#a year and a half since an update? psssh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourfangirlfriend · 3 years ago

Text

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Seven

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Five and a Half

Chapter Six

A/N: Hey. Been a while. Here’s an update and a loose promise I’ll be better? Also thanks for all the notes, comments, and messages recently! I forget who wanted to be on the tag list, but comment and I’ll know for next time!

“It’s not serious.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Mother.”

“It’s not. You’re really overreacting.”

You curl your fingers into the bed of your palm and feel the bite of your nails digging into the flesh. “It’s cancer.”

“Psssh.”

You want to throw the phone across the room. Instead, you screw your eyes shut and lean back against the wall.

“Do you have an appointment soon?”

“You know I don’t like hospitals.” She says just as you see the deadbolt to your apartment flick unlocked. Javi pushes in seconds later, looking just as tired as you feel. You give him a little wave.

“Well weigh that dislike of hospitals against your dislike of death,” you say, turning away and putting your hand on your hip. You don’t want to burden him with this, but you see his eyebrows perk up anyway. Shit. You lower your voice. “Can’t Dad sit with you? Or Luna?”

“You worry too much.” She chides.

“You don’t worry enough!” You scold into the phone. You feel a hand around your waist and turn just in time to get a kiss on your forehead. It calms you down.

Sighing, you regain your composure. “Mom? Please promise me you’re going to go back.”

“Well of course I’ll go back, Bean, but really, I don’t want you worrying about me.” Somewhere in the background, you hear a crash behind her.

“Mom?”

“It’s just your father. He’s putting up shelves for the crystals and I think he fell. Can I call you back?”

You sigh. The only thing your mother is worse at than soothing your anxiety is calling you back.

“Yeah, sure.” You say. “But actually call?”

“I always do.”

“Hmm.”

“Bye Bean, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say before you hear the line go dead. You put the phone back on the hook and drop your head, trying it to calm yourself down. From the couch, you hear Javi perk up.

“Sounds like you had a worse day than me.”

You look up and give him a weak smile. “We’re having a lot of those, recently.”

How long are honeymoon periods supposed to last? You would have at least guessed six months. That only seems fair, given the seven months of angst and hookups that preceded finally, finally being able to admit to one another that maybe this meant a little more than you led on. You would have taken three months, even- three months of everything just being calm and quiet and nice, where the most stressful thing to happen is burning dinner because you’re too busy fucking on the counter.

You moved to the wrong fucking city.

It wasn’t even a week after your drunken exchange of I-love-yous that it began. All those bodies piling up once more, only this time the cops and their allies were giving just as good as they had got. Bodies from both sides seemed to pile up in higher stacks all around you two. Three days hadn’t passed without you having to calm down one of your students -or worse, one of your fellow teachers- over recent events. It was getting to you, too, if you were honest. Javi had warned you against going out like you once did, and as much as you hated it, you knew he was right. You thought of the friends of friends who had disappeared or died, caught in the crossfire or in the consequences of their poor decisions. The more you heard, the more you wanted to lock yourself in your apartment, hidden away from the chaos of the outside. You managed to see your friends at work but meet-ups outside had dwindled severely. Alessa found out she was pregnant and didn’t want to risk it. Lisa’s brother-in-law got caught in between two sides of a gunfight and couldn’t work any longer, so she was helping them more around the house. Maritza was the only one who still tried to go out, but it was a rare occasion you could even gather everyone up for a dinner at home.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you could have spent all this new, anxious free time with Javi, but if anything, he had picked up your slack when it came to existing in the outside world. Since Los Pepes had entered the picture, the man worked around the clock. Sometimes you would go the whole evening without seeing him, only to be awoken to the feeling of his body falling on the bed next to yours. While he still insisted on driving you to work every morning, he had begun staying at the office later and later, sometimes not returning until 2 am. The fire and anger that once fuelled him seemed to have died out, and the poor man is running on fumes. You could see it when you both woke in the morning in the dark circles under his eyes and the uptick in cigarettes he had been smoking. You try and take care of him - bringing him coffee in bed, rubbing his shoulders when he sits up, lost in his own thoughts. He appreciates it, he tells you as much, but no matter how hard you try he’s still as weary as ever when he finally comes back to you.

You don’t want to add to that. You know that what he’s seeing at work must be leagues beyond your little pep-talks and lonely evenings, and you don’t think it’s worth mentioning even if it has started to take its toll on you. You miss your friends. You miss days at work where the kids are sunny and mischievous, instead of withdrawn and scared. Hell, you miss your boyfriend- it feels weird calling a man his age that- you’re supposed to be in loved-up bliss, but instead it seems the universe decided to throw you another curveball. You overcame the intimacy issues only to come face to face with this bullshit not days later.

And now your mom is sick.

Javi gets up from the couch and comes to stand beside you, his tired hand dropping down to take your fingers. You smile at the effort, which seems small, but you know takes so much for him these days. You reach up to wipe a stupid tear out of your eyes.

“Swear she thinks she could cure this with sage and essential oil,” you try to joke. He doesn’t say anything, only runs his thumb along your cheek bone and tilt your chin up to look at him. You try and give him a smile before another year drops down your face. Frustrated, you press your hands into your eyes and let out a groan.

“Fuck.” You say. You drop your hands and look back at him. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, huh?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” I’m sorry I can’t be soft and happy for you when you come home? I’m sorry that he has to spend all day on the front lines and come back to this mess? “Things have been rough lately. I don’t want to add anything to your pile.”

“It’s not my pile that’s getting added to,” he pulls you against him, pressing a kiss against your head once more. You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “You okay, hermosa?”

You nod, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. “They caught it early. She’s just stubborn. She’ll go, though. Her dad was an oncologist. She pretends like she doesn’t know, but…” you shake your head. “Fucking parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, reaching out to push a loose curl behind your ear. “Fuckin’ parents.”

You relax into him, letting your head dip down into the dip when his neck connects to his chest. He brings his arms around you to keep you there. The two of you stand like that for a moment, two idiots swaying to the silence of the world’s chaos.

“You’re not bad,” you sigh against him, snuggling in deeper. “For an alcoholic cop.”

He chuckles. “Agent.” He combs his fingers through your hair. “You’re not bad for a teacher who lets strange men finger her in a supply closet.”

You hold a finger up. “One time.”

He catches your hand and brings your fingers up to his lips, kissing the tips. It’s enough to make you melt.

“I am sorry,” he says, placing your hand against his chest and holding it there. “About your mom.”

You sigh. “What can you do?”

“Do you need to go back?”

“I’d never hear the end of it if I did,” you pull away from him and make for the coffee table, where you had set out two drinks for Javi’s arrival before your mother had called. You pick them up and extend one to him, and he takes it gratefully, dropping onto the couch next to you. “She’s convinced I worry too much. Me, her brilliant daughter who chose to live in the middle of a war zone,” you purse your lips. “Sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head. “You’re right,” he leans forward to set his drink down on the coffee table before resting his elbows on his knees, bending forward in a pose of contemplation. Sensing the shift in the air, you sit up and run your fingers along his back.

“Javi- I didn’t mean…”

He shakes his head again. “This thing…it’s a fucking mess. All of it.” He sighs. “Sick of seeing fucking bodies.”

You reach for something to say to comfort him, but you know there’s nothing. Instead, you scoot closer to him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Have you thought about it? Going back to Texas for a while?” He asks.

You shake your head. “She doesn’t want me to. And neither do I,” you reach up and lace your fingers through his, unclasping a worried hand. He turns to you, his eyes flicking up and down your face.

“You shouldn’t stay here because of me. You’d be safer.”

You blow a raspberry. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Sensing he took the joke to heart, you nudge him with your chin. “I’m here because I want to be here. With the kids. With you.”

He turns back to face forward, and you’re unsure if he’s satisfied with your answer before he speaks again.

“If anything happens to you…” he shakes his head. It forms a pit in your stomach.

You reach out and press his hand against the center of your chest. When he looks at you puzzled, you smile. “See? Still beating. Think that’s a good sign.”

He sighs, but not without a small smile on his face. Taking advantage of the moment, you reach out and take him by the chin, pulling him in for a long kiss. When you break away, his hands come up to pull your face back to his, and you can’t help but smile as he presses his lips against your mouth and begins to trail down your neck.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing the pulse point that makes you shiver. “I think it’s a good sign.”

You’re not great at taking care of yourself when you’re stressed out. Who is, really? You hope he hasn’t noticed, though, the way the bags under your eyes have darkened to match his or how much more quickly you seem to go through liquor bottles. You want to think he doesn’t notice- that he’s too focused on other things, but it’s getting harder to pretend. You try and rally your energy every time you see him. You want to be this bright spot for him in the middle of all this chaos and violence. You cook, you clean, and you go down on him like you want to live the rest of your life on your knees. You smile. You joke. You try to be pure sunshine in the bullshit he’s caught in.

But now your mom’s sick. And, fuck, you’re empty.

He must notice it. He has to see it when he comes home to you, and your house is a mess. He has to hear it when you spend the next few weeks by the phone, arguing with your family- Luna is too busy with the baby to go home, your father doesn’t want to believe it’s real, and your mother-fuck! - she keeps telling you not to worry. Not to worry! Like the few times she calls, she doesn’t tell you offhandedly how much worse she’s getting. Like you’re not trying to keep yourself from telling her how you hear gunshots every night, or how you can’t go a week without seeing a dead body. Like you’re not protecting everyone from your feelings because surely, they have it worse. You know everyone has it worse. How do you compete with cancer and being a foot soldier in the war on drugs? You’re just some teacher. You’re just some lady in over her head. Like everyone else in this country.

Maybe it was just a bad day when he came home that Wednesday. For both of you. One of your students’ siblings had died the day before, and you had spent the majority of the day trying not to cry alongside an eight-year-old. You had been trying to reach your mother for days, but the calls kept getting picked up by the answering machine and you couldn’t come up with any other way to say, “please call me back and tell me you’re okay”. When you finally came home, it was to a messy house - why are you so disappointed? it’s been a disaster for weeks- and you barely have enough energy to kick a few things out of a sort of path. You check your messages, willing there to be one overlooked recording of your mother’s voice assuring you she’s doing fine before her scheduled surgery, but the tape is woefully empty, just as it was yesterday and the day before. You pick the stupid machine up from the table and throw it to the ground.

You chain-smoked three cigarettes by your window, zoning out into the ether as night descended upon you so gradually until it was suddenly dark. You thought of your student, the one who came home to a massacred older sibling, and your stomach cramps. Before you can stop yourself, you imagine your mother in the same position they described to you that morning- spread out like a starfish on the floor, eyes wide open and dull as they stare up to the ceiling, a halo of blood around their head. Your throat itches and you light a fourth cigarette.

When you went to the refrigerator, finally, but discovered upon opening the door that you had once again forgotten to go grocery shopping. The only things that stared back at you were three-day-old pasta leftovers, some eggs, and a few beers.

“Fucking idiot,” you said to yourself.

You pulled out the carton of eggs and had begun to whisk them together when you heard the door creak open. You turned around to call out a greeting but bit your tongue when you saw his face. A deep scowl marked his otherwise handsome features, and he had already lit a cigarette before coming in.

“Hey,” he said as if he was annoyed with you. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the eggs in front of you. He made for the couch, stripping off his jacket as he walked.

“Fuck!”

You turned around to see him wavering, trying to regain his balance. He reaches out and grabs the edge of the counter, but it’s stacked so high with papers that his hand slips and he’s falling back onto the floor- but not before hitting the back of his head. You run around, dropping to your knees beside him as he pulls a bloodied hand from the back of his head.

“Hang on- “you run to the sink and grab a wet towel. Jogging back to him, you reach out to nurse the area when he snatches the rag out of your hand.

“I can do it myself,” he says. “Why is your fucking answering machine on the floor?”

You feel stupid and lost for words, like a child who just got scolded. You hold your hands in front of you.

“I want to help- “

“If you want to help, why don’t you clean the fucking apartment?” He snaps.

Your eyes widen. He’s been grumpy for weeks, surly even, but there’s an extra bit of venom in his voice tonight. Before today, maybe you would have called him on it, snatched the rag out of his hand, and told him to go fuck himself, to go to his place and bleed over his own towels.

But…fuck you’re tired. You have been hanging by a thread all day and the only thing that was keeping your eyes dry was the thought of curling up with him tonight. Maybe if one of the many, horrible things hadn’t happened today you would already be kicking his ass out, instead of standing there dumb and speechless, taking this abuse you don’t deserve.

So, you let him have the rag. You turn back and walk to the kitchen and keep making the eggs.

He has it worse. He has it worse.

You two eat dinner in silence. You can tell he’s not pleased with the meager meal, but he just grunts and shovels it into his mouth. You barely eat, picking at little bites like a bird. Instead, you think about how chemotherapy makes people lose their appetite, and wonder if your mother can eat right now. You imagine her too-long blonde hair must have begun to fall out, and for a moment you think you can feel the sickly strands tightening around your fingers. It’s all-encompassing, and you don’t hear when Javi tries to get your attention.

“Eloise!”

You jerk your head up, your blank face meeting his. He frowns.

“I said do you want a drink,”

“Oh,” you say, softly. You shake your head. “No.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes up from the table, going to the liquor cabinet. When he pulls the doors open, his head drops, disappointed.

“You’re out.”

“Oh?” You turn around. He turns and sends you a look.

“Yeah.” He says

“I forgot to go to the…” you wave your hand.

“Seems like you forgot to do a lot of things,” he sighs. You frown, a bit taken aback by his annoyance. But yet again, you bite your tongue. He sighs and walks towards the table, snatching up his keys.

“Where are you-?”

“To get some from my apartment.” He says. He swings the door open with too much power, and when it falls closed with a crack it makes your shudder.

Across the room, the phone rings.

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over that same answering machine that had claimed Javi. You yank the phone off the hook, shoving the phone to your ear.

“Mom?” Your voice is like a little girl’s.

“What?” The male voice says. Your shoulders deflate.

“Sorry,” you say, pressing your hand to your forehead. You look up as the door to your apartment swings open again, and Javi walks in with a storm cloud over his head, whiskey clutched in his fist. “He just walked in, hang on.” You hold the phone out to Javi. “Steve.”

He lets out a sigh and walks forward, taking the phone from your hand. In a daze, you walk towards the kitchen and begin to clean up the few dishes you dirtied, your mind zoning in and out of reality. You don’t notice you’re just standing with the water running until a hand comes from the corner of your eye and switches the tap off.

“Stop watering the pipes,” Javi says. He walks back to the table and lights a cigarette, sitting down and kicking his feet up. You turn back to look at him.

“Everything alright?” You ask.

He scoffs. “No, it’s not fucking alright.” He takes a drag and blows a plume of smoke out. He looks up to you, his eyes darting to the glass he left by your hand. He makes to sit up.

“I’ll get it,” you say, and you pick it up, walking over towards him. You’re just about to hand it to him when your ankle gives, and you drop the glass, spilling his drink over his pants.

“Goddammit!” He yelps. He looks up at you - and you know it’s not you, you know he’s had a bad day, you know there’s so much on his plate- but the snarl he has feels like a punch to the stomach.

“I’m sorry, let me- “you reach for the napkins you thought were on the table before realizing you forgot to buy those, too. Your hand flails around you as you’re caught in your anxiety.

“You’ve done enough,” he grumbles, pushing up and walking past you to pull a rag from the counter.

You’re not sure why hearing him blotting his pants behind you does it, but you feel it immediately. That hot, wet trail down your face. And once that first tear is loose, you know you can’t stop. Suddenly, you’re silently weeping, snot and water running down your face as your shoulders shake and you reach up to try and hold yourself.

You let out a long breath, but it comes out as shaky, and the sounds from behind you stop.

“…El?”

You begin to paw at your face but realize it’s a lost cause. Shaking your head, you ignore him and walk back to your bedroom, closing the door behind you before dropping against the wall.

You were doing so well. You hadn’t cried, you hadn’t screamed at him during his shittier moods, you had been an angel. You pushed through all of this bullshit, hoping that, even though you couldn’t compete with his life, he would notice. He would realize how much of toll your own, lesser bullshit had begun to take on you, and had some sympathy. More than that, you had hoped he would appreciate it- how you never pushed him to take care of you, how you were always there for him with a meal and warm arms, how you were soldiering on for him through all the stress. You wanted him to think you some sort of martyr, a girlfriend who was pushing all her needs down to take care of him when he needed it most. If he was emotionally unable to reciprocate, he could at least fucking notice.

But he didn’t. He was too up his own ass, too busy at work, too concerned with being the only person in this relationship with problems that he didn’t even fucking see how much your teeth nearly cracked every time you faked a smile for him. You were mad at yourself, too- you had folded into this smaller version of yourself after making excuses for him, and now you had the gall to be sad about it? You had paved this path. You tried to protect him from your pain, thinking it was kind, when really you were coddling him.

You feel anger rise in your chest. You clench your fists in your hands, and you’re about to scream into your knees when you hear the soft knock on the door. Furled by anger, you stand up quickly and swing the door open to see a much softer looking Javi in the doorway.

And that takes the wind out of your sails. Instead of laying into him like you wanted, you let out a pathetic sob. Immediately he’s pulling you towards him and you’re caught in a tight hold as you sob into one of his nicer shirts.

“El,” he says softly, and you choke out another sob on his shoulder. Carefully, the two of you descend to the floor of your bedroom as he keeps his hold on you, tracing his fingers up and down your back as you continue to cry against him.

His tone is soothing as he circles through what little he can say - “baby” and “I’m sorry” and “it’s okay”. As your cries come to a slow, you pull away from him and try to wipe your face.

“Baby,” he says again, reaching out to touch your cheek. You dare to make eye contact, and, fuck, it breaks your heart. He looks like a little boy who just realized he had crossed a line. You let out a pathetic little hiccup as you wipe your eyes again.

“I’ve tried- “you stutter on your words as your tears keep falling. “I- I know it’s hard for you, really fucking hard, I know my d-day to day can’t compare to the shi-shit you see,” you try to take in a deep breath. His hand runs down your arm. “But I’m not doing okay. And I’ve tried to put that aside to t-take care of you, but - fuck, I need- “you feel yourself begin to hyperventilate. Fuck, you haven’t cried this hard since you were a kid.

“What do you need, baby?”

“Fuck, Javi, my mom is dying!” You yell. “She’s dying and I can’t get a hold of her. And every day I have to go to the school and hear more awful fucking stories about other kids’ families dying. I have to let them think I have any kind of answer when I fucking don’t! I’m just as lost as they are! I’m in my godamn thirties and all I want is to hug my fucking mommy, too!” You huff a few more breaths. “But I can’t, so I pretend. And I come home to you, and I- fuck, I love you so much, and I don’t want to burden you or make you take care of me when you have it so, so much worse but today- “you swallow, your mouth dry from crying - “today she was supposed to go in for surgery. And I haven’t heard anything. I spent all of lunch not eating because an eight-year-old, a fucking eight-year-old! Was telling me that she found her brother with a gunshot wound between his eyes. And I can’t do anything to help her! Just like I can’t do anything to help my fucking mother who won’t even call her daughter back to leave a message to say ‘hey! I SURVIVED SURGERY’. And maybe if I hadn’t had all of that I could put up with your shitty moods like I have been for weeks because I know it’s hard and I know you have it worse but today I just-I fucking couldn’t! I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t take YOU yelling at me when all I wanted was for you to fucking- I don’t know! Pull me in your lap and pet my hair! Ask me how my day was! Ignore my dirty apartment the way I’ve ignored your passive-aggressive moody bullshit for a month because you understand I’m not doing the fucking best right now! And I need the person who loves me to fucking act like it!” You fall forward, sobbing again. The arm on your shoulder drops, and you expect for a moment he’s going to get up and leave you to cry into the night. Instead, though, he scoots back until his back leans against the footboard of the bed. You look up in time to see him open his arms.

“Come here,” he says.

Too eager, you scramble over to him as he pulls you against him, petting your arms and face as you keep weeping against him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I do see it. I do. I promise.”

You hiccup and he pulls you tighter.

“I know you have it worse- “you start.

“Stop,” he says, pressing your head against his chest.

You keep crying over the next half hour as he whispers sweet things to you. When you’ve exhausted yourself, you drop your head to his lap, fading in and out of consciousness as his fingers comb through your hair, soft and comforting. You don’t quite remember him urging you up and into bed, but by the time you’ve regained your senses somewhat he’s pulled your back against him, tucking his nose into the nape of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. He shakes his head.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He says. “Go to sleep, hermosa.”

You do.

The next morning is quiet. The two of your dress quickly and rush out the door, having slept past your alarm. He tells you briefly he’s got a lot on at work today, and you take it as a sign you’ll be walking back this afternoon. You nod and give him a quick peck before running up the stairs to the school, at least somewhat happy to have avoided talking about last night.

So, you don’t expect it when you leave the school one afternoon and see him waiting for you outside, his arms crossed on his chest, aviators on, posed in front of his car like he’s in a film. You fight the urge to smirk when you drop down to the final step and his mouth jerks up at the corner.

“You look like a cliche,” you deadpan, walking up to give him a quick kiss. Only, it’s not quick- you try to pull away tastefully, but he takes you by your waist and pulls you into a deeper kiss. You give him a swat on his shoulder but return it regardless, luxuriating in the attention. It feels nice.

“Get in the car,” he says when he finally pulls away. You tilt your head.

“You takin' me somewhere?”

“Not if you don’t get in the damn car,” he swats your ass, causing you to shriek, before beginning to walk around the front. Despite yourself, you smile as you clamber in.

You don’t ask questions throughout the whole drive, but you admit you’re a bit disappointed when you just pull back up to your apartment building. You try and mask it, hopping out of the car and waiting expectantly for him to come around and join you. He climbs the stairs quickly, beating you to the door to hold it open.

Without thinking, you reach for your keys. It’s almost muscle memory now. You haven’t been to his place for any real time in months. You think it reminds him too much of work.

Except, now he’s nodding you over to his door he’s begun to unlock. You come to stand by him, eying him as he fiddles with the lock. As the bolt clicks, he smiles, then turns to you.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Really?”

“Fuck you. Yea really.”

With a small grin on your face, you make a show of daintily closing your eyes. You see a flash of light- him waving his hands in front of your face. Convinced you really have your eyes closed, you hear the door open, then feel a warm hand taking your own. You walk inside, blindly stepping after him until he drops his hand, and you feel his hands come to rest on your shoulders.

“Alright,” he says.

You open your eyes, and it takes you a while to realize what he’s even made a fuss about. In front of you are two plates with a single sandwich and a side of potato chips. You’re kind of annoyed for a second- when you surprise him, it’s always with a cake or really good head, never just dinner. Dinner that’s basically a sandwich.

You turn to look at him before noticing that the apartment has been cleaned up. You swivel around, taking in the sight, noticing the repaired answering machine has been put carefully back on the side table. You haven’t seen your home this clean in a while, and you realize that he must have done this, too. You start to say something, but he’s already pulling out your chair for you, urging you to sit down. Lost for words, you drop yourself into the seat and watch as he comes around to sit in front of you. He waits for you to say something, but when you don’t, he begins.

“It’s not much,” he says finally. “But you were right. I’ve been a dick, and I’m not the only one with shit on my plate.” He rubs the back of his neck. “When my mom was sick…I should be better to you. For you.” He bites his lip. When you still don’t say anything, he continues. “I’m sorry, El. You’re so…good, and I’m…” he shakes his head. You reach out your hand, covering his. There’s a flash of a smile across his face. “I called sick to work. They were having me doing bullshit paperwork, anyway. Murphy can handle that.” He clears his throat. “It’s uh, not much, but a rich guy owed me a favor, and he had a smoker. I had some old rubs from Señora Garza, the one with the hands? My dad sent me them from back home a while, and I know it’s not going home, but I know you miss the food- “you reach forward and pull the top of the sandwich off.

Brisket.

You look up at him, and you start to cry.

His face drops, alarmed. “Oh- no, baby- “

“Javi,” you wipe a tear away. “This is- this is - “you bend forward and let out another small cry. Immediately, he’s on his feet, coming around to kneel beside you. Just as he’s about to say something, you lean forward and catch his face in your hands, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s long and warm, and when he finally breaks away, you’re rewarded with a bright smile.

“You like it?”

“I love- I love it.” You say, running a hand through his hair. “This is very sweet.”

He looks down, pleased with himself. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. He reaches up and takes your hands.

“I…I really love you, El,” he says, not quite daring to look you in the eyes until he’s finished his sentence. “I just hope you know that.”

You nod before pressing another kiss to his lips. “I do,” you say. “Even when…I do know, Javi.”

He nods, and the two of you sit there, blissed out together for a moment before he lets out a breath.

“Well, you better eat. Fucking thing took six hours to smoke, better not let it get too cold.”

You let out a laugh as he stands and comes to sit across from you. With a smile, the two of you eat. It’s not the perfect approximation of the food back home, but it’s enough to fill you with the comfort you had been craving for weeks. Javi watches, proud of himself as you lick the remaining sauce off a finger, smiling at the flavor.

“You did good, Peña.” You say, flicking your eyes back to him. He smiles, tossing the napkin down between the two of you before making to stand. He walks over and extends a hand down to you, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Is there more to eat?” You ask, somewhat hopeful. It’s impossible, but if he found a way to get a malt shake down here too you think you’d have to spend the next three weeks with his dick in your mouth.

“Something like that,” he says, urging you up. You send him a playful look as he reaches behind you and pulls the zipper to your skirt. With strong hands, he pulls your underwear and skirt down to your ankles, dropping to his knees to let you step out of them. With a twinkle in his eye, he smiles up at you.

“Go sit on the couch,” he orders. “And keep your knees apart.”

Turns out his surprises come with pretty good head, too.

A/N: Idk if this is of any interest but in my head Eloise is played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. But of course, you cast her however you like!! She’s yours, too

#it's nothing serious #narcos #narcos: tv #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier Peña x oc #fic

40 notes · View notes

cupkayke · 8 years ago

Text

Cupkayke Rewatches/Liveblogs Boueibu!

Season 1, Episode 2

I think I’ll start using the title cards in these~ Sounds fun. And I originally started this post like... 5 hours ago but then TUMBLR JUST HAD TO CRASH CHROME AND EAT THE POST. So if my commentary isn’t very intelligent it’s because I wrote all this shit earlier and lost it <.< Not that it was intelligent in the first place; it was mostly squeeing and laughing over stupid screencaps.

So! Image-heavy thoughts below the cut!

Yup, I still love this opening theme. LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE.

Okay, let’s unpack Kinshirou’s speech here a bit. He starts off chastising Ibushi for taking the tea off a little bit too soon and then launches into his views about negligence. “Those who are negligent in etiquette will be negligent in all things. Lifestyle, academics, self respect...” What exactly does that mean? Especially in relation to the ‘self-respect’ comment. If we utilize the dictionary definitions, Kinshirou is saying “Those who are lazy or careless in etiquette will neglect the proper esteem or regard for the dignity of one’s character.” Essentially, Kinshirou is stating that he holds not only decorum but how one views the self above everything else. It’s an interesting look at his worldview, but it also could be taken that he’s talking about Atsushi here, who was (perceived to be) “negligent” with “friendship etiquette” and stopped speaking to Kinshirou and thusly their friendship died. Of course, Kinshirou is probably well aware that he threw a temper tantrum in the first place, but... that aside, he’s still upset. So perhaps he’s reminding Ibushi of what type of people they are supposed to be, and not like THOSE people.

Akoya twirlin’ dat hair.

I didn’t cap this part of the speech, but Kinshirou continues: “It is easy to drift downwards. We as the student council of Binan high school, regard foolishness and mediocrity as a sin. We must not approve of it.” - More establishment of how Kinshirou views the world. Order, dignity and class held above all. Again, something that Atsushi potentially lacks, knowing what we know on the other half of the reveal. Or I could be talking out my ass.

CUTE AKOYA IS CUTE. Look at this faaaaaace.

I forgot about the BLURRRR

Zundar struggling to get into and get comfortable in the teacup is hilarious. Lookit this wiggle noodle.

‘Planet evil’ snerk

Snooty Akoya is snooty.

Even Ibushi isn’t quite on board with Kinshirou’s plan lol. From this, it seems he might just potentially be along for the ride for the sake of keeping Kinshirou happy- but he’s unable to resist pointing out how lofty Kinshirou’s plot sounds.

And Kinchan isn’t gonna take no shit

I know Kinshirou is bad mothing our boys here, but in this particular screencap it’s a little hard to take him seriously lol. They look like a boy band!

And then Ibushi’s like -”SIGH- I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”

ZUNDAR I FIND IT HARD TO FIND YOU INTIMIDATING WHEN YOU ARE A SMOL, GREEN HEDGEHOG THAT SITS IN TEACUPS AND MUST BE PICKED UP BY THE SCRUFF OF YOUR NECK BY YOUR HENCHMAN TO BE PUT IN HIS POCKET.

They discuss using someone to commit violent acts so casually… how much brainwashing did Zundar have to do and how much of their compliance is just from their natures as isolated kids? (I need to read the manga again so I actually remember their backstories... I read all of it that was available in English but there may have been an update to the translations? Idk- I’ll look for it later)

En and his musings again~

Though c’mon guys, are you really surprised at this point considering what was revealed in ep1 about En’s brain? You’ve been hanging out for awhile...

However their conversation about chopsticks and menma is pretty realistic random drivel. (I had to look up what menma was because I’m an #idiotamerican)

Ryuu evidently takes chopsticks and menma very seriously. Look at how upset he is.

WHO YA GONNA CALL? (rofls forever)

Wow so apparently this is what the boys think of English- not a noble language. <.<

POOR WOMBT LOOKS SO OFFENDED

They seem ready to kick wombat’s ass

Atsushi, I, for one, appreciate the Schrodinger reference. C’mon son.

I don’t think I noticed the puddle of blood the first time I watched this- so Wombat caused Tawarayama to crack his skull no wonder he’s in suspended animation

WOMBAT YOU SHOULD BE HORRIFIED

FANSERVICE MUCH. Yumoto button your pants back up, young man! Wombat does NOT want to cuddle with you half naked. Err...

...wait a minute.

HOW DID YOU REMOVE YOUR SHIRT SO FAST?? Three frames ago it was this:

Oh wait, it’s that Hakone (TM) clothing wizardry that Gora shows us in s2. Riiiiight. Good callback, writers.

Atsushi is really REALLY embarrassed by this whole thing.

Ryuu loves the costume hahahaha- if he likes cosplay so much I wonder if he’s ever cosplayed anything else before lolol

Wombat, you’re asking teenage boys what love is. What did you expect?

This scene has been analyzed to death but I think Ryuu does have the right idea. It’s hilarious he’s disappointed in Io’s definition though lolol. IO YOUR BOYFRIEND HAS WORDS FOR YOU.

Atsushi is really REALLY REALLY embarrassed, guys. Meanwhile En just looks annoyed

I AM JUST LEAVING THIS SCREENCAP HERE WITHOUT ANY COMMENTARY IT’S A BEAUTIFUL MASTERPIECE THAT SPEAKS FOR ITSELF.

Though this probably would be a great addition to the “Someone who has never watched Boueibu explain what’s happening here” meme

CURRY REFERENCE THIS EARLY HOW DID I FORGET

No really that’s really good character development/foreshadowing.

Though I wonder exactly what happened to make Kinshirou hate curry so much. Revulsion that strong can’t just simply be from emotional pain (and I think Atsushi ditched him in the first place because he knew Kinshirou hated curry and wouldn’t want to come with him in the first place). So... it must be food aversion. Maybe Kinshirou got food poisoning as a kid after eating curry. That would do it- I couldn’t eat chicken noodle soup for YEARS after I associated eating it with having the stomach virus. I didn’t eat it again until I was an adult.

Hashida WAAAAAAARIO. Oh man.

That chopstick thing is frustrating lol when we go out for sushi my bf always steals mine when he fucks up his. I feel your pain, Wario.

I don’t quite remember why I capped this part but the imagery in that dialogue is pretty heavy. Also their expressions are pretty funny here; Ibushi is just bored, Akoya looks deep in thought and Kinshirou looks like he’s gonna cut a bitch.

OH BOY TRANSFORMATIONS. In the middle of the cafeteria though? Won’t someone notice boys?

LEGGGGGGGGS for days~ Kinshirou do you shave???

I think I was trying to cap something else but I paused on this gorgeous scene- LOOK AT HOW ANGELIC AKOYA IS. DAT HAIR FLOOF.

Look how cool they look here~

Looking back on it they were much more organized villains than the Beppus wound up being- they had coordinated attacks/powers and TWO group names, the Earth Conquest Club and Caerula Adamas. I wonder if Zundar had them practice before they started trying to take over the school for real? Or did they just get thrown into it like the DC and the words/motions just come to them?

Tho really did somebody not notice their transformation? They noticed Wario turning into a fucking monster…

Wowwwww I think this is where I thought it was ridiculous. Arima voiced our thoughts.

Side note- I really like the lighting in this scene.

OKAY REALLY? Knowing what we know now, is this just poor writing or bullshit on Wombat’s part for the CIDE2 screen? Gora was a battle lover of sorts but it was shown in s2 that he was by himself- he didn’t have a team. He just had his own name. So why this reference? Were they originally planning on there having previously been a team of five and then retconned it or was this just a throwaway line? I’d like to think it’s Wombat bullshitting just to get the boys to do what he wants.

Atsushi is VERY VERY VERY concerned with his image.

Ryuu is savage AF

Poor Wombat… writing is hard work. -patpat-

This is the start of where Yumoto’s opinions conveniently contradict the Monst of the Week

Also wombat’s face is so silly

Io and Ryuu teasing ASDF

For being forced they sound really passionate. Can wombat affect their tone or are they kind of having fun with it?

Side note- this must’ve happened in a production meeting: “So we have 2 characters with shorts, 2 characters with pants.” “What about the fifth one?” “Uhhh… half shorts, half pants!” “Capris?” “BUT POOFY” At least they look a bit more fashionable than Ryuu and Yumoto… sorry cutiepies. Poofy shorts are erm…

Lololol there’s the fourth wall~

En jumps on the alter ego so quickly

Hope no one heard Io slip and call En’s real name two seconds before!

Oh no poor Ryuu!

And Io to the rescue! “Don’t worry baby, I’m coming!”

“It’s okay bby I got you”

Atsushi really doesnt like the names, contrast to en. I never realized how image-conscious Atsushi is until I rewatched this ep. You’d think the stereotypically ‘nerdy’ looking character would be the least self conscious about the whole thing.

They definitely did a lot more fighting in s1, even when the other boys aren’t doing much.

HE PUTS THE CHOPSTICK ON HIS LOVE STICK LOL

They suddenly have names for their attacks/combinations… I wonder if wombat yelled at them between episode 1 and 2

Yumoto’s butt shot haha - I would have gotten a screencap of this but my STREAM KEPT FUCKING UP IN QUALITY AT THE WORST TIMES.

Yumoto’s lecture mode is a bit more serious here than it is in later episodes. Also- LOOK HOW COOL HE LOOKS~ LIKE A REAL SUPERHERO. GORA WOULD BE SO PROUD

Floofy hair in the wind SC - I WOULD HAVE CAPPED THIS TOO BUT MY WINDOW JUST HAD TO ACCIDENTALLY CLOSE. <.< fuck this, any caps I didn’t already have I am DONE.

Gora’s first line!

I- Uh- er.... I’m in trouble. Yumoto’s face here... <////< I am too old for this

Ryuu is upset he didn’t get to fight- but wombat has a point

And once again, @crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer has beat me to the punch with a brilliant analysis of s1′s ending theme that is way better than anything I could have ever done ever. I had to go back and search for this because for some reason I forgot to like it or reblog it??? wtf me???

AND FUCKING FINALLY. AFTER LIKE EIGHT HOURS OF START AND STOP WORK EPISODE 2 IS BLOGGED.

I might as well take this footnote to note that I’m finding the Student Council a much more enjoyable cast this time around than when I originally watched the series. Idk why they just didn’t resonate with me at first- but I’m slowly coming to see why they’re some of the favorite characters in the fandom. They do have a lot of backstory that the manga fleshes out and it’s a pity that they don’t get to be friends with the Defense Club until the end of s1 and then they get shipped off abroad in s2. Logistics and all but there’s a lot more story there that could have been explored- but perhaps some of it did and I wasn’t paying attention the first time. I will get there in this rewatch lol.

Well, so much for trying to get 2 eps done today. I’ll see if I can post ep3 tomorrow or the day after depending on when I get around to watching and taking notes again. Tho I just started making my bf watch Yuri on Ice so I may be a bit preoccupied with rewatching that with him for a few days haha.

#cupkaykey rewatches boueibu #cupkayke rewatches boueibu #boueibu #binan koukou chikyuu bouei bu love!#binan kōkō chikyū bōei bu love!#binan high school earth defense club love!#Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei-bu LOVE!#cute high earth defense club love!#boueibu meta

26 notes · View notes