#mexican reader

Alejandro Vargas

Dampness sticks to your skin. Moisture blooms on the aged concrete walls. Distantly, you hear water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet.

“It’s not much,” comes Alejandro’s voice as he enters the small room. “But you’re safe here.”

Here is a hole in the ground, just a rotten board covering a metal door in the earth, and a ladder leading to semi-darkness. The safe house Alejandro brought you to is completely remote, a sanctuary from the fallout following the assassination of the leader of the region’s cartel. A murder you helped execute with your red-painted lips.

Small and cramped, the lone room in the underground safehouse is sparse. There’s a worn mattress on a metal frame with a few blankets piled in the middle. In the corner is a faded wood bookcase minus a shelf and smelling of rot.

It’s only a few days.

Alejandro coughs, your gaze shifting from the bookcase to him.

“They don’t know it’s me?” you ask, voice cracking.

Alejandro’s mouth twitches. “Have a shower.” He jerks his head to the right. “Through that door.”

Frowning, you step forward. Alejandro shifts back as you peer out in the short hall. There’s a ladder, and two doors, one of which stands open. From it, you can just make out the edge of a cracked sink.

“Down here?”

Alejandro inclines his head. “Runs on a hand pump. Water won’t be warm. But it’ll do the job.” He reaches out, almost absently, lightly cradling your check. Gaze roaming, your savior frowns. “You’ll want the blood off you.”

Clarity comes, your arm rising, hand pressing to the front of your dress. It crackles and crunches, thick and hardened with blood. Not yours, but of the man that kept you, showed you off when his wife and kids weren’t around. Men with power love to parade their pretty things. Now, he’s composed of rotting flesh and splattered brain matter.

Alejandro’s hand drops to your elbow, “I’ll find you some clean clothes.”

Robotically nodding, you shuffle toward the bathroom. There’s a toilet, the cracked sink with a matching cracked mirror, and shower that’s just a off-pale green curtain, a showerhead, and a drain in the floor.

You don’t shut the door, stripping in full view, turning the crank in the wall. Behind the wall, a pipe rattles, and then clear cold water bursts from the showerhead. It pebbles your nipples, brings a shiver to your skin, but it’s washing away the blood, softening it until is runs down your body and circles the drain.

“I’ve brought—”

Alejandro’s voice falters. You glance over your shoulder, finding him standing in the doorway, gaze averted from your naked body. Too focused on removing the blood, you never shut the curtain.

He clears his throat. “Found a towel. Clean clothes.” Failing, Alejandro’s gaze shifts to your body, works his way up until he meets your eyes. Your savior glances away again. “Have a few storage boxes,” he explains, as if you wanted to know where he found them. “Smell a bit musty.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the offered towel as the water sputters out.

Alejandro walks in, bringing the towel closer. He stands there, stoic and observing, watching as you dry yourself and dress. The clothes don’t fit, too large, but it’ll do. It’s better than the blood.

“I’ll take the floor,” says Alejandro, backing away.

“No,” you say quickly, darting forward without thought, grasping Alejandro’s wrist.

He’s surprised as you, lips parting slightly as he takes you in. This isn’t a man you’ve just met. For months, Alejandro sought you out, stalking your every step, emerging from the shadows when prying eyes were absent. Always flirting, always insisting, negotiating to the point of exasperation. Fear came first, for your life and his, but you were never caught, not even gossiped about.

His favored would never. Not the gorgeous thing that sat in his lap. That spent more time with him than his wife and kids. That never had a choice to begin with because you don’t say no when a drug kingpin offers to pay for your abuela’s cancer treatment in exchange for being his mistress. The monster that paraded you in front of his men, fucked you in front of them, enjoyed coming inside you without birth control but never liked when you ended up pregnant. Those always had to go away. Can’t have bastard children running around.

Alejandro whispers your name the same way he did when he dragged you from the slaughterhouse. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. You, curled up on the ground, crying. And then Alejandro, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up and away.

“I don’t bite,” you smile.

Alejandro chuckles, the corner of his mouth quirking. “That’s a shame.”

Your stomach flips, squeezes. This is the Alejandro who pursued you, gained your trust, and helped you escape. The one who flirted with you, the man you eagerly awaited until his next appearance. Alone with him, hidden in this bunker, you’ve never felt safer.

“Alejandro,” you murmur, breathy and soft.

You place your hands on his chest, the rough fabric of his uniform scratching against your skin. Pressing in, you keep your gaze low and demure, focusing on a small strap near your right hand, toying with it but not loosening.

“We shouldn’t,” he rasps, needy.

His tone goes straight to your pussy. After meeting Alejandro, you thought of him during sex, picturing him over you, his hands on your body. It’s the only way you could show desire or orgasm, pretend that you were even remotely interested in the man paying for your abuela’s cancer treatment.

“But you want to,” you say, tugging on the strap. “And I want to.”

Let you choose this for yourself. Have some control for once.

Temptation is easy. Alejandro needs no more convincing.

He grasps the back of your neck, banishing separation. One arm snakes around your back, and your hands slide up to lock behind him. Months of tension evaporate in a second, morphing into desperation. Fresh clothes forgotten, Alejandro yanks them off you, baring your body. He drops to his knees, kissing your stomach and hips, spreading your thighs with his hand, placing kisses there, too, only to part your pussy with his fingers and give your clit a little lick.

Eyes rolling back, you fist his hair, hips arching upward into his mouth. Alejandro’s hands grasp your ass. The world tilts and you’re on your back, the worn mattress beneath you, and Alejandro’s head buried between your thighs.

Toes curling, everything in you sharpens. A hard swirl of his tongue and you’re already falling apart, choking out a sob. Years of faking it and the real thing slams you into the floor, crushing you under its fist.

“Wanted to be here forever,” groans Alejandro, lightly biting your inner thigh. He turns his head, bites the other, licks a slow line up your pussy. “Worth the fucking wait.”

Alejandro pushes up and over you, pinning you to the bed. Your mouths connect, tasting yourself and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Still in uniform, Alejandro is ceaseless, starved for your kisses, claiming you like he’s always owned you.

You spread your legs wider, reaching between your bodies. A large bulge meets your palm. Alejandro’s hips flex, rubbing his erection against your hand. Hunger chews beneath your skin in urgent need, wanting out, wanting Alejandro in. In similar desire, Alejandro places his hand over yours briefly before yanking at his zipper and button.

“Keep the uniform on,” you gasp, helping in easing his pants open, to admire the way his cock slides out, bouncing slightly as it’s released.

A haggard groan leaves his lips, dripping like honey as you explore him. He’s heavy and thick in your hand, warm and throbbing. Your legs fall wider, heels hooking behind his thighs to guide him forward. Alejandro’s forehead dips to rest against your own, his gaze glued to your face, watching every little movement, every expression.

You guide him in, heels digging, urging him deeper.

“I was always there,” he rasps, rocking his hips slowly, his cock slowly dragging in and out of your pussy. “Never alone.” His thrusts slowly increase. “You were never alone.”

The next thrust is hard. You gasp, lips parting. Alejandro smiles, cheeky and soft, still gazing into your eyes as you come undone.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Rudy’s heart is a bent branch close to snapping.

On the other side of the bed, the only bed, you unclip straps, removing gun holster and knives until you’re down to just your clothes. Rudy does the same but his fingers are sweaty, his gaze busy watching your slow removal, as if he’s not in the room at all.

He clears his throat, and you turn. “I can sleep in the chair,” he says flatly because it’s the only restraint he has.

You glance at the off-red armchair in the corner. “The cuck chair?”

“There’s only one bed.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That a problem?”

“Don’t start,” he breathes, removing his gun, checking the safety. If he unloads and loads and unloads it’ll keep him busy and not looking at you.

“Rudy.”

“Sergeant Major,” he corrects.

There needs to be distance. Alejandro did this on purpose, shoved the two of you together because he keeps asking why the two of you aren’t a thing anymore.

“Sergeant Major,” you repeat, softly, enunciating. Rudy surrenders, looking your way, only to find you topless, breasts on display. “My apologies.”

He glances away quickly, the back of his neck flaming. “How’s Rose?”

“Rose?” you snort. In his peripheral, you bend, removing your pants. You’re not wearing underwear. “On first name basis now?”

Rudy inhales sharply, exhaling slowly. “Your mother. How is she?”

“She asks about you. Wants to know why I’m not bringing that handsome man around anymore. She thinks I did something to run you off.” Rudy remains silent. “Did I?”

“No,” he finally says, removing his jacket and then his shirt.

You’re completely naked now and on display, not caring to cover yourself up. Rudy can’t help it, his dick is hard and throbbing, his mind racing toward old memories of you begging for him to fuck you.

“You shower first,” he grunts, undoing his belt buckle.

“There’s room for two.”

Rudy curses and turns on you, ready to swat the idea aside. Words escape him, leaving him stranded and staring, lips parting as he takes in the full view of you, and how you saunter closer.

Reaching for his buckle, you slide the belt from of the loops, dropping it the floor. “Or we can go to bed. Shower in the morning.”

Absently, he drags his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm, trailing back up to rest his hand between your breasts. Your heartbeat upticks, chest heaving slightly with anticipation. The feeling grows. Become bright and hot and red.

Grasping the backs of your thighs, Rudy lifts and dumps you onto the bed, following after. Pinning one leg to the bed with his hand, he lifts the other, locking it against him, your foot in the air. Rudy doesn’t need to touch to know how wet you are.

“How long were you thinking about me?” he growls, control slipping.

You fist the sheets, tilting your hips to give him better access. “The whole time,” you admit.

Rudy shouldn’t, but he does.

You welcome him without resistance. There’s no softness in him, only carnal need. He thrusts, your body bouncing but unable to go anywhere. His hold is powerful, vice-like. Rudy needs to fuck you, hard.

Head falling back, you moan, the end strangled as your pussy squeezes him. Rudy releases your thigh to palm one breast, teasing the nipple between his fingers.

“Tell your mamá she’ll see that handsome man again.”

Your lips form the start of words. Rudy silences them, crushes it into dust in the air. He brings your legs together, turning you onto your side. Bracing himself with his hands flat on the bed, his thrusts quicken. Your hand comes around his throat. Squeezes.

You felt nervous weirdly enough. This would be your first time even agreeing to collaborate with someone else and it's an all time new for you. You and Quen have been following each other for quite some time. You guys never texted, only comments left on each other posts was the farthest you've ever done. Even though this was an all-time new for you, pushing and challenging boundaries, you felt kinda glad this chance landed itself on your lap.

New opportunities dont come by every day, so you had to take this one.

Even though you don't know her, you can clearly tell she's a genuine person. Through this short interaction, you already felt so much better.

JANUARY 17— 7:30 AM

Today was the day you are going over Quen's to film for her youtube. You were excited and anxious at the same time. Quen sent you her address a bit ago after you both agreed on a time for you to get there. She lived around 2 hours max away from you, so you decided to leave a bit early to beat traffic. You both had decided to meet at 10:40 am as it was a good time for you and Quen.

Grabbing your keys, jacket, bag, and whatever necessities needed, you left your apartment and started heading towards your car. You started your car, hearing your engine roar into power, as you sat in the driver's seat. You had a Nissan 350z, one of your dream cars from youth that you were able to buy at a good price a couple years back. It had a black glossy exterior shining brightly and a matching black and red interior. Though you had one of your dream cars, your true dream car was a 1965 Ford Mustang.

Getting comfortable in your seat, you connect your phone to the aux to start playing your spotify playlist. The first song that came up was dive in by pierce the veil, one of your favorite songs. Singing along, you finally pulled out of the parking lot and headed your way toward Quen's address.

Traffic was quite forgiving today, as surprising as it is. It was a decently long drive but you felt glad that there was no heavy traffic on your way to Quen. Glad that you slept a bit longer yesterday, you were nearing her house and you can already tell its gorgeous.

it was a modern house, still, you can see Quen's personality seeping through.

Sending her a quick message about your arrival, you quickly found an empty parking space and parked. Grabbing your items, you made your way to her house.

It was cute, with pretty greenery outside, giving the house some personality. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you felt your nerves at an all-time max even though you knew that Quen was a nice and chill person. You felt your hands get clammy so you quickly wiped your hands on your pants. But as soon as you reached her doorstep, the door flew right open.

She yelled your name with a huge grin, quickly catching you in a hug.

"HEYYY! You're literally so much more gorgeous in person that I think I'm already in love with you", Quen said

You laugh, your smile matching hers "I think I should get on one knee already, I already love you."

You both laugh, she quickly moves out of the way and welcomes you in. The inside of her house was cute, with some nice vintage furniture and random pops of color here and there that highlighted her personality. There were silly pictures on the walls of her with friends or family, each sharing a big smile on their face. Seeing those photos puts a smile on your face.

"So, our set is all ready, I have all the cameras and audio prepared with the kitchen already set up with everything we need to cook. Do you want to start right now or do you want to relax for a bit, I know that you mentioned your car ride was pretty long." She said, moving her hands as she spoke. It seemed that was a habit of hers.

"I'm fine with recording right away" She nodded as she made her way to the kitchen with you following behind.

Once you made it to the kitchen, you saw how big it was. It was huge with white walls, wooden shelves with plants, and an assortment of tiny and cute decorations on them, the shelves were a nice shade of light gray that complemented well with the marble countertops. The ingredients needed lied on the countertops ready for use and the rest of the room was filled with cameras, lights, microphones, and people.

"Okay, so everything is set up as I said, my crews are here to make sure the audio is working and they're making sure the camera is good and shit." She was pointing at her crew and naming them, with them waving at you and you waving back with a smile.

Nodding, she continued, "We can start in 5, I'll do the intro and introduce you and what we're gonna do and will continue from there. You feeling alright? I know its your first collab and I would feel hella anxious if I was you right now."

"Okay that sounds good but yeah I feel a bit anxious right now, but I'll feel better as we film though, thanks for checking in." She nods, signaling her crew to get ready for filming as they all start their checking on the filming gear.

As soon as you knew it, 5 minutes had passed and filming started.

Quen positions herself in the middle of the kitchen island, arms stretched out. The person with the camera zoomed in into her as she began speaking, "Hey guys, welcome to this next episode of feeding starving celebrities, and today's guest is... Pierce the y/n!!!!" She yelled excitedly, with a huge smile on her face.

She raised her hands, signaling for the camera to pan to you. You smiled at her, your smile matching hers as you waved at the camera.

"hi"

"Okay so while she trying to act nonchalant, today I have a fat stack of questions to ask her while we make her favorite dishes. Any guesses on what were making?" She turned to you, waiting for your response.

"Umm... based on what ingredients are out, are we making sopes maybe? Hmmm, maybe agua de horchata too?" Your face was curious, hands on hips as you took a look at the variety of ingredients covering her marble counters.

"Okay, I see you!! You basically got it right but were also making jericallas, I know you're from Guadalajara and that's a very popular dessert there and you mentioned it as your favorite before. Sooo, that will be the menu for today! Lets hope and pray we don't burn down the kitchen!"

"Damn, you really did pull a Nardwuar on me, am I in one of his interviews?? Cut the cameras." You grin, successfully feeling less nervous.

She laughs, "Anyways, let's not expose my secrets. So we're gonna start with the sopes. I have the the masa, beans, meat, lettuce, cheese, and the cream." Nodding in confirmation, she continues.

"SO, step one, we mix the masa harina with salt and water," She says, grabbing the Maseca corn flour from behind her as well with the salt. "According to my directions, not really mine but from this website but let's pretend it's my recipe, we need 2 cups masa harina, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1 1/4 cups of water."

As Quen goes to fill a measuring cup with the needed amount of water, you grab a bowl big enough to mix the ingredients and start to pour out the needed measures of both the salt and flour. Pouring them into the bowl, Quen comes back with the needed water.

"Okay, so now, we pour the water in and mix with our hands. Do you wanna do that or do I do it?" She asks you.

"I got it, can you pour the water in though?"

She nods, pouring half of the water into the bowl so you can start mixing. Slowly, it starts becoming into the dough as Quen pours the rest into it. As you continue to mix it, you see Quen reach for her questions.

"So y/n, question numero uno is - wait actually its not really a question more of a statement. Anyways...", she looks into the second camera, giving it a mischievous glance that you didn't notice. "Look at this photo for me and tell me what you think about it. Does it trigger any feelings or memories?"

As you glance up from the bowl, Quen shows you the big notecard with her question written on it, but instead of a question, there's a photo.

"Oh my god" your jaw drops, "how the fuck did you find my middle school graduation photo. Dude... I swear to god do I need to put myself under witness protection, like I'm fearing for my life right now how did you actually find that. This is like lost footage." You start looking around as if you were being watched to further add to your bit.

Quen laughs loudly, doubling over as she shows the camera your middle school graduation photo. You had a heavy side bang, a terrible sense of fashion as if you just walked out of hot topic and Spencer at the same time, and heavy eyeliner.

"Dude, like seriously, I don't know how I was allowed to walk out of my house looking like that. I still feel the eyeliner in my eyes from the amount of times I messed up my eyeliner and ended up poking my eyes."

"STOP, you do NOT look that bad queen, man, have you seen how I looked like when I was doing Vine?" You laugh along with Quen, still wondering how she even got that photo.

"Dude this is actually insane, I was expecting some icebreaker type of questions but instead we just dove straight into it??? Oh my god. This is making me nervous for the rest of my questions."

The rest of the time goes on well, Quen asks some questions here and there while you both continue making the sopes. It was going pretty good, you started to cook the beans to place onto the cooked sopes while Quen started to work on the agua de horchata.

As you finished heating up the beans while Quen was talking to you, she suddenly cut herself off her sentence.

"You know what song has been stuck in my head as of recently?" You hum, asking her to continue as you started to spread the beans on each sope. "You know the song with Jorjiana and GloRilla? ILBB2?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it"

"So, the part thats stuck in my head is the one that goes like" Quen clears her throat, "They say shooters shoot... Duke Dennis, whats up with you?"

Before you can reply, she hits you with another line.

"SO WHO YOU TRYNNA SHOOT AT? WHOS YOUR YOUTUBE CRUSH??" She squeals, showing off her card with her question reading "who’s your youtube crush", pride evident on her face at how smoothly she was able to ask this.

Most people wouldve dodged the question, claiming it to be too risky for them to answer or either they were too scared to answer it. They would've played it cool, given a safe answer.

But you? You doubled down.

So, with all the confidence you could muster, you leaned over the kitchen counter, looking deadstraight into the camera in font of you, and said, "Hamzah, whats up with you?"

Quen lost her mind, squealing as she look at you in disbelief.

She yelled your name, "HAMZAH? As in hamzahthefantastic? The guy who's a part of slushy noobz?" Her eyes were wide as you nodded to her question.

"Girl I strive to be as bold as you, but as much as I strive to be as bold as you, I pray for you as well cause damn, may those fan girls not release their wrath on you."

"Anyways, back on topic, how do you know about Hamzah?" Quen asks you as she starts to drain the horchata she made in the blender into a pitcher, making sure to strain it.

You were finishing up the toppings on each sope, veggies, Oaxaca cheese, and crema. "I've seen some clips of both Martin and Hamzah on tik tok. I like them both, they're funny and seem like genuine people. I've seen Hamzah though and just thought he was cute, especially when he wasn't bald but he's still cute without hair." You shrug as Quen laughs.

The rest of the video goes well, you both finished making the sopes and horchata and moved on to making the jericallas which were simple enough and easier with two people. Quen kept on asking you questions with you answered them, you both were a good duo.

Laughs and screams were shared between you both as you conversed, your face hurt with how much you were smiling all throughout the hour and more of filming.

You finally finished making all the food and tried it together. It was really good in your opinion and Quens. Finally filming the outro and everything needed, at around 12:50 you were done with filming and cleaning up everything.

Since it was still bright out, you and Quen decided to hang out since both of your schedules were empty. It was a great night, full of laughter and meaningful conversations. Your bond with Quen was strong and you were glad you accepted her collaboration.

You had gotten home at 7:46 PM, finally worn out with all the action that you just headed straight into the shower and took a very deserved hot shower. You successfully ended your day at 10:26 PM and decided to treat yourself to early sleep.

PREVIOUS | SERIES LIST | FORWARD

Michael came from a deeply religious background and often described himself as an old-fashioned gentleman. So after he proposed, following two years of the sweetest relationship, during which you had remained firmly by his side through what the media called the peak of his career, it came as no surprise that the subject of marriage had already been discussed countless times between the two of you and with both of your families.

You had always dreamed of getting married. Not so much because of the ceremony itself, but because you had always imagined yourself walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, surrounded by your closest friends as bridesmaids. You had spent your entire life attending weddings, laughing, dancing, and shamelessly fighting for the bouquet every single time.

For Michael, however, marriage carried a much deeper meaning. It was a sacred commitment before God, something he had been taught to value since childhood.

Although the two of you came from different religious backgrounds; you being Catholic and Michael having been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, you never let faith become something that divided you. Instead, it became another conversation built on love, respect, and compromise.

In the end, you both agreed to have a simple ceremony that honored what mattered most to each of you. It wasn't about choosing one religion over the other; it was about making vows to the person you loved. Your families understood, and so did the two of you.

The ceremony was beautiful, simple, intimate, and overflowing with love. There wasn't a single dry eye among the guests, especially not the mothers and sisters, who had cried through almost the entire ceremony.

Michael had imagined this day a thousand different ways, but nothing could have prepared him for how breathtaking you looked walking toward him in your wedding dress.

Determined to make the day even more special, Michael had spent weeks practicing part of his vows in Spanish. The words weren't perfect, and his accent still gave him away, but he spoke them with sincerity, courage, and love. Hearing himself speak the first language of the woman he loved filled him with quiet pride, and seeing your smile afterward made every hour of practice worth it.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

"I'll see you later, alright, husband?" you smiled, lifting the hem of your gown as you tried to slip away from Michael's clingy embrace.

"What? No, wait." He immediately wrapped his arms around your waist again, resting his forehead against yours. "Where do you think my beautiful wife is going?"

You laughed softly, taking a small step back.

"I have to change my dress... and my shoes."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"You're changing?" His fingertips gently brushed over the delicate fabric of your gown. "But you look so beautiful in this dress. I wanted to keep seeing you in white."

"I'll still be wearing white, Mickey," you chuckled, looping your arms around his neck. "I'm just changing because I don't want to ruin this one."

"My love..." he murmured, finally letting his hands settle around your waist. "Why would you ruin it? We're just going to the reception your parents organized."

A mischievous smile slowly spread across your face.

"Oh..." you dragged out the word. "Right... you weren't there for my quinceañera."

Michael blinked.

"What?"

─────────────────────────────────────────────

Marlon stared at the venue in silence.

Randy rested a hand on his hip, looking utterly defeated.

"Michael..." He glanced over at his older brother before shielding his eyes with one hand, trying to read his expression better. "This is practically a ranch."

Michael, however, could only open and close his mouth like a fish out of water.

Marlon looked over at him.

"...You didn't know?" he asked casually.

Michael threw both hands into the air, gesturing toward the enormous hacienda. Workers rushed around setting up decorations while the band tested the speakers, filling the entire property with music and feedback.

"My in-laws told me they wanted to pay for the reception," Michael said slowly. "I just... assumed they wouldn't do something this..."

He searched desperately for the right word.

"...big."

Randy laughed.

"Michael... they're (Your ethnicity). What exactly were you expecting?"

"And you're marrying their only daughter," Marlon added with a grin, already walking toward the back of the truck. "Come on, genius."

He opened the truck doors.

"...Is this beer?" Randy frowned at the stacks of glass bottles. "They do know some of us don't drink, right?"

Michael walked over and grabbed one of the crates.

"They know," he answered with a smile. "This is just... their side of the family."

Randy looked back at the endless rows of beer.

"It's a lot of beer, I know." Marlon muttered to himself.

He picked up another crate and nudged Michael with his shoulder.

"You seriously didn't expect this?"

"I promise you, I didn't." Michael laughed as they walked inside. The moment he stepped into the reception hall, he froze again.

Dozens upon dozens of beautifully decorated tables stretched across the room. White flowers covered nearly every surface, waiters hurried in every direction, and somewhere in the distance someone yelled in Spanish.

"I was expecting..." Michael shook his head, still smiling in disbelief. "...a ballroom. Maybe forty... seventy people at most."

After wandering around for some minutes, they finally found the kitchen and set the beer crates down.

Michael leaned against one of the clay counters with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm supposed to be the groom." He looked around. "Why am I unloading beer?"

Marlon snorted as he grabbed the truck keys.

"Because you're still on the little brothers' team."

He pointed between Michael and Randy.

"You two stay here. I'm bringing the truck closer. Jer did said we're making two trips."

"Two trips? For alcohol? Man, the food hasn't even arrived yet." Randy repeated.

Marlon only smirked and then walked out,

Randy slowly turned toward Michael.

The two brothers remaining exchanged looks.

"...How many people did your wife invite?"

Michael rubbed the back of his neck.

"I... thought it was just her parents' friends."

From outside, another truck could already be heard pulling into the driveway.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

After changing out of the wedding gown you dreamed of passing down to your future daughter; into a lighter dress that still kept the same bridal elegance, the Jackson brothers had finally finished unloading what felt like an endless amount of food and drinks.

You slipped your arm around Janet's shoulders as she happily took another bite of a buñuelo.

"So?" you asked with a smile. "Do you like them? My mom usually only makes these around Christmas, but after you told me how much you loved them, I asked her to make a batch just for today."

You gently brushed a curl away from her face before cupping her cheek affectionately. Out of all Michael's siblings, Janet had stolen your heart the fastest.

Careful not to get powdered sugar on your dress, Janet leaned into your side instead of hugging you properly.

"Oh, I love you so much!" she exclaimed dramatically. "If my brother wasn't already married to you, I'd make him marry you right now."

You laughed, gently squeezing her shoulders.

"Oh, JJ..." you teased. "You're too sweet."

Janet grinned before taking another bite of her buñuelo.

"Oh! I almost forgot." You pointed toward the courtyard. "Michael insisted on bringing a piñata, so I expect you to be front and center when it's time."

Janet immediately stopped chewing.

"...Is Michael participating?"

You couldn't hold back your laughter.

"We're making Jackie hold him...I make no promises."

You shrugged innocently.

─────────────────────────────────────────────The mariachi had finally arrived.

More than entertainment for the wedding, the serenade was your father's final gift to you, a farewell from a father to his only daughter, quietly accepting that you were beginning a family of your own, far from the home where he had watched you grow up.

By the time your father kissed your forehead and placed your hand back into Michael's, tears were already streaming down your face.

Michael gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumb before pulling you into his arms as the musicians began the newlyweds' first dance.

For a few precious moments, the world seemed to disappear.

Michael understood the significance of what had just happened. Growing up with so many brothers and sisters had never made him insensitive to moments like these. If anything, watching your father entrust his only daughter to him filled his heart with both tenderness and a quiet sense of longing.

Around you, conversations faded into whispers as everyone watched the two of you sway together. It almost looked effortless, as if you'd been dancing to the same rhythm your entire lives. No one doubted the love that existed between you.

The mariachi soon transitioned into another song.

Michael recognized the melody almost immediately.

"I've heard this one before," he murmured, smiling. "Your parents always play it on your birthday."

"They do."

He rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Would you translate it for me? I'd love to know what it's saying."

Your smile softened.

As you leaned closer so only he could hear.

"It's about a beautiful love that God has sent me," you said gently, your voice trembling just a little, "a love that feels destined… like it was meant to belong only to me."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, trying not to cry too much on a day that was supposed to be nothing but joy.

"A precious gift that came from heaven," you continued softly, "one that has filled my life with happiness and love."

Michael wasn't sure what captivated him more: the mariachi's beautiful harmonies or the way your voice drifted effortlessly between Spanish and English, carefully choosing words that carried the same warmth as the original lyrics.

He could have listened to you forever.

When the next song began, you smiled again.

"This one's called Si Nos Dejan," you whispered.

"It's about dreaming of a future together... hoping that, as long as life allows it, two people can build a beautiful life side by side. A home. A family. A lifetime of loving each other."

Michael's eyes never left yours.

"...Then it's our song," he said quietly.

You smiled through fresh tears.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

The dance floor had somehow become even more crowded.

The mariachi had long since given way to a lively band, and before the Jackson family knew what was happening, they had been pulled into the middle of the celebration by a group of your cousins.

"No, no, no!" one of your older cousins laughed, clapping his hands. "You're counting too much! Stop thinking!"

"I'm trying!" Randy protested as he nearly stepped on someone's boot.

"You've got rhythm," another cousin insisted. "Just... not this rhythm."

A few feet away, Jermaine was attempting to follow the steps with Janet. She was laughing so hard she could barely stay on beat.

"Are you sure this is how we're supposed to dance?" she asked between giggles.

Jermaine glanced across the dance floor at your parents, who were dancing effortlessly.

"I mean... that's how Michael's in-laws are doing it, so... I guess?" he replied with a shrug.

Janet burst into another fit of laughter.

Nearby, Katherine couldn't stop smiling. Watching the sons she had raised through years of rehearsals and world tours struggle to learn a few traditional Mexican dance steps was a sight she never thought she'd see.

Over the years, you had taught your brothers-in-law a few dances here and there, but Mexico's repertoire was so vast that there always seemed to be something new for them to learn.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the dance floor...

Michael was taking the lesson very seriously.

"One, two..."

"No."

"...Three?"

"No."

Your cousin sighed dramatically before grabbing Michael by the shoulders.

"Don't count," he said. "Just follow the music."

Michael blinked.

"...Follow it?"

"Sí."

He looked completely unconvinced.

"But how do I know when I'm doing it right?"

"You don't," your cousin shrugged. "You just dance. You feel it. It's not that different from disco."

Around them, the crowd started clapping to keep the energy going.

Your cousin nodded toward the dance floor.

A few songs later...

Something finally clicked.

Michael's shoulders slowly relaxed.

His feet stopped searching for a perfect rhythm and simply moved with the music instead of against it.

A soft smile formed on his face as he watched you dancing with Rebbie and La Toya, completely in your element, laughing as the music carried you through the crowd.

He liked this.

This freedom.

This chaos.

"There you go!" your cousin cheered.

"I did it?" Michael asked, almost surprised.

"You did it!"

Michael's smile spread even wider.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

LaToya slipped away from the chaotic battlefield of cousins, both yours and Michael’s, finally retreating to where her brothers were sitting.

"This is wild," she said, fixing her hair as she settled back into her chair. "I can’t believe Janet is really there."

"If you think this is wild," Michael replied with a small laugh, taking a sip of his orange soda, "you should see the piñata. It’s incredible. My in-laws had it made in the town they’re from. Most of the sweets inside are from there."

Tito perked up immediately.

"Does it have those little sugar-covered tamarind balls?"

"And the peanut lollipops, uncle?" Taj added excitedly.

"Yes, yes," Michael nodded, smiling. "I made sure they added extra Mexican sweets."

Marlon frowned slightly, leaning forward.

"Didn’t you say the piñata was for children’s parties and not weddings?"

He looked at his younger brother, clearly amused.

Michael smirked.

"Oh, shut it, schmuck. You’re just jealous you didn’t have a piñata at your wedding."

─────────────────────────────────────────────

It was far too late.

You had already sent your cousins to hold the piñata so that the entire Jackson family could take turns holding your husband in place. But the moment Randy; who had successfully pulled the “I’m the brother of the groom” card, stepped up, everything escalated.

Before anyone could react properly, you saw Michael’s loafers flying through the air.

You raised your hands in shock and turned toward your in-laws.

Tito was sending his sons to collect the candies that had scattered the farthest, declaring that those were the “best ones” since no one else had grabbed them yet. Jackie turned toward you with an apologetic expression.

“I really tried, hon… he’s fast,” he said, shaking his head.

But you weren’t even listening anymore.

Your face slowly shifted as you watched Michael, now fully committed, trying to discreetly hide handfuls of candy underneath his body like a protective shield.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

"Then you’ll be first, then you" Michael explained happily, gesturing with his hands as if he were directing a stage production. "And then the two of you in the middle… and you at the end. We’ll guide everyone toward the arch, where my beautiful wife and I will be waiting. Just… don’t push me, guys. I’m serious, it’s my wedding day."

Jermaine scratched his eyebrow, visibly confused.

“Sorry, I lost you… what exactly is this called again, and what are we doing?”

“Oh come on, man.”

“Maine, it’s not that hard.”

“After hours of rehearsal and you still—”

A chorus of groans erupted from the brothers.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Michael said quickly, raising his hands. “It’s called La víbora de la mar. I’ll explain it again.”

Marlon stepped forward slightly, taking charge.

“We’re going to pull a line of people through. I’ll lead, Jackie’s next, then Randy, then Tito. You just make sure no one gets left behind. And I’ve got to pull hard, so stay with the rhythm.”

Jermaine frowned even deeper.

“This is supposed to be a fun game-dance?”

Jackie shot him a sharp look before Michael could even react, a clear don’t make this harder than it is, boy.

“Oh, yeah,” Jermaine continued quickly, forcing a smile. “And Marlon will guide everyone through the arch… which is you and your wife.”

He stared at Michael for a second, clearly terrified of messing it up, then forced a smile.

Michael, however, just smiled brightly, completely unaware of the silent panic around him, simply happy that his family was participating so eagerly.

“And be careful with Janet, alright?” he added casually.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

People had already started going through second rounds of food when you and Michael finally decided to cut the huge cake together.

He had of course already seen it from a distance; it was beautiful, but up close he started noticing all the details. It was all white, but in a soft pearly tone, elegant and almost glowing under the lights. On top stood a bride and groom figurine.

Michael leaned in and suddenly laughed.

"He has my glittery socks?" he asked, laughing harder now. "Is that supposed to be me with my yellow eyes?"

"Mhm," you teased, wrapping your arm around his back. "You're in the middle of your transformation."

After cutting the cake and tasting it, Michael leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before taking a bite of frosting from his spoon.

He hesitated for a second, then smiled.

"Can I put a little on your nose?" he asked softly. "You can do it to me too if you want… I just don't want to mess up your makeup."

"Oh, of course, my love," you laughed. "Of course. I'll just ask Toya and Rebbie for help later."

You both took a bit of frosting on your spoons, counted down together, and at three, smeared it onto each other's faces at the same time.

You both burst into laughter, leaning in for a slow, sweet kiss.

The moment you separated, Marlon suddenly appeared with a large camera, stepping right into your space.

You could feel the hot flash light almost melting the frosting on your cheeks.

"Another kiss, love doves!" he insisted, filming.

Michael and you laughed again, leaning in without hesitation and sharing another slow, affectionate kiss for the camera.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

"You all spent nights, full night at Studio 54," you said, crossing your arms as the cool night breeze hit your skin.

Marlon opened and closed his mouth.

"Well… an entire night? Not really. Over seven hours, yes," he corrected himself with a small smile.

"Woman, we’ve been carrying heavy stuff and we’ve been here since twelve p.m." Randy complained, stretching his arms. Everyone looked exhausted, like they had just finished a concert instead of a wedding.

Jackie and Jermaine had already taken off their shoes, while Marlon and Tito had loosened their ties long ago.

"Alright, if you guys need to sleep, you can go," you said softly. "I’m serious. I think I even saw Sig and Tj asleep on a couple of chairs."

"How long is this party going to last?" Jackie asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Until one," you said confidently.

Jackie frowned.

"It’s four in the morning."

"Oh no, I mean… one in the afternoon," you quickly corrected, laughing nervously. "We still have to… you know… return the hacienda clean by then."

Randy grabbed his drink and sighed.

"I’ll take Mom and the girls home," he said, pulling you into a quick hug. "See you later, Mrs. Jackson. Mike got overwhelmed earlier, he’s just by the fountain."

He waved at the rest of his brothers and headed back inside toward their mother and sisters.

You said your goodbyes, promising you’d see them soon, before walking toward the garden.

Where the fountain was glowing under the moonlight.

"Is that the most beautiful man in the world?" you said as soon as you saw Michael.

He let out a soft breath, shaking his head.

"The most gorgeous and sexy man on Earth?" you teased, walking closer.

"Oh, stop it," he murmured, blushing as he opened his arms for you.

"The man of my dreams… my reason for everything… the air in my lungs…" you said softly, closing the distance between you. "El amor de mi vida."

"That sounds more accurate," Michael whispered, smiling against your words.

You shook your head slightly, still not agreeing.

"You said you’d tell me if everything was too much," you said, gently tucking a curl behind his ear.

Michael exhaled, his gaze never leaving yours.

"It was a lot," he admitted. "But not in a bad way… just… a lot. I just needed a moment."

You nodded softly, understanding.

He kept looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his deep brown eyes.

You leaned in slowly and kissed him deep, quiet, and full of everything the night had been, an euphoric sensation, excitement, and some final notes of exhaustion. To which Michael ran his hands over your body and held you so you could sit on his lap, all without breaking the kiss.

You kept smiling throughout the kiss. Once in your husband's lap, your right hand went to caress his curly hair; you lifted it a little so the night breeze could cool his neck.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his and tilted your head ever so slightly, admiring him with nothing but tenderness in your eyes.

Michael let out a bashful giggle, his cheeks flushed pink. Even then, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

"We're married," he whispered breathlessly, as though saying the words aloud might finally convince him they were real.

"We are."

"We'll be together... until death do us part."

"We will," you promised softly.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke again.

The music from the reception drifted faintly across the gardens, blending with the sound of the fountain beside you.

All that existed was you, your husband, and the quiet certainty that, after years of dreaming about this day, you had finally found your forever.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

By the time everyone was eating recalentado for what felt like the fourth time around eight in the morning, and Michael was absentmindedly carrying your shoes in one hand, you knew the celebration was finally coming to an end.

At that point, it was something you were both quietly looking forward to.

You watched your husband with sleepy amusement.

He was staring into space, completely lost in thought, while holding a plate of rice and mole. In his other hand was a tortilla that, judging by how long he'd been holding it, wasn't even warm anymore.

You let out a yawn.

"Ready to go?" you asked, sliding your legs off his lap.

"Yes, my love," he murmured, still staring into the distance.

A second later, he blinked, finally coming back to reality.

"We still have to clean, right?"

"Honey, no," you chuckled, rubbing one of your tired eyes as another yawn escaped you. "It's our wedding, remember? The people who left earlier are coming back to help my family clean everything up. It's... kind of like working in shifts."

You smiled sleepily.

"I've never really understood how it works either."

Michael nodded slowly before setting his plate aside and getting to his feet.

With one last deep breath, the two of you began making your rounds.

The lively music had long since faded into soft conversations. Only your closest family remained, scattered around the hacienda; some finishing another plate of recalentado, others already folding chairs or stacking empty tables.

One by one, you hugged everyone goodbye.

Your cousins teased Michael one last time, promising they would teach him "real" Mexican dance moves at the next family gathering. Your aunts kissed both of your cheeks, slipping blessings, prayers, and little pieces of marriage advice into every embrace.

Your uncles shook Michael's hand before pulling him into warm hugs, welcoming him into the family all over again.

"You're one of us now, mijo."

Michael smiled every single time.

"I know," he replied sincerely. "Thank you."

By the time you reached your parents, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.

Without saying a word, your mother cupped your face in both hands.

She smiled through watery eyes before gently brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your forehead.

"Mi niña bella..." she whispered.

You immediately hugged her.

"I know," you laughed quietly, already crying again.

She held you for a long moment before placing one hand over yours and the other over Michael's.

"Take care of each other," she said softly. "Love one another on the easy days... and choose each other even on the difficult ones."

Michael nodded without hesitation.

"I will."

"No..." Your mother smiled warmly. "Both of you."

You and Michael looked at each other before answering together.

"We will."

Your mother gently traced the sign of the cross over both of you before kissing each of your foreheads.

"May God bless your marriage," she whispered. "May he fill your home with love, patience, laughter... and many reasons to come back home."

Neither of you managed to hold back your tears.

As you walked toward the car hand in hand, the first rays of morning sunlight finally stretched across the hacienda.

Your wedding day had come to an end.

Your marriage had just begun.

─────────────────────────────────────────────

You let out a small yelp when, without any warning, Michael swept you off your feet.

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as a sleepy laugh escaped your lips.

"Aren't you exhausted?" you asked, smiling up at him.

"I'm tired," he admitted with a grin, carefully adjusting you in his arms. "But isn't it tradition for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold?"

"It is," you giggled. "I just didn't think you'd actually do it after being awake for almost twenty four hours."

"I've been waiting to do this all day."

His words made you smile even wider.

With slow, careful steps, he carried you across the doorway of the house that, after months of planning and dreaming, would finally become your home together.

The silence felt almost surreal.

Only hours ago you had been surrounded by hundreds of voices, mariachi music, laughter, children running everywhere, and relatives calling your names from every direction.

Now...

It was just the two of you.

Michael looked around the living room, then toward the kitchen, admiring everything your families had prepared before the wedding.

"Mother said everything was ready for us," he said quietly, almost in disbelief.

He turned to you with the same bright smile he'd worn all day.

"Would you like a tour?"

You let out another tired laugh and shook your head.

"Not really, my beloved. You can put me down, and we can—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Michael had already started climbing the stairs.

Another laugh escaped you as you rested your head against his shoulder.

"You really aren't listening to me today."

"Nope."

"I noticed."

"And besides..." he replied with a playful smile, "...our bedroom is part of the tour."

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, both of you were smiling despite the exhaustion threatening to pull your eyelids shut.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder before walking inside.

Michael gently lowered you onto the bed as though you were made of glass before lying down beside you with a content sigh.

Neither of you spoke.

Just the peaceful sound of your breathing, side by side, in the home where your new life together had finally begun.

Michael's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink as he looked over at you lying beside him, still looking just as beautiful as you had the previous morning.

He couldn't help remembering all the teasing he'd endured over the past few weeks.

His brothers.

His cousins.

Even a few friends.

They had all insisted that, as a newlywed husband, he had... certain expectations to live up to.

He glanced toward the bedroom window.

To be fair...

It was already the afternoon.

"Would you..." he began softly.

Before he could finish, a long yawn escaped you.

He waited patiently until you were done, smiling to himself.

You rubbed your temple, finally relieved that the pounding headache from hours of loud music had begun to fade.

"I'm really not in the mood, my love," you admitted with an apologetic smile. "I think I'm too tired to even keep my eyes open."

A brief silence filled the room.

"...Oh, thank God," Michael sighed with relief.

You blinked.

"...What?"

He laughed sheepishly, covering his face for a second.

"I mean—"

"You don't have to explain," you giggled.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Still blushing, he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you close until your head rested comfortably against his chest.

"I just want to sleep," he whispered.

"Me too."

Within minutes, the room fell silent again.

The newlyweds who had spent months planning the perfect wedding, celebrated with hundreds of guests until sunrise, and danced almost the entire night...

Fell asleep in each other's arms before they could even finish their conversation.

🤍a/n: Guys... I really tried to make this part a little more ambiguous so it could fit a wider Hispanic/Latino reader.

I really did.

But I just couldn't help myself. 😭

I grew up surrounded by Mexican weddings, traditions, and family gatherings, so a lot of those little details naturally found their way into the story. I know not every Hispanic family celebrates the same way, but I truly hope some of these moments still felt familiar or at least fun to read.

This chapter was honestly one of my favorites to write. Seeing Michael experience all these traditions for the first time, watching the Jackson family get completely thrown into the chaos of a Mexican wedding, and imagining all the little family moments made me smile the entire time I was writing.

I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thank you so much for all the love you've shown this series. Every comment, reblog, and message genuinely makes my day. 🤍

And if you have any headcanons or traditions you think Michael would've loved experiencing, please tell me! I'd love to read them.

See you in the next part. 🕊️

Y/N made it back to the hotel while Charles was in the track for free practice. She placed the table cloth over the hotel room desk, added the papel picado and marigold before placing the photos in the place card holder. There was one of her aunt that died from cancer, her grandpa that died of old age, Jules, and Hervé. Onces the little altar was set up exactly how she wanted it, she placed the candles near their photos and added the sugar skulls and alebrijes wherever there was an empty space.

Though Y/N wasn’t in Mexico anymore, there are Mexican restaurants in Brazil and she ordered her aunt’s and grandpa’s favorite food plus pan de muerto to have it delivered to the hotel. There was a knock on the door and when Y/N opened it, expecting to see a hotel employee with Mexican food, she saw her boyfriend.

“Muñeco, i thought you would still be in the track.” Y/N said, charles leaned in and kissed Y/N on the cheek before walking into their hotel room.

“We finished, what’s all this?” Charles asked, pointing to the table.

“Right. Well, today is day of the dead and usually I’m in my apartment to make this ofrenda but now I’m dating you so I brought the ofrenda with me.” Y/N explained but Charles looked confused. “Um, it’s an altar, it’s a way to honor my dead relatives and welcome their spirits to our home. I usually go all out but this is a hotel room and I don’t want the fire alarm to go off.” Y/N explained and Charles looked closer at the ofrenda and saw a picture of Jules and another one of his father.

“You put them up?” Charles asked in a whisper, he felt his eyes getting teary, picking up the photo of him and his dad.

“I know you miss them a lot, everything you are doing in formula 1 in for them, I thought it would be nice to add them to the ofrenda. I know this isn’t really your tradition but it’s mine and I want to share it with you.” Y/N said softly, Charles looked at her and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you, Mon ange, that is very sweet of you, really.” Charles said.

“Um, it’s tradition to add their favorite food on the altar. I ordered some Mexican for my aunt and grandpa, what did Jules and your dad like to eat?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t think we could get it here but they liked…” Charles told Y/N their favorite foods.

“I’m sure we could order it from somewhere.” Y/N said. There was a knock and Y/N opened the door, it was the food she ordered. She got the food and gave the man a tip before walking back to Charles. “We also have this bread that’s called pan de muerto, we place it on the ofrenda too.”

“I’m sure they would enjoy the bread.” Charles said smiling. He opened the bag to help Y/N place the bread on the table. “So when we were is Mexico and you told me you were shopping, you were preparing for this?”

“Of course! I’m still Mexican, Muñeco, my tradition won’t change because I’m in another country.” Y/N said and Charles chuckled. Y/N placed the food in front of her aunt’s and grandpa’s picture.

“Maybe next year you can put up the ofrenda in my place.” Charles said.

“You mean that?” Y/N asked.

“I do, we haven’t been dating long but I feel very happy with you, happier than I have been in a long time.” Charles said before he kissed Y/N softly.

“I feel happy with you too. Oh, do you want some bread? It’s really good.” Y/N said, grabbing a loaf (?) and offering it to charles.

“Sure.” Charles said, tearing off of a piece of bread to taste. He hummed in content. “This is really good, do they sell this a lot on Mexico for day of the dead?”

“Yes they do, Mexican bread is the best.” Y/N said,

“I Can tell. I’m going to send a picture of the altar to my mom, is that okay?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Y/N said and Charles took a picture of the altar, making sure Pascale could clearly see his dad and Jules. He sent it to his mom and got a response in 2 minutes.

“My mom said it’s very sweet and considerate of you to add my dad and Jules.” Charles said.

“I May not have met them but I know how much they mean to you, I couldn’t leave them out.” Y/N said, looking down all shy. Charles brought his his finger under her chin to make her look at him,

“I love you so much, thank you for this.” Charles said before kissing her deeply.

“Don’t mention it.” Y/N said as soon as they separated from the kiss. They hugged each other. “I think we should watch Coco.” Charles laughed at her suggestion. “Well how else are you supposed to get the day of the dead?”

“Fine, let’s see if you can connect you phone to the hotel TV.” Charles said.

And that’s how they spent Día de Muertos, watching Coco on Disney plus and eating pan de muerto.

The End