#*white person voice* por favor

[melanieph321]

PLEASE!!!!!!!!! Ruben being a girl dad! She has him completely wrapped around her finger

I would die!!!! X

Ok 😊

Ruben Dias x Reader - Bad Braces

Enjoy!

Ruben was used to stepping through his front door and be ambushed by a cloud of pink. Your daughter was gifted a ballet tutu for christmas which resluted in her wearing it every where she went. There was a discussion with you about the problem with this, Ruben however did not see it. He loved coming home to a cloud full of pink and the day that this didn't happen was close to a nightmare for him.

"Where is Lina?" He asked, when you peered your head out of the kitchen into the hallway where he stood.

"What?" His eyebrows furrowed, seeing the concerned expression on your face. You stepped up to him, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Where is Lina?" He asked again.

You sighed. "She's in her room, saying that she won't come out ever."

Ruben frowned. "Her room? Did somthing happen at school?"

"Apparently somone made a comment about her new braces."

"What!"

"Along with her dress. So please Ruben remember what we talked about."

He was already charging towards your daughter's room, suprised to find that the door was locked.

"Lina? Lina meu amor, por favor, abra a porta."

He yanked the handle a couple of times, to no use however.

"Whatever is going on we can fix it, please let me fix it." If he could he would never let your daughter go back to school again. Ruben felt so hopless surrendering your only child to the cruel cruel world. He wanted to be there by her side everyday, protecting her.

"Pãi?"

He heard a low cry behind the door, your daughter's cry.

"Yes Lina I'm here, please open the door."

Small footsteps dragged across the floor and soon a key twisted in the lock.

"Pãi." Your daughter wiped her nose with the arm of her sleeve, her eyes bloodshot with tears.

"What happened, tell me." An instinctive thought appeared in Ruben's head. He would kill whoever made her feel this way. He entered her room only to find her ballet tutu tossed in a corner. They sat down on the bed.

"Did somone say something about your new braces?" He asked.

She nodded "And my dress."

Ruben balled up a fist, his knuckles white. His voice was calm however. "What did this person say?"

Lina bowed her head in shame. "He said that with my new braces on I looked like I stole children's teeth and ate them, like the opposite of the tooth fairy."

"He who?" Ruben said, balling up his fist again.

"This boy in my class, Alejandro said it."

"Alejandro." Ruben mumbled. "Well do you know where this Alejandro lives?"

Lina's eyes lit up, her head nodding excitingly. But then Y/N entered the room having overhead the whole conversation between them.

"The best thing would be to call his parents, don't think?" You said, giving Ruben a stern look.

"He shook his head. "Nah, I want to pay him a visit."

"Ruben he's eight, your not knocking on a eight year old's door, threatening to beat him up."

Ruben sighed, so did your daughter, they were each others soulmates.

"But mommy he was mean to me."

"I know that honey, but that is not how we deal with mean people in life. Ain't that right Ruben?"

He grunted.

You rolled your eyes.

"The next time Alejandro is mean to you do you know what you should do?"

"Stomp him in the nuts." Ruben muttured.

You shoved his shoulder.

"No, what you should do is give him a big smile and walk away, because violence is never the way."

"That's terrible advice. What you should do is sort of trip his legs and when you have him on the ground you should..."

"Ruben."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He said, making your daughter laugh. At least he made her laugh again.

"No, your mother is right. We'll talk to your teachers at school, hopefully they'll make sure that this doesn't happen again."

"Promise?"

You watched your daughter jump off the bed and retrieve her tutu from the corner in her room. She put it on to Rubens satisfaction.

"I promise." He smiled and picked her up in his arms. "Or else I'll pay him a visit."

"Ruben." You sighed.

"Kidding, just kidding."

[bihanarms]

Short one-shot in English (sorry in advance for any mistakes, I'm French) featuring Luis x Fem!Reader!!

Warning: Some mild smut at the end :p

It takes place while Luis is working at Lab 6, secretly developing Nemesis with his colleagues.

You're supposed to be a journalist coming to interview Umbrella and their pharmaceutical advancements, but the truth is that you're there to extract information about their true motives and try to expose the truth about Umbrella to the world. Unfortunately for you, it's Luis who you have in front of you :p Feel free to correct me or let me know if anything doesn't sound right.

OS: Luis x Fem!Reader : Not So Dangerous Curiosity

11:57 a.m.

A deep breath was taken, as a trembling hand reached into a overused notebook from a bag, followed by another hand searching for a black pen. "Fuck, where is that damn thing?"

(Name) finally felt what seemed like a pen under her fingers after hunting through every corner of her handbag, and immediately pulled it out. "Well, a pencil will do," she said to herself.

She took another deep breath as she saw her colleague approaching in the distance, cigarette in hand. The scent of mint mixed with tobacco wafted into (Name)'s nose as she immediately took the cigarette away from her cameraman's fingers. "You could’ve juste ask…" sighed the young man as he took out a camera from his bag.

(Name) pretended not to hear him as she looked at her watch for the twentieth time in a few minutes.

12:00 p.m.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

A nod and a hand gesture to indicate the camera now resting on the young man right shoulder were his response.

"Don't forget, I'm the one who speaks," were (Name)'s last words before being interrupted by the creaking of a door. "Are you here for the interview?" asked the man in a white coat who had just opened the door.

From head to toe, (Name)'s gaze traveled over the man standing right in front of her. Medium-length brown hair, stubble, tall and slender... a well-defined face, a rather charming smil-

"Ai, Señorita, por favor, I just asked you a question," snapped the man in the coat, bringing (Name) back to reality with a snap of his fingers.

"Luis Sera, encantado," he mocked, "Are you here for the report on our latest advances in the pharmaceutical field? 

Her heart started beating fast as she realized that she had lost herself in her thoughts and had been caught staring at the man named Luis a bit too intensely. She straightened up, trying to regain her composure and seriousness so as not to lose her credibility, and raised her eyes to meet those of the researcher.

Blue or gray eyes? Maybe both? Well, it was an enchanting colo-

"(Name), please " came a sharp voice from behind the young woman.

A smirk was heard from the person still standing in the partially open door.

Fuck..,for the second time, she had lost herself in his gaze and had forgotten all her professionalism in a matter of seconds.

"We're ready, sorry for the delayed response, we're just intimidated by Umbrella's reputation. It's just the stress talking," (Name) tried to recover, gradually regaining her confidence. No matter who was in front of her, and no matter what he looked like, (Name) had a very important objective today.

Take Umbrella Down.

Luis Sera opened the door wide and gestured for the two reporters to enter his laboratory.

"So, this is stress, huh?" These words were spoken low enough for the cameraman not to hear, but said at the right moment for (Name) to understand them as she passed by the handsome researcher.

*

(Name) stood in front of the imposing facilities of laboratory number 6, immediately struck by the high-tech aspect of the place. The room was filled with machines whose names she could hardly imagine, tables filled with paper documents inscribed with diagrams that she barely understood. Samples were also stored on all sides. But the answers she was looking for about what Umbrella really was, or at least the paper evidence, seemed to be nowhere in sight.

Quick, she signaled to her camera-friend to turn it on, gripped her notebook tightly in her hands, and put on a confident air, leaving no trace of how she had behaved towards this man before entering the building.

"Zoom in on his face," she said firmly.

"I'm going straight to the point, Mr. Sera. There are rumors spreading about the company you work for," she said.

Luis' face tensed as he heard her first words,

"It is said that you are actually busy manufacturing secret bio-organic weapons to create new human species like super soldiers-"

The Umbrella researcher suddenly ordered security to remove the cameraman from the room as he found himself face to face with the young woman who had just lowered her microphone.

"Did I say something I shouldn't have?" (Name) said provocatively.

Luis took a few steps towards her, bringing his face close to hers, now just a few inches apart. As (Name) was not intimidated, she kept control of the situation, not moving her face an inch. she was determined to extract any useful reaction from the researcher.

"It's funny how I thought you were here for a report on our latest pharmaceutical advances," he said sharply.

"Maybe you had trouble reading our email," (Name) mocked, raising back her microphone right in front of her interlocutor's mouth. "I'm still waiting for your answer, Dr. Sera"

"You see, mi hermosa," Luis began, placing his finger on the microphone to reposition it, "I thought I was going to have a nice, interesting interview with a beautiful journalist that I could have taken to a hotel for the night if she had wanted to. But you just ruined the mood of the day, I'm afraid."

Her thoughts raced in her head as (Name) tried to find a coherent way to respond to the man who was just millimeters away from her face. She could feel her blood rushing in her veins as her face slightly flushed. She would have loved to spend the night in a hotel with him as he had suggested, and let him take care of her. Luis was exactly her type of man under normal circumstances. But today unfortunately, she had to try her best to achieve her professional goals, and had no choice but to ruin the mood, as he put it.

Seconds passed and the ticking of the needle on (Name)'s watch grew louder, as a small voice in her head told her that maybe she could try to combine pleasure and professionalism in this story.

As she slid her hand up Luis' leg delicately, (Name) stood on her tiptoes and began whispering in his ear.

"If you don't want to answer now, then maybe, just maybe," her hand moved up to Luis' belt buckle, playing with it as if to give him a hint of what she was going to propose, "I could give you what you wanted initially, before I 'ruined the mood', in exchange for some innocent information. No one would know who leaked it, handsome."

A wave of heat was felt below Luis' belt as he couldn't help but imagine the different positions in which he could have taken (Name) right now. Deep down, he couldn't deny the effect that these words had on him.

Without warning, he grabbed the young woman in front of him by the neck, eliciting a moan from (Name), who couldn't help but smile at the man’s action.

A brief silence hung in the air for a few seconds as Luis closed the gap between his lips and (name)'s, almost brushing them. A shiver ran down our journalist's spine as a tempest of emotions surged within her: excitement, passion, apprehension.

Their gazes locked once again, and their breaths grew more intense as his free hand slowly slid down (name)'s belly, making its way between her underwear and jeans, stopping just where he could feel her wet core.

« Don’t stop there. » breathed (Name) heavily.

The sensations were overwhelming, as time seemed to stand still for a few moments. Their hearts were pounding, their breaths were short, and only (name)'s hands trembled slightly, while the atmosphere crackled with palpable tension.

Unable to resist any longer, she tried to bring her lips closer, ready to dance with the man’s tongue.

"You wish," Luis said finally, pulling his face back just in time to barely avoid her kiss.

"Now get out of here and never set foot in this lab again, neither you or your cameraman boyfriend," he continued firmly, releasing (name)'s neck suddenly and turning his back on her, trying to hide the obvious bulge that had formed in his pants.

"You haven't heard the last of me, handsome " (name) retorted sharply, after picking up her bag from the floor and turning towards the exit.

[serial-experiments-rain]

A Family Dinner

Another passage from my narrative, since I'll be posting those here more often.

Here's your first proper introduction to a few of the main characters in my narrative, and I relied both on my own extremely limited Spanish but mostly a translator to pull this scene together.

Uhhh tagging the only person I know would be interested in reading this,in the hopes that I have done them justice

@thatqueerweirdo

The alien, Mateo Alciato observes, is surprisingly civil. His lips move accordingly, but the sound, his voice, Mateo presumes, comes from one of his wrists.

“Estaré en deuda contigo,” he states, and he attempts to raise a choripán to his mouth. His dress sways softly in the wind

The alien takes a bite and pauses.

“Algo está mal?” Lucia asks

“No, no, lo siento, señora…nunca… comido el carne...antes” this response comes from him, and Mateo can tell, no only because his Spanish is mistranslated, but also because of the familiar off-russian accent; a refreshing change of pace, he finds, from that grating electronic voice.

The alien mutters something in his native tongue, referencing something…or someone named Akanthé.

“El hoyo en Constitución,” great-aunt Alcira asks, “¿eras vos?”

 The alien nods, somewhat sheepish.

“Mi nave se…un momento… des…hi…deshizo.” and again, with more certainty, “mi nave se deshizo. Yo… estrellar con los Andes.”

Mateo nods. His Spanish is relatively conversational, despite his conjugation and grammar errors.

A smile forms on Mateo’s face. In time, he will learn, but for now…it’s best to let him rest.

“¿Cómo te llamas?”

“Mi nombre es Kaió, y soy…oriundo de la…planeta Kaia, en la galaxia Arisiana”

“No he oído hablar de él antes,” María states.

“Ah, lo…saber como… la galaxia Andrómeda.”

Mateo leans forward, intrigued.

María, on the other hand…

“Tienes el viaje intergaláctico?” 

“Si,” Kaió agrees, nodding emphatically.

Kaió offers a timid smile, and Mateo responds in kind.

The extraterrestrial’s gaze returns to his half-eaten food, and, with a left arm, points to it.

“Cual…”

“Choripán,” Lucia answers, “María lo hizo.”

Kaió’s four eyes focus on the lunch before him. 

To this day, despite seeing it with his own eyes, back before he knew of Kaió’s true nature, watching his irises spill into the whites…uh…greys of his eyes sends a chill down his spine.

This being, though cordial, is capable of extreme violence.

Kaió’s gaze turns to Mateo’s bewildered daughter.

“Como hiciste eso?”

María stretches out a hand towards Kaió’s face, and for a moment, Mateo fears for her, that the alien would react defensively.

Instead, he gently places a scaled left hand on María’s wrist and redirects her.

“La práctica, niña.”

The girl’s eyes widen, and she turns her gaze to her own chorizo, staring at it with the intensity of a monastic disciple.

“Por favor, María, termine de comer.” Lucia says, but Mateo knows that look. It’s that same half-smile she makes when her amusement betrays her instructions.

“Estoy tratando de hacer que mis ojos sangren,” María declares, again with her monastic intensity.

“Were that the case,” Kaió mutters in English, “I would not be sitting with you Terrans.”

Mateo, in a stroke of mischievous impulse, translates Kaió’s words for the rest of his family, garnering a variety of looks, from the confusion on great-aunt Alcira’s face, to the awe on his daughter’s face, and the flushed cheeks of his wife; Mateo himself expressed a restrained interest, making sure that he does not appear to invested in their new guest.

“Me disculpo por mi hija, Kaió,”

“No, no, estas bien.”

Even Mateo can see that language barrier disintegrate, having been chipped at little by little until this moment.

It seems as though embarrassment is a universal constant.

“Que vamos a hacer ahora?” Alcira asks, addressing the elephant in the room.

“Podemos mantenerlo? Por favooooooooooooooor? Por favooooooooooooooooooor?”

“María,” Mateo adds between bites. This is the first time he has spoken all evening. “No esta una mascota.”

“Hay tambien el problema de seguridad nacional.” Alcira adds. “Es posible que el gobierno no sea indulgente con los extraterrestres.”

“Puede cambiar!” María shouts. “¡Cambia! Cambia! ¡Cambia!”

“Uno momento,” Kaió states, his voice unusually level for the situation at hand, “necesit…a…mos… necesitamos tomar…sus palas.”

This garners a few looks of confusion from the Alciato household.

“It’s okay,” Mateo answers in English, “take your time.”

“I would be grateful for your assistance,” Kaió pleads, “it seems as though I have reached the limits of my knowledge. On the matter of the Spanish language.”

“What did you want to say?”

“I wished to suggest that we take Alcira’s viewpoint into account. I am sorely unfamiliar with your method of governance, and how your sector would react to such a possibility of my existence.”

Matteo nods, glancing back at his family, Alcira and Lucia staring at him expectantly, while María has already opened her dictionary.

“No necesitas, María,” Mateo gently tells her, and Kaió offers the family an apologetic look, the scales on his face pointed sharply downwards in an attempt to convey remorse.

“Hay que tener en cuenta las palabras de la tía Alcira,” Mateo translates.

“This is a time-sensitive matter…” Kaió adds.

“Este es un asunto sensible al tiempo.” Mateo translates.

“But I am eternally grateful for your patronage…”

“Pero estoy eternamente agradecido por su patrocinio.”

“No podemos rechazar a alguien necesitado,” Alcira answers, and her tone softens, a rare occurrence with her, “aun que eres un extranjero en este planeta.”

“Para que podamos quedarnos?”

“Si, María,” Alcira confirms, “y tú estás a cargo de su lección de español.”

The girl, Mateo’s pride and joy, scrunches her face. The monastic determination was now replaced with unrestrained confidence, beaming from ear to ear.

“Su dente!” Kaió cries, the usually-deadpan robotic voice on his translator somehow perfectly emulating his distress. “A quien debo matar para vengarte?”

“El Ratón Pérez es inocente! ¡No mates a mi amigo!” 

Kaió’s gaze softens, and he places a sheathed dagger on the coffee table.

“Como quieras, María.”

[punkbxt]

dime the takes. por favor.

*gets real close to the vending machine* quiero pepsi

okay all seriousness tho imma try to do this in a way thats like idk semi respectful towards janeway but i also need yall to know i do NOT reallyf fuck with her. idk if ive explained why before but i guess here we go

unlike most people that enjoy star trek i didnt really get into it till 2018 and then the demmy hit n i had nothing but time to consume every star trek imaginable and thats how i found voyager. yeah sure make fun of me for not knowing what star trek is but i need YALL to know that it is white and usamerican culture to be raised on trek and I DONT CARE. the only reason i got into star trek is bc a white friend introduced me. all this to say i was introduced to janeways actress through oitnb red ilu so much red best evil white lady <3

anyways i know janeway gets hate for having been the only lady captain and i always preface anything i say about her with this so yall understand that this is not the reason i dislike her but in reality it doesnt help either

also its tiring as fuck to include my opposing argument but it has to be done bc ppl are like “what about- pkay but you didnt consider how- yeah but- actually youre wrong bc-“ like fuck man im doing my damndest i literally hate voicing my opinions bc yall INSIST people of color dont actually get it n its tiring

if youve followed me since i started voyagerposting you may have noticed ive only actually drawn janeway twice and its cuz as a person she rubs me the wrong way for so many reasons

janeway gets put in this impossible position of being the top of the hierarchy pyramid to a crew that doesnt think theyll ever make it home again. shes deemed a mother figure by a LOT of characters but im gonna talk abt her dynamics with b’elanna, and seven because if i were to talk about the dynamics between janeway and harry thatd have to be its own post

when i get into a show, i loooveeee knowing what was happening behind the scenes because i love it!! i love set design i love character design i love costume design i love seeing what the actors are like outside of the show and how they feel about these characters bc these things ARE important. (writers too pero i have beef) behind the scenes is the biggest influence to the final product bc its the reason the final product exists in the first place and behind the scenes so many things went wrong. and when actors are mistreated or dont get along with eachother it becomes pretty apparent. well at least if you analyze things the way i do

so heres my issue with janeway seven and b’elanna. b’elanna is typecast to be the ugly character. klingons gave always gotten the short end of the stick and the case with her isnt as harsh bc her actress is a mixed puerto rican (information that has actually only recently been revealed bc when i tried to find out what roxan’s ethnicity was in 2019 i literally could not find anything definitive except for shes latina) but she STILL gets a lot of shit

one of my favorite things about voyager before the introduction of seven was how b’elanna and janeway actually got to bond a lot over science and when seven took on the roll of pretty girl on the ship, b’elanna and janeway suffered a LOT for it. we have an interesting dynamic between a maquis engineer and a federation captain genuinely not getting along bc b’elanna doesnt see janeways as an authority figure. not until chakotay has something to say about it and also until b’elanna and janeway actually talk about shit n get over their differences. the issue is when ppl purposely skip the earlier seasons to get to seven and then a lot of important interpersonal character building is missed I SAY THIS BC PEOPLE OFTEN FORGET THAT VOYAGER HAS BEEN ASSIMILATED BY THE BORG BEFORE AND EVEN THE WRITERS LET IT SLIP THEUR MIND N ITS LIKE BRO U HAVE GOLD TO WRITE WITH N U JUST LET IT COLLECT IN THE CORNER

seven is a unique and interesting character when she is first introduced. seven looks like any other borg and is so COOL. and then immediately all the cool interesting things about the way seven looks is basically negated to a few shiny parts. and yes janeway is partly to blame

BUT! what is the easiest way to gain the trust of people who already have bad history with who you once were? assimilation of course! seven goes from being one of many to the outcasts outcast

but punkbxt! what does any of this have to do with why you dislike janeway as a character? if anything it sounds more like you dislike seven. as long as the character is white ill always hold a lil disdain for them in my heart <3

janeway symbolizes the best of starfleet. she is an accredited officer and an extremely capable scientist. she is a beautiful white woman in THE position of power something that was revolutionary for her time. the issues with white women being put in positions of power is they they have NEVER had the interests of black and brown people to heart. “yes they-“ SHUT UP and let me speak before you decide to comment on this goddamn post

feminism throughout the centuries has focused on white women and while a show is merely a fraction of the lived reality of its time the effects are still extremely clear. white feminism JUMPED at the character of janeway and celebrated her and rightfully so! the issues came about when women like b’elanna got attacked and pushed to the side. this directly affected janeway within fandom and she got and still is recognized for accomplishments SHE DID NOT DO. she got put on a pedestal and once that happens to a character they suddenly can do no wrong. except she does because shes a human and shes white and shes a character with writers behind her

b’elanna has never actually been a super popular character and the wave of love for her is actually pretty fucking recent and not to toot my own horn but i definitely was a big part of the b’elanna love resurgence. when i got into voyager and these dates ARE important, i used to scroll through her entire tag easily a couple times through a DAY. fans occasionally created art for her and yeah! she got fics but nowhere in comparison to her other peers. surrounding yourself with people who also love her and want to create for her does help with recognition of b’elanna but its super recent stuff. and to add onto that any white fan that has an opinion about her will always be biased because they just do not understand what it is like to exist as a latina woman of color

this is where me myself and i come into the story because wowowowowow star trek is so cool! star trek preaches on and on and on about diversity love acceptance hate oppression and all that good stuff so who wouldnt love it??? and then??? OMG THERES A LATINA CHARACTER IN ONE SERIES OMG OMG OMG. imagine my disappointment when i found out that she a main character barely was getting any love. it hurt. because even within a narrative of inclusion somehow characters of color just seem to always be pushed to the side. especially when a fandom has such a majority percentage of white people

watching her story was SO personal to me. i could see myself in her struggling with living in america. i lived my childhoods in puerto rico and in many different parts of usamerica, surrounded by family and people like me until that wasnt the case anymore. i spent my life living as a nomad with no place to call home for on average no less than a year and no more than three. i could understand b’elanna with her struggles of living in a klingon monastery and then being thrust into an unforgiving and unaccepting world where humans/white people are the most important. the internalized racism that i grew up with was horrendous and to this DAY i am still trying to learn and better myself and connect with my culture in any way i can. because in a black ans white world, where is the space for those of us that dont fall under either? we are ignored and erased and with b’elanna is has been the same

the rejection b’elanna had to her klingon side was something i could relate to incredibly. but it still isnt enough. because even though i could connect with her through her klingon-ness, her latinidad is simply a label. throughout the show you see her change and grow and assimilate to the federation standard and it HURT. the narrative that i was directly picking up from her story was yeah you can be a part of the club but only if you do it how we want you to do it. and dont you EVER even talk about being latino unless its to shit on your deadbeat of a father. and i did. i learned how to adapt at an extremely young age. ive been told its one of the things i do best (sad isnt it?)

and okay how do seven and janeway have anything to do with this? well they are the white women who we literally have to conform to and for. thats it period

seven as a character had an amazing opportunity to challenge gender and sexuality because of her story (one that would have been better suited had she been an indigenous woman which ive spoken on before but thats for another post too) and then the people in charge decided that she just HAD to be the sexywoman instead of leaning into just how much she was no longer human and how humanity itself doesnt actually have one right way to be

this narrative is given to us by janeway time and time and time again correcting seven and telling her that seven simply is not himan enough and still has to learn. (things autistic ppl can suuuuuper relate to which is a reason i could connect with seven at all). no matter how you want to look at it (whatever canon you want to decide isnt canon anymore for the sake of a fucking ship) janeway was directly written to be a mentor and mother figure to seven. janeway is there to help her learn when in reality she can never understand what its like to be an outcast within the federation and to take it a step further be part of a eace which is treated with hostility by humans. something b’elanna CAN understand and relate to because at the time of voyager shits still om the rocks between klingons and humans. janeway pushes seven to accept and embrace humanity as if thats the only option seven has to become a better character but its just not true. the story woven between janeway and seven is one of white women and femininity and how to be the perfect white woman and how to be a good lover. by actively ignoring the help and influence b’elanna could have provided for seven to learn and adapt to a majority human world they put all that weight on janeway. something that affects ALL three of them negatively and results in a narrative of “well b’elanna could never understand and relate to seven in a way that matters” which is beyond true because they are so interwoven even unintentionally so. it simply just wasnt taken further and its a true shame

and this isnt even touching on how badly seven’s actress was treated by janeways actress for being the pretty new doll at the time of filming and how that affected how i felt about janeway/seven as a ship (similarly how castle and beckett did not get along behind scenes i could no longer enjoy that show anymore)

i simplified this IMMENSELY and this shit is already long enough as it is so im sorry about that but yeah thats it. also sorry if things got repetitive ive been told i tend to do that when i write. these are my feelings and i am a real human behind this account so keep in mind how you react to this post. i have recieved countless hate anons most of which ive deleted throughout my short lived time as a fan of this franchise. i used to be MUCH more vocal about representation within star trek and people got mad so i left. but im back because the people that love b’elanna and that love that i have things to say about her matter so much fucking more than any angry person ever will

[4town4lyfe]

Feelings in the Cabin - Chapter 2: Shopping and Odd Feelings

copied clarifying stuff from ch 1 lol but im changing ages

so some clarifying things, this story is in imanis pov

my age 4 the band

jesse - 26

aaron z - 23

aaron t - 22

robaire - 21

imani - 21

tae young - 18

Aaron Z is referred to as 'Z'

Aaron T is referred to as 'Aaron'

'Byeol' (별) means 'star' in Korean

SEVENTEEN is a kpop group pls dont judge i rlly like them i have been following since 2016 lol

also, mis amigos, pls leave comments and things to add down below por favor

OKOKOKOK BYEEEEE

“Imani.” A low, hushed voice calls.

“Imani!” It calls again, seeming closer, as if the person is leaning right over me. 

I’m awoken by someone picking me up, I begrudgingly open my eyes to see Aaron holding me close, carrying me bridal style with a happy expression, his eyes glancing between me and the cabin door. 

I guess we’re here. My eyes dart around, taking in my surroundings. The fresh white snow covering the ground, the treetops, the roof of the cabin.

 One by one, we pile in, first is me and Aaron, with Z right behind us, on his phone, then Robaire, who is carrying everyone’s snacks. 

Jesse and Tae walk in, with Jesse holding a load of bags, he seemingly took up the job of getting the luggage in, although he didn’t have to, we could’ve gotten our own things. 

Tae has his headphones on, seeming in his own world, fiddling with his stuffie, Byeol. As Jesse goes back out to get the rest of our things, and Z follows him, Aaron places me down on the couch in the living room, where Tae sits next to me as I sit up, rubbing my eyes. 

“You didn’t have to carry me in.” I said to Aaron, although it was really nice. He scoffs in response, waving it off.

“Ah, but I wanted to. Plus, you were knocked out. You guys say I’m a heavy sleeper, but look at you!” He exclaims, throwing his arms up. Me and Tae share a look, “T! You literally slept through a tornado! The sirens were going off, the wind was blowing, and rain was pouring down! I-” 

Tae says, then gestures to himself, “I was scared out of my mind, you were just,” Tae then imitates Aaron’s snoring, making all three of us laugh, before Aaron speaks up.

“Yeah, I don’t remember.” He says, tapping his chin as if he was trying to think.

“Of course you don’t, you were knocked out the whole time! You only woke up when Z and Jesse carried you out of the living room and put you in the tub!” I add to the mix, stifling a laugh at the memory of him being placed in the tub filled with cold water. 

“Oh, that was funny!” A loud voice exclaims, making the three of us turn around, seeing Jesse walking over to us, ruffing up Aaron’s hair, earning a flick to the head before sitting next to Tae.

As Aaron, Tae, and Jesse converse, Z walks in and heads straight to his room. Robaire is still just standing there, seemingly in thought, so I get up and walk over to him, the other guys too deep in conversation to notice.

“What's up, Baire?” I ask, slinging my arm over his shoulder.

He shrugs me off, walking to the kitchen. “Nothin’, just glad we’re here.” He tells me, sounding relieved as he places the snacks down on the counter and opens the fridge, it’s empty, of course, you never leave food in a place you only come to once a year.

“I love the fans, but they can be a little much, y’know?” He confesses, taking a notepad from out of nowhere and beginning to write items down. I begin to think back to a few hours ago, those two girls in the gas station, those “fans”, I had forgotten about until now.

“Imani? Are you good?” Robaire snaps me out of it, his face showing slight concern.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” I reply, giving a sheepish grin and a thumbs up to show that I’m okay.

“Okay… did you wanna go with me?” He asks after a few seconds, and I tilt my head in confusion. 

“Go where?” I ask him, crossing my arms. He gives me a deadpan expression before answering. 

“The store? Did you not hear me? I swear, you need to stop blasting your music.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. He finishes writing down his list, I glance down, it’s food and things like that.

“Can you go ask Z if he wants to come?” Robaire asks, pointing in the direction of the hallway, and I nod, “Sure.” I reply, before walking away and heading to the hallway. 

I glance down at my wrist, checking my watch, “Geesh, it’s only 6 o’clock and it’s dark out…” I mutter to myself, walking up to his shut door, where I can hear faint music pouring out, maybe Bruno Mars?

I rhythmically knock on his door, and the music quiets down. “Come in.” His rather monotonous voice calls out, and I open the door.

“Hola, soy Dora! Can you say ‘I will totally come to the store with Imani and Robaire’?”

I say in a high pitched tone, a feeble attempt at being funny, as he only stares at me with a bored expression as he turns his music back up, Silk Sonic, to tune me out. With a grumble, I walk over to his bed and sit beside him.

With a quick swipe, I grab his phone, and quickly type in New Kids On The Block’s ‘Step By Step’, letting it play through his speakers as he snatches his phone back, tossing it beside.

“What did you want?” He asks, tapping his foot to the beat before getting up and walking to his mirror, fiddling with his headband before taking it off and fixing his hair.

“You wanna come to the store with me and Baire? We’re getting like…actual food.” I ask. He stares at me from the mirror as I get up and pace while dancing at the same time.

“Okay.” He simply responds, going back to his bed when Robaire slips in, without knocking.

“Get ready to go.” He says before slipping back out, leaving the door open. Z gets up and puts his shoes on and grabs a jacket.

“Uh, dude. It’s freezing outside and you’re only wearing a jacket? Are you at least gonna change into pants?” I question, putting my hands on my hips.

He shakes his head no, and I huff, walking to the living room, putting on my boots, coat, and gloves.

“Where ya goin’, babe?” I hear Aaron ask, and I jolt when I turn around, as he’s right behind me, his hands hovering over my waist.

“Oh my…!” I shut my eyes for a second, calming down with an exhale. “Uh… Me, Z, and Robaire are going to the store. I think Baire’s already outside, so…”  

I say, as Z walks into the room, earbuds in, hood and sunglasses on as he walks right past us and out the door. Aaron’s gaze lingers on Z for a moment before turning back to me.

“Well, when you get back, we need to have a little chat.” He says, his tone oddly serious. I furrow my brows in confusion, though I don’t question him.

“Mkay… well… bye.” I say, backing up and walking out the door, gently shutting it before turning around to go to the van.

As Z is in the middle section, I go to sit in the front seat before Robaire stops me.

“I’m buying some drinks and I want them up here.” He says bluntly, gesturing to the seat behind the passenger seat, next to Z.

“You can sit there.” 

I give Robaire a blank stare before shutting the front door a bit harshly, opening the sliding van door and sitting down in the empty seat, as Z glances at me for a moment, I can see him out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah, I’m totally gorgeous, I know.” I say in a joking manner as Robaire starts up the van and backs out of the driveway and toward the, I flutter my eyelashes in a comical way as Z turns his head to glance out the window, his flushed cheeks going unnoticed by me as I continue my antics.

After a minute or two, Robaire chimes in.

“Hey, no one is as beautiful as me!” He exclaims, making a silly duck face in the rearview mirror, making me chuckle and Z scoff in amusement. “Hey, let's settle this! Z,” Robaire calls out to him, making him glance up.

“Who has better looks, me or Mani?” Robaire finishes, making me grin at the use of my nickname, although my name is pretty short already. Z glances between me and Robaire, only for about a split second, before,

“Imani.” He answered bluntly, turning back to gaze out the window. Robaire feigns a mock betrayed expression, while I sputter in laughter. “See? I’m just that gorgeous.” I say with a sigh, crossing my arms and back in my seat as Robaire finally connects his phone to the van instead of listening to the radio, overrun with Christmas, Christmas, with a sprinkle of… Christmas.

As much as I love Christmas and its music, I’d rather listen to something else for now. Well, it doesn’t really matter, me and Robare do not have the same music taste, like, at all. 

I decided to put my headphones on, shuffling my main playlist. Of course, the first song that plays is our cover of ‘Mary, Did You Know?’, the Pentatonix style. “Whatever.”, I think to myself as I let it play, we did good, plus, I love this song. 

After a bit of driving, we pull up to a quaint little store, just outside of town, it’s so quiet, yet so peaceful. The three of us hop out of the van, toques, sunglasses, and hoods on, just in case. We walk in and are welcomed with a sweet bell, and a store clerk is right by the door, wearing a big grin.

“Hello there, how’s it goin’?” He asks, scanning out faces and we give him smiles. “Hm, never seen y’all around before, welcome!” He says, clapping his hands together and grabbing us a cart. 

“My name is John, I’m the owner, I won’t keep ya, just wanted to greet y’all, I do that with all the newcomers, y’know? I usually see locals, so it's good to see some fresh faces. Alrighty, my apologies, we’ve got a real nice selection, so go on ahead and shop!” He says, he’s a talker, for sure, but he seems like a sweet old guy.

Robaire stays behind, talking more with the owner as he hands me the list of things to buy, how kind. Me and Z decide to split up the list between the two of us, so we got through it fairly quickly, until we didn’t.

Robaire decided to not specify some items, like what type of coffee, knowing his taste though, I decided to find the more ‘exquisite’ things, as he would say. Good thing Z was in the next aisle, as I needed to grab something off the top shelf.

“Yo, Z.” I wave him over, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to my aisle, where I’m stuck in a hot chocolate predicament. The last thing on the list, I want the brand on the top shelf.

I point up to it, “I want that one, up there.” I say, expecting him to grab it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs me and lifts me in the air and puts me on his shoulders, much to my disdain, he knows I don’t like heights. “Z!” I exclaim rather loudly, getting the attention of a shopper in the next aisle, staring at me with a bewildered expression as I quickly grab the hot chocolate and gently tap his chest with my foot, letting him know I got it.

As he puts me down, I can’t help but feel more than flustered as I put the hot chocolate in the cart. I turn away, holding my totally on fire face. “Z! Why’d you do that?” The close proximity left us both flustered, I catch a glimpse of the small change in his demeanor as he tries to mask it with his normally neutral expression, though I can see the slight furrow of his brows and the subtle flush in his face. He simply gives me a shrug, turning to walk, rather quickly, back to the front of the store.

I decide to brush off his odd reaction as I am already feeling odd myself, we walk to the cash register, where the clerk is waiting. “Did you find everything okay?” He asks as Z starts unloading the cart. 

“Yes, thank you.” I say with a small smile, holding my hands together and rocking back and forth on my heels. Robaire gives me an odd expression, tilting his head.

“What’s wrong? Why’s your face all red?” He asks, making me pause for a moment, letting out a breath. “Um, I dropped… something, uh, hot chocolate. It just made me a bit embarrassed. I’m fine though.” I explain, giving him a thumbs up, he seemingly buys it, nodding his head as we wait to pay.

After a bit, we pay, but before we walk out, the clerk stops us.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask, are you guys in a show or something? I swear I’ve seen your faces before!” He asks as we take our pitiful disguises off, he snaps his fingers when he seems to figure it out. 

“No, no, you guys are singers, aren’t ya? Uh, what’re you called…O-Town? No… Something-Town… I’m sorry, I’m not great with music nowadays.” He sheepishly says, rubbing the back of his neck as Robaire chuckles. 

“We’re 4*TOWN, and it’s okay.” He says, patting the clerks back. “Right, 4*TOWN! My granddaughter loves you guys! Posters and everything. Gotta admit, you guys are pretty cool, you’ve got this 90s vibe goin’ on.” The clerk says with a grin, putting his hands on his hips.

“I don’t mean to bother, but could I get a photo? It’s okay if you don’t wanna.” He asks, and we all nod, glad that he was so kind with it unlike some other people.

“Sure, it’s no problem.” Robaire says, and the four of us gather as the clerk gets his phone out and we pose, snapping a picture. “Oh, thank you, her birthday is the week after next, and I’ll be getting her tour tickets for Christmas, she’ll be so happy.” He says with a smile, sending the photo to his granddaughter.

“Oh, her birthday! Here,” I get an idea, taking a pen out of my purse and grabbing the shopping list from Z’s hands, crossing out the list and turning it over, writing my signature and a happy birthday message before handing it to Robaire as he does the same, then to Z.

He gives it to the clerk, whose smile just got even bigger. “Oh, thank you so much, you have no idea how much happy this'll make her!” He says gratefully, giving us our bags. 

“I’ve kept you long enough, y’all have a great night.” He calls out as we exit, heading to the van and loading it up with our groceries. I turn to Robaire. “I wanna drive.”

“Why?” He questions. “Dude, I like, never get to drive the van, lemme drive!” I say, giving him my best puppy dog eyes as he grimaces. “Ew, never do that again, and fine!’ He exclaims as I fist bump the air and get into the driver's seat as Z and Robaire get into the middle section. 

I connect my phone to the van, deciding to put my SEVENTEEN playlist on shuffle, turning up the volume as ‘Fear’ comes out of the speakers and I drive back to the cabin, all previous feelings replaced with peace and calmness.

[udaberriwrites]

Hold Me Close, Don’t Let Go and Will Not Be A Victim por favor

Thank you for the ask!

Ohoho, now that's a fun combination! I don't know if you have heard about them enough to connect the dots, but these two WIPs are actually connected, since I based Xiu Ya's personality off of Lung Tien Lien (as well as using Novik's honorific and part of the worldbuilding).

So, in short, these two WIPs share the same broadstrokes: Young traumatized white dragon bonds with an equally traumatized/soon-to-be-traumatized man navigating an organization where they are unwelcome, leading to predictable trainwrecks and angst (happy ending not guaranteed)

(I am putting the rest under the cut because it will run pretty long, and will have spoilers for Temeraire)

Hold Me Close

So this is one I have been slooooooowly making progress with in fits and starts, and it's not even close to done.

It's a Temeraire AU where the palace intrigue shifted focus, so that Lien is the one sent to Europe and intercepted by the Reliant, becoming Laurence's partner instead of Temeraire (who remains as Lung Tien Xiang). She is, as mentioned, as traumatized and loyal beyond reason as in canon; so when book 4 arrives and England refuses to hand over the cure, she manipulates the players involved so that Laurence remains in France with her rather than return to his trial for treason, even knowing how that would emotionally shatter him -- at least he'll still be alive to be hurt.

The dragonet learned early on to hate.

Hate was the rattle of her egg as she was moved against her will, hitting the hard shell no matter how careful they were with it as they loaded it in a crate. Hate was the foreign, flowery language that she had to relearn all over again because her first would not serve her after hatching. Hate was the rocking of the ship taking her away, alone, because she had failed before she had done anything else.

Love took longer; its presence was subtler. Love grew in fits and starts, without her realizing it was happening until it was too great to deny. Love was the rocking of the ship lulling her to sleep, with her flank pressed against a warm body. It was a steady voice in yet another strange language that promised to never leave her behind. Love was trust, it was a weight on her back and the air beneath her wings.

Will Not Be a Victim

This is the WIP I have been working on most consistently lately, though it's still growing rather than showing an end in sight 😭 for the AUgust prompt: Crossover/Fusion.

The basics here is that each Peak has not only a Lord, but also a Celestial dragon; for Qing Jing Peak, that is Xiu Ya, who suffers much of the same prejudice Lung Tien Lien did in Temeraire canon. She's distrustful of humans and unwilling to intercede for Luo Binghe when he arrives at the mountain which, unfortunately, means she's also a target for his vengeance when the time comes...

The thought made shame burn preemptively in her heart, nonetheless. She knew what others would say: that having been unable to convince a proper righteous cultivator to accept the title of Peak Lord by her side, she had chosen to settle for an easy to bribe outsider with a dubious past and an unstable golden core.

Xiu Ya looked again across the clearing at the way the boy’s shoulders pulled taut and his hand curled still around the hilt of the bloodied blade. If she could count on anything, she thought, it would be on the little feral urchin not pitying her.

Perhaps he would even be able to understand her.

And if he betrayed her… well, she could always eat him then.

Thanks again, Bleep, this was fun! 😄

[backbroke]

I just bent over to pick something and now I can’t stand up straight without being in Pain

This is gonna be a fun day, I can tell

[keenobjectmentality]

Ok, first time ever doing this but I fell down the same rabbit hole as every person writing Namor/Ku’kul’kan fics. So here’s my contribution. The original is on my Ao3 account if anyone wants to check that out. Lorein_nur.

Summary:

Clara Alcázar is a world renown archeologist and author, known for her professionalism and composure. After another successful exhibit inauguration, one centered on Northmen and Vikings to be precise, she decides its time to shed some light on a culture a little more close to home, Mesoamerican.

Moving back to México, and even further from her home town all the way to the peninsula of Yucatan will bring forth a new sense of adventure and unveil a secret of such magnitude the world has never known.

Chapter 1: Señorita Alcázar

The flash of camera lights followed her as she exited Edinburgh Castle, microphones and voice recorders were shoved her way as she walked down the carpet that had been drawn out in order to draw an even path up the stairs she now descended and through the sturdy wooden doors that lay at her back. She kept a steady pace, the fine tips of her heeled stilettos leaving the faintest of indentations on the well kept velvet, the skirt of her dress barely brushed the floor in a parody of a chaste kiss. Voices intermingled with the chords of a professionally strung violin, the orchestra the event organizer had hired was starting anew precisely after a 15 minute pause.

“¡Señorita Alcázar!”

“Miss Alcázar!”

"Mademoiselle Alcázar!”

The calls for her attention never stopped, and neither did she, all that had needed to be discussed had been within the stone walls of the castle at her back.

“Señorita Alcázar, por favor Señorita Alcázar espere un momento!”

"Miss Alcázar, please Miss Alcázar, hold on a moment!"

The use of her native tongue gave her pause, and with that one minute of hesitation the vultures flocked in, effectively surrounding her and blocking her sole exit from that night's event. A stifled groan was hastily swallowed, though she found herself unimaginably tired self composure still had to be kept, she’d practically built her reputation from that iron like control with which she held herself, so instead she smiled. Mauve painted lips parted in an upward grin, the whites of her teeth peeking from in between, the movement stretching the softness of her powdered cheeks.

More flashes followed, and with them more microphones, recorders and questions pertaining to the new archeological exhibit shed helped establish.

A slick recorder clutched in a well manicured hand was quickly thrust centimeters from her face, had she not been used to this form of treatment she would have blinked or worse taken a step back from surprise. “Christine Everhart from WHIH World News, Miss Alcázar, how hard was it to arrange a meeting between you and New Asgards reigning king?”

“Not hard at all if you know who to call.” She primly answered, a little cheekiness slipping into her words. She took a step forward, fully intending on continuing her trek from the castle to her hired driver and car no more than a few feet away when her progress was once again stopped this time by a microphone and a recording camera in her face.

“Cecile Lavigne from France24, Mademoiselle Alcázar, was this a difficult project to collaborate in with her majesty the king?”

“Heavens no, her majesty was wonderful all throughout.” She was quick to reply, the words slipping out with ease from the sincerity behind them, she flashed the camera and its reporter another charming smile before beginning anew her trek towards the car. Her driver now waited outside the vehicle with the backdoor open.

“Señorita Alcázar, ¡un momento de su tiempo!”

"Miss Alcázar, a moment of your time!"

And there it was, the voice that had halted her quick escape from the masses.

“Señorita Alcázar, por favor.”

"Miss Alcázar, please."

Please, he’d been the onlyone to ask now not once but twice for a moment of her time. Having the leather seat of the car not only in sight but one carful step away she found herself secured enough in her escape to turn and hummor one final reporter. The silk of her dress turned with her, the powder blue material hugging and curving over her figure, she cocked her head to the side and with a fleeting smiled invited the reporter to ask his question.

“¿Si?”

"Yes?"

“¡Muchas gracias Señorita Alzázar!” was enthusiasticly exclaimed before all matter of seriousness returned to the man whose words they belonged to. “Julian Herrera de La Octava TV, Señorita Alcázar, ¿cuál vendría siendo su siguiente proyecto? ¿En qué cultura se planea enfocar ahora que ha concluido su trabajo en Escocia?”

"Thank you, Miss Alcázar!" -" Julian Herrera from La Octava TV, Miss Alcázar, what would your next project be? What culture do you plan to focus on now that you have completed your work in Scotland?”

“En casa, creo que es hora de regresar y enfocarme en las culturas que formaron gran parte en la creación de nuestro increíble país. Es hora de darles el reconocimiento que se merecen y alzarlas al mismo estatus de importancia, de interés que las otras religiones y mitologías que son frecuentemente estudiadas tienen. ”

“Home, I think it's time to go back and focus on the cultures that played a big part in creating our amazing country. It is time to give them the recognition they deserve and raise them to the same status of importance, of interest that the other religions and mythologies that are frequently studied have. ”

It was the longest reply yet, and the one most fuled by passion, a fact Mr. Herrera had taken note of, his unmasked grin being a slick tell at that. Alcázar nodded in passing before turning once again and taking the final step into the car, the door shutting and shrouding her from the constant lights was a definitive sign that the end of the night had finally arrived. As the car moved on and made its was towards the castle exit, Clara Alcázar fulled from the shallow depths of her evenings clutch her phone, with nimble fingers she tapped and unlocked the screen tapping once more to open her go to messaging app.

“Nos vemos pronto! <3” Was typed and sent.

"See you soon! <3"

[its-a-hot-girl-thing]

Antología | Bruno Madrigal x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

They met in late spring, when (Y/N) and her mother knocked on the door of La Casita after breakfast, back in 1939. Pepa opened, a grey cloud over her head as she desperately tried to soothe the child in her arms, Camilo, who was crying inconsolably.

"Buenos días, Pepa" the woman greeted her. "Is your brother home?" 

"Ah, I think he's in the ..." the boy pulled from one of her curls, causing a thunder above her. "Ouch! Argh, BRUNO!"

"Sí?" An unkempt man with black curls, green eyes, and big dark circles peeked out from the kitchen, concerned. 

"They're looking for you" his sister walked away to her room with Camilo shifting restlessly in her arms. 

Bruno approached the entrance prepared to be yelled at, trying to remember what he had predicted to cause someone's anger this time. He immediately recognized the woman as the town's tailor, Asunción Cortés, but the girl next to her was only vaguely familiar.

"Buenos días" he said barely in a whisper, looking down and holding his breath.

"Buenos días, Bruno" Asunción took her daughter by the arm, giving her a little push inside the house, almost making her bump with the man. "I need to know when my daughter's getting married."

"What?" Confused by her words, he looked up, meeting a curious pair of eyes and a sweet smile inches from him. Bruno only knew three of the twelve Cortés sisters, but among the townspeople, he had heard of their great beauty and charm. However, nothing he heard before compared to reality: the girl in front of him seemed out of a fairy tale.

"What my mother means, señor Madrigal, is that she needs you to confirm through your gift whether she'll ever see me dressed in white or she should resign herself to seeing me die alone."

"Verá, all my daughters, granddaughters and nieces have married before the age of 24." he couldn't take his eyes off the young woman, who seemed amused by the situation. “But (Y/N)'s just turned 26 a week ago and there's still no one interested in taking her down the aisle. I need to know once and for all what her future holds before I have a heart attack." 

Bruno doubted that the younger Cortés' singleness was due to a lack of suitors, and he was correct. Ever since her 18th birthday, several men had tried to lure her with all sorts of schemes, but she always ended up rejecting them, bored by their flat and monotonous personalities.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, señor Madrigal" her voice reminded him of a joyful melody. "We can come back later if you're busy."

"Don't worry, I can attend to you now, señorita Cortés" he moved to the side to let both women pass."If you follow me upstairs, por favor."

"Could you stay here?" (Y/N) stopped her mother at the foot of the stairs.

"And leave you alone with a man in his room?" Her mother responded alarmed. "But what a scandal would that be!" 

"Ay, mamá, por favor, el señor Madrigal is an honourable man" Bruno didn't believe most people would agree with that statement. "It's just that you're so nervous, I don't want you to interrupt the process, especially if it turns out not to be what you expect." The woman looked at him up and down, then at her daughter and back at him as he smiled sheepishly. "Fine, but I want all the details."

"Sí, mamá" Bruno couldn't help but blush as she entwined her arm with his to guide her into his room. As he opened the door, he suddenly felt mortified by the number of stairs in front of them; he was used to it, and when someone from town came to ask him something, he didn't care they had to climb so many steps... Until that moment. 

"Wow" is all she could say, looking up amazed.

"Sorry, they didn't use to be that high, but..."

"Oh, no problem" (Y/N) jumped to the first step, in front of him. Her interest in him began then, as he nervously fidgeted with the hem of his ruana, eyes glued to the floor. She felt the need to cheer him up, to see him smile truthfully and not just for appearance. There was something in him, a distant sorrow that reached her soul and somehow became affection. 

"Do you have to go up there every day?"

"Yep"

She winced, pitying the man, particularly for everything she'd heard about him in town. She'd expected to meet someone scary with a malicious gaze and dark aura, but instead, she came across a cordial, shy man with melancholic eyes. He looked tired, probably overwhelmed by his reputation, one of which seemed impossible to change or flee. 

"Then I guess you’ll have no problem beating me".

"Beating you…?" Confused, he watched her run up the stairs, hopping here and there.

"Whoever arrives last owes the other an arequipe!". 

It took him a few seconds to understand what was happening, seconds in which he noticed that the green and black details on the edge of her white skirt made her look like a fluttering butterfly; the reason why he'd call her “mi mariposita" later on in their relationship. 

"Hey, be careful!" he snapped out after seeing her skid over the edge of a step. "Wait!"

He ran after her, hearing her giggles echo through the tower, a ghostly sound that would haunt him in dreams during his years in exile. He caught up with her about thirty steps from the top, where he found her leaning against the wall gasping for air, red face and tousled hair.

"Okay, okay! I give up.” She raised her hands in surrender, smiling at him. "There were more steps than I’d expected."

"Are you alright?" He was tired, but not as she was. 

"Perfect! I just needed to catch my breath. Vamos!" Together they finished climbing the stairs, reaching a dimly lit passageway. "Hey, feel free to stop by the workshop any day to claim your prize." She reached up to boop his nose, and Bruno's face turned the same colour as an apple. “Not to show off, but my arequipe won first place at the food fair three years ago. Sure, it was because Julieta didn't attend that year, but second-best is not bad, right?”

He was amazed at her energy and optimism, which seemed to spread throughout the place like a bright warm light. He watched her walk to the door at the end of the passageway, feeling his heart racing against his chest. At the moment, he attributed it to the race, but later that night, in the solitude of his bed, he realized it was love being born from the depths of his being. 

<From the very first moment we met I knew that you'd never be mine. And yet I was selfish enough to try; How foolish of me to think you could be mine, when you're the light and I'm the eternal night.> He'd write her two years later, in hasty handwriting and teary eyes, her photo pressed against his chest.

"Ready?" (Y/N) pointed to the door.

"Oh, yeah, sorry" smiling, he walked up to her and opened the room.

Taglist

@moocat-caboose​

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Official Guidebook Interview - Narita Ken

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

¡Por favor, no repostees esta traducción sin mi consentimiento! Esto incluye capturas de pantalla de cualquier tipo y cantidad. Si deseas compartir esta traducción, usa simplemente el enlace a este post.

Para más información sobre el uso de mis traducciones, haz click aquí.

The Role of Sesshōmaru, Narita Ken

Taking On a New, Father Sesshōmaru

— What were your thoughts upon hearing about the “Hanyō no Yashahime” project?

When I suddenly heard from the people of Sunrise that they were going to start a new work that inherited the world of “Inuyasha”, I was shocked to say the least. At the same time, I was curious as to what would happen to Sesshōmaru and the other characters as well as the cast.

— Please tell us what your impression was when you first read the script.

When I learned that Sesshōmaru’s children would be the protagonists this time from reading the script, I had a strong feeling of “Why!?”. Perhaps having children didn’t connect well with the Sesshōmaru inside me from the time of Inuyasha. However, that in itself is a fun new development, so I thought I would take on the challenge (laughs).

— How did it feel to (play) Sesshōmaru for the first time in a while?

Sesshōmaru’s position in “Hanyō no Yashahime” is that of a father, so it felt like I was acting a Sesshōmaru that came to a separate world that was different from the world of “Inuyasha”. However, while remembering Sesshōmaru up to this point, I thought about all sorts of things while putting in the effort such as if he’s a parent, he would interact with his daughters like this, or even if there is love, he also possesses cruelty and cold heartedness so perhaps he’s experimenting with his daughters in order to learn what he wants.

— Please tell us what you were focused on with your acting.

A lot of times, I don’t do well if I try to calculate my performance, so I purposely don’t look at documents containing future developments. I exhibit my strength when I’m driven to the edge of a cliff (laughs). I was also conscious of making sure my voice didn’t change. Although, I don’t try to copy my voice exactly from 10 years ago. What is most important to me is facing the character.

— Please tell us a story from the recording site.

I was happy to have been able to talk to Cho-san, the role of Jaken, again after 10 years. His voice hadn’t changed at all, still the same as always (laughs). Seeing a healthy Kyōdo-san (Hisako), the role of Kaede, gave me power like I also have to persevere more!

— What sort of impressions do you have of Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha, the protagonists of this work?

Towa and Setsuna don’t resemble Rin that much, so they probably inherited Sesshōmaru’s blood strongly. Perhaps the one who’s personality is close to Sesshōmaru’s is the cool Setsuna. Moroha is clumsy and adorable (laughs). I think her recklessness is similar to Inuyasha.

— How do you perceive Sesshōmaru and Rin's relationship?

If Sesshōmaru were to marry someone, I think it would be Rin. However, is it a love between a man and a woman? I don't think Sesshōmaru looked at Rin with that kind of objective. It felt like he was simply a guardian sort of figure. Perhaps he wanted to know what would happen if he acted like a human and wanted to try it out on Rin. Having kids is the result of sexual intercourse between living creatures’ kind of thing. If deciding just on like or dislike, I think he likes it, but I'd like to perceive this as not something black and white but in the middle. I want to aim for that sweet spot like when adjusting the temperature of a bathtub. (laughs)

— Please tell us a scene from the First Chapter that left an impression on you.

The scene where (Sesshōmaru) hands Tenseiga to Towa. He says Towa’s name for the first time with “Shall you give it a try, Towa”; I wanted to bring out something in between passion and coolness (calmness), so even when I got the OK, I recorded it multiple times.

— Please give a message to everyone who is looking forward to the upcoming broadcast.

There may or may not be a scene in the Second Chapter where you will get a glance of Sesshōmaru’s parental love towards Towa and Setsuna… … (laughs). Please look forward to (the Second Chapter), including that!

[guardianofrivendell]

💙 Number 50 from the Fluff list with Thranduil, por favor.

QUEEN congrats on 1K!!! You deserve so much! Love ya

A/N: Thank you so much! I know you probably expected fluff but I somehow turned it into something else...? Jealous Thranduil is hopefully just as good as fluffy Thranduil!

STAY

Thranduil x fem!reader

Prompt: “Stay”

Warnings: bit of smooching and make out session, jealous Thranduil 

The doors of your room flew open and Thranduil walked inside. You smiled to yourself, knowing it was him without turning around. After your little disagreement earlier, you had expected him to follow you.  He was getting predictable.

“Stay.” “I can’t, and you know that,” you said at the same time, another small smile forming on your lips. Predictable, indeed.

Thranduil started pacing through your shared room, and watched you and your chambermaid Aílayna pack your belongings. His robes were gliding over the floor tiles in such a way it made him look like he was floating. Even when he was frustrated beyond belief, he still looked breathtaking. 

“Someone else can go to Erebor in your place,” he suggested, breaking the silence again. 

“You know I am the most suitable person for this, I’ll have King Thorin eating out of my hand in no time. With anyone else the negotiations will take a lot longer. We discussed this.”

Thranduil stopped pacing, and looked at you. “It was hardly a discussion. You just told me you were going.” “Now you know what that feels like,” you muttered. 

Aílayna chuckled and you winked at her.  

His eyes danced between you and Aílayna before they turned dark. 

“As your King, I demand you to stay!” 

Your hands froze before they gripped the gown you were folding until your knuckles were white. Now he wasn’t playing fair anymore.

You looked at your chambermaid. “Can you give us a moment?”

She nodded and hurried out of the room. 

“You had to pull the King card?” you asked him as soon as the door closed behind Aílayna. You kept your eyes fixed on the gown you were holding.

“As your King, I’m asking you to stay,” he repeated, changing his choice of words this time.

When you didn’t respond, he took a few steps until he was right behind you.  His breath tickled your neck, making you shiver. Goosebumps rose on your skin and Thranduil hummed, pleased with your reaction. 

Damned your body for betraying you this way! You had to be strong, not turn into mush the minute he’s within arm’s reach. He probably thought he was winning this ‘argument’ too. 

“And as my husband?” you asked softly, trying to get the upper hand again.  “As your husband,” he whispered, tracing the neckline of your dress with his finger, “I am begging you to stay.”

Oh.

Your breath hitched when his lips followed the same trail his finger had moments before.  You tilted your head to give him more access. No one said you couldn’t enjoy yourself while winning an argument.

“You’ve never begged before. I wonder why you decided to start now...?”

He ignored your question and stopped his caresses when his eyes fell on the gown you were clutching in your hands. It was your ceremonial gown, one of Thranduil’s favorites. 

“You are going to wear that in the presence of the Dwarven King?” “Since it is an official visit, yes. My ceremonial gown would be the best choice.” “That dress is too revealing,��� he stated with a clenched jaw. 

You packed the gown anyway, and turned around with your arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. An obvious challenge for him to try and disagree with you. 

It was a constant battle of attraction and rejection when you were arguing. It usually ended in a heavy passionate make out session or more… You weren’t sure if it would end like that this time but you were hoping for the latter. 

“You never complained when I wore the dress before,” you teased.  “There weren’t any Dwarves present at the time,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how the King’s eyes were practically glued on you last time he was in Mirkwood.”

So that’s what this was about…  You started laughing. Of course! 

“Are you jealous?” “Of a Dwarf? Never!” he growled angrily. 

You swung your arms around his neck and brought your face close to his, your noses almost touching. 

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right?”

You started leaving butterfly kisses on his cheek, making your way down his jawline towards his neck. 

“There is only one King’s name on my lips in the night,” you whispered.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, attacking your neck in return. 

“By the morning, my name is the only name on your lips. I’ll make sure of that.”

He tossed you on the bed, and wasted no time in attacking your lips again.  Before you completely lost yourself, you broke the kiss and placed a finger on his lips to stop him.

“So does that mean I can go?”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @moony-artnstuff @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective @elvish-sky @emmapotato88 @kirenia15 @vicmackeybullshxt @moarfandomtrash 

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Yellow Lines

This was requested by @onechicagomayan who asked for this:

<He how are you? I hope so. I wanted to ask you if you could make a request with miguel? And if so, in which reader is a federal and falls in love with miguel, when he catches him she is forced to use the yellow raincoat but then she tells him that she is pregnant. In this story miguel is with emily, and if you could put some dialogue in spanish.

Thanks and sorry and if I made a bad explanation you can write to me.

I love your writing, a kiss.>

Hope you like this and its what you were looking for.

Warnings: Talks of cheating (I don’t agree with cheating, this is just for fic purposes). yellow rain coat and hot oil angst, does get a little intense and of course a mostly happy ending. I used goggle for the pinch of Spanish I used, so sorry if it's wrong.

WC: 1867

Enjoy x

Your palms were sweaty and the heat of dread raged through you fast, your heart beating out of your chest. It was only a matter a time before you were put into a situation that you could lose your badge, and here you were. The files on the Galindo’s built higher and higher and eventually it was time for you and Jane to be put in undercover when the opportunity arose. You had read every file back-to-back more than once; you were briefed on certain things and you had to check in once a week.

An ad appeared wanting a new personal assistant for the cartel boss and a nanny for his son. Everything had been set up, you applying for assistant, which you got and Jane for the Nanny which she got. Moving onto the grounds the following week to get as much intel as you could to finally get Miguel arrested and bring down his empire.

It was in the first week that you had realised that the Miguel you had read about and had been briefed about was not the Miguel you had started working for. He was just a business man in a dark world that sometimes did horrible things, but mostly he was a gentleman, easy to talk to and the stories he told you about his life before and after he started on this road intrigued you. Slowly over time, he started to open up about his marriage and how much they were struggling, he worried about business all the time and Emily getting involved with and in things he didn’t want her too and mostly how the lies had started to rip them apart.

It only took one over night in Mexico for the relationship to cross that line and although you both said the next morning it couldn’t happen again after waking up in each other’s arms, it did two to three times a week and now you were waiting for the timer to go off as you sat on the toilet of your bathroom, feeling like you were going  to be sick if that white stick showed what you thought it was going too. Your boss was already on your back about more intel, Jane having more than you and she just looked after the baby. But you were in love with Miguel, yes you were doing the wrong thing every time he laid on top of you, but now there was no turning back.

You reached for the stick on the counter, picking it up. You took a deep breath and turned it over, the word ‘pregnant 4-6weeks ’ in thick black letters on the tiny screen. Your stomach dropped and the tears fell, that was your career gone for 10 minutes of pleasure. You had to pull yourself together, you had a meeting with Miguel and one of the Galindo’s major buyers in 30 minutes. As you went to open your room door you were met with Nestor and Paco, both their faces cold,

“Y/N, you need to come with us”

“Is everything-“

“Let’s go, you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting”

You were even more confused when you saw Maria walk out into the backyard with Christobel instead of Jane. Nestor opened the car door for you and Paco got in the driver’s seat, he driving you towards the dress factory. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your stomach flip flopped as Nestor lead you towards the back room, Paco behind you. You had read all about this very room, but up until now, never been in it.

Nestor opened the door and you stepped in, fear filling you when Miguel whipped his head towards you, a look on his face that you had never seen before, Jane tied to his church pure and a portable stove with a pot on it next to him. You jumped when you heard the door slam shut and you saw the look wash over Nestor’s face when he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards Miguel,

“How long did you think it would take for me to find out?” Miguel raised his eye brow at Jane and then turned to you “Ven Y/N, ahora”

Nestor pulled you to Miguel and your body filled with fear when his hand went to your cheek, his eyes were filled with rage and you heard Jane’s sobs. Nestor walking to the set up turning on the stove and started to stir the pot,

“Miguel” you chocked “What’s going on?”

“Please, don’t treat to me like a fool. They put you in my house and you worm your way into my bed” his lips came to your ear and his hand left your cheek and went to your arm “You think because I had my cock in your mouth and I told you my feelings I would spare you when I found out” Miguel stepped away from you, walking to the pew grabbing the yellow rain coat that was hanging off the end of it and handing it to you “Put this on mi amor, show me how much you love me now” he barked.

Your hands started to shake and tears ran from your eyes,

“Miguel, please” you begged.

“Now” he yelled, his voice echoing in the room. You quickly put it on and Miguel grabbed your arm pulling you towards the pot making you look at it and you saw the boiling oil “You’re going to pour that to her and then Nestor will take care of you”

“Miguel” you sobbed.

“What did you think was going to happen? I’ am Miguel Galindo. Do you think the FBI is smarter than me? They should have trained their agents better, to not leave flies laying around where they can be seen”

“I’ am pregnant” you cried out.

“Liar” Miguel snarl.

“Por favor Miguel, I’ am not”

Miguel looked down at you and then nodded at Nestor who left the room. Miguel told you the follow him after he ripped the yellow rain coat off you throwing it on the floor and whispered something to Paco on the way past. Miguel guided you to a small office in the back of the factory and locked the door, walking to the small fridge grabbing a bottle of water,

“Why?” Miguel had his back to you “I let you in. I trusted you”

“Miguel, you can still trust me. I read the files. On paper you’re a horrible man but when I got to know you. You know how I feel”

“Just words” You muttered back.

“No Miguel. I meant everything I said” you walked up to him putting your hands on his back.

“I need to know what you told them”

“Nothing” you kissed his shoulder.

“Stop. Tell me now. What did you tell them?” Miguel roared at you turning around to face you.

“Nothing” you screamed back at him.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, sitting the bottle of water on the table and opened your messages to ‘Mum’ who was your boss and you handed him your phone. You watched Miguel’s eye brows frown as he read message after message from your boss telling you to get information or you would be pulled from the case, and either you didn’t answer or just wrote back ‘Need more time’

“You told them nothing?”

“No. Have your people check it out”

“It’s mine?” Miguel nodded towards your tummy.

“Si”

“I want you to do a test”

“Anything you need me to do to prove it to you, Miguel”

12 months later

It has been a massive whirl wind and roller coaster from that day in the warehouse. You held Camila in your arms as you looked out over the ocean from your unit in Cuba as you thought about everything that happened. Miguel was there for the birth; a paternity test was taken as soon as she was born, Miguel wanting to make sure that she was indeed his. The rent was paid for and there was money in your account every month for food and anything the baby needed. Miguel had snuck you and Jane out of the US through the tunnels to Mexico, making you both disappear. You sent to Cuba and Jane sent to Puerto Rico, with new names and a new life. Jane told never to step foot back in the US.

You hadn’t heard from Miguel in almost a month, you weren’t sure if he was going to tell Emily, but you were grateful for being far away from everything. You had seen the US news how the FED’s finally raided the Galindo house and you crossed everything that there would be no paper trail to you for you to get caught out and be brought back to the US.

You had just put Camila down after she fell asleep in your arms, when there was knocks on the door. You went and looked through the peep hole and gasped in surprise, swinging the door open to Miguel, his face scruffy and he looking tired,

“What are you doing here?” you moved out of the way and he walked in “Can you be traced here? I saw the news” you closed and locked the door.

Miguel didn’t answer at first walking in dropping his bags and throwing himself on the couch,

“No. For now. There isn’t a trail to you. I have new documents coming here tomorrow and we move into the new apartment next week”

“We?” you raised an eye brow at him.

A cry broke through the apartment and Miguel jumped up rushing towards the cry. You gave him a minute and then walked to door, leaning on it, your heart melting watching him cradle Camila in his arms,

“lo siento, mi princesa. I stayed away to long, Papa is here now” he kissed her forehead, Miguel looked up at you, a tear running down his cheek “She has your nose”

“She has her Papa’s long fingers” you smiled back.

“What we did, what I did to my wife, my son, was wrong” he muttered “But, I loved you”

“We did do wrong Miguel” you walked into the room “I still love you”

“You won’t when you find out everything. What was in those files was nothing”

Miguel kissed Camila’s cheek, putting her back in her bassinet and sitting on your bed, his hands going over his face and you sat down next to him putting your arm around him. He told you everything he did and then looked up at you with a tear-stained face,

“A lot’s happened” you whispered.

“I’ve made too many bad decisions. They are catching up with me”

“That’s life Miguel”

“How can you not look at me differently”

“Because I saw that other man that you are. Just Miguel, not Cartel Miguel. He is a good man; he is the father of my daughter”

“Can we do this? Trust each other after everything?” Miguel looked over at you.

Your hand went to his thigh and his went on top of yours,

“It’s not going to be easy, but I want to try”

 Tags: @beccabarba @alwaysachorusgirl @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @jemmakates @ben-c-group-therapy

[gubler-me-up]

Lost in Translation

Request(s): Hey :) Can i make a Spencer request? Something like that episode in Mexico, with a bilingual reader please <3 Like a trip and he realizes that the reader can speak Spanish, he's kinda mesmerized and she helps the team to get more information about the unsub

hey beautiful :) could u write something (literally anything) where the reader speaks another language or like they have an australian accent or smthg and they have to like translate for the team and spencer just thinks it’s the hottest thing in the world and then the reader gets real worked up and starts yelling in the other language and spencer is just like skdkdmend,,,,u don’t have to if u don’t wanna but like i love u sm ur amazing 

A/N: Thanks for the first request @cryingforwill​ and shout out to the anon who sent the second request! Can y’all believe this is my last fic of 2020? Being posted early? New year, new me (maybe)! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting my work for the last four months of 2020 you literally ROCK 🗣 btw I am by no means bilingual (maybe a lil French but that’s it) so all the Spanish being spoken in this fic is straight from Google Translate so pls forgive me if it doesn’t translate properly and if you’re like me and don’t know Spanish pls have Google Translate on deck while reading

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: Swearing, semi-nudity, mentions of violence 

Word count: 2k

————-

It was rare that the team travelled abroad for a case but when an unsub was on the run to Mexico they had no choice to follow their tracks. The team landed in Mexico within a day of finding out the unsub had fled. They didn’t waste time scoping out places the unsub could possibly be according to eyewitness reports.

Unfortunately for Spencer he got stuck with surveilling at the beach with Morgan in the hot sun. They made sure to dress for the part by wearing swim trunks and sunglasses. Well, that’s what Morgan was wearing. Spencer opted to wear a white t-shirt,  brown khaki pants and a pair of black converse.

Morgan had begged him to change into something else so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Spencer insisted that if he just stayed on the outskirts of the beach he would look like a tourist sightseeing. The explanation earned him an eye roll and look of disappointment from Morgan.

No matter the amount of disappointment Morgan felt, the surveillance plan went as planned. Morgan went on the beach to blend in with locals and tourists so he could ask people if they had seen the unsub as well as scoping the area for him. Spencer stayed just at the border of the beach surveilling the area. Whenever someone would pass by he would ask them if they had seen the unsub.

From a handful of people ignoring him to them just giving him a weird look, he felt as if he actually did look a bit weird in his attire. He sighed and decided it might be best if he did some surveillance from the car with his pair of binoculars. Before he could turn around to leave, a volleyball hit his feet.

He looked down and picked it up. He had no idea why he picked it up considering he didn’t know who to give it to. Even if he did he wouldn’t embarrass himself trying to hit it back to the person it belonged to. Volleyball was apart of his long list of sports he wasn’t good at.

“Hey, sorry, that’s mine.”

He looked in the direction of where the voice was yelling. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw a gorgeous woman running towards him. He tried to be respectful and not stare for too long considering she was wearing a bikini. He didn’t want her to think he was a creep or even worse, the unsub.

She smiled as she made her way right in front of him. She held out her hands for him to give her back the ball. He looked down at her hands and then at his. He silently went “oh” as he realized he still had the ball in his hand.

“Sorry,” he said as he handed her the ball.

She looked him up and down with a questionable look. She looked back at his face. Spencer for sure thought she was going to treat him like the rest and pretend he just wasn’t there. To his surprise she smiled at him.

“¿Eres de eta zona?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, no lo soy.”

She giggled. “Por la forma en que mataste tu sentencia, puedo decir que eres de los Estados Unidos.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Supongo que eras de la zona.”

She nodded her head. She reached into her bikini top. He watched carefully to see what she was about to pull out. He then realized there’s no way she could be hiding a weapon in her bikini top so he strayed his eyes away from her breast.

She saw how flustered he had become and laughed at how his pale face turned red. She pulled out her I.D. card to show him who she was. He looked at her surprised when he read her identification.

“My name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I’m originally from America myself but I opted to work for the Policía Federal after serving my time as a special agent at the FBI California headquarters. I’m here to be of assistance to you and your team, agent,” she said.

“How did you know I was-”

“My team was informed by your unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, that an unsub had crossed over to our borders, so we know everyone on your team. Also, no one dresses like that unless they’re undercover.”

Spencer looked down at his attire. He guessed Morgan had a valid point of him sticking out. She laughed and grabbed his hand to escort him onto the beach. He hesitantly held back.

“I hate sand in my shoes,” he complained.

“Well, you should have worn sandals. Aren’t you the genius of the group? Dr. Spencer Reid? How come you didn’t think of that?” She questioned as she yanked him onto the beach.

Spencer trailed behind her unwillingly. He could already feel the sand seeping into his shoes already. He would have been more upset but he was entering the beach for some reason Y/N hadn’t explained to him yet. Since she was on their side, there wasn’t a direct reason not to trust her.

“I wasn’t going to go onto the beach. My partner, Derek Morgan, is surveilling the beach,” he explained.

“The beach is the best part to surveil though. Seems to me you got the short end of the stick,” she said.

“It’s the stick I chose and I’m fine with it,” he said.

She giggled. “Tonto, tonto chico.”

“Uh, gracias?”

She led him over to an area where there was a blue beach towel set up with a cloth bag on it. She let his hand go and kneeled on the towel. He looked at her strangely as he watched her ruffling through her bag. She pulled out a bottle of sunscreen.

“Can you apply sunscreen to my back please?” She asked.

“I-I don’t know if-”

“Do you want to blend in or not, khaki pants?”

He looked down at his pants before looking back at her. She reached the bottle out to him and he didn’t feel as if he had a better option so he took it from her. She smiled as she scooted down to make some room for him to kneel behind her.

He went behind her and kneeled. He opened it up and squeezed a good amount on his hands. He rubbed his hands together before he started applying it to her lower back. He had to admit her skin was the softest thing he had ever touched.

“Crees que puedes seguirme si hablo español durante esta conversación?” She asked

“Intentaré,” he said.

“Excelente. Tengo un hueso personal que elegir con su sospechoso,” she said.

“Que hizo…Wait, what are you doing?” He asked.

Y/N reached one hand to the back of her bikini top and untied it. She held the front of it with her free hand so her breasts wouldn’t spill out, flustering Spencer anymore than he already was. She looked back at him with a smile as she saw him turn red again.

“You need to get the whole of my back,” she said.

“Uh…I guess?” He said.

“You sound unsure. Wait until you have to do the front,” she said.

“I what?” He choked.

“I’m kidding. We’ll save that possibility for another time,” she said with a wink before turning her head.

Spencer’s mouth was gaped open but he couldn’t find the words to say back to her. He honestly didn’t know what would be the appropriate way to respond to her. If Morgan was there he probably would have been even more disappointed by the way he was acting around Y/N.

“Your unsub, Eric Brown, almost killed my partner,” she said.

“I heard,” Spencer softly said.

“Ese hijo de puta nos sorprendió. Le disparó a mi compañero en el cuello y si no estuviera allí para evitar que se desangrara, habría estado muerto,” she said, gradually becoming louder in her tone.

“Lamento que tu y tu pareja hayan sido víctimas de él,” he said.

“¿Ser víctima de él? Si vuelvo a ver a ese hijo de puta voy a hacer que me caiga víctima,” she yelled.

He let her have her little moment because he knew how upsetting being in that type of situation could be. Even though he was upset for her, he couldn’t help think her yelling was tantalizing. It didn’t help he was enjoying rubbing her back with sunscreen and feeling her soft skin over and over again.

“Estamos aquí para ayudar en todo lo que podamos. Queremos hacer justicia a su pareja y a las otras víctimas de Brown,” Spencer said.

She turned around to look at him with a smile. He smiled back at her as he took his hands off of her. She looked down at the string that dangled at her side and then looked back at him. He didn’t need her to say anything and grabbed both strings on both sides of her to tie it around her back.

“Eres muy dulce, Spencer. Le devolveré el favor diciéndole esto: escuché de un informante hoy que Brown intentará esconderse en un carro de cargamento de drogas que se dirige a Cuba,” she said.

“Really?” He asked in shock.

“Sí. The shipment leaves in six hours, but the dock isn’t too far from here. If my hunch is right, he isn’t staying too far from the dock,” she said.

“Reid.”

They both looked up to see Morgan walking their way. Spencer immediately got up and dusted the sand off his pants. Y/N also got up and picked up all of her belongings off of the ground.

“Morgan, I-uh…I know what this might seem like but I was-um.”

“Hi, my name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I’m with the Policía Federal. I was informing agent Reid about Brown’s possible whereabouts,” she said.

“Yeah, apparently, he’s going to get on a drug shipment to Cuba in six hours,” Spencer whispered.

“He’s most likely hiding out somewhere north of Cancun,” she said.

“Great. Thanks for the information. Are your units scouting the area out?” Morgan asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but we’re not trying to penetrate the area directly. We have no idea what kind of people Brown has paired up with and he’s already attacked one of our own before, so we’re treading lightly.”

“Fair. I guess we’ll meet in six hours to catch him,” Morgan said as he reached out his hand.

Y/N grabbed it and shook it. “We definitely will, agent.”

As she let go of his hand, she looked over at Spencer. She smiled and reached out her hand. She noticed his hesitation to grab it, so she did him the favour and latched into his hand. She pulled him in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Gracias por aplicarme protector solar en la espalda. Tal vez después de atrapar a este hijo de puta, podamos ser más íntimos,” she said into his ear.

She pulled away from him and saw that confused yet intrigued look on his face again. She laughed before waving them both goodbye. They both watched as she walked off from their sight into the overcrowded beach.

Morgan flopped his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer looked at Morgan to see a grin spanning from ear to ear. He sighed as he already knew what Morgan was going to say.

“So you spent the time you were supposed to be surveilling rubbing on a hottie’s back?” Morgan asked

“How about we don’t talk about it?” Spencer said as he shrugged off Morgan’s arm and started to walk away.

“You can’t keep your secret move from me,” Morgan said as he walked behind him.

“What secret move?” Spencer asked.

“The “standing there out of place but yet attract all the ladies to me” move,” Morgan said.

Spencer smirked. “I would teach you if I knew why it happened.”

Morgan chuckled. “You know what, I think I’m more content with you finally not knowing an answer for something than I am with you getting a potential date.”

—–

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection, @slutforthegubes, @pinkdiamond1016, @spencerreidsthings, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @slutforsr @bxtchboy69, @fallinallinmendes @haihappen5 @mgg-theprettiestboy @siltuz-png @ptrs-prkrs @tclaerh @agentadhd @alexmarie29 @closetedreidstan @mac99martin @blxckhearthood @jesspavlik0vsky @katexrichardson @keniaasf @reidbuck @corishirogane3 @thegoddamncrazycatlady @keniaasf @pastelbabygirl19 @shadybagelsludgecolor @bootycrackraisinjuice @vintagebeauty1496 @bluerose512​ @laneybobeczko-g​ @averyhotchner​ @littlewierdalien @cynbx @mggsprettygirl​ @jessalyn-jpeg​

[actress4him]

Querencia 2 - Abandoned

(Prompt #4 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @darthsutrich

Previous | Next

Warnings: lady whumpee, teenage whumpee, mild blood, fantastic prejudice (for lack of a better term??), parental abandonment, foster system

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Some people’s powers manifest when they hit puberty. Others when they face a traumatic event, whether they’re a child or an adult.

Liliana isn’t really sure precisely when hers started, but she’s fourteen when she discovers what she can do. It’s a normal day at school, she’s hanging out with her friend Camila on the playground during recess, unaware that her life is about to change. Then Camila falls off the monkey bars and scrapes her elbow.

As she begins to cry, blood beading up around the torn skin, Liliana rushes to her and takes the injured elbow in her hands. Suddenly there’s some kind of blue aura dancing between the two girls’ skin. Gasping, Liliana lets go and falls back, but it’s too late. Camila is staring at her with impossibly wide eyes, cradling an elbow with only a bit of blood as evidence that it was ever hurt, and Liliana’s own elbow is smarting. She can hardly pay that any mind, though, not with her thoughts swirling around what she just saw.

Because she’s one of them. She’s a Non.

She’d been young when people with strange powers started popping up on the news all of a sudden, so she doesn’t know where the slang term came from. All she knows is that Nons aren’t to be trusted. Her father has said so, many a time over the dinner table. Her mother watches the news stories about Nons with a hand over her heart, frightened.

Camila’s mouth gapes open. “You...you’re…”

“Don’t, please.” She shakes her head frantically, tears stinging her eyes. “No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...you can’t tell anyone.”

Her friend’s eyes are wide, uncertain. She looks from her own elbow, to Liliana’s hands, to her face. “Okay. Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie. I promise.”

And she keeps her promise. Camila never breathes a word of Liliana’s newfound powers to anyone, and Liliana makes sure not to touch anyone who’s hurt for a very long time.

Or at least she tries.

One time she touches her brother’s forehead when he’s sick, and he makes a ‘miraculous’ recovery. She, on the other hand ‘catches’ his cold, only she never actually runs a fever or needs to blow her nose. She just feels sick.

Thankfully no one suspects.

Another time she bumps into someone in the grocery store and hisses as her arm begins to throb. At home, she pushes up her sleeve to find out what’s wrong and sees nothing. Just her skin, smooth and brown as always. It feels like there’s a giant purple bruise there, though, the pain much worse when she brushes a finger across it.

Accidents happen. Liliana takes to wearing shirts with sleeves long enough to pull over her hands, no matter what the weather, to try to further avoid contact. She’d wear gloves all the time if that wasn’t sure to raise questions.

And all the while, the foreboding news about the Nons continues.

A Non robbed a bank. A Non killed three people. A Non cut off the electricity to an entire city.

She’s convinced that she’s the only good person with powers in the world. And her power could be so helpful for so many people, too, if only she was free to use it. Sure, it seems to transfer pain and sickness directly to her, but it never lasts. Even the scar that she got from Camila faded after a while, about the same time she stopped noticing it on her friend’s elbow, too. It’s possible that she could save people’s lives, rather than threatening them like all the other Nons seem to do.

Liliana manages to keep her secret for over a year before everything falls apart.

Her whole family is at the neighborhood’s Fourth of July celebration. Her mother is introducing her to Mrs. Bently, an elderly woman with kind blue eyes and wrinkled, gnarled hands. One of those hands is reaching for hers, and Liliana is frozen, wanting to pull away, afraid of what it will look like if she does, knowing somehow without a doubt that she cannot let this lady touch her hand, but unable to figure out how to stop it before it’s happening. The small white hand is clasped around her own. Liliana’s wearing long sleeves, as usual, despite the heat of July, but that doesn’t keep her fingertips from sticking out and touching skin.

She doesn’t dare to look down. She can feel the power going out of her, can hardly bite back a gasp as her fingers stiffen and begin to ache. But there’s still a smile on Mrs. Bently’s face, she hasn’t looked down, either, hasn’t seemed to notice. Maybe she can get away with this one more time, maybe her luck will continue and no one will know…

A strangled sound comes from somewhere to her right, and she remembers. Mamá is watching.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look she might not have seen she might not know if you look she’ll know she’ll see it on your face

Mrs. Bently’s friendly smile fades into a frown. Releasing Liliana’s hand, she brings her own hand up to look at it, flexing her fingers in a way that Liliana knows she can’t do herself right now.

“That’s...that’s so strange. My hand...it…” She laughs, incredulously, and Liliana wants to laugh with her, anything to break through the fear that’s pounding in her eardrums, but all she can do is pull her sleeve farther down to hide her aching fingers, pull until the shirt is threatening to fall off her shoulder. “It’s almost like when you touched my hand, my arthritis just...disappeared.” Another short laugh, and she reaches the same hand up to softly pat Liliana’s cheek. “Either I’m finally starting to lose my mind, or...or maybe you’re an angel sent to help an old woman.”

Another strange noise from the right, and Liliana finally gives in and looks.The expression that she sees is exactly what she feared. Mamá knows.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. All she’s aware of is that she’s bundled quickly into the car, harried excuses are made to friends, and she spends the evening in her room, hiding underneath the covers.

She doesn’t know what her parents are thinking right now. Are they mad? Disappointed? Scared?

“Anyone who says not all Nons are bad is an idiot,” Papá’s voice echoes in her mind. “An idiot who clearly isn’t keeping up with what’s going on in the world. None of them can be trusted. They all need to be rounded up and locked away for good.”

Liliana buries her head further and tries desperately to let sleep take her away from her worries.

The next morning someone knocks on her bedroom door. It isn’t locked, so she sits up quickly, combing her fingers through her mussed up hair - the fingers of her left hand, after she discovers that those on her right aren’t fond of the motion - and tries to rub away the restless night of tears from her face. “Come in.”

It isn’t her mother, father, or even her brother who enters. It’s a stranger, a tall, thin woman with her blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. Liliana bolts upright, heart thumping wildly.

“¿Quién eres?”

“You need to pack your things.”

Shaking, Liliana attempts to back away, her thighs quickly bumping into the mattress. “What? Why?”

The woman sighs, pursing her lips, though it’s unclear whether she’s actually sympathetic or she’s just aggravated that whatever this is about hasn’t been explained yet. “Your parents have turned you over to the care of the state. I’m here to escort you to your new home.”

Liliana’s mind goes blank other than a high-pitched screeching in her ears. The woman is saying something else, she thinks, but nothing is processing. Finally she finds her voice enough to murmur, “No, no no no no no, that can’t...que no puede ser cierto, that’s...that’s not right, they wouldn’t...they can’t…”

The next thing she knows she’s pushing past the woman, ignoring whatever protests she’s giving. The house is quiet. Too quiet. There’s no music coming from her brother’s room, no pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, no tv incessantly blaring the news. But she searches each corner of the downstairs anyway, still hoping that she’ll find someone in her family who will tell her that this is all a mistake, a nightmare, maybe, that they would never, ever, send her away just because of something that she can’t control, that she would never use for anything but good.

She approaches the front door and it opens suddenly, letting in yet another stranger, a broad-shouldered man who just stands there, blocking the exit. “I’m going to have to ask you to follow the lady back upstairs and do what she says.”

The blonde woman appears behind her, at the foot of the stairs. “Your parents aren’t here. Everyone knows that Nons can be...volatile. It’s generally best if the family isn’t present when they’re taken into custody.”

Tears finally begin pouring down Liliana’s cheeks. “But I’m not, I’m not, I swear...I’ve never...I wouldn’t hurt anyone! My power is healing, anyway, I don’t…” Her babbling trails off, lost in the tornado of her thoughts.

Her family really called the government on her and...and left her.

They never even asked her any questions.

They didn’t try to find out what was going on, didn’t ask what her powers could do, weren’t concerned about the fact that she apparently has arthritis now, at the age of fifteen.

The fact that she’s their daughter, that they raised themselves and that they know, means nothing to them. She doesn’t even get the benefit of the doubt.

The blonde woman plasters a fake smile onto her face. “I know, sweetie. I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I’m afraid there are rules in place that have to be followed in cases like this.”

She doesn’t really have a choice. Between the two of them, they have her trapped, and what’s her alternative, anyway? Stay here and wait for a family that doesn’t want her anymore? Live her life with them always watching her, always distrusting, always waiting for her to snap and turn evil like the Non she is?

Liliana follows the woman back up the stairs and throws a few belongings into a backpack. She’s numb, moving on autopilot, no idea what she should actually be bringing. It feels like she’s packing for a weekend trip, not for the rest of her life.

The tears never stop the whole time.

As she’s escorted out to the black sedan waiting in the driveway, she swears she sees a glimpse of her parents’ car across the street. The driver is staring straight ahead, refusing to look this way, but the woman in the passenger’s seat’s cheeks glisten.

It’s probably just her imagination, though.

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Spanish translations (please please let me know if I got something wrong):

“No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...” - I didn’t know, I swear, Mila, please don’t...”

“Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie.” - Okay, I won’t. I won’t tell anyone.

“¿Quién eres?” - who are you?

“que no puede ser cierto” - that can’t be true

[deliriousgeek]

Javier Pena x Reader

All conversation here is Spanish, BUT for the sake of possible mistranslation I will keep the dialogue in English. 

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: slight stalker dude, alcohol, blood, death (but not to main characters)

TBH the timeline is off but lets ignore that

Also if you wanna just skip the part with Javi, because I added some backstory, look for the bold star *

Masterlist

To say that Y/n’s day had been trying, would be an understatement. 

A group of rogue sicarios had attacked another marketplace in the morning, another warning sign to their former leader Pablo Escobar. The emergency medical clinic that Y/n worked at had taken in the gunshot victims that the main hospital wouldn’t be able to save. If the patient would survive the wound, they were taken and treated at the hospital. If the patient was nearing death, they were sent to the clinic. The worst part of it all was that the victims didn’t know they were dying. The nurses and doctors had tried to make each patient as comfortable as possible, and it was only because they knew that the patient would die. 

After a gruelling fourteen hour day that began at six in the morning, Y/n began walking to her part of the nurses’ station. She had finished attending to her last patient ten minutes ago, now she stood above a trash can as she peeled the now bloodied latex gloves off her hands. Ten minutes. A lot can be done in ten minutes. One can make a phone call to their loved one, make a purchase at the store, listen to a song or two, all in just 10 minutes. Yet Y/n had done none of those things in the last 10 minutes. In the past 10 minutes she had entered a janitor’s closet, locked the door, sat on an empty bucket, and cried. She cried and cried until the pain of unbearable loss was now an empty pit in her chest. 

Ten minutes ago she had been holding the hand of a young boy. He was almost ten by the looks of it. He had been there at the market when the sicarios began opening fire on the civilians. Y/n hadn’t even known his name. All she knew, from what the barely conscious boy had said, was that his mom was counting on him to make money to take care of his siblings. That was all the information she had on this boy. By the time the paramedics had gotten to him, he had lost so much blood that all they could do was stop the bleeding in an effort to keep him out of shock. When they had finally gotten him situated at the clinic, it was too late to save him. He was one of the last patients brought in. They had used all their blood transfusions on previous victims to make them comfortable. All Y/n could do was sit by his side as he closed his eyes for what he didn’t know would be the last time. He asked to hold her hand. He said that Y/n reminded him of his mom, and he missed his mom. Sometimes, Y/n wished she couldn’t speak or understand Spanish. The little boy’s voice still rang clear in her ears. It was one of the most heart breaking, yet endearing things she’s ever heard a person say. 

“Tell mama I’ll be home soon. I just need to rest for a while.” 

Y/n scoffed bitterly. He thought he would go home to his mom, his siblings, his family. Instead he was gone. Another casualty made by the hands of the cartel. 

Y/n took in a deep breath. A new feeling of rage had overcome her grief. If those damn cartel leaders could see the death they bring, if they could see the amount of people affected by their actions, maybe they would stop. Y/n had seen at least a hundred patients come into the clinic door that day and the only way they went out was in a body bag. To the cartel, that boy was just another number, another statistic, another dead person; to Y/n he was more than that.

He was another soul added to the lives she could have saved. 

Weighing all these thoughts made Y/n’s head hurt, and the feeling of loss began to creep its way back into her chest. She needed to clock out, and leave; and so she did. Her way back home was quiet. She didn’t turn on the radio, nor did she hum that song that was constantly in her subconscious, she simply drove home with only the noise of the thoughts in her head. Once Y/n had gotten home she slammed the door behind her and headed straight to the bathroom. She let the water run and heat up as she picked out her pajamas for the night. After peeling off her scrubs, Y/n stepped towards the shower, but not before catching sight of herself in the mirror. That made her stop. She turned to her reflection and stared. She noticed her eye bags were darker than they were when she left in the morning. Her hair was in a low bun that had bits of her hair sticking out; a sign that she had been too busy comforting patients to care what her hair looked like, it just needed to be out of her face. Her skin looked dull and her lips were chapped, but the most unrecognizable feature Y/n saw was her own eyes. They stared back at her and showed nothing but a blank stare. Y/n chalked up these observations as effects of seeing so many people die, and knowing one could do nothing about it. Blinking, Y/n stepped away from the mirror and into the shower. The warm water did little to nothing to warm the cold hollow feeling in her chest. After drying herself off and changing in to clean clothes Y/n sat herself down on the couch. A defeated breath left her lips. Her apartment was quiet, too quiet even for an apartment in a low end neighborhood in Columbia. 

* She shook her head. A quiet environment is the perfect invitation to thoughts. Y/n didn’t want those right now. So instead of letting the quietness consume her she pulled herself off the couch and into an outfit for a night out. She wanted alcohol— no —needed alcohol to stop these dark thoughts from creeping back into her head. There was a bar near her apartment that she had yet to go to. Y/n decided she would go there. With her purse hanging over her shoulder and keys in hand, Y/n locked up her apartment and headed to the bar. The bar was a short enough distance that Y/n figured it would do her some good to walk there instead of drive. To some degree, she was right, the slight breeze had cooled her off and in turn helped blow away some of the tension she was feeling. Y/n entered the bar and made her way to the back of the room where she sat down on a stool in front of the bartender who was cleaning a glass. 

“What can I get for you ma’am?”

Y/n places her purse in her lap while resting an elbow on the counter, jutting out two fingers to rest her temple on. “A neat whiskey please.”

The bartender nods and begins to make her drink. She turns from the bartender to survey the rest of the bar. There’s plenty of people occupying the tables and booths that line the walls. There’s a group playing music on stage and it seems that their music is just loud enough to distract Y/n from her thoughts. The atmosphere is bustling and a little noisy; it’s just what Y/n needs. The bartender places her drink in front of her, taking Y/n out of her stare.

“Here you are ma’am.”

She nods, “Thank you.”

She nurses her drink for a while before there’s only a few sips left. She tanks it and hails the bartender over with a wave of her hand. 

“Guaro por favor.” Y/n speaks.

The bar tender nods as he takes her now finished glass of whiskey. 

Y/n places her head in her palm, her hair falls in front of her face. Looking up, she takes a long look at the bar goers around her and closes her eyes, listening to the soft trumpet of the band that is accompanied by strums of the guitar. Her face scrunches up as the memory of the young boy's face flashes across her mind. She forces her eyes open and dismisses the memory from her head. The bartender places the shot in front of her and she thanks him. Then downs the shot, the flavor and burning sensation coats her throat. She places the glass back on the counter before asking for another. The bartender eyes her, as if questioning if he should get her another drink or not, before taking her glass and providing her with another shot of clear liquid. Y/n places the glass to her lip before swinging her head back, effortlessly taking in the alcohol once more. 

This action catches the attention of another patreon of the bar. The way she carried herself screamed confidence, but her slight frown and pale face carried a dark emotion that couldn’t be described. She had just placed the glass of her second shot on the counter when Javier excused himself from his drinking buddies and made his way over to the bar. Truth be told, he had been watching her since she walked in the doors, and he wasn’t the only one who had taken interest in the lonely women taking shots alone. However, he was determined he would be the first to talk to her. Luckily the stool next to her wasn’t taken, so he sat himself down next to her. His arm propped himself up as he leaned on the counter, his body facing her. 

A charming smile worked it’s way onto his face. “Hola.” He spoke, testing if she spoke Spanish.

Y/n noticed the greeting and side glanced at him, wary. “Hola.” She replied.

“I’m a regular at this bar. I’ve never seen you here before.”

Y/n turned her head to look at him. He was a nicely dressed man. Dark hair, dark mustache, tan skin and a leather jacket to match his raspy voice. 

“It’s my first time here.” She dismisses his smile and looks forward. 

Just as his lips open are about to say something else, Y/n speaks again. 

“I’m not interested.” Her voice is quipped.

Javier’s eyebrows slightly lift and he is, albeit, a little bit stunned. His head cocks to the side and his lip quirks up into a stunned smile. Then he nods, lifting his hands up to signal surrender, before lowering them back down and leaning towards Y/n. “Well, then I’ll leave you to it, newcomer. But for the record, I also came over to tell you that the guy in the corner with the white cowboy hat on,” He nods to the back of the room near the stage. 

Y/n follows his gaze. Sure enough a man with a white cowboy hat on sits with his legs splayed out, angled towards them. He wears a long sleeve shirt and a leather vest, with cowboy boots to match. 

“Has been eyeing you for the past ten minutes,” Javier leans towards Y/n’s ear. “and he doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” With that, he stands up from the stool and heads back to the table with his buddies. 

Y/n is left slightly wide eyed, and now more cautious of the man staring at her from behind. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable, Y/n asks for her check. She pays and leaves. The walk home is again, accompanied by a slight breeze, something Y/n is thankful for to cool off her now warmed skin. She walks in silence for a bit longer, listening to the nightlife of her town. Y/n relishes in the feeling of the alcohol in her system before listening to her surroundings once more. She can hear families eating dinner, friends partying, dogs barking, children playing under the street lights, but then a noise catches her off guard. She hears footsteps, heavy foot steps. Taking note of the area she’s in, it’s normally a fairly frequented place. To get to her apartment she has to walk through the town square, which, at this time of night is usually filled with some people, but not tonight. The only things keeping her company are the street lights, the slight buzz of alcohol starting to take effect and the approaching footsteps. A flight feeling of unease fills Y/n’s stomach as she remembers the man who was staring at her in the bar, and the words of warning from the leather jacket clad man, “He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Not wanting to take any chances, even if the footsteps are of a passer by, Y/n quickens her pace, only to hear that the person behind her quickens their pace as well. At the noise Y/n’s heartbeat quickens and she sobers up just enough to understand she could be in danger. She briskly walks down a road lined with houses before turning a corner, then another corner, then another. She’s straying off the path to home a little, but if it meant losing whoever could possibly be following her then it might be better. Y/n stops and waits, ear straining to listen around the corner for the same heavy footsteps. 

It’s quiet. Y/n lets out a breath relief, then, all too soon, the footsteps are back. However this time, they’re closer. 

Y/n’s eyes widen at the realization, she’s being followed and whoever it is knows where she is. Quickly looking around for anything she could possibly use as a weapon, Y/n spots some rocks on the ground. Her eyes flit to the rocks then to her purse, before she hastily gathers the rock in her purse and fastens the purse cover tight. Her breathing is quickens. The footsteps are closer maybe right around the corner. Y/n straightens herself against the wall of the building and holds her purse by the straps above her shoulder as she listens. She tries to slow her breaths and watches the bottom of the wall corner. The footsteps are louder, closer, right next to her. Then, as soon as she sees the tip of the person’s shoe peep around the corner, she swings. 

“Shit!” A raspy cry rings about as the shoe disappears around the corner once more. 

Y/n pulls herself from around the corner, bag still raised and ready to swing again as she takes in the scene in front of her. In the dim light she sees her pursuer stumbling backwards with two hands cradling his nose. She observes his clothes. She looks at his head, no cowboy hat. She looks at his torso, no leather vest. Then her eyes roam down his legs, no cowboy boots.

Instead of the ensemble she expected, Y/n is met with combed dark brown hair, a mustache, leather jacket and jeans. 

“What the hell was that for?” The man accusingly raises his voice, still hissing as he tries to nurse his nose. 

“Why the hell are you following me?” Y/n shoots back with the same tone. She hopes she left a bruise.

“Because that creep with the hat got up and left the bar after you did!” The man flails one arm behind him as if gesturing to another person as he covers his nose with the other. 

Y/n’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She realizes her mistake. Then she realizes the man has been holding his nose for too long for his injury to be a bruise. “Shit. I’m so sorry.” She lowers her bag and places it back across her body. “Let me look at your nose.”

She steps forward to help, then he steps back, holding out a hand. 

“Look lady, you’re the one that caused this. I don’t think I really trust you enough to not break it even further.” His delivery is terse. He doesn’t look at her when he speaks, eyes squinting in pain. 

Y/n rolls her eyes. “I’m a woman walking home alone at night, I think you can understand my reason for being defensive.”

When the only reply she gets from the man is a hiss as he tries to touch his nose, testing the injury, she speaks again, but this time a in a more gentle tone.

“And I’m a nurse. I won’t break your nose.”

Javier lets out a puff of a laugh, almost a scoff. “Pretty sure you just did.”

Y/n sighs at his stubbornness. “Look, if your nose is broken then you’re going to need immediate attention. If it’s not, then all you’ll need is an ice pack. Okay? So let me look at it and then we can be on our separate ways.”

Javier opens his eyes at this. He squints at her, then slowly nods. “Okay. Deal.”

“Good.” 

Y/n leads him back to the town square where there is better light. She makes him sit down on the fountain edge so she can observe his nose from above. Now that she has a better look at it, she takes in the bruises already starting to form. Her face scrunches and she feels guilt in her chest. 

“So? Is it broken or not?” Javier impatiently inquires.

Y/n only nods, feeling too guilty to retort with his attitude. “Unfortunately, yes. It is broken. You need some medical attention right away.”

Javier looks at her with a cocked head. “I’d say I’m getting some pretty good medical attention right now.” His eye brow lifts as a smirk appears on his face.

Y/n is startled at his brazen attempt at flirting, before her eyes narrow. “I broke your nose. I will not hesitate to break another body part of yours as well.”

Javier lets out a breathy chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

Y/n nods before speaking. “The emergency clinic is still open. C’mon, I’ll take you.” She begins to walk away. 

Javier stands up and takes long strides to catch up with her. 

“Why are you trusting me?”

Y/n stops. “What?” She turns to him.

“Just a few minutes ago I was following you. Now you’re all of a sudden very comfortable with walking me to the clinic. How do you know I didn’t make up that whole thing about that creep following you out of the bar just so you wouldn’t suspect me of anything?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Without breaking eye contact, Y/n reaches down for her purse and holds it up so that Javier could see it. “I’m not trusting you. As a nurse I took an oath to heal those around me. However, that doesn’t mean I will hesitate to use this should you make me uncomfortable again. Is that clear?”

A playful smile makes its way onto Javier’s lips. “Crystal clear ma’am.”

Posted on 12/7/20

Part 2 at the clinic anybody?

Translations: 

sicarios: hired mercs/men of the cartel

guaros: Columbian nickname for a type of alcohol