#rafa fanfic

[namorslutfanfiction]

Hey Tenoch Huerta Nation/Coven/Whoretas: A Gentle Reminder

I hope you are enjoying my fics, the release of BPWF on Disney+, and of course all the amazing gifs/art/fandom media that is being put out there by other creators just like me.

I got a message with a bit of attitude about me not updating enough. It was rude and dismissive and incredibly entitled so I just wanna address it here.

All my writing is done as a hobby, for pleasure, and for enjoyment. I am not being paid or compensated for the hours I put into my writing and creating. As such, sometimes I do not have it in me to put anything out. Whether I am busy with real life, burnt out, or just not in the mood, there can be days to weeks where I will not be able to post.

You are not entitled to any of my writing. I can easily block you if you hadn't sent the ask as an anon. I share my writing because I want it to be enjoyed but with the caveat that I am respected for my efforts. The same way that we send praises and appreciation to all the wonderful people who make edits and gifs that we all share.

Yes my blog isn't just my fanfiction. I created this side blog and returned to Tumblr because of Tenoch and BPWF. I will post whatever I want, whether it is my personal thoughts, gifs and videos I like, or just random fangirling with my mutuals. IF you do not like that feel free to unfollow. I have a masterlist for a reason and I cross post to AO3.

JUST BECAUSE YOU MADE A REQUEST DOESNT MEAN YOU CAN HARASS ME BECAUSE I HAVENT POSTED IT YET. I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO DENY/DELETE/CHANGE A REQUEST AS I SEE FIT AND NOW YOUR REQUESTS ARE DELETED

I do my best to be as inclusive as possible with all my writing. But I am a nearly 29 year old Filipino female and that will always tinge my writing. All I can say is that if something doesn't sit right with you don't read it. If you can't find what you're looking for maybe you need to write it.

I AM NOT A MACHINE. SOME DAYS I HAVE THE TIME AND CREATIVITY TO CHURN OUT MULTIPLE FICS SOMETIMES ITS NONE. I have had some family medical issues, a death of someone close to me, and a reaction to my own medication in just the past month. I will take breaks as I see fit for my own health.

You are a giant bleeding cunt.

Anyway. That's my rant for the day. Appreciate your fic writers, gif makers, video editors, and artists.

[kyuala]

♡ cyber sex com o cast de lsdln ♡

inspirado por esse post aqui ☝🏼 espero que gostem! <3

enzo, para a surpresa de ninguém, gosta de te provocar através das fotos: o cabelo bagunçado, a carinha de sono e os ombros largos ofuscando todo o resto para te desejar um bom dia quando acorda; a boca entreaberta e a expressão ambígua de cansaço e/ou desejo no elevador do prédio quando retorna das infames voltas de bicicleta; os braços fortes refletidos no espelho da academia quando termina mais um treino - ele gosta de escalar o teor de sensualidade de cada uma delas durante o dia até culminar numa troca de mensagens sujas ou uma ligação regada a suspiros enquanto ele geme teu nome e diz o quanto mal consegue esperar para te ver de novo

pardella não é muito do sexo cibernético e prefere o cara-a-cara. quando precisa muito, o máximo que faz é te mandar uma foto da marca certinha do cacete duro na cueca apertada e te pedir para mandar uns áudios da tua voz gemendo bem manhosa de presente para ele se "inspirar" da próxima vez

já o matías é fã de chamada de vídeo, tá? até quando ele sabe que vocês vão se ver mais tarde ele gosta de te pedir para dar um pulinho no discord e ligar a câmera. faz questão de te pedir para enquadrar bem tua bucetinha e os dedos brincando com ela e é cheio de dar ordens do tipo "isso, agora coloca mais um dedinho pra mim, linda". em troca ele mira a webcam pro pau e bate uma para você assistir até ele gozar e manchar o próprio shorts e a cueca

kuku é outro que não é muito das tecnologias no meio da sacanagem. gosta - ama, adora - receber nudes teus, mas quando você pede de volta ele tem vergonha, manda no máximo um e a foto meio tremida e mal iluminada é tão esteban que de alguma forma te atiça mais ainda. agora o que ele gosta de fazer, quando estão em ligação e distantes, sem a possibilidade de se ver no momento, é lembrar dos momentos favoritos das transas de vocês para entrar no clima para se masturbar depois. se você pedir com jeitinho, quem sabe ele não manda uma foto do resultado?

fernando gosta de mandar fotos que não sejam tão explícitas, justamente por serem provocativas demais e ao mesmo tempo nem perto do suficiente para te satisfazer. manda fotos das mãos grandes segurando a garrafa de vinho que está bebendo, ou do detalhe do cinto novo de couro que ele está estreando. mas o favorito dele é te ligar te instruindo exatamente sobre como ele quer que você se toque pensando nele

o fran é do tipo de mandar seminudes bem conceituais e de muito bom gosto, tipo do corpo dele coberto só pelo lençol e apenas do quadril para baixo ou o reflexo dele no espelho pequeno e redondo do quarto de vocês, deixando algumas coisas para a imaginação. também é fã de te mandar fotos não tão explícitas mas ainda sugestivas durante o dia, tipo uma bem de perto da boca dele mordendo um morango depois do almoço

pipe, por incrível que pareça (ou não), é um rapaz muito tímido para se exibir perante uma webcam ou te mandar fotos do próprio corpo nu. já fotos da evolução do corpo meio coberto quando volta da academia é o que não falta, claro - e ele se aproveita do efeito que essas têm sobre você para já engatar num leve sexting, se divertindo com cada uma das tuas reações às palavras dele. tua vingança vem quando ele fica tanto tempo longe de você que começa a ficar desesperadinho: manda fotos da ereção pesada e incômoda por baixo do tecido fino da calça e, quando você finalmente cede aos pedidos sofridos e liga para ele, o tem na palma da mão, obedecendo cada um dos teus comandos e só gozando na própria mão quando você permite

simón não tem vergonha alguma - repito, vergonha alguma - de te mandar todos os nudes e fotos sensuais que ele tira, afinal são todos para o prazer da mulher dele, não é mesmo? é para isso que serve o corpo dele. é foto da mão segurando o caralho duro, vídeo gravado bem no momento que ele está gozando e gemendo teu nome enquanto faz uma bagunça com a porra dele, mensagens e mais mensagens de madrugada descrevendo "aquela vez que a gente fodeu na praia, lembra?", áudio pedindo para você mandar suas fotos para ele te "fazer uma homenagem", masturbação mútua enquanto estão em ligação, seja por vídeo ou não... é adepto total do sexo virtual

o jerónimo grava vídeos de meio minuto na frente do espelho do banheiro, completamente pelado, exibindo o corpo escultural que ele espera fielmente que renda muitos elogios vindos de você. com uma mão segura o celular e com a outra bate uma punheta bem lentinha, provocando a você e a si mesmo, deixando o cômodo e o áudio do vídeo serem completamente tomados pelos gemidos sem vergonha alguma

santi, apesar de não ter sempre a iniciativa de mandar quando o assunto é nude, ama receber os teus e sempre aos mil e um elogios. não recusa um áudio repleto dos teus gemidos - o som favorito dele - e muito menos uma ligação de voz para matar a saudade que o pau dele sente de você. mas o que ele mais gosta mesmo é quando fazem uma chamada de vídeo das mais sujas possíveis, onde ele te assiste se contorcer e tremer de prazer enquanto ele controla, conectada ao celular dele, a intensidade do brinquedinho que vibra dentro de você

della corte é outro que não é muito fã do cyber sex, mas também não consegue viver sem você e adora receber e te dar prazer. te pede nudes descaradamente algumas vezes, mas na maioria prefere o bom e velho sexo por telefone: te chama por mensagem para ter certeza de que pode te ligar e sempre começa perguntando sobre o teu dia; você já até sabe que ele já começou a se tocar pelas respostas ficando cada vez mais esporádicas e aéreas do outro lado da linha e não demora muito para os dois engatarem numa mistura de gemidos sobre o quanto sentem falta do corpo e do toque do outro

o rafa, por ser mais tímido, já prefere um sexting: gosta de virar a madrugada falando besteiras por mensagem com você, iniciando bem tímido, lento e casto, e escalando até os dois estarem recitando os pensamentos mais sórdidos que têm quando estão longe um do outro. fica coradinho quando acorda no outro dia e lembra de tudo que disse e é capaz de morrer de vergonha quando vocês se encontram e você refresca a memória dele, resgatando tudo que ele prometeu que iriam fazer

masterlist principal | masterlist de lsdln

[narcolini]

nightmares

amado x gn!reader, 2080 words, hurt/comfort

contains canon typical gun violence 

using the day 2 whumpril prompts: Stress & “Get some rest.”

a/n: i hope this scratches the amado itch, dear anon!! (me vs taking months to write requests lmaooo) <3<3

tagging (my narco taglist): @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @purplesong1028 @ashlingiswriting @thesandbeneathmytoes @hausofmamadas @empireroyals @marissa53115 @iridescent-sol​ 

It started as a normal night for you. A car parked outside your window, a large palm over your knee once you were seated in the back of it. Amado purring words to your right, hip to hip, about his plans for the evening. Where he was taking you to eat, where you’d go afterwards, how long he intended to keep you for—if you liked. You could dance until the sun came up if you wanted to.

‘Y entonces?’ you’d asked him. ‘Will my bed miss me again tonight?’

He’d smiled, shrugged and ticked his head to the side like he was indifferent about it. ‘Sí, if you like, amor.’

You can’t say he doesn’t spoil you.

You’d ended up at a club, as promised, to dance into the sunrise and it wasn’t long until you had him moving too. Only took a few drinks, a hand to the side of his neck, an invite to put his own as low as he liked on you. He can move, when he cares to. His thigh went between yours, his skin close enough to swallow his cologne in gulps. Expensive, of course, and patted into the base of his throat, exposed by the undoing of a few top buttons.

‘Any more,’ he said, into the shell of your ear, ‘and I’ll be too indecent to stay.’

You twisted the third button between your finger and thumb, let him sway you from the anchor of his thigh. ‘Maybe that’s the plan,’ you teased.

‘You’re bored already, mi cielo?’

‘Bored, no.’ Hands down his chest, nails to the cotton, then back up and around his neck. ‘I’m distracted.’

That pleased him, sent a smirk onto his lips and lost half an inch of space between you, not that it was possible to be any closer than you already were. ‘One more drink,’ he bartered, ‘and then we’ll go home, bien?’

It was a fair deal, a fun one that snaked into your chest and blurred the senses. Filled you to the brim with lust, happiness, smoky indulgence that you’d never stop craving. You peeled apart from him and followed the feeling to the bar. Another of the same, you told the guy behind it, smiling as you said it, room spinning, pulsing. Overhead lights going in so many colours that the man looked like he was made of water, reflecting everything back at you, moving despite being stationary. He poured and you watched. Handed you the drinks and expected no payment in return, because it went on the tab, as always. He knew Amado near enough as well as you do.

When you arrived back to your spot, Amado was turned away from you, watching a man split the crowd in the opposite direction. You tapped his bicep with the drink you’d brought him.

‘Who was that?’ you asked, following the question with a sip of your own. The cocktails were long past tasting of alcohol, it was just juice and fizz and sugar by then.

‘Ah, no-one.’ He took his own and nodded a thank-you. ‘Just some guy jealous of my date.’  

‘Pfft, be quiet.’ If you weren’t both holding drinks, you’d have batted his arm for being so ridiculous, and so smug about it too. Instead, his dumb smile infected you, curling your lips though you tried to fight it. ‘You can’t flirt your way out of every secret, guapo.’

‘I can try.’ 

His arm went around your waist, forearm hot against the already warm skin between your shirt and your pants. Heat to heat. He put his lips to yours. You let him pull you into the kiss willingly, tongue chasing tongue. The edge of alcohol was there in his mouth, where it wasn’t in your glass, and you drank readily. Eagerly.

And then the gun went off; one shot to start with, so loud and unexpected that you sprung away from everything: Amado, your drink, the foot of space you’d been occupying. Your body acted before you’d even recognised it as a gunshot. Heart pounding through your chest, eyes running the course of the room.

‘Oye, pendejo,’ is all Amado said, at first. He put it under his breath, far too casual for the situation, like it was just a mild inconvenience to him. A fly in his beer. His palm found your back, at the base of your spine, fingers stretching to pull you to him again. I’m here, it said, nothing to worry about yet. ‘Let’s go, yeah? That way.’

‘Amado, what…?’

You know how you must’ve looked, wide eyed, frozen and deer-like. With the people fleeing around you and the flashing of the lights, you couldn’t even see who it was on the assault. Just heard the pop, the bang, the burst of screaming patrons that followed it.

Another rang out then, closer this time, and you know it was pointed at the ceiling now, because it crumbled overhead. Dust and glass and plastic. It littered your hair before Amado had chance to shield you from it. You aren’t ashamed to admit that a scream pierced out of you too, raw and unlike any noise you’ve made before, but still, Amado barely flinched. His arm went up, a second too late, and over your head, his body purposely put between you and the shooter.

‘That way, amor,’ he said again, steady as anything. ‘We’ll take the door out the back, okay?’

A third gunshot went into the roof, followed by his name shouted above the racket of it all. Whoever it was, he was mad, ravenous.

You had no more questions left in you, just blind, terrified obedience. You let Amado turn you, hands to your biceps, away from the chaos and guide you through the scattering crowd. Past the bar, through the store rooms you were never supposed to see, and out of the weighted fire door with little other explanation. The transition happened so fast, a blur, a stumble, that you only realised how far you’d come once the wall of cold hit you on the other side.

You were out. The club sat behind you, braying with noise. You felt like your lungs had stayed there, where you had been, on the sticky floor of the club. You couldn’t do anything but gasp, your chest didn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. Just half-breath, after half-breath.

Amado shut the door, firmly, and the riot went with it, muffled behind the thick plating of the fire-exit. ‘You okay?’ he asked, but you couldn’t answer him yet. You were still working on the breathing part. ‘My love.’ He moved so that he could stand in front of you. ‘Easy, amor. One breath and hold it, hm? You can do that.’

You tried. Sucked in as much air as you could and held it, eyes on his, counting as he did in the cold night, until he gave you the nod to exhale again. It helped. You repeated it, one breath at a time together.

He looked un-phased, slightly damp at the forehead, black hair pressed to his temples, but that was there from the dancing anyway. You could’ve been stepping out for a smoke, from the looks of him. Tucking behind the commercial sized dumpsters for the sake of privacy. It was only the shake of your hands that dispelled the possibility.

‘Who was that, Amado?’

‘I told you. Some güey, celoso de mí.’

You shoved him; it wasn’t like you, but it sprung out anyway, clumsy palms to his chest, new, hot anger behind your ears. ‘Don’t bullshit me, Amado. Someone fucking shot at us.’

And that was new. That was something your friends had told you would happen, but had never touched you before then.

Your anger rolled off him, bounced from the black shirt to the black night around you both. He couldn’t blame you for it. You could see in his face that he understood. ‘He was only trying to scare me,’ he reasoned, ‘scare you. Asshole’s too reckless for his own good.’

‘Who?’ you insist. ‘Who the fuck?’

And then the door swung open, breaking your solitude, handle hitting the bricks hard enough to spit dust into the air. 

Rafa, possessed and lurching forward, with the gun in his hand still. 

You can’t get in the way fast enough, the barrel is to Amado’s head in an instant. He inches to the trigger—

And that’s where you wake up, where reality twists into the surreal and you’re able to jump yourself free. That didn’t happen, there were shots, yes, an escape through the back, but Rafa never followed the two of you out. You never saw him, never saw the flash of metal to Amado’s head, that’s just the bullshit that’s come since. The dream that comes back every night; a memory you’ve tried to forget, with some sick twist plastered onto the end of it, just to grind salt into the wound. Just to make it all worse.

‘Amado?’ You find yourself dry-throated and unable to call any louder. He isn’t beside you, but the sheets are pulled back from where he’s been and left. The bedside lamp is on still. You force a swallow and try again, ‘Amado?’

In a moment he’s there, in the doorway of his bedroom, robe open and chest bare. He looks more worried now than he did a week ago, under the crumbling ceiling, in the face of danger. He looks at you like Rafa’s bullet had found somewhere worthwhile to land. ‘Sorry,’ he says, pulling forward without needing an explanation. ‘I was making a call.’

You dismiss the apology. It’s fine, you don’t want him to feel like he can’t leave your side, no matter how recurring the nightmare is. ‘That fucking dream again,’ you mutter, feeling the tightness lift as he sits by your legs. The mattress goes down, your chest goes out, one deep breath after the other. ‘Every night, I’m there again.’

His hand goes to your face, fingertips brushing the shortest parts of your hair behind your ear. ‘It’ll get better.’

‘Will it?’

‘Easier,’ he corrects. ‘With time.’

You resist the urge to throw yourself back onto the pillows in frustration. You shouldn’t need time, you shouldn’t be robbing him and yourself of sleep each night. ‘Nothing even happened, Amado. No-one was hurt.’ Your voice thins. ‘I never even saw him.’

Amado had. Tall enough to see over the ducked heads and fleeing bodies, but he’d kept it to himself until you were home, back at his place and away from danger. Where you’re safe, he’d told you, and why does it matter who it was? Rafa is no-one to you. To us.

‘Why sit and torture yourself any more than your dreams do?’ he asks, letting his hands settle on the bed either side of your thighs. ‘It’s normal to be afraid. Pendejo was shooting up a club.’

‘But you aren’t—’

He cuts you off, voice calm and even, ‘And who am I, then? A normal guy?’ He’s used to it, he means, he shouldn’t be, but he is. Guns and chaos. They follow him like fire and smoke.

‘I just hate,’ you try, unable to meet his gaze suddenly. ‘I hate expecting this of you. We’re supposed to be having fun, not, not this.’ You gesture to yourself, to the bed that feels more palliative care than honeymoon right now. Things aren’t how they used to be between the two of you, no matter how hard you try to fix it.  

When you look up again, he’s smiling faintly, face warm in the sunset of the bedside lamp. ‘Amor,’ he says, ‘I would never sleep again if that’s what it took.’

You scoff.

‘I’m serious.’ He shrugs. ‘I have books I’ve been meaning to read, I can stay up and keep the dreams away, if you need me to.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you tell him, but you’re smiling, just about. The nightmare feels worlds away when he talks like that, put quiet behind the fire-exit again.

‘Pues, that’s love, no?’ He leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. ‘Making men ridiculous.’

‘Sí,’ you breathe, into the stubble across his chin, ‘I suppose so.’

‘Get some rest,’ he says, before offering a final taste. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’

It won’t make all the difference, but it’s enough to get you halfway.

[tennis-kittens]

Beautiful mind • Your heart got a story with mine • Your heart got me hurting at times • Your heart gave me new kind of highs • Your heart got me feeling so fine • so what to do • Still falling for you

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday

thank you for the tag @therealgchu!

Today's peek has been chilling in my Libertatia project. Not sure where exactly in the fic it will be but it was a funny idea I got after an eventful survey in the game...

---

“Sure the scans shows a lovely beach but Becker’s already confirmed that beach is heavy rock stalker territory,” Bella said as she gently bounced little Rafa in her arms, “She said they barely made it a dozen paces from their landing bay before a whole herd of them came rushing their location and they had to retreat, that big model-A Constellation loaned Jay giving cover fire while they climbed inside.”

“There were only two of them,” Del said as he stepped close, giving Bella a kiss followed by a kiss on the top of Rafa’s head, “I’m bringing a whole team. We’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think numbers are going to help,” Bella looked out the windows of the cockpit at the moving stone in the distance, “honestly I think it’ll just piss them off more.”

“We survived Suverov, we’ll survive this,” he kissed her cheek.

“Not everyone did,” she looked back at him, “I vividly remember there being only me and you when that whole trip was over. I’d prefer to not lose all our rooks before we’ve even dug in roots, Gran Jefe.”

“Please stop calling me that,” he sighed and started walking for the fuselage.

“Lo siento, mi Rey,” Bella sassed her husband.

He glanced over his shoulder, trying to look irritated but a grin gave him away.

“Just be careful,” Bella said as Rafa started to fuss, “don’t do anything reckless.”

“I can handle some hostile xeno, Bella,” Del assured her as he walked toward the ladder down, “we’ll be fine.”

*Spongebob narrator* Several hours later

“It’s just a few rock stalkers, I’ve got a whole team, how hard could it be?” Del grumbled at himself as he sat atop a large boulder leaned up against a smaller rock. He was reloading his rifle and listening as another unlucky rook cried out in agony before the gnashing sound of rocks rubbing against one another drowned him out.

“It’s not like we didn’t come prepared,” Rokov said from the other side of the rock, “Jazz and I split a small crate of impact grenades thinking that would shatter the fucking things.”

“Yeah, look how that turned out!” Jazz stood up and overhand pitched a grenade at an oncoming cluster of rock stalkers. It exploded on the middle rock stalkers, kicking up dirt and sand, and when the air cleared only the middle xeno was dead, “Luckily they can’t climb.”

“Shhh, chitón!” Del hissed at her, “don’t fucking jinx us.”

“Hey Boss!” Seumas called over from other boulder, “Wrecker got a headcount, we’ve only lost three bastards, everyone else managed to scramble up to high ground.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” Jazz sat back down next to Del, “now we just need the fucking things to leave.”

“We’re going to wait for them to leave their house,” Rokov asked, clearly amused, “we’ll be sitting here a while.”

“Maybe we should radio The Siren’s Song,” Jazz started.

“No,” Del and Rokov both said in unison.

Jazz looked at them both, a wild goofy smile lighting up her face, “you’re scared of Bella, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Del snapped as he took aim at a nearby rock stalker camping their boulder.

“She has enough on her plate,” Rokov was looking through binoculars back toward the landing spot, “plus it’s clear of anything rock stalker shaped once we clear that hill. If everyone is smart with their boosts we should be able to make a collective break for it and run back to the ship.”

“She’s still going to find out what happened,” Jazz was busy packing up her gear.

“Not if we don’t tell her everything,” Del snapped.

“She’s going to find out when three rooks don’t make it back,” Jazz said before shouting moving orders over to Seumas.

“Oh come on, it’s a dangerous planet, that won’t tell her anything,” Rokov said as he chucked an impact grenade at the remaining rock stalkers.

The grenade exploded, followed by a larger explosion that rippled out into smaller explosions. A dense cloud of dirt and sand filled the air, causing everyone on the boulders to begin couching and choking.

“What the fuck did you throw?” Del shouted at Rokov.

“Same as all the rest!” Rokov insisted.

“Howdy, howdy, howdy,” a familiar voice called out over a helmet speaker, “got word of a missing scouting party so I came out to see what help you needed.”

“Missing?” Rokov mumbled between coughs, “we haven’t been gone that long.”

“Eh, it’s been most the day,” Jazz had pulled on a respirator and held out one to Rokov, “told you she’d know.”

Del had pulled on his own respirator and called up the newcomer on a private channel. She answered simply, “yes?”

“Who called you? And why are you in your Mantis gear?” he asked sharply.

The dust had settled enough for him to see Jay standing there in her Mantis helmet and matching gray spacesuit with green trim. She held her ridiculous coachman, Hornet’s Hymn, with it’s hornet’s nest exploding shots. That explained the show.

“Sophie called me while Beck and I were trying to scan another location for you,” Jay sounded annoyed, “She said Papa went out before lunch to walk the beach without her and hadn’t come back yet. When I checked her location Becker took us down immediately: I thought we told you to stay the fuck away from this stretch of land?”

“I don’t need shit from you,” Del snarled.

“I remember you telling Bella and me a few weeks back that you wanted Cassiopeia I because of everything you gleaned from that nature doc Sophie was obsessed with. Were you not paying attention at the twenty minute section talking about how ruthless and relentless these fucking rocks were?”

Del spoke through clenched teeth, “I said I don’t need shit from—“

“Get moving before more show up, Becker and I cleared the path but more will be here soon,” the Mantis was motioning for those on the other rock to come down, “you’re welcome, Delgado.”

“We didn’t need your fucking help!” Del snapped, “we had everything under control.”

“Which is why your surviving crew are up on boulders and not exploring the beach?” Jay tilted her head to the side, “keep going and I’ll leave you to explain yourself to Bella alone, Mr. How-Hard-Could-It-Be?”

“I’m not afraid of my wife,” Del insisted as he jumped off the boulder, boosting down to the ground.

“Mhmm,” Jay was looking around, her shotgun at the ready for any incoming xeno, “which is why I picked up chatter about you not wanting to tell her about your ass being stuck up on that rock?”

“How did you…” he stopped next to the Mantis and looked around with her, “Did you find any better spots?”

“Yeah, three or four,” she sighed, “I still can’t believe I let you two talk me into this.”

“Oh, come on, the arrangement is perfect for you and your brother,” Del clapped her back and ignored the unseen glare under her helmet, “enemy of my enemy and all that shit. Plus how many old Earth artifacts have the Liberated gifted to Constellation since we started.”

“Just get moving, the girls and Rafa await your return.”

[schumi-nadal]

Matteo, trying not to freak out in front of Rafa and Roger: …

Roger: So…

Rafa, interrupting him: Let me talk Roger.

Roger, sending a compassionate gaze to Matteo: Ok…

Rafa: What were you doing with Casper in that closet ?

Matteo: Huh… We were… kissing ?

Rafa, about to commit a murder: What made you think you could kiss MY son ?

Roger, mumbling: Our son…

Rafa, sending him a death stare then ignoring him: Are you even dating ?

Matteo, trying to not run away: Well, yes… It’s been 7 or 8 months, it happened after the ATP finals last year…

Roger, whispering: Wrong answer…

Rafa: …

Matteo: …

Roger: …

Stef, being the annoying big brother he is: … Did you already kiss with the tongue ?

Matteo’s playboy side is finaly showing up: Hell yes !

Rafa and Roger, shocked: …

Matteo: Well, I mean… Can I take him on a date ?

Rafa, having a heart attack: …

Roger, being the cool dad: Bring him home before midnight.

Matteo, relieved : Thank you !

Matteo, shouting to get his bf’s attention: Hey Cas, they said yes !

Rafa, starting to have a breakdown: But… I…

Roger, hugging him: Shhh, honey, it will be okay.

[chaoticcatbunny]

Multiverse_chaos AO3

Masterlist

Completed Works:

Oneshots-

Growing Pains (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/45022414 Rated: G

Soulmates (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/46434328 Rated: M

Eyes on Me (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/46867267 Rated: E

My Blood, My Soul (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48432094 Rated: G

My Omega (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48828244 Rated: T

Cafes and Love Songs (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48853210 Rated: T

You Saved Me from Hell (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48914614 Rated: E

Are You Crazy?! (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49010368 Rated: M

Lazy Sunday (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49164049 Rated: G

Regret Eats the Soul (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49304356 Rated: M

Can We Try That Again? (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49349137 Rated: T

Sink Your Teeth into Something Holy (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49373233 Rated: T

Stay and Cuddle with Me (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49397203 Rated: T

To Love a Teacher (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49420009 Rated: T

Till My Last Breath (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49442767 Rated: T

The Woman in the Sea (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49465672 Rated: T

The Underworld and Spring (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49496779 Rated: T

Reminiscing the Past (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50333056 Rated: T

Don't Say It (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50469313 Rated: E

Through the Mirror (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50517694 Rated: E

Make You Mine (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50548057 Rated: E

Scent Blockers and Heat (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50577352 Rated: E

Ropes and Toys (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50602705 Rated: E

Candles Aren't Just for Decoration (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50628742 Rated: E

Long Distance Fun (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50653843 Rated: E

Feed on Lust (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50687932 Rated: E

How Long Can You Last? (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50707534 Rated: E

The Warriors and the Godking (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50740750 Rated: E

A Different Kind of Throne (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50768110 Rated: E

Knife + Adrenaline = Sex (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50842588 Rated: E

Did He Just Do That? (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50843770 Rated: E

Drive Me Insane (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50892724 Rated: E

Behave, Little Lamb (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/50945446 Rated: E

Dancing in the Living Room (MacGyver, 2016): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51182017 Rated: T

The Lust of a God (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51526240 Rated: E

Multichapter-

Strengthening the Alliance (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/44524090/chapters/111991342 Chapters: 12, Rated: E

Various Male Characters x Female Reader Smut (multi- fandom): https://archiveofourown.org/works/46310926/chapters/116594665 Chapters: 22, Rated: E

You're My Fate (BPWF): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48876073/chapters/123299197 Chapters: 2, Rated: M

Cartels and Omegas Don't Mix (Narcos: Mexico): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49619566/chapters/125237029 Chapters: 2, Rated: E

This is a masterlist of all of my completed works on AO3, if you have any questions or want anything specific my asks are open just please be nice. I'll do a masterlist of my AO3 WIPs soon.

[theatreslave]

Update @namorslutfanfiction

(gonna do my little updates on my main blog because of the shadowban)

I wrote three today.

Angst/Fluff Namor

Tenoch Smut

Fluff/Smut Rafa

Masterlist on my page has been updated.

All stories will be crossposted on AO3 momentarily

Thank you all,

Namorslutfanfiction/Theatreslave

Also its technically already my BDay so happy birthday to me.

[karamacrisk]

Updated Masterlist

Narcos Mexico

OC X CHARACHTERS

DIOSA*๑♡՞

Description

DIOSA

(i.18th Birthday celebration) ☆*。

(ii. Wedding invitation) ☆*。

(iii. Kidnapped) ☆*。

(iv. Joining a cartel) ☆*。

(v. The first mission) ☆*。

(vi. Matta) ☆*。

(vii. Colombia) ☆*。

(viii. Colombia part two) ☆*。

(ix. Rescued) ☆*。

(x. Hidden truth) ☆*。

(xi. I dare you to pull the trigger) ☆*。

(xii. Gallery walk) ☆*。

(xii. Murdered) ☆*。

(xiv. Bad news) ☆*。

(xiv. Playing dirty) ☆*。

(xvi. No te lo diré) ☆*。

(xvii. Bad breakup) ☆*。

(xviii. The ending) ☆*。

[namorslutfanfiction]

Attention my lovely readers

[kyuala]

cast de lsdln como professores

quais vc acha que seriam as matérias deles?

OMG i love this question!! não revisei mas espero que gostem <3

o enzo me passa vibes de professor de teatro... desculpa gente não consigo desvencilhar ele da skin de ator </3 mas ai imagina, ele seria tão firme, didático e paciente, ajudaria td mundo com um sorriso no rosto, sempre genuinamente orgulhoso do progresso de cada um e apesar da proximidade sempre que ele quer te falar sobre respiração (e toca sua caixa torácica) ou sobre movimentos mais fluidos (e te acompanha bem de perto em cada um deles) ele ainda é super profissional e teria uma certa relutância em se envolver com alunos dele 💔 isso até vc se tornar parte da equipe e vcs dois começarem a trabalhar mais juntos no espetáculo de fim de ano da escola 🤭 aí vcs passam tanto tempo juntos que o homem se apaixona n tem jeito

pardella como professor de matéria bem humaninhas que estimula o pensamento crítico dos adolescentes ME OUÇAM ☝🏼 tive um professor de história no ensino médio que era barbudo, rockeiro, motoqueiro, cheio de tatuagens, fumante, engraçado pra caralho, super consciente socialmente, falava palavrão a rodo e ainda era amado por TODO mundo. para mim = agustín pardella 🏆

o matías sinceramente não tenho a MÍNIMA ideia pq ele é mt novo mas pensando aqui... como ex-teacher que ensinava aos 18 anos de idade ☝🏼 matí professor particular de inglês (ou espanhol né) ou MELHOR AINDA imagina ele numa escola tipo wizard, wiseup, cna, ccaa... caralho acho q ele ia ser mt caótico e o favorito dos alunos mais novos pprt crushzinho de todas as aluninhas 💔

o kuku puta q me pariu cara eu não sei nem por onde começar.... mas que ele tem uma ENERGIA de professor de graduação ou até pós ele tem meu deus.... pensando aqui em alguma matéria mto específica tipo literatura do leste europeu de uns 5 séculos atrás ou a subjetividade do ser humano pensada de acordo com os filósofos gregos AAAAAAAAAAAAAA só sei que seria alguma coisa MUITO vibe de dark academia, bem culto e intelectual num sentido bem tradicional e ele seria super aqueles professores que usam cardigan, óculos e cabelo bagunçado, um copo de café na mão e as olheiras seriam os acessórios de sempre </3 que SACO

queria que vcs vissem a minha cara qdo vi que era a vez de pensar no fer como professor juro foi vergonhosa de tesão.... mas sei lá pensando aqui que ele tem uma cara de inteligente pra caralho que se daria bem em qualquer área mas quero pensar em alguém sendo professor de cursinho que come as alunas então parabens ferrrr vc foi o escolhido 🏆 pensando aki num fernando professor de física (projetando absolutamente nada do tesão vergonhoso que eu tinha no meu professor de física do cursinho ok segue a vida de vcs aí) que propositalmente passa conteúdos difíceis pra 1) preparar os alunos dele da melhor forma e 2) oferecer horas extras de tutoria e aulas particulares pras alunas mais bonitinhas e gostosas (vc) 🎀

o fran me passa vibes de professor de primário gente imagina 😭 ele com as criancinhas, sendo o titio favorito, todo fofinho e amoroso com elas, daqueles que sempre passa atividades bem artísticas e brinca até elas cansarem e irem dormir na hora da soneca </3 tchau

pra dar uma diferenciada vou colocar aqui o pipe como professor de fotografia! imagino ele fazendo parte de algum estúdio escola e sendo um dos melhores professores pq 1) ele realmente sabe do que tá falando, tipo ele manja pra caralho tecnicamente e 2) eh um querido, todos os alunos falam bem dele na recepção e sei lá, sabe? imagina aí umas aulinhas particulares com o pipe onde vcs dois literalmente passam horas desenvolvendo suas habilidades no maior interesse em comum e paixão de vocês dois. aff

já falei do simón nessa skin agora é a vez dele: jerónimo instrutor de academia 🥵 e pode ser personal trainer mesmo ou melhor, professor de alguma coisa (tipo luta), o importante é estar no ambiente da academia que é onde ele brilha e é mais gostoso. penso que seria bem na linha do simón personal trainer: super atencioso com mulher bonita e gostoso (até deixaria os outros alunos um pouco de lado pq ele simplesmente não se aguenta com um rabo de saia) mas acho que ele seria mil vezes mais cara de pau na hora de dar em cima de vc 🤭

o santi por ser novinho e lindinho e fofinho e um amorzinho não colocarei como prof mas sim como um ajudante de sala! tipo imagina ele sendo monitor de uma das matérias que ele foi super bem na faculdade tipo bases biológicas da neurociência sei lá ai sério ele tem mt cara de quem seria super atencioso e paciente se desdobraria em mil pra te ajudar a entender o conteúdo e ainda ficaria todo felizinho qdo vc passasse com uma nota alta na matéria e te chamaria pra tomar alguma coisa pra comemorar 😭 queria mt tirar dúvidas com ele e quem sabe minhas roupas tb

vou abrir um tópico meio óbvio mas ainda super sensível aqui meninas: della corte professor de educação física. TCHAU só de pensar nele naquele tamanho todo de uniforme, dando ordens e apitando ADEUSSSSSSSSSS MEU DEUS QUE TESÃO não vou conseguir nem elaborar mais, fica aí pra criatividade da mente de vocês (mentira, aqui vai e super inspirado pelo hc da diva laurinha @geniousbh: della professor de educação dx filhx da leitora milf. boa noite)

ainda inspirado pelo hc de professor x milf da laurinha, deixo aqui meu pensamento de simón professor de karate x leitora mãe de aluninha 🥇 por nenhuma outra razão além de gostaria muito de vê-lo sendo bem gostoso num kimono, acho que ele seria um fofo com as crianças e daria em cima das milfs descaradamente. aqui em casa já eh egot winner! o bônus seria ele te comendo no tatame tchau

o rafa tem SUPER cara de professor de português que é absolutamente o QUERIDO de todas as turmas imagina 🤕 ele sempre tão charmoso e sorrindinho, explica tudo com a voz mansa, ajuda todos os alunos que tem dificuldade e o melhor de tudo é que ele é o queridinho das aluninhas pra contarem todas as fofocas e dos aluninhos pra pedirem conselho meu deus </3 o bônus (totalmente inspirado por esse hc da diva @lunitt) aqui seria vc também sendo professora na mesma escola e os alunos shippando vc e o professor lindinho e tímido de português ❤️

[hausofmamadas]

| This is why the earth eats the dead |

⁂

Pairing: Rafa Caro Quintero x María Elvira

For @narcolini - Narcos fanfic exchange 2022

Word count: 6K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, descriptions of violence

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Betrayed by his bestest good primo, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, and captured in Costa Rica by a one DILF, Guillermo Calderoni, instead of being taken to prison, Rafa Caro Quintero is taken back Mexico to be tortured, dragged by a pickup truck down a back alley road in Sinaloa, and left for dead … on the front porch of the house owned by Miguel’s ex-wife, María. Still fuming after Miguel kicked her to the curb and told her he was staying in Guadalajara to bang barely legal chicks he met at a museum, María’s further devastated by her ex-husband’s descent into assholery when she finds Rafa’s nearly lifeless body. So, the question remains: she can nurse him back to health, but can she fix him?

⁂

✴︎ Cómo me has engañado, mi hermano! Si me ha dicho lo que ibas a hacer, nunca habríamos venido. ✴︎

A conveyor belt of sky rushed above me. Chaotic streaks of what should have been full, puffy white clouds cut across waves of light blue. Or maybe those were just the stars I was seeing after hitting too many potholes headfirst.

But with the sky up there, rushing like that, the earth against my back like steel wool at seventy kilometers an hour, and the rope embedded in the skin of my ankles with the full force of the pickup truck they were tied to, I kept thinking about la Bribri historia de la creación del mundo.** I had heard it from one of the old ladies in the cathedral once. We liked to tell stories while we waited for the fire bombing in the fields to stop y esos shingadamadre chotas to get in their tanks and fuck off again, until next time.

The story went something like this.

The great creator god Sibú was having a hard time. He needed a place to put his creations but could find nothing suitable to make it with. You’d think since he created life, he could make a place for it too, but it seems even gods have their limits. So, when a bat, flying by, happened to shit soil from which all kinds of marvelous plants grew, naturally Sibú had to know his secret. (Creation myths, right? Fucking trippy.) The bat, who Sibú called tío even though they weren’t related (which never made any sense to me), told him he’d been feeding on the blood of Iriria, the newborn Earth. And wasn’t this great news for Sibú because Iriria happened to be the child of his sister, Tapir. Except, Sibú no era su tío and she wasn’t his niece (which never made sense to me either but maybe it was different for gods that way.) Anyway, Sibú hatched an elaborate plan. To lure Tapir and Iriria from where they’d been staying in the underworld, he invited them to a grand festival and asked them to put on a show, dancing the Sorbón dance for the attending lower gods, demons, and spirits. So, they did. They went and they danced. But something happened when Tapir and Iriria danced and it changed everything. The young girl tripped and fell, and all according to Sibú’s plan, in the furor and excitement of the Sorbón, the demons and spirits couldn’t see her. So they kept on dancing. Stomping on poor, helpless Iriria. Over. And over. And over. Until all that was left of her was trampled earth, from which Sibú made, well, the Earth. Seeing her daughter’s demolished remains, Tapir seethed with rage: How, my brother, you have betrayed me! If you had told me what you were going to do, we would never have come. So it’s said today, for the sacrifice of her daughter, tapirs are sacred animals not to be hunted for food or sport. And as atonement for Sibú’s betrayal and the wounds inflicted on her by his creations, all life, this is why we bury the dead. Return them to Earth for her to consume.**

𐮛

I thought about Sibú a lot when I worked in the greenhouse. When I finally had it, mi sinsemilla, primo declared me a genius. María joked that I was a regular mad scientist. But all I could think about was Sibú. About how his curiosity yielded the universe’s great masterpieces at the expense of those around him.

But thinking about it just now, sky rushing up above and the steel-wool-earth against my back, seventy kilometers an hour, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was fucking hilarious.

Because I realized it wasn’t really me who was Sibú, after all.

𐮛

Those early days were the best. Well, maybe not the first few. Definitely not the first one, when I woke up in a cold sweat, hands and ankles tied together, blood-soaked shirt, now dried, fusing me to wood slats of her front porch. Maybe I’d been her front porch all along. Why else would they leave me here? I couldn’t remember them, the “they” that left me. I couldn’t remember me. The pain in my shoulder was too much. I couldn’t remember why.

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. We raced dirt bikes in the town square. She let me sleep on her couch when I’d been out too long in the field, then the greenhouse. I used to call her the brains of the operation - ‘No se la llevaron toda, compa.' - because she saved mi sinsemilla, then me. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Looking at me like I always wished she would. Only this time, I didn’t have to feel guilty.

She shouted for help, wild, brown hair whipping in the wind while she demanded answers from the nothing and nobody that left me there. In all my dreams before, she wasn’t so sorry for me. But who was I anyway? No matter. I didn’t need to remember to know who she was.

𐮛

I thought one of my fractured ribs might’ve punctured a lung because it took days for me to stop coughing up blood. Weeks to stop screaming out in the night. For Sofia. Sometimes Miguel. Mostly María. Because I knew who she was and she looked at me like that and I didn’t have to feel guilty. Except, it took a few more weeks to remember why.

It came together in the kitchen one morning, when she was making breakfast. Easy as always, the smell of cafe con leche, bacon, tortilla chips, soon-to-be migas sizzling in the pan. She sang softly con Los Zafiros. ‘El gringo, Rafa. Adónde se lo llevaron?’

The eggs she cracked against the edge of the bowl buckled my shoulder. Sofia screamed in the steam of the kettle going off. Then that face from the edges of the darkness behind my eyelids - eso hijo de la shingada chota con su bigote negro and those beady little eyes.

'Sabes que me gusta mucha acerca del hombro, Rafa? Cuánto duele cuando lo sacas de su articulación. Duele igual. Cada vez. El dolor te rompe el alma mucho antes de que se rompan los huesos.'

El dolor te rompe el alma, no mames. Mi alma ya se rompió when the first gunshot exploded the glass and I knew what mi primo did to me. If that fat bastard hadn’t been so sweaty when I spat in his face, it might’ve made a difference. Maybe not, since he never missed a beat and the cracking never stopped. The bones of my shoulder in and out of its socket, cartilage stripping like threads of a screw.

My head swam, my mouth tasted like iron, my throat was numb, I felt cold. Was this finally my time? Qué lástima sería. I just got her, just got here. Were there tiny needles swimming in my bloodstream? Cortisol. Adrenaline. Like high, but none of the flavor, none of the fun. She caught me just before my face smacked the table.

I came to with my head in her lap, mumbling, “Lo huevo– vas a quemar los huevos.”

“Qué?”

“Huevos. Pa’ las migas.”

She shook her head, “Ay, Rafa. Qué voy a hacer contigo?” and smiled my favorite smile.

My lips felt like rubber but I beamed back up at her anyway. “Ocuperás de mí?”

It took a few weeks for her to stop sobbing when she sat by my bed and watched me sleep. I didn’t know who I was, so she knew it was bad. Without a clue how, I still wanted to comfort her. I guess I did in a way, since she only ever stopped when she got up to place her finger under my nose.

If I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve told her I deserved it por todo lo que hice. Even if he deserved worse but wouldn’t get it. That old house, piles of leaves in the empty swimming pool. 881 Lope de Vega. I heard from someone later on that they’d drilled into his hands at the end, demanding to know the nothing and nobody he knew.

So, it seemed only fair they’d dragged me down some backwoods dirt road. Seventy kilometers an hour never felt so fast and took so long. I hadn’t met the man, but they said he’d had a family. My whole foolish life, I wondered what it was like to be missed by so many that much. Of course, that wasn’t why I did it. I did it to remind him I was flesh-and-blood real, standing right there. And yet when it was all over, cold, calculating, with eyes as old as time, mi primo still didn’t see me.

I probably would’ve told her too that I was far from the boy she raced dirt bikes with. But that other boy we knew from way back when? The thoughtful one with eyes as old as time, that boy was lost altogether.

And if I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve wept right along with her because that’s how much I missed him.

𐮛

When I could finally walk without getting dizzy, she took my hand and led me out into the backyard, my favorite smile blooming with the flowers on her red dress.

“Where are we going?”

“Tranquilita, mi Rafa. Vas a ver.”

Mi Rafa. I couldn’t remember when she started calling me that. But to belong in such a way? It hurt how much I never knew.

We continued past the yard, onto a dirt trail that led downhill until we came to the edge of a great, big, empty field. She glowed when she told me it was all mine.

“What’s this?”

“Es tuyo para hacerlo como que tu quieras.”

“No me chingues pues. Toda esta madre?”

She nodded, soft lips in a soft smile. And I couldn’t help but pick her up and swing her around, even as my shoulder screamed. She screamed too, like we were kids.

I set her back on the ground with a wince. “Ya tengo un plan.” When I put my arms down, the right one bent awkwardly to ease the throbbing in my shoulder. She took it, splinting my elbow against hers between us, and put her other arm around my waist. I grumbled but she shot me a familiar look that assassinated any and all will to resist.

“Leave it to you to overdo it after being out here no more than five minutes.”

I laughed. “You know me better than almost anyone. When have I ever made things easy for myself.”

“Sí, sí, Rafael Caro Quintero. A man of great passion, no sense, and odd enthusiasms. Like swinging grown women around with a shoulder no sturdier than ground beef.”

“Aahh, no me digas. You love it.”

“Entonces, cuál es tu plan?”

“Pues por supuesto, I’ll build a greenhouse. And when that’s done, I’ll start with sinsemilla.”

She smiled wryly, “Claaaro qué si. Because it hasn’t caused you enough trouble.”

“And then, I was thinking we could sell it.” She cocked an eyebrow up and pursed her lips, a look that said she thought I’d lost it. Again. “But instead of competing with the other plazas, we unite them, create una grande federación, controlando todo el mercado de mota.”

Her face relaxed and she chuckled darkly, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Ay, ya basta. I’m still fragile.”

“If that really is your plan, pues voy a romper tu otro hombro, hombre.”

I looked out at the black hills on the horizon, seeing María’s face in place of eso pendejo Calderoni. Savage brown eyes, enraged, beads of sweat dotting her perfect forehead.

“Si ese chota hubiera sido tan hermosa como tu?” I looked down at her and winked. “El dolor? No me valía madre. I wouldn’t felt a thing.”

She elbowed me again. “Ay, pinshe bruja, no mames.” No loyalty left to dam the tide, it was hard not to get carried away ‘cause I adored her more than the world.

“No mames tu, cabrón. So, c’mon. Let’s hear it. The real plan.”

“Sí, sí, bien.” With my arm still propped against hers, we started walking slowly along the edge of the field. “Esos manos,” I wagged my hands, “fueron hechas para cultivar sinsemilla, pues sí? Pero quien sabe pues? I can grow other things, coffee beans, cacao. Algo así.”

Maria looked down at the ground and shook her head. “Appropriately indulgent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chocolate, coffee, little addictions. Una sombra de las drogas, sí but always indulgent.”

“Pues sí, pues. Qué dijiste de mi? A man of odd enthusiasms.”

She leaned her head into the crook of my neck and squeezed me tight. I didn’t have to feel guilty. Sometimes I did anyway. Instincts of self-preservation were hard-earned-hard-lost in my line of work.

𐮛

She stopped crying at my bedside while I slept but sometimes, she still cried in the middle of the night. A vision in a white caftan, sleeveless shirt, linen pants. Chain-smoking La Llorona, haunting the steps of her own front porch. She usually sat in the spot where they left me that first day. We tried so hard to get the bloodstains off the wood but they’d have to be sanded and revarnished, which I promised I’d do. Except I hadn’t yet because I was scared when I did, I’d lose me for good.

My room was at the front of the house, so sometimes I’d turn over in bed, close my eyes, and listen while she swallowed the sadness back so hard, she could barely breathe. That conveyor belt of blue sky would pop in my head with her sobs like a soundtrack. The more nights we played out this routine, the more I knew we— she couldn’t go on like this. Too great a toll, pretending she wasn’t living with a dead man, hiding me from him and the whole world. None of it was any of mine, anyway.

So, it was the weirdest thing. When I’d finally decided to leave, that’s when it happened.

I went out and sat with her, which I never did. But it this time it was raining and she couldn’t catch her breath and I got scared. You could call it inconsolable but that’s too small. She didn’t stir when the screen door slammed or rush to hide the evidence. No doubt she knew the angry red splotches on her cheeks gave everything away.

I didn’t know what to do. But then I remembered what someone told me once: how comfort is like a kiss. No rulebook, but instinct. So, I did what I felt. I sat on the steps next to her, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee like we were two sides of the same seam because it seemed the thing to do. Splinting her to me to ease the pain like she did with mine.

We sat there like that. For a time.

I took a joint from my pocket and held out my hand. “Encendador, amor.”

Her hands were so cold, I nearly jumped when she passed it to me. She didn’t seem to notice as we sewed back together again, this time with her head on my shoulder. I lit up and tried to blink away the dark spot in my vision left by the hot embers at the end of the joint. Because it made me think of the metal rods they’d used. Hands tied up and hanging. Glowing red tips pressed to my sides.

I inhaled, then breathed her name out with smoke, “María.”

She sniffled, “Sí.”

Looking down next to me, I studied the bloodstains that dotted the wood, tracing them with my finger. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, dusting them. “Then I think I’ll go.”

In the crook of my neck, I felt her stiffen. “So that's how you’d repay me, then. Just leave.”

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

We sat there like that. Some more.

Until she jerked her head off my shoulder and looked at me, not bothering to wipe the new tears rimming her eyes. Her caftan slid off her shoulder. I pulled it back up and watched goosebumps spread across her collarbone, up her neck. On my hand, up my wrist, I got them too like they were contagious.

“Querida.” Confused, I swiped a tear from her cheek and held my thumb up, “No se trata de eso, o qué?”

She cocked her jaw to to one side, then looked away and scoffed. I loved the way she looked when she did that and hated when she did it to me.

“A día de hoy, estás una de las chingas personas más listos que he conocido en toda vida, mi Rafa. But sometimes.” She turned to look at me through half-lidded eyes, exhausted all of a sudden, “Sometimes you still see the world through the eyes of a boy I knew from way back when.”

Before I could ask what she meant or if she’d been reading my mind, her lips were on mine. And every nerve from my scalp to the heels of my feet detonated. My whole life flashed before my eyes. What I wanted most in the world, that I never had, because none of it was any of mine, anyway. That’s what she was supposed to be until I ended up in an early grave, right? Oh, right. Funny, since I actually had died. In a way.

Her cold hand wrapped around the back of my neck, lips and tongues ebbing, flowing against each other. My brain like it was knocking against my skull, mind screaming at me to stop and still I found my hand sliding around her waist. Perilous, rigid edge of her teeth on my lower lip made me hitch my breath, to prepare me for— She bit down hard. Hard enough to snap gravity and I dug the pads of my fingers into the small of her back to ground myself without it. Then I caught her lip in my teeth and nipped back. Two sides of the same seam. So, it must’ve been insanity itself that brought my hand to that satisfying spot where her neck met her jawline. And ripped it. Like an idiot.

And all I could choke out was, “Not … this … way.”

She was alert suddenly, startled by what I’d said. Or maybe the way I said it. Maybe trying to piece out the truth from the lie. Since I didn’t mean it really. Except I really did. With all of me. I wondered if she could see my mind vibrating, violently searching for an explanation, and that’s why she waited. Waiting while I malfunctioned.

“I can’t— the— why, how— please don’t— don’t make me what you use to get back at him.”

Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow. Looking at the little lines that creased her forehead and between her eyebrows, I wanted to take it all back, grab her, crush her into me. Probably before I was insane, I would’ve. But sanity got burnt up at seventy kilometers an hour and all that was left was the echo not like this, not like this, not like this over and over.

There was a look of awe on her face. And it gave me the strangest, most painful feeling. Like I wished a hole would rip open in the Earth, so we could jump in and entomb ourselves there for forever. Scar-tissue-thoughts I called those ‘cause they reminded me how my mind would probably never be like it was before. I tried not to get lost in that one like I did sometimes.

She cupped my face with one hand, and pulled my arm around her waist with the other, placing it in the same spot as before. Except for her hands, she felt warm against my chest in a way that made my stomach drop. The clouds parted a little, so I saw her eyes in the light of the moon. They looked lit with it, from the inside.

“What makes you think this is about him at all?” Then she kissed me again, and again.

We both knew it was a lie. But on nights like those and many others, nights when we got tangled like that, nights when we were both sides of the same seam, we pretended it wasn’t.

I had to stop pretending when she started taking his calls again.

𐮛

I don’t know how long it was. It must’ve been months, a year, maybe more. Long enough for me to forget I was dead. Time didn’t pass for me how it did before. No, that’s right. It must’ve been years because it was sometime around the election. I only knew he got into trouble with that old bat in Matamoros and in trouble with the politics. Again. Only this time he had no one else to feed the machine when it was done and they got what they needed. Yeah. That was it. Because he came back to Badiraguato, back home to lay low.

That was when he started showing up everywhere. He even came by the house one time.

There was something satisfying about the squeaking sound the hinges made when the backyard gate door swung open and closed. I liked to pull extra hard just to hear it and that day was no different. Nothing different about the way I skipped up the steps to the patio either. Or how I wiped my boots on the rug outside before I stepped in the house.

Before I could smell the food, I heard them in the kitchen, María chiding Abril.

“No, no, no, no. Nada de dulces antes de cenar.”

“Pero tengo haaaambre.”

“Después de tu tarea. Ándale. Dile a tu hermano también.”

I walked through the dining room to the kitchen and set a pile of herbs on the counter.

She smiled slyly at me, “Nunca paran de tragar.” Her face lit up when she saw the herbs. “Ah, fresh from the greenhouse. Didn’t think you’d have them this time.”

I caught her arm as she reached for them, and pulled her in for a kiss. She deepened it, sliding her hands from my forearms to my shoulders. She always held on longer than I expected. I’d never gotten used to it.

She pulled back and smiled. “After I add these, dinner’ll be ready.”

“Ah, for you, amor. I’ll wait forever.”

Her hands still around my neck, she threw her head back and rocked me forward a little. “If it weren’t for that diabolical smile of yours, that would be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard.”

“No te preocupes, mija.” I winked. “It’s the cheesiest I’ve ever used.”

She fiddled with the buttons at the top of my shirt, “Given what I know of your history, chulo,” then let go and turned to the stove, “that’s saying something.”

I grinned as I walked away, “What history?”

I headed to my bedroom to find her father looking out the window. He tried not to look embarrassed when I knocked on the open door.

“Lo siento, Rafa. I was just—” When he couldn’t find a proper excuse, he just sighed and raked his hand over is face, motioning out the window.

That’s when I saw his blue Buick idle up the driveway and park at the big metal gate. He didn’t get out right away. Just sort of sat there. So, her father and I just watched him, watching.

“Papá, ya quieres tu café? Papá!”

Neither of us answered her.

“Qué pasa?” Her determined footsteps got louder and louder, until she breezed into the room.

I didn’t bother trying to lie but he attempted a too-rushed, “Nada. No pasa nada.”

The joy of intrigue wiped from María’s face and now she just looked wary. “Qué estás mirando, entonces?”

Incredible how little I felt, holding back that curtain, staring at the outline of the man responsible for my death, while he sat in the driver’s seat of mi primo’s blue car. For a split second and all at once, I hated him because I missed him. It hurt how much I missed him. Then I hated me for missing him. And then it emptied to nothing. The oddest thing. Pretty fucking dumb too. I should’ve been afraid at least, considering what would happen if he or anyone knew I was alive. Back in that room with the metal prods, pain, shoulder popping, in-and-out, in-and-out, pain, dry mouth, wet concrete tongue dragging across the roof of it, pain and too much more.

I didn’t know how I felt, so I didn’t know how I wanted her to respond because it never mattered so much what I wanted. But there was no denying my heart seized up in my chest, the arteries all throttled, when I saw how hard her jaw clenched and watched her rage nearly warp the air around her. I supposed she’d have to have been hit in the head as many times as me, to feel the nothing I did.

The three of us stood motionless for a moment, until she sighed, turned around to look at the bedroom doorway, then back again to the window, before making a break for the front door. As she dashed down the still-stained front steps and marched across the courtyard to meet him at the gate, it hit me. He’d just got there. Hundreds of feet from us and not even out of the car yet, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. And even though I stood right there, next to her, she never once looked at me. Before walking out the door.

That was the end of pretending.

𐮛

I was putting up the fence around the greenhouse, hammering posts on the north side of the field, when she brought out iced tea and empañadas. It hadn’t happened in a long time but I kept seeing them today. Flashes of dirt road in the wood grain of the posts, rushing, dragging beneath me. I had to stop now-and-again to wipe them from my eyes. She told me I looked tired. When she could tell I was tired, she liked to give me things to dream about. Maybe that’s why she asked.

“Quieres venganza?”

I stopped hammering and stood up straight.

“Qué?”

“Supongo— lo que quieres decir es si piensas en la venganza?”

I swung the mallet over to rest on my good shoulder and looked out onto the horizon. Something about these sunsets at home made me want to hold her. And the wanting but not, made me want too much at once.

“Claro que no, querida. I'm just happy I’m not dead.”

She looked at me quizzically as she walked over. She set the cup and plate on the empty wood barrel next to me and picked a piece of hay from my hair.

What was she asking? And why? And why now? Too many tangled up questions and the words came tumbling out. No amount of grabbing empty air would shut them back up into the leaky box, my mind, where they belonged.

“Why? Do you?” Because I had stopped pretending but I didn’t know if I was I ready for her to. “Is that what this is?”

She leaned her head against one of the posts. Looking out into the red-orange sky, no hesitation, crisp like glass, “A veces.”

I suppose I knew. It never made sense for her to love me all of a sudden and for no good reason except I just showed up one day and needed her.

“But not usually.”

Windswept hair and brown eyes lit red by the horizon, downright dangerous was how she looked. The sky looked like hell and she looked at it like it was hers. María at her most dangerous gave El Jefe de Jefes a run for his money. I always figured that’s why he sent her away. And yet, just like me, she felt so much more for him than he deserved. How could she not, padre de sus hijos. And how could I expect her to let go when I couldn’t. Still, being reduced to a weapon was a familiar disappointment. It meant, like him, she couldn’t see me just then.

I grabbed an empañada and shoved it in my mouth, too fast, so she couldn’t see how hard my jaw was clenched. It burned my tongue and nearly cooked the back of my throat as I swallowed. Maybe this was my sign to run, take advantage of being dead, leave the boy and the girl I knew from way-back-when for good.

My throat, still with that numb, burnt feeling made my voice thick, so I didn’t sound so wounded. “Given the look on your face, I see you have.”

When she closed her eyes, I realized she was crying. I always thought it was weird how that happened sometimes when she was angry.

“He’s their father. But with how they left you, Rafa–” She pulled in a deep, shaky breath like preparing for confession, “I— I don’t know where to put it. All this rage.” Her hands balled into fists and she turned to look at me. “Did you know, when I can’t sleep, sometimes I count the ways he’s hurt us like counting sheep.”

Those few solitary tears sliding down her cheeks, catching at her chin, dripping off the edge of her jaw onto the collar of her shirt, I felt the urge to bottle them up and take them with me everywhere. Scar-tissue-thoughts. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, waiting to follow her lead. Just as I had in all things.

“And that’s when I think, yes. He was their father. But now? Ya no más que una puta infección, un enfermedad de la verga, polluting everything he touches.”

“Do you feel polluted?”

“Qué?” She gave me that look again, eyebrow cocked, like I was nuts.

I dropped the mallet, and walked over. Arms crossed, I rested them on the finished part of the fence and propped my chin up to look at her.

“It’s just what I said. ‘Cause well,” I tapped my temple with my finger, “I have some screws loose and– how did you put it? Ground beef for a shoulder?”

She cracked a small smile. Success.

“So, we both know I’m polluted. Owe that to myself more than anyone, most likely. But not all of it, true. So, do you feel he’s polluted you?” Then I jutted my chin up toward the house, “Them?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for the sun to slide behind the hilltops, casting her in new shades of purple. I was trying hard not to disappear like I did sometimes. She fixed her eyes on me just in time, swiping her cheeks quickly. “Ah, mi Rafa. It’s just what I said. Everything he touches.”

I asked it with no anger, no jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. “So why go, then?”

We’d never talked about it but she knew what I meant. She never lied to me, so wasn’t some big secret. She didn’t even try to hide the invitation. To some political three-ringed circus to celebrate the election. He was sending a private jet for her and everything. It was a big deal.

She considered the question for a long time, before whispering, “I have to know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m right to believe he can’t change.” She stepped away from the post and walked down the length of the fence, grazing her hand along it until it came to rest on my arm. Then she leaned in and kissed me. It didn’t feel like goodbye just yet. But we were getting there.

Then we stayed like that for a little while, forehead to forehead, eyes closed. In my head, I got the sensation like I was falling.

“And what more is there to lose when the damage is done, when we’re polluted already.”

I watched her disappear up the hill heading back to the house. I should’ve said it even if I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Unless you were dead, he’d find something to take. Because he only saw the world in terms of “more.” He polluted you with the prospect of “more.” It’s what made him so brilliant. And why he was all alone.

I grabbed the mallet to get to work again. But I was seeing the road in the grain of the wood still. It was coming at me, faster this time. Not flashes. I was there again. It had been a while but actually, I’d been back a few times since it happened.

In the beginning, I couldn’t stop living there. That’s why she started climbing into bed with me. To remind me I wasn’t there because I couldn’t be because no one could be in two places at once. She’d put her arm around me and I’d lean against her, unable to move except to jolt every time a rock kicked up and seared the back of my neck, gouged another welt in my shoulder blade, cracked against one of my elbows. My hands were always the worst, no circulation, bound numb and twisted in the ropes, mangled by the friction of the gravel they slid over. Before I blacked out, I was curious every time. How’d I get here? The answer in his voice, always so calm, and filled with love lost and sadness. Which made sense since he knew I was a lost cause.

Ya tienes más de que lo necesitas. Ya dejar de soñar, Rafael.

And maybe that was the whole problem.

𐮛

After that, I didn’t wait too much longer, a few weeks maybe. Then one morning, I got up at dawn and crept around the house, collecting my things. If I waited to say goodbye, I'd never leave. Because she wouldn’t want me to and it still wouldn’t be enough. She gave me plenty to dream about and I loved her for it and I loved her.

But I was awake now.

I was holding too much stuff, so I swung the door open too hard. Caught just before it slammed, and I sighed, chest full with disappointment and relief. I guided it gently to a close, then strode across the porch to the steps where I stopped short to look down at the clean, newly varnished planks where my blood used to be. It happened just like I thought. I lost me. I was gone. For some reason I thought of the story again, about how the world was made.**

On that back alley dirt road, laughing into the sky like I wasn’t dying, I’d finally worked out that I wasn’t Sibú, but I never decided who I was instead.

Was I the chorus of trampling demons and spirits? Was I Tapir? Or the trodden Earth Iriria? Or maybe, since I’d sort of died, I was thousands now buried, recompense, fodder in the machine of their vengeance. Or maybe I was nothing at all.

My heel hit the first step. I guess I had time now and the whole world to figure it out.

𐮛

And that's a wrrrrap! Sorry for all the Spanish. I was going to make a glossary but I already wrote the thing and it's 6,000 words give or take, so just gonna have to give it a good ole Goog. Thanks for reading.

**See here if you're interested in learning more about mesoamerican myths and legends or about the bribri tribe specifically, this is where I found the story.

[rebelrayne]

My amazing and gorgeous and super talented twin @csmicletters made this moodboard for my Henrik gift fic I wrote for @justtuesdays and I’m in love with it 😭 it’s so cute and it matched the story perfectly! Thank you bestie 🤍🤍🤍

You can read TAKE A RISK on AO3 or Tumblr 🤍

[atombombbibunny]

Daveed Diggs - Rafael Casal

* For Smut - under 18 DNI! I Know Series

Part 1

Part 2*

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I Knew Series (Unfinished)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Blurbs & Shorts & Prompts

Promise - Rafael x Reader

Always - Rafael x Reader

The Proposition - Rafael x Reader

[thats-jaywalking]

Inspo: @laurifern archiveofourown.org/works/44100204

{Hang in there, it’s a slow burn}

Ch 3 - Drowning in the Depths of Despair

I grieve, for you

You leave, me

So hard to move on

Still loving what's gone

Peter Gabriel - I Grieve

[cartoonfangirl1218]

A Very Mateo Navidad

Note: Don’t let the title fool you, I’m bringing the angst baby.

“C’mon, get moving!” A guard yelled impatiently from outside the house. 

7 year old Mateo’s small hands shook as his mother and he tried to act like it was a normal meal. As of they didn’t have any ornaments, presents and a tree stuffed in the closet behind junk chairs and other assorted items. 

The old holidays were forbidden. His mother had told him the queen that currently sat on the throne had taken it wrongly by force. She was evil and she knew she wasn’t beloved. That’s why she banned all things that could threaten her rule. Magic, wizards like his abuelo. Holidays like Navidad that people loved for the joy it brought yet only gave the queen a headache. 

His mother and a few other rebellious villagers continued to celebrate these traditions, teaching old ways, songs and dances. Most years they were able to secretly celebrate. Sometimes travelling to far villages where guards were scarce.

But this year, something was different. Marlena sent a message that guards were checking houses this year. His mom had hidden all the items once she had heard and told him to go on with his day, act normal. Now it was dinner and they had heard the harsh growl of Shuriki’s loyal elite guards. Screams, and the crunch of glass breaking underfoot from their neighbors. 

Mateo felt tears creeping up and the images in front of him started to get blurry as fears started to grip his mind. Of guards taking his mother away, of being thrown to the guard like his father all those years ago. Whom he never saw again. 

He swiped at his eyes quickly. Mami said to act normal and hope that the guards would be careless in searching or ignore them completely. 

But it was hard, and he was scared. 

Their kitchen was cheerful in the light. The colorful tiles that were worn with age and care, the delicious smell of empanadas permeated the air. But the coziness was tainted by the caphocanic noise. The screaming of a woman, the shouts and yells of the guard. 

“Worthless piece of trash. Let’s see if this has anything.” A guard snarled, pushing open their door with a bang. 

The face, white with anger, was contorted in meanness. Like a gargoyle from one of his picture books when his teachers taught him about the architecture of other kingdoms in comparison to Avalor’s. 

Another guard came in a bit more cautiously but he was clearly as rough as his partner when he strode straight to the closet and tried to force open the lock. 

Mateo huddled himself, wishing there was some way to blend in with the chair, hoping that this would all be over soon. Sometimes he wished his mother wasn’t so brave. Not when they could get caught. He just wanted to hide under the bed. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The guard cursed once he got the door open and a chair almost fell on top of him. He slammed the door back just in time and internally Mateo breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t curse in front of my son!” Rafa yelled as the other guard barged through the rst of the house. 

The one with the gargoyle face spat in her direction, prompting Mateo to bury his face in his mother’s arms. In the soft cotton, the sounds were muffled and he could pretend this was all faraway. Rafa lovingly rubbed small circles in his back but ater awhile, she released him and wiped his eyes. He hadn’t realized he was crying. 

The house was eerily quiet after the guard’s absence. 

“I’m sorry, Mami.” Mateo mumbled, tears still silently streaking down his face. He hated disappointing his mom, he tried so hard to be brave but. . 

“It’s okat, mi amor. You did your best. I’m sorry you had to see those-those pu-” she caught herself, “Those bad men. I’m sorry Navidad was like this.” 

Mateo went to his room. The painting of home with his momm and him in front of it was ripped. Drawers were open and clothes and wooden toys were strewn across the floor. 

They. . they had tossed his stuff like trash. Their voices, their meanness as they went through their house like it was a gutter and treated them like nuisances echoed in his head. They were the real monsters. They had ruined Navidad, they took it all away. 

Just like they took Papi. 

A long time ago he learned to cry silently because he didn’t want to worry his mom. He saw her worried eyes, always looking at him as if he might hurt himself. 

He hid under his blanket, just sobbing and waiting for the weight in his chest to unsettle itself, until he could breath normally without feelings of nausea. Once, he felt his throat not constrict, he left. 

He tiptoed as quietly as he could to his mom’s room. He was always welcome but sometimes he went his mother didn’t know. 

He ducked into her closet and opened a small wooden box that was hidden under silk dresses that were too fancy for daily use. 

The box had a crystal, an opaque chain with a shiny gold star. This was his father’s box. He knew that because the necklace read Nicholas y Rafa. These must have been gifts they shared. There was a small book about pocket size, with indecipherable writing. It didn’t look Avaloran though. Maybe a different language, he hoped he would get to learn it in school. 

He looked at the necklace again and sighed. He missed his Papi and nights like these were when he missed him the most. He’d ask stories about past Navidads and his mom would tell her of her childhood or the first Navidad she spent with him. But she’d never mention Papi in her stories. 

One time he had asked. It was a few months after Papi had been arrested and Mami was acting like everything was normal even though she never talked about him. It was as if he never existed. Mami said she still loved his dad. So much that it hurt. So please. . . 

Mateo never asked again. He saw the look in her eyes. A sort of sad emptiness. He didn’t want to see it again. His mom was always strong, but seeing her sad and hopeless scared him more than those soldiers. 

But still, he sometimes wished he could ask Mami about Papi. If only to know more about him. He had so few memories. 

The only one he had was on that night three years ago. 

It had been dark, and Mateo had been soundly asleep until he heard crashing and huffing when he realized his dad was crouched next to him with a hasty kiss to his head. There had been no moon that night so he didn’t see his dad’s face. It was all shadows like his hazy memories. 

Papi had left without a word and Mateo tried to follow. Mami came at that moment and told him to stay in his room. Her voice was different, she sounded scared and that made Mateo scared enough to stay in his room. 

But curiosity got hold of him when he heard new raised voices and his mother sobbing. He crept out of his room, his door unlocked in his Mami’s haste to reach her husband. 

Big, mena looking guard roughly picked up Papi from the floor after a man took his boot off his back. They were shoving him around like he was a criminal, hitting him against the wall and doorway. His dad hung his head like he was ashamed of himself and another guard held his mother back. She was yelling he wasn’t a rebel. They weren’t doing anything wrong. 

“That’s what they all say,” the guard muttered and without looking back, they all left. 

He never saw Papi again.

Mami didn’t know that he had seen. He didn’t tell her that he had disobeyed. But he had asked where Papi went and she said Papi wasn’t returning. No one could return from the Spirit World. 

She had that empty look in her eyes. . . 

Yet he wanted to know more. Why Papi and no one else’s dad in the village? Had he done something wrong? He wanted Papi to come back. Since Mami was so tough and brave, maybe she could get all the way to the Spirit World and bring Papi home? Most of all, he wanted to be like all the other kids that had two parents and knew if he looked more like one or the other. If he acted more like one or the other. 

Mateo didn’t feel like other kids. He wasn’t as good at sports, he preferred to read and learn more about magic that the abuelo he never met used to do. It sounded so cool and when Mami showed him abuelo’s tamborita, something inside him hummed. It felt right and when he told Mami about that feeling, she smiled worriedly and said he was special like his abuelo. But he was not allowed to do the magic. Maybe later. She’d tell him when. 

Maybe Papi had been a wizard too? 

“I love you Papi. I hope you’re having a good time in the Spirit World. I miss you.” 

He felt his finger scratch on something he hadn’t felt before on the necklace. 

He crawled out of the closet to stand by the window in the room. The moonlight cast some light on the item so he could read.

“Love is the magic within.” 

It faded quickly after. As if the moonlight was magic itself, revealing invisible letters. He held the necklace up to the light again and again to see if the message would return but it didn’t.

Maybe the message had been just for him? Maybe Papi was listening! 

He smiled, liking the idea of having a secret with Papi and put the necklace and box back where he ound it. 

His stomach growled and he went to the kitchen in hopes that Mami still had the stew they hadn’t touched out. 

But there was much more than that. Lights gleamed along the walls and curtains, a dozen candles lit the Christmas tree that Rafa had set up once more. The lack of ornaments on the tree created an unearthly image as he could barely see the pine from the lights. Under it were a few sparsely wrapped packages and a gingerbread house that caused Mateo’s stomach to grumble even louder. 

And there Mami was sitting under it all, “Matito! Feliz Navidad!” 

Mateo ran into his mother’s arms, his eyes alight with how quickly she set up the Navidad decorations again. That they still would be able to celebrate as before. 

“Thank you, Mami!” Mateo hugged her tighter and Rafa stroked his curls, “Anything for you, mi amor.” “I-I thought we weren’t going to do it at all. . . because of the guards?” Mateo questioned. 

Rafa nodded, “I was thinking if the same, but the guard left. Nothing happened and now we can go on as planned. Know why?” 

Mateo shook his head. “Because our familia was watching from the Spirit World. They help us when we need it. They always have our backs for even when they’re not here, they are. In spirit.” 

Mateo never forgot that. 

Years later, Mateo stepped back from under a sprig of mistletoe, his mind dazed with the sweetness and blissful feeling Elena had left him with after they kissed. Just like every time they kissed. 

Elena moved along with him, plastering her body against his and she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, never losing the warmth of her body. 

“Feliz Navida, mi amor,” She said with a loving look and a bit of a wicked glint in her eye, letting him know she had other presents in store for him. 

“Feliz Navidad,” Mateo answered, looking around the room at her family and their friends and his mom who was indiscreetly clapping for him before going to talk to Luisa. Probably about their upcoming nuptials that weren’t happening yet. It had only been a year of courting, but that was his mom, planning for the future. 

A happy future, Mateo knew. One where he felt like he could do anything with Elena by his side, and his family having his back. 

All of his family. 

“Feliz Navidad, Papi.”