#and I love how he keeps his hair long but doesn’t grow a beard

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This: Part One

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, fluff, smut

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was originally planned as a one shot, but i’m indecisive as hell, so i guess we’ll see 👀. also, tiny reminder but this is my first time writing fan fiction/ smut, so please go easy on me guys 😭

Zoe can’t fathom a better way of spending her birthday, this is truly all she could ever ask for. While she’ll never understand how she got so lucky to have Roman in her life in the first place, words can’t even begin to describe what this man means to her. Zoe in no shape or form is a materialistic person, yet somehow every year Roman manages to go all out and spoil her with shit she doesn’t need, but is still extremely grateful for.

And while this amazing day of shopping and sightseeing in Colorado is coming to an end, she’s exhausted and more than excited to get back to the hotel and gain some energy back before going out to dinner. She try’s her absolute best to ignore the fact that her feet feel worn out and in immense pain, her pride won’t allow her to show it, so she decides to keep it to herself. Especially, since Roman’s know-it-all ass told her not to wear boots with heels in the first place, but, she hates being wrong and would rather die than give him that satisfaction.

The walk to the car felt fucking eternal, Zoe couldn’t help but to sigh in relief once she was finally able to sit down. After Roman cut on the engine, he took a minute to study her, letting out a small chuckle, “I know you’re in pain baby, you don’t gotta hide it.” She immediately shot a glare at him, and rolled her eyes, “I’m not in pain, just tired.”

“You sure about that?, because when you came out of the bathroom earlier, I could’ve sworn it looked like you were limping…”, he teased. Zoe’s mouth dropped, and she playfully slapped his shoulder.

“First of all, I wasn’t limping. I was just very inspired by that Katt Williams show we watched, and decided to practice my own pimp walk…”

He couldn’t help but to let out a loud chuckle and defeatedly threw his hands in the air, “Oh so that’s what we’re doing huh?” One of the many things that Roman loves about Zoe, is her sense of humor. No matter what mood he was in, or what he was going through, she never failed to make him laugh. Roman knew her stubborn ass was lying through her teeth, but it was her birthday after all, so he decided to let it go and let her have this win.

The drive back was over an hour long, and while the beginning of the car ride was full of conversation and laughter between the two, the heater made Zoe feel extremely warm and cozy, which ended in her falling asleep.

When they finally arrived to the hotel, Roman gently ran his fingers through her hair, swiping some behind her ear, hoping he would wake her up without startling her, “We’re here, baby.”

“Shit, I don’t even remember dozing off,” she muttered. Roman smiled at her and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m tired too, let’s go take a nap.” Damn this man knows the key to her heart, she will never deny herself an opportunity of taking a good ass nap.

They eventually make it back to their hotel room, and as they are about to unlock their door, the fucking hotel key card starts glitching again. After multiple failed attempts, and seeing red blinks over and over again, they eventually were able to get in.

The first thing Zoe does when she makes it in the suite, is kick her stupid ass boots off. There is nothing she wants more in this moment than getting out of this outfit. As she’s digging through the drawer trying to find some comfortable clothes to change into, she suddenly feels his warm chest press against her back. He slowly wraps his big arms around her waist, his tall frame now towering over her. She couldn’t help but to let out a soft moan when she felt his breath on her neck, his prickly beard making his was down her collarbone, his soft lips showering her with gentle kisses. Her knees were growing weaker by the second, but as good as this felt, she wanted to talk to him first.

“Thank you, Roman,” she says, and before he starts to tell her she doesn’t need to thank him, like he always does she rushes and cuts him off. “Even though you never listen to me when I say I don’t need anything, the effort you make truly means to the world to me. I just wish you’d let me do the same for you.”

Roman turns her around to face him, he uses his thumb and index finger to gently guide her face to look at him. “Zo, I don’t need anything , I just need you. I need you to understand that there is no me without you. As long as I have you, there ain’t shit else I’ll ever want, or need.”

Zoe knows how Roman feels about her, but it’s something about hearing him express it, that makes her tear up. She grabs his face, pulling him in by his beard and kisses him. “I love you, baby.” He puts his hand on the small of her back and presses her towards him. “I love you more, but we should go take this nap before your ass gets cranky.”

…………..

Zoe was the first to wake up, seeing he was still in a deep sleep, she decided to quietly step away and take off her makeup that she shouldn’t have slept with in the first place.

As soon as she stepped out the bathroom and glanced towards the bed, she saw he was awake. Roman looked at her and gave that mischievous ass grin he gives when he's about to be on demon time. “Come here,” he motioned her over with his fingers, his hair was now resting on his shoulders fully out of his bun. His voice was groggy as hell from just waking up, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit how extremely turned on she was.

She wasted no time and climbed on top of his hulking body, straddling him and almost immediately feeling his erection through the thin fabric of her pants. “Looks like someone is excited to me,” she chuckled. “Baby, i’m always excited to see you,” he whispered, while lightly squeezing her ass. She began to kiss his jaw and slowly made her way down to his neck, making a trail down his chest and abs. As she started to reach for the hemline of his boxers, he flipped her over so that he was now on top of her.

“Nah baby, let me take care of you,” he growled. Before she could protest, Roman got up, took off his shirt and walked towards the foot of the bed. This had her slightly confused, but before she could ask why he got up, he grabbed her by the thighs and slid her down to the edge of the bed. His fingers gripped the top of her pants and underwear, she watched him as he eagerly pulled them down. Propping herself on her elbows, she was now staring at his hair draped over his tan broad shoulders.

Roman’s warm breath over her exposed pussy, made her more soaked than she already was. He teased his finger up and down her wet lips, causing her to instantly moan. “Mmm, daddy please.” She started to grip the back of his head when he stuck two fingers in, her hips subconsciously bucking forward once he started to curl them towards her g spot.

“Please what, baby?,” he groaned and started to pick up the pace, her pussy already dripping and squelching for him. “mmm p-please eat my pussy,” she whimpered.

“Anything you want baby, doesn’t daddy always make you feel good?” Roman flattened his tongue on her needy clit, and started licking and sucking on her essence. “You taste so fucking good baby.” Her panting becomes heavier and heavier as he feasted on her, almost as if he was starving. The combination of him eating her out and fingering her while hitting that spot, had her on the edge of coming.

“f-fuck baby i’m gonna come.” Her pussy was clenching around his fingers, he could feel it. “Come for me, right on my tongue baby,” he used his free hand to grip her thigh and bring her even closer.

Zoe, felt like she was on another fucking planet. As he brung her even closer, she used her grip on his head and started to grind her pussy against his face. “Just like that baby, give it to me,” he moaned. She let out a loud scream as her orgasm took over, her body jerked as Roman kept devouring her pussy while she rode her orgasm out.

“Such a good girl, baby.” He made his way back on top of her, and gave her a sloppy sensual kiss. Tasting herself on his tongue, made her want to come all over again.

While Zoe was catching her breath, still recovering from her earth shattering orgasm, Roman got up and brung her a rag from the bathroom and helped her clean herself. She watched him, eyeing his God like physique that she’s convinced she’ll never get used to.

Roman stood up and kissed her temple, “I’m gonna be on the balcony for an hour or so baby, I’m behind some meetings, so I gotta go make some calls.”

“That’s okay, I have some emails I gotta catch up on too.” As Roman heads out the back door, Zoe goes to sit at the desk in the corner of the suite and starts to catch up on some work emails that she’s been ignoring. Not even 15 minutes in, and she’s already bored out of her mind. She closes her laptop and decides to do something productive. Other than actual work of course, because that’s obviously boring as hell.

Boom. An idea hits her. Zoe decides that she is going downstairs to talk to the hotel receptionist, and ask if they can do something about their annoying ass key card that barely fucking works. She starts by tearing the room apart looking everywhere she can think of. Roman was the last person that had it, and as much as she’d like to ask him, she knows she can’t bother him during his important meetings.

The first place she thinks to check is his wallet, when she sees it’s not there she moves on to the next spot, which was the drawers next to his side of the bed. Fail. Shits not there either, and after scrummaging around the whole suite for damn near twenty minutes, she was thinking of giving up. And that’s when her memory hits. His fucking duffle bag. Roman tends to work out twice a day, and lately he’s been making sure to put the key card in his duffle bag before he leaves, simply because his over dramatic self can’t seem to let go of that one time he forgot it, and Zoe had slept through his phone calls and loud ass knocks.

Zoe goes to grab the duffle bag from the closet and opens it, she unzips the small pouch in the inside and immediately spotted the key card, she couldn’t help but to let out a small sigh of relief. As she goes to pull it out, something falls out and she hears a small thud. Looking down, shiny gold wrappers immediately catch her eye. She bends down and examines what turns out to be, two magnum condoms that are now on the floor.

Her mind starts racing, and she immediately begins to go through his bag. As she starts to pull his clothes out, she stumbles across an empty condom wrapper that had clearly been used. What the fuck. In this exact moment Zoe felt her heart drop in her fucking stomach, her eyes instantly becoming watery. She has been with Roman for over two years, and not once have they ever used a fucking condom. And it’s in remembering this specific fact, that sends her into full panic. She starts crying uncontrollably not knowing what to do, as much as she would like to go outside and confront his lying ass, the thought of having to look at him makes her sick to her fucking stomach. Who the fuck is he using these on?

Her chest starts to feel tight, and she knows she needs to leave before he comes back inside. Zoe puts on her coat and grabs her purse, throwing her phone inside it. She runs out of the room and gets on the nearest elevator as fast as she can. Once she makes it to the main lobby, she beelines outside and manages to get a taxi within five minutes. She quickly put her phone on silent, knowing Roman would call and text her nonstop once he realized she was gone.

Zoe doesn’t even have a sliver of an idea on what the hell she was going to do. The only thing she knew in this exact moment, was the fact that she had to get the fuck out of here, and fast.

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Not his type

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: you are helping at Chucho’s ranch and Javier thinks you are still definitely not his type

warnings: as usually SMUT ( vaginal fingering, oral -m!receiving, male masturbation, protected p in v, biting, hair pulling), cursing, soft!Javi - cuz that’s my favorite genre of Javi -, just a smudge of angst, mentions of bullying, mentions of food, fluff  

word count: 10.5 k (I like them big I guess *wink wink*)

A/N: I planned to start my Marcus Pike fic but then this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it. This is basically just a long friends to lovers fic.

Javier Peña is not a simple man – far from it. He is bitter and hot-headed, and he feels small no matter what he does – he should have done better, he should have been smarter, quicker. He shouldn't have been such an idiot. Maybe then he wouldn’t be now standing in front of his childhood home. Maybe then...  

But no matter what Javier thinks of himself he is a good man. He is caring and always wants to do the right thing – even if the consequences of his actions make him look like a bad guy. He doesn’t care – or he does but doesn’t let it show. Doesn’t want people to know that perhaps he is not as strong as he seems. Doesn’t want them to know that he cares – sometimes too deeply. Doesn’t want them to know he might feel – it's better if he seems unapproachable and looks like if you'd touch him, he'd burn you too greatly - so much that you would want to do nothing with him ever again.

So Javier feels the weight of all of his sins drop into his stomach when he keeps standing on the porch of Chucho’s house with a suitcase that he had packed with himself from Bogotá. He wanted to leave all of his old life behind but some memories stay with things that are bound to them.

He feels like a little boy again when he came home crying because lads – older and bigger than him – were picking on him. He feels like the little boy who hid behind the skirts of his dear mama when guests came to visit. That’s why he wants to look so tough, that’s why he is so hard around the edges – he changed, Bogotá changed him so he wouldn’t have to feel that small ever again. But even that didn’t help. Deep inside he is still that little boy. He can hide behind his bravado - his stern scowl and cold gaze- but that fact will never change.

He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there until the door swings open – almost hitting him in the face – and he sees Chucho standing in the doorway. His signature cowboy hat on his head and that old red flannel shirt he bought him on Christmas ages ago seems a little tighter around his middle than he'd last seen him in it. He is older – slower, the age showing on his face. But when he smiles as he sees Javier in front of him he looks 30 years younger.  

Javier looks a lot like his pops – he has the same nose that he hated when he was younger – and pops had the same colored dark hair once that curls if it gets too long. They have the same dimple on the left side of their face if they smile too hard and like his pops, Javier could never really grow a proper beard.  

Pops hugs him as if he hadn't seen him in ages – and to be honest, that is true. Work and life always got in the way and he regrets all the time he missed with him. He also didn’t want to come home – his mother’s things were still everywhere in the house. Her pictures, the warms blankets - that Javier loved to wrap around himself on the colder nights in Laredo - scattered on the armchairs and couch. He didn’t want to see Pops sad and so he stayed behind in Bogotá drowning in work, booze and women. The Peña men had different ways of grieving. Chucho never said anything to Javi though – he didn’t blame him for not coming, didn’t yell at him for letting him be alone on holidays – and he should have. He should do all those things because maybe then Javier wouldn’t feel like such a bad son.  

When they part Chucho smiles – he didn’t smile a whole lot after Javi's mom died. “It's good to see you, Javier.” He pats him on the back – a little clumsily, Javier notices but he puts a tight smile on his face. He missed a whole lot.

“You too, pops. How have you been?” It’s a question he knows the answer to. He always answers the same – busy. After the death of his wife Pops seemed to spend most of his day outside working on a ranch. Barely coming home to eat or drink. Wanted to occupy his mind. “Seems like you started actually eating as I said.” Pops waves his hand back at him.

“You calling me fat, mijo?” Javier opens his mouth to answer but Pops beat him to it, his belly shaking a little with laughter. “Someone has been helping me out for a while now. Cooking and cleaning the house once in a while.” Javier quirks an eyebrow at this and he pushes the small suitcase as he enters – now his home, too. It didn’t change here in the slightest. Pops throws him a look above his shoulder as he looks him up and down quickly. “Seems like you have been skipping out on meals, my boy. Come, Bee is here and the lunch should be already done. She made Pozole de Pollo o Guajolote. Your mother's recipe.” Javi stands straighter at the nickname. Surely he didn’t mean...

The delicious smell coming from the kitchen makes his stomach rumble and he doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He abandons the suitcase in the hallway after he takes off his boots and jacket that he puts on the old wooden hanger for coats he made with Pops when he was around 12 –its asymmetrical and weird-looking seeming like it was made by a child – which it was but it’s a memory Javier is very fond of.  

The floors creak under Javier's quick footsteps and he stops in the doorway as he watches you fuss around his dad. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing as he sees you in the Peña kitchen. The past coming into the present. Prepping the silverware on the table that lays in the middle of the smaller kitchen. He sees that Pops kept everything in place like it was even before the death of Javi's mother. He missed this place. Even though bittersweet memories crawl out on the surface of his mind and his heart aches like it hadn’t in a really long time.

“Seems like you are a busy bee, Bee.” Javier smirks when you look up at him. You didn’t really change after the last time he had seen you. Sure, you aged – as has he – but you still kept your spark from all those years ago. You smile fondly – and a little unsure – at him as you quickly wipe your hands on the apron wrapped around your middle. And Javier notices - of course, he does. The hesitation in your step when you walk to him. The little twitch of your lips you make when you are nervous.

He is an observant man. He watches and analyzes. And he is good at it too - you squirm under his intense gaze. As if he could see every little part of your soul, even the deepest secrets you kept hidden somewhere back down inside of you. That’s why he is such a good agent. Was, at least. His dark eyes shift to your cleavage just for a second. You don’t notice - his eyes quickly scanning you up and down.

He looks good. Even better than the last time you saw him. The mustache he grew suits him. His hair is longer than he had when he went to high school with you. He is broader and seems even taller. He is a man now, not the little boy you played hide and seek with. He still wears the same smirk on his lips though - that kind of smirk that meant trouble when you two were younger. His jeans hug him in just all the right places and the black shirt he is wearing makes him somehow look even hotter. All man.

“You know me. Never could keep still.”

And he does. He does know you. Or at least he did - when you two were just young kids, then stupid teenagers and suddenly - strangers too. You grew up at the Peña dinner table as much as your own. Your mothers were great friends, your fathers old buddies. You had a farm right next to them which you eventually sold when your folks passed away and it was just too much work for only you alone. You bought a small house with the money you received.  

Javier still remembers when he first saw you – all toothy grin and two braids sitting on top of your head. You wore that stupid flowy dress in an ugly mustard color. You were more of the outgoing type and Javier – to everyone's surprise – was more of the lonely kid. He was smaller than his peers – smaller than you even, when you first met him. And he doesn’t remember why you started talking to him and wanted to become his friend but he didn’t complain at that time. You visited him almost every single day – looking for mischief all around. Broken glasses and bones were nothing new to both of you. The two of you were inseparable – until high school. Javier – for once in his life, thanks to you - didn’t feel so small anymore. He grew up to be a handsome and smart, confident and funny, pretty charming and self-assured young man. Girls started noticing him and he loved the attention – when their heads turned around to look.  They thought he never noticed. But alas, Javier was an observant boy even back then and he noticed – his cockiness getting on your nerves sometimes. He never wanted to feel small again.  

And like almost every girl – you developed a huge crush on him.  But it wasn’t because he was tall and cocky, no. It was simply because you knew the real Javier – your Javi. Who hated being alone and who hated going to the church every Sunday – hiding in the dusty, covered in spider webs attic. He never noticed you – like he noticed the other girls. He never gave you that loop-sided grin or the puppy heart-filled eyes. You were just great friends - even when you wished for more. And one day you weren't even that.

You should have seen it coming, really. With Javier becoming popular, he started hanging out with you less and less. When you came to Peña's household he was already out with his new friends. And you always came running to him like a pathetic little puppy who comes to his owner no matter how many times they kick him. His friends laughed at you. And later on, he started laughing with them. He got a girlfriend – Lorraine, the sweet and perfect Lorraine – before you two stopped talking. The old memory still stings when you think about it.  

It happened on one of those super warm summer nights in Laredo. You wore one of your favorite dresses. It hugged your curves and you thought you look absolutely beautiful in it – your mother said so too. You asked Javi if you could meet up at your spot – the old scrap yard just a couple minutes' walk from both of your houses. When you arrived there your stomach dropped to your feet – his friends sitting with him on your favorite car that was reserved for only you and Javi. Laughing and drinking booze, the atmosphere lose. But you didn’t feel lose – your muscles taunt and all you wanted to do was just turn on your heels and leave. Cry about this stupid little crush you had on this stupid Texas boy. But Javier spotted you before you could do so – somehow he could always spotted you even in the biggest of crowds.

“Bee! Come and join us!” He yelled, one of his hands shooting into the air as he held an unopened can of beer. And with his other hand...he was holding Lorraine. They were close to each other – her almost sitting on his lap as she placed kisses on the column of his throat. You swallowed the ball of anxiety that was building in your throat as you heard them whisper: “Why did you call her, man?” He didn’t answer as he smiled at you. Lorraine's eyes squinting at you in annoyance.

Clearing your throat you asked: “Javi, can we talk?” He just shrugged his shoulders as he hopped off from the roof of the car mumbling a quick “sure”. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt – you noticed just then. The sun was slowly setting and his golden skin shined. The butterflies in your belly made you want to go home and squeal into your pillow. You gulped and a few of his friends whistled – noticing the once-over you gave him.

“Someone has an admirer here, Peña. Too bad she is so fat and ugly! Like a pig – oink oink!” All of them bursted into laughter and to your surprise – so did Javier. He laughed straight into your face and you fought the tears in your eyes to not spill as you finally turned on your heel – as you should have done much sooner – and left. You didn’t see the remorseful look in his eyes and the way his muscle twitched, his mind screaming at him to go after you. He never wanted to feel small ever again and his friends said you were a loser – people like him shouldn’t talk to people like you. He didn´t want to be loser again.

Lorraine pulls him by the shoulder back to her – her tongue plunging into his mouth and when they pull apart she grins, the long nails of hers scraping across his golden-tanned chest.  

“Forget about her, Javi. You don’t need her.” He nodded – unsure – but he didn’t have time to think about it too much as her tongue fought with his once more – the heavy taste of beer on her tongue filling all of his senses.

After that, you stop talking to Javier. You still came to his house - with your mama - but you didn’t greet him anymore and he was pretty sure you told your and his mother as well, as they always threw him a dirty look whenever he was in the same room as you. You didn’t look at him and you didn’t acknowledge his presence anymore. He hated that he felt so small again even though he didn’t have a reason to. He had friends and a girlfriend, and all the girls threw themselves at him. So why does his stomach pull tight anytime he is near you, why does he feel like he lost peace of himself?  

One day he decides he has had enough. Both of your mothers went outside to catch the last rays of the sun and you are alone in the kitchen – baking your famous apple pie. He sneaks behind you and cages you in. You feel his breath on your neck, the slow raise and fall of his chest. You turn around – your noses almost touching – and he sees the hot fury in your eyes. You are covered in flour and Javier thinks – just for a split second - he had never seen you look so fucking beautiful. His gaze lingers on your mouth maybe a little too long because he sees you are talking – your mouth opening and closing.

“What do you want, Javier?” You ask and he had never heard you so annoyed, so drained. You didn’t look like yourself anymore and didn’t sound like it too.  

“Us to start talking again, Bee.” Because Javier is selfish and he takes and takes. Sometimes forgetting to give something back in return. He widens his eyes when he feels the sting on one of his cheeks – his head moving to one side with the force of it. You slapped him. He looks at you – you are all wide eyes and snarling teeth.  

“Fuck you, Peña.” You quickly try to scramble away from him because you feel like crying again. No because of sadness – no. That sadness turned into raw fury after the incident at the scrap yard. Because of how idiotic and stupid he is. And because – no matter what he had done and told you – you can’t seem to shake off the crush you have on him. He grits his teeth and his hand grabs your wrist. Both of your breathing erratic.

“It's not my fault you are not my type, Bee.” He didn’t mean to say that - the words coming from his mouth sound foreign to him. Not right. But his hot temper gets the best of him and the way he said and what he said should not hurt that much. But it does. It feels like he had just stabbed you in the heart and then twisted the knife – deeper and deeper.

You yank away from his grip and you point a finger at him – your hand shaking with the hurt, anger, sadness, Everything coming at you in waves - it feels so fucking overwhelming. You want to scream at him, kick him, hurt him as much as he had hurt you. But what good would it do? None.

You exhale shakily and Javier waits for the fight but it doesn’t come. You shrink into yourself and turn to leave. You look at him above your shoulder as you whisper. “I hate you so fucking much, Javier Peña.” And you are gone.

The heavy weight of your words lingers in the air and he feels the hot tears running down the apple of his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away. His ears are ringing and he doesn’t hear your mother yelling at you about what happened. He doesn’t smell your apple pie burning in the oven. He fucked up. Because he will never get to talk to you again or feel your touch. He will never hear you laugh and he will never get to comfort you again when you cry. Because the only source of your sorrow is him – the stupid Texas boy you now despised.  

Javier comes to present and you give him a quick side hug telling him to sit down. Chucho watches both of you and he prays that you are both wise enough now to sort out this little grudge you have. But you are also both too stubborn and the dinner passes in silence. The only sound is the clinking of silverware cutting through the thick air and sometimes Chucho quips in to ask Javier about Colombia - Javier doesn’t want to talk about that, though. So he stays quiet as he chews - the food tastes exactly like his mother’s.

When Javier sneaks a quick look at you he thinks that maybe he wasn’t such an idiot. The bitterness from your last talk makes his face twist. He hates how - even after all these years - you seem to not acknowledge him even though you try to stay as polite towards him as possible. As if you just look through him and not at him. He watches as you pass his pops a salt and you grin at something he says.

And yeah, you are still definitely not his type.

Javier sees you almost every day. It drives him fucking crazy. The way you just nod at him when he passes by or is in the same room as you – which is mostly kitchen -, the way you don’t answer his questions about you. How have you been, what did you do after high school? He only knows your folks passed away shortly after he left for Colombia – Chucho told him over the phone. Your parents felt like second ones to him. He wanted to call you after Chucho told him, he really did. But he didn’t know your number – that was just an excuse, he knows that and he also knows Chucho would have given it to him if he asked. He feared that you would hang up on him, that if he heard your broken voice he would book the closest flight to come to you. After all – you were best friends a long time ago.  

Javier wants to know everything about you – but you give him nothing. You are just a big complicated riddle to him and he has no hints to figure you out. He notices you though and the things you still do. You still enjoy watching sunsets as you did when you were younger. And that you talk to plants when you water them or that you still secretly go and feed horses a few sugar cubes even though you really shouldn’t. That you still hum when you cook and squint your eyes on either him or Chucho when they enter the kitchen because you don’t like when somebody disturbs you while you are in you’re your element. You always liked to bake and cook – often sneaking into the kitchen with him late at night because he wanted cookies and you gave in and baked them. Because he asked you to and said please – Javier never said please often and that habit he kept.

So because you don’t seem happy when he wants to talk to you or occupies the same room – you actually don’t seem happy with his presence in general and that makes his heart tighten even if he doesn’t understand why – he spends most of his day tending to the ranch. Feeding the animals and fixing the old barn. Today he started fixing the old fence that didn’t even look like a fence at all anymore. He grunts as he stands up – he is getting old and his back is fucking killing him. The Texas sun makes him sweat, he smells and he feels thirsty – has felt thirsty for a while now. But he knows it's afternoon and you are probably in the house cooking. He contemplates it – he doesn’t want to see you uncomfortable around his sheer presence but fuck. He feels like he could drink a whole gallon of water. Fuck it, he thinks as his steps lead him to the Pena house. You knew he was coming back home – if you didn’t want to stick with him, you wouldn’t.  

When he is finally inside and the sun doesn’t burn his face, he takes off his yellow aviators and the thick working gloves. He is covered in sweat and dirt and as he enters the kitchen you think he never looked better. But he always does in your eyes and you hate yourself for it. You gulp and turn your back to him as you try to quickly scribble the things you need to get at the farmers market today. Your body stiffens when he walks behind you – his shirt brushes against your shoulders - and grabs one of those old funny-looking glasses you painted together when you were probably around 9. The air thickens and the atmosphere is awkward – you both want to say something but nothing comes out of your mouths. Finally, Chucho enters and he looks at Javi and then back at you.

“Go shower, mijo. You are going with Bee today.” It's an order and Javi doesn’t want to argue. His house, his rules. Quite the opposite – maybe the change of setting will finally let you loosen up and you will talk to him. He wants to say to you so much. He looks at you and you gape at Chucho as he throws you a pointed look. You swiftly shut your mouth – Javier taking the steps by two as he wants to scrub himself squeaky clean as soon as possible. He feels positively giddy – it reminds him of the times when he got his first car and drove around Laredo with you.  

When he comes down the hushed conversation between you and Chucho comes to a halt and he looks between you two before Chucho almost pushes you out of the house. You drag your feet behind you and the giddiness he felt leaves him as he sees your “enthusiasm”. He wants to go and hide in the nearest hole, lick the wounds he pretends he doesn’t have but you are already sitting in the passenger seat by the time he gets his head out of the gutter.

The ride is awkward, filled with silence and you squirm every once in a while in your seat. You glance at Javier's profile a few times – his strong jawline and his aquiline nose. You stare at his hands and how come they are so big? The veins are prominent on the back of them - leading to the thick fingers, nails trimmed neatly. His hair is longer now after a few weeks already spend at home. He looks better than when he arrived. Now he didn’t look as...tired. And as skinny – he always devours the meals you cook and you can see him filling up around the middle. His arms were much stronger and more muscular than before because of all the work he did on the ranch. Domesticity looks good on him. You watch as he grips the wheel and see his jaw tick before he sighs.

“I am sorry, Bee.” You raise your brows at him when he glances to see your reaction to his words. He never was good with them “actions speak louder than words” he always said. “I am sorry for what I said and how I treated you during high school. I was a fucking idiot and if I could take it all back-”

“You were.” It's a simple phrase, your words coming out fast and he grips the steering wheel tighter when your hand lands on his thigh. “But that’s all I ever wanted to hear, Javier. Yes, your words and actions hurt me in the past. And they still hurt me now when I think about them. But there's nothing we can do about it now. We were kids and if it didn’t happen I don’t think I would become the person I am now so I accept your apology even if it could have been a better one. You should really work on your people skills.” You shrug your shoulders as you tease him and the hand that was resting on his thigh moves into your lap once again. He wants to tell you you could have kept it there – it felt too fucking good even if it was such a simple and innocent touch. It grounded him and Javier is touch deprived.

“So, that’s it?” He asks, his tongue poking out to lick his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows while he watches the road.  

“Yes, that’s it.”

The conversation flows smoothly after that and Javier can't believe it was that easy. If he apologized much sooner he could have been talking to you for weeks now. He missed this – your talks. You talked with your hands a lot and he enjoys how expressive you are when you are telling something. He learns a lot about you. You own a little bakery here - that’s why you are so flexible and can come almost anytime to the ranch. He feels proud of you – your dream was always to open a small bakery somewhere. At least one of us could make their dream come true. 

You laugh and talk, and tell stupid jokes or occurrences that happened in your life. He missed a whole lot and so have you. Your favorite story of his is when he told about the time his neighbor – an old lady – saw him butt naked because the woman he slept with locked him out of his own apartment after he told her he wanted nothing serious. His neighbor called him over to have some fun which he politely declined. You double over laughing and Javi grins, his cheeks hurting. He missed your laugh – he didn’t feel this comfortable ever since...well ever since you stopped talking.  

The ride passes quickly and when you step out of the car you come around – grabbing Javis's hand as you mumble something about “want to show you around here, Javi, so much changed after you left” as you throw him a quick grin. He can only concentrate on your nimble fingers between his and how it feels so fucking right before you are dragging him behind you.

You are not his type he has to remind himself as he squeezes your hand tightly.

Javier comes into the house all muddy once again. It has been raining in Laredo for the past few days - the land all soaked soil and dirt. He takes of his boots before he enters. His nose drags him into the kitchen as he catches the smell of pie. Sweet and delicious - or was it just you, standing here all soft and pretty? He can't tell anymore. These past few weeks were filled with nothing but joy – almost. You played cards with him and Chucho late at night, drinking beer and listening to Chucho's stories. Sometimes you went riding with him on the ranch. Your love for horses didn’t die out and you always were natural with them. You have your favorite one too – the small chestnut-colored mare with a fiery temperament that seems to tolerate only you. Chuho wanted to sell her a long time ago but you begged him on your knees – literally – not to. His eyes softened and he agreed reluctantly – he could never say no to you. Something both Peña men had in common. 

 Anytime Javier looks at you he feels his stomach tighten with something – sometimes arousal but he blames that on the lack of sex, sometimes on something entirely else. He tries to push it deep inside him but whenever he catches your smell his head gets all dizzy and he has the need to find you and talk to you, be near you He hates it. He hates it so fucking much. He doesn’t know what you did to him. He can't seem to shake you out of his mind. He thinks of you anytime he sees the sun setting down or the last time he picked violets for you as he saw them growing a few miles away from the ranch. Because you love violets. He gave them to you with a darker shade of red covering his ears as he scratched his neck. You thanked him and kissed him on the cheek then – his heart hammering in his chest, his pulse quickening and his lower half seemed all too interested in the skin-to-skin contact. As your lips lingered on his cheek as he thought about against what other parts of him would they feel so soft.

  Javi leans against the doorframe as he watches you knead the dough – one of the pies already in the oven. You look so nice in your overalls. He could just bend you over the kitchen counter and -

 Shut the fuck up, Peña. Don’t even think about getting hard.

 You startle when you turn around and see him, your dough-covered hand flying to your chest as you yelp. “Javier Peña, don’t scare me like that!” You scowl at him, your lip pursed and he grins – his hands shooting into the air in a silent apology. 

“Didn't mean to, Bee.” The corner of his lips pulls up as you murmur “sure you didn’t" and turn back around to put more flour in the dough. He quickly washes his hands in the sink and comes behind you – he inhales your scent and closes his eyes. The hair on your neck stands up. “You smell so fucking good.” It's a quiet statement. You look at him wide-eyed and he gives you a confused look in return.

 “What did you say?” Your throat pulls tighter. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Uh-um, that if you'd show me how you knead the dough.” He closes his eyes – idiot, idiot. You breathe out a small “oh” and shake the shock off of you as you nod and come behind him as you grab his hands in yours. 

And fuck, Javier thinks his pulse went from zero to a hundred in this second. His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest any second. Your small hands on his makes him think back to a few weeks ago.

 You stayed at Peñas that night.  You always drove back home but that night it was raining a lot and it was too late anyways. You agreed as Chucho asked you if you wanted to stay – they had a smaller spare room right next to Javis. You bid them both good night and fell asleep quickly after that. You were exhausted but a scream woke you up and you swiftly stood up on your feet and scrambled into Javier's room. He sat on the bed – all sweaty, his breath quick as his head rested in his palms. He looked up at you when the old wooden floor creaked under your footsteps. He cleared his throat and tried to hide from you. You crouched in front of him and offered him a little smile. 

 “You don’t have to hide from me, Javi.” And then he was pulling you into him, breathing you in, his hands pulled around you tightly as he sobbed into your shoulder. He was exhausted of pretending everything was fine. The weight of all the things that he did in Colombia came crashing down on him. You just shushed him as he listened to your heartbeat – his head on your chest, your hand in his as you stroked the back of it. When he finally calmed down he told you everything – the things he did, the things he should have done and the things he shouldn’t have. He told you about Los Pepes and Carilo, and the nightmares that still haunted him. 

 “I am just a shell of a man I once was, Bee.” He whispered into the night and you grabbed both sides of his face as you frowned at him.  

“You are far more than that, Javi.” He wanted to kiss you right there and then but you pulled him on your chest again and he breathed you in once more. The slow rise and fall of your chest lulls him to sleep. He never slept that well in his life.  

When he woke up the other side of the bed was cold but the smell of you – like an apple pie – lingered on the other pillow and he wanted to drown in it. He stroked himself at the thought of you as he smelled the pillow. Your soft hands and the feel of your breasts against his face, the small brush of your lips against his forehead. He came embarrassingly quickly and couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for a few days after that. Neither of you talked about that night. As if it never happened.

So now he curses himself as he feels how he twitches in his pants – the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against his back. The collar of his shirt is a bit too tight as well as his pants. For fucks sake, Peña. He hasn’t slept with anyone since he came back home and it showed. You don’t seem to notice though. 

“You are pretty clumsy with your hands, Javier.” He chokes on seemingly nothing and almost pushes you onto the ground as he stumbles a few steps back. Let me show you how good with my hands I can be - 

“Gotta take a shower.” He says and he takes the steps by two - almost falling over. He closes the door of the bathroom with little more force than necessary. He scrambles with his closes almost ripping them from him and he grabs his aching cock – tugging on it firmly as a spurt of precum shoots out of the head. He steps into the shower – the spray of cold water not helping him calm down his hammering heart or the way his skin seems to be on fire. He strokes himself quickly – the strokes measured as he thinks of your pretty lips around him or that pretty pussy you sure have. He thinks of the swell of your breast on his back, your breath on the back of his neck, your hand in his, your pretty smile and kind eyes. He thinks about how you would feel around him if he pounded into you from behind or what sounds would you make when he would go down on you. How wet would you be? Are you the quiet type or would he have to put his fingers – or something else – in your mouth to shut you up?  

He grunts and his forehead bumps onto the cold tiles of the shower as he cums. He watches how the water downs his spend and he tries to wash the guilt he feels off of him too. 

You are not his type, he thinks as he tugs on his cock for the final time. 

You are going on a date. Javier watches with a frown on his face as you fumble around to finish the dinner. You are wearing a pretty dress – a light green one with a flowy skirt that exposes the whole expanse of your back. The strings on your shoulder are the only thing keeping it in place. You look absolutely incredible. He didn’t want you to go. Fuck, what if the guy was some kind of psycho? Or worse, what if he was actually a decent guy and you'd stop helping Chucho because you would be too occupied with your new little boy toy? What would Chucho do without you – yes, Chucho of course, not Javier. Javier wasn’t jealous and he definitely wasn’t praying that your date would end up in disaster...Okay, he felt jealous. Like “I will rip that guy in shreds” type of jealous.  

And Javier would be alone tonight – Chucho left in the morning to visit his “friend” - he knows he went to Mária living across from the barber's shop. He didn’t say anythimg – the lie falling out of Chucho’s lips easily. And he felt happy for him – him moving on meant he was healing. Slowly but healing. Javi wanted to do something nice for you two tonight– the store-bought cheesecake lying in the fridge. He thought that you could watch TV today – watch anything you wanted. Maybe then he would slip his hand under the hem of your dress and he would -

“Javi!” You wave your hand in front of his face and he blinks a few times. You even put on makeup – the red lipstick making your lips look downright edible and he licks his own lips. He could pull you in and make you forget about your silly little date. But for once in his life Javier didn’t want to be greedy when it came down to you – you seemed so excited when you told him you had a date and he planted on the best fake smile on his face he could muster. Even though he felt sick to his stomach when you told him, his fingers twitching to catch your wrist and pull you close – to tell you you should fuck that guy and stay with him tonight. “You listening?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” You groan in annoyance – already running late – and you grab him by the collar – oh, he likes this a lot. You are so fucking close he feels your breath fan across his face.

“Listen, Javi. I don’t have time for this. The Chiles Rellenos are in the oven so they won't get cold as quickly. If it gets cold just put it in the microwave.” he nods – he knows this, of course – but wants to keep you busy because maybe then your date would cancel – no, he can't.

“Okay.” He says slowly and you let go of the collar of his shirt – just now noticing you grabbed him by it. You pull away from him. “If anything-”

“I call you. You already told me. Don’t worry, dad. I'll be fine.” You grin and turn on your heel waving a quick goodbye before the doors shut behind you. Javier gulps the growing ball in his throat and curses at himself. Idiota. But you know - of course you are not his type.

Javier watches the starry sky tonight. The cheesecake forgotten in the fridge alongside your dinner – he felt so sick to his stomach he was pretty sure he'd throw up if he ate anything. The warm blanket his mother knitted lays heavy on his shoulder as he looks at the sky – millions of stars showing tonight. You'd love to see it – maybe you already are. Star-watching sounds like the kind of date you would have loved. He fiddles with the handle of his mug filled with hot cocoa in his lap and thinks. About how he got here, about his fuck ups – and the biggest fuck up he has ever done was to let you go on that stupid date, he concludes. Okay, maybe not the biggest fuck up but close enough. He straightens up when he spots a car pulling into the driveway – your car. A small grin makes its way onto his lips until he sees your sagged shoulders and the slow way you drag your heels behind you.  

“You have room for another in there?” You ask – your voice small compared to when you left. Pointing a finger at the spot next to him. He nods quickly and when you sit he immediately wraps the blanket around your shoulders – your head resting on his shoulder. It's quiet for a while as he offers you his mug and you drink from it leisurely. He knows you will tell him what happened if you want to. The silence is not awkward – it’s a comfortable one. He always feels comfortable with you. You pull away from him and put the mug on the ground – pulling your knees close to your chin.

“Can I ask you something?” You look at him from the corner of your eye, your words muffled by your knees.  

“Anything, Bee.” And he means that. You could ask him anything in the world and he would answer you no matter what question.  

“Why am I not your type? You know, cuz it seems I am no one's type.” He knows you are referring to the time when he was angry at you after you slapped him. But he didn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t know how to answer – his tongue heavy all of the sudden and fuck, why is so hard to just tell you.

Rather than answering you he twists his torso so he can look at you – really look at you. The moonlight shines on half of your face and how did he never notice how pretty your eyes were? Or your plush lips, your soft hair? He gulps as he reaches forward tentatively – his palm resting on the side of your face now. And he expects you to pull away – to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t. His throat is dry and he feels like his lungs can't seem to have enough oxygen in them because his brain seems to stop functioning too. He brushes his fingertips across your cheek and you would have never expected that Javier Peña could be so gentle with his touch. He looks at your lips – your mouth open just a tiny bit and he sees your Adam's apple bob. Do you want this as much as he does? Or is he imagining things and projecting his own fucked up desires and feelings onto you at this very moment? He doesn’t have much time to think about it before your fingers tangle into his hair at the back of his head, his breath picks up and your mouth surges forward – your lips meeting his.  

He feels like fireworks just exploded in his stomach. His skin tingles and his hands brush against the front of your dress. Your hand on his nape makes him groan into you and he brushes your collarbone with his calloused hand. He wanted this for so long and he didn’t even know about it. The other grabs you by the neck and pulls you even closer – the blanket falling off of you two when you swing your legs on either side of his narrow hips. He presses his lips against yours with more force and he is confident and greedy with it. He curls his hand around your waist and his fingertips dig into your hip while the other hand presses into your shoulder blades. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins and he is warm and fuzzy all over – his body humming with something he never felt before.

You were never kissed this way before – Javier takes, and takes but gives back even more in return. The kiss is impatient and hungry – like he waited for this all of his life. His hands on your skin make you hum out in pleasure and you trail your hand to his jaw – you can feel the stumble he has under your fingertips. You open your mouth to him and the hand on your hip squeezes you tighter, and he wants you closer, closer – this is not enough. Not close enough. And you feel the same as you pull him closer by the collar and he groans into your mouth.  You can taste the warm cocoa on his tongue and his smell invades all your senses – cigarettes, his cologne and something entirely him. Musky and sweet. Your cheeks burn and your palms are sweaty when he pulls away from the kiss – his hands brushing along the exposed skin on your back, his thumb circling your hip. His forehead rests on yours as he tries to calm down and your nails scrape across his exposed chest – he always has a few buttons unbuttoned on his shirt and it drives you insane. He moans when he feels the sensation of your nails on his skin – his hips bucking up to meet yours and you mewl as you feel the bulge press up against your core.

“Fuck, Bee. I want to fuck you so badly. Do you want that too? Tell me. Tell me, please.” Javier Peña said please. He never says please. Yoou nod furiously as you peck him on the lips – his mouth surges to meet yours once again and you lap at his lower lip, your hands fisting into the material of his shirt.  

“Wanted this since I was 16 and crazy in love with you, Javi.” You whisper against his lips and your confession makes his heart beat with joy. You loved him. He grips the flesh on your hips and mumbles a breathy “okay” before he stands up and carries you with him – your legs wrap around his middle. He stumbles a few times and almost trips on the stairs as he keeps kissing you – his tongue nibbling at your collarbones, his hands supporting your weight as he holds you by the back of your thighs.  

When you arrive in his room he throws you on the bed and starts to quickly undress. His fingers shake and he can't seem to unbutton the fucking shirt. Fuck. He stands in front of the edge of the bed and you lean back on your elbows – your gaze heavy with lust. As you see him struggling you crawl onto the edge of the bed and loop your fingers between his belt. He stops and looks at you – you eye the heavy bulge between his thighs and he gulps when your fingers trail his jean-clad cock which jumps with interest under your touch. He has never been this fucking hard before and he knows it's not because for the past few months, the only thing he has been fucking was his fist – it's because of you. “Let me.” You murmur and he nods, he watches your nimble fingers working on his buttons and when he shackles the piece of clothing off him your hands map out his chest, coming down to his belly button and you lick your lips when you see the trail of hairs leading down into the waistband of his jeans. You kiss him right there – on the soft swell of his tummy – and he jumps forward, his hands gripping your head to keep you there. You grin against his skin and your tongue pokes out of your mouth to lick him there – he shudders, and the grip on your head loosens. You pull away from him and your hands start working on his belt – it falls to the ground with a quiet cling of the metal.  

You cup him in your hand through the fabric of his jeans – even now you can feel how heavy he is and that he will feel fucking big inside of you. “You are a big boy aren't you, Javi?” He whimpers at your question and nods furiously as he looks down at you – your gaze immediately locking with his as you are already peering up at him through your eyelashes and you pout at his state. You never expected Javier to be so...needy. He closes his eyes when you squeeze him again and then he hears the sound of a zipper, he feels your breath ghosting over his tip. “No underwear?” He shakes his head and chokes when you lick the salty precum.

“No-no. Fuck. Too uncomfortable.” His eyes close as if he's in pain and his nostril flare when he feels the first velvety slide of your tongue against his cock. Your pulse quickens and you feel too fucking powerful right now as you feel him swell even more in your mouth. You hold his gaze as you pull off of him and flatten your tongue – licking your way to the underside of his cock. His hands cradle the back of your head, his pupils completely blown as he watches you put open-mouth kisses onto the hard warm flesh that jumps under your attention.  

And he is fucking big – his size obvious by sight and by the way he feels around your hand – heavy and warm. But you really feel it when you take him deeper into your throat the girth of his cock opens your mouth wider. The broken sound between a whimper and a groan makes you clench around nothing and he tastes exactly how you imagined him – clean and delicious – exactly like Javier looks. You can't fit all of him in your mouth but you try – focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat – the squelching sounds of your mouth bobbing up and down his length filling the room. You try to take him deeper and deeper – until you gag around him and pull away. Javis's mouth is wide open when you pull off of him – spit trailing from your lips and connecting you to the swollen tip of his cock. His chest heaves and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip – collecting the saliva – and puts it in his mouth – he groans with approval and it makes you want to give him more.  You sink your awaiting mouth back onto his cock once more and moan when another spurt of precum lands on your tongue. Your hand is securely wrapped around the base of his cock as you stroke him slowly and you look back up at him.

He looks absolutely and positively wrecked – his hair falling in front of his eyes and sticking to his forehead as he grits his teeth struggling to not make you take him deeper – to not fuck your throat. His grip on your hair tightens as he starts panting harshly and you feel him twitch in your mouth – you can feel he is almost there – but then he pulls back from you.

He almost lifts you into the air as his tongue delves into your mouth – wanting to taste himself on you. The bitterness of himself on your tongue makes him groan into your mouth and you never expected him to be this vocal. He steps out of his jeans and then he is back on you – his fingers working on the straps of your dress while he plants butterfly kisses on the column of your throat. He discards the piece of clothing as if it has offended him somehow and he pulls back to look at you – you can see the muscle on his thigh flex as he tries to keep his balance on his heels. His hands reach back for you – grabbing you under your knees before he is pulling you closer to him. His fingers dip into the waistband of your panties before they are too thrown somewhere behind him.  

His thick fingers work their way inside you without a warning – two of them plunging deep. You are soft, and pliant under him. Your walls squeeze him tight when he moves his finger up, up – until you sob and grab his wrist - to stop him or to plea for him to keep doing that you aren't sure. It never felt like this and he grins against the flesh of your cheek – kissing you there softly. His other hand grabs one of your tits and he pinches the nipple – it hardens under his hard touch. He bends down to suck it into his mouth and your hand shoots out to the back of his head – keeping him there. One of your thighs is firmly planted on his shoulder and his fingernails dig into your ankle, the blunt nails creating crescent shapes. Your heel digs into his shoulder with a particular shove into your cunt – the tips of his fingers brushing against something that makes you hold your breath.

The way you keep repeating his name makes him want to never leave your perfect cunt. His name and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in make him light-headed. He wishes no one would call him Javi again after he hears it from your mouth – whiny and high-pitched, filled with the need to let go.  

“Come on, Bee. I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking give it to me. I want you to soak my fingers.” You nod vigorously and sob when his thumb starts drawing harsh circles against your clit. He hits nerves inside of you you didn’t even knew you had before. You take everything he gives – the flick of his wrist, his fingers petting your walls, his mouth on yours. You cum when he bites you into the juncture between your shoulder and neck – his tongue smoothing the bite. You feel him smile against your mouth when you cry out into him – his fingers still working inside of you until you wheeze and tell him to stop. He pulls them out and maps your body with your juices – the slick trail shining under the moonlight that falls onto the both of you.  

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom – ripping the foil packet between his teeth before he puts it onto his length. He sits up on his heels – his cock bobbing with the movement and you gulp as he pats his thigh – telling you to come to him and you do – all jelly legged and sedated after your first orgasm. He pulls you close by the small of your back and his cock nudges against your entrance when you swing your legs around his waist. His hairy legs stick to the back of your thighs and you can feel the sweat rolling off him – his hands supporting you as you sink down on him. Your mouth forming into an “o” and you let out a breathless moan. You knew he was big – as his girth opened up your mouth more and the weight of him heavy on your tongue. But this feels entirely different. You squirm on his lap and he grunts – his other hand coming down onto the flesh of your ass. The pinch you feel as he fills you completely is uncomfortable and you grip his bicep – your nails digging into the flesh there. He hisses and kisses you – the kiss languid and slow. His tongue traces your mouth and your grip loosens – your muscles start to relax.

 “Javi, you are so big.” You don’t say him to make him feel better or feed his ego – it's just a fact. Clear and simple. His nose bumps against yours and he looks into your eyes – he is so close he is breathing the oxygen you exhale. 

 “I know, hermosa. But you can take it. Can’t you?” The new term of endearment falling out of his mouth is surprising but welcome nevertheless. He waits for your answer as he fights himself not to move – your walls squeezing around him and he counts to five so he doesn’t cum right now like some kind of fucking teenager.

  Javier slept with a lot of women. One night stands, prostitutes, his fiancé. But he never felt like this with anyone. His heart never hammered in his chest so quickly and the blood in his veins didn’t boil. His skin never felt like it was on fire by a simple touch. It's new and he welcomes it with open arms. He is tired of fighting and running. This is his new life and it's not too bad – it's better than it ever was. He never feels small with you and he chases that feeling.

 “Yes, I can. I can take it. Please move, Javi.” He listens to your command – the first drag of his cock through your walls feels intoxicating. His hot breath fans against your chest as his forehead rests on it and his hand that was gripping your ass moves to your hip – dragging you up and down his cock as you meet his every perfectly measured thrust. He maps your body and listens to your reactions – he figures out what you like or what you really don’t after a few minutes as he pounds into you.

You don’t know which one of you is louder but it makes him even sexier – the guys you’ve been with before weren't so enthusiastic about it and you felt like they didn’t even wanted to be there – the only hint of them enjoying it was when they came with a quiet grunt and fall onto the bed next to you. Javier is different – he always was – and you live for all the sounds he makes. How he gropes you and maps out your body – his fingers dipping into every crease and curve of your body. And you can feel that in each thrust there is this hidden emotion that he doesn’t want to show. But you grew up with him and can read him pretty well – and your heart swells with the unspoken words. You don’t need to hear them. He will figure it out himself eventually.  

He feels that you are close after he gives you a particularly hardh thrust and you squeal – your nails scratching his muscular back that you’ve been ogling anytime he came out of the shower without a t-shirt or when it was too hot outside and decided the piece of clothing wasn’t necessary in that kind of weather. His mustache scrapes along the flesh on your breasts and you feel his hips shift – the change of position making him feel even bigger. He puts his thumb into your mouth as he looks at you and you suck it – it tastes of you and sweat but you don’t care – as he pulls it out and starts rubbing your clit with it.

 It only takes a few drags of his cock before you are cumming – your clit throbbing as he keeps pressure on it. Your walls squeeze him and he feels like he can't move any further. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug him so he is looking at you. He is all lust-blown eyes and his baring teeth turned into a snarl. You can feel every vein and bump in his cock with every thrust and he twitches inside of you – his hand coming to hold the hinge of your jaw as his tongue tangles with yours once again. It's frantic as are his deep thrusts and you are pretty sure he will break the bed soon – the headboard hitting the wall with every pass of his hips. You admire how fucking lost in you he looks – slack-jawed and dazed. You tug on his hair once more and the reaction is almost instant – his hips faltering for a moment seemingly losing his rhythm. 

“Come on, Javi. I want you to look at me when you cum.” Your requests makes him shut his eyes before he shudders and opens them – your name a broken record when he spills into the condom. You scratch him on the back of his head – your movements slow and languid. He pulls out of you after a moment – when he catches his breath and his heartbeat evens out – even though when he is with you it seems impossible. 

The aftercare is soft and sweet as he lays on his back and pulls you close to him – stroking your spine and kissing the top of your head. 

“Do you want me to leave?” He pulls you tighter against him after you ask him that and he grips your chin so you look at him. 

“Never again, Bee. I want you right here with me.” You sigh in contentment and give him a sweet kiss.

 You are definitely his type, Javier thinks as he feels your breath even out and slowly, he falls asleep too – you in his arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[shiggyscumrag]

HEY HEY !! Just read your Logan fic and I NEED MORE , your writing is amazing. Please could we get some pain kink/masochist Logan with a slightly dom reader , fem or gn idm!!!

I HOPE YOU ARE WELL !!!

(Specifcally thinking of the scene where he puts the cigar out on his hand.)

HEYYY POOKIE!!!! 💋💋 thank you so much you’re too sweet ���🏻 I am in LOVE with this request so I will indulge you lol. I did not proofread this so I apologize for any warnings I might miss and for any mistakes/misspellings!!

Synopsis: Logan was having so much fun teasing and edging you all night long, while you were growing more frustrated by the minute. Deciding you aren’t waiting any longer, you hop on top and show him just how you want it. Maybe some pain will make him remember who’s in charge.

Warnings: choking, biting, hickies, edging, top reader with sub Logan, hair pulling, Logan using his claws on you, freaky shiz

One hand circling at your clit and the other wrapped around your throat. Tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks as his cock pushed in and out of you at an absolutely brutal pace. Your legs over his shoulder stretched as far as they could possibly go. Panting to keep up you were getting close again. He knew that, yet Logan just loved the flush on your face and the tears in the corner of your eyes too much to stop. Then he did. Pulling both his hands away and stalling his hips still deep inside you.

“How much longer are you gonna make me wait!” You whine out hands starting to trail down to your clit. Hoping to find some relief since he’s enjoying his games a little too much.

“No, no, now you know better than to try that.” He grumbles in a raspy manner wrapping his hands around your wrists pinning them above your head. Face to face he plants a kiss to each cheek and then your jaw slowly working his way down your neck. He places a gentle kiss on each collar bone, you start arching up your chest to meet his hot lips. Kissing down in between your tits he starts moving farther tickling the skin on your stomach with his beard. Coming back up right before he could place a kiss on your clit he laughs.

“How bad do you want it?” He has to be joking right? You’ve been begging to cum for an HOUR! Retracting his claws only an inch or two he drags them across your outer thighs, the cold metal making you shiver.

“Real fucking bad.” You tease letting your voice lower into a deeper octave feigning a whimper, your legs snake around his waist bringing him even closer. Smirking he leans farther down to kiss you slightly loosening his grip on your wrists. Perfect.

Using your body strength you flip him onto his back now holding his hands above his head. Grinding down on his dick he groans in confusion.

“What the hell? This is hot, but-” interrupting him your other hands covers his mouth. He tried to move his hands but you hold steady so he doesn’t put up a fight. Stilling he gives into your little game.

“I want to cum. So hold on hot stuff.” Not giving him any warning you slip him in with no hands. Moaning loud his hands instinctively went to grab your hips. Holding strong you let out a laugh beginning to ride him.

“Not tonight baby. You had your chance to fuck me. I’m in charge now pretty boy.” You lean down whispering into his ear. Placing a kiss right behind his ear you continue to bounce on his cock. Biting down hard on his pressure point has him moaning loudly right in your ear. You taste a little metallic in your mouth. You can feel him twitch in you and it had your walls fluttering around him. Looking down at him you see his claws starting to poke out again, and an idea popped up in your pretty little mind.

“Use your claws on me.” You almost laughed at how his tightly shut eyes opened so wide so quickly. It was inhumanly fast. No pun intended.

“What?” He asks almost like you’re fucking crazy. Maybe he’s a little right.

“Scratch down my back like I do yours. Just be a little more gentle than me.” Pulling your hand off his wrist he sits up his chest meeting yours. He chuckles under his breath at your comment, his hands finding the small of your back squeezing slightly. You jumped a little when you felt his cold claws start to apply pressure on the top of your shoulders. Looking longingly into Logan’s eyes you don’t hold back the moan that breaks from your throat when you feel him start dragging his claws down your back. The pressure breaking your skin lightly, marks forming in their wake. Halfway down your head falls back and you feel really close. The sting and sudden burn has your vision blurring in the best way possible.

“Fuck you’re so sexy.” He’s grinning wide with a scrunch in his brow. Biting your lip you look back down at him, your legs growing tired but you’re determined to make him cum with no help. Maximum effort as Wade would say. Your left hand finds his throat squeezing hard and pulling him into a sloppy hot kiss while the other grips his shoulder. You start to bounce faster curving your pelvis into his. He starts to pull away moaning but you hold onto his bottom lip, biting him playfully before letting go.

“Holy shit- I’m gonna cum!” He grunts out. Holding back a very obvious whine. It came out a little bit at the end. He was gonna be the death of you.

You almost cum from those words alone. Moaning, coming out more like a bratty whine, you take your hand away from his throat to rub your clit. The hand on his shoulder moving to the base of his neck, pulling on his hair deliciously. Head falling back Logan’s hands crush your waist forming a bruising grip. Just from the pure pleasure consuming him. Finding the perfect rhythm you can feel the final stroke before you cum all over his cock. Milking him you can feel him fill you up no more then a few seconds later. The shudder that runs through his body has your body heating up and your lips curl into a smile.

“Logan! Oh fuck- fuck that feels so good!” You’re now shaking as you slow your pace. Still riding out your high his hands make their way to your hips guiding you.

“God, you ride me so pretty princess. Made me feel so good.” Kissing your neck he starts to give you a hickey. Moaning his name again you feel satisfied.

I’ll write more masochist and or sadist Logan in the future bc I enjoyed writing this but I’m not completely satisfied with it.

[buckys-wintersoldier]

Heyyy, my talented friend ♡

I want to make a lil request for a drabble from His Forever And Ever series ;) 

Mob!Bucky's reaction to Y/N dating someone else after him?? (maybe we can see a glimpse of a jealous boyfriend 👀) Heehee i just know it's gonna be amazing 😉 pls take your time, no pressure 💕

Also have an amazing day ! ✨️

Hey, thank you for the sweet words and the request. Bucky being jealous mhmm- I like that and I gives me a lot of filthy thoughts.🤭😂

// Paring // (Ex-)Boyfriend!Mob!Bucky Barnes x (Ex-)Girlfriend!Reader

// Summary // After the break up Bucky sees you flirting with another guy.

// Wordcount // 1.160 Words

// Warnings // bit of stalking behavior, mention of sexual content (blink and you miss it), insults

// Authors Note // This is a Drabble which could be a possibility situation in the “His forever and ever” series. Plus it’s a bit changed because don’t wanna hurt our poor Bucky! Hope you still like it.

// Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist //

// Series Masterlist //

Bucky knows that you tried to move on, but it doesn’t mean that he will let you off that easily. Seeing you working and hanging out a lot with your best friend, Steve, doesn’t annoy him that much. But the thing — the person that really annoys him — John Walker.

How can you even dare to think that this blond haired little bitch could be as Bucky, could make you feel like him, could give you what the monster could give you, or love you like Bucky loves you.

He doesn’t really understand how you be can close to the other man without a disgusted expression. Bucky only has to hear his name or see him appearing somewhere and he immediately wants to beat that blond haired man up.

“She is in the bar with him,” Sam says, standing in front of Bucky’s desk while the mobster is growling. You’re out with John way too often for his liking, why can’t you see that Bucky’s the only one who loves you like you deserve it?

He messed up and he knows it but there can’t be a man who can love you more than Bucky does. If he wouldn’t love you, he wouldn’t keep an eye on you, he wouldn’t follow you and he wouldn’t need so much time because of his nervousness to talk to you.

“Gonna need to talk to that guy, thinks he can touch my girl,” Bucky groans frustrated while running his hand through his long brown hair.

His beard grows just as his hair. Bucky likes that style, especially because you always loved his beard and maybe he gets you back when he shows you how good his beard is working in between your legs?

“Don’t you think you shouldn’t do that? When she finds out she will be mad,” Sam mumbles. Luckily he is one of Bucky’s best friends and he knows that no matter how angry Bucky is he often listens to him or at least doesn’t throw him out when he says something.

“And then he is gonna fuck her? No! She is mine and I won’t let Walker touch my girl!” Bucky says through gritted teeth, getting off the chair to make his way to the door and drive to the bar where you’re going to meet John.

Sam sighs, following his best friend out of the room before he turns around a corner and makes his way into the office. He is just going to work — he knows how much you mean to Bucky.

Bucky walks to the car, two of his bodyguards going with him. And while they are in the car, the mobster already makes a plan how he is going to get you back and how he tells John that you belong to Bucky.

"Bucky, please," you say, pushing him back by his chest, his eyes darken and his jaw clenching while he looks at John. He doesn't know what you like about the other man, he isn't - he isn't Bucky.

"Only when that son of a bitch fucks off and never talks to you ever again," he growls, his hands gripping your forehearms firmly. A big grin forms on his plump lips when John walks a few steps away from you.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on the other man, while you hold Bucky pressed between the bar behind him and you. You know that he could push you away easily but he doesn't. Especially not when he can be so close to you, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingers and inhaling your sweet, intoxicating scent.

"I'm sorry, dragâ mea," Bucky apologizes when John finally leaves the bar. His head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. And suddenly there is nothing left of the big, fearful mobster he usually is. He inhales deeply, tears that flow down his cheeks soak your shirt and you're surprised that he lets his emotions out in public.

"Bucky, you can't come here and just insult the guests," you mumble, sliding your fingers through his hair. He isn't the only one who missed one, and sliding your fingers through his soft hair gives you a moment of everything back that you miss.

You don't support his behavior, nor like it but you can't deny that it shows that he still loves you. You still have the same comforting and calming effect on him. It only needs your arms around Bucky, your intoxicating scent and your soft voice to make the muscular let go of everything because he knows you will catch him if he falls down.

"B-But he can't have you," Bucky whispers, knowing that he shouldn't stop you from being happy. But can you be happy when he isn't with you? "'m sorry. Doll, I miss you, y- I can't be without you. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that, but I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, but there are better ways to talk to me. And he could never replace you, he came here a few times, asking me out but whenever he did-" you inhale deeply, feeling your own tears building up in the corner of your eyes. "I always thought about you, I couldn't go out with him, because he isn't you, Buck."

"I don't want someone close to you who isn't me. Please, come home, it's so empty when you're not there, no light, only darkness. I messed up, but I will make it better this time," Bucky mumbles, lifting his head to look at you with his red eyes.

His heart is racing while he waits for you to answer. He wouldn't be mad would you say no, how could he? He messed up but you still help him calm down, you don't kick his ass for interrupting you. But living with him is more than just a hug that calms him down.

"I asked Sam to help me with the work to have more time for you," Bucky adds when you don't answer after a moment. You chuckle, knowing that he really means it when he lets someone else do the work he thinks is important. Bucky loves having control and giving his work to someone else always scares him.

"You get the chance to prove it to me, to prove that I'm not self-evident for you," you say. Bucky eyes immediately light up and he nods his head. His big hands make their way to your face, cupping it. He pulls you closer, his lips trailing over your nose to your forehead where he presses them softly against your forehead.

"Thank you, I love you, dragâ mea," Bucky mumbles, smirking against your forehead. He will prove it to you, prove that you're not self-evident and that he can be the best version of himself for you. That's what he wants to show you and he will, and he does with the brightest eyes and the widest smile.

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[lavylu]

Stuffed

You’re stressed cooking for thanksgiving and Bucky helps ease your nerves

You anxiously wander around the kitchen in the avengers compound. The Turkey is cooking in the oven while you cut up carrots.

You keep looking at the clock, anxious on the time. You were the one cooking thanksgiving dinner for the team and you might have bitten off more than you could chew.

Currently you had several dishes going and it was making you a little crazy having to keep track of them all. After all, there were pots and pans all over the kitchen and flour all down your apron.

You huffed a little and blew some of the hair that fell out of your bun out of your face. Your lips being a little pouty as you got back to work.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was watching from the doorway. He bit his lip slightly as he watched you work.

You were in a frenzy, moving fast between the different stations. Bucky watched the way your lips poured, his face growing warm.

He quietly walked closer to you, “hey babydoll”

You give him an anxious smile before you check the turkey. “Hey Bucky, need anything?”

“No” he says “i was just coming to see you cook. How you doing? You seem kind of worked up”

Bucky gently wrapped one of his arms around your waist. His musk overwhelming your senses.

“I’m fine Bucky,” you say but you hear him let out a scoff. He’s clearly not convinced.

Bucky presses a soft kiss to your neck, his beard tickling your skin. “Really?”

His voice is teasing. You shiver when he gently squeezes your hips.

“Yeah…”

Bucky chortles “it doesn’t seem like it baby. You’re all tense.”

His strong hands trail up your stomach. You set down the knife and relax a little into his embrace.

Bucky smirks as he continues to kiss your neck. “Not stressed huh?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Okay, Maybe a little…”

Bucky chuckles softly “oh babydoll”

He lightly nibbles on your ear, “does my babydoll want a little break? Some love?”

You nod your head as you feel your back press into his chest.

Bucky smiles. He turns you around and picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist. Your arms going around his neck.

Bucky’s metal hand holds your ass as his other one threads through your hair. He kisses you passionately. His tongue pushing into your mouth.

You let out a soft moan. His tongue swirls around inside your mouth.

You feel yourself being set down, your back on a wooden table. Bucky pulls up briefly and pulls down your panties.

Your skirt being bunched up around your waist along with your apron. Bucky gets a mischievous smirk and pockets your underwear.

“I’ll be taking those babydoll.”

He swiftly unbuttons his pants and takes out his cock. He begins to pump himself slowly. His cock is long and girthy. Bucky’s hand firmly closes around his fat cock as he pumps himself.

You see the precum leak out of his tip. You try to sit up, but his metal hand holds you down.

“Oh no babydoll, you just got to lay there all nice and pretty. Let me stuff you”

Your face heats up at his remark. Yet you lay back down. Bucky lines his tip up with your entrance.

He teases your hole causing you to moan: “oh Bucky, please”

He smirks as he swipes his tip through your folds. Precum gathering on your eager labia. He takes his tip and thrusts into you.

You feel his cock inside you, his member feeling warm as he stretches you out. His fat cock taking a moment to get used to.

You Buck your hips slightly when you get used to the stretched out feeling. Bucky takes the cue and starts to thrust into you.

The friction of his cock sliding in and out making you moan. Bucky only smirks as he quickens his pace. You feel his cock pound deep inside you.

“Oh-oh, bucky”

“How’s that feel sweetheart? Does it feel good?” His words are teasing as he continues to fuck you.

You can barely form words, too focused on his cock. Bucky’s smirk widens when he sees your dumb expression.

“Oh is my pretty little babydoll getting all dumb, now that her brains are being fucked out?”

You let out a pathetic moan and a soft nod. Bucky hoists your legs up. He pushes them up by your head.

The new position providing better access. You feel the tip of his cock press against your cervix. Your eyes roll back as he thrusts into you.

“Oh-oh… oh”

Bucky leans his head forwards so he can kiss you. Your ankles by his ears. You feel his hands tighten around your ankles.

His tongue pushes into your mouth forcefully. Your hands go to his hair and tug him closer. You feel his balls slap against your core.

You moan into his mouth. His tongue pushing down your throat.

You feel your pleasure build and build each time he thrusts deep inside you. Bucky keeps up his pace but thrusts with a little more force.

His cock stretching you out so nicely as you feel your high come.

Your head rolls back as a wave of pleasure overtakes you.

“Oh bucky. Bucky!”

Bucky smirks down at you, “feeling better baby?”

You nod your head, still being a little out of it from his dick.

Bucky kisses your lips and then looks down at you with sensual eyes. “Such a good babydoll letting me stuff you”

[cyborg-franky]

Can you make a HC about what they do when Luffy is King of Pirates, the One Piece is found, Mystery of "D" resolved and so on? I mean if they stay Pirates, settle down, marry or do another profession. 👀 When there 35 plus or older. Please with Zoro, Sanji, Law and Kid 😍

Ooooh how fun! I did a bunch of chars including the ones you wanted : D

Sanji Sanji finds the all blue and makes his own floating restaurant. Luffy always comes to visit and always eats him out of house and home. Sanji has long hair he keeps in a ponytail, and he has a beard he keeps in a braid, just like his old man [Zeff <3] Sanji is tough love with teaching his chefs but they all love and respect him. He’s married to his work and also every pretty person who steps foot in his restaurant. He calls it ‘The All Blue’ and he charges people with alot of money but helps out those in need. Thanks to Luffy being not just the pirate king but also a yonko his place is considered untouchable by the marines and thus everyone can come and eat here fearlessly with no worries. 

Zoro He’s the greatest swordsman in the world. He never leaves Luffy’s side, always sailing the high seas with his captain. When he does eventually settle down he gets married, and everyone is invited, even Sanji. He runs his own dojo now in Kuina’s memory, he teaches kids how to fight. He doesn’t turn away people who are female-bodied/identify as girls because he knows how strong they can be and would never play the sexist card. Everyone who trains with him are equal and valid. He would teach his own children how to fight too. He’s a firm but fair teacher. He still has that short mossy hair of his, maybe he’s got some ink now.

Nami Fame, wealth, power! Some say that’s just for the Pirate king, but Nami would disagree, Nami has everything she’s ever wanted. She sends back loads of money to her home island which have repaired all the damage that the Arlong Pirates ever did. They become a thriving community. She even makes sure there is a lovely orphanage, in memory of Bellmere with orange trees all around where young women can grow and learn skills and become strong and anything they want to be. Nami gets her short hair back.

Robin and Franky Together, but not married. Neither wants to get a piece of government-approved paperwork to say they are married. Robin can piece together all the mysteries of the world, the void century is her’s and she passed on everything she can to her students. She makes sure the next generation of the world will remember everything that happened both good and bad and as long as there are people alive who know what happened, who have seen the devil and god history can avoid repeating itself. Robin has her bangs back, and wears her long, long hair in a braid. 

Franky becomes a teacher himself! He passes on the amazing shipwright skills he learned from Tom to anyone who wants to come and learn from him. Both are a blessing to the generations after. Maybe Franky has toned down his look a little and he’s more like he was in pre-skip? 

Brook Still a hecken popular musician who is going around touring, loved by many, and as long as his music keeps touching people's hearts and he always has fans, he won’t ever truly be alone. He obviously reunites with Laboon too!

Jinbei Retired, living his best life back at Fishman Island, and has a spouse now. He keeps an eye on Fishman island though there is nothing but peace. After all the island and his people are protected by the pirate king himself.

Usopp Usopp goes off and becomes a pirate captain himself! But it doesn’t last very long, it’s just not the same so he retires and goes into writing books. He writes stories of all his fantastic adventures and inspires the hearts and minds of many young people who all want to be pirates. He also takes up art as a more serious profession. He writes and does his own artwork. Usopp’s Fables. Maybe he goes back to his village, him being a famous writer brings good things for the sleepy village.

Chopper Goes back to DRUM and helps the people, bringing back doctors to the island. DRUM once again becomes well known for how amazing its doctors are. He’s a good teacher for those wanting to be in the medical field.

Luffy THE PIRATE KING HIMSELF? Every night is still a party, he only settles down when the last of his crew wants to seek their own fortunes. He visits them all. Spending his time traveling between them and going on adventures. He never truly settles down. Just married to his love of life. 

Law Still a pirate, still with his crew because they are and always will be his family. He did everything he set out to do, take people down, and get revenge, he didn’t ever see his life past Dressrosa to start with so everything is a bonus. The only difference is now the heart pirates have less of a reputation for their captain being scary and cruel but the best place to take anyone with a rare illness. He specializes in learning about them and healing them. Totally rocking more tattoos everywhere and a ponytail maybe. Or an undercut…

Kid IGNORING CANON Him and his crew are still an issue for the world government, even in their 30s, 40s, hell even when they're 70 they are wild and causing chaos all across the world. Kid loses his violent streak and is just out here with his boys having the time of his life. Maybe he has a partner or two, he and Killer going polyam at last.

Marco Marco even at like 80 still looks younger, still a doctor on Sphinx but this time he’s not so honour bound to the memory of Whtiebeard and Ace. He sometimes leaves the island to go on adventures. He visits his partners, finally allowing himself to date again. He becomes a vet as well as a doctor, helping out people on islands he visits while seeing his partners. He’s enjoying his retirement, he has so many people in his life again that it heals his heart. Still, he aches for everything he’s lost, he always will but now he’s not shackled by it.

Sabo Thanks to his efforts and the RA the world is a more equal place, he makes sure of it. Aside from all of that. Maybe Sabo has a partner, maybe he’s allowed himself to have a few kids that he raises to be good and just and to never see the world as black and white but all the greys that the world is built up of. Making sure the next generation has a strong sense of their own justice. Sabo also wrote a huge book documenting Luffy’s travels after listening to his brother tell the stories over and over. The book becomes the legend of the Pirate King. The story inspires another era of pirates.

[mushroomates]

gimli headcanons:

likes doing laundry. finds it soothing

history nerd!! loves reading old tombs/biographies of his ancestors

is incredibly intelligent. beats frodo in chess. would beat gandalf but gandalf cheats. has been in a stalemate with aragorn for two and a half years.

well mannered but chooses to forgo his politeness to make a point. especially around elves.

does NOT like horses. not just riding them, which is canon, but actually dislikes the animal itself. the reasons why include (but are not limited to) :

he does not like being not on ground. he does not have a fear of heights so much as a fear of… feet not on ground. as evidenced by refusal to jump, treehouses, and well, horses

he does not like their faces. they are long and have eyes on the side like prey. gimli thinks this is deceiving as horses are very large and can kick in someone’s skull. not his skull.

gimli believes that in a one on one match with a horse, he could easily win. he has thought of several, very specific, scenarios of this and has a detailed plan of attack should this situation occur.

they so easily turned against their home for an evil overlord (read: sauron stole all the black horses from rohan) and therefore cannot be trusted. as a rule, anything that willing you let you ride it cannot be trusted. they can’t be satisfied with this life. they are plotting something.

believes he would be great at drums. it’s just hitting things hard and he’s pretty strong.

ok, another thing about horses: they are fragile to a ridiculous extent. you breath wrong and it breaks. they have bad bones and bad blood flow in their legs, and their legs are all that they’re used for. he doesn’t understand why humans invested so much time into horses when they’re genetically bad at what they are meant to do. he’d feel bad for the horses if they weren’t so awful.

drinks coffee, not tea

takes great with the up keeping of his gear. he sharpens his axes, polishes his boots, shines his armor and waxes his mustache. that’s not gear, but he takes great pride in looking groomed and caring for his belongings.

has an axe for every occasion. battle axe? do you want throwing or slashing. a day on the town? have you seen this intricately carved masterpiece that also is a weapon? digging a hole? PICKAXE. cutting a cake? how about an axe???

hates the rain because it ruins his hair and beard. also loves the rain because it ruins legolas’s hair and clothes.

will eat anything. has a great tolerance for spice. contrary to popular belief, dwarves are not shy of seasoning but are very cautious around other races in fear of poisoning their friends

will also eat some rocks. salty is his favorite (halite, hanksite, glauberite) but also likes to add chunks of chalcanthite to his food for a slightly sweet yet metalic flavor. this is also slightly (SLIGHTLY) poisonous as evidenced by sharing his trail mix with boromir

also calls dirt the “local seasoning”

will taste dirt to try and get a feeling for the land. this tells him the acidity, weather, possible wildlife, and also pisses off legolas

actaully genuinely likes the taste of dirt. (note: if you desire to eat clay/dirt that is a symptom of iron deficiency. for gimli, he eats spoonfuls of the stuff like their supplements because as a kid it was fed to him like multivitamins)

OK SO HEAR ME OUT: lack of sunlight can cause really low hemoglobin and ferritin (a blood protein that contains iron) sooo being constantly in dark caves can cause some forms of iron deficiency. because dwarves are conscious of their young, dwarf children often grow up not often being in direct sunlight.

the solution? dirt. dirt contains iron and other tasty minerals that are good for the body. charcoal has natural antioxidants. so does clay. am i saying that momma gimli (unnamed) fed her son ash and clumps of dirt? yes. also bits of broken pottery. it’s good of the immune system.

fr tho clay/dirt/charcoal are the dwarven multivitamins. you have a tummy-ache? here, have a rock. i truly believe this was scientifically proven by dwarves and only FOR dwarves (plz do not eat dirt)

fuckin loves mushrooms. has a mushroom log at home. whenever dwarves find some fungai in a cave they go feral

likes dogs. thinks it’s great that they dig holes. thinks it’s fantastic that the bury things in holes. absolutes loves when they get muddy, and then shake off all water and dirt all over you.

when he came back home with the name lockbearer, a lot of the dwarves thought it was really cool and he has some sort of elven puzzle that requires a code to unlock something. imagine their surprise when he rocks up and is like: no, even better. HAIRS. three of them.

enjoys making mudpies- made them as a kid with his cousins, (mostly with rock slurry) and continues to, even even as an adult.

made them on the fellowship with the hobbits. taught them all about the best types of dirt and the water-to-soil- ratio needed.

while cutting up slices of his pie, he offered one to boromir, who in good nature, took it, clearly thinking it was just part of the bit.

poor boromir was locked in a stalemate after gimli cut his own slice, and began eating it.

to his credit, boromir did brave a few bites, but had to stop once he nearly had a mouthful of maggots

“protein”

gimli is like crazy good at hair. can braid quickly and efficiently in elaborate styles

picked up eleven hair style techniques in lorien (quicker than legolas) and was forced to relay them to the elf through twine as there is no way he’s letting grubby elf fingers to touch his glorious mane that’s been decades in the making

would ask for a drink “on the rocks” and get slightly upset if it did not come back with actual rocks

[sequinsmile-x]

bestie bestie bestie. what if what if aaron kept his beard/facial hair when he was back from overseas and when em and aaron had kids, he’s never had it shaven off. one day, he shaves off his beard and his kids got a shock and like “i dont wike it daddy” and cries and runs to hug em. and aaron is like “its me honey, its daddy” and theyre like “no! youre not my daddy” and it hurts him a little but em also agrees with her kids, “yeah, i dont wike it daddy” 😅🥹

Hi bestie!! I love this idea, and it was exactly the fluff I needed to write today. I really hope you enjoy this <3

-x-

Transform

After a slight mishap with his razor, Aaron has to shave off his beard for the first time in years, much to the disappointment of the women in his family.

Especially his 18-month-old daughter who doesn't recognise him.

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: None!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’d always loved Aaron’s beard. 

It had taken her aback when she first saw it, the rugged stubble at odds with everything she’d ever known about her boss. Even when she’d visited him in the hospital after Haley and Jack had gone into hiding he’d been clean shaven, something he’d since told her had hurt like hell to do, his chest still burning from every wound Foyet had given him. 

By the time she can acknowledge the fact the beard makes him even more attractive, her concentration on Ian and Declan the moment she gets back, it’s gone. A wry smile painted across Aaron’s face as he tells her Jack didn’t like it. 

The next time she sees the beard is on their honeymoon. She convinces him to grow it out, fascinated by how it feels against her skin, the scratch of it something she finds comforting and arousing in equal measure. They end up straight back into a case the moment they get home and the airline loses his luggage and therefore his shaving kit. She’s distracted by the combination of the beard and his suit and she decides she needs to see it every day, her husband impossibly more attractive to her. 

He agrees to keep it, Jack’s distaste for it apparently long gone, and Emily’s love for the beard only increases. She loved to scratch her nails against it, to hear the rasp of it in their otherwise quiet bedroom. He mostly keeps it tidy, trimming and keeping it neat, but it gets a little more unkempt when their daughter is born. Ivy had been a fussy baby, colicky and only happy to sleep on one of her parent's chests for weeks. She’d even loved it then, loved how he looked when holding their tiny little girl, his stubble covered cheek pressed against her dark hair as he paced the bedroom to try and get her to sleep. 

She sighs sadly as she watches him from the doorway of their ensuite, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall. Aaron chuckles as he makes eye contact with her in the mirror, his attention briefly shifting from his reflection and his focus on his task. 

“You look like Ivy when she doesn’t get her way,” he quips as he looks back at himself, massaging the shaving balm into his face. 

Emily narrows her eyes at the comparison to their 18-month-old and pushes herself off the wall and walks towards him, leaning against the countertop in front of the sink, “It’s a travesty.” 

He smiles at her before he swills the razor in the sink and then starts to shave his face, “I can’t exactly walk around with a notch in my beard for the next couple of weeks, Em,” he says, tilting his head to pull the razor down his neck, “It will grow back.” 

He’d been distracted by his phone ringing when tidying up his beard, accidentally slipping and shaving a gap into it that usually wasn’t there. He’d decided, much against Emily’s protests, it was best to shave it off entirely and start again. 

“I know,” she sighs, running her fingers through his hair, her eyes fixed on what he was doing, the revealing of his skin underneath and she smiles, “And at least for the first time in three years I won’t have beard burn on my thighs.” 

He laughs and shakes his head at her, pulling the razor away from his throat, “Sweetheart, please don’t make me laugh when I’m holding a razor against my neck.”

She scrunches her nose up and nods, “Sorry, honey,” she’s cut off by Ivy crying out for her from her room and she leans in to kiss the tip of his nose, “I’ll go get her.” 

She stretches as she walks out of the master bedroom and towards the nursery, smiling as she opens the door to find Ivy standing up in her crib, her hands wrapped around the bar. Her dark hair was a mess and her pjyamas rumbled from where she’d slept, looking every bit as adorable as she always did. 

“Mama!” Ivy yells, her smile wide as she reaches for Emily, her tiny fists clenching and unclenching as she impatiently waits for her mother to cross the room.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Emily says, lifting the toddler onto her hip, “We're going to have to get you a big girl bed soon,” she says, kissing her forehead, “I think you’re close to climbing out of the crib. Shall we go find Jack?”

Ivy snuggles against her and wraps her hand around the neckline of Emily’s t-shirt, one that used to belong to Aaron that she’d stolen for pjyamas, and she sighs, “‘Ack!” 

Emily chuckles and turns out of the nursery and heads downstairs, the sound of Jack’s cartoons letting her know exactly where he is. He’d been a morning person as long as she’d known him, often up even before Aaron these days, and he was happy to entertain himself until the rest of the family woke up. 

“Morning sweetie,” she says as she steps into the living room, putting down Ivy who was wriggling in her arms. As soon as she’s on the floor she runs over and joins Jack on the couch, practically climbing in his lap.

Jack turns and smiles at Emily, “Morning Mom,” he says, reaching for the television remote to change the channel, his attention on his little sister for a moment, “Shall we watch Dora?”

Ivy nods enthusiastically and claps her hands together, “Dora!” 

Emily ruffles Jack’s hair and smiles softly when he looks up at her, “You can carry on watching your show, Jack. You don’t have to change the channel just for her.” 

He shrugs like it was nothing, like the way he loved Ivy didn’t make her heart swell in her chest every time. When they first found out she was pregnant with Ivy, Emily had been worried about his reaction to becoming a big brother, but he’d been excited from the start - especially when they found out they were having a girl. They’d recently started trying for another baby, both of them well aware they wanted to expand their family and that they had limited time left to do so. The thought of having another baby, of having another little person to spend moments like this with made her giddy, the love she had for her family and the ordinary days she got to spend with them overwhelming. 

“It’s okay, she likes it,” Jack says, placing the remote back down, as Ivy stares at the television. 

“You’re a good big brother,” Emily replies, suppressing a yawn, “I’m going to go make some coffee, your Dad will make breakfast as soon as he’s downstairs.”

She turns to leave the room but smiles when she sees Aaron walking towards her, his face cleanly shaved and a soft smile on his face. 

“I can make your coffee, sweetheart,” he says as he makes it to her side and both Jack and Ivy turn to look at him. Before Emily can respond the kids react in unison to Aaron’s appearance. 

“Dad, you shaved!” Jack says, his words partially drowned out as Ivy bursts into tears. 

“Princess, what’s wrong?” Aaron says, moving to pick her up from the couch, but she only cries harder, scrambling out of his way and off the couch towards Emily, all but climbing up her until she lifts her.

“Baby,” Emily says, frowning as she exchanges a concerned look with Aaron as she holds Ivy close, running her hand up and down her back as the toddler buries her face in her neck, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

Ivy peeks out from Emily’s embrace and looks over at Aaron, her eyebrows furrowed as she unhooks one arm from around Emily’s neck, “Who that?” 

Emily sees it register on Aaron’s face the moment she realises what’s happened too. Ivy had never seen him without his beard and she didn’t recognise him. Emily has to press her lips together to stop herself from laughing, well aware that it wasn’t appropriate to do so when her daughter was upset and her husband looked so worried that he’d caused it. 

“Ivy, that’s Daddy,” Emily says, adjusting her hold on the toddler so she’s facing Aaron. She smiles when Ivy snuggles further into her embrace as she steps towards Aaron, as if she could hide away from him in her mother’s arms. 

“Not Daddy.” 

Aaron finally moves from where he’d been frozen in place and steps towards them, swallowing thickly against the guilt that was climbing up it at the thought of upsetting his little girl, no matter how accidental it had been. 

“It’s me, I promise,” he says, reaching out for her hand and lifting it to his lips to kiss the back of it. He’s grateful when she doesn’t pull away, her gaze intense as she looks at him, an expression Emily would say is all him staring right at him whilst she tries to figure out if he’s really who he says he is. 

“It is Daddy, Ivy,” Jack says, walking over with a framed picture in his hand, a photo from their wedding in his hands, Aaron’s clean shaven face staring up at them from behind glass, “See.” 

Emily smiles gratefully at her son for trying to help before she turns her attention back to her little girl, “He looks a little different but it’s still Daddy.”

Ivy touches Aaron’s cheek, her eyebrows knitting together as she feels the soft skin, and then she rests her head on Emily’s shoulder, “I not like it.” 

Emily laughs and kisses the top of Ivy’s head, “I’ll tell you a secret, sweet girl,” she says, kissing her one more time, “Mommy doesn’t like it either,” she says, winking at her husband when he rolls his eyes, “Now,” she says, putting Ivy back down on the couch, “Why don’t you two watch Dora, and we’ll go make breakfast, okay?” 

Ivy is reluctant to let go of Emily at first, but is quickly distracted by her favourite television show and her big brother, all of her concern about Aaron and his missing beard long gone. 

Emily walks into the kitchen and smiles softly when she sees Aaron the closest he’d ever come to pouting, his shoulders slumped slightly as he starts to gather everything he needs to make their breakfast. 

“She’s okay honey,” Emily says as she walks over, wrapping her arms around him as she encourages him to turn to look at her, both of her palms on her back, “She’s just never seen you without your beard before.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I hate that I upset her.”

She hums as she runs her knuckles down his bare cheek, glancing them over his jaw before she works her way up again, “Maybe you’ll be more careful next time you shave when it’s grown back.” 

He rolls his eyes at her and pulls her in, pressing his lips against hers as he drags her in for a kiss. It feels different to what she’s used to, his skin soft against hers, the scratch of the beard that had become so normal to her gone. She sighs contentedly as she stamps his lips against hers again as they pull away.

“It’s different,” she says, kissing him again, her eyes boring into his as she pulls back, her hands on the back of his head as she holds him in place. 

“What is?” He asks, running his hand up and down her back, his palm having snuck under the large t-shirt she was wearing.

“The kissing,” she replies, pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth, purposely catching his cheek instead. 

“Bad different or good different?” He asks, raising his eyebrow at her and she chuckles, leaning in to kiss him properly, her tongue sweeping through his mouth. 

“Good different,” she says, barely pulling back to speak, “Never bad.” 

He smiles widely at her as he pulls back and she cups his cheek and she presses her thumbs into his dimples, the carved out dips in his skin standing out even more now he no longer has a beard.

“How hard was it not to laugh when you realised why she was crying?” He asks, turning his head to kiss her palm. 

She bursts into laughter, the sound bright and beautiful, and something he wants to listen to forever. 

“Oh honey, you have no idea.” 

-x-

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[lilyginnyblackv2]

We’ve still got a long way to go. - Buddy Daddies E12 - SPOILERS

When Rei asks Kazuki:

“You think we managed to change?” And Kazuki responds with:

“We’ve still got a long way to go.”

This is, of course, a call back to Episodes 8 and 10, when Rei asks Kazuki and he says, “Dunno,” and when Kazuki proclaims, “I guess we weren’t able to change” (or something of that nature). But now, Kazuki says, “We’ve still got  long way to go.”

I love that answer, because it’s one that is long term and shows that change isn't a one-time thing. It’s long and continuous. You, as a person, are constantly changing. If you aren’t, then that means you’ve stopped growing as a person. 

That’s Rei’s father.

He was unwilling to change. Even the resolution that Rei comes to in order to escape the Organization is one that involves him “changing” a part of himself (BLOOD WARNING) :

Shooting himself in the arm. Intently “breaking” a part of the “perfect killing machine” that his father envisioned and wanted him to stay as. Rei then left and never looked back.

Shigeki was forgotten and he lost his most valuable “asset.” His blood would likely die with Rei, in the sense of his biological bloodline not being carried on. In order for the Organization to stay in his name, he might even have to do something like adult adopt someone, otherwise, the whole name, legacy, and Organization will be lost to the Suwa name now. 

Rei hit him where it hurt and left him in ruin. Fitting in with his lines earlier in the episode where he says things like, “Bullets aren’t for resolving intergenerational squabbles.” And calling the welcome of bullets and shooting when they go through the manor doors, “domestic violence.” 

On the opposite end of this, we have Misaki. Misaki tried to change.

She died. Her death was unfortunate and unfair. A product of a cruel world. 

But unlike Shigeki, she hasn’t been forgotten. Her daughter sang loud for her. Making sure she would hear, wherever she was.

10 years later, Miri has a photo of herself and her mother on her desk. 

And she tells her mother, “I’m heading out, Mama!” That seems like a routine for her. She likely does it every day. Misaki tried to change and do right by her daughter.

Her last words were her daughter’s name, Kazuki got angry on her behalf at Ryo’s response to that answer, she died protecting Miri and Miri’s last words to her was telling her mama how much she loved her.

She got to spend her last days with her daughter - all good memories. And, even though Misaki died, she stays alive through Miri every day. Ironically, her blood will live on, while Shigeki’s will die with him. 

Finally, getting back to Kazuki and Rei. We know from Episode 9 that Kazuki and Rei are all about continuing to practice and change and move and grow. 

They changed their whole lives for Miri and are continuing to change. Shigeki was only ever shown wearing short hair and a suit. Uniform. Unchanging.

But Kazuki and Rei, while they keep core aspects of themselves and their styles, are shown looking very different from before. Not only because they are naturally older (in their mid to late 30s now), but also because they’ve done stuff like grow a beard (Kazuki - which is a bit of a rebellious thing in a way - beards aren’t looked highly upon and are seen as unprofessional) or wearing their hair slightly differently (Rei doesn’t have the shaved side anymore, he leaves two pieces of hair out of the ponytail, and he wears his ponytail long now - giving an impression of longer hair too). 

(Though, maybe Rei’s signature dish will remain unchanged, and some things staying the same sometimes is okay too, lol). Of course, Rei being a cook in and of itself is a huge change from where he was at the start of the series.

Back in Episode 9, Rei worried about them taking a photo. Kazuki felt that taking only one was likely going to be okay. But now, they have a whole bulletin board up in the diner showcasing the journey they’ve been on (well, the legal and family friendly parts, lol). Photos galore documenting the changes they’ve been through:

They are a found family. So they chose each other. So they are along for the ride, no matter how wild it may be or what changes they are confronted with. They’ll learn, they’ll grow, and they’ll live on through the food they make and the people they meet at Diner Nest. 

[highlordofkrypton]

SUMMARY

The two strongest High Lords in Prythian are rarely in the same place at once, and when they are, they stay away from each other. When High Lord Celyddon and High Lord Sieffre arrive for the Autumn Equinox, young Beron Vanserra sees an opportunity to learn (or blackmail) greatness. He wants to be like them one day, but until then, he will do anything to get close to them. TL;DR - We all know getting topped would fix Beron, but what if it made him worse.

CHARACTERS: Beron Vanserra, Tamlin's Father and Rhysand's Father

AUTHOR'S NOTES

The first chapter of this fic is for @sjmvillainweek and focuses on Beron, and the two other High Lord's dynamics "Behind Closed Doors" leading up to the smut but there is technically no smut yet. The following two will be pure Kinktober. The tags will be added as the chapters go up!

TW: Blood, Violent Foreplay

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3.

“Ber, are you ready? ” The sigh from the other side of the wooden door is exasperated. “You’re going to be late! You know High Lord Sieffre never stays long. You’ll miss him.”

He looks himself in the mirror for another several minutes, adjusting his gemmed collar and his perfectly tailored coat. His shoulders have finally filled out after decades, and he swears he’s grown taller now. The notches are on the inside of the frame, and he can’t get to them to check without alerting his sister to his worries. She’ll go away sooner or later. The last thing he needs is her snooping.

His hair is tufts of close cropped auburn curls, dark red wine just like the rest of his family. He runs his pale fingers through them. I should cut it. He is not a child anymore, nearing his second century and still, the Courts won’t take him seriously. It’s hard to shine in his father’s shadow. His tail sways lazily behind him, rubies tucked into the fur and gold rings encircling the tip.

“Beeeeeeer, hurry up,” she complains in their autumnal tongue.

“Just fucking go!” Beron snaps in return.

The Fall faerie doesn’t need to see her to know that she rolls her eyes, mutters something twenty-shades of rude before storming on her way. Beatriz doesn’t have to worry. Not like he does. She has truly grown into her beauty, like when the trees that line Spring bleed into Autumn, their leaves maturing and taking on a certain richness. He’d watched her perfect her enchantments leading up to the Equinox, how to set her hair aflame without drawing directly on her magic. All eyes will be on her tonight, and he simply cannot allow that.

Beron loves her, he truly does. They were born from the same bud, but only one of them will ascend to the seat of High lord and it will not be her. Despite all beauty and showmanship, he must learn to command a room with his sheer presence.

Maybe I should grow a beard.

His reflection in the mirror quivers at the thought, and the ground beneath his feet follows. The distant sound of trees cracking and shifting, great oaks stepping aside for something greater. Beron abandons all thought, rushing to his window. The skies have begun to darken, like a storm coming, but there are no clouds. Rather, a tapestry of night crawls across his view, defying the day.

They’re coming. At the same time.

The flame in his chest flutters, kindled at the thought of entertaining both of them at once. Spring and Night—new life, and eternal darkness—always at odds, even with the passing of power. Even in the same room, they repel one another, keeping to edges and enemies, never overlapping. 

High Lord Celyddon arrives from the west, mounted upon a great elk. Emerald fabrics cascade off his shoulders, a dark canvas upon which his deep golden hair rests. Atop his head, laurels held together with gold sits between his curved horns. Beron has only ever seen him radiate power. Even in his approach, the ground seems to move instead of him, as if it doesn’t dare ask its King to waste any effort. His entourage follows him, dwarfed by the sheer regality of Spring’s chosen one.

What would I do? If I had to face him? Fire does not burn stone.

The young Lord’s mind is always calculating, preparing for his ascension. It will happen, sooner rather than later, Beron just needs to bide his time and wait for the right moment. Until then, he entertains the fantasy of standing on the same dais as the other High Lords—of speaking to them as equals and then, surpassing them. The thought has him biting his lip, hiding the smile creeping onto his face. Eagerness is good. It is necessary. Power requires hunger, and Beron finds himself starving.

To the North, the star-kissed king soars. He has no wings, unlike the barbarians that live in his lands, but the skies have deemed him worthy of being close to their gods. They carry him from Night to Autumn, like a comet dancing against the darkness. He spirals down towards the leaf-covered ground, his body enveloped in dark smoke. When he lands, it rolls off him, like a hungering cloak, looking to swallow the closest living soul. High Lord Sieffre arrives alone—always alone.

Beron knows that the Night Court boasts the largest military in Prythian, and he cannot help but think there is nothing else but Darkbringers and Illyrian warriors. He has never seen the High Lord take interest in anyone; Sieffre’s presence is transactional and scarce, at best. His absence is ignored, but his presence—oh, his presence is a sight to behold.

Violet eyes flick up towards his bedroom window, and Beron steps back into the shadows. Fuck. Children are not meant to be heard or seen, but he is not a child anymore. He is too damned used to the crushing weight of his father’s disdain, he forgets what it means to claim a seat at the Lord’s table. Beron watches the Lord of Nightmares, realizing that the shadows do the opposite in the face of this faerie. They make him easier to perceive. 

Sieffre’s face is made of porcelain, delicate and flawless—not a single scar or blemish, not even the grace of freckles or beauty marks—save for the purple spider of veins beneath his skin. His pallor surpasses that of the Autumn Court in leagues, so white his skin seems… translucent, and yet… and it does not take away from his beauty. His raven hair falls in waves, blending into his dark attire. He’s perfect.

The two of them, Spring and Night, are the closest thing to male divinity on this mortal plane.

His father would have his tongue for that thought, and Beron finds that he doesn’t care very much. He’ll die. Sooner than these two Lords before him.

Their eyes meet, down in the courtyard, emerald against violet, and Beron watches them carefully. His breath catches, eager to see if he will be privy to a single moment of interaction between them. It will be his precious secret, shared with them. He is a part of this moment. The High Lord of Spring dismounts, and his entourage follows suit. Beside his Great Elk, a smaller white stag carries a fail-looking Lady. Attendants help his wife down, and she takes her place beside him. Celyddon engulfs the nape of her neck with his immense hand; one wrong move, and he could snap it out of sheer entertainment. He tilts her head up forcefully, and tears a kiss from her lips, all while mocking the Night with his eyes.

The Lady of Spring simply stands there, taking what’s given—a passive tool. To stand by his side is to revel in his power, and were it Beron—

He bites his tongue. Lady Margret is his mate, a title that stands above all, except for that of a High Lord. He must tread carefully with his disdain, lest Celyddon have his tongue for the indiscretion. Mates are a fairy tale, a political ruse, he’s sure of it. A stupid ruse that binds them to weakness. What good are females, aside from their child-bearing hips? The males carry power, and were it up to him, he wouldn’t bother with the risk of power passing to the lesser sex.

No, no, were it him —whether Spring, Autumn of Night—he would elevate them to new heights. They would have to carry the burden of power alone, he would alleviate them of their woes. All they need is to choose him. His fists clench around the unspoken desire, and it tightens until the thought is gone.

High Lord Sieffre simply glances away, no additional moment wasted on the show Celyddon has put on for all Prythian, and disappears inside Beron’s home. 

Beron doesn’t wait; he’s late.

***

The Equinox celebration is dizzying. Beron is sent to and fro, attending to his father’s demand of a good impression. He talks up the wives of Day, pours spiced wine for the Summer delegate and pretends to care about Dawn’s famed Tinkerer with his useless inventions. What is the use of machinery when magic exists? All he hears are crutches fabricated for the weak.

His sister has it easier, twirling in her ember dress that lights up with the proper partner. High Lord Sieffre’s impassive face never changes, even as he leads her with graceful expertise. Beatriz knows exactly when to laugh, and chooses all the perfect moments to run her fingers across his broad shoulders, or tighten her hold on his arm. Her warm brown eyes flicker to Beron’s, a perfect mirror to his. When they were young, their father couldn’t tell them apart, and they’d play tricks, letting the other take the beating on the other’s behalf. 

She smiles, and his coiled tail tightens around his waist. He needs to get better at hiding his emotions, at least until he can divest himself of them completely, just like Sieffre. He’ll take all the pieces from stronger lords, and rebuild himself not in their image, but as their better.

“Beron,” his father’s voice rumbles, and Beron straightens his spine.

“Yes, father.”

“Summon, Sieffre to my study. I wish to speak to him.”

“Yes, father.”

There can only be one reason why his father would want a private discussion with the Lord of Night. Beatriz is of marrying age, still ripe, but not too young that she is a burden to her husband. High Lord Sieffre would be honoured to have someone with a flame as bright as hers, but… the love for his sister does nothing to temper his anger. When she leaves, what will he have? Nothing but a long con without the support of his twin. How dare she move on without him; their paths must branch at the same time.

Beron worries at his lip, his emotions spilling onto his face rather than his tail. Her ambition will get her killed. Father has allowed her to want more than her station. He should have been first, if only to remind Beatriz where she belongs.

He approaches his sister and the beautiful Lord. “My Lord, my father requests an audience with you. I will escort you to his study.”

Even with his eyes downcast, he can feel the weight of Sieffre’s attention on him. A shiver snakes down his spine, and he thinks nothing except hiding his eagerness. He wants more, but he is a loyal son and attends to his task.

“Very well,” answers Sieffre, his voice smooth as silk in his ears.

“I’ll join you,” Beatriz smiles at her brother, hooking her arm around Sieffre’s.

“Father did not ask for you.”

“Fortunately for you, I know where I am needed.” She tips her head. “And wanted.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you to stop listening to the voices? They aren’t real, Bea.”

If the High Lord is put off by their rivalry, he doesn’t show it. He has never s shown interest in anything. If Beatriz thinks their little dance means anything, that’s her own fault. Everything High lord Sieffre does is transactional. His attendance requires him to pay attention to her, nothing more and nothing less.

His sister talks the entire way through the Forest House, recounting its history and sparkling interesting tidbits about herself. Beatriz is smarter than most females, making sure that anything High Lord Sieffre learns about her is impressive, clever or a display of her skill. He doesn’t seem to care, and yet that does not deter her. Beron falls in step with her while leading them, amending her embellishments to include himself. The charm that has her beautiful crimson hair glowing at its tip was only finished because of him. The two of them push and pull, subtly vying for the High Lord’s attention, but Sieffre does not look at them again.

They arrive at his father’s study, and Beron announces High Lord Sieffre’s arrival. He steps aside, letting the impossibly tall high faerie past him.

“Bea,” he hisses, as she breezes into the room as well. Beatriz winks at him, then gives him a look that’s meant to reassure him. She knows what she’s doing, but he thinks she is treading a very fine line that her father would not enjoy. Beron may compete with her, but he does not wish her harm.

“You may leave, Beron.” His father drones.

The last time he’d argued against his father, the High Lord of Autumn had smacked his mouth so hard, he’d lost a tooth. It has since grown, and Beron has since learned. He nods, pulling the door shut behind him. Beatriz wiggles her fingers at him, and he bares his teeth at her. Fucking bitch.

Voices slip beneath the door, muffled by magic. Beron has long learned not to listen for words, but for tone. He leans against the wall, battling between anger and curiosity. How can he find the upper hand? Which part of his father should he twist to make him yield under his will? Could he find something on Sieffre ?

He hears nothing from the Night, only the drone of his father, and the soft song of his sister’s voice when she wants something. The discussion bounces between even-keeled and slowly builds into his father’s anger. His father’s voice booms, rattling the house, and heat seeps from the room. Palms presses against the wall, Beron can gauge the exact level of disrespect his father has experienced. Too much, but not enough to start a fight.

Even father knows when he’s outclassed, he smiles to himself.

The door opens, and Beron adjusts his posture. “Good evening,” he mumbles under his breath. Beatriz was right. High Lord Sieffre never stays long.

Beron waits a moment, then darts down a different hallway while his sister manages their father’s temper. He slips into a hidden passage, steps that deposit him directly at the foot of the Forest House. It would take Sieffre twice the time to follow the formal pathway out the House, and down the winding steps. Enemies can winnow into their territory, the problem is getting out.

He pushes the entrance open ever so slightly, peering through a crack in the stone wall.

“Aw, look who’s got his feelings hurt.” The deep baritone of Celyddon’s voice carries easily across the courtyard. He exhales a thick waft of green smoke out the corner of his mouth, and takes a drag of his cigar. “You should be happy, See. Someone wants you. You should take what you can get.”

This— this is the private interaction Beron wants to see. He hopes secrets will be spilled for him to gobble up greedily.

The High Lord of Night does not rise to the bait; he is truly a wonder, not even to waver in the face of Celyddon. He simply carries on, storming past Spring’s mocking perch, towards the edge of the grounds where he can winnow for freedom. Beron expects more mockery, and he blinks several times, when he sees the grin on High Lord Celyddon’s face. That fae does not smile. Neither of them do, yet he bares his teeth, extinguishing his cigar on his own tongue before popping it into his mouth. He chews the dried herbs, swallowing it and then follows Sieffre into the thick line of trees.

Oh, this is good. This is exactly what he wanted—to unveil a card that no one else knows.

Beron waits a few heart-flickers before pushing out of his secret hideaway, and begins to trail them.

While they make no sounds, creatures of such vast power are never fully concealed—it’s why High Lords rarely take matters into their own hands. Emissaries and spymasters are put to work; for a High Lord to move is to ask the earth itself (in Celyddon’s case) to move. His magic is easier to follow; Beron has come to recognize its flavour lingering in the air, as if the greenish tint on autumn leaves wasn’t telling enough as to where he’s been.

“You fucking disgust me,” Celyddon rumbles under the cover of the forest.

The two Lords keep moving, and Beron glances behind him. The trees—the trees are closing in. He can’t fall behind, lest they swallow him up. He stops only when they do, in a small clearing where the Priestesses perform their rituals. At the centre, a bloodstained altar awaits a sacrifice for the Mother, or any of her lesser gods.

Sieffre whirls on Celyddon, clawed hand outstretched. The Spring Lord, despite his size, sidesteps with ease, bringing both his fists down towards the Night Lord’s spine. Sieffre vanishes, like a dark cloud, and Beron has to crane his neck to try and find him. His clothes are too dark to see beneath the lightless canopy of trees, but the High Lord’s pale face is like the moon in the darkness.

The Hewnian reappears behind Celyddon, and the latter dips his head to try and gore his opponent with his horns. Neither draw blood, neither can quite put their hands on each other. Sieffre is far too agile, too slippery in his shadowy domain, and Celyddon is a bull. Those who fear his size forget his calculating mind, and those who have been terrorized by his brilliance assume he won’t rely on simple force if it pleases him.

Beron’s tail wags with muted anticipation, like a cat with vested interest. He doesn’t know who will gain the upper hand, he doesn’t know which outcome would be more terrifying. Fingers dig into the bark of a birch tree, admiring the contrast in style and in anger. Celyddon’s emotions are like battering rams, punched into the air when his rival vanishes again. Sieffre’s hate is like a dagger knife slipped easily between ribs—quiet, unexpected and efficient.

“Sieffre!” The Spring regent roars, and both the trees and the night scramble to swallow the sound. 

They crash into one another, and Beron can’t see —what happened? What happened ? He leans further and further in, drinking in every move and every snap of magic whipped in each other’s direction.

Celyddon straddles Sieffre, his strong hands wrapped around that slender column of a neck. He squeezes, and yet, the Lord beneath him only laughs, a cool foreign sound.

“Tired of that docile cunt already, C?”

Lithe fingers curl around Celyddon’s ornate robes, hiking them up to reveal thick thighs—thicker than both of Beron’s legs put together. The Spring Lord shrugs the layers off with a swear; he only wears this damned outfit in the name of tradition. Beron’s breath catches, and he nearly chokes at the sight of Celyddon in all his glory. A monster of a male, with muscles rippling down his wide back, and his abdomen. He is made of earth and stone, and he is the epitome of power.

A flush colours Beron’s cheeks, and he nearly looks away,  but he forces himself to focus. He might never see a sight like this again.

Sieffre digs his claws into the perfect musculature padding his ribs, and uses the new wounds as leverage to pull him down for the violence of a kiss. Beron’s not sure if he can call it kissing; it is made of teeth and growl. Crimson colours Sieffre’s thin, pale lips, and trickles down the corner of his lips. They favour devouring one another over breathing, and Celyddon is the first to break contact; Sieffre bares his teeth with a hiss, his elongated fangs glimmering in the low light.

There’s an ache between Beron’s legs, and the fire in the cage of his chest rages. He has never felt so alive, standing so close to death. Should they find him, they will tear him apart. He stands here, on the cusp of annihilation and the fear becomes inseparable from his anticipation. He palms his hardness, willing it to go down lest they scent his arousal, but… he wants to get closer. He wants to be a part of this, any way he can. Perhaps, by proximity, greatness will spill onto him. Perhaps, by virtue of what they are doing, he can drink up errant flecks of their sheer dominion.

He spots a lower bush, just three easy steps forward. The High Lords are too caught up to notice him, surely.

“Turn over,” Celyddon orders.

“Fucking coward,” Sieffre spits. “We both know you’d thrive bent over and speared onto my cock.” He curls his bloodied fingers into Celyddon’s blonde hair, pulling him in the same way Celyddon had done his wife. “ That is why you cannot be satisfied, even with your mate.” His laughter echoes around them, coming from the shadows rather than his chest.

The taunt gives Beron his opportunity to move, stepping forward—

Crack.

Beron stills.

No.

Maybe—

Maybe they didn’t hear the split of a branch beneath his all-too-heavy weight. Maybe they really are too caught up in one another to notice him. He raises his head, and Celyddon is getting to his feet, eyes searching the darkness in his direction. Sieffre is nowhere to be found.

Beron is yanked back suddenly, and slammed into the birch tree he’d hidden behind. A whimper escapes him before he can stop it. He feels the line of Sieffre’s body against his back, and his face burns with shame at getting caught. What a stupid, stupid mistake. It was a simple task: be fucking quiet. His eyes burn, but Vanserras do not cry. The tears are likely to burn up before getting anywhere significant.

“Do you like what you see?” Sieffre’s cool breath curls around Beron’s ear, warring against his natural heat. He fists Beron’s hair and makes him look. Celyddon has turned to face them now, no longer the elegant ruler that had ridden into his lands, but a brutal warrior. Blood trickles from his sides, courtesy of Sieffre, and without the clothes to mask his size, he is impossibly large. Beron’s gaze lands on his erection, just as thick as the rest of him, and standing proud against his muscular belly. 

That—That can’t possibly fit in anyone.

The Night Lord huffs his amusement, and breathes in deeply. “You smell like cinnamon,” he scoffs. “Is that what I should expect with your sister? Sugar, spice and everything nice? ”

“No,” Beron breathes, his chest crushed between Sieffre and the tree trunk. “I’m—I’m better.”

Sieffre exhales from his nose, concealed laughter as he drags Beron by the hair and tosses him into the clearing.

“The fuck is this,” Celyddon demands, folding his monstrous arms over one another as he looks down at Beron. 

Between the two old lords—lords who have been shaped by their Courts—Beron is tiny. They tower over him, and he realizes his mistake. He can’t reach them, he never was. It was never a question of time, or training. They are the chosen ones of their Courts, the avatars of their elements. They are so much more than rulers; they are distilled divinity. He refuses to back down; if this is as close as he will ever get to the goddess, then so be it.

“He believes Arroyo has made a mistake in his proposal.”

“Does he also think water is wet?”

“I am. I’m better than my sister, and your mate too. Anything a female can do, I can do better.”

Celyddon is much more open with his mocking, laughing at his face. There is no amusement in the sound, just booming, wordless condescension. “Go home, kindling. You’re out of your depth. I’m in a good mood. Fuck off.”

“I can prove it!” Beron says quickly before they send him off; they can winnow him away without moving from their spots, an easy feat for one such as them. He keeps his eyes tilted upwards, riveted on Celyddon who exchanges a glance with Sieffre.

“Alright. Prove it. If we disagree, I’ll kill you and fuck your corpse.”

[r4ikkonen]

Hi, I've been enjoying your nsfw a-z, could you write one for Max Verstappen as well? Thank you in advance :)

NSFW ALPHABET | MAX VERSTAPPEN

AN Heey thanks for the request and I’m sorry you had to wait this long but here it is, enjoy ❣️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Max seems like a very tough guy which he actually is but with you he can be the sweetest and softest guy ever.Ofc he always takes care of his princess as he likes to call you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

max loves beard, he’s very proud of it even tho he can’t grow a proper one.He feels very proud and safe with his facial hair.Even though you always complain how it stings you when you guys kiss but he doesn’t seem to care.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

When he has time he likes to make a mess which makes the atmosphere hotter and more intimate, but if you’re doing a quickie and when you don’t rlly have time to clean yourself up he would most likely cum inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Max’ dirty secret is loving to finger you in public.It drives him crazy and he loves being so risky and sneaky.For instance, if you are with him at the gala or some kind of a press conference he would always sit next to you making sure you’re not wearing anything under that dress and please you while looking at your face expressions.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Max is very experienced and he knows exactly what he’s doing.He has been with a few girls and he learned a lot from them.All that sex knowledge he uses to please you with.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Max loves doggy, he is not good at keeping eye contact so that’s why he prefers doggy style.He can get quite shy when having sex so that’s why he loves looking at you from behind.Also he enjoys gripping your waist too.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Max isn’t so goofy but if something funny happens like if you fell of the bed or if he lifted you up and you hit the wall or something like that you can both bust a few laughs but overall he is very serious and he is very careful at what he is doing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Max has some hair down there but nothing special.He is perfectly groomed and doesn’t like when his hair gets in your way.He doesn’t even care if you have a little bit of hair too.As long as he can enter the gate he is fine with it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Max is always romantic even when you’re not having sex.He brings you flowers every week so you don’t have to worry about them dying.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Max doesn’t mind masturbating when you send him a photo when he’s away.Especially if he’s out with his friends.It’s your way of teasing him and punishing him because he is away from you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Max isn’t kinky at all, but he can get quite rough and dominant at the times.That’s his only kink probably.He loves being dominant towards you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves doing it the most in the hotel room where everyone could hear you scream through the walls.There’s something about that dirty hotel room aesthetic that he loves.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Max can get motivated even when he sees a notification on his phone from you.He can get turned on by you in the easiest ways possible.You always use your pretty privilege to get him turned on and drive him crazy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Even tho He can get very rough he would never ever do anything to hurt you in any ways.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Max is not a fan of oral but he likes getting a good head time to time.He never gives you head, he enjoys having his fingers or dick inside of you.You’re perfectly fine with it too and both of you just prefer sex.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Yup.. Max is very fast and rough, he can get pretty crazy.When both of you are drunk and coming home from a party he would just carry you to the bed and be even rougher because he is drunk and unaware of it.But you secretly love it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Max loves quickies, whenever you guys are at hus motor home he would suggest it.Hoping to god that Horner wouldn’t catch you.He loves playing risky games with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Max is mostly the one suggesting to do something risky which you always agree up on.Even when it comes to unprotected sex he is up for it.When having risky sex he would just get turned on even more.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Max can last so much it’s crazy.Usually you guys go a few rounds and you finish off with cuddling or something like that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really, Max doesn’t like bringing toys to bed.He would like teasing you with them sometimes when you’re experiencing but mostly both of you have a classic sex.And there’s no problem in it.When you’re away and when you miss him you don’t mind using one or.. two toys.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Max is crazy when it comes to teasing.He can tease you in the public where it’s the riskiest but he doesn’t care, he just wants you and that’s for sure.He would tease you and whisper certain stuff in your ears that would drive you crazy.He always wins with those.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Max doesn’t like being so loud.He doesn’t make any noises.He would notify you if he’s close to finishing off soon.He is more of a listener, he enjoys listening to you begging for him.That’s what he loves the most.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You and Max decided to go up on a hill in Monaco and have a picnic.You went with his Aston Martin there and you both had fun.It was enjoyable because there was no media there.When you guys finished off the desert while watching the sunset he gave you a look.Like he wanted something from you.You pulled him in to a kiss and he slipped his hand between your legs, not minding the dress that you’re wearing.Each kiss got more passionate and both of you ended up laying there on the red cloth naked.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Max’ dick is more than average and he knows how much you admire it.He loves teasing you with it a lot.The size was never a problem for you two because he was very well built.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Both of yours sex drive is quite big.Max insists to have sex anytime you guys are alone, you turn him on like nothing.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Max can’t fall asleep that fast instead he would sometimes tuck you in and go for a walk or a jog.Sometimes he would feel lazy and he would place his head on your chest and fall asleep.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part eight - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: dub con ; slightly nsfw

All she can think about right now is how much of a dumb decision this was.

Michael disappears with a guy onto the dance floor, leaves her with his two friends who she has nothing in common with. She’s already three shots of tequila in.

No, she doesn’t want to dance, she wants to go home. She sips her drink, leans against the booth, and watches people in shiny clothes writhe under chaotic lights.

Michael’s friends—she forgets their names—get up and go to the bathroom. And now she’s completely alone, sitting in the sticky leather booth, uncomfortable and underdressed and trying to seem very interested in a phone with nothing on it. She pulls up Michael’s number to text him that she’s going to head home, but knowing him he’ll insist on getting her back safe, and then she’ll be ruining his fun. She shuts her screen off and shoves it back into her pocket.

She looks up to scan the crowd for Michael, and her eyes catch on a familiar face glowing neon under the warm dancing lights. Her heart stutters like it’s taking a picture…then jumping off a cliff. He’s shaved the facial scruff into a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His black hair is thick silk framing the sharp angles of his face. He sits alone at the bar, dressed in a casual midnight suit, sipping a dark drink out of a crystal glass that looks small in his hand. He is looking directly at her.

Long legs, heavy shoulders. The tapered waist of his jacket flows elegantly from his hips. His tie is neat, and not a piece of him is out of place. He is John, but not the one she knows. Not the one handcuffed to the bed and smiling at her. She feels, for sure, that this John is the one who spilled all the blood that day in the prison—this is the grim reaper.

This is stalking—he doesn’t care. Some might mistake him for thick-headed, but John knows when he’s out of line. He’s very aware of what he’s about to do.

The first night he got out, he struggled. Not just with stealing his car back from Winston’s safe-keeping, but also with his emotions. The fact that he is here—rather than acting as testament to his lunacy—is proving he is in more control now than he has ever been.

He once spent decades in subservience, always putting his own needs last and bowing to those with power. He starved while watching others grow plump with satisfaction and victory.

And it’s because he never wanted anything…anyone. Never truly desired the taste of possession nor the means to get it.

Not until now.

He’s felt fractions of this before in moments and people and things and substances—this thing he feels for her. It’s too soon and too moronic to identify the connection as love. However, the bond is strong and natural and he wants it and he will have it.

His nurse immediately averts her gaze, shy just like how he remembers her. His mouth ticks up around the last sip of his drink before making his way over.

He slides into the booth across from her. She looks up.

He greets her using her name. She’s surprised he remembers it.

“Hello, John.”

His fingers itch to grab her chin and make her eyes look at him instead of darting around for an escape route. That is his fault, that she thinks she can run. He should have shut that inclination down the moment he started to admire her.

It’s only been a day since he disappeared into the city, and he is so much different now. Taller than she remembers. Well fed. The suit clings to his biceps. She watches the muscle shift under the fabric while her mouth fills with saliva and her brain screams at her stupidity.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asks, his deep voice never failing in making her fingers and toes ache.

“What?” She says. She really can’t hear what he says over the booming music, and she was only half listening to the question while preoccupied with drooling over how fucking good he looks. Here he is, out of handcuffs and free to a good home, and her brain is malfunctioning.

He gets up, sits next to her, pushes into her body and puts his lips close to her ear. She grips the table violently. “Can I get you a drink?”

He smells like a hint of musky cologne mixed with clean shaving soap. The heat and bulk of him intoxicate her more than the alcohol ever could. Everything is sharp and blurry at the same time. She is both too sensitive and too numb for his touch.

He has a lot to say, and the irony that he can’t because of the loud music isn’t lost on him.

He talks with his body.

John brushes her hair behind her ear, admires the velvet plush of her face and neck, the plump breasts hidden under her t-shirt. Every spot that she is soft and pillowy he wants to bite and suck. His cock agrees vehemently with this urge and thickens on his thigh.

She squirms, flustered and terrified.

The Baba Yaga likes both. The Baba Yaga likes her. John likes her, too. Finally something they can agree on.

“Can I?” John presses, mouth so close to her skin she can feel the damp heat of it.

“Wh-“ she clears her throat “-what?”

“Buy you a drink?” He repeats, patient with her because he knows that her body is coming to terms with him invading its’ space.

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, then.” He is gone faster than she can look to see which direction he goes in. She takes this moment to loosen her grip on the table because her fingers have been drained of blood. Now that he’s gone, she can think a bit clearer and the one reasonable thought she has is that this man, while being irresistible, can also easily kill her. She could leave. Walk out. Avoid whatever this is going to turn into, which probably does involve her dead. She’s a witness to what happened in St. Mercy’s—maybe one of only a few left to his DIY blood bath.

Before she can decide to run, he’s back, setting a glass of clear, bubbling liquid in front of her.

She takes a sip before she can really think about what she’s doing. Her brain regrets drinking, but her taste buds do not. The delightful mint flavor mixed with tickling carbonation is delicious. It’s too late now, so she takes another.

His liquor is caramel colored with a strong aroma. He holds it in his mouth before he swallows it. She can smell it sweet and bitter on his breath while he talks in her ear like they are good friends.

He plants one heavy arm around the back of the booth, turns his body toward her, and lays his other arm on the table in front of her.

Trapped, she panics. He feels her body tense like a spring, but he doesn’t like that. He wants her soft and pliant. He likes her clinging to him as if he’s the only thing that can keep her stable.

“No,” he chides, “it’s okay. You know who I am.”

That’s the problem, she knows exactly who he is.

Heat radiates from him in thick, choking waves. Sweat pools between her breasts and trickles down her belly. She takes another drink to cool down, regretting not putting the tank top on instead of this stupid sweaty Henley.

“You’re scared of me,” he says.

She nods, so easily admitting fear, and he simultaneously hates and loves this. He hates it because she can’t be wholly his while a part of her is terrified of him. He loves it because in that fear lies the admittance that she remembers him.

“Oh, honey.” It’s such a strange thing coming from his mouth, but the pet name sends pleasant little tingles through her tummy. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Because he’s an honest man, he amends this with, “not in a way that won’t make you feel good.”

She really wants to believe him, but she absolutely doesn’t.

She doesn’t relax at all. In fact, her shoulders get tighter as she leans away from him. Part of it is that her cunt throbs when he tacks on that last part, and it’s so violent and sudden that she’s afraid he can feel it resonate in the air between their hips.

“Please talk to me.”

She looks at his face. He wears big puppy eyes and a soft, sad mouth. That look makes her heart pause in its panicking to ache instead. He is close enough that she can kiss him again.

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Her voice is timid and small. He has to read her lips. “But.. thank you...for…saving me.”

There she is, the selfless heroin here to make sure his feelings aren’t getting hurt.

“The pleasure is all mine.” John rests his fingers on top of her own. It’s meant to soothe, but all she can think of is how long his hands are and how capable they would be of snapping her pinkie in half or reaching places inside her that she can’t find on her own.

She knows Michael’s friends don’t like her, but she wants them back. Her eyes scan the crowd for the two women.

“Why are you so terrified of me?” It’s a manipulative question, and he knows it. He’s had people be terrified of him for less than what she’s seen. But he wants to hear her say it.

She looks at him, incredulously, her expression calling out his bullshit question for what it is. “You killed…people.”

He thinks for a moment, trying to choose the right words to say. “I did it to get us out.”

She can’t argue with this.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks him, shrinking. A flash of blue light catches her eyes and paints them glassy and beautiful.

His response is inappropriate, but he can’t help it. He chuckles, although a bit annoyed he has to repeat himself. “No. I said I won’t hurt you.”

“Then what do you want, John?” Her voice is high and tight.

He wets his lips, deciding to err on the side of simple and candid. “You.”

There are a couple possibilities:

He’s lying to get to her.

He’s telling the truth, which is unlikely.

Instead of killing her, he’s appeasing her so she won’t tell on him. Which is ridiculous. Who would she tell? The cops? If she hasn’t told them yet she’s definitely not going to.

Honestly, only one of these options appeal to her, and it’s the one that’s far fetched. A fever fantasy dream—literally. John wants her? This John? She wants to laugh in his face.

He rolls his thumb under the smooth skin below her ear and earns a full bodied shudder and a flinch. “Let me kiss you. Again.”

Her heart flutters, blushes, squeals, acts like it belongs to a 16-year-old girl in the height of puberty. Vivid and violent and wonderful, that moment when their lips touched. Her body yearns for the feeling, teetering on top of the rollercoaster drop, and not sure if it has a choice whether to fall or not.

“Here?” She gestures to the club around them.

“Anywhere,” he says, “take me somewhere. Let me take you somewhere.”

He watches patiently as she fights with herself. He wants her to say yes without persuasion, but the thought of her saying no is the opposite of appealing. It’s so unappealing, in fact, he just might have to drag her out of here anyway if she decides to decline.

To save her the trouble, he helps make the decision. “Yes,” he answers a question she never asked out loud, “if you say no, it will hurt my feelings.”

He knows it’s fucked up, to do that to her. She’s proved that she can’t put her own feelings above someone else’s—even if that someone else is scum—and he knows she won’t turn him down if she thinks it will upset him…Even him. But, the other option is to let her go, and that’s not going to happen. Kicking and screaming tends to get more attention than calm exits in crowded places.

“Where are we going?” She asks, trying not to sound defeated.

He takes the last sip of his bourbon. “Your place.”

“Just let me text my roommate,” she says

“Of course.”

She opens up the text chain that her and Michael share, unsure of what to say. She settles on telling him she’s getting a ride home with an old, good friend.

Is the old friend hot? 😉

She tilts her phone screen so John can’t see what she’s typing, even though he can.

Yes.

Once she’s satisfied that Michael isn’t going to be concerned, she sticks her phone back into her pocket. “I also have to close my tab.”

He slides her credit card across the table and pushes it under her hand. “It’s on me.”

She feels her pocket for money. “How much was it? I’ll give you the cash-“

He rests his hand on her own, stilling her search. His hot skin sears her hip. He sounds amused when he talks to her. “I said it’s on me. That means I’m paying for it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He can tell she wants to press the issue, and is biting her tongue.

She tries to wave him away when he offers her his hand to help stand from the booth, but he takes it anyway and pulls her up. She’s unsteady, swaying. Her body has just realized that it’s drunk. He helps her navigate through the crowd, arm wrapped securely around her back. It’s easy for her to start hanging onto him again, almost as if she’s done it a dozen times. He asks her if she has to use the restroom before they leave, reminding her that her bladder was full thirty minutes ago.

He waits outside, leaning on the wall, watching the door, nervous that’s she’s going to try and get away from him. He is so relieved when he sees her come out of the bathroom, he immediately pulls her back against him, and startles her.

She grips onto his jacket to keep upright, unsurprised by how sturdy he is by now. He can hold her easily while walking them through the chaos of the club. He doesn’t stumble or falter even once as he ensures they both make it out the door. The outside air is cold and bitter, but John is warm. She huddles a bit closer into his side. It’s so strange, having someone that can handle her weight easily—very much something she’s not used to.

He wraps tighter around her, reassuring and solid, happy to provide shelter.

“My house is three blocks away,” she says, and it’s nice to hear her voice clearly. Snowflakes fall onto her pretty skin and melt away.

He shakes his head, pulls keys out of his pocket with the arm that’s not secured around her.

If she weren’t so nervous, she’d ask him how he scored such a pretty mustang.

John leaves her on the sidewalk while he opens the door for her. Carefully, she cuddles into the icy leather seat, bundling her jacket closer around her shoulders.

The inside of his car smells like gas fumes and leather. It’s pleasant, delicious.

He slides in beside her, turns the rumbling engine on, and flips dials on the dash. Cool air blows from the vents. She shivers. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over her, leaving him in only the silky black dress shirt and tie underneath.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she tells him.

“I like the cold,” he argues. “What’s your address?”

He seems to have no problem finding her apartment complex. She’s disappointed that he didn’t take at least one wrong turn because she likes watching him drive—it’s 100% the hands—and she wants to delay her possible death for a little while longer.

She grabs the solid metal handle to open her door, but he stops her.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Opening my door.” She doesn’t bother keeping the obstinance out of her tone.

“Let me.”

Reluctantly, and with an eye roll, she releases the handle and lets him open up the car door for her. He reaches for her hand and helps her step out of the vehicle. His arm is around her again before they walk into her building and up the stairs to the second floor. She pulls out the key, but he takes it, unlocks the door, and guides her inside.

Now he’s just being ridiculous while he finds and flips the lights on in her apartment and then pulls out a kitchen chair for her to sit in.

“I can do all that,” She says, frowning at him, crossing her arms defiantly and looking as intimidating as a hamster. “Are you one of those dudes that don’t let women use their hands?”

He will butt heads with that maverick attitude, although he’s grateful that she’s warming up to him again. “You mean a gentleman?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” And she smiles.

Despite her protest, she drapes his jacket over the back of the seat and then lets him help her push herself up to the table.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, opening up her fridge.

“No, I’m fine.”

He looks doubtful. “Have you eaten today?”

She laughs. He hasn’t heard it in a while, that melodic tinkling. “We ate McDonald’s before we went to the club. But if you’re hungry, help yourself to anything. There’s also soda in the mini fridge.” She thumbs to the living room.

He shuts the door of the fridge and takes the seat across from her, eclipsing the little budget friendly and thrifted chair and kitchen table.

John starts in with asking her about herself. She tells him what’s she’s comfortable with and leaves out the gory details. Most of his inquiries are simple: “how old are you?” “What do you do for fun?” “Where are you from?”

It gets a little dicey when he asks about her family.

“Uh, I don’t have one,” she tells him, looking down at the table. “I was in foster care for a while then got out as soon as I was 18.”

“No adopted parents?” He asks.

“Some.” She rubs her cheek where her bruise is almost gone now. “A lot. Never any that I stayed with.”

He hums, rubbing his fingers over the grooves in her table and wishing it was her palm. “Are you lonely?”

She stiffens, looks up at him. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Friends?” He asks.

“Michael,” she says, “the roommate you told me to adopt. Really, thank you for that.”

He smiles. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Your turn,” she says, tilting her chin at him.

He opens his arms up. “Ask away.”

She does not ask him what he expects her too. She wants to know his favorite color, favorite animal, his birthday, why everyone likes him so much.

He grins at the last question. “I guess I’ve just learned from experience how to charm people. Much like yourself.”

She snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re very kind. Brave.” He looks sincere while he elaborates this.

She tries not to be overcome with embarrassment and flattery while waving him off with a scoff. Him telling her that, whether he means it or not, makes her confidence turn from shriveled to swollen and leaking and she needs to displace some of the feeling before she gets addicted to it.

His eyes narrow at her inability to take the compliment.

She changes the subject, nervous. “Where’d you get that nice suit?”

He raises his eyebrows, allowing the deflection, but counting it as strike 2. “It’s custom made by a friend.”

Her eyes widen. “Fancy.”

“Something like that.”

“Can I guess your favorite drink?” She grins.

“Go for it.” He sounds amused.

“Scotch.”

“Close. Bourbon.”

“Damnit!” She cries. “Should have gone with my first guess.”

He makes a face at her that says ‘yeah, sure.’ She likes that, because she’s laughing again, and alerting every dopamine receptor in his brain to release.

“So, you’re Russian, you have custom made suits, you are…good at fighting. You’re like…James Bond?”

His smile wriggles into a grin. “If that’s what you want.”

She shrugs. “I’m more of an Indiana Jones gal’, to be honest.” Her grin matches his own.

He hums. “I can work with that.”

She raises an eyebrow, lips pursing as she rubs her hands together in uneasy gesture.

“Do you still think I’m going to kill you?” He’s nothing if not blunt.

She thinks about it for a minute. “Honestly? A little bit. Can you blame me?”

“No, but why am I in your apartment if you think that?” He asks.

“I’ve come to terms with my death…in the past hour.” she shrugs.

“Have you?” He muses.

“Yes, we all die. I’m a nurse, I know that. If I die, I die.” Really, she’s terrified of that unknown darkness that waits after her heart stops, but she doesn’t want to seem like a pussy in front of him anymore. Especially not him.

Also, she’s grown more comfortable with him now that they’ve been talking again. It’s like he’s John in the infirmary bed sans handcuffs. Just like at the prison, she doesn’t want to be afraid of him, even though he’s scary.

“How do I convince you I don’t want to kill you?” He asks, face serious.

“I don’t know.” She gives him an apologetic look.

He sucks his teeth. She watches his mouth and jaw move. Her lower body reminds her that it likes him, too, and is not afraid of him at all.

“Then I’ll just have to use trial and error,” he reasons.

She wonders what he means, but doesn’t have to be confused for very long.

He pushes his chair back, leans himself at an angle, and pats one thigh, motioning for her. “We can start with the kiss.”

Her heart pulls at her nerve endings like it’s stopping a wild horse in sprint. Her pupils get wide and her mouth scrunches like she’s trying hard not to make some kind of embarrassing facial expression. She looks at him, but it’s hard to keep his eyes in line with her own when his are dark and lowered at her like this.

“You don’t have to.” She tries one last bid to save herself from being completely obsessed with him—to let him back out and decide she’s not worth the effort. She doesn’t want him to force himself into doing this just because he thinks she’ll tell on him or otherwise. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s manipulating him into kissing her. Because that sounds much worse than death.

But every part of her body, besides her rational brain, wants to kiss him. Desperately.

His patience has run out. He gets up, grabs the back of her neck and threads his fingers through the sensitive baby hairs at the back of her scalp, tilts her face up.

He’s rough, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s an unyielding pressure that resonates in her cunt. He muffles her distressed grunt with his mouth.

He’s teeth, tongue, saliva. It’s hard to breathe with him in her throat. Her hands grip his nice shirt. He pulls her up by the back of her neck, and her moan dies in their combined throat.

The wet connection of their lips has her hips grinding into his thigh and his hands imprinting her scalp. She burns from her head to her toes. He struggles to get closer, use the blanket of her body to try and smother his own tumultuous fire.

Her phone rings, and she has to ignore it while he pulls at her hair and backs her up into the fridge. The cool at her back feels nice mixed with the heat of his body. She’s on her tiptoes, gripping his arms to let off some of the pressure in her scalp, trying to chase the ache between her legs with the sturdy muscles in the thigh he has pressed between them.

He pulls away with her bottom lip captured in his teeth, and she only has a second to whine about the sting until he’s back on her.

Her phone rings again. She has to try and push him off because twice means it might be an emergency.

He doesn’t budge, and if he knows she wants to stop then he doesn’t care.

Text message dings, phone ringing again. His lips move from her mouth to her jaw, nipping and laving at that delicate flesh. His scratchy facial hair tickles and chafes her skin.

She tries to form a coherent thought and translate it into a sentence, but all that comes out are wet mewls. Michael might be in trouble. She pushes harder against the solid rock of his body.

John takes the hint, but not very well. He releases her neck with a low gravelly sound that translates to a growl. His self control, usually unbreakable, fissures. He glares down at her, breathing deep and loud.

Reluctantly, he lets her push past him and look at her phone.

He leans against her fridge and watches how her eyes grow wide and worried in the bright light of her screen. The anxiety on her face turns his annoyance into concern.

She pulls up her phone calendar. Saturday. The weekend. The day that Benny invited her camping. And there he is; five missed text messages, 4 missed calls. Two voicemails.

John watches her skin drain some of its lovely color.

She reads the texts. They start off nice, then turn into vulgar threats.

The last one is him sending her a copy of her own address.

She slams her phone down, free-falling into the verge of a full blown panic attack.

She had forgotten to erase and block his number after he forcefully put it in her phone. While he was in her messages, he must have gotten her address off the text chain between her and Michael. He knows where she lives, and even if he doesn’t have the passcode to the front door and a key to get into her apartment, he can easily wait outside for her. Or around the block. She tries her best to not start hyperventilating, but her eyes inevitably swell with stinging fluid and her lungs constrict like snakes are wrapping around them.

“What? What’s wrong?” She feels John’s hand on her shoulder. It brings her back down to earth. The serpents twisting her insides coil away, hissing in fear. Her breathing gets easier. He wraps his hands around her waist softly, says her name. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urges.

She’s so tired of protecting this asshole, but the two possibilities that will come from telling john are equally unappealing. The first one is that he doesn’t care and leaves because he thinks she’s a whore. The second option is that he kills or injures Benny, and that would mean blood inadvertently on her hands.

She doesn’t know if she should be grateful or terrified when he grabs her phone, types her passcode—how the hell does he know that?—and opens up Benny’s voicemail.

“John, stop - “

But the angry voice is already coming on over the speaker. “Hey Darlin’. I’ll be over in a few minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m dragging you out of there.”

He holds the phone out of her reach and plays the next. “I’m five minutes away from your house. You better be outside or you won’t enjoy yourself tonight.” Benny sounds drunk in this one.

John flips to the text messages once he’s done with the voicemails.

By the time he’s done reading them, his eyes are drained of light. Not even the bright phone screen casts a reflection in the pools of black matte. He looks up at her and presses the power button.

“Did he hit you?” He grips her chin and his big hand is wide enough to cover the entire bottom of her face.

“What are you going to do?” She whispers. He feels the vibration in the air from her quivering body, but can’t find it in himself to feel bad, especially when she’s committed to keeping a bastard protected.

He loved how altruistic she was when they first met, the care that she showed for everyone—especially he himself—was endearing and sincere. But now he knows he has to break her from that senseless kindness because she is too fucking nice for her own good.

“I’m going to kill him,” John tells her, words piercing like needles and threading her wild anxiety tighter.

She doesn’t like Benny, would even go so far as to say she hates him, but the thought of him dying because of her confession turns her stomach with guilt. And maybe not believing John would absolve some of that foreshadowed liability, but he had killed countless grown men with a bed rail in front of her, so she knows he’s more than capable of keeping his word and becoming the reaper.

She won’t condemn someone, even if they are a scumbag. He catches the look in her face that tells him just that.

And he does something that she doesn’t expect and doesn’t want to see cutting his usually serious face: He smiles, genuinely and viciously.

He is physically bigger than her, that much is true, but nothing makes her feel as small as that smile. It is the smile of someone who knows what they want and how to get it, consequences be damned.

Fear is like electricity in her veins, so cold it burns.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, now actually crying.

She watches his jaw grind, backs away from him.

He catches her shoulder, pulls her into his chest so that he can talk into the top of her head.

“You will not leave this apartment,” he tells her, “you will not get in my way.”

And she can tell that he’s not someone who people usually disobey.

[xappetites]

sort of a continuation of this w/Frank and fBell

Frank is no stranger to barbershop banter, he might not spend all that time in town, even when he’s home, but he’s been getting semi regular post-mission cuts here for long enough to be counted as a regular.

So he doesn’t really mind the ribbing, his barber poking fun at how he should let his hair grow out like the youngins do, and he’ll throw in a perm for free. That is until the grocer down the street, currently getting his beard trimmed, makes an off hand comment about Bell.

“Doesn’t seem like the missus would be a fan, though.”

And it isn’t like Frank’s fucking bothered, it’s just this is the first time he thinks of the situation with Bell —living in his house and sleeping in his bed, making his coffee and strong arming her way into paying at least the electricity bill— as something that might stick. And he needs a minute to sort through the ache in his chest.

A forfuckingever thing, instead of the vague suspicion that he won’t find her there when comes back stateside, the bracing himself for an empty house he’s been doing for the better part of two years now.

“What?” the barber stops, kills the trimmer even, so he can be heard loud and damn clear. “If you ain’t planning on marrying that pretty thing living with you, better break it to her soon then. She’s started raising chickens.”

“Not sure she’s the marrying type.”

It’s not a lie, Bell’s quicksilver in Frank’s mind, half a cool little stream after hoofing it across the jungle for days and half forest fire. The word ‘wife’ itself feels weird, no matter how many times he’s let her know that he loves her as he comes.

The barber drops it, thankfully, though he shakes his head at Frank like he’s the stupidest son of a bitch that’s graced his chair today.

But it distracts him, the whole fucking thing, nags at him like a mosquito bite in the crack of the ass. So he has to bring it up, and he’s sure he sounds annoyed as hell about it, because he is.

Bell laughs —easy, without mockery—, perched sidesaddle in his lap, because of course she does. This is why he preemptively imagines a world without her, practices losing her in his mind so it doesn’t kill him when it happens for real.

“You ever think about tying the knot?”

“I’m legally dead Frank, I don’t think I’m allowed to get married anymore.”

“But you would, if you could?”

“I’d walk my ass hand in hand with you into city hall tomorrow if I had a valid ID, love”

She kisses him to make her point, in that mesmerizing fucking way of hers, and she rides him half to death that night, fingers interlocked and mumbling his name like a prayer.

So Frank calls a guy, someone he trusts to take his payment and keep their mouth shut. An old CIA contact who minds their businesses.

And he thinks he could make it romantic, should probably; he just— can’t wait.

All he does in the end is slide the two cards over the table towards Bell one morning, as soon as they arrive. Valid, legal, forged by the best: a driver’s license and state ID for his best girl, with her name sitting pretty on them, joined by a simple, solid ‘Woods’.

To call her his wife still feels weird, but this is right. As right as her laughter, bright and so sudden it almost makes her choke on her coffee. Right as the way she fits in his arms, talking about rings and looking at him with eyes half closed, like she’s looking at the sun.

[xox0rinny]

*Broken Cars*

Pairings | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary | You were going on a small road trip with your father and his best friend Joel. The car suddenly broke down on a street in the middle of no where. Your father had left you and Joel alone in the car while he walked down to the small gas station you guys had passed. You decided to pass time by making jokes.

Warnings | No outbreak/pre-outbreak, age gap [reader is 20, Joel is 42], light cussing, platonic relationship, joel’s like a father figure, mentions of Sarah, mentions of underage drinking/smoking, inspo from Ellie telling Joel jokes lol

“Aw fuck!” Your dad cursed as he tried to start the car for the sixth time.

You sighed in the back seat, leaning on the window. Just great. You were stuck in the middle of no where with your dad and his best friend. You loved them both, but this wasn’t what you imagined this trip to be. You already didn’t really want to go with the two down to… you couldn’t even remember. All you really knew was that you’d be outside for most of the time. But you agreed to go since you didn’t spend as much time with your father as you used to.

“Told you we should’ve taken my truck.” Joel sighed as your dad threw his head back in frustration.

“Oh shut up Joel.” He scoffed playfully.

Your dad and Joel were long term friends. You’ve heard all of the stories about their adventures growing up together. They were practically brothers at this point. He came over your house for Thanksgiving and sometimes even Christmas. There would be cookout’s at Joel’s house almost every weekend during the summer.

“Y’know it’s true old man.” Joel chuckled as he looked out of the window. His rough hair blew in the cool Texas breeze, causing him to move it out of his eyes.

“Old man? Says the one with gray hairs.” Your dad chuckled along with him. pointing out the few gray hairs in Joel’s hair. They were more common in his beard and mustache than on his head, but they were definitely there.

“The women love it.” He said smugly.

You chuckled at their playful banter. This is how they always were. Always picking at each other like they were kids. You somehow felt like you were on a trip with two prepubescent boys.

“You guys sound like kids.” You chuckled as you adjusted your position in the back seat.

They both turned in their seats to look back at you. They turned back to each other with a small grin.

“Sorry baby girl, I’ll go down to the gas station down the road. See if someone there can help.” You dad reached back and patted your knee as he unbuckled his seat belt.

“I’ll go with ya-” Joel spoke.

“No you keep an eye on her. She’s a little mischievous one. And I don’t know what type of people are out here…” Your dad cut him off.

Joel nodded and let him exit the car. He walked off and there a silence in the car. Since the car wasn't working, that means the radio wasn’t either. That was by far the worst part about this.

“What’s he mean by that? You’re mischievous?” Joel asked, turning to you. You were sat directly behind him, so it was a strain on his neck.

You giggled at the question. You were always a very curious and adventurous child, just like your father. Always getting into things you shouldn’t or something like that.

“Mischievous isn’t the right word. I’m just a bit.. curious.” You shrugged as you chuckled a bit.

“Yes you are. But mischievous is quite a word.. what have you been gettin’ into kid?”

You brought your legs up to the empty seats next to you and leaned against the door. Without the cool air conditioning of the car, you were starting to sweat in the heat.

“Nothing. I’ve been acting right in college nothing crazy. Just.. a few parties here and there. But don’t tell my dad, he doesn’t know.” You giggled. “But mischievous definitely isn’t the right word.”

“Sure it ain’t… you be drinking at them parties?” He asked in a more stern tone.

It kind of shocked you. Joel usually didn’t use that tone with you. Unless he was being real serious. You debated on lying or telling the truth. You’ve had a few drinks at some parties in the past two years, but nothing wild. Smoked a few blunts here and there, but nothing wild. No blacking out, no fights, no spontaneous hook ups.

“Okay… maybe I’ve had a few. But I been drinking since I was seven! You’ve heard the story.” You defended yourself. Joel chuckled, recalling the story of your first alcoholic experience.

You once got into the liquor cabinet and poured some whiskey out of pure curiosity at the age of seven. You didn't fully understand what alcohol was and why you couldn’t drink it. It tasted disgusting to your young taste buds and you went and told your parents about it. You asked how they ever enjoyed drinking such a disgusting drink. They laughed at it and explained to you why you shouldn’t drink alcohol until you were old enough. Incidents like that were very common with you. Even now as an adult.

“Yeah yeah.. Good point.” He looked over to your bag by your seat. “Why’d you bring so many books? We’re going to a national park, not a book convention ya little bookworm.”

That’s where you were going. Big Bend National Park.

You really needed to pay more attention. You would’ve brought better shoes to walk with if you knew you’d be walking around a lot.

“Books are amazing. Thank you very much.” You said as you reached down to grab a book. You grabbed the first one you saw. ‘Super Dad Jokes Vol. 3’. You didn’t even realize you packed this with you. But you opened the book and scanned the pages for a good joke. You came to a page with jokes all about cars. You smirked. “Why did the man remove the wheels from his car before a road trip?”

Joel sighed deeply before replying. “Oh Lord… why?”

You giggled as you heard his sigh. You’d been telling jokes from these books for years now. You always thought they were absolutely hilarious. “Cause he wanted to drive tirelessly!” You laughed as you delivered the punchline. You could hear Joel sigh again.

“That… that wasn’t funny.”

“Heyyy! That was comedic gold. Here…” You scanned the pages again. “What did the car say to the stoplight?” Joel stayed silent, waiting for you to complete the joke. “You’ve changed man!” You said loudly as you laughed even harder.

“You’re never gonna stop telling these jokes, are you?” He chuckled.

“Not as long as they keep making these books.” You smiled.

You glanced over to the rear view mirror. You could see a car driving up behind you. You saw a man and your dad in the front two seats. You swung your legs off the seat and turned your whole body to face the back of the car. Your dad got out of the car and walked up to your door. The windows were down so he didn’t open it.

“He’s gonna try and jump start the car.” Your dad said to both you and Joel. The car pulled ahead of you, maneuvering it’s way so that the front of the car was facing yours.

“Y’know… this reminds me of that one time.” Joel started. Your dad looked at him with a questioning look. “When my girl gave birth to our son in the car-”

“Son? Sarah is a girl…” You cut him off, clearly confused. Your father looked at him with more confusion than before.

“On our way to the hospital she gave birth to our son in the car. We named him Carson.” Joel finished with a small smirk on his lips.

You sat there confused for a moment. Your dad was questioning him, asking if he had some secret kid. You then realized what he said.

“Oh so you think you can out do me in jokes? That was terrible.” You scoffed as you chuckled at his attempt to make a joke.

“It was worth a try.”

sorry the ending was a bit rush y'all lol

[horridgoblin]

In Need of Comfort (Part 1)

For part 2, click here. Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, SFW, Christmas AU set in Waterdeep, gender neutral Tav x Gale. Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, anxiety in a crowded place, sensory overload. Disclaimer: I’m currently in the middle of Act 2, and I'm yet to finish BG3, so this is where my knowledge of the game stands. No spoilers please!

The Market was charged with the energy of festive cheer, and you could not help but feel entirely out of place. Sounds overwhelmed you; the crowds made you wish you were invisible, and a persistent sadness refused to leave your soul. The Market of Castle Ward was spectacular, despite how you felt. Twinkling baubles, trinkets, and other valuables were displayed proudly in their vibrant stalls. The scent of spice filled the air, and chants of merchants advertising their wares filled the atmosphere with electricity. It was a lot to take in. You wanted desperately to reciprocate the joy of the season, especially because Gale was beaming with joy; talking for weeks about how excited he was to show you how the ‘City of Splendour’ celebrates Christmas. 

A gentle, warm touch of Gale’s hand deliberately brushing yours snapped you out of your thoughts. As you looked up, brown eyes full of adoration locked yours. You could not resist but to smile. Gale was dressed in his best winter finery fit for the occasion, swathes of deep purple wool keeping most of the cold at bay. The grey streaks in his curly brown hair glinted in the winter sunlight, his beauty ethereal. Your anxiety abated with his love, but you thought it best to not show how you felt to preserve his happiness. Gale was always putting others before himself, and you wanted more than anything for him to have happiness in his life.

“You look absolutely stunning my love,” Gale said, gently tucking stray locks of your hair behind your ear, “I know we have a firm agenda set for today, but is there anything that catches your eye? I want nothing more than to spoil you.”

“Gale, spending time with you is a gift enough, please don’t fret.”

“Alright, I won’t try and outdazzle this gift, but I may be purchasing you a trinket or two regardless.” He winked, kissing your forehead, his beard scratching you lightly. “The stall with the brandy mincemeat is over there,” he pointed towards a stall of green tarp with jars gleaming in the sunlight, neatly lined up and tied with delicate red ribbon, “I bet I could add a bit of pizazz to it with an enchantment or two, though this doesn’t mean making the pies explode in some grand display, unfortunately.” You laughed at the thought despite your growing anxiety as you both approached the stall, hand in hand.

Snowflakes began to flit down from the greying sky, their icy touch amplified by fear as they landed on your face. The Market was becoming increasingly crowded. Claustrophobia was setting in. You had a nagging feeling to give into your base instincts and to run far, far away and hide. Instead, you gripped Gale’s hand for support. Your anxiety came at you at full force, and it was dizzying, the stall in front of you feeling imposing. 

Concerned, Gale took you aside and put his hand gently on your shoulder, turning you to face him. He leaned to whisper to your ear. “Are you ok, my heart?” 

Shaking your head to say no, he planted a feather light kiss onto your cheek. “These crowds must be immensely overwhelming; I can tell that as much. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, darling.” You murmured, croaking as you struggled to speak.

“I’m afraid I must.” Gale insisted, “I think it's best if we leave, I cannot have you suffering.” He cupped your cheek with his hand. “Would you like that? To return home?”

You felt incredibly guilty and ashamed. He was looking forward to this for so long. “We can stay, we have to buy things for tonight.”

Seeing the sadness on your face, he said, “Don’t concern yourself with that any longer, I shall deal with this.”  Turning back to the stall, he placed a loving hand on the small of your back as he purchased two jars of mincemeat. “Perfect! We can do without the rest and have a splendid night together. Shall we head home?”

Putting aside your guilt at his insistence, you nodded. He knew you liked to appease others; it was why you could relate to each other so much. Your fatigue from sensory overload made it hard to refuse his suggestions. Snowfall began to intensify so much that it was difficult to see. Most of the crowd rushed for shelter away from the increasing cold, and the two of you sped to find a hire coach home.

[ladyvillainous]

Ardeth Bay NSFW Alphabet

Working on a little something new just need to do a little editing but while you're waiting have some more head canons on my latest character obsession

A Aftercare

(What they’re like after sex)

He likes to hold you close as you both recover continuing to kiss you softly as he rubs his hands over your skin just wanting to

B Body part

(Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your skin because it’s so soft he can’t help but want to be touching you constantly. You make sure to apply your jasmine scented body oil daily to keep it that way knowing how much he loves to touch you and the smell of the oil. If you really want to drive him nuts, you rub a small amount through your hair, it’s guaranteed to have him wrapped around you in no time.

C Cum

(Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He would never lay a hand on you until you were married and as such getting you pregnant wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, he loves to see your rounded belly as you grow his child, he thinks your even more irresistible this way. It’s because of this that he always likes to come inside you and nowhere else.

D Dirty Talk

(Do they like to talk dirty on the job? Do they like you to talk dirty to them? What sort of things do they say?)

He’s more likely to praise and worship you with words of love and encouragement than with filthy things thought he can get a bit borderline when you’re going down on him as he can get carried away.

E Experience

(How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He had a few dalliances when he was younger but once he took his oath, he realised the life of Medjai was not well suited a long-term relationship and he had no interest in brothels or ruining a woman’s reputation for nothing. He’s no virgin but hasn’t anywhere near the experience some of the other men do, whatever he may lack he more than makes up for with passionate intensity.

F Favourite Position

(This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves any position that allows him to gaze into your eyes, though is partial to having you sat on his lap because he can hold you so much closer while still maintaining control.

When he wants to switch it up, he likes to get you on all fours and then pull you up flush against his chest, it takes a little twisting to get into position, but he can still kiss you breathless and the angle of his thrusts turn you to jelly in his arms.

G Goofy

(Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He has a surprisingly wicked sense of humour, but this tends to show itself in sly comments here and there and during sex is often not the moment for this. It doesn’t stop him grinning wickedly at you when he teases you. Generally, he’s so intense it doesn’t occur to either of you to find anything funny.

H Hair

(How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s quite a hairy man thought not excessively just enough to look stereotypically manly without veering into werewolf territory. When he’s out in the desert he doesn’t worry about grooming down there at all even lets his beard grow out somewhat. But when he returns home or if you visit him at one of the outposts, he will take the time to clear up the jungle and shave.

I Intimacy

(How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Ardeth is a very passionate, intense, loyal man which often translates to soft sensual touches that make your heart overflow for him.

J Jack Off

(Masturbation head canon)

Sometimes the only thing getting him through the long, lonely nights in the desert is thoughts of you. However, he doesn’t always have the privacy to be able to do anything more than think about you. This can mean he returns from weeks or months away and pretty much carries you straight to bed, he needs you repeatedly after that much time apart with no relief.

K Kink

(One or more of their kinks)

It took some time to convince him, but he did finally indulge you and tie you to your bed. He was extremely uncomfortable at first as he was worried about hurting you, but he unexpectedly loved it. He doesn’t want to indulge all the time because his fear returns full force in between but on occasion he will whip out the rope using the excuse that he wants to try a new knot he’s learnt, despite the fact that you’re more than willing excuse or no excuse.

L Location

(Favourite places to do the do)

He wants privacy for you both so at home in your own bed is his reference. He makes an exception for his chambers at the mountain outpost, but with only a curtain separating you both from the rest of the outpost you do have to be quieter than normal.  He has also been known to draw you into the armoury after training but that’s only because he hasn’t the patience to wait to get you home.

M Motivation

(What turns them on, gets them going)

Showing a little skin is a foolproof way to get his attention. Wearing your caftan with the long thigh high split around the house when you’re just doing everyday household chores, get you tossed over his shoulder and escorted upstairs in double time.

N NO

(Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not hurt you period end of sentence no will he give up control for the same reason. He got carried away the first time you slept together, which was also your first time ever, when you bled slightly after he thought he’d hurt you and was horrified. He fled to the spare room and wouldn’t come near you for quite some time, until you figured out what had upset him and were able to assure him you weren’t hurt. It still plays on his mind though even to this day.  

O Oral

(Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Both, he has been known to pull multiple orgasms from you in one session to the point you’re begging him to stop. He loves it when you go down on him as it allows him to give up some control without any risk of hurting you, because of this he would never hold your head while you pleasure him let alone push down for fear you would gag.

P Pace

(Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow, sensual and powerful is his go to, occasionally he will get a little rougher with you, but his pace is always carefully controlled and measured for maximum pleasure while making it last longer for the both of you.

Q Quickie

(Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

A quickie with Ardeth isn’t exactly a quick as he no interesting in just ploughing you into a wall and moving on. He wants to take his time with you ensure you feel loved and safe. The closest he gets to quick are the times in the armouring after training but even those sessions run long to the point that you’re shocked you haven’t been caught yet. What neither of you know is that the armoury guards have caught on and will always guard the door until your done and then discretely make themselves scarce, so you never even know they were there. Ardeth suspects because of the knowing smiles they shoot him later the same day, but he chooses to ignore it.

R Risk

(Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s happily experiment with any position or technique you want to try but he’d never put your safety at risk. Neither would he risk exposing you in any way… with the notable exception of the armoury.

S Stamina

(How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The man is built for endurance he could fight Anubis stay up all night trekking through the jungle, fight Anubis warriors in the morning, spend 4 -5 hours on horseback see to his men and still rock your world so thoroughly you’re seeing stars. I know that’s an incredibly specific example, but it’s happened at least once.

T Toy

(Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

The 1920/30’s were not known for a plethora of sex toy options. You have both heard about a device called a vibrator but have never tried one. Ardeth doesn’t believe any electric device could be any better than what you already experience together, and you completely agree being more than satisfied with your sex life.

U Unfair

(How much they like to tease)

Usually, he’ll deliver orgasm after mind blowing orgasm no waiting, but on occasion he can been downright evil. This often coincides with the time the ropes come out of the box under the bed.

V Volume

(How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not excessively loud he’d rather keep your private life private and would hate for anyone to overhear you both. However, at home behind locked doors he feels freer to up the volume.

Generally, it’s whispered terms of endearment or general grunts of effort with the odd growl, but he does get borderline filthy when you go down on him

W Wild Card

(Get a random head canon for the character of your choice)

Nothing gets him worked up more than watching you school the young Medjai in weapons. He loves watching them underestimate you and then being eviscerated by your skills. This isn’t a secret to you but the fact that after the first session of every new group he corners you in the armoury for a quick intense session that leaves your legs shaking is only something the 2 of you know.

X X-Ray

(Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture, or words)

Canonically Ardeth is nearly 6ft 2in and solidly built so I think he’d be a reasonable size just borderline on how easily you can get him in your mouth but a little girthier than the norm.

Y Yearning

(How high is their sex drive?)

Varies depending on his schedule and how much access he has to you. Out in the desert it can wither away to almost nothing but back home he will be on you every second he can spare from his duties.

Z ZZZ

(… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually, your sessions are so intense that you both fall asleep very quickly but always with your arms wrapped round one another.