout of laughter bubbling to the surface. A moment of silence passes between them before they both lose their resolve, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“Whew, I needed that,” Gigi says, still chuckling.

They take a bow. “I’ll be here all week.”

“Perfect- just enough time for you to join me for lunch.”

“You’re shameless.” Despite their light ribbing, they still take a seat at the nearest table and begin to unpack their own lunch. A small break can’t hurt, right?

“I just prefer to have some entertainment with my lasagna,” she corrects in a light, teasing voice.

“You made lasagna?”

“Xo made lasagna. She's been cooking a lot more since her show wrapped.” The glow on her face at the mere mention of her wife is undeniable.

“Seems like you’re enjoying a lot more than her cooking lately,” they grin suggestively.

Her daze sharpens into a challenging glint in her eye, her smirk unwavering. “So what if I am?”

They raise their hands in surrender. “Then good for you, boo.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” she hums triumphantly as she walks over to the fridge. “Seriously, you’ve got to try some. It’s- oh damn it.”

“What is it?”

Gigi pulls out a large pink box and sets it on the table, slightly miffed. “Beau’s leftover birthday cake knocked over my containers. I told him no one but him likes coconut.”

Wind’s pulse quickened. It’s fine. You’re fine. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“How would you know? You couldn’t eat any because you’re allergic to coconut.”

They shrug. “It looked pretty.”

“Last time I let a man plan an event. I don’t care if it’s his birthday,” she mutters, more to herself than at them- too occupied with reconstructing her toppled lasagna with a pair of plastic forks. Wind turns their attention to their own lunch, a heaping portion of arroz con pollo, hoping to swallow down their bout of birthday-induced anxiety with each savory bite. It almost works.

They’re mid-bite when Gigi unknowingly moves in for the kill.

“I’ve decided,” she announces, sliding into the seat across from them.

“Hm?” It’s all they can manage to say with a mouthful of rice.

“I’m putting myself in charge of all birthday parties at the firm from here on out. Who better to plan a party than a party-lover like moi?” She cuts a piece of her lasagna with the side of her fork, still talking animatedly. “Ooh, I can start a group chat to organize any after-work festivities-”

“Mhm,” they hum along, trying to ignore the lump forming in their throat. It’s fine. You’re fine. Their eyes fixate on the grains of rice stuck to their spoon. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on-

“Wind? You still with me, boo?”

Their head snaps up, only realizing now that they had tuned out their friend. “Sorry- can you repeat that? I zoned out.”

Another smile. Another lie. But it’s enough.

“I asked what kind of cake you like,” Gigi repeats.

“Oh- uh… I’m fine with anything, really. As long as it’s not coconut for obvious reasons.”

“C’mon, everyone has a favorite. Lemmie guess, you’re a cheesecake girl, aren’t you? No wait- red velvet.”

They force out a chuckle. “You got me. I love a good red velvet.”

Gigi’s eyes narrow, assessing them like she would a witness on trial. “You’re just being nice, aren’t you?”

“I-I’m not! I really love red velvet,” they reassure her, but to no avail. She only shakes her head, leaning back into her chair.

“I’ll figure you out eventually, Velez. Cake preference is a science. And I just so happen to be a mad scientist.”

“You really don’t have to put that much effort into this, Gi.”

“The hell I don’t! There’s no way I’m going to plan a subpar birthday party for one of my best friends. When is your birthday anyways? Before you judge me for not knowing, I did try. I just couldn’t find it listed on any of your socials.”

Her determination in any other context would flood their chest with a friendly warmth. But now it pierces through their ribcage, sending their heart into an unwanted frenzy- its beat pounding in their ears.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

It’s fine. You’re-

It’s-

They stand abruptly, the chair behind them screeching against the floorboards. “I need to go.”

Gigi glances down, concern etching onto her features. “But you’ve barely eaten anything.”

“There’s a call I’m expecting from one of my clients. Can’t miss it,” they explain, hastily packing away their food. “Let’s catch up later, yeah?”

Another smile. Another lie. But this time, they don’t stick around long enough to know if it’s enough.

—

Calm. They need to stay calm. Yet the air grows thinner and thinner until Wind is gasping, pulling at their collar in a feeble attempt to ease the tightness coiling around their throat. Everything is too loud. Too bright. Too exposed.

On their first day at McGraw Byrne, Wind marveled at the grandness of it all. How its name glimmered as rays of golden light shone through the floor to ceiling windows, hitting the platinum just right. How every hallway felt like a brand new world waiting to be explored. But now? Now there is no glimmer. No hallways left to be discovered. Only a crushing weight resting atop their chest.

Forget calm. They need to hide.

Wind shuts the door behind them, then the blinds to their windows. It’s a small shield, so they strengthen their armor. Soft, pillowy cushions cover their ears, silencing the wars raging outside. A dark quiet descends over them. Not quite calm, but numb. Numb lets them breathe. Slow their tired, weary heart from running rampant. Here, underneath a cherry wood desk, they can rest.

—

The thing about a closed door is that it can always be opened.

So Martin does just that.

He strides in without any warning, preoccupied with typing out a quick response to yet another email, all while hoping to find a certain report waiting in his inbox. “Velez, I need an update on Landon.” Three more notifications- nothing of any true significance, but it gains his attention nonetheless.

Eyes glued to the screen, Martin doesn’t register the empty office chair in front of him. “I don’t have all day,” he huffs out, already bracing himself for whatever teasing remark Wind has in store for him. But none come. To his surprise, instead of a toothy grin, he sees a pair of pink heels carelessly kicked off to the side.

Martin pockets his phone and takes a cautious step forward. “Velez?”

A pitiful sniffle, amplified by the stillness of the room, hits his ears, freezing him in place. Part of him weighs the merits behind turning around. Then he hears it again- that sorrowful hitch in Wind’s breath- and before he even realizes it, he is by their side.

Months of working alongside each other allowed Martin to experience the many sides of Wind. Infuriatingly righteous. Overly-energetic. Perplexingly kind. Wind got under his skin- crept inside and made it impossible to stay away. None of that prepared him to witness them like this- curled up underneath their desk, unwilling to even look at him.

At a loss, he simply asks, “What are you doing down there?”

A few harrowing seconds pass before they mumble a reply. “Hiding.”

“From whom?”

“Just… from today.”

Martin hums in acknowledgement, unsure how to take that answer. “How long have you been hiding?” They give a weak shrug. “Can you at least tell me why?” He waits, more than he should’ve, then sighs. “Go home, Velez.”

Wind snaps their head up. “W-what?”

“I said go home.”

“Y-you… you can’t do that!”

“I can and I am. Clearly, you’re incapable of-”

“-I’m plenty capable-”

“-You’re under a table.” He chooses not to mention the redness in their eyes or how they shine with unshed tears.

“I- I can…” Wind sputters, their voice no higher than a whisper, “I can do it.”

“I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t mid-cower.”

“I’m not-” Martin cocks his eyebrow, effectively killing their argument. “This isn’t any of your concern. So just leave me be.”

“Not my concern?” he scoffs, almost in disbelief. “As your supervisor, I’d have to firmly disagree. I’m responsible for your successes and your screw ups. And I work very hard to mitigate the latter. So, I’m asking you again. What’s this about?”

“It’s… personal.” Martin folds his arms, indicating them to elaborate. But much to his dismay, they don’t. He peers down at them, searching for something. The infuriatingly righteous. The overly-energetic. The perplexingly kind. Something he can work with. It’s surprisingly disappointing when his search comes up as empty as Wind’s chair.

“Send whatever you have on Landon to Aislinn. She’ll be taking point for the remainder of this case.”

“But-”

“Save your breath, Velez. You can sort out whatever it is you’re dealing with now or never. I don’t care. You just can’t be here.”

—

Wind trods through the city past several storefronts and food carts, crestfallen. Their aimless journey eventually leads them to a random dive bar- the perfect location to get good and drunk. Its unassuming exterior paled in comparison to its rich interior. Spacious, yet cozy.

An unoccupied podium greets them at the entrance. “Hello?” Their voice travels beyond the stacked chairs and strings of exposed lightbulbs casting a golden glow over the room. A few minutes go by before they try calling out again. “Hi, are y’all open?”

They venture further inside, ignoring the big, bold letters indicating patrons to ‘please wait to be seated.’ A plethora of memories line its walls. Polaroids of patrons captured in various states of inebriation- all in good fun, they figure. Along with those are news clippings throughout the years, most of which feature the NYPD in some capacity.

“I bought every copy of that issue.” Wind yelps, coming face to face with an older man. The faint lines on his bronze skin deepen as his face stretches into a friendly smile. He points at one of the officers pictured. “This one’s my niece, Cameron.”

They take a closer look at the photo. Despite its grainy quality, Wind can see the resemblance between the two. Same brown eyes. Same round nose. Her skin, however, is about three shades darker than her uncle’s. Youthful. “She looks beautiful.”

“I like to think so,” he says, pride beaming from his features. “She’s always begging me to take this one down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Ya only graduate from the academy once, y’know?”

They nod politely. “Sorry for walkin’ in like this.”

“The sign’s flipped to open, even if we don’t look like it,” he chuckles. “Grab a seat, I’ll be right with ya.” Wind slides into an empty bar stool while he makes his way behind the counter. After rummaging through a few drawers, he pulls out a menu. “Ha! I knew I kept a few back here.”

“Thank you.” They skim through the appetizers, not retaining much.

“I promise, if ya catch us during our peak hours, we’re more lively. Anyways, welcome to The Drunk Tank. I’m Tommy- owner, bartender, and your server for today. Most of our food items won’t be available till our cook arrives, but I can try to whip up something simple if you’d like.”

“That’s alright. I only came in for a drink.”

“Perfect. What’s your poison?”

“Whatever’s strongest. Neat,” they answer flatly.

Understanding flashes through Tommy’s face. He works with silent precision, pouring a long stream of amber liquor into a glass. “Here ya go. Spirits to lift the spirit.”

Wind raises their drink to him before throwing it back in one gulp. The burn is immediate, slithering down to their chest and warming them from within. “Hah,” they wince, wiping the stray droplets from their chin. “I’ll have another.”

Tommy’s eyebrows jump, unable to conceal his shock, but he complies and slides over another shot. It goes down just as quickly. This process repeats two more times before he finally pulls the plug. “Why don’t we pace ourselves for a bit? Happy hour doesn’t start for another thirty minutes. Save yourself a few bucks.”

“Money’s not an issue,” they say, their words slightly slurred.

“Alright, I’ll level with ya. I’m not as concerned about your wallet as I am about any ‘accidents’ I may need to clean up.”

They huff out a hollow laugh. “I can hold my liquor, promise.”

“Just indulge me and drink some water.”

“Fine,” they grumble, taking a tentative sip from a much taller glass.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Huh?”

“Ya wanna talk?”

“About what?”

“Anything. The weather- the Yankees- oh, I can show ya my collection of wine corks.”

“That’s… okay.” They gulp down the rest of their water, casting a hopeful glance at him, then at their empty shot glass.

He purses their lips, thinking. “Tell ya what- I’ll pour another shot if ya tell me one thing about yourself.”

Their eyes narrow at his deal, but his face remains steady. Fine, they can play along for now. “My name’s Wind.”

A quiet grin spreads on his face. “I was hoping to hear about a hobby or something.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

Tommy raises his hands in surrender. “That it is.” He serves another shot, which doesn’t last very long. “I like baseball, if ya couldn’t tell,” he jokes, gesturing to the several pieces of baseball memorabilia displayed.

“You play?”

His belly shakes with laughter. “Not well, I’m afraid. My ol’ man still put me in Little League, though, right next to my brother. I was one hell of a benchwarmer.”

“How ‘bout your brother?”

“Oh, that asshole? He was a mini prodigy. Bastard went on to play varsity. Won the state championship and everything.” Despite his light, jovial tone, Wind notices the distant look in his eyes.

“... And now?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers. “He doesn't play much of anything anymore.”

“What happened?”

His lip twitches upward with a smile that’s not all there. Dimmer than the one he first met them with. “I’ll need a few drinks before ya pull that story outta me.”

“Sorry,” they apologize quickly, “I didn’t-”

“No- you’re fine. Just felt like talking ‘s all.” He busies himself by wiping down the bar with a towel. “Ya don’t need to tell me anything, but a word to the wise: it feels a helluva lot better when you finally let it all out.”

Wind stares at him, their thoughts- all the pain, anger, and confusion threatening to spill out of them like a faucet. Kind brown eyes stare back with a patience that says, ‘Everything’s gonna be alright,’ without uttering a word. “Well, I-”

“Pop some champagne, Tito. I just got promoted!” They both startle in place. A woman strolls up to the bar, carrying a faint scent of ginger and citrus as she approaches. Wind’s eyes immediately flick to the golden snake adorning her neck, drawn by its intimidating beauty.

“Nini! That’s wonderful,” Tommy rejoices, clapping her on the shoulder like an old friend.

“I know. Now, where’s that champagne?”

“Hold on, I’ve got some in the back.” He moves to grab a bottle, but stops in his tracks when he sees them. “Oh- I’m sorry, Wind. You were about to say something.”

They shake their head. “No- actually, I should head out.”

“Stay for the toast at least.”

“Are you serious?” the woman complains.

“Yes,” Tommy hisses at her underneath his breath, which to Wind’s surprise, is all it takes for her to stand down.

“Alright,” she concedes, peering at them through her curled lashes. “Enjoy it, blondie. I’m usually not this generous, but today is a celebration. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

Their body seizes up. “What?”

“Or a late one. Not like I’d know the difference anyway. It’s no cake, but it’ll do.”

Glass shatters. A cacophony of shrieks and curses follows. Wind registers nothing- lost to fragments from the past. Their senses recall the piercing sound of their baby brother’s inconsolable wails. The desperation in their father’s pleas. They remember the cool tile on their knees- how sticky their tiny fingers became with pink frosting as they tried to push chunks of uneaten cake back together, ignoring the shards of fine china mixed throughout. All the while, their mother’s broken voice pounds within their ears. A haunting chant they can never forget.

“No puedo más- no puedo más- no puedo más-”

“Ya alright, pal?” Tommy’s worry warbles through their nightmarish haze.

“This fucking idiot got glass everywhere.”

“Ay, Nini- just grab the broom. It’s in the back. Oh- and the first aid kit.”

First aid kit? They glance down- mortified by the crimson stains on their sleeves. “Oh God-”

“Hey, take it easy-”

“NO-” Their sudden outburst sends them back several feet. “I- I need to- I need to go.”

“Hold on-”

Tommy’s words fall on deaf ears, or rather, no ears. They’re gone in a flash. No warning. No goodbye.

Just like Mamá.

---

tag list: @choicesmc, @win-chan, @brycesgirl, @stars-are-within-me, @inlocusmads

15 notes · View notes