#and feeling like well if I don't do it then someone else will have to do it and if it's suffering for me then it must be suffering for them

[tan1shere]

Freak

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: Oh hey ! It's tan. You know, the one who can't stick to one fucking story and never ends up finishing them anyways (I have 32 fucking drafts.) N E WAYS. I thought of this, yes another doja song. What can I say, she serves, ENJOY

Summary: you're both just as freaky.

Warnings: smut, car sex, use of daddy, riding, lowkey highkey fb billie - if there's anything else I haven't mentioned pls lmk !

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu @dollarbils @sweetcherriexs @xxangelfarrlzxx

^comment if you want to be added^

Masterlist

Parties like these were the best, dressing up as someone unrecognizable. This theme was roaring 20s for your friends 20th. Music was fitting to the time of this era. People dressed in specific outfits. Women in the iconic dresses, men in the vest, suit. Some wearing the iconic hat. But there was one female who dressed axactly like that. "Well well. Y/n." She says with a smirk. "Billie, always one to stand out huh?" She chuckles. "Why not, kinda pisses guys off and turns women on. Win win." You look at her full outfit. It honestly was turning you on. "What women?" Her brows raise. "Plenty. Heaps." You had zero clue why but that rubbed you up the wrong way. You knew she's been out with heaps of girls.

But it just got to you. Maybe cause you haven't had a piece yet. That'll change tonight, you plan to do so. You and billie always had chemistry. Having near incidents of kissing, sometimes more. But something always happens to get in the way. You were honestly drawn to her and little did you know she was drawn to you too. "Come here alone?" You shrug at her question. "Might have. You?" She thinks for a moment. "Possibly." The tension was thick, and God you just wanted to kiss her. But you keep your cool. Thinking of some form of a plan. You notice girls looking at her. "Damn, maybe you weren't kidding." She laughs again. "Do I kid, darling?" Even her mannerisms were fitting for the theme. Was it on purpose?

"Well, maybe you should go mingle." You go to turn around but she grabs your wrist. "Hey now, what if I want to talk to you." Progress. You smile. "You do? Really?" You ask so innocently. Then she comes out with something that shocks you. "Yeah. Maybe tonight there won't be interruptions like usual." Now you were stumped. So she was known to the coincidence too. She cared... "Maybe you're right." You subtly bite your lip. "Why don't we get a head start and get out of here." Your smile returns. "Sounds like a plan."

The car ride was antagonizing. But once she'd gotten to your place it was go time. So much feeling was brewing inside the both of you. And as you reach the door, followed by your room you waste no time. Your hands reach for the hat, chucking it somewhere. Her hands move to your body, letting out a content sigh like she's finally reached her life long goal. She definitely had. Her lips go straight to your own and you practically do the same sound as she did moments ago, except it came out as a moan. She had zero idea what she was getting into with you, but you had always wanted to try this with someone. But you had zero idea how she'd react. Good thing you'd enjoy it. You had moved her on the bed, watching as she sat on her elbows.

You knew Billie was dominant with the stories she told. But she had no. Idea. Just how freaky you could be. If anything she'd have more fun with this. You go to your closet pulling out some rope casually. Her left brow raises. "What you plan on doing with that?" You say nothing, moving over her. Her hand reaches for your jaw as you sutuate the restraint. "Huh?" Your shoulders shrug. "You'll see." She was about to protest but in a blink of an eye you were already doing it. Pushing her back and tying her to the bed. "Really?" She says as you giggle. "You're a fucking menace." You shrug. "Guess you didn't know how I'd be. Did you?" She looks in your eyes. "Untie me." You contemplate. She looked a little mad. Bingo. Just what you wanted. "Mmm no, Im just getting started Bils." Your hands move to somehow get some of her clothes off.

But with the way she acted before you got a brilliant idea that popped into your head. You go for your own clothing, taking of the head piece. The gloves, your dress. Slowly you did so. Very slowly, you didn't have a bra on so she was unexpectedly blessed by the sight. "Oh God." She lets out. Seeing as all she could do was use her mouth. Use her mouth... Now she, had a brilliant idea. Seeing as you weren't going to budge anytime soon. "Come closer for me." You look at her. "Why should I." "These aren't tight enough. I'd hate to just slip out." Your slow brain doesn't process right away as you lean over. Tits right in her face. Boom. "But you didn't want to escape earlier-" You say, as you tie them tighter. Stopping with realization.

You go to move but suddenly feeling a wet pair of lips on your bud. It hardening on her tongue. You mentally stop, soon after, you move again. "You tricked me." She smirks. "Like it was hard." Oops. "No, come on. Just Untie me. Cone on baby I know you want to." The name had you considering it. But you weren't done. "Nope." This only made her rage heighten. "You're a fucking brat you know that?" She didn't even say that sexually, she was just annoyed. But you loved it. You shift slightly as the words pass her lips. Then she spots it, spots why you were doing this. So she tries again. "Want to get me all riled up huh? You like being a slut." You tried to ignore it. "Go on then, keep going and you'll find out how it ends." You still had some form of confidence. Your lips move to her neck, letting your breasts rest on her chest.

This was driving her nuts. You were so caught up in giving her a hickey, you had no clue she'd escaped. "We could flip the coin." Your brows furrow when she says that. But you knew things were fucked as soon as you felt soft hands on your naked waist. "Uh oh." She smirks maliciously. Flipping you guys so you were underneath. "Yeah, uh oh's right babe. Big fat, fucking. Uh oh." You've never seen her like this. You thought the girls she's been with were exaggerating. Definitely not the case. Your eyes go wide. "How'd you-" She tuts. "So silly. Im surprised you'd try me." A split of confidence shines through. "Yeah it was fun." She laughs. And it immediately compels you. "Cute. Very cute. You won't be saying that soon babygirl. I can promise you that." You just give into her, you're desire won over. "I'll be your slave."

Her head tilts. "That's much better. More so than earlier right?" Your breath increases as her hand slowly slides down to your underwear. "Now shut the fuck up, and let me do my thing yeah?"

Your eyes shut. "Yes daddy."

"Good girl."

I ain't afraid of a little pain.

Weeks pass from that unforgettable night. And let's just say, you and Billie had been seeing eachother on the down low, constantly. Her past flings or whatever they even were would call her. Text her. And she couldn't give a rats ass anymore. Ignoring every single one of them. You infiltrated her brain entirely. Once she had a taste she never wanted to go back. But aside from the sexual, she had asked you to go out tonight. Which you had no idea wasn't the norm for her. She was definitely swoon. She honked her horn letting you know she was here. You scurry out seeing her standing by your side. Already open for you to get in. "Wow." Was all she said. "Could say the exact thing about you." You say hopping in. She was bewildered. I mean sure she's seen you dressed up. But not like this.

The night went on, it was beautiful and peaceful. She was the sweetest, conversation was filled with laughter and meaning. When you two go to leave, heading to the car. Something shifts. All of a sudden conversation was dead. Maybe it was her hand on your thigh as she drove. Her rings clod on your skin. The chunky metal clunking together as she moves her fingers around subconsciously. Her eyes were on the road but her mind was most definitely on you. Her fingers move upwards, under your tight skirt. The pad of her index touches your lacy underwear. Her teeth grabs her bottom lip, hearing you suck in a breath. She dips her finger past the fabric, touching you. Already soaked just from the tiny action. "Fuck." She says under her breath.

Her other hand still on the wheel. She swerves into an empty parking lot swiftly. The act, oddly attractive. She moves her hand out, grabbing your waist, getting you to sit on her lap. "Couldn't wait till we got back?" You pout mockingly at her. "Oh shut up, you have no clue." You grab her face. "Then tell me." You look into her eyes so sweetly. "Fucking hell." She groans, ignoring you and immediately kissing your lips. You sink into the feeling. Molding perfectly. "Need this. Now." She breathes against your lips. You just nod in reply, getting needier. She fiddles with her belt, getting the strap out. It was red, it matched your skirt. How on earth? How'd she even know- But as you were wondering you didn't even realize your skirt was bunched and underwear to the side.

You realize when the tip prods you. "Bils." You gasp, feeling it suddenly go in. Your body rising off of her, slowly sinking down. And the moan you let out almost makes her finish on the spot. "Jesus." She moans. You ride her, but painfully slow. Hearing a sound of annoyance coming from her. You smirk, slowing down more. "God you're a little bitch." Her hands grip your waist forcefully pushing you down all the way. You whimper. You moan, so caught off guard. "That fixed you huh." Your eyes shut at the feeling, feeling full of her. "Billie-" You gasp yet again, shocked at how good this specific one felt. "Chose bigger. Just, for. You." She truly was down bad. She continues her movements, hitting spots you've never felt such pleasure from before. "Daddy I want it faster." You moan into her neck as you had just moved it there. Breathing heavily.

Her hands speed up with ease, loving how your own hips would move on her. "Fuck you're so good. Might make me cum before you do." You chuckle into her skin, moving so you're facing her again. "Them bitches you fuckin with, I know they gon need some practice." She hums. "Nobody does it like you baby." Both of your lips connect again in a heated kiss, more heated than all the other ones you shared. There was something firey about tonight. Her hand moves to grab your shirt, lifting it. "Actually get to suck these without you being a pain." You giggle. "Oh come on, I know you love it." She doesn't say a word, moving her lips to the bud. Your moans high pitched. Her other hand moves to push the seat back. Having her lay down, your own hips take control as your hands move to her shoulders.

Got me like, "Yeehaw," ride it like a horsey.

Kinda like see-saw, up and down on the D.

Her lips still sucking with intense need. Your head starts to spin as your argasm encroached. Moaning incessantly. She felt like she was in heaven, she could definitely die happy. Especially with your tits in her mouth. "Im so close Billie." You sigh out, feeling your movements getting sloppier. Her mouth retracts, moving her hands to your hips once again. Speeding you up. "Mmm, so am I." She bites her lip at the way you felt on her. She could feel your walls tighten as it get harder for her to move your body. "F-fuck!" You squeak, hadn't expected it to come out as fast as it did. The way she moved you, sends your legs to shake. Her finishing soon after, watching your face intently. Your eyes roll back.

After awhile you eventually catch your breaths. Calming down. "I had no idea you were this freaky. Pegged you to be more of the shy type." You smile as you lay on her. "Ain't ever been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste." - "Think I already have." You sit up straight going close to her face. "You haven't tasted me yet though." She smirks at you. "Maybe I should do that. Right. Now."

;)

[monotonykillsartist]

So headcanon Fawcett was way ahead of their time and also they make there own laws, cause like sure try going into the city and try to enforce straight marriage only or segregation cause like they literally have alligator people who are green blue faries pink nymphs so why would they care I'd someone was dark skinned. Also also someone did once try to go and argue against same sex marriage and was killed by a nymph, and then another one had their head caved in by a centar.

Interviewer: "So, Captain Marvel, I have to ask. Since Fawcett is a city that's been stuck in the 50s, how do you guys feel about same sex marrage?"

*Both Billy and Solomon confused like all the words make sense but put together seems kind of odd* Caption Marvel, confused head tilt: "What do you mean by that?"

Interviewer, slightly confused: "Err like a regular marriage but between two men or two women?"

Captain marvel let's out an 'ohhh' of understanding: "Well, in Fawcett, we don't have tha-" gets cut off by egar Interviewer

Interviewer: "So Fawcett is homophonic and stuck in the past?!?!" excited for a hot controversial scope.

Caption Marvel is even more confused now: "I mean, we don't have a specific name for it. We just call it marriage, like Sue and Sara have been married since I think the 20s?'

*Diffrent Interview with Different Interviewer*

Interviewer: "Since fawceet is stuck in the 50s, did you guys ever stop with the segregation?"

Captain Marvel with a look of disgust: "Ewww no we-" interrupted by Interviewer

Eger Interviewer: "So you guys are rassicst!!!"

Captian Marvel bewildered: "No we never started in the first place, Fawcett has always had a city wide ban on slavery and unlawful containment, no slaves were ever owned in Fawcett we did allow any and all to seek refuge from slavery. The city typically allowed them to stay."

Because really all Fawcett residents knew the city itself was sentient, and if it didn't want you there, you wouldn't last more than 48 hours.

*Diffrent Interviewer*

Interviewer: "What are your thoughts on the possibility of a female president, or do you think women should stay at home like the little housewives from the 50s?"

Captain Marvel offended on behalf of his city: "The founder of the city, the current mayor, is a woman. Her wife enjoys staying at home and upkeeping the house. Neither is better or worse than the other."

Interviewer: "I umm wasn't aware of that...err what about transgender people? Do you think to say about them?"

Marvel sighs: "What does that mean?"

Interviewer: "When someone is born, as say a man and chooses to become a woman, " looks on with intense eyes.

Captian Marvel with raised eyebrow: "So again like the mayor? We just call thoese folks blessed by the fae."

Interviewer looking lost: "I'm sorry what umm what exactly do you mean by that"

Captain marvel now in teaching mode, "So the fae do enjoy tricking people out of their names and legal identities but some people choose to just straight up ask to give their names to the a fae, then they just rename themselves. We have a whole system in place in case you need to make new identification. Also, if you ask one of the nymphs, they might help you with the rest of changing. That's how the mayor met her wife, I believe."

*peoples reactions to the Interviewers*

"Dang, a city stuck in the 50s has apparently been way ahead of the time since its founding."

"So I want born in the wrong era just the wrong city"

"Anyone else planning on moving to fawccet or just me? Hope the city accepts me, whatever that means lol"

[thewertsearch]

GT: Man where IS he anyway??? GT: Is he taking one of his legendary infinite showers? TT: What can I say. TT: Dude fancies his ablutions.

We've already had an early-bird Roxy cameo, but Bro's certainly taking his sweet time.

I don't think this is actually the case, but it'd be pretty interesting if the original Kid Bro was already dead, and his AI duplicate was the 'real' Player all along. (He'd wield the Mind Aspect, obviously.)

GT: But seriously that brobot has been the bane of my existence ever since you sent it.

You as in the Responder, or you as in Kid Bro? The former is constantly posing as the latter, so it'd be pretty easy to mix them up. We really do need to get this guy his own account...

TT: I didn't send it. I sent the parts. TT: Or, correction, DS sent them.

...especially since even he's prone to blurring the lines between the two.

The question of whether he 'is' Bro is kind of debatable - but philosophy aside, viewing yourself as a shadow of someone else simply isn't good for your mental health.

GT: When hes pulling punches… GT: And taking it all easy and such… GT: And we start wrestling up a storm and whatnot… GT: Umm. TT: What. GT: Its just that the whole proceeding seems to become… GT: A bit tender for my liking.

Translation: The AR has a crush on Jake, and the only way he can express these feelings is through homoerotic combat. He can't even touch Jake, so he just sends a robot to kick his ass, and tries to live vicariously through the intricate rituals that ensue - but he'll never actually touch his skin.

...damn. This guy's getting very tragic, very fast.

TT: What does the guy have to do, Jake? TT: You want to wrestle. He's fucking game. Just a man, a machine, a secluded tropical island. Sounds like you died and went to fucking heaven, if you ask me. TT: Seriously, what does this simple, loyal brobot have to do to prove his worth to you?

Oh, you are down catastrophic, aren't you?

This... this is a disaster waiting to happen. None of this is going to go anything close to well.

TT: If the brobot's Novice setting makes you uneasy, I'm going to disable it remotely. TT: Done.

What, no!

Don't turn off the gay switch, dude! We can solve this!

Ok if he wants happy hunting you will GIVE him happy hunting. HAPPILY.

I absolutely love this expression - mostly because, despite their shared looks, you could never imagine John giving this energy.

This mood is completely unique to Jake English, and it's great.

[witherby]

Blood and Teeth

Jason Todd x Reader

You just wanted to get home before dark.

⚠️ Content warning: stalking, attempted mugging, gunshots, non-consensual feeding ⚠️

God, you'd been doing so well.

The job you work is daylight shift, you're always polite and cordial, you mind your own business, and, most importantly, you don't take anybody else's bullshit.

You go to work, you do your tasks, then you go home. You're always in before the sun sets, and if you aren't, you're cozying into the closest hotel you can find and parking your ass there for the night. Then it's rinse and repeat. Little to no deviation from the routine. It's fine.

You don't look for trouble, is the point.

But it sure did find you.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.

Gotham's resident vampire takes your blood.

[sashi-ya]

𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝗿 +18 figarland shanks x f! reader x figarland shamrock

🩸 tw: one piece manga #1137 spoilers! if you don't know who shamrock is, careful! 🩸 tw 2: mdni. nsfw. threesome. dp. oral. rough. man handling. insults. 🩸 a/n: hi, how you doing ~ I said I wanted to write it, and I did. Did I totally ignore the fact I need to pack my suitcase? yes. And did my slutty needs win? also yes. Please enjoy. Don't expect much characterization about Shamrock or a very accurate relationship with Shanks as we barely know him. also, I now asume the "shanks" on the left is not shanks but Shamrock since he went to see the Gorosei and we all thought it was Shanks. 🩸wc: 1.5k

“Who could have said it was that easy to bring you back home, brother!?” “Leave her alone, she has nothing to do with this”

In between two men that look so alike, and still so different, you find yourself. Restricted by soft, noble hands with ill intentions… you were maybe only a bait.

“It’s ok, Shanks. He didn’t hurt me!” you scream, trying to tame his instincts. You know that the red-haired pirate’s Haki can stop you from breathing -and destroy everything around as well-

“See? She is not lying. I have taken care of her, brother! You shouldn’t leave your little toys scattered around the ports of this world, or else someone else might stole them!” Shamrock Figarland mocks Shanks, yet he does in such refined way it ends up sounding like a truth you might already believe.

Shanks eyes fix on yours; perhaps he knows something you still don’t know. Perhaps, he understands his brother might be right. Leaving you on that port some months ago, crying, feeling used, was something he didn’t want, but ended up doing.

“I must admit you have a great taste, brother. She is such a sweet treat” Shamrock purrs, having your waist surrounded by one of his arms, while his free one caresses your cheek. “Aren’t you?” he continues.

The emperor can’t stop himself; even if Shanks is rarely bothered by immature and stupid actions that are meant to tease him, this time it did actually enraged him.

Gryphon’s edge ends on Shamrocks neck, with you in between two man exhorting dominance and testosterone. Shanks sun bathed skin, with salty traces from the sea… Shamrock’s one, pale, clean, soft, used to the finest things…

“Stop!” you whine, pressed in between their chests. “Stop, please! Stop fighting over me!”

Shamrock laughs; he doesn’t seem disturbed by the burning blade against his carotid, and in fact he keeps adding fuel to the fire.

“You are scaring the lady, brother… do you think she is gonna prefer your brutal attempt to save her instead of being treated like a queen?” he smirks, pulling you against him more and more.

Shanks puts down the sword, slowly. He needs his hand free now, to touch your face, to lure you back at him.

“Should I save you then? Or should I let you choose in between him and I?” he whispers, using his fingers to lift your chin up.

The difference is notorious even though both have the same purpose; possess you. Shank’s calloused hands, versus, soft, never used hands… how to pick just one? If both are irresistibly desirable?

“I don’t wanna choose; I love you, but you left me alone… I don’t love your brother, but he gave me what you took from me” you murmur, perhaps already regretting your decision.

“Ah… then you want us both, don’t you?” Shamrock says, moving your head to look at him instead of his brother.

“You want us both, (Name)?” Shanks asks, this time forcing you to turn your head to him.

Both have their hands on your mandible now; cris crossed, their thumbs close to the commissures of your lips, and their hips plastered against your body. Both hard, both erect. Both desperate to assert dominance, to devour you like beasts, like a hungry dragon.

Oh, sweet prey you must bleed to death in between their jaws. And you are totally fine with that… “I want you both; I want you Shanks. I want you Shamrock-sama”

The tips of his similar swords already cut your clothes, tearing them to pieces, leaving them like rags scattered around you.

Nudity, delicious and tempting, served on a silver platter to them. Shaking, you receive their fangs on each side of your neck, carving marks on your flesh.

Shamrock’s fingers tangle in between your hair, pulling your head back, making your breasts bounce.

The Figarland brothers’ lips abandon your collarbones to kiss your nipples; each attack one; sucking or biting. The difference on stimuli you loudly whine, with legs trembling and slowly failing you to keep standing up.

“Don’t fall, come here” Shamrock lifts you up from your waist, pretty much ripping you from Shanks’ mouth. You get seated on a rocky bed, somehow like a sacrifice altar. Elbaph castles all look the same.

Shanks grunts, watching his brother walk around the cold cot as you lay on your back. And, immediately after, he crawls in between your legs.

The pirate pleasantly finds out you are dripping wet, something he knows very well about you.

“Go first if you wish; as an act of kindness, I’ll let you have her first” the knight spits, acting as if he is the only one commanding. “I’m gonna have her warm mouth around me, anyway”

You gasp, as they both look with pure hatred into each other’s eyes. Yet, the moment breaks as you are given little pats and slaps to look to the side; as Shamrock just said, he wishes your mouth surrounding his sex first.

“Open, baby” he orders, softly. And you do, sticking your tongue out while you wait for his hardness to go deep into your throat.

His white pants don’t even need to go fully down; he is not even bothered to do it; his sex out will be enough. Drippy and delicious, it lands on your tongue. You receive it, pleased.

And as he begins to pump in and out your mouth, you begin moaning and choking.

“Such a slut…” Shanks whispers, looking at your oral spectacle, at the way the corner of your eyes fill with tears as you gag with his brother’s dick.

And, while he thought he cared about your body being used by someone so close but still so different from him, the idea of you being exactly used is what got him harder than ever.

“Now let’s see if your cunt can still handle me” the Yonkou grunts, dragging his palm up and down your sex, getting it coated with your juices. From your perineum to your clit, fast, enjoying the humid feeling of more and more wetness, forcing your legs open as they tend to close in response.

Shanks changes his palm for his two fingers, gladly anticipating the way your walls will clench around his dick when he finally buries deep inside you.

Shamrock laughs while using your face as a fuck hole; a tight grip on your hair to move your head, to make it bob, like you didn’t matter, like you were just made to please his “holly” dick.

“Keep your legs open, little slut” Shanks orders, going faster and harder, masturbating and getting your insides ready for his upcoming intrusion.

And just before you could burst, the redhaired stops the fingering. Maybe to punish you, or maybe just because he can’t wait no more. He needs to replace his fingers for his rock-hard shaft. It has started to hurt from the desire, from the desperation to fuck you.

That desperation, leads the pirate to slide his dick deep inside you without a warning, without any delicacy or love. Just pure madness, making your insides revolve and your body retort.

“Wow, easy brother…” Shamrocks grunts, forcing your mouth to keep surrounding his shaft. “You are gonna break her” he continues, laughing as if he wasn’t doing the same.

“Shut up” Shanks grunts back, going harder, using his arm around your waist to keep you from shaking, manhandling you for his own pleasure. “Keep fucking her, use her, it’s all she wants… slut”

In any other situation you would have feel yourself sad or insulted, but Shanks is right… all you want now is to be used, fucked by them…

“Then, let me fill her whole too” “Now you are asking for permission?” “Come on… you know me, I still have some codes”

Shanks scoffs; stopping his hips from punishing you with brutal rams, he lays flat on his back.

“Come here, ride me and get ready… slut” the pirate commands, allowing you to crawl and straddle your hips on his lap. You let your shaky body to fall on his sex, feeling all the length reaching deeper than ever. “Good girl…”

You start riding him, while Shamrock’s presence quickly surrounds you from behind. He kneels and pushes you from your back to fall a little on Shanks chest. “I’m sure your cunt can handle the Figarland pride just as well” Shamrock whispers on your ear, tickling your shoulder with his long hair, letting his tip slowly slide your already occupied entrance.

It takes barely seconds for both to be finally penetrating you, and also for them to start fucking you at unison. Your hips lost the war, and now it’s theirs that move.

“That’s good slut, that’s very good… you can take us both so well…” “Let us fill you up until you can’t keep it inside…”

You are just a toy, trembling, stretched, used, fucked by two of the strongest men in the world. And what a pleasure it is to know you took the right decision, why picking one if you can have both? ~

[earthykinous]

Heck yeah! I gotta make some asshole menaces to spice things up! None of my ocs are saints tho, I'll take the chance to ramble about their flaws.

Token the Golett

He is a good guy most of time, he has a strong sense of justice and I wouldn't be surprised if he gets loved, I mean, I love him, he is my son, my baby. BUT he has a problem, he is way too emotional! He is prone to get so angry to the point to get physical, leading him to pick fights when it's not necessary, in that aspect he is not that different from the next character I'll talk about.

Saribi the Monferno

From the start she is a problematic individual, her flaws aren't hard to list, going from a bad sport to aggressive, you wouldn't be wrong in assuming that she has some inferiority complex and her way to make herself feel strong and better is messing and intimidating those she considers weak and inferior, a cowardly thing to do, also, she tends to take everything personal, that leading her to aggressive responses, if she is not picking fights she is sitting somewhere being a grumpy ass.

Tobo the Impidimp

Another problematic individual, not for aggressive behavior but his shenanigans, it is always nice to have someone to light up the mood but Tobo can go from being a comedic relief to be an absolute jerk, his jokes can go from lighthearted to rude and mean, and he doesn't care, as long as it's fun to him, he doesn't mind to mess with anyone for his own amusement, one moment he can be on your side, the next he'll make sure to cause you a headache. What's wrong with this guy?

Blueskee the Swablu

Just like Saribi, her flaws are easy to spot, she is the pompous and condescending with a superiority complex type, she has a tendency to look down at everyone, and it doesn't help at all that she is actually pretty capable and smart. She is also a hypocrite to a fault, believe me, you don't want her as a friend, unless you go with the "I can fix her" mindset, objectively she is a reliable companion in adventures and she has her moments, but better not to get too involved.

Zia the Blitzle

She can be described as the cheerful type, always laughing and getting amusement with simple things, she would make a nice companion, her problem is that she talks way too much and she hardly listens, also she is too much of an airhead to take things seriously, she is always getting distracted and in consecuence distracting everyone else, her lack of seriousness is a thing that annoys the more responsible folks, she is a good individual to hang out, but she is not the most appropiate to work with or to ask for advices, she just won't listen and downplay stuff.

Kosei the Murkrow

Objectively he is one of the least problematic, he is a reliable folk and makes a good friend, his problem is that he gets too bossy when he senses that someone is not taking the matter seriously as it should be, it would be good if it wasn't that he takes EVERYTHING as a serious matter, he usually maintains his patience but sometimes he can lose it and scold his companions when he is not necessarily in a position to do so, generally a good companion but a bit annoying.

Hanzō the Honedge

He is a tab bit meanier than Kosei, Kosei is all about honestity, but Hanzō is just outright blunt and rude, he doesn't care if whatever he says can be perceived as hurtful, generally he is not the most aproachable type, he has the "the ends justify the means" mindset, althought he is willing to play according to the rules, if he is allowed to sacrifice a fellow he will do it with no hesitation, he has the brains but lacks of a heart.

Geryu the Tirtouga

He and Palith are the very least problematic, but even he has some darkness in him, well, he compared to everyone else may appear harmeless, his flaw is not about being mean or aggressive or apathetic, he can't keep secrets, a total gossip if you will, sooner or later he'll slip it out, anytime, mostly in the worst moments, from little and silly secrets to very personal and dark ones, he can't help himself, as much as he seems to be a clueless and silly guy, his tiny brain can pack up some serious secrets, that's it, until his little brain has no more room and has to take it out.

Palith the Lileep

You may be thinking "But she didn't do anything wrong!", she is the least character you would expect to do something mean, but just like Geryu, she has a flaw, she is very secretive, not out of malice, she never has bad intentions but she is very reluctant to speak her mind or share things even when she has to, she is also very dependent, sometimes leading her to be a liability.

I love making a problematic oc and then people get mad because they're problematic. Buddy someone's gotta make the problems for the story to happen, might as well make the Problem Maker interesting.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 3) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

Leila isn't trying to make it a whole thing, but that date with William? That man took her to this cute little restaurant tucked away in a corner of Paris where nobody would recognize him, ordered wine that probably cost more than her rent, and spent the whole night actually listening to her talk about her family back in Georgia. Not once did he make her feel like she was just some thick girl he was trying to get with – instead he treated her like she was actually interesting, like her stories about her mama's cooking adventures were the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard.

And when she found out he was half Cameroonian? Maybe Yolanda had a point about her having a type because these West African men were really out here testing her resolve. The way his accent got thicker when he talked about his family, the way he understood exactly what she meant about certain cultural things without her having to explain... it was nice. Really nice.

He didn't try to kiss her at the end of the night, even though she maybe (definitely) wanted him to. Just kissed her hand (which should be corny but somehow wasn't) and said he'd love to do it again soon. She'd gone to bed thinking maybe this could be something.

But then Sunday morning happened and somehow everything else felt small in comparison.

"Avant de commencer l'entraînement," ("Before we start training,") Didier's voice carried across the morning meeting room, "J'ai une annonce à faire." ("I have an announcement to make.")

The room went quiet – well, as quiet as a room full of French footballers can get, which means Marcus was still whispering something to Mike that had them both stifling laughs.

"En l'absence de Kylian," ("In Kylian's absence,") Didier continued, holding up the captain's armband, "nous avons besoin d'un nouveau capitaine." ("we need a new captain.") "Aurélien Tchouaméni."

The room erupted. Leila's never seen someone look so surprised and honored at the same time, like Aurélien couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Notre nouveau capitaine!" ("Our new captain!") Marcus shouted, starting an impromptu chant.

"MON CAPITAINE!" Jules was the first to reach him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Tu l'as mérité, mon frère." ("You earned it, my brother.")

"Finalement, quelqu'un va peut-être réussir à le faire sourire," ("Finally, someone might succeed in making him smile,") Cama teased, doing an exaggerated salute. "Oui, Capitaine!"

The whole team picked up the salute, turning it into this ridiculous ceremony that had even Didier trying not to laugh.

"Je suis honoré," ("I'm honored,") Aurélien finally managed to say, voice thick with emotion as Didier handed him the armband. "Je ne sais pas quoi dire..." ("I don't know what to say...")

"Dis-nous qu'on va défoncer Israël!" ("Tell us we're gonna destroy Israel!") Mike called out.

"Et qu'on peut manger la cuisine de Leila ce soir!" ("And that we can eat Leila's cooking tonight!") Marcus added, which started a whole new round of cheering.

Leila couldn't help but clap and cheer with them all – because this was huge. This was her boss becoming captain of the French national team at twenty-four. This was history.

***************************

The Bridge's studio setup is way more casual than Leila expected, all warm lights and comfy chairs arranged in a circle like it's just bros hanging out – which, technically, it is.

"Ma puce, mon café?" Aurélien calls out as she's setting up his notes, and she pretends not to notice how Sébastien raises his eyebrows at the pet name.

"You have two hands that work perfectly fine," she responds, but she's already heading to get his coffee because she knows exactly how he gets without his caffeine fix before filming. Two sugars, splash of cream – the man drinks coffee like he's trying to hide the fact it's coffee.

"Ah, c'est comme ça maintenant?" ("So that's how it is now?") Jules grins as he walks in, followed by Ousmane and Thomas.

"Elle fait la grève," ("She's on strike,") Ousmane adds with a knowing smile.

"Can y'all not?" Leila mutters, but of course they can't because they live for chaos.

"What’s going on?" Thomas asks, settling into his chair while the makeup artist touches up his face.

"Nothing–" Aurélien starts, but Jules is already diving in.

"She's dating Wilo."

"I am not–"

"Wilo?" Sébastien perks up like he's just been handed gossip gold. "As in Saliba? Mon dieu, this is better than what I planned for the show."

"Speaking of the show," Leila cuts in desperately, "maybe we should focus on your actual topics? Like the Champions League? The national team? Literally anything else?"

"But this is much more interesting," Sébastien grins. "Tell me, how does our new captain feel about his PA dating his teammate?"

"We are NOT discussing my dating life on YouTube," Leila says firmly, handing Aurélien his coffee with maybe a little more force than necessary. Some splashes onto his notes and she automatically reaches to wipe it, just as he does the same. Their hands brush and she pulls back like she's been burned.

"Ooh, as-tu vu ça?" Thomas stage-whispers to Ousmane. "La tension!"

"I'm about to show y'all some tension with these coffee cups," Leila threatens, making them laugh harder.

"Non, non," Ousmane agrees solemnly. "We'll just discuss how our captain gets jealous every time someone looks at his PA. Like yesterday at training when Giroud asked her about American football..."

"I was not jealous," Aurélien protests. "I was concerned about her getting distracted from her duties."

"Her duties of watching you run laps?" Jules asks innocently.

"Her duties of maintaining my schedule–"

"The schedule she has memorized?" Ousmane adds.

"Y'all really want me to poison your dinner tonight, huh?" Leila threatens, but they just laugh harder.

"See? This is why I need my own Leila," Sébastien says. "Where do I find a PA who cooks?"

"You don't," Aurélien's voice carries that edge again. "She's one of a kind."

The room goes quiet for a moment, and Leila busies herself with absolutely nothing important on her tablet.

"Okay!" The producer calls out. "Five minutes! Let's talk about the actual show content?"

"Oui, oui," Sébastien nods, suddenly professional. "First segment about then national team dynamics with our new captain, maybe some stuff about Jules and his fashion sense…."

"Maybe one about a certain PA?" Thomas asks hopefully.

"Including nothing about any PAs," Leila cuts in. "Unless y'all want to explain to Didier why half his starting lineup got food poisoning before a match."

"She wouldn't really..." Thomas starts.

"She absolutely would," Aurélien, Jules, and Ousmane answer in unison.

"Ma puce," Aurélien calls softly, and she looks up to find him watching her with that expression that makes her stomach do stupid things. "My notes?"

She hands them over, careful not to let their fingers brush. "Try not to start any international incidents this time."

"Une fois," ("One time,") he protests. "I say one thing about Premier League defenders..."

"You said they tackle like they learned football from YouTube tutorials," she reminds him.

"Was I wrong though?"

"That's not the point! Twitter was a nightmare for days."

"This is why you're my favorite," he says, and something in his voice makes her look up. "You keep me in line."

"Someone has to," she manages to say, stepping back as the cameras start rolling.

She watches from behind the scenes as they dive into football talk, the banter shifting into serious discussion about tactics and pressure and what it means to wear the captain's armband. Watches how Aurélien leads the conversation with natural grace, how he makes everyone feel heard while still keeping things moving.

"Et maintenant," ("And now,") Sébastien grins near the end, "Les fans veulent savoir - est notre nouveau capitaine single?" ("the fans want to know – is our new captain single")

Leila's head snaps up from her tablet.

"Non," Thomas jumps in before Aurélien can answer. "Son cœur appartient à son P–"

The water bottle that flies across the room and hits Thomas square in the chest is definitely not thrown by Leila.

"Cut!" The producer calls after they wrap the final segment, and Leila releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. They managed to get through the whole episode with only minimal chaos, though Thomas kept trying to sneak in comments about "certain PAs" until she started keeping a steady supply of projectiles within reach.

"That was fun," Sébastien grins, stretching as they all stand. "We should do this again. Maybe next time with Wilo as a guest?"

"Don't you have a dinner to prepare?" Jules asks quickly, shooting her a look that clearly says 'get out while you can'.

"Oui, about that dinner," Thomas perks up. "What exactly are you making?"

"If one more person asks me about dinner," Leila cuts in, gathering her things, "I'm making y'all eat protein shakes instead."

"You wouldn't," Ousmane gasps dramatically.

"Try me."

"Ma puce," Aurélien's voice is softer now that the cameras are off. "Need a ride to the store?"

And that's... new. He hasn't offered to drive her anywhere since The Comment™️.

"I can take her," Jules offers with fake innocence. "Since you probably have captain duties and all."

"I can drive my PA to the store."

"Your PA?" Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Just okay PA or...?"

The second water bottle that hits him is definitely from Aurélien this time.

"I'll wait in the car," he tells her, ignoring the knowing looks from everyone else.

As soon as he's out of earshot, the chaos erupts:

"Girl, if you don't get in that car–" Ousmane starts.

"But what about Wilo?" Thomas asks.

"Capitaine is clearly in his feelings–" Sébastien adds.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Jules announces. "Let her breathe."

Leila takes a deep breath, gathering her professional dignity around her like armor. "I have a dinner to cook for twenty something grown men who act like children. I don't have time for... whatever this is."

"This," Sébastien gestures vaguely, "is prime content. The captain and his PA?"

"There is no 'captain and his PA'," she insists. "There's just a PA who's about to feed half of the French Football Federation because she makes poor life choices."

"Speaking of poor life choices," Jules grins, "your man's waiting."

"He's not my–"

A horn honks outside. Twice.

"La patience de cet homme," Thomas laughs. "Vraiment incroyable."

"I hate all of you," Leila announces, heading for the door.

"But you'll still feed us?" Ousmane calls after her.

She doesn't dignify that with a response.

The car ride is... weird. Not tense exactly, but full of something she can't name. Aurélien keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, then closing it again. She pretends to be very interested in her grocery list.

Two hours and way too many bags later (because apparently she's feeding an army now), they're back at Clairefontaine and the kitchen is already buzzing with energy and she directs her very enthusiastic sous chefs – Michael and Cama, plus some actual kitchen staff who keep looking at her like she's either genius or crazy for attempting this.

"This is not 'season to taste'," she swats Cama's hand away from the seasoning. "This is 'season to kill'."

"But it needs more–"

"If you say 'spice' I'm demoting you to dish duty."

The thing about cooking while Chief Keef is blasting through Clairefontaine's halls is that it really sets a specific type of mood. Leila can hear Marcus and Mike singing "Don't Like" at the top of their lungs, probably driving everyone crazy, but she's too focused on making sure Cama doesn't turn her greens into chemical warfare.

Michael, who’s undoubtedly the sous chef MVP, is quietly following her instructions to the letter. There's something zen about the way he moves through the kitchen, precise and focused like he's preparing for a match instead of helping prep chicken.

"You're good at this," she tells him, and his answering smile is small but genuine.

"My grandmother," he says simply. "She taught me that cooking is meditation."

"YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIDN'T HAVE TO COOK FOR HANGRY FOOTBALLERS!" Marcus's voice carries through the door, followed by the opening beats of "Love Sosa."

"The meditation is about to turn into medication if they don't calm down," Leila mutters, but Michael just laughs softly.

The kitchen staff has gone from skeptical to impressed, watching her coordinate this whole production like she's done it her whole life. Which, honestly, she has – just usually for family reunions, not professional athletes who probably cost more than her entire hometown.

"It's almost ready?" Mike pokes his head in, looking like a hopeful puppy. "Because we're dying out here."

"You've eaten today," she points out. "Multiple times."

"But not your cooking," Marcus appears behind him. "And now the whole place smells like heaven and we're suffering."

"You're not suffering," she rolls her eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"I AM suffering," Mike insists. "Look at me, I'm wasting away."

"You literally had lunch two hours ago."

"That was before we could smell the mac and cheese," Marcus argues. "Now we're starving."

She's about to throw something at them when Michael quietly says, "The chicken's ready for the second batch."

"See?" She points at Michael. "This is why he's my favorite. He actually helps instead of just complaining."

"Favorites?" Marcus clutches his chest. "That's cold, Lei. Ice cold."

"You know what else is getting cold? This food, if y'all don't let me cook in peace."

"But–"

"OUT!"

They retreat, but not before Mike tries one last time to steal a piece of chicken. She catches him with her wooden spoon – years of defending food from hungry cousins have honed her reflexes.

"The quiet ones always got jokes," Cama laughs as Mike runs away clutching his hand dramatically, then yelps when she catches him trying to sneak a taste of the greens. "How do you even see everything?"

"I have eyes in the back of my head," she says seriously. "My mama installed them when I started cooking."

"They're getting restless," Michael notes as another song starts shaking the walls. She's pretty sure she can hear Jules trying to teach Marcus and Mike the words, which is... a choice.

"Let them be restless," she says, putting the finishing touches on the mac and cheese (extra cheese on top because she ain't playing). "Good food takes time."

The kitchen settles into a rhythm after that, just the sounds of cooking and the distant bass of whatever song Marcus and Mike have moved onto now. Even Cama calms down enough to actually be helpful, following her instructions with only minimal attempts at creative seasoning.

"This is nice," Michael says after a while, quiet enough that only she can hear. "Reminds me of home."

"Yeah," she smiles, understanding exactly what he means. There's something about cooking with people who get it, who understand that food is more than just fuel. It's love, it's family, it's...

"FANCULO!"

The Italian curse makes them all jump as Cama nearly drops an entire tray of cornbread.

"What happened?" Leila spins around, heart racing.

"The cornbread!" he looks devastated. "I almost... it almost..."

"But you didn't," she soothes, trying not to laugh at how genuinely distressed he looks. "The cornbread is safe."

"I would've had to leave France," he says seriously. "Change my name. Start a new life."

"Because of cornbread?"

"Have you met my teammates? They would never let me live it down."

He's not wrong. She can already imagine the chaos if anything happened to the cornbread. These grown men really out here ready to riot over some baked goods.

"Speaking of teammates," Michael says casually, too casually, "our captain's been pacing outside the door for the last ten minutes."

"He what?" She turns so fast she almost knocks over the hot sauce.

"Mhm," Michael hums, that knowing look back in his eyes. "Every time someone walks by he pretends he's on his phone."

"That's..." she doesn't even know how to finish that sentence.

"Interesting?" Cama suggests with a grin.

"Complicated," she corrects. "Now focus on not dropping any more cornbread."

"I didn't drop it!" Cama whined.

"Almost dropped it."

"So," Michael says after a moment, quiet enough that only she can hear, "we're really not going to talk about it?"

"About what?"

His knowing look rivals Jules', but he just goes back to prepping chicken.

"Nothing," he says. "Just thinking our new captain might need to work on his game off the field too."

She chooses to ignore that, focusing instead on finishing up everything. The food looks good – really good. Soul food isn't meant to be fancy, but there's something beautiful about it anyway. Something honest.

"Time to feed the children," she announces, and both Michael and Cama snort at her description of their teammates.

"They're going to lose their minds," Cama predicts as they start plating everything.

He's not wrong. She can already hear the excitement building in the cafeteria, the mix of French and English and various other languages all carrying the same message: finally.

"Ready?" Michael asks as they prepare to head out.

She looks at their work – all this food made with love and patience (and only minimal threats of violence).

"Ready."

The whole team is there, plus coaching staff, plus what feels like half the FFF. They've pushed tables together family-style, and someone (probably Marcus) starts a chant of "Speech! Speech!" that gets picked up by everyone else.

"Y'all are doing too much," she laughs, but Michael gently pushes her forward.

"I'll translate," he says, and she sends up a prayer of thanks for this man's whole existence.

"Okay, okay," she holds up her hands and the room quiets down. "Listen. Where I'm from, food is how we show love. It's how we celebrate victories and comfort each other through losses. It's how we welcome family – blood or chosen."

Michael translates as she speaks, his French making her simple words sound almost poetic.

"Today we're celebrating our new captain," she continues, and the cheers that go up nearly shake the windows. Aurélien, sitting at the center of the longest table, ducks his head but she catches his smile. "And tomorrow we're gonna beat Israel's whole ass."

The roar that goes up at that almost drowns out Michael's slightly more diplomatic translation.

"Everything is Halal," she adds, "and yes, there's dessert – banana pudding with vanilla ice cream because I'm not a monster."

She nods to the servers who start bringing out the dishes, and the way these elite athletes' eyes light up at the sight of proper soul food would be funny if it wasn't so endearing.

"Bon appétit, mes amis," she finishes, and immediately gets swept up in a group hug from Marcus and Mike that nearly takes her off her feet.

"An angel," Marcus declares as he squeezes her. "A motherfucking angel."

The room fills with the sound of comfortable chaos that reminds her of Sunday dinners back home. She catches William's eye across the room and he gives her a warm smile that makes her cheeks warm.

But then she feels it – that familiar weight of attention – and finds Aurélien watching her with an expression that makes her breath catch. He's looking like something out of her most inappropriate dreams, and...

"Your plate," Michael appears at her elbow with food he's made up for her. "Can't let the chef go hungry."

She tears her eyes away from Aurélien, forcing herself to focus on her food and not on how their new captain keeps glancing her way like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

For the first few minutes, the cafeteria vibrates of pure, unadulterated appreciation – the kind that makes a cook's heart sing. These professional athletes, who probably have personal chefs on speed dial, are absolutely demolishing their plates. Bradley's over there drowning his chicken in hot sauce like he's trying to prove something, while others are just making these little sounds of joy between bites.

"I'm going to marry you," Brice announces suddenly through a mouthful of mac and cheese, breaking the reverent silence like a hammer through stained glass.

The table erupts in hoots and hollers, and Leila definitely doesn't miss how Aurélien's fork freezes halfway to his mouth.

"It's a joke," Brice adds quickly, though his eyes are twinkling. "But this food? Magnifique."

"You can't just propose like that," Khephren shakes his head with mock solemnity. "There's a process. Parents first."

"Exactly," Ousmane nods with all the wisdom of someone who's been in this position before. "Gotta do it properly."

"And don't forget the bride price," Ibou adds, which sets off a wave of groans like he's just announced extra training.

"They don't do that in America, bro," someone calls out, which starts a whole debate about marriage customs in different countries.

"Speaking of America," Mike cuts through the chaos with surprising grace, "you're from Georgia, right?" At Leila's nod, he continues, "Do you know where your peoples from? Like which country in the motherland?"

"You can't just ask her that," Jules protests.

"Why not?" Mike shrugs, all innocence. "I'm just curious."

"Slavery happened," Michael says quietly, taking a casual sip of water.

"I know that happened," Mike responds, "but you know some Black people in the US do one of those ancestry.com tests. You know, to find their roots."

"I did one," Leila interjects, and suddenly she has the undivided attention of some of the most expensive athletes in Europe, all of them looking at her like she's about to reveal the secret to scoring hat-tricks.

"And?" Marcus prompts, gesturing with a chicken wing that probably violates several of their nutritionist's rules.

"You guys really want to know?"

The chorus of "yes" comes in various accents and volumes, but the enthusiasm is unanimous, and they're ready to put their food on pause – and considering how they've been eating, that's saying something.

Laughing, she pulls up her phone, scrolling through her gallery for that screenshot from her college days. "Okay, this is from my Cultural History & Heritage class, so... I'm 65% Ghanaian..."

The applause that breaks out would make you think someone just scored a World Cup winner. Ousmane's practically glowing with vindication.

"I knew you were Ghanaian! You're feisty," he declares.

"And that forehead," Ibou adds, making her touch it self-consciously.

"What's wrong with my forehead?"

"You got that West African forehead," Marcus explains through a grin. "It's still cute though!" he adds quickly, like he's just remembered his mama raised him right.

She's doing her best impression of a confused goldfish when she continues, "10% Western Bantu Peoples, 14% Beninese." Her eyes flick to Jules, who's wearing the kind of smile that suggests he's already plotting something.

"You and JK are cousins!" Cama announces with the excitement of someone connecting invisible dots. "The family reunion's gonna be lit!"

"9% French Guiana," she pushes on, "8% English, and the rest is Dutch."

The reaction to the English and Dutch parts hits like they've just heard she's part alien. Eyebrows shooting up across the table like they're trying to escape.

"Slavery," Michael says again, and the word lands like a weight, heavy with centuries of history.

"Right, right," comes the collective murmur, before Marcus breaks the moment by declaring he needs thirds "to honor all those ancestors."

"More cornbread, ma puce?"

She turns to find Aurélien holding out the basket, something soft in his expression that makes her heart do stupid things.

"I'm good," she manages to say.

"You sure? You've barely eaten."

"Just happy everyone else is enjoying it."

His response is cut off by Marcus starting a debate about whether Ghana or Benin has better jollof rice, and suddenly the whole table is taking sides in what's apparently a long-standing West African rivalry.

"Ghana obviously has the better jollof," she says quietly, just to watch Aurélien's eyes narrow in betrayal.

"Et tu, ma puce?" He shakes his head like she's personally wounded him. "Non, non. Cameroon's jollof is superior. This is just facts."

"Please," Ousmane cuts in with the confidence of someone about to start a war, "Nigerian jollof clears both. This isn't even a debate."

"Bullshit," Marcus declares. "Ghana invented jollof. You can't beat the original."

"Being first doesn't mean being best," Aurélien argues, and suddenly it's like they're discussing tactical formations instead of rice. "Cameroonians perfected it."

"The delusion," Ousmane sighs dramatically. "This is why you need a Nigerian wife. To show you what real jollof tastes like."

Leila tries not to think too hard about why that comment makes something twist in her chest, but then Aurélien's saying, "I don't need a Nigerian wife when I have–" before cutting himself off abruptly.

The table goes quiet enough to hear a fork drop.

"When you have what?" Jules prompts teasingly.

"When I have... more important things to focus on," Aurélien finishes lamely. "Like tomorrow's match."

"Mhm," Michael hums into his water glass, sharing a look with Jules that speaks volumes.

The conversation shifts to safer topics after that, but Leila can't quite shake the weight of that unfinished sentence. Can't quite ignore how Aurélien keeps sneaking glances at her like he's trying to read something written in a language he doesn't understand, but that's a problem for another day.

Match day arrives bright and crisp, the kind of weather that makes footballers' eyes light up. The usual pre-match routines take on extra weight today – this isn't just any game, it's Aurélien's first as captain, and you can feel it in the air at breakfast. Even Marcus and Mike are quieter than usual, energy focused instead of scattered.

But before they can get to the match, there's the small matter of getting to Budapest. The morning after her soul food extravaganza has these grown men acting like they've discovered the secret to eternal happiness.

"I swear," Marcus is saying as they wait in the private terminal, "I haven't slept that good since I was in the womb."

"That's called the itis," Leila explains, watching their confused faces with amusement. "When good food puts you in a food coma? Yeah that’s what it is."

"Whatever it was, we need it before every match," Mike declares, and several others nod enthusiastically.

"That's too much to ask," Aurélien cuts in, that protective edge creeping into his voice.

"I'll help cook again!" Cama volunteers immediately.

"NO!" comes the unanimous response, making him pout.

"After what you tried to do to those greens?" Michael adds quietly. "I think not."

The conversation halts as they board their plane, and Leila thought she knew what luxury was, but this private Airbus is on another level. It's all cream leather and polished wood, with business class seats that look more like individual living rooms. Each pod has its own entertainment system and enough space to lie flat, making her regular flight experiences look like public transit.

"First time on the team plane?" William's voice is warm as he slides into the seat next to her, flashing that smile that still makes her stomach flip.

"That obvious?"

"You're looking around like you just discovered Narnia."

She catches Aurélien watching them from across the aisle, his jaw doing that thing it does when he's thinking too hard.

"You should come to London after the break," William continues smoothly, either not noticing or choosing to ignore their captain's attention, "There's this amazing Nigerian restaurant I want to show you."

"Oh?" she tries for casual. "Just for the food?"

His smile turns soft. "Among other things."

Someone – definitely Jules – clears their throat loudly, and Leila suddenly finds the safety card fascinating.

"The restaurant's near Emirates," William adds. "I could show you around, catch a match..."

"You trying to convert her to Arsenal?" Bradley calls from behind them. "Nah, she needs to see a PSG match instead."

"Please," Mike scoffs. "Milan is clearly superior."

And just like that, they're all arguing about their clubs like they weren't just praising her cooking five minutes ago.

"Think about it?" William asks quietly while the others debate club merits.

She's about to answer when Aurélien's voice cuts through: "Leila, I need you to review the post-match schedules."

"Now? We just took off."

"Oui. Now."

William just shakes his head but his smile is knowing. "We'll talk later?"

She nods, gathering her tablet and trying not to analyze why their captain suddenly needs to review schedules he definitely already knows by heart.

**********************

The Puskás Aréna is something else entirely when they arrive – all modern glass and steel but somehow still intimidating as hell. Leila's back in her element, running through pre-match routines she's got down to a science by now. Water bottles positioned just so (because Michael swears the angle affects his performance), extra shin guards for Marcus (who she's convinced loses them on purpose at this point just to watch her scramble), and that specific pre-wrap that Mike treats like it's made of gold.

Aurélien's different today – you can see it in how he carries himself, that armband not just a piece of fabric but a crown. He moves through the locker room like he's been doing this his whole life, stopping at each player with exactly what they need: a quiet word with Jules, some complicated handshake with Cama that looks more like interpretive dance, a firm nod to William that carries weight she can't quite read.

The match itself? Pure poetry. Whatever that soul food did to them, it's working overtime because they're moving like they've got cheat codes enabled. Aurélien's commanding the midfield like he was born to it, every tackle clean enough to eat off of, every pass finding feet like he's got GPS in his boots.

Six minutes in and Cama's already making statements, finding the back of the net with the kind of finish that makes you question physics. Before Israel can even process what hit them, Nkunku's doubling the lead in the 26th minute, celebration looking suspiciously like a TikTok dance she's definitely seen Marcus teaching everyone.

Israel manages to pull one back, but these boys aren't about to let their captain's first match be anything less than spectacular. The last five minutes turn into a highlight reel – a goal in the 87th with a strike that probably broke the sound barrier, and then Bradley putting the final nail in the coffin just two minutes later, making it 4-1 with the kind of casual elegance that shouldn't be legal.

The final whistle just confirms what everyone already knew – this French team, with their new captain and apparently their new pre-match soul food ritual, is something special.

4-1. Four different scorers. And one very proud PA trying not to look too obvious about it.

*******************************

The rowdy chaos outside her hotel room tells Leila exactly what's about to go down. Post-match celebration means clubs, means someone's definitely about to drop stupid money on bottles, means Marcus will absolutely end up shirtless at some point, and means these boys are headed out to dance a little and find someone who's down to fuck. Instagram models will materialize like they've got professional athlete radar, the elevators about to get more action than a fashion week runway.

Her mind cannot handle the aura Aurélien has right now especially after winning his first match as captain; she knew what type time he was on and it wasn't going to be anything saintly. He loves a win more than anything and the only other thing that can top that is going out with the boys and bedding some girl.

Thank goodness she never heard him getting busy - that may scar her to the point of needing therapy but she read some things on gossip blogs (she didn't know if it was true or false) and the way they talked about him having humongous dick energy not to mention the stamina—

A knock on her hotel room door pulled her out of her thoughts and she hurriedly fixed her bonnet and glasses before looking at the peep hole and to her surprise it was Jules.

The hell?

"I know you know it's me," he says and Leila let out a groan silently debating on whether or not she should let him in. He knocked again, this time harder.

"Okay, relax." She said then opened the door. Jules eyes scanned over her body.

"That's how you going to the club, Leila? A bonnet and muumuu?"

And she squinted at him like he had three heads. "Huh?"

"You're coming to the club."

"I most certainly am not," she says, already trying to close the door, but Jules is faster, wedging his foot in the way.

"You really gonna let Wilo go to the club without supervision?" he asks with that smirk that means trouble. "When there's gonna be all those Hungarian baddies there?"

"Wilo is a grown man who can do whatever he wants," she says, but something must show in her face because Jules' grin gets wider.

"Mhm. And I'm sure Auré has nothing to do with you hiding in your room?"

"I'm not hiding, I'm being professional."

"Professional?" Jules actually laughs. "Ma puce, you're our age. You think the FFF expects you to sit in your room in a bonnet while we celebrate?"

"The FFF expects me to—"

"To what? Pretend you're not twenty-four? Come on. Get dressed. The car leaves in twenty."

"Jules—"

"Either you come willingly or I'm sending Marcus and Mike to get you. Your choice."

The threat of those two showing up at her door is enough to make her pause. They'd probably live-stream the whole thing, and then she'd have to explain to her mama why she's trending on French Twitter.

"Fine," she sighs. "But I'm not staying long."

"Sure," Jules says in a tone that suggests he doesn't believe her at all. "Wear that black dress you brought."

She narrows her eyes. "How do you know what's in my suitcase?"

"I don't. But you're a Black woman on a work trip – you definitely packed a just-in-case outfit."

"I hate that you know that."

His grin is entirely too satisfied. "Twenty minutes. And Lei?" He pauses at the door. "Aren't you curious what your captain's going to say when he sees you in something other than work clothes?"

Before she can throw something at him, he's gone, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

She looks at her reflection in the hotel mirror, bonnet and all, and lets out a deep sigh.

"Lord," she mutters, already reaching for her suitcase, "give me strength."

Because Jules isn't wrong – she definitely packed that black dress. Just in case.

The black halterneck dress has been sitting in her suitcase like it's been waiting for this moment, all dangerous intentions and "maybe I will act up tonight" energy. She holds it up, already questioning herself because this hem is definitely living its best thigh-high life. But then again, if she's about to get dragged to a club by a bunch of football players, she might as well look like she meant to be there.

The over-the-knee boots are her compromise with herself – wedge heels because she refuses to die tonight trying to channel her inner Instagram baddie in stilettos. Her silk press is still hanging on by a prayer and whatever magic Theresa put in that heat protectant, so at least that's one less thing to worry about.

One last glance in the mirror has her reaching for her silver metallic Diesel mini purse (her one designer splurge that she justified as a "work expense" because technically she does need to look put together around these millionaires).

A knock at the door has her rolling her eyes. "It has not been twenty minutes—" she starts, yanking it open, ready to tell Jules exactly where he can put his timeline.

Except it's not Jules.

William's standing there looking like every bad decision she's ever wanted to make, already dressed for the club in a fitted black Amiri shirt that's doing criminal things to his shoulders.

"Oh," she manages, suddenly very aware that this dress is doing exactly what it was designed to do. William's eyes do a slow sweep from her boots all the way up, and listen – she might need to text Theresa a thank you for this silk press because the way he's looking at her right now?

"Jules said you needed an escort to the club," he says, voice a little rougher than usual. "But I'm thinking maybe we should skip it."

She tries to remember how to form words like a professional. "Skip it?"

"There's this rooftop bar..." he starts, then stops as voices carry down the hallway – she catches Aurélien's distinct tone among them and something in William's expression shifts.

"The rooftop bar?" she prompts, pretending she doesn't hear the footsteps getting closer.

William steps closer, just inside her doorway. "Much quieter than the club. Better view. And we could actually..." he pauses as the voices get louder, "talk."

The way he says 'talk' definitely isn't suggesting conversation about the weather.

But before she can respond, another voice cuts through:

"Ma pu—" Aurélien's voice cuts off abruptly, and Leila watches something complicated pass across his face as he takes in the scene – William in her doorway, her in this dress that's definitely not PA-appropriate, the energy crackling between them that definitely isn't professional.

He's already dressed for the club too, looking like he stepped out of a GQ spread in all black everything, that captain's confidence still radiating off him. For a moment, nobody moves.

"Capitaine," William says easily, not moving from his spot. "We were just discussing alternate plans for tonight."

"Alternate plans?" Jules appears behind Aurélien, taking in the situation with raised eyebrows. "Non, non. The team celebrates together. You know this."

"I was thinking—" William starts, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"The van's leaving. Now." There's something in his voice that doesn't invite argument. "Both of you."

Leila catches Jules hiding a smile behind his hand, and she really might have to fight him later.

"After you," William says to her, finally stepping back, but his hand finds her lower back as they head toward the elevator and she swears she hears something that sounds suspiciously like a growl from behind them.

The rented van's already bumping with French trap music when she climbs in, Marcus and Mike immediately letting out wolf whistles that would absolutely get them slapped by their mamas.

"OH? Okay Lei! I see how you coming tonight!" Cama's eyes go wide. "This is not PA behavior!"

"Nah for real though," Marcus grins, "who told you to show up looking this good? We trying to play it cool tonight!"

"Cool?" Mike winks at her. "Ain't nothing cool about this. Now we know why Jules was so pressed about you coming out."

Bradley's already pouring shots in the back, passing them around like they didn't just play 90 minutes of professional football. "To the baddest in the van!"

"Hold up though," Khephren raises his glass with a smirk. "You really just been hiding all this under them work clothes? That's foul, Lei."

William's hand is still somehow finding reasons to brush against her knee, while Aurélien's watching the whole scene from the front like he's plotting multiple homicides. The bass is hitting hard enough to cover whatever Jules is saying to him, but judging by their captain's face, it's nothing he wants to hear.

"Another round?" Bradley calls out as Gazo's latest hit has everyone trying to rap along.

"No, I’m good. Thanks," she says.

The club is exactly what you'd expect when rolling with the French national team – all VIP treatment and bottle girls already lined up like they got a notification that fine athletes were incoming. Security parts the crowd, leading them straight to the section.

"You good?" William asks as she slides into the booth next to him, his hand finding that spot on her lower back again. Before she can answer, Marcus is already ordering bottles like he's trying to buy out the whole club.

"Dom, Clase Azul, and whatever our PA wants because she blessed us with that soul food!" he shouts over the music.

"And that dress," Mike adds, earning himself a look from Aurélien that could freeze hell.

The first bottle of Dom arrives with sparklers because of course it does – these men don't know how to do anything lowkey. Bradley's already got his phone out, documenting everything for his Close Friends story while Cama starts pouring shots like it's his job.

"To our captain!" Someone calls out, and more bottles appear, more sparklers, more everything.

"And to our angel," Khephren adds with a wink in her direction. "Feeding us like kings!"

She catches Aurélien's expression in the strobe lights, something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watches William lean in to whisper something in her ear. The music's too loud to hear what Jules says to him, but whatever it is makes their captain knock back his entire drink in one go.

"Dance with me," William says as Rema's voice fills the club, and Leila immediately starts shaking her head, pushing her glasses up her nose like they'll shield her from his request.

"Oh no, I don't—"

But then he does that thing with his tongue, running it across his lips in a way that should be illegal, and her brain short-circuits for a second.

"Come on," he grins, already standing and holding out his hand. "One dance."

Before she can protest again, he's leading her down from their VIP section to where the dance floor is pulsing with Afrobeats. She catches Aurélien's expression as they pass – something dangerous flickering in his eyes as he watches William's hand on her waist.

"I really don't dance," she tries one last time, but William's already pulling her closer, moving to the beat like he was born doing this.

"Everyone dances to Afrobeats," he says in her ear, his accent wrapping around the words. "Just feel it."

And maybe it's the shots, or maybe it's the way his hands feel on her hips, but she finds herself starting to move. The rhythm catches her, William's smile grows wider, and suddenly she remembers – she does know how to dance. She just usually doesn't do it in front of half the French national team.

But tonight? Tonight feels different.

The thing about dancing with a professional athlete is that they know exactly how to move. William's got this natural rhythm that makes it easy to follow his lead, his hands steady on her hips as she finds her groove. The beat switches to "Calm Down" and suddenly they're moving like they've been dancing together forever.

"Look who can dance after all," he murmurs in her ear, pulling her a little closer as she rolls her hips. The shots are definitely helping with her confidence, but it's the way he's looking at her that's really doing it – like she's the only girl in this packed club.

She catches glimpses of the other boys joining the dance floor – Marcus already shirtless (called it), Mike with some girl who looks like she models for Fashion Nova, Cama doing some complicated dance routine that has everyone making space. But she keeps feeling that weight of attention from above, knows without looking that Aurélien's watching every move, every time William's hands slide a little lower, every time she moves a little closer.

"You've been holding out on us," he says against her ear. "All this time in training and we never knew you could move like this."

A particularly bold turn has her back pressed fully against him, and oh – apparently footballers really do have incredible stamina because that's definitely not his phone in his pocket. His thumb traces her jawline, tilting her face up to his, and the look in his eyes makes her mouth go dry.

"I think," he says, voice rough in a way that sends heat straight through her, "we should get out of here."

The reasonable part of her brain, the part that remembers she's technically working, tries to speak up. But then his lips brush her ear and that part of her brain short circuits completely.

"I've got a suite," he continues. "Much quieter than here. Better view of the city."

She knows what he's really saying. Knows exactly what that invitation means. Knows that tomorrow she'll either have the best story for Yolanda or the biggest regret of her career.

From somewhere behind them, she hears Mike shout something that sounds suspiciously like "GET IT, LEI!" She's going to have to fight him later.

William's still waiting for an answer, his body moving against hers in a way that's making thinking very difficult. His hand slides up her spine, leaving fire in its wake, and really – what's the worst that could happen?

Besides losing her job, her dignity, and whatever's left of her heart that isn't already tied up in another footballer who thinks she's just okay.

The music shifts to something slower, something that has William pulling her even closer, and she's about to say yes to everything he's suggesting when someone bumps them hard enough to break their bubble.

"Désolé," Aurélien's voice cuts through the music as he moves past them toward the bar, not sounding sorry at all. Bradley is right behind him, shooting them an apologetic look that seems more amused than anything.

But William's not letting this moment slip. His fingers turned her attention back to him like their captain didn't just try to body check them on the dance floor. "So? That view I mentioned..."

Maybe it's the shots. Maybe it's the way he's looking at her. Maybe it's how Aurélien didn't even acknowledge her when he passed. Maybe it's all of it, mixing with the bass and the heat and the way William's fingers are drawing promises on her skin.

"Show me," she says, and his smile turns dangerous in the best way.

He leads her through the crowd, hand firm on her lower back. They pass the VIP section where Mike lets out another wolf whistle (she's definitely fighting him tomorrow), where Marcus is too busy with his own conquest to notice, where Cama's eyes go wide before he bumps Jules' shoulder with a knowing look.

She catches one last glimpse of Aurélien at the bar as they head for the exit, watches him knock back what looks like straight whiskey while Bradley says something in his ear. His eyes meet hers for just a moment, dark and intense and full of something she can't name.

But then William's guiding her toward the door, and she decides that's tomorrow's problem.

Tonight belongs to different choices.

**************************

The Uber ride is charged with enough electricity to power all of Budapest. William's got his hand on her thigh, thumb tracing circles that are making her brain malfunction, and listen – she might need to text God an apology real quick because the thoughts she's having right now are absolutely not church-appropriate.

He's definitely feeling those shots, all loose limbs and heated looks, but she's right there with him – everything's got that soft-focus feeling that makes bad decisions feel like destiny. The way he's looking at her like she's something to be devoured is doing things to her heart rate that can't be healthy.

But underneath all that liquid courage, panic is starting to set in. Because this man definitely thinks he's about to get the kind of experience his usual conquests provide, and she's over here having never gone past first base. Her virgin self is really about to try to play in the Champions League with no practice, and that's not even counting the fact that this man is built like he was carved from marble.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs, leaning in close enough that she can smell his cologne mixed with expensive liquor. His lips brush her ear and – oh. OH. Maybe this is how she dies. At least it's a good way to go.

The hotel appears way too quickly and not quick enough. William helps her out of the car like the gentleman he is, but his eyes are pure sin as they head for the elevator.

Her heart's doing double-time now, a mix of want and worry that has her pressing her thighs together. Because she wants this – wants him – but also? She's seen the gossip blogs. She knows what these football players are working with. And her inexperienced self is really about to—

The elevator doors close and William presses the button for his floor, and suddenly everything feels very, very real.

Lord help her.

It took no time before William got her pressed against the mirrored wall, one hand braced beside her head while the other plays with the ends of her hair. They haven't even kissed yet but the anticipation is thick enough to cut.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, eyes tracking over her face like he's memorizing it. "You know that?"

The elevator dings at his floor and suddenly they're playing this game of trying to walk down the hallway while staying as close as possible. His key card takes three tries to work because he's too busy pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth that's trying not to smile too wide.

Then they're through his door and everything shifts. His hands find her waist, pulling her close as he backs her against the door. The first press of his lips against hers is gentle, questioning, like he's asking permission yet when she sighs into it, fingers curling into his shirt, gentle goes out the window.

Listen. LISTEN. William Saliba can KISS. She's got her back against his hotel room door, his hands cupping her face like she's precious while simultaneously trying to steal her soul through her mouth. Everything's hazy with want and Clase Azul when his lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her knees weak. One of his hands slides down to her hip, thumb finding skin where her dress has ridden up, and the noise she makes should be embarrassing but he groans in response like she's driving him crazy.

His mouth is doing ungodly things to her neck, the kind of things that make her understand why people write songs about moments like this, when reality crashes back in.

"Wait," she manages to breathe out. "I should... I need to tell you something."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and intense in a way that makes her forget how to breathe. His thumb traces her bottom lip and for a moment she forgets what she was going to say.

"What's wrong?" His voice is rough in a way that does things to her insides, accent thicker than usual.

They've somehow migrated from the door to the middle of his suite, the city lights of Budapest twinkling behind them through floor-to-ceiling windows. His hands are still on her waist, thumbs drawing circles on her hips that make it hard to think straight.

"I've never..." she starts, then stops, trying to find the words while his mouth is doing devastating things to her collarbone. "I haven't..."

He pulls back again, and this time understanding dawns on his face slowly, his eyes widening. One hand comes up to cup her cheek, and she leans into it despite herself.

"Wait. You're...?"

She nods, warmth rushing to her cheeks that has nothing to do with his kisses or the shots still buzzing through her system.

"But you're twenty-four," he says like he's trying to solve a complicated math problem. His other hand is still on her waist, thumb still moving in those maddening circles. "And you look like... I mean, how has nobody...?"

She shrugs, suddenly finding his gold chain very interesting. "Just never happened. Never felt right with anyone."

His fingers catch her chin, tilting her face back up to his. The heat in his eyes has been replaced by something softer, something that makes her heart do different kinds of flips.

"We can wait," he says, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Until you're ready. No pressure."

"You sure?"

His answering kiss is gentle now, all sweet promise instead of consuming fire. "Some things are worth waiting for."

They end up on his couch, trading lazy kisses that slowly build and ebb like waves. His hands stay respectfully above clothes even when hers wander a bit (because listen, those footballer abs are a gift and she's only human). They talk about nothing and everything – about growing up in France, about her friends in Georgia, about how nervous she was her first day as a PA.

It's nice. More than nice. The kind of nice that makes her wonder if maybe...

But it's getting late, and her willpower is seriously testing its limits with the way he keeps looking at her like she's something precious. She should go. She needs to go.

"I should head back," she murmurs against his lips.

"Mhm," he agrees, but kisses her again anyway.

Ten minutes and several more "I should really go" kisses later, she finally makes it to his door. He pulls her in for one last kiss that nearly changes her mind about leaving.

"Think about what I said," he says. "About London."

"I will."

She's still floating on cloud nine when she rounds the corner and nearly collides with them – Aurélien and what looks like this evening's conquest. The girl's exactly his type – all curves and confidence, the kind of ass that probably has its own Instagram following. They're wrapped around each other like they can't wait to get behind closed doors, and the sight hits her like a bucket of ice water.

Their eyes meet over the girl's shoulder, and something in his expression makes her stomach drop. She tries to slip past quietly, already planning how many miles she'll need to run tomorrow to forget this moment.

"Good night, Leila."

She freezes mid-step, the sound of her actual name falling from his lips feeling like a slap. Not 'ma puce'. Not his usual pet name that makes her heart flutter. Just Leila.

His hotel room door clicks shut, and she stands there in the hallway like someone just pressed pause on her whole world. In the eight months she's known him, through every up and down, every early morning and late night, every moment of casual intimacy and professional distance, he's never once called her just Leila.

Never once until now, when she's standing in a hallway wearing another man's kisses while he takes another woman to his bed.

The universe really does have a sense of humor.

A cruel one.

………….tbd

[femmenature]

nobody gets me, you do

Pairing: Ellie Williams x f! reader (ofc)

Summary: where your ex Ellie can't spend another day pretending she doesn't still love you.

Warnings: Inappropriate language.

-

you usually appreciated this kind of nights. Where you don't have to work and you can watch a series or put more effort into the food, and not just make a simple white rice. You used to appreciate it in Ellie's company. Now you prefer to keep your head busy, work, study, do some gardening even though you know perfectly well how horrible you are at it. And that your head will probably play tricks on you and remind you of how Els laughed for a week because a damn cactus dried up on you. A sigh escapes your thoughts. “See, this is what happens when you're distracted,” you say to yourself, leaning against the kitchen counter. But your relaxed posture didn't last long, as someone knocked on your door. Strange, knowing that you didn't order anything to eat and didn't invite your friends. You walked to the door and opened it with your eyebrows furrowed, you were going to open your mouth but it was her, and you just stood with your hand on the door frame and your heart in your mouth.

Ellie looked at me and blinked rapidly, as if checking that this was not a dream. Her heel rested on the floor, leaving the toe of her slipper raised nervously. “hey” she let out in a sigh, which she seemed to have been holding back for quite some time.

“hey…” my voice betrayed me and trembled as I said something as small as a greeting. Though I guess it only matters who you're saying it to, and having her in front of you isn't easy, more so when you've had no contact for the past five months.

“I know it's weird, knocking on your door knowing we're not together” she spoke fast on the last words, wanting to cover up the fact that you guys are apart, because it hurts her more than anything else in this world ”but I'd rather you see me as a freaking weirdo than keep this to myself any longer. Altough you know I'm weird, I mean, you know me better than anyone else and-” she stopped talking, knowing she was getting distracted.

“do you want to come in and we can talk inside?” even though you're scared to death and more uneasy than ever, you acted calm so she would be too. She nodded and you invited her in, closing the door behind her. “so…why are you here?” you don't act disinterested, not excited either, Even if you are. You disguise the fireworks in your stomach as you smell her perfume when she walked inside. As if your house is complete again.

“uhm, these five months” she licked her lips nervously as she looks away remembering the days she spent without you ”were the worst months in the world. And it's just pathetic to tell you knowing that you're the reason I had such a hard time. Or the absence of you. I was with a part of you, with your ghost that haunted me everywhere I went reminding me that it wasn't going to be the same without you, and the worst part is that even though it wasn't really you it was all I had left to not feel completely alone in the world. So somehow I didn't want it to go away” her eyes finally met mine, softening ”our pictures are still in my room, even our saved game from the last time we played Life is Strange together. I didn't touch it waiting for you to come back, in that stupid hope that you'd show up and we'd forget our stupid fight. But I guess our pride won us over once again.” she moves a little closer, slowly, as if she's afraid the floor beneath her will crumble ”and for the first time in my life I couldn't care less about my pride because I know you're on the other side of the scale. And the love I have for you compares to absolutely nothing I have or will ever be able to have.”

your eyes become crystal clear, you think this is not real, you imagined so much that this moment would come, you made so many scenarios with Ellie and that she will come back into your life, but not like this. She is practically showing you her heart like never before, in a desperate attempt to get back to being everything she loves and still loves. You were going to say something, but she cut you off, she had more to tell you, more to show you how much she misses you.

“So I'm here. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend that I don't expect you to answer me, that I'll be able to wait for you to think and answer me without falling apart from the anticipation of not being able to hold you in my arms again. I don't even know how I could endure these months without you” finally closes the immense distance and gently caresses your hand tenderly ”do you know how desperate it is that no one understands you, that the only one who knew how to calm you down was miles away from me in body and soul?”

her eyes are desperately searching for yours and her voice is begging you “the only person who could do that was you and it killed me to know that you didn't want to see me when all I wanted to do was kiss you as if the world would end after that. Nobody gets me, you do. Nobody can beat your eyes, your touch, your voice, your jokes, your love. I couldn't even look at another woman because I knew no one was worth it, no one is worth it. No one can look at me and know when I'm anxious, or how much I love space. They would see the stuffed dinosaur I have in my room as a simple stuffed animal, when you took the time to know which one is my favorite and buy it for my birthday and when I would give an explanation of that dinosaur and why I have that damn stuffed animal the only thing I will think about is that I lost you forever and and-"

you approached her and gave her a sudden kiss, knowing that if you let her talk anymore, anxiety would eat her up. The kiss is tender, desperate for time apart, but at the same time soft and romantic. Her hands brought your hips closer to hers while you caressed the back of her neck. After a few seconds you separated and rested your foreheads without taking your hands off where you had them

"I hope you never have to explain to anyone why you have a dinosaur in your room because I'm not going to lose you again" Ellie smiled and hugged you, hiding her face in your neck "I wasn't planning on doing it anyway. I was going to die without you then I wouldn't give myself the chance to have another girlfriend" you laughed caressing her hair "I missed you, Els" she kissed your neck tenderly without letting go "I missed you too baby"

-

I'M SORRY if it's not well written, I don't speak English and it's hard for me not to get lost!!! Enjoy <333

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

seventeen as words you can't translate🖋️ :

playlist: aurora album by toneejay

✦ Scoups: Ya'aburnee (Arabic)

▻ Meaning: A way to declare your hope that your loved one will outlive you, as it would be unbearable to live without them.

➔ Ya'aburnee literally means "you bury me" but the depth of its meaning goes beyond literal. When you don't, can't, won't think of a future without the other person, you use this word. And who else is the embodiment of Ya'aburnee if not choi seungcheol? He breathes seventeen, lives seventeen, and it's as if he will die without seventeen. There's no one as devoted as scoups.

✦ Jeonghan: Toska (Russian)

Meaning: A sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause; a longing with nothing to long for

➔ For me, personally, ever since Jeonghan went to the military, it's as if something is missing in my life (dramatic I know). But it's not just me! Jeonghan is the emotional pillar of svt and we all know it. How many times do you think the members turn around to talk with him and have to remind themselves that he is not here with them? He is also the first one to enlist so everyone feels his absence deeply. It's as if he is in another universe that we can't to go even if we wanted to. Jeonghan, when I catch you, jeonghan.

✦ Joshua: Kilig (Tagalog)

▻ Meaning: The feeling of butterflies in your stomach specifically associated with romance

➔ One of my favourite words in tagalog and one of my favourite persons in svt. The closest literal meaning is 'to shudder' but I think the most accurate english translation is 'the fluttery feeling you get due to love-related things'. And Joshua is so first love coded that I am convinced that everyone looks at him feels their heartbeat speed up me. He, as a person, is made up of all the things I associate love with: softness, gentleness, thoughtfulness, consideration, kindness, and pure loveliness. He is the ultimate kilig feeling: falling in love

✦ Jun: Goya (Urdu)

▻ Meaning: A momentary suspension of disbelief that occurs when fantasy is so realistic that it temporarily becomes reality, usually associated with a story very well told.

➔ Goya has different meaning depending on the context, but, here, I am referring to the word as it is used in literature. It's not so much as a word but rather it is a concept. When you can almost 'taste' a piece of art because it's so vivid, then it's 'as if' (goya) it were real. And I think Jun fits this word quite well cause it's 'as if' he was real. Most of the time he doesn't feel like a real person to me. He is someone who is so ambitious and yet so kind. Someone who will keep mum about their sufferings but do everything they can to distract you from yours. Someone who works like an ox day and night yet takes the time to appreciate every little thing. We don't deserve jun. Not even a little.

✦ Hoshi: Ré Nao (Chinese)

▻ Meaning: A place or situation that is 热闹 (ré nao) is not only fun and lively. It also has a special vibe that makes everyone want to be there.

➔ The literal meaning of ré nao is “lively” or “bustling.” But it's more so about a vibe. Imagine that moment with your friends or family when you guys are out in public, in a crowded scene, like a flower market or the night stalls, and everyone around you is having fun and you are at peace yet full of joy. Contentment at the liveliness and the feeling that everyone is joining in to make it fun is approximately the closest meaning of ré nao and that's so hoshi. He is what makes bss and svt so fun. Once he steps in a practice room, it gets brighter in that instant. Hoshi makes everything full of life and everyone feels a little more alive, a little more in love with life. He is unlike any other idol. You can't mimic that jest for life even if you try.

✦ Wonwoo: Prozvonit (Czech)

▻ Meaning: Ringing somebody’s phone once so that they call you back.

➔ I think wonwoo's charm is that at first he seems unassuming (even, stoic) but the more you know about seventeen the more he reels you in. In that sense, he is 'prozvonit'. Like ringing someone's phone so that they will call back, a glance or look at wonwoo will have you double back and fall into the rabbit hole of falling for him. His playfulness, cheekiness, and emotional sensitivity is the best thing about him.

✦ Woozi: Commuovere (Italian)

▻ Meaning: A heartwarming story that moved you to tears.

➔ To me, Jihoon is a story that never ends. Every song of his is a story straight out of "one thousand and one nights" and each of them leave me brawling. Whether it's the concept or the melody or the lyrics, each song has a tiny bit of his soul. Jihoon touches not only my heart but the very essence of what makes me, me. And I am convinced that is true for most carats. He is both the art and the artist and deserves all the nice things the multiverse has to offer.

✦ Dokyeom: Retrouvailles (French) 

▻ Meaning: The happiness of meeting again after a long time.

➔ Our sunshine, dokyeom! His ability to put a smile on anyone's face needs to be researched in a case study format. He is so humble, down to earth, and funny that even if it's your first time seeing him on a screen, you will feel that you have known him forever. Dokyeom is always a sunshine, both in his personality and also as the light in everyone's life. Even if you go wayyy back to svt's debut time, you will see the same bright grin which can brighten up your day, night, and universe.

✦ Mingyu: Wabi-Sabi (Japanese)

▻ Meaning: Finding beauty in imperfections

➔ Mingyu is someone who finds beauty in everything, be it an object or experience. His optimistic and hopeful nature helps him see life through rose-coloured glasses and it's one of my favourite things about him. I even bring evidence! Only mingyu could find love in shoelaces *_*. Another evidence is him being an outfit repeater. He clearly loves his clothes and cherishes them. If someone in this world could find beauty in imperfect things, it's him. He always tries to make any and all situations better. The loveliest human.

✦ Minghao: Merak (Serbian)

▻ Meaning: The feeling you get from simple pleasures that adds up to a sense of happiness and fulfilment

➔ Whenever I hear minghao speak in interviews or in livestreams, I think to myself, "Wow, he really got life figured out." Not because of how self-assured he always is but more so why he is that self-assured. He understands what is important in his life and acts accordingly. And that makes him such a simple and unassuming person who appreciates life's small pockets of happiness. He also creates this happiness for himself and his loved ones. Xu minghao is my favourite role model.

✦ Seungkwan: Hyggelig (Danish)

Meaning: A delightfully cozy, intimate moment or thing

➔ The synonym of Hyggelig is 'gemütlichkeit' in german and 'gemytlig' in swedish but it is 'seungkwan' in korean hehe. And it's because whenever seungkwan talks its as if he and the listener are the only person in the room. The same feeling as when you are gossiping with your best friend and giggling into smithereens. The reason behind me calling him 'Hyggelig' is cause seungkwan is a person who treats every person honestly and earnestly. He is genuine in his desire for connection and companionship. It's one of his many good qualities. Someone like him is unique even in the midst of billions of people.

✦ Vernon: Fernweh (German)

▻ Meaning: The feeling of homesickness for a place that you’ve never been to

➔ Vernon always felt like home to me. He is comfort manifested as a person. The understanding and quiet support he always offers to everyone is filled with so much kindness and grace. I just know that everyone who talks with him feels as if they were in their home, in pajamas, sipping on their comfort drink on a sleepy, rainy day. Vernon is always himself and he makes the other people feel okay to be themselves too. He is a home that a lot of people me miss when he is not there.

✦ Chan: Duende (Spanish)

▻ Meaning: A work of art’s mysterious power to deeply move a person

➔ Chan is a person with too much power over svt and carats. His earnestness and dedication to put his best foot forward and to help svt be the best it can be is unbelievable. He is that work of art that will move a person to tears if they take just a glimpse. His sense of rhythm and the art of dancing make him a living masterpiece. The diNOW of kpop indeed.

[helshollowhalls]

Plus (stating the obvious here, esp after the release of episode 4), trying to reduce your sentence to leave quickly makes you a prime target for spiraling into the cycle of disregarding your health and overworking yourself - which in turn makes you more likely to get sick and will shorten your life expectancy. (I doubt they could even provide medical care for humans, but that's an aside.)

Seeing as the whole reducing your sentence thing is nothing but word of mouth essentially (otherwise someone would have mentioned an ex-employee leaving maybe? Hmm yeah, no one has mentioned anything of the sort so far, most likely because those ex-employees get added to the pile of skeletons in storage.), all you're doing is burning yourself out and ruining your health for... What exactly? The company's profit of course :)

Your employees are running on hope, empty promises and ✨E G G✨ and that's about it.

Though one thing that is really interesting to me is the whole sentence thing.

Several things about that, actually:

First off, the length. Immy's sentence is over 400 years. Questions aside as to what she did or didn't do, does this vaguely match everyone else's time? Judging by Kip and Vee's reactions, probably not. Not to mention that humans don't live that long and I severely doubt they live that long in space either, unless time is calculated very differently than on earth and humans age slower but that would make the sentence length kind of superfluous, no?

Secondly, it's quite obvious the whole "ooooh you better be scared of your coworkers they're scary scary criminals" was nothing but hot air as well. Let's be real, no company can afford to hire the criminals that are as bad DeeDee makes them out to be. Those types wouldn't make the company any profit, they'd destroy stock and threaten customers, maybe even put a couple of them six feet under. I assume very few of those would even feel incentivised to work at all.

What's more likely is that they grab the outliers. Someone who tried shoplifting because their family is out of money and was caught. Someone who accidentally kicked their ball over the wrong fence. Someone who drove in the wrong lane without realizing. No one seems all that malicious and scheming, if anything they're misunderstood. That's probably what it all boils down to. A misunderstanding. While we don't know what Immy has done, I assume it was exactly that and it escalated pretty quickly lol Or the comparison I immediately had to think of was

"your Sim gets abducted by aliens because they got close to an alien in human disguise without realizing and now they're stuck in a flying saucer" (apparently socializing with an alien Sim makes a Sim more likely to be abducted in the Sims 4. I don't play the Sims, I just currently watch a lot of videos on it for reasons only known to my ADHD)

It was most likely a scenario of her accidentally violating stupid rules without being made aware of them first. Classic scenario of 'Keeping ferrets in a bathtub ✨in space✨', I guess

So I was rewatching the Deep Space Discounts pilot again (it's really good and I would recommend it), and I might expand on this thought later.

But I just got hit by two horrifying possibilities with the sentence reductions.

First is the heartbreakingly horrific one which is we only have their word they can do that. What if they're lying and the duration of the sentence is unchanged? And like someone trusts the cuff when it says they've finished their sentence time and then are rearrested for attempting to escape because they still have time left

And second. If they have the ability to reduce the sentence for completion of tasks, then do they have the ability to extend it for, say, failing to meet KPIs? Is getting put on a PIP a literal death sentence?

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[thewertsearch]

GT: Well ive thought about it. GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad. GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found. TT: Well yeah, Jake. TT: That's sort of the point. TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.

Ok, I think I get what's going on here.

Jake's Dreambot is probably the last remaining source of uranium on the entire island, and the AR is turning its retrieval into a game of hide-and-seek.

I'm not sure why Jake hadn't already retrieved this particular chunk of uranium, especially since he has no use for the robot himself. Maybe he was keeping it operational for sentimental reasons?

TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure. […] GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome. GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win.

Jake's picturing a LIVING GRANDSON SMACKDOWN - and, frankly, so am I. That robot's being piloted by an absurdly advanced AI, and I'm pretty sure Jake doesn't have any combat experience.

Winning, in this case, is shorthand for 'waiting for the AR to take pity on you'.

TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake?

Now, to be fair, that one would only work if Jake had agreed to this challenge beforehand. After all, you can't pussy out of something you never pussied into.

GT: It seems it seems it seems!!! GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off! […] TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being? GT: Oh malarkey. GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.

Jake, it's been sixty seconds since you complained about him pretending not to have feelings.

TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them. TT: It sucks. GT: Oh. GT: Um. GT: Im sorry then if thats the case.

Well, that's something, at least - but I don't think Jake really understands why the AR is offended, so I'm worried it's just going to happen again in their next argument.

How long has the Responder existed for, anyway? Jake seems familiar with his schtick, so he's probably not brand-new - but at the same time, Jake's surprised apology makes it sound like the AR has only recently started to express feelings.

Maybe the AR has existed for years, but hasn't been sentient for years. Like, it really did just start as a primitive response script, but Bro kept uploading more of his personality onto it, until it slowly began to think and feel. Fascinating idea, I have to say.

GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often. GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me… GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct… uh… THING from my buddy.

Hey, it's not like the AR can stop imitating Bro. Even if he wanted to have his own identity, he's currently bound to the response script of someone else's Pesterchum account. When he talks, he's forced to do it through Bro's handle.

All evidence points to the Responder being a thinking, feeling being with his own inner world - which makes it a little ethically dubious to force him to be Bro's secretary. The guy shouldn't be treated as a bargain-bin Bro, the same way that Davesprite wasn't a backup Dave. We all saw how that ended, and it sure wasn't pretty.

[lavenders388]

hey :) I was wondering if you could do a Dae ho fic, where he and the reader are absolutely oblivious to their feelings and Jung-bae decides to do what he can to push them together (the ultimate wing man) Thanks

~Oblivious~

Kang Dae Ho x Reader

requested 💌

a/n: this is the cutest request ever:) i love jung bae and dae ho together and this is such a sweet idea! sorry if this seems a bit rushed!! i wrote it before school:3

"during lights out, we should keep watch over the group in pairs." gi hun states sternly. he is met with some mumbled "why?"s, but out of desperation and lack of anything else to follow in the place, everyone has silently agreed to just go with what he says.

as the recorded voice echoes throughout the large, intimidating room you all will call home for the night, you look around to who could be your second for watch duty. you think about choosing maybe guaem ja or her son as they have become the closest to you, closest to friends.

"hey y/n, you watch with dae ho tonight." you hear from the bunk next to you. you look and see it to have come from jung bae, the man who knows gi hun from before the games. you've grown to trust him as well, his genuineness aiding in delivering moments of relief from the awful place you've all found each other in. you notice he's trying to hide a smile.

"okay sure!" you say with a small smile, relieved to know what the plan is for the night as well as to have someone to spend it with. the thought of not being alone relieves your fear massively, and then thought of dae ho being your partner made your twinge.

"may i stay here until it's my turn?" you ask gi hun, referring to your bunk that's across the X side of the room. "yes of course, it wouldn't be safe to walk all that ways in the night." gi hun replies. the reminder of the unsafe situation makes your skin crawl thinking about what could come throughout the night.

all you want is to just go home, but knowing that home wouldn't be much better makes your spirit falter. you've grown to enjoy being apart of your group, the community being something very starkly different than what you're used to. you had a few friends before coming to the game, but you were never super close. they probably haven't even noticed you're missing yet. as the brisk thought of them not having a clue of your whereabouts crosses your mind, you look around to the group who decided they would protect you throughout this before even knowing you. they're all talking amongst themselves, joking and being kind. its refreshing. it makes you forget all about where you are.

you decide that when you're out you wont be notifying your friends back home. you'll take the money and spend your time with the people you're with right now, the people who chose to care for you out of the kindness of themselves.

thinking about this makes you realize how much you don't want to stop spending your time with these people. your thoughts are interrupted by a soft hand on your shoulder. you turn and see dae ho.

you smile at him, and listen as he begins to tell you why he got your attention. "we should stay close together until its time for our watch. would you like to sleep in the bed next to mine?" he says with his normal confidence, all though you notice his voice faltering a bit when he asks you to sleep next to him. "of course dae ho, thank you for asking." you say smiling at him again.

"actually would you guys be okay taking the first watch, it would probably be the safest one." you hear from above you as you see jung baes head poking out of one of the taller bunks. you both agree and get out of bed heading to where gi hun designated the watch point of your little base.

after you get settled, an awkward silence falls on you. "do you really think that people will try to fight us tonight?" you ask dae ho in a whisper, trying to start a conversation but also speaking your worry in a way that might make you feel better. "I'm not sure, but gi hun said that's what happened last time. he didn't say it was every night though, so maybe we'll be okay tonight." he says in a soft but still confident tone. it makes you feel safer, knowing that fighting may not even break out tonight. his voice comforts you as well.

"what do you plan on doing with the money when you get out?" you ask him, looking up at him for the answer. "well first i would pay off some debts, then i think i would buy a house, or even an apartment depending on how much i get. and then after that i haven't really thought of anything." he says with a chuckle that brings a smile to your face. "what about you, y/n?" he asks you. "honestly the same as you. like exactly. I wanna pay off whatever I can and then settle down somewhere. and then I'm not sure." you say to him with a smile. you think its funny you both have the same plan.

"i think thats a great idea y/n." he says to you softly and genuinely. you've grown to really appreciate the way he speaks to you, to everyone. you smile at him again as another awkward silence falls over the two of you. "if you make way more than what you think you will, then what do you think you would do?" he asks sweetly, caring for your answer as well as to dissipate the silence. "I have no idea!" you say a little louder than you should've, with a hint of sarcasm. "i think maybe id get like a cool car or something i don't know." you say laughing at yourself. your laugh makes him smile.

"what would you do dae ho?" you ask him in return. "i might start up a business or something, like maybe a coffee shop or a little market." he answers. you find this endearing. "that's really interesting!" you reply. "that sounds really fun, maybe ill do that as well."

"maybe we could do it together."

he states, his mood shifting from small talk to something more.

"i would really like that." you reply.

"hey lovebirds its our turn to watch." jung bae says laughing with gi hun from behind the two of you. you wonder how long they've been standing there.

as you crawl back into the bed next to him, you begin to hope there was truth in jung baes words.

[stealingpotatoes]

POTES GETS TRAUMATISED BY KOTOR!

i was gonna part 2 of this when I got to the end but i got to That Bit™ this morning and i need to tell everyone ever (im aware im probably towards the end of the game now but still plz dont spoil i assume theres more insane shit to come!!)

without further ado, sessions 7-9:

seven rhymes w revan so they better show tf up now

this game is so pretty esp when you land the ship

CARTH HAD A WIFE AND SON?????? CHRIST POOR GUY SAUL SUCKS

omg they never found the son that feels potentially relevant

'they didnt send a master bc itd draw too much attention' bastila, malak is obsessed with u rn i think that mission has been failed

wow so the council sent juhani with me just bc my vibes are so great

i might sound completely batshit insane for this but with all these redemption themes/talks i keep thinking abt 1. the fact i was so certain u played as revan 2. that revan is never given pronouns like ur supposed to pick their pronouns and 3. i have amnesia and im good at being a jedi (+ they clearly know smthn i dont). im not gonna say it bc i will look incredibly stupid if im wrong but do u pick up my theory. do u pick up what im putting down

ok that feels like the biggest reach in history PLEASE IM CLEARLY GOING CRAZY JUST SHOW ME REVANNN PLEASEEEEEEEE

i don’t even know if i have amnesia tbh but nobody’s given me a chance to prove i don’t

they could just be trying to make revan extra mysterious w the pronouns. i think im talking to carth too much, him not trusting anyone is making me not trust the game now im worried the lack of pronouns is there to hide their identity for some betrayal LMAO

oop i thought bringing zaalbar would be a good idea but apparently hes an exile. great

is stopping slavery even the jedi way cause qui-gonn sure as shit didnt do that in tpm

ZAALBAR'S DAD IS CHIEF??

i should bring Mission on this meet-zaalbar's-dad thing but shes 14 and i dont want to bring her into active combat scenarios ok

ok zaalbar's dad WAS chief. odds on him being this 'mad-claw'

A JEDI?

a grouchy hermit jedi!!!

why am i allowed to use the computer what previous user would make it usable for ME?????? SUSPICIOUS

what if im a wattpad character and revan is my older sibling or cousin

this is star wars, The Family Drama Franchise, im not ruling out that theyre my dad. my woke nonbinary dad

I LOVE THIS BUILDERS MYSTERY WHO TF WERE THEY. THEY MADE KASHYYK A FOREST!!! THEYRE SO COOL!!! I LOVE AN ANCIENT PEOPLES MYSTERY

was the builders my evil dad is this like assassins creed (everyone else has parental issues i'll feel left out if i don't have any)

big fan of how creepy the forest mandos are

im fighting little beasties and a massive beastie. this is just like jfo

well we dealt with a planet of slavers and helped with Zaalbar's daddy issues, now it's time to go to a new planet of slavers and help with Bastila's mummy issues!!!

DARTH BANDON (ill call him brandon out of disrespect) SHOWED UP AND IMMEDIATELY THREW A RANDOM GUARD INTO A TERMINAL INJURING 2 OTHERS. AND HE LOOKS LIKE AN EVIL SIMS 2 TOWNIE bet hes lowkey mid

malak you will never replace your best friend revan with this brandon fucker. and revan is going to be MY best friend soon when i find them

massive fan of how imperial tatooine looks near the same as it did in kotor 4000 years ago. this planet is the true no.1 shithole ever

btw the 8th fast n furious was called f8 of the furious

im still so scared that revan's pronoun sitch means they're gonna be someone i know like what if revan is already my best friend CAN SOMEONE JUST TELL ME I DONT HAVE AMNESIA SO I CAN RELAX AND AT LEAST RULE OUT THE CRACK THEORY OF ME BETRAYING MYSELF

whatever let's think about the fact i'm on the sand shithole. fuck this star map bastila where's your mum i want some soap opera drama

WHY DOES EVERYWHERE CHARGE ME 100 CREDITS

tatooine used to be a lush green planet??? arrakis who?

omg this guy knows carth does everyone on tatooine know my friends

HIS SON IS W THE SITH??????

'he must be a man by now' how old are you carth i thought you were like 30 at most. carth were you a child bride

when are we gonna run into someone who knows ME so i can dispute the amnesia allegations

AH! BASTILA'S BITCH-MUM JUST ASKED ME IF I TALK TO MY MOTHER LIKE THAT AND I GOT OPTIONS!! IS THIS EVIDENCE AGAINST MY AMNESIA???? AM I A REAL CHARACTER??????? GET IN!!! I HAD A MOTHER

i love how bastila n her mum havent seen each other in presumably like 20 years and yet their reunion was so immediately hostile

or more than 20 years who knows how old any of my companions are carth apparently has an adult son!!!

the only person i can trust is mission who is for sure 14 and the old men who are old man aged

thank god there was a guy who immediately told me the nonlethal option for the tuskens i thought i was gonna have to search for it

just did baby's first savescum cause i accidentally picked a dark side option and my friends were sad LOL

THE WAY HK47 SAID "shall i kill something for you? (:" LMAO IM IN LOVE W IT ALREADY

LMAOO HK IS ALMOST ALL THE WAY INTO THE DARK SIDE METER

having bastila and hk at the same time feels like having an angel and a devil on my shoulder every time they chime in on dialogue

i love them

MEATBAGS

"would you rather be caught with contraband that is very illegal or just a little illegal" "whats the difference" "about 20 years, master" HE IS MY FAVOURITE

love getting the murderdroid to do peace negotiations

hilarious that we're negotiating in our underwear

tatooine really makes you realise that this game is a walking simulator

LETS GO FIGHT A DRAGON

but respectfully. bc im a jedi

fun fact if you walk straight into the cave without using the hunter guy's mines then you will die and have to reload your save. not saying i know this from experience bc i just did exactly that and died or anything it's just a random fact i know

dragon: exploded

DARTH BRANDON??!??!?!?!

NOW TELL ME WHERE REVAN IS YOU SHITBRICKED SON OF A BITCH ok hes dead he cant tell me anything

bastila is drawn to landmines like a moth to a flame she loves getting exploded by them

BASTILA'S MUMMY ISSUES: SOLVED

i should be an intergalactic family issues counsellor. my character could've solved vaderkin and luke's whole thing in less than one film

bastila just PAID ME A COMPLIMENT INSTEAD OF NAGGING ME! CALL THE UH-- i guess star wars doesnt have the vatican just uhhh idk tell yoda when he's born

i love this game bc you get a very distinct feeling that they pulled '4000 years' out of a hat and didnt think about how the buildings or technology would be different. in 4000 years all that's changed on tatooine is how many towns there are but i guess it's the law of diminishing returns or whatever

WE’RE BEING TRACTOR-YOINKED???

why are we in our underwear. saul you pervert

what history between us

WHAT HISTORY SAUL. WHAT HISTORY

WHAT HISTORY?!!!!!!?!!????

what does he MEAN my loyalties are switching WHAT FUCKING HISTORYY

LMAOOO you can say the academy was on alderaan instead of dantooine thats such a good anh reference

THE JEDI ON DANTOOINE HAVE BEEN KILLED?!!?!!!! WHAT IM NO LONGER LMAO-ING

WHAT THE HELL CAN I HAVE A SECOND TO PROCESS EVERYTHIN

sorry carth i got you soooo electrocuted it was for the republic tho

seriously WHAT THE DANTOOINE JEDI CANT BE DEAD LIKE ??????? what????? no??? master tortimer???

LMAOOO HALF NAKED JOLEE IS GONNA KILL A SHIP

NAKED OLD MAN RAMPAGE LETS GOO!!

this is good we should get out of here but also can we ask saul and malak what the fuck he meant by history

presumably?? i was a sith before?? my amnesiacs??? like that seems certain going off saul's comments

god if the crack theory was right im gonna cry i dont even want to think abt the implications of that

at least my amnesia has been semi-confirmed. or i have an evil twin

LMAO JOLEE HAS NO ARMOUR PROFICIENCY ALL HE CAN WEAR IS HIS UNDIES. NAKED OLD MAN RAMPAGE CONTINUES!

“i have an army” “we have a naked old man”

rip naked old man times i have my equipment back

bastila thinks we can't fight malak but i literally have grenades we'll be fine

also i want to talk to him what the fuck did saul mean we had history. is MALAK my evil dad??? (i dont want 2 think abt the alternative option)

IM IN SPACE!!!!! IN A SPACE SUIT

what the hell do they put in these star wars games man, kotor is reaching jfo/js levels of "basically coke for me"

i cant think of a session nine pun i just wanna play it

CONTINUING ON FROM BEING IN SPACE LETS GO PUNCH SAUL IN SPACE

the crack theory can't be right its just a crack theory i'm not. like im just a normal woman i cant be ya know. i dont even wanna say it

SAUL PLEASE TELL ME I DONT HAVE AMNESIAAA

omg YES WE GET TO KILL SAUL!! GAME OF THE YEAR!!

HES ALIVE WHAT THE FUCK DID HE TELL YOU CARTH. WHAT THE FUCK DID THE WHOLE JEDI COUNCIL KNOW

CAN YOU GUYS TELL ME

WHY IS THE ONLY DIALOGUE OPTION LET'S MOVE ON. I DONT WANT TO MOVE ON TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS ARE TALKING ABOUT

ah! malak! you bitch!

REUNION? VENGEANCE?? OH GOD NO

NO

ITS SHOWING ME THE EVIDENCE

OH IT WAS CARTH WHO SAID ABT THE MEMORY WIPING IT WASNT A LOADING SCREEN TIP

NO

WHAT

NO??????????? NO

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CRACK THEORY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CRAZY REACH I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE RIGHT

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

wow revan (my???) eyes are fucked up

AGH HE CALLED ME REVAN

OH MY GOD

I WAS ALWAYS PLAYING AS REVAN

THIS WHOLE TIME. I WAS NEVER PLAYING AS SOME RANDOM CLOWN WHO IVE GROWN TO LOVE AS A CHARACTER. I WAS ALWAYS PLAYING AS REVAN

WHY IS THERE NOT A DIALOGUE OPTION TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK I NEED TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK

FUCK MAN ILL HAVE ONE IN REAL LIFE AT THIS RATE THERES NO WAY

i dont feel like im abt to cry but i kind of want to cry anyway what the HELL MAN

IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME HE CALLS ME REVAN IM IN MROE AND MORE SHOCK

LIKE IVE BEEN PHYSICALLY GASPING ON REPEAT N SAYING NO OUT LOUD. IF I WAS HOME ALONE I THINK ID BE SCREAMING

there has got to be a speneva (space geneva) convention against this this seems so illegal

i literally cannot work out if this is better or worse than death. tbh it is death like the body lives but they stole my fucking brain man what the hell BASTILA I THOUGHT WE WERE FUCKING FRIENDS

oh my god she said "to capture revan… to capture you" WHY DOES IT HURT MORE WHEN MY FRIEND BASTILA CALLS ME REVAN

STOP CALLING ME REVAN MY NAME IS LEALA MACHAI THATS THE NAME IVE HAD FOR THE LAST 16 HOURS THATS MY NAME SHUT UP SHUT UP

NO STOP CALLING ME REVAN BASTILA!!!!

malaks a fuckin pussy he keeps running away

WHAT NO BASTILA DONT SACRIFICE YOURSELF DONT DO THAT STOP BASTILA WE CAN TAKE HIM IVE BEEN BEATING HIM 1V1 HES FUCKING EASY TO FIGHT COME BACK

NO I DONT WANT TO LEAVE HER!!!!!!! THATS;. SHE LIED TO ME BUT SHES STILL MY FRIEND BASTILA NO CARTH I DONT WANT TO LEAVE HER I NEED TO TALK TO HER

jesus mary joseph and the little donkey im revan. what the hell. im revan

this whole time

JOLEE IS STILL NAKED LMAO

yes mission! yes i love you yes it just matters who i am now yes exactly

CARTH DONT CALL ME REVAN I WILL START CRYING

thank you mission and zaalbar youre real ones

THANK U CANDEROUS

jolee knew but im not pissed off he wanted me to find out on my own and it wasnt his place to say, candy-o respects my/revan’s defeating his ppl and is the first person to make revan not sound like a slur

HK WAS MY DROID THIS WHOLE TIME?? HE WAS MY ASSASSIN DROID???????? LMAO AMAZING ok i feel less bad i can be revan if it means hk was mine all along

omg yay that means i DID run into someone i knew on tatooine just like carth and bastila!

tatooine must be crazy to do as the last planet lmao like does hk immediately go WADDUP MASTER and you cant even solve bastila's mummy issues bc shes not there. good thing i already did it

LMAOO CANDEROUS BEING LIKE girl its the force anything can happen its not just convenient

am i the force's specialest girl

yay carth listened to everyone and UNDERSTOOD THAT WHATEVER SHOCK HES FEELING I AM FEELING IT MUCH MUCH WORSE GODDAMNIT

agh no what the hell i just have to go about my day now?? i just have to work now????? until i can play the rest later?? when that just happened???????? i need bereavement leave

ive closed the game but im just blankly staring at my computer screen. what the hell. what the hell man

i have never felt so violated and traumatised by a bunch of pixels

somehow it feels worse that i basically clocked it but then was immediately like nahhh thats an insane reach, anyway! like somehow that feels worse than if i'd just never thought it was a possibility

what the fuck man what the fuck

POTES SEMI-LIVEBLOGS KOTOR!

ive been writing my thoughts in the notes app but due to popular demand (one person asked for it) i'm posting my liveblogging DO NOT SAY/TAG/COMMENT SPOILERS PLEASE i read tags

warning im a yapper, im 10 hours in and theres a lot already (separated into sessions):

SESSION 1

whos this clown i thought i would be playing as revan

ive been too spoiled by dragon age origins this character creator sucks ass

only human???? ): fr?? ill just imagine her different in my brain or some shit

my life is being mansplained to me. is this bad writing or do i have amnesiacs

hes meta now??? hes talking abt the screen controls?????

omg a jedi and an evil jediii

omg their asses suckedddd they both died immediately

i <3 bringing a sword to a gun fight

WHY R THERE SO MANY SITH WHERE IS TJE RULE OF TWO

i clicked a workbench and it said lightsaber so either i get a lightsaber or i get a jedi friend whose lightsaber i can steal if im careful

I assume u play as revan in kotor2 so im gonna buy that now so i can play it when im done playing w this clown

i got light side points im getting a good grade in game morality which is something both normal to want and possible to achieve

everyone keeps saying revan is dead but thats my friend revan from tumblr hes clearly alive. or they???

my characters ass is distractingly present onscreen

huge fan of the way everyone collapsed drunk what the FUCK was in that wine

ok these sith ppl might be the bad guys but their armour is DRIPPY AS FUCK

ideologically i dont agree w the sith but they kinda went off w the fits

googling how to become a sith without being evil cause they have Drip

SESSION 2

i paid £1.19 to see revan he better show up in this game at some point

all these sith n i still cant find one revan….. stop faking ur death rn come out n talk to me babygirl this isnt like u….

why can i be light/dark side if im not a jedi. give me a laser sword

maybe this jedi gyal will know where revan is faking his death. or give me a fuckin lightsaber PLEASEEE

was just thinking 'does this game have romance' and then carth called me beautiful. i dont think im gonna romance anyone until i get this amnesia sorted

why is carth questioning me so much abt the crash im pretty sure i have amnesia

why tf did the jedi lady have me transferred to this ship are we in lesbians with each other???

carth's not wrong it is suspicious but i lowkey have amnesia so i coulda done that i coulda not

a lot of clone wars voice actors in this. was lucasfilm so broke in the 2000s that they could only afford the same 3 VAs for every project

mission is 14??????? we need to get my girl back in school

SESH 3

tale as old as time i fucking suck at racing games

ok i didnt realise you had to mash click i won

REVAN!!! REVAN!!!!!!!!!

why am i dreaming abt revan tho. real as hell but ?????

lmao cringe revan getting blown up. i thought the jedi beat rev-meister in a fight but no. accident

"such visions are often a sign of force sensitivity" COOL YAY GIVE ME A LIGHTSABER

BASTILLE LOST HER FUCKING LIGHTSABER??

CARTH IS RIGHT THATS LIKE DAY ONE JEDI SHIT. ok i still love her even tho shes a bit of a bitch and also doesnt have a saber

if we find a lightsaber im taking it first tho

whys carth getting weird abt me being weird that he doesnt trust me. i just wanna be friends mate

SESH IV: A NEW HOPE

'i mean no disrespect, but perhaps one of the male slaves could serve you better' i went in here to start a slave revolution and instead got called a lesbo

LMAO THERES A SPICE LAB???? WALTER WHITE WHERE ARE YOU

thats insaneee they blew up BILLIONS of people to get to one jedi?????? these sith arent fucking around theyre scary

UM THIS IS CRAZY GRAPHICS THE LIGHTING IS CLEARER/DARKER WHEN I COVER THE SUN W THE SHIP EDGE?? 2003 IS THE YEAR OF THE FUTURE

someone just called me padawan i kinda assumed i was in my late 20s do i just have baby vibes

all the jedi in the movies are so chill but every kotor jedi i've met so far has been a bit of a bitch

YO THEY HAVE A YODA!!! its not THE yoda but

cool so these guys are just the regional managers at best. your asses are not the council

why can everyone smell my force juju so strong

THATS STRAIGHT UP YODA'S CLONE WARS VA

why does fake yoda not blink both eyes at the same time. im calling him master tortimer he reminds me of the animal crossing mayor

bastila there was no need for such a fancy bow

malak is like evil aang

revan is so much shorter than malak omg

are me and bastila sharing dreams. are we both obsessed w revan

poor mission ):

WHAT WAS MASTER TORTIMER ABT TO SAY????????? EVER SINCE WHEN??? DID WE KNOW EACH OTHER BEFORE MY AMNESIACS????? DID BASTILA TELL U SMTHN MORE WHEN I WASNT IN THE ROOM???

im intrigued i like this whole hidden jedi shtick its very compelling. so is whatever theyre hiding from me

kinda surprising no jedi found me before tho given my force juju is so strong

IM A LEGIT JEDI NOW??? SICK!!!

does revan rlly not have pronouns i thought that was a tumblr thing but they straight up are a nonbinary icon ive never heard a single pronoun used. revan's pronouns are revan/revan's

damn revan seems so cool in these stories (charismatic war hero that convinced their troops to join them as conqueror?? julius caesar) and yet all we've seen them do onscreen is get blown up and die by accident

A YEAR AGO? the way they were talking i assumed revan died like. a week before the game started

master uh i forgot his name he has martin scorcese vibes said revan was a paragon of the jedi so what im getting is that all jedi gifted kids turn evil

even if i didnt know revan as a tumblr darling id KNOW revan has to be alive somewhere they way everyone talks abt them is too cool for a character who exploded and died. i think. i hope. I PAID £1.19 TO MEET REVAN

'only you and bastila can stop malak' seriously????? just us two?? ive been a jedi for like, 6 minutes and you guys keep calling bastila young???? do you guys not wanna help??

omg im getting carth to traumadump! <3

HE WAS ON REVAN'S ARMY>??

i totally knew the jedi code and did not have to google it whatsoever

they rlly said fuck going to illum heres a crystal from the bin

he told me id be a great sentinel and i was like i know but i want blue cause i dont wanna be matchies with bastila

OGH!!! I HAVE A LIGHTSABER!!!! THIS IS GAME OF THE YEAR!!!!

omg i made my lightsaber perfectlyyy which is rare <3 getting a good grade in jedi

maybe i was a travelling lightsaber salesman before my amnesia

seriously though WHO was i everyone's kinda stopped acting like i have amnesia since the first mission BUT IVE PLAYED DRAGON AGE THAT GIVES YOU OPPORTUNITIES TO RP UR PAST. THIS DOESNT. EITHER THIS GAME IS BAD (but i love it so its not) OR I HAVE RETROGRADE AMNESIA

also everyone keeps being like "Oh ur force juju is so strong" AND NOBODY FOUND ME TIL NOW??? suspicious. did getting a really bad concussion activate the force in me

im too confused and amnesiac'd to think abt anything except the fact i have a glowing stick now

FSESH FIVE:

big fan of using aliens to avoid having to get VAs to read every line

oh so carth's boyfriend saul betrayed him and became leader of the sith fleet so he has trust issues

well he needs to calm down. i can't betray him cause i dont know what the fuck is happening

yooo i love the design differences on the mandalorians

oh my god this lady wanted to fuck her droid cause it was her husband's. and then it killed itself. wtf. game of the year tho

wtf they jebaited this juhani person into going dark side but then i talked her out of it. that seems a bit mean of them

i hope she can join my party she looks too unique to be a random npc

ive been thinking and I might be going crazy but there was a loading screen tip ages ago that said jedis could wipe ppl's mind and all i thought at the time was 'fuck the shitshow acolyte didnt make that up'. but what if one of them wiped MY memory and i used to be a jedi or smthn ????????

cause they keep being like ur weirdly good at this??? did bastila steal my memories??????????

I KNOW I HAVE AMNESIA!! EVEN IF EVERYONE DOESN'T BRING IT UP BC THEYRE PROBABLY TRYING TO SAVE MY FEELINGS

if i dont have amnesia and im just deeping the fact the opening had my life being mansplained then im gonna look real stupid

anyway time 2 go to the fuckshit ruins cave where r-dog and malak went to

"it must be referring to revan. the dark lord and malak--" revan's pronouns are revan/thedarklord

bastila said theres no mention of the Builders in the archives. does she just know every text off by heart

THIS DROID IS 20K YEARS OLD ???

omg i can equip 2 lightsabers at once. game of the year

OK I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT THE AMNESIA BASTILA IS ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY BACKGROUND THAT I CAN ANSWER. I REPEAT I DO NOT HAVE AMNESIA

ok i didnt get choices and i didnt really uh… say anything that i didnt already get told im still not ruling out amnesia

also booo i didnt get to find out how old i was

master tortimer rlly looks like the ultimate ketamine yoda

LMAO THERE WAS A DIALOGUE OPTION 2 CALL JUHANI A CATGIRL

omg kashyyk from jedi fallen order!!!

I CAN UPGRADE MY LIGHTSABER THIS IS JUST LIKE JFO

omg this ship is fun i wish everyone had personalised bunk spaces like hfw… a game which came out 19 years after this i should probably just take what we have

im gonna start w manaan cause im p sure thats what B-dog said n its the same language the droid was speakin

omg hyperspace from star wars

THE GUY THE BUILDING FELL ON???

am i having dreams abt revan bc bastila killed revan and im connected to her this is so roundabout

maybe i'd sleep better if my ponytail wasnt clipping into the pillow

[kiwi accent] six

carth needs a xanax every time i think we're friends he stops trusting me

also lmao he actually pointed out how wild it was that a day one padawan is being sent on this uber important mission and HES RIGHT IT IS WEIRD!! i thought it was main character logic but he's calling it out

i really really like the sense of unease that's setting in like at first i thought it was just cause im not used to 2003 games but no this is on purpose bc carth my friend carth keeps calling it out

THERE IS A CHILD ON MY SHIP ??????????????????

lmao the representative for menaan is roland wann. its like poetry it rhymes

there are no cameras in the sith hangar <3 rookie error i can commit crimes now

bastila's favourite hobby is getting shot and walking into my grenades

this isnt a combat system this is a missing system

I GOT ARRESTED???? IM JUST A GIRL

nvm i had a datapad that said the sith were evil so theyve let me go free and we're besties

why do i feel like ive just walked into an underwater horror mission

this suit waddles at the speed of a penguin on fentanyl

i tamed the beastie this is like how to train your dragon

MALAK FIRED ON REVAN?????? WERENT THEY BEST FRIENDS???????

but maybe revan escaped when bastila wasnt looking THEYRE FINE THEYRE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. I BELIEVE

so hopefully when we run into revan they'll be like agh i changed my ways cause of the being shot thing and they'll be my bestie

great news i successfully communicated w the ship child and gave her back to dantooine. my girl has shockingly good linguisitics skills

bastila is so dour "oh watch out for the dark side" GIRL I AM. I NEED TO GET THE BEST GRADE IN GAME MORALITY

ok OFF TO KASHYYK i hope cal kestis is there… thru the force i guess… bc he wont be born for another 4000 years but its whatever

omg you'll never guess what. another vision. wow its one of the thangs. cool this is a tomorrow me problem

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part I: What You Kept Hiden from Me (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 3.2k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part I summary: One of Spencer's trips to Mexico ends badly, and you don't know how to react and what to do.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

---------------

Spencer thought you would be outside the correctional, just as Penelope is now, waiting for him. But you are not. He either didn't ask JJ why you weren't with her picking him up from inside in the first place. Spencer just assumed you didn't want to be in there, and he understood your reasons. You stopped visiting him because it was hard to see him locked up like that and not do anything about it. Or at least it was what you said to him in a letter Emily handed him during a visit time when you didn't show up. It was a month ago.

After a tight hug with Penelope, Spencer couldn't help but ask.

"Where is she?"

JJ, Luke, and Garcia exchange a troubled look, something Spencer sure does notice. When he sees Garcia's glassy eyes, his gaze settles on JJ and Luke for answers.

"Spence, she—" JJ doesn't know how to express a fact she knows will break her friend.

"Man, she - we should go to the hospital right now." Luke chooses to point out what to do instead of why.

"What?! Why? What happened?!" A frantic Spencer starts to question. What the hell had happened to you? Why are you in a hospital? There are too many questions in his brain right now.

With a hand on his shoulder, Luke gently propels him to start walking to the car.

"We are going to tell you everything, I swear. But let's go to the car, okay?" This time, it's JJ's turn to speak, trying to make Spencer move.

Spencer hasn't felt so confused and afraid even in the four months of being locked up in jail.

---------------

Five months ago

Exhausted. It's the definition of how you feel after the draining case you just ended in Tampa. The jet is quiet enough to assume everyone is sleeping. But although the evident tiredness consumes your body and brain, you can't bring yourself to sleep. Instead, you look at your front, where your husband is reading a book. His eyes look heavy, but you know he can't sleep either, not before decompressing first. And for that, a good book tends to work most of the time.

It's amazing how you can love someone so much. After two years of marriage and a couple of years as coworkers and friends before that, it isn't easy to think of Spencer as anything less than your soulmate and the love of your life.

You are lost in your thoughts, and you don't notice Spencer's eyes on you, a lazy smile on his face.

"Where did that pretty little head go?"

You don't know if the blush on your cheeks is from being caught or from Spencer's loving tone. Maybe both.

"Nowhere in particular. Just wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-mm."

"Care to share?" Spencer asks with curious eyes.

"Well," you start, smiling at him. "Since you brought it up and knowing we have two days off, what about a getaway out of the city, huh?"

It's not a sudden idea. You and Spencer have been thinking about doing something like that for a few weeks. After a chaotic couple of months at the BAU, you both need time for yourself.

Spencer's eyes softened—a little pout on his lips.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I promised my mom's doctor I would be in Houston tomorrow."

You don't remember Spencer telling you that. Could it be that you had forgotten?

"Oh. I didn't know. Something happened to Diana?"

Spencer shakes his head.

"No. Just the usual. The doctors are adjusting the treatment, and we're doing a follow-up, that's all."

Another source of stress for Spencer in the past months has been Diana's health. After an important decline, he got her mom into an experimental treatment in Houston. Spencer fought hard to get her admitted, and even if you weren't sure about it, you supported him in everything related to it. That's why you won't even protest losing another chance to spend time together.

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes when he sees you haven't said anything. Reaching for your hand, you hold it and squeeze it reassuringly.

"It's okay, Spence. You must be there. And maybe it's a good chance for me to have a long beauty sleep," you shrug. In all honesty, your body has been yelling for uninterrupted sleeping hours in the past weeks.

"I promise we'll make up for the lost time when I come back, okay?" Spencer offers, kissing your hand. You nod and give him a soothing smile.

Some weeks later, the loud ringing of your phone wakes you from your sleep. Not fully conscious of your surroundings, you pat to the right side of the bed, expecting to feel Spencer next to you, but it's empty. Then you remember you are alone because Spencer had to go to Houston again this week.

"Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?" A confused Emily asks at the other end of the call. You check your bedside clock, and it reads 11 AM. You have been sleeping for twelve hours now.

"Yeah," you rub your tired eyes. I think I caught something. My stomach feels funny, and I was so exhausted last night. What is it? Do we have a case?"

"No, but- Have you heard from Spencer?" Emily asks cautiously.

"He called last night and told me he would come back today." There is a tense silence between you both. "Emily, what's wrong?" you ask.

"You should come to the BAU." It's all she says, and you know something bad happened.

Everything has been a blur since Emily's call and your arrival at the BAU.

As you bolt into your boss's office, you see her, David, and Penelope there, a troubled expression on their faces.

Emily is who delivers the news. Spencer has been arrested in Mexico after a car chase and caught with drugs in the trunk.

It's like she is telling you a movie plot. There is no chance she is talking about Spencer, your husband. No, it can't be. Your husband left two days ago for Houston to check on his mom, as he has been doing in the past month.

But as much as you want to deny what you are hearing, Spencer's mugshot, appearing on Garcia's screen, is screaming the truth.

You think you might throw up. And you do. Quickly excusing yourself, you run to the nearest bathroom to empty your stomach.

It's the same Emily Prentiss who enters the bathroom after you and holds your hair as you keep kneeling before the toilet.

"We are going to bring him back. I swear. Everything is going to be okay," Emily assures you, rubbing your back.

You want to believe her, but not knowing why this is happening makes it hard to think clearly.

You insist on going to Matamoros with Luke and Rossi, and no one dares to protest. You're visibly upset and confused, but staying in Quantico is not an option.

On the plane, Emily sits in front of you. You know why.

"I swear I didn't know anything, Em. I'm as confused as everyone," you confess. "And it's killing me. I know Spencer never would do what they say he did, but either I can explain why he was there."

"I know, but you must have caught something. Has Spencer seemed nervous or extremely quiet lately? Maybe a phone call or something that made him change his mood."

You think for a moment. Spencer has indeed been more pensive in recent weeks, particularly since Diana joined the new treatment. It's also true he's told you less and less about how things are going with her. But you assume it's because he's been worried about everything going well and not because something bad was happening.

A memory suddenly appears in your mind. One night after arriving from the BAU, you were making something to eat, and Spencer left his phone on the counter while he took a shower. You looked at the device, thinking it might be from work, but the name 'Dr. Medina' appeared on the screen. You didn't recognize the name because, according to what Spencer had told you, her mom's new doctor was Dr. Hammond.

"After he checked his phone, he quickly called back, but he went to the bedroom to make the call. I didn't pay enough attention. I should have done—" You trail off, and Emily rubs your arm to comfort you.

"Hey, don't. We don't know if that has to do with what's going on, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."

It's easy to say but almost impossible to achieve, especially when, upon arriving at the Matamoros police station, in one of the cells, you see your husband lying on a bench with his eyes lost in the ceiling.

"Spencer?" you mumble, but loud enough to catch Spencer's attention. He sits and looks at you with eyebrows furrowed as if trying to remember who you are. Some feet behind you, Emily, Luke, and Rossi stand, witnessing your interaction.

Without saying anything, Spencer gets up and walks over to where you are, only separated by his cell bars. With that closeness, you can see the several cuts all over your husband's face; his clothes are torn. But what shocks you are Spencer's red and lost eyes. He is visibly high.

"Do you know who I am?" you ask almost in a whisper, scared of his answer. Spencer nods slowly, his eyes shifting from lost to sad. He recognizes you.

"I'm sorry." It's not much, but you can't hold it against him right now, not when answers are required in the first place.

"Baby, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here, okay? But you need to talk to us. Can you do that?"

It's not until a couple of hours later Spencer fully returns to himself, the effects of the drugs leaving his body.

For the sake of the case, you stay out of it while Spencer tells the team what happened. You don’t want Spencer to feel uncomfortable admitting he has lied to you for weeks.

After Emily conducts a cognitive interview to get details that could help, Spencer returns to his cell. When Emily, Luke, and Rossi leave the police station to search for evidence, only you are left there with him.

Spencer looks embarrassed, and you can feel the gears in his head turning as he tries to find a way to talk to you. When he comes empty of words, he addresses you instead.

"Can you please say something?" His voice is tentative and pained.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you reply honestly.

Spencer sighs deeply. "Tell me whatever you're thinking now. Yell at me, tell me I'm a fucking liar, that I dragged you into this mess, tell me I'm a terrible husband."

You consider his words for a moment. Is it true everything Spencer says is what you're thinking? It probably is, but you don't feel like you have the energy to bring it out the way he wants. However, there is one underlying question that has been on your mind since all this started.

"Why? Why you kept it from me? You don't trust me enough to tell me those things?"

"No, don't say that. I do trust you," Spencer rushes to say, but he knows it's a weak defense considering the circumstances.

"Then I don't get it. Why, Spencer?" Your tone isn't accusatory but sad. You could have helped him if you had known. But he, for some reason, decided against it.

"I was trying to protect you," he says and shakes his head. "I know it sounds stupid now we are here, but it's true. I didn't want you to worry about my mom's situation. I'm so sorry."

Spencer is probably telling the truth, but it doesn't make you feel better. Not seeing him behind bars like this.

The helplessness of not having anticipated this situation and now being unable to do anything to solve it eats you up inside. Despite that, you know Spencer is having it worse. So you, as his partner and who loves him the way you never loved anyone, decide to put your feelings aside to be his support at this difficult moment.

"It's okay," you assure him, placing your hands between the bars to hold his. Spencer is quick to respond and grabs onto your hands as if you were a lifeline to him. "We'll figure it out."

Spencer's eyes fill with tears as he repeatedly murmurs, 'Thank you' and 'I love you.'

You have always considered yourself a strong and tenacious woman. Since you were a kid, you have been independent and able to overcome everything that came your way. But adult life has continued to test you, and this has been no exception. When you find out Nadie Ramos has been murdered and all the evidence points to Spencer, you're about to break down. Still, you can't because if you do, who's going to support your husband? You have to be strong. Some reprieve emerges when you learn Ramos is an American citizen and Spencer can be prosecuted on American soil.

Baby steps.

The jet is mostly silent, save for Emily's occasional page-turning or Luke's typing on his phone. Rossi seems to be sleeping. You and Spencer are in one of the back seats. Spencer's head is in your lap while you absentmindedly play with his hair, looking at the night sky out the window.

"You think Scratch is behind this?" Spencer asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You consider your answer for a couple of seconds.

"I do. I mean, it's such a damn elaborate plan. I can't think of anyone but Scratch."

Spencer assumes a sitting position and examines your face. He knows you are upset. Cupping your cheeks, he looks directly at your eyes.

"I have no words to say how sorry I am. And I promise to make it up to you for the rest of my life when this is over."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, you are met with Spencer's expecting gaze.

"I know you will." And you really think that. "I love you, Spencer. I'm sure we are going to get through this." Your voice trembles with emotion, but your words seal a promise you mean to keep.

"And I love you. So so much. God, I'm so lucky to have you." Spencer's arms envelope you in a tight embrace. You melt into him, breathing his scent. It's the way you usually use to ground yourself. It's hard right now because, once the jet lands in Virginia, Spencer will get snatched from you, for God knows how much time it will take.

When the BAU elevator doors open, you find JJ, Penelope, and Tara waiting for you all. Spencer has his cuffed hands covered with your FBI jacket so as not to attract too much attention. Garcia is the first to rush forward and hug him.

You only have fifteen minutes. Then, the police officers will take him to the station to book him and leave him in a cell.

JJ and Tara hug him, too. You assume they are giving him reassuring words, something you know he needs right now. From your peripheral, you see Emily exchange glances with Stephen and retreating to Emily's office. You can't say what's going on, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you follow them. You know Tara, Penelope, and JJ will keep Spencer occupied for a couple more minutes.

"What? Is the bureau abandoning him?" You hear Emily ask, visibly upset.

"They said Reid traveled with his personal passport and didn't inform the office. That's enough for them to step aside," Stephen explains.

"So we don't have legal support," Emily confirms, and Stephen nods.

You can't help but interrupt the conversation.

"What? Spencer will not have a defense?" Both Emily and Stephen startle and turn to see you. While Stephen gives you an apologetic look, Emily is quick to speak.

"Not provided by the FBI, but it doesn't mean Spencer will be alone in this. We'll find a lawyer for him."

"They do want to bury this, don't they? It's bad publicity, and Spencer will fall for it," you start to complain, your breathing picking up speed.

"Hey! We won't let that happen, do you hear me?" your boss steadies you and makes you look at her with both hands on your shoulders. "But for now, Spencer can't know. Not until we get this figured out."

As in cue, you look through Emily's window and see Spencer still chatting with JJ and Penelope.

"This is a nightmare," you mumble. Emily squeezes your shoulder.

"We're going to solve it, I promise."

You see Spencer looking around with a frown. Penelope and JJ are still talking to him, but Spencer seems to be looking for something, better said, someone: you. Cautiously, you descend the stairs to join him. You know you don’t have much time, and you know you can’t tell him about the lack of a lawyer.

“Hey,” Spencer calls when he finally sees you.

“Sorry, I went to talk to Emily about something real quick while giving you time with the team.” You don’t want to delve into specifics and hope Spencer doesn't ask about it.

“Thank you. Can we talk more privately?”

“Sure.” You both move to a corner with fewer people around. Spencer’s eyes trail every part of your face as he wants to engrave you in his memory. At the lack of words, you frown. “Spencer?”

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrified, and not just for me. I’m scared about how this will affect you and us. I just want to say that I love you with all my heart, but I will understand if this becomes too much. You don't owe me anything. Don’t feel obligated-”

“Stop! Stop right there. Don’t even try to finish that sentence,” you rush to cut him off.

“But-”

“No. You are my husband. You are the love of my life. You are the person I chose to share my life with. In thick and thin, remember?” You cup his face so he can look directly at your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Physically, we’ll be apart, but I won’t rest until I get you out, and we'll be together again, okay?”

Spencer’s eyes fill with tears, and so do yours. He leans down to catch your lips with his. He can’t hold you - he’s cuffed - but for now, you can do that work. Lacing your arms around his neck, you deepen the kiss, and you can feel your tears mixing.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Spencer mumbles on your lips.

“I know you will,” you mumble back before kissing him again.

Emily clearing her throat takes you both out of your bubble.

“I’m sorry, guys, but it’s time. Police are here,” she apologetically announces. You look at Spencer, and he nods. It's time. With a last lingering kiss and an ‘I love you,’ he turns and follows Emily down the hall. Spencer doesn't turn around because he knows if he does and looks at you, he won’t be able to leave you there.

You watch him walk away and wonder if this nightmare will end soon. You don't know if you'll have the strength to hold on to him and yourself and if the love you share will be enough to keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive.

------------------

Next part

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[joelmillerisapunk]

OH MY GOD??? The intensity here is unreal. This fic punches you in the gut and refuses to let go, it’s suffocating in the best way. The tension between the reader and Javier is so raw, so visceral, it feels like you’re standing in the room with them, choking on the unbearable weight of heartbreak and desire. The intricate web of emotions is just chef's kiss—anger, betrayal, obsession, need—it’s all laid bare, tangled in this messy, intoxicating relationship.

The prose is so vivid and detailed that you can practically feel the damp heat of the shower, the sharp sting of the reader’s heartbreak, and the way Javier’s presence overwhelms everything like a tidal wave. The moral ambiguity is written so perfectly—it’s masochistic, it’s destructive, but it’s also undeniably human.

The way the story captures Javier’s complexity—his arrogance, his fragility—is pure poetry. And the reader’s inner turmoil? That delicate balance of anger and longing, her refusal to let go even when she knows she should? It’s painfully relatable in the best (and worst) way.

The sex isn’t just sex—it’s this volatile, emotional battleground where their love and hate collide. It’s messy, flawed, and oh-so-human. The power dynamics, the desperation, the unspoken confessions buried in every kiss, every thrust—this is messy, it’s painful, it’s addictive. You’ve written something that just lingers with you long after reading. Freckles!!!! You’ve wrecked me, and I’m thanking you for it. Honestly, I need a cigarette (I don't smoke), a drink, and maybe therapy after this. Some of my fave lines cause the entire thing is my favorite <3

You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well,  news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationship Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground. His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore. 

When your lips collide you let it happen. It’s like when you drink too much Tequila. It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable. You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same. He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?” He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now. Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart You come, weeping. Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.But there’s no hope anymore. You know you can’t go on like that.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel. There will be two broken hearts.  You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist. None of this happens. The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

How could you love somebody like me?

Pairing: f!reader x Javier Peña Words count: 3032 Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you. Tags/warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, Javi is still a DEA agent but it's a modern setting so the man has a smartphone. Reader is described having female genitalia and breasts, no other description of her is given, she doesn't blush and her hair is not described. Mention of alcohol, mention of cheating, Javi is a cheater, no happy ending, we will go through the man's phone (you're not supposed to do that but I never said my reader could do no wrong, right?), use of pet names (gatita which means kitten in Spanish, baby, darling), smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v (do better irl), cream pie, of course a little nipple play ‘cause it’s still my fic, toxic relationship, self doubt, mention of Steve, a huge pile of lies, Javi is bad at feelings, some reader’s thoughts marked in italics. I think it's all, let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @jolapeno 's "Dear-uary" challenge. This was my prompt, I struggled a little bit at first but I ended up having a blast writing this ❤︎ Heavily inspired by this song (from which the fic also takes its title), I heard it randomly on Spotify one day and I thought "wait, this is perfect for Javi!" and I ended up being obsessed with two more songs by the same artist. LOL Many thanks to: - @aurorawritestoescape , my beta, for her help and advice, she will probably dream of elephants because of me tonight hahaha Kate I own you a big one, thanks baby so much, I love you ❤️ - The person who basically pulled this out of my brain and supported me throughout the process, my precious, my peanut @joelmillerisapunk. 🥰 Love you so much it's ridiculous🥹 - @milla-frenchy for letting me blather about this thing some days ago. Love you, bb ❤︎ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any.

Edited - because I forgot to change the most important detail, of course. I’m not myself if I’m not doing a mess. Yay. It’s okay now.

“Why the hell am I here? Was I the only available hole this week?”

“No,” he whispers. 

“So what?” 

Javier came back and found you in the middle of the room.

You were brandishing his phone like a sword in the air, the banner of everything that was wrong.

His face went pale when he saw you like that. 

Eyes wide open. 

Mouth agape. 

He tried to say something but you immediately hit him with a vomit of words.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hiss under your breath, feeling your eyes sting.

Javier is a marble statue in front of you, his lips pressed together, his absent eyes not even looking at you, staring at a spot behind your shoulders, his arms abandoned along his sides. 

He seems anchored to the ground. 

His last words to you still burn on your skin like a fire you cannot extinguish.

A heavy silence between you fills the air of the room and makes it unbreathable. 

“Fuck, Javier, talk to me,” you whisper angrily.

You clutch his phone in your hands, so tightly that your knuckles are white from exertion, as if you were clinging to it to keep yourself from falling off a cliff. 

“You knew I was no good,” he says sternly.

You have been in this room for two days. 

Officially, Javier has to stay here because henchmen of one of the new drug lords in town are set on taking him out. 

Unofficially, he has you infiltrating the room. 

Typical Javier, spending his time under protection fucking someone. 

You foolishly almost believed it was romantic, until this morning. 

“So you’re trying to say that it’s my fault? Is that what you want to say? It’s my fault that as soon as I turn my back you go and stick your cock in someone else's pussy?” You don’t even have the strength to scream right now. Your voice comes out rancorous but low, hoarse, like a blown growl. 

Oh, you’re not going to accept being lectured by him, fuck no.

“No, I’m just saying -” he tries to explain and you glare at him, making the words die in his mouth.  

"What?" 

“Fuck, I'll never change,” he shrugs as if it were a truism that only you can't grasp.

His eyes shift to the ground, dull and absent.

“You don't change because you are convinced that you can't,” you admonish him, feeling anger rising from your chest. 

"That's not true," he murmurs, keeping his gaze on the crimson and gold carpet that lies at your feet.

“Yes, it is,” you insist, ”and you seem to like to think of yourself as an incurable asshole.”

He still fails to see the real problem, the elephant in the room that lives and thrives among you. 

"Then you tell me, if you think you know me so well,” he asks with defiance. 

“You bet I fucking know you,” you lash out. “You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well,  news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationships.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me,” he hisses, finally setting his eyes back on you. 

Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground.

You bitterly laugh, “Truth hurts, huh? I know something about it”. 

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, his nostrils flare, and his mouth tightens into a line so thin you think he’s about to burst. He stays quiet instead, eyes back on the damask carpet decoration. 

_____________

“Yes, Steve, I'm fine. That jerk won't find me here, and anyway it's full of police outside the door.” 

A pause and a sigh. 

”No, no one followed her, they don't know who she is.”

You stood behind the half-closed bathroom door listening. 

You smiled. 

His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling. 

Until you heard something else. 

A booming laugh. 

Water ran in the shower, tiny droplets coated the wall as the mirror fogged up.

“Whatever. Of course I'm still screwing around. At least, I was doing it before that asshole started chasing me,” his voice suddenly lowered so you took a chance and opened the door a little more. You wanted to make sure you heard right. 

Your hand trembled against the doorknob, you grabbed your wrist to hold it steady. 

“You idiot,” he scoffed. “Yeah, we'll be in touch.”

Suspicion. The black wing of a crow that had been wrapped around your heart for a long time.

But then why did it hurt so much? 

You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

He always places the phone with its screen down when you go out to dinner, softly smiling at it when he checks it after a few vibrations, telling you “it’s Steve” when you ask. 

But you know that crooked smile. 

He dodges when you ask him about his day "oh work, you know, just work." 

He tells you he is with Steve but you hear female voices in the background. 

Every time you try to confront him it always ends the same way, him telling you, “you’re paranoid, there’s no one else, just you, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

And then he fucks your doubts into oblivion.

You heard the thud of the phone on the blankets. And then Javier calling you. 

You swallowed the gall rising from the walls of your stomach and just smiled when he joined you in the bathroom and suggested that you shower together.

You wanted some proof before you charged him. 

If there was anything you had learned from being with him, it was that hard evidence was the key. So you played cool. 

He fucked you against the shower wall and you moaned into his neck. 

He licked your pussy like a man starved and you just bit your lips until you felt iron on your tongue.

He kissed you with that liar's mouth, and you let him.

And you fell asleep beside him, on the unmade bed of your uncertainties. 

This morning someone from outside called him into the hallway to report the latest movements of the guy who was looking for him. 

His phone was on the bedside table.

It was like a magnet, pulling your hand to it.

You were almost sure you knew his unlock code ‘cause you had watched the movements of his finger many times. 

You tried twice without success. 

The third time you let out a long sigh, visualized in your mind the movement one more time and unlocked it. 

You were in. 

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your fingers swiped and clicked on the screen. 

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of messages and pics exchanged with 4 different women.

You scrolled through one of the chats with a certain Maria, who regularly sent him pictures of her tits and her legs spread wide, her pussy in the shot.

There was sexting, arranged dates, same promises he gave to you, things you never asked for but he kept repeating like a broken record. Even the same pet name. Gatita. 

Blood simmered in your veins, a jolt in your heart, throat dry. 

Your finger furiously scrolled through the chat, finding tons of messages he had sent her while he was with you.

You switched to another one and you found pretty much the same. And yet another, message after message containing flirting and explicit sex.  

“Oh Javi, you keep getting better and better with that cock of yours”

“My pussy needs you, darling, can you come over?”

“I can’t stop thinking about your huge cock dripping on me”

And the more you scrolled, the more a question formed in your brain, rumbling through your temples like a deafening drum. 

Was he ever sincere with you?

________

When he looks up at you again, you see it. A veil of fragility in the dense blackness of his gaze.

He looks almost helpless. “I know you tried,” he admits, ”You tried harder than anyone else.”

“Apparently it was no use,” you chastise him.

He doesn’t reply. 

Instead he comes closer and closer. 

You pull back, responding to his every step forward with a backward one. 

“Please,” he whispers. 

“No.” 

“Don't do that.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” you bark.

”I know...” 

“Fuck off, Javier, leave me alone.”

You pull back until you hit the wall behind you. 

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore. 

When your lips collide you let it happen. 

It’s like when you drink too much Tequila. 

It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable.

You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same. 

He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?” 

He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

He is a time bomb that explodes in your heart every time he touches you. So you keep doing it.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Yeah…I know. I’m not worthy.”

And yet, you’re still here.

You let him peel off your every layer of clothing, to leave you naked and vulnerable in front of him. 

You do nothing when he undresses too. Hastily taking off his shirt, fumbling with the button of his jeans, nervous hands and short breaths.

It is like some mind fuck game, intoxicating, dangerous, capable of leaving permanent marks.

He lowers his jeans just enough to free his cock, no boxers. Always ready.

His hands run over your hips and you groan. 

His tongue slides over your neck, his eyes closed, his breath heavy and warm on your skin. 

He makes you cry, but you don't say no.

His lips latch onto your nipple and adrenaline rushes through your veins up into your head, hitting hard like a jackhammer.

You don’t pull back anymore, you push your tit into his mouth so eagerly you feel his teeth closing on your bud and you whine in pleasure. 

His growing erection leaks against your center. You are trapped. Not so much because you are between him and the wall but because you no longer know how to get him out of your head. 

Right now it doesn't matter how much it hurts. 

He slides his hands down your thighs and you know what he wants, without needing to speak. You wrap your legs around his waist. He kneels on the bed with you still clinging to him, you lie back on the soft blankets that smell of you both, arch your back and press against his cock. You folds splayed and dripping for him.

His fingers go up your rib cage, stop under your breasts and grasp there, he draws you back to him and your mouths collide again.

You let his tongue enter. You let the fleeting pleasure of this instant take over all the no's you know you have to say.

There’s no right kind of love here, this room is drowned in angry sex.

Angry at how you can never say no to him, angry at how he makes you feel, angry because you know that no one has ever fucked you the way he did, invading your body with a pleasure so addictive that it makes you sick. Angry because maybe he's right, he can't change. 

You break the kiss and bite on his shoulder, a small act of revenge that really does no harm compared to your bleeding heart. 

Your hands grasp on the golden skin of his back, leaving marks with your nails digging into it, your miserable attempt to leave marks on him in return.

You moan convulsively under his touch, your mouth wide open against his, your tongue desperately seeking him out. 

His hands tighten on your ass, lifting you slightly, his cock slides over your wet opening, a guttural sound comes out of the back of your throat without you being able to hold it back. 

You want him inside you. 

You need him inside you.

And it’s wrong, and desperate. It’s masochistic.

You don’t even care for his jeans’s zip scraping your skin.

The thin line between pain and pleasure is so blurred now.

It’s a pathetic shit show of need and urgency. 

You’d walk away from any other guy but Javier is the person you can never have just for yourself and at the same time he is the only one you want. 

He is the knife and the wound at the same time.  

When he asks “Whose pussy is this?” in his deep groaning voice that fucks directly with your brain, you can only reply “yours.”

Digging your nails deeper, biting more, wailing louder but just pleading with him.

You take his shaft in your hand and rub it against you in blind desperation, wetting it with your juices. 

He groans into your ears while his hand reaches for your nipple and his big strong arm holds you close.

You are sitting on his thighs, your legs crossed behind his back.

His fingers pinch your nipple as you don't stop stroking his big throbbing cock.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now. 

Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart. 

“Fuck me,” you groan. 

He pushes against your core, entering you with one deep thrust.

Your pussy is weeping so much it doesn’t even hurt.

You clench on him with all the strength you have, chocking his cock with your walls.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re gripping me so hard, baby. There’s nothing you want more than this, huh? Me fucking you raw?” 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He starts moving, pumping into you as his hand reaches for your clit, brushing it in circles.

You whine, clinging onto his back, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You can’t look him in the eye, you can’t face your own shameful reflection in his pupils, you can’t think of anything else than this pleasure firing your body, your limbs, your mind.

Your pussy never gets the memo when it comes to him. She just clenches, and cries and asks for more.

At the verge of your brink, when you’re so utterly overwhelmed you could swear, you’re about to jump out of your skin, you hear it.

It’s the softest whisper on your skin, so low you barely catch the words, “I love you” 

You cry a single tear that slides down the column of his neck, it could be mistaken for a bead of sweat so easily and Javier doesn’t notice it. But it’s there. You’re crying again.

You come, weeping.

Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.

But there’s no hope anymore.

You know you can’t go on like that.

You cried before. You argued before. It’s all useless.

A devastating orgasm shoots through you, leaving you without defense.

It’s the last thing you want but you need to get it over with. 

You lie on the bed, feeling his last twitches inside you, his cum dripping onto your walls, his cock pressing against that spot that belongs only to him.

He lies down on you, gently crushing you with his weight, his sweaty skin against yours, the smell of your orgasm filling your nostrils.

You’re hopeless and breathless. 

He's still inside you, like he doesn't want to leave. 

You know you have to. 

Eventually he shifts, lying on the other side of the bed muttering, “god, you really are something else.” He takes the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one, taking a long drag.

“I'm not enough,” you want to scream looking at him through the cloud of smoke enveloping him. “Or maybe you're not, for me.”

When he is about to fall asleep, you get up. You pick up your clothes off the floor and put them on silently.

“Where are you going, gatita?” he grunts. 

Does he think he has solved it? Does he think you will forgive him as you did the other times? 

You don’t reply.

"You only ever tell me the truth when you think I won't hear it,” you type on your phone and send it to him, before coming out of the door without turning your back.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel.

There will be two broken hearts. 

You know he loves you and you love him.

He is convinced that he doesn’t deserve you and pushes you away every time you get close to his soul. 

He knows that you see him clearly; that scares him.

You are tired of fighting for the both of you.

You push the elevator button under the gaze of an unsuspecting policeman who urges, “Where are you going, miss?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Do you need someone to accompany you?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Someone could follow you,” he counters.

“No one knows me, you don't have to worry.”

You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist. 

None of this happens.

The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

Tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @almostempty , @probablyreadinsmut , @thundermartini , @gothcsz , @cas-readsandwrites , @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! Thank you very much for reading❤︎