#and im here. in my nondescript

[forestlion]

there's no one working class vacationing here.... What's up w that :)

[made-nondescript]

AU where Grian is assigned Scar's guardian angel after he commits his most wonderfully destructive prank yet. Guardian angel duty doesn't really seem like much of a punishment at all seeing as it puts Grian comfortably out of the Watcher's usual reach. Not to mention it gives him a job practically made to be blown off! If anything it sounds like a reward.

Then comes the twist: the Watchers are of course not stupid. They know that in usual circumstances this assignment would be giving Grian even more freedom to be a menace on people less capable of controlling him. They know Grian knows this, and that he is thinking them stupid.

It's only after careful deliberation they decide to give him a warning. Grian and his charge's pain will be linked: any pain they incur will become his own, and vice versa. A clever but simple change. The Watchers smile as they tell him this, as if they have successfully ruined all those plans that Grian had already started to form. Grian is undeterred.

They do not tell him they smile because they picked the man with the highest pain tolerance and frequency of injury that they could find. They smile because Grian will have no choice but to be responsible for once, if for nothing else than to put an end to his own suffering.

Right?

[bisclavret]

compiling some story vibes

[the-videodame]

hey bg3 fic writers. if your Tav has a name that isnt "Tav" then use the damn "named tav" tag on ao3 or im beating you to death with hammers

[windupaidoneus]

yea its the end of may yea yea i know i know its not even may anymore here. but like its still mermay somewhere out there so take this. and yes those are top surgery scars i felt compelled

[cozy-in-my-head-my-bed]

i got a camera!!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

executive orders

words: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ only, ceo!rafe, assistant!reader, mean!rafe but equally mean!reader lol, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pretend marriage (like fake dating but fake marriage hehe)

“so…” the woman says, heels clicking down the pristine hallway as you quickly follow. “as you were told in the interview process, mr. cameron is a very particular man. as his personal assistant, your focus is more on his well-being than the business.”

“okay, i understand.” you nod. you find the whole thing odd. the interview process where you didn't actually meet the man you'd be the personal assistant to. his semi nondescript job. ceo. of some company named after him, but you don't know the specifics on what his role actually includes.

“just know…” she pauses outside of the large door leading into the room. “this isn't going to be an easy job. it's why you're making a lot of money.”

“okay.” you say again. the more you learn, the more concerned you are, but you're willing to try, even if just for one day.

“and you're paid for through the cfo. mr. cameron does not have firing rights no matter what he says.”

you're not sure what she means, but it becomes very apparent when the moment you step through the door, the man you presume to be mr. cameron let's out a growl.

“serena, i told you i don't need a fucking babysitter!” you turn around, but the door has already been shut behind you. you can hear serenas heels clicking quickly down the hallway. you had completely forgotten her name in the stress of your first day, but you commit it to memory before turning to the ceo.

“hello, sir.” you say quietly. “im y/n.”

“i don't need you.” he grunts out before focusing on his computer, typing rather angry and aggressively. you stand frozen, waiting.

“i said i don't need you. leave. you're fired.” mr. cameron says.

“i um… i don't think you can fire me. sorry, sir.”

his fingers pause as he looks up at you, seeming to finally really see you as his eyes move down then back up your body. you weren't sure what to wear so you're dressed in a black work dress with long sleeves and a pair of flats. under his watchful eye, you wish you would have worn something less form fitting.

“i hate being called sir.” he says.

“okay, mr. cameron then.” you take a few shuffling steps forward.

“rafe.” he shakes his head. “just rafe. mr. cameron is my fucking dad and he's dead.”

your instinct is to say sorry for his loss, but you can't find the words, which ultimately seems to be the right thing as rafe hums then turns back to his computer screen.

you watch him work for a few minutes, occasionally looking around the sparsely decorated office. you swear every time you look away, rafes eyes move up to look at you, but by the time your gaze travels back to him, he's back typing on his computer.

“goddamn it.” he groans out. “don't just stand there all day. if you're gonna be here and i can't fire you, you might as well sit down.”

“oh!” it takes you a minute to realize he's talking to you as his eyes don't stray away from the screen, but then you're quickly moving to sit on the chair positioned on the other side of his desk.

you sit again, watching rafe, watching the clock, watching the view out the window. “what would you like for lunch, si-rafe?”

“whatever.” he waves his hand. “it's not your job to get it. someone will bring lunch to us.”

“oh.” you nod, becoming increasingly more aware that you're not really sure what your job is.

just like rafe said, someone brings in lunch at exactly 12:30, one tray for you and one for rafe.

when he closes his computer, you think that now will finally be the time to talk, but he eats in silence. “so-”

“no small talk.” rafe says. “i hate that shit.”

“well, what is it you'd like me to do then? just sit here? at least give me a task.”

“fine.” rafe grunts out. “when you're finished eating you can read through this report.” he tosses a thick three ringed binder onto the desk in front of you.

“fine.” you argue back, quickly scarfing down your food before grabbing the binder. 

you read through the report. you have no clue what the numbers mean, but you do find a couple punctuation mistakes and highlight them. rafe seems surprised you have any notes at all, his eyebrows raising when you grab the marker from his desk.

“there.” you place the binder down once you reach the last page. its tedious work, but at least it's something other than utter silence.

“great.” rafe takes the binder and tosses it into the trash can. 

“hey!”

“those were numbers from four years ago.” you can see the smirk on rafes features, his amusement at getting you to do something completely pointless.

“you're a real dick, you know?” you say, blurting the words out before you can think of the consequences, it's not like you want to keep the job anyways.

rafe sits silently, but his eyes are on you, hands frozen as you continue on.

“you should hear the way people talk about you. everyone is afraid of you, which you may think makes you a macho boss, but it just makes you a shitty guy to work for. no wonder you have to pay everyone two times more than any other company around here, they need that for putting up with your rudeness.” you rant, suddenly sucking in air as your words come to an end.

“it's 5pm. done for the day. ill walk you out.” rafe stands, but you move quicker, pushing the doors open and leaving him to walk behind.

you stop when you see serena and the cfo quietly chatting. you open your mouth to say you quit when rafe speaks from behind you.

“i like this one. make sure she's here tomorrow by 9am.”

you turn and look to him, but he's already walking away.

--

you weren't planning on showing back up, but serena is a convincing woman.

“good morning, rafe.” you place a drink carrier down onto the corner of his desk, plucking out your mocha before schooching the rest towards him. “i didn't know what you like. i got a hot black coffee, a caramel frappe and the a cappuccino.”

rafe stares at the drinks before picking up the frappe. you smile, you should have predicted that despite his hard exterior, rafe liked a sweet drink.

serena gave you the company card, saying to use it for any and all expenses, even grocery's or home decor, she didn't care, as long as you entered the building by 9 am tomorrow.

“i know you hate small talk, but you'll have to get over it. what does this company even do?” you take a sip of your mocha, the taste chocolatey on your tongue.

“we are a development company. real estate all across the world. we also manage construction.”

“oh.” you frown. “that's more boring than i thought.”

rafe let's out a soft chuckle, pleasant sounding to your ears.

“everything just seems so secretive.” you shrug.

“i think they didn't want you to know a lot in case you turned down the job. you're the longest an assistant has lasted.”

“and what…” you lean in, ignoring that it's only your second day. “exactly am i supposed to do?”

“just… keep me in check.” rafe shrugs. “i have a tendency to get angry. bad news will get passed through you. you're here to be a sounding board, where i can vent and bounce ideas off of.”

“i make 100k a year for that?” you scoff.

“i think 50 of that is just for dealing with me.” 

you laugh along with rafe. maybe you'll end up lasting an entire week.

-- two months later --

“are you free this weekend?” rafe asks.

“uh, yeah, why?” you question. you've learned rafe likes when you stand up to him, speak your mind and not let him push you around like he does everyone else. he's come to respect you for it, and it's made work much easier.

“im needed in new york city. id like for you to come with me. as my assistant.”

“sure, ill start looking for hotels.” you open up your laptop.

“spare no cost. i want somewhere nice.”

you roll your eyes dramatically. “of course you do.”

you already knew to look only at 5 star hotels, the most expensive of the lot. despite the short notice, you find two connecting suites that will work for you and rafe.

“and how are we getting there?” you ask. “want me to talk to jeffery about taking the private jet?”

“yup, i want to fly into laguardia, not jfk.”

“got it.” you nod, finding the correct number in your phone before stepping out to talk. you confirm all the details, jotting down times in the notes app on your phone.

you stop by after the phone call to update serena of your plans, learning she's a secretary of sort for the whole company, really the number two right behind rafe.

“hey girl.” you smile. “heading to nyc with mr. cameron for the weekend.”

“oh, good.” she sighs happily. “he's been needing to go out there.”

“yeah.” you shrug. “if you say so!” you keep yourself firmly out of the business side, just like she told you your first day here.

“make sure you do something fun while you're there too. while he's in meetings you could see times square, or check out central park.”

“i definitely will! i want to see the cherry blossoms if they're still in bloom.”

“sounds fun.” serena nods before her desk phone begins to read. “sorry, gotta get this.”

“see ya.” you wave as you walk back to rafes office.

“all good?” he questions.

“laguardia, just as you want.” you smile, sitting back at your upgraded chair.

“don't know what id do without ya.” rafe says.

“don't be nice to me.” you scrunch your name up. “it's weird.”

--

“how were the cherry blossoms?” rafe asks.

“most of them still in bloom, actually.” you say with a soft smile. you ended up taking a lot of pictures along with exploring the rest of the park.

“nice.” he hums. “did you bring an evening dress?”

“no. and you didn't tell me i was supposed to.” you say.

“well… i would appreciate it if you joined me at dinner tonight. it's with a very important client who um… may be under the impression that im traveling with my wife.”

“your- your wife?” your eyes widen. “you want me to lie about being your wife?”

“just for tonight. id really appreciate it.” rafe looks at you with a softness in his eyes. “please.”

“okay… but i don't have an evening gown… or anything fancy.” 

“let me take you shopping then.” rafe pulls out his phone. “there's got to be a nice store near us.”

you place your hand on top of rafes phone. “ill find a place.”

you end up finding a formal store only a couple blocks away. you decide to walk, rafe keeping close to you, glaring at anyone who even glances at you for too long.

you make it to the store without any interruptions, and rafe quickly points out the kinds of dresses that will fit the restaurant before standing back to let you choose.

“you wanna watch me try them on, husband?” you ask rafe, following the associate with an armful of dresses back towards the private changing rooms.

“of course.” rafe follows behind you, eyes glancing down your figure. he can't wait to see you in a gorgeous fitted dress.

when you step out in the first dress, rafe swears he feels his heart skip a beat. “you're getting that one.”

“you sure?” you look in the mirror, twirling around to look at the dropped back. “i don't know if this color looks good on me.”

“it looks good on you.” rafe says. “but by all means, try on more. ill buy you multiple.”

rafe ends up buying you every single dress you try on except for one that's too loose and doesn't fit well. you insist you only need one, but you're not going to argue with your boss wanting to spend money on you.

you end up choosing the first one you tried on to go to the dinner with rafe. your hands shake slightly, not sure what to expect. rafe sees it, hesitating before wrapping your hand in his.

“it'll be fine. you can just… just be quiet for the most part. ill do all the talking.”

“okay.” you squeeze his hand back, not used to the physical contact with rafe, but finding it surprisingly comfortable.

you follow him into the restaurant, everyone else dressed to the nines, perfect hair and makeup on the women, the men with the shiniest shoes. “it's really beautiful in here.” you whisper.

“wait till you taste the food… wifey.” rafe says, making you both laugh.

“ah, mr. and mrs. cameron.” the man says in a slightly accented voice as you both shake his hand, as well as the associate next to him. “so glad to meet the both of you. we appreciate getting into business with a true family man.”

“of course.” you smile, putting on your best acting performance. “we are so excited to start our family soon.”

“we must see the wedding photos. my wife-” the man puts a proud hand on his chest. “is a wedding dress designer.”

“oh.” you frown. “i would love to show you, but we haven't gotten them back yet.” you smile at rafe. “we’re newlyweds.”

“ah, cheers to the beginning of a lovely marriage then.” he raises his glass to clink with the others at the table.

“please, kiss! you must after a toast.” the associate says.

you turn to rafe, glancing down to look at his lips. it would totally give you away to refuse, so you take a deep breath and lean into in, pressing your lips together in a quick kiss. it lasts only a moment, but you swear you feel a spark, a tug to continue kissing him.

rafe doesn't bring it up until later, as your riding the elevator back up to your hotel room. “you did great. im sorry about the kiss.”

“it wasn't bad.” you giggle softly, slightly drunk on the wine that was served.

“im glad you think that.” rafe smiles softly. “you'll make a wonderful wife to a very lucky man someday.”

“maybe we could…” you swallow harshly, the alcohol encouraging your words you know you shouldn't say. “maybe we could keep pretending. just for tonight. and then when we get back to the office things can be back to normal.”

“and what does continuing to pretend to be husband and wife entail?” rafe questions, taking a step closer to you.

“more kissing. more… more.”

rafes lips are against yours suddenly, ignoring the elevator doors sliding open in favor of his mouth pushing against yours, lips gliding harshly over each others. the kiss is the exact opposite of the restaurant, whereas it was quick and innocent, this kiss is full of fire and passion.

the elevators slide shut and begin to head back down to the lobby. “shit.” rafe groans against your lips, jamming the button towards your floor. “sorry baby.”

“just… keep kissing me until someone gets in.” rafe listens to your pleas, kissing you until the elevator comes to a halt. even then, he doesn't move far away, keeping himself stood possessively over you, your back against the elevator wall.

you smile awkwardly at the three men who enter before turning your face into rafes chest, focused on the hand that has slipped around your waist. 

the elevator stops and the three men get off. the second it's moving again, rafe is back kissing you, stumbling out when your doors open as to not make the same mistake as last time.

“shit.” rafe groans, having to fumble in his pocket to get the key card for the door.

you let out a soft giggle, pressing kisses to his neck and jaw until the door swings open and you're able to step in the room.

“are you sure?” rafe asks, closing and locking the door behind you.

“im sure.” you nod. “this is just… pretend. let's do what husbands and wives do.”

rafe moves you towards the bed, backing you up until you sit down on the plush spread, decorated exactly like yours in the connecting room, but this bedding still smells like rafe from the night before.

he sinks to his knees, such a strong, dominant man on the floor for you as he takes off your heels, carefully slipping them off your soles before setting them to the side.

“thank you.” you say softly. rafe looks up at you before leaning forward, pushing the slit of your dress open to press kisses to your knees, and then thighs, moving up until the dress no longer allows him to.

“i need you to take this off.” he says roughly.

you nod, shifting yourself to stand as rafe also rises. you turn your back to him, his hands moving to your waist before moving up until he's cupping your chest over the shiny material.

“rafe-” you gasp out as he squeezes, his large palms enveloping your entire breast.

rafe holds his hands there for a moment longer before moving them to your back, unzipping your dress and watching it fall to the floor. you're in just a small pair of lingerie, having bought it for yourself yesterday in a boutique.

“shit.” rafe curses again. “you're… you're so beautiful.”

you turn around to kiss him again, his hands now against your bare skin as he explores, moving all along your sides and back.

your own hands get busy as well, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt until you can push it off his shoulders. you pull away to see his muscles, hints of which you've seen when he's rolled up his sleeves or wore a tighter than normal shirt, but now you can finally really see and appreciate them.

“lay down, please.” rafe says.

you move to lay on his bed, head resting against the pillows as rafe crawls over your body. his mouth finds yours again as his hand delves under your back to unhook your bra. he pulls it away from your body as his lips leave yours.

he's only off your skin for a moment before his mouth is wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling around in circles as his hand holds your other breast.

“oh, shit.” it's your turn to curse as your eyes squeeze closed, hand coming to the back of rafes head, feeling his short hair as he sucks on your nipple before kissing all over the swell of your breast. he switches sides, wanting to taste all of you.

you lift your hips when his hand grabs onto your underwear, allowing him to pull it all the way down until you kick it off the bed. rafe pulls away to look between your legs, letting out a soft moan when you part your thighs and he can see how wet you already are.

“beautiful.” he says, eyes closing like it's too much to look at you as his hand skirts down your stomach before finding your wetness, finger circling around your entrance before gently pushing in.

“kiss me, please.” you take rafes face in your hands, guiding your mouths back together as his finger carefully thrusts in and out. he slowly increases the speed until you're whining against his lips for more.

rafe twists his hand so his thumb can rub over your clit as you let out a moan, hips pressing up, seeking more.

“i need you.” rafe pulls his hand away. “i need you so bad.”

you nod quickly, giving him one more quick kiss before he pulls away to take off his pants and underwear. you bite your lip once hes completely nude, his cock standing tall and hard away from his body. you want to taste him, want to see what it feels like to have his cock sit heavy on your tongue, but you need him inside of you more.

“i have a condom somewhere…” he looks around.

“you don't need to wear one. I'm on birth control.” you can feel your cheeks blush just at the suggestion. “it's… it's not what a husband and wife would do.”

“okay.” rafe doesn't need any more convincing, crawling back over your body. “do you want me like this?”

you flip over quickly so you're on top, rafes back now pressed into the mattress. you grab onto his cock, giving him a few quick strokes before you line him up with your cunt, sinking down with a synchronous moan.

you keep your eyes on rafes face as you begin to move, hips grinding up and then back, your hands sat firmly on his chest to help you move.

you're able to grind your clit down against his skin every time you sink fully down, just adding to the pleasure. he's stretching you out in the most pleasurable way, just enough to feel it without being painful.

“so fucking beautiful.” rafe says, reaching up to hold onto your tits as they bounce with your body.

you put all your energy into riding him, knowing this might be your only chance to, but hoping it's not, hoping you can feel him inside of you again.

“i- baby.” rafe grunts out, hands moving down to your hips. he helps you move as your legs quickly tire, not used to this position.

“you feel so good.” you whine out eyes sliding shut as rafes hips begin to push up, lifting you with every thrust, spearing his cock even further into you.

“im-im close.” you admit with a gasp, his cock hitting your sweet spot every time.

“cum for me baby, please.” rafe moves one of his hands to your lower stomach, thumb reaching down to rub over your clit.

you cry out, back arching as you instantly cum, not needing any more stimulation as your body shakes before flopping forward, falling against rafes chest.

he gives you a minute, as long as he can hold back before flipping you onto your back. it takes him only a few thrusts to cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

rafe flops down next to you, both breathing heavily, skin sheened in sweat.

you wait for a moment. to see if he's going to say anything. when he doesn't, you scooch closer to him, placing your hand on his cheek and bringing him in for a kiss, not yet done pretending.

-- four years later --

“you remember the first time we came here?” rafe asks, stepping into the restaurant with his hand wrapped around yours. it's redecorated some, but is still familiar.

“how could i forget.” you smile at him. “where i first pretended to be your wife.”

“well, at least you don't have to pretend anymore,” rafe says, swiping his thumb over the diamond ring on your finger “mrs. cameron.”

[bitternanami]

something i think is really interesting about dungeon meshi is the cast's respective views on food as the story progresses. the way many adventurers get through the dungeon is to eat when they Must, but mostly rely on healing magic to keep going when they're tired or beaten down. death is something you can buy your way out of, here.

having these lower stakes when it comes to running yourself too hard has made a lot of people in this setting kind of devalue food and what it does for you.

im not all the way through the manga yet, but so far i really like how it goes about debunking that mindset.

long post under the cut, cw explicit discussion of disordered eating. textual depiction of unhealthy methods of dealing with it. please be cautious!

it seems like to most folks, food is either a decadent luxury, like when the governor offers mr tance a feast as a show of power and wealth, (although he is the only one who actually eats in that scene as he talks about his ambitions);

[id: the governor and mr. tance talk politics and hierarchies, while the governor eats from a bowl. mr. tance's meal is not visible behind a speech bubble.

"so you believe the sorceror is an elf?" he asks.

"i can't say with absolute certainty," mr. tance replies, "but the spells are not ones dwarves and humans typically use." /end id]

like the painted-royal feasts laios tries to partake in that never actually nourish him...

[id: laios, fresh out of the living painting feast, surprisedly holding his grumbling stomach /end id]

or, to the working class, it's pretty much exclusively fuel. i'm thinking about the scene where kabru's party, ostensibly intended to be our view into how adventuring Typically goes for most people, is shown preparing to go to the dungeon by like. walking up to someone and ordering 'a weeks' worth of rations.' purely functional.

[id: kabru enters a store, and the merchant says "welcome!"

kabru says "i need a week's worth of rations for six, and two days' worth of water."

"sure thing." the merchant then reaches behind him and grabs a large cube-shaped package, wrapped in nondescript cloth and tied in place. it thumps onto the counter in front of them both. /end id]

when kabru hands mickbell his food for the trip, he complains about how heavy it is on his back. it's a necessary liability.

we also see chilchuck, in an early chapter where there isn't much food to go around, grumbling about how he used to be better at not noticing when he was hungry. he's frustrated that he's more attuned to his bodily needs, now that he's starting to fill them with regularity.

[id: chilchuck, the only one awake, sits in his bedroll and glares at the timekeeping-candle burning down in front of him while he listens to his stomach growl. moving to find his canteen and fill himself with water instead, he thinks to himself, "my stomach has gotten weaker. i used to be able to go two days without food." /end id]

(like im not even gonna lie this is a big mood. the healing process is really really annoying)

even laios, early on, working out the logistics of going back for falin, considers his expenses and ultimately the thing he decides to save money on is their food supply. like, even the guy most invested in eating as an experience kind of just assumes he will Figure It Out. its what hes eating, not how hes eating it that matters to him at that point.

[id: marcille looks down at the ingredients they've gathered, the walking mushroom and the scorpion in an unappetizing heap on the ground, and asks laios "so how exactly do we eat them?"

he responds "let's just cook them, like normal." /end id]

but its here that senshi introduces the idea of food as art and as healing. its exciting and its fascinating for laios, getting to taste the creatures hes been reading about and fighting, but i dont think it would ever really help him feel full if not for this.

[id: three panels of laios tasting the scorpion hotpot, looking stunned, and then excitedly telling senshi "delicious!"

senshi matches his energy, asking "isn't it? isn't it?" /end id]

pictured: guy who had resigned himself to kind of just doing his best rediscovers the joy in something tasting really fucking good

what they did last time isnt going to work. falin is gone, and constantly anesthetizing their pain and healing through their weakness is no longer a realistic option for the party. in order to make it through they must all relearn how to eat well, one by one and as a group over and over again, because its either that or nothing.

one of my favorite depictions of this idea thus far is when marcille is seriously low on health and mana, and both of these problems are mitigated by taking care of herself, and trying to get iron and protein

[id: marcille, looking sickly, wakes to laios saying, "marcille, marcille, can you sit up? we've got something nice for you."

she watches senshi grill pieces of kelpie liver on a low fire, while laios ties a bib around her neck. /end id]

and drinking a bunch of dead water spirits. she gets the idea, she's supposed to get in nutrients and it'll help her feel better, but in aiming for the quick, inefficient fix, namely chugging that shit down like she heard it was good to Stay Hydrated and decided that would be the thing that fixes her,

[id: marcille throws back a cup of boiled undine-water, her face red. laios asks, "do you really need to drink it that fast?"

she gasps out "...the magical energy stored in nature spirits is actually quite hard to absorb. even if you drink a lot, the majority of it is excreted without being absorbed," and takes another drink. "that's why i need to drink as much as i can."

laios says weakly "you'll get water poisoning," but marcille only stops when senshi puts a hand on her shoulder and says,

"it's easier to absorb nutrients if ye digest them with food. that's a fundamental rule of nutrition."

marcille says, "senshi..." contemplative

and he holds out a bowl of tentuclus and a thumbs up. "let's get cooking!" /end id]

she doesn't immediately realize the answer is that she needs more than that. she's been working hard. she needs care, and she needs nourishment.

once she gets that, though, she makes her boiled water into a stew, and she works to make that stew as good as she can, and everyone can have some.

because in dungeon meshi, to feed yourself or allow yourself to be fed is treated as performing a kindness for yourself. food is what propels you, but there is also an art and a joy inherent to the process of making it; in the way you feel when you've had enough to eat.

[id: senshi watches as chilchuck and marcille eat and excitedly hash out plans.

"i've got a good feeling about this! maybe it'll work out!" chilchuck says

marcille responds, "well it's easier to feel optimistic on a full stomach!"

senshi smiles, proud. /end id]

^^^ i want to put this image on my wall

when you're working through disordered eating habits, you really do have to keep learning this shit. (in my experience, learning about cooking is one of the best ways to do so.)

i'll have to see if my thesis holds up as i continue, but i think one of the reasons the portrayal here resonates with me so hard is that ryoko kui puts most of her characters at eye level with me on this. they're all working at it, too. the text and i are both commiserating, and encouraging each other, 'have some more, you'll feel better.'

[beescake]

PLEASE PLEASE MEGADUMP THE ARASOL!!! PLEAAASEE MR BEESCAKE I AM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU

HFHGHD GLADLY aaa i’ve been adding notes to it here and there for months but just hesitant to post it bcs im 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂

also this is just my own takeaway of the events, it doesn’t necessarily comply to the Ultimate Truth of Canon-Alignment or represent the actual facts of what hussie intended! v sentimental smh but hopefully its still interesting to read

i love when characters inform each other by proximity, it's one of my fave things to see in media :') it feels even more significant when two characters deliberately choose to stick together, so that when one operates, you can tell the other is similarly aligned in associative solidarity.

sollux is a keystone of this trope — whoever he aligns with is a wordless statement, a nod of approval. this stood out to me bcs the main four humans were alr friends by default, but once you reach hivebent you realize the trolls can actively choose who they want to hang out with.

and as we all know, after assessing every troll's biases/loyalties, sollux is the only one who maintains his selective preference for innately Good 👍 people.

aradia is such a beautiful character honestly, she evokes such incredible feelings in me. she might not have been consistently written with care but the best parts of her character are truly stunning. i think it's easy to remember sollux as the self-sacrificing one bc he's so open about it (and his friends frequently react to his Moments) but when you compare him to aradia, it's always struck me

how much more. raw it is

to be so alone as an agent of time, having to orchestrate immeasurably harrowing events nobody understands or gives a fuck about

with your role painted in the story as one who must tend to the needs of the narrative, responsible to match every next note

because when you're given the capabilities, it becomes your duty to carry it out.

it becomes expected of you to keep experimenting and arranging the machinations to work for everyone, dusting off hundreds of necessary failures to keep going

and having to be so unwavering in your drive knowing miserably that there's no one who can help you but yourself.

or alternatively: to make things fun! so other people won't think twice about letting you go off on your own.

sure she's had some very good buds, notably thanks to Team Charge v Team Scourge antics.

and yet, at the end of the day, the one friend that kept choosing her time and time again was the friend with the highest standards.

i can see why people like to define arasol as moirails/matesprits but surprisingly i find the nondescript, unlabeled aspect of their relationship more straightforward to understand.

there's no shortage of people who would accommodate sollux. most of the surviving trolls are his oldest friends bcs he’d chosen them well. his transparency with his feelings had built him strong friendships that won’t falter or break, regardless of how much of a dick he can be. they’ve already seen and accepted him at his worst, and they still like him for who he is.

contrast that with aradia, who'd been so approachable, friendly and reliable in her exchanges it was super fun to talk to her. but the moment she became depressed, all her connections broke down.

her friends became hesitant to interact with her (until she became god tier, “happy” and amicable again) because her gloom and resignation didn’t serve them. she dealt with it alone.

there’s def something of note here abt the disparity between the way male & female characters are written+perceived in homestuck (esp parallel arasol with davejade) but i won’t go into that lmaoo

with this in mind i like to think of sollux as a gift to her, a loyal companion given to complement and commend her resolve. she's capable of doing so much alone but hussie took the time to build her and sollux's relationship as one of a unit; a set.

the ambiguity of their status does complicate things, but i do believe it makes sense with their characters. aradia's relationship with romance is a rocky one, the dubious stringalong equius had with her is a pointed reminder that her feelings of attraction are ultimately controlled by the author writing her.

unlike the other trolls who can openly address and own up to their crushes, aradia had romantic emotions forced upon her (especially when hussie implies 'she kissed equius back on her own volition'). and it seems like her character is so intrinsically neutral abt attraction that even when forced by the almighty powers above, she's unable to retain it wholly.

however, looking back to pre-game when she could actually "choose" her own feelings, she did have a crush on sollux.

their soft spots for each other were so obvious to the point where other people could see it.

taunting aside, when vriska comments on their unit as bf/gf it actually informs the audience that arasol's relationship is romantic in nature despite not aligning with the quadrant system.

even while dead, aradia could still describe her care for sollux, expressing that she would like to see him happy. if they had more time to explore their relationship on alternia, it's possible they could've settled in a quadrant once they grew older.

but going back to the lack of labels, their dynamic was affected once more when aradia became god tier.

to me, her ascension was both the perfect culmination and possible closure of her character. it's the light at the end of her journey toiling through countless of timelines where she had to actively assess and participate. that's why it's cool to see her being silly and having fun giving guidance, passively exploring and watching other people do their parts.

and yet the joy of her freedom makes it hard to explore further introspection. if we take her by her word, she'd already come to terms with the hurt she's been through and forgiven those involved.

i can't help feeling attuned to how impersonal and detached it can be, to devote and meld your identity so completely with your designated position as Maid of Time until you've become hard for your old friends (and even some readers!) to personally connect to.

idk post-canon but i assume there’s some degree of similarity to be bridged here with aradia's god tier and how the hs2 humans' Ultimate forms was described as a consolidation of all their possibilities. since aradia's classpect is inherently of service to Time, going god-tier may have elevated her beyond personhood with the "game construct" possessing her entirely. sollux doesn't realize the extent of it bcs he's still mortal, but a part of him may have subconsciously understood this.

i think there is a core aspect to aradia that was lost to the dehumanizing glory of god tier — a core aspect that may have contained an element of why sollux enjoyed talking to her in the first place.

to him, aradia hadn't just been a nice girl, she was a cool girl. despite not having much in common, he's still willing to chill next to her so she's not alone while she does what needs to get done.

back on alternia, they held a mutual and equal-level regard for each other that could've definitely settled into something permanent. but now, he's placed himself in a position where he can be kept around or left behind at will. the parameters of the relationship are largely in aradia's court, so any label she suggests to identify their relationship with he's likely to accept.

but that's why it's so difficult to label it. because god tier aradia may not necessarily Want quadrants or relationship labels. rather than the initial romantic attachment, their commitment to each other had evolved into one fundamentally of companionship.

no label? ok fine. no matter what, he still thinks she's a good soul worth latching on to. the best, actually. aradia > everyone else.

even if it gets stilted at times. there's an unexpected struggle to connect when sollux's go-to default for talking points is his feelings about things, and aradia may not want to talk about emotions all the time.

not to mention god tier aradia became an observer, especially of chaos. but sollux's avoidance of involvement comes partially from his innate pressure to get involved if something goes wrong. and he can't always tell when something goes wrong, because aradia doesn't mind if things go wrong anymore.

it's a non-negotiable preference that causes them to take the occasional time apart, a new boundary that wouldn't have existed before the game and aradia's god tier.

but just like how his friends tolerated his moods, sollux accepts aradia as she is. with no quadrants, their connection doesn't break down because there's no implicit romantic expectations to be disappointed by or resentful over.

sometimes when i see hs content that deliberately distances sollux from aradia, i assume this is the dissonance people might have felt. people might find it "easier" to be cynical about them bcs of this strange tension.

but idc lmao. grab that shit by the neck

lack of easy resolutions and cleanly tied ribbons is pretty standard of homestuck and imo it doesn't make arasol's dynamic any less incredible. with the right affection and consideration, there's still so much potential to develop the nuance of their relationship outside of the popular quadrant-based depictions.

hs has a lot of really great character compatibilities but the way aradia and sollux are in their own special orbit is why i can write this much about them in the first place. it's that frail innocence between first loves that makes it so sweet to me, two kids who grew up too fast playing guesswork without being clear where they're going.

ultimately i do think you're meant to feel a little tragedy for just how much they care for each other, even if they can't quite establish it in simple terms.

maybe they keep taking breaks to progress their own paths. maybe they remain as anchor partners while seeing other people. but even if you decide to separate them, they're still (awkwardly) texting each other updates all the while. and when they reunite it feels like coming home.

and well. more than anything, i like to believe that they do want to be exclusive.

they're just afraid. after all, they're still learning how to love, beyond the projections of the foursquare quadrant system they had inadvertently distanced themselves from since young.

they might not have everything figured out, but they'll get there eventually if you just hold them together and write them there.

optional post-canon segment:

one of the limitations of main hs is that (monogamous) relationships are often written as the go-to solution to wrap up character growth; it's an easy "patch" to imagine characters getting their happy ending because they have a partner, and those who don't end up with someone don't get that closure (most notably jade).

hs2 reaffirms this by suggesting that aradia's character cannot progress without letting sollux go, because happily settling in a relationship automatically locks your potential.

that pathetic panel of sollux staring emptily into the sky is still my fave hs2 spoiler ngl i find the impact of their parting so emotionally provoking precisely bcs they were written in original hs to be each other's forever, coming back together again and again

but now, they're subject to the decisions of the post-canon authors who might choose to deviate from that.

it's not new for them to part, but now there's an underlying worry that her dropping him off this time might be the last time. while i think the prospect of shattering their stability to make them grow separately sounds fun on paper, no amount of me desperately hoping for a good execution is gonna guarantee it

idk. i guess prediction-wise im expecting sollux in classic dramatic-hs2 fashion to tell dave to back off aradia LMAO. otherwise it's just gon be sollux and karkat pathetically watching aradia and dave from a distance swimming in their unresolved feelings for narratively-powerful time players smh obvs it sounds corny as hell but who knows its still plausible

srsly tho i hope they take the opportunity to develop arasol's relationship in a fresh direction that doesn't hurt me too badly...... and i hope they force sollux out of his comfort zone. i like watching him struggle :-)

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[lunasdreamytreats]

Glitch in the matrix

Feat: Luocha

Synopsis: Your boss, Master Diviner Fu Xuan tasks you with looking into the travelling merchant under suspicions of nondescript nature. You oblige, but was woefully unprepared for what you saw.... (im kinda mixing 2 prompts together here oops)

Word count: 1.9k

Content warnings: NSFW, fem!reader, reader is a diviner, dubcon (reader doesn't explicitly say no but they do fight back), dacraphilia, size diff, petnames (princess, little flower, little one), shibari, fingering, clit stimulation, orgasm denial, finger sucking, doggy, clit slapping (it happens like once), luocha gets pussydrunk, he also reads your mind, implications to stalking and noncon sexual acts at the very end!

a/n: first full fic yahooo!! disembodied voice lines are in bold to avoid confusion with luocha's lines, !please read the warnings before reading!

"Master Diviner?" you walked up to the woman stood in front of the matrix of precience, the centrepiece of the divination commission. "You asked to see me?"

The pink haired woman paused, turning her head towards your direction, "Ah, y/n, very punctual, as expected from my pupil." You smiled lightly at the praise, following her as she motioned for you to follow her. The two of you moved over to where a large table with multiple scrolls stacked on top of one another had been placed temporarily. She moved a few to the side before she found the one she wanted, handing it over to you before picking the others up.

"What's this, master? A new task to test myself with?" You questioned, brow raised quizzically. The scroll just had an image and a general profile on it. Along with a piece of, what could only be, this person's blond hair.

"Not quite," fu xuan's voice rang out from,, the other end of the platform? You looked up from the scroll to see your boss and teacher waiting for you expectingly, once she saw you notice her, she continued walking. Jogging to catch up with her, you two were making your way over to the entrance of the divination commission.

"The realm keeping commission has requested the divination commissions assistance in identifying people that could've brought the stellaron onto the luofu." Fu xuan explained, once you caught up to her. For someone her size, she sure can move as fast as lightning. "I've personally selected files for certain people to examine, this ones yours. He's a particularly difficult case as not many people can read him. Do you think you can handle him, y/n?" The way fu xuan phrased it was strange, but you decided to brush it off. After all, the master diviner always had a strange way with words.

"Of course, master." You answered with a bow, before turning your attention back to the scroll in your hands. "However i do have one question, how exactly is this person a suspect? I believe I've seen him selling rare trinkets in Aurum Alley before.."

"I don't know the specific reason the realm keeping commission wants us to look into him, they just asked us to come back with our results soon"

-------------------------------------------------------

Fu xuan gave you the rest of the day off so that you could prepare for the divination you'd be performing later that night. She advised you to do something you enjoy doing, to clear your head of any worries that might get in your way during the process. ..... oh right, divinations could go wrong if the person conducting them doesn't have a clear mind. It's why fu xuan always meditates before doing any kind of divination.

However, instead of doing what your master suggested, you decide to go straight to bed for a quick nap. Your head had been killing you ever since the daily tasks at the commission had become more strenuous and demanding after the ambrosial arbor rose again...

By the time you were able to rouse yourself awake, it was nearly 6:30 pm, the very time you promised yourself that you'd start the divination fu xuan wanted. You opened a rather large box that was set up by your bed that held your own mini divination machine that you were issued when you joined the commission.

You set the mini matrix of precience on your coffee table, moving the odds and ends that were on it originally. It isn't the best place for looking into someone's conscience, but hey, it works for you. Taking a deep breath, you steady your breathing and start up the machine.

The whole room lit up in a low, pulsating light that slowly grew in brightness as the device whirred to full power. Once the machine had fully charged, you slipped in a small lock of the man's hair into the centre of the device. You entered the divination plain within your mind and began waiting for the device to hook you to the others mind. Even from the hazy image that began forming before your eyes, you could tell he wasn't alone, well shit.... this isn't going to be as easy if he's thinking about someone else..... perhaps you could attempt to change his train of thought?

However any previous thoughts you had about work exited your brain when the scene in front of you grew clearer, that.... was you.. the person he was with, is you. But how.... sure you may have bought something from him last time you saw him in Aurum Alley... but this scene wasn't anything like that time.....

He had you underneath him, caging your much smaller form while his large hands roamed your body. The tank top you wore had been pushed up to just under your breasts, with Luocha's hands gently pulling you closer. ...... huh? When did you suddenly remember his name? Doesn't really matter, because while your attention was occupied by that thought, Luocha had procured a red shibari rope and had expertly tied it all around your now naked body. Just as your thoughts were beginning to wander again, a laugh brought you out again. Only it didn't come from the scene in front of you... no, this came from another place.

"Enjoying the show, princess?" It asked, you felt a ghostly touch on your shoulder as the scene changed again to show a much dirtier scenario. You tried so desperately to look away from the erotic scene before your eyes, it felt like you've stumbled across a porno of yourself filmed without consent. However, a strange, invisible force halted any movement of your head... Forcing you to watch yourself getting fingered by Luocha.

Struggling against the ropes and his hold, you attempted to push him away with your foot. Luocha's free hand grabbed your ankle, placing a small lick and kiss against the skin there. He glanced down at you, smirking as he noticed your eyes were glossed with tears threatening to fall. Sure, he felt a little bad about making his beloved cry, it wasn't enough to get him to stop. The mere fact you're not fighting him harder tells him your simply testing the waters. He let your leg drop down to rest on his thigh and leaned up to gently sush you while rubbing your cheeks.

"It's ok, my little flower... i wouldn't hurt you." When you finally relaxed into his touch, his movements picked up. His fingers pressed along your walls before curling them, looking for your g spot. And when he did find it, ohh~ he knew. Your eyes snapped back to reality from where they had been unfocused in the haze of lust, and your broken cries of his name became louder, it was clear that your orgasm was fast approaching. Luocha rubbed the pearl of your clit roughly, eliciting loud sobs from you.

"luo~ m'gonna cum!" Your voice was barely audible above the loud sounds being created between your legs, but your clenching and spasming walls told him all he needed to know. Luocha withdrew his fingers just as you were on the brink of the sweet euphoria. He smiled lightly when he saw your annoyed and pouty expression, bringing his slick coated fingers up to press them against your lips.

"Lick them" you opened your mouth obediently for him to slide his digits into your warm mouth. Thrusting them slowly, his calloused fingertips dragged against your tongue...... oh, you can't take anymore looking at this... your mind drifted back to the task that you were supposed to be conducting, and how fu xuan would likely be wondering what's taking you so long to get back to her... wait, how long have you been here again?

"No no no, little one, focus on them," T-There's that disembodied voice again! It’s preventing you from diverting your attention away from the lewd scene in front of you. I-It sounds a little familiar, but a ghostly hold directed you back to you and Luocha. The scene had progressed to the point where Luocha had flipped you from your back to your front, holding you by the hips with your butt up in the air. He leaned back a little, enough to see how wet his tip got from just rubbing against your slick opening.

Smirking, Luocha tugged at the ropes around your body, his cock slipping inside you without resistance. Something rather large brushed against your lips at the same time and the disembodied voice groaned softly. However, when you looked, you saw nothing that it could've been. A loud moan escaped your throat when he landed a harsh slap against your sopping clit, kissing your neck afterwards in apology when he heard you sob.

"M'sorry princess, couldn't help m'self," He sighed deeply, inhaling your scent. His cock throbbed inside your gummy walls as you tightened around him. He's already drunk on you? It felt... nice? You met him once and bought a trinket from him that one time, yet he felt this in love with you... you almost wanted to see what it's like kiss him in reality, but where would you find him?

"M'gonna move now, yeah? Fill ya up nicely." Groaning again when you nodded, he placed his hands at your hips and began thrusting slowly. You were having a hard time distinguishing if what was happening here was happening to dream you or real you; the sinful noises of wet skin slapping against eachother paired with grunts and moans all around you was disorientating.

"Aah... oh, looks like we may need to cut things short here, princess... but don't worry, I'll be in Aurum Alley when you wanna continue this." Huh? The disembodied voice could read your mind?! D-did it hear you enjoying this...?! The scene of you and Luocha began fading again, the image of him kissing you passionately being the last thing seen.

"Wait! Who even are you?!" You try to yell after the disembodied voice, but got nothing but deafening silence in return. The space around you continued to fade and crumble, the falling sensation caused you to wake with a jolt; back in the same room, with the divination machine still on the coffee table.

The luofu's artificial sun had gone down for the day by now, yet there was a faint glow. Not from the divination machine, but from your phone.... fu xuan. Remembering your original mission, you scrambled to grab and answer your ringing phone.

"Y/N? I've been calling you for 10 minutes! Is everything alright?" The master diviner's voice came through as soon as you hit pick up, not giving you a moment to speak.

"I'm sorry master, there were a few issues while I conducted the divination... However, I don't think the suspect has anything to do with the stellaron crisis at hand." You replied, hoping this explanation would be enough to get her to not press it further. Thank the aeons she can't see you right now, you're probably all hot and flushed in the face at present.

"Hhmmm? Very well then, as it's late now, could you come in a little earlier tomorrow and write up the report? I'd like to send them all off to the realm keeping commission at the same time."

"Of course, i'll have it ready before midday tomorrow."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight!" Fu xuan ended the call and you heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the reighbow arbiter she didn't ask for why your conclusion was that.

Now, to clear your divination machine away and enjoy the rest of your evening. But before relaxing, you should probably do something about the slight ache in your jaw and bitter taste in your mouth....

=================================

a/n: I may write a part 2 of this...

[neetily]

—follower thank you event !!

in an effort to thank you all and appreciate all of the love, support, and kindness you have all shown me over the many months i've known you, especially when following me on this new blog too, i've decided to open up a matchup event!

— what is a matchup? basically, you send me some information (you can see which i need further down) and depending on what you send me, i will match you up like your very own personal cupid to a character i think fits you most from the designated fandoms! i've also included some extra information and goodies to make it a little more fun hehe...

— below, you will find all the information you may require to take part in this event! please read through it carefully and thoroughly, as anyone who does not abide by these rules will have their entry deleted immediately.

— the event will run for three days, or until all of the slots are taken.

20/20 slots taken

— RULES

matchups are being done for Stardew Valley, Degrees of Lewdity, and Fields of Mistria only.

you must include your age in bio.

you must send me a message off anon so that i can keep track of who sends what, you will, however, still remain anonymous! i will post your matchup anonymously in a separate post, and then answer your ask privately with a link to it to let you know that i finished it up!

you must be following me, as this is an event made for my followers! new followers are welcome, of course.

you can send in a max of 1 messages and in that one message you can ask for a max of 2 fandoms to count for 2 entries during the event duration, any extra entries will be subsequently deleted. i will then provide up to 2 drabbles per fandom requested for!

my limits still very much apply to this event, jsyk!

are you a mutual? then this rule is for you! you guys do not count when it comes to taking up slots, but you can still only send a max of 2 fandoms! just don't worry if all the slots are taken up and you didn't get a chance to take part, you guys can always take part <3

— MATCHUP INFORMATION

here is all the information you should/could add to your entry! you can, of course, add more or less. but the more you add then the better/more accurate your matchup will be!

a brief personality description

a brief description of your appearance (such as if you wear glasses, prefer skirts, always have your hair tied up. please do not be too specific and/or extensive)

zodiac sign/MBTI

your ideal type

your favourite trope (one)

your favourite kink (one)

your favourite season

preferred terms of endearment

preferred genitalia (otherwise, i will default to none and try to be as nondescript as possible)

any likes/dislikes

hobbies

your love language

who you want to top/bottom

anything else you wish to mention!

in addition to the above, information i absolutely require is as follows;

do you prefer sweet (fluff) or spicy (smut) tastes?

what is your favourite date spot/event?

which fandom would you like to be matched up in?

which character gender would you like to be matched up with?

when you are alone, do you prefer to... listen to music, text your friends, or do something creative?

— given the information you provide me, i will find someone suitable for you that fits your parameters and write about why i think so, as well as attaching a little babble/drabble to the end exploring your relationship a bit further!

— example entry 1: hi! im an outspoken extrovert type, and my star sign is leo! i really love classical romance stories, and tend to find it difficult to stop yapping. my friends say that i am funny, kind, and a perfectionist! i like being called "love", and i'd prefer if you'd use "cunt" when referencing genitalia. i love sweet treats and the colour blue, and my favourite hobby is ice skating. my ideal date would be at an amusement park, and i love texting my friends! please could you match me up with a male from DOL? thank you!

— example entry 2: hello there! i'd describe myself as shy, unsure, but kind! my love language is physical touch, and i love painting! when it comes to tropes, my favourite is "childhood best friends". and as for kinks, choking is my favourite! i enjoy being called degrading names, and summer is my favourite season, so i'd love if you included that! please could you also include the reader wearing glasses for me? as for your required information, i prefer spicy, a beach setting is perfect for a date, i'd like to request from any two fandom you choose, and either gender is fine! also, i prefer listening to music when i'm alone, thank you!

or something like that, yknow? just be sure to include brief descriptions and the required info and we're good!

disclaimer: if you disagree or otherwise dislike who i have picked for your matchup, please don't get mad at me lmao... this is all just silly fun, it doesn't mean anything <3 and if you have any questions, please feel free to ask!

[runningfrom2am]

all i think about is karma

summary: you and rafe take on a mainland bush party where he knows no one, and you know too many people for his liking.

this can be read as a stand-alone but it's technically a part four to getaway car, big reputation, and this is why we can’t have nice things.

pairing: rafe x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

tags/warnings: jealous!rafe, highschool au, (some) nondescript nudity, cursing, mean kook!reader, underage drinking, (i think that’s it??)

a/n: hey y’all!! sorry i haven’t posted anything in a little while, i’ve been busy but now im back home and on my usual schedule so there shouldn’t be any serious interruptions for a little while. i missed y’all and i hope you like this! this is what won my getaway car poll quite some time ago so im so happy to finally get it out!

"No, Y/N/N, I'll be fine. I don't want to dampen your week, you'll have so much fun!" Bella insists, adjusting where her phone is laying in her lap while she lays in bed, surrounded by tissues and snack wrappers. She came down with the flu at the worst possible time: right before you were meant to go on your spring break trip.

"It won't be the same without you! I should just stay home, I can come over and we can have a movie marathon or something. That'll be just as fun." You reply, watching her through the facetime camera while you sit at your vanity.

"No. Absolutely not. You're going- and you'll get to hangout with Rafe! It's worth it for me to get all the juicy details after." Bella giggles, sniffling and quickly wiping her nose.

You roll your eyes, rubbing your forehead. "Okay, yeah, but nothings gonna happen- you know I swore that off."

"Yeah, whatever. The two of you, alone, drunk and sharing a tent? Whatever you say." Your friend teases you. "It's actually worth it for me to stay home so you can come back with tea."

"Okay, fine," You agree, not admitting that the idea is very tempting. "But I'm not sleeping with him again."

"No! Of course not." Bella laughs, shaking her head. "But if you did, at least be safe this time. We don't need a repeat of what happened last time-"

"Okay! Okay! Bye, Bella I'll call you later!" You quickly cut her off, hanging up the phone.

Several long hours after texting Rafe the update that Bella wasn't going to make it, you found yourself in his truck on the mainland, driving into what seems to be the middle of nowhere for a bush party you caught word of from some friends you met playing soccer on a local team. You were excited to see them, and meet some new people, but you're honestly so glad Rafe still wanted to go. You'd rather not go alone if you didn't have to.

Judging by the large space in front of you full of various groups of kids your age putting tents together or starting fires around makeshift campsites at the edge of the water, you assume you're in the right place and get to work setting up your own tent off near the edge of the lake.

It wasn't long before the sun started to set over the abandoned gravel pit, and you just finish up when you crack open your first drink from the cooler. "So like... are we actually going to talk to anyone or just hide over here and be weird all night?" Rafe asks as you bring the can to your lips.

You roll your eyes a little and nod. "Well, duh. My friends are coming. I don't know what your plans are." Rafe looks around at that, seeing if there's anyone he might be able to talk to, but he was counting on hanging out with you.

"Wow, you're ditching me?" He asks, reaching into the cooler as well and grabbing a beer. "Cold."

You go to reply with a matching, somewhat snarky attitude the two of you almost always share when you recognize the purple jeep that's pulling in. "That's them! Good luck making friends!" You call back, jogging over to where they parked.

Rafe flips you off as you turn your full attention to your friends, sighing a little to himself as he lays eyes on a group of local boys who look enough like his friends that he's comfortable talking to them.

By the time that the area is lit only by the orange glow coming from the several cooking fires and the large bonfire everyone is centered around, you're already stumbling over your feet with a half-drank bottle of some liquor you didn't bring, and you're not even sure where you got it.

Rafe has been trying to keep an eye on you from a distance, but now he's lost you. He's drunk himself, so he's not overly concerned, but he would just at least like to know where you were. He looks around frantically, trying to keep his cool as the boys around him are laughing about something he didn't care to pay attention to. His eyes land on some figures out in the lake, and he squints to see if he can make out the shape of your hair in the dark. He takes a few steps away to get a closer look, hearing you laughing and shouting over the music coming from an on shore speaker. He walks down to the shore with a smug look on his face, polishing off his beer when he looks down and notices piles of clothes on the shore. Are you naked?

"Hey, Y/N!" Rafe shouts, waving to you in an attempt to grab your attention.

"Rafe!" You shout back, smile never fading as you push your wet hair out of your face. With the liquor warming you, the water feels amazing and so soft on your skin. "Come out here! Come join us!"

Rafe sighs as he finds your stuff, relieved to find only your shirt, shorts, and bra. At least you weren't fully naked in front of all these strangers. He strips of everything but his boxers and grabs your bra, wading out into the cool lake water to you and your friends as they cheer and laugh.

"Rafe! Where have you been?" You giggle, throwing your arms over his shoulders once he gets close enough for you to reach.

"I've been around- apparently I should have been babysitting you ladies." He chuckles, trying to hide any frustration in his tone as he avoids looking at your friends who are just as well clothed as you are. "Put this on, at least." He adds, pulling away from you and handing you the article of clothing, crossing his arms to watch you put it on despite his better judgement.

"Hey! Girls! Come on in, we're going to play chandelier!" One of the guys Rafe had the pleasure of talking to for the last couple hours shouts, and quickly everyone makes their way in to shore.

"Y/N, hey, we don't want you to get sick. Come warm up." Rafe turns his head as he gets his shirt back on, watching as one of the other guys, Jesse, is quickly wrapping you in a small blanket and guiding you up to the bonfire with a hand on your lower back. He scowls at the two of you behind your back, following as he urges you up the small hill and towards the large fire pit ahead.

You walk side by side with the boy, until you can feel the warmth of the flames on your skin where you stop and stand to dry off both your skin and what little clothing you have on. You don't know you're shivering until Jesse is tugging on the blanket around your shoulders. "Here, let me help you warm up.." He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you from behind and draping the blanket over both of you.

"Oh, thanks, Jesse." You say, teeth chattering from the soft breeze. You lean back into him, swaying from the alcohol still in your system and he steadies you.

"Anytime, sweetheart." He mumbles, pressing his lips to the back of your head.

You are well aware of his hands wandering, fiddling with the waistband of your underwear as you have your arms crossed tightly over your chest. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you gaze across the fire and your eyes land on Rafe, who's staring at you intently.

You smile and wave at him, but he just rolls his eyes in response and looks away. Is he upset with you for ditching him? In hindsight it wasn't very nice, even if that is the kind of relationship you normally have. If it was you you'd be upset- he didn't know anyone, and he was left to fend for himself, granted; he was clearly fine.

"Hey, Ashley?" You find yourself calling over to your other friend, but she doesn't hear you as your eyes well up with tears. Why do you feel so bad right now? Does Rafe being upset with you really bother you that much? You've hardly felt like this before.

"Ashley?" You ask again, but she hardly glances at you as she's got another boy draped over her shoulder- one who is definitely not the girls boyfriend.

"You okay?" Jesse asks, leaning his head over your shoulder to get a better look at you.

"Uhm, yeah, I just have to go to the bathroom and I was hoping she would come with me." You explain, watching Rafe again as he buries himself in conversation with the two girls standing next to him.

"I'll take you." Jesse offers. "Come on, I won't watch. Swear." He says, already guiding you away and tossing the blanket back to his friend.

You glance back at Rafe over your shoulder as Jesse walks you off into the dark. Just as you look forward again to try and watch your step, Jesse's hand is smacking your butt playfully, making you jump. You laugh it off and give him a shove, but he's grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of his truck.

The swing of Jesse's arm to where his hand hit your exposed skin drew Rafe's attention again fully, and he furrows his brow as he watches you stumble away. You were sharing a tent with him and you were really about to hook up with that mainland loser? He quickly downs the rest of his beer and storms after you, fists clenched at his sides after discarding the bottle on a nearby pong table.

"Hey!" Rafe shouts, making the two of you turn just as Jesse backs you up against the side of his truck and starts kissing down your neck. You're confused, but not one to turn down an opportunity like this- especially when you never have to see him again. As soon as Jesse turns his head, though, it's snapped back again with the contact of Rafe's fist into his nose.

He groans and quickly brings his hands up to his face, tipping his head back as blood pours from between his fingers. You gasp, reaching out for him but hesitating, not sure what to do.

"You think you can hook up with any girl who accepts a blanket from you when she's cold? She came here with me." Rafe spits, and you feel your features pull into an expression of anger as you quickly step towards him and shove him back. "What?"

"Come on." You mutter, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the now bleeding boy. "What the fuck was that about?" You ask, storming back to where your shared tent was in the corner. "Do you think you have some stupid claim over me just because you drove me here?"

Rafe rolls his eyes, stopping with you next to the tent as you drop his arm and turn to face him. "He was taking advantage of you!"

You scoff, shaking your head and crossing your arms. "No, Rafe. He wasn't. Did you ever consider that maybe I wanted that?"

"Whatever, Y/N- don't act like you weren't eyeing me up for the whole drive here."

"Oh. My. God." You find yourself laughing suddenly, realizing what this is about. "You were jealous."

"What? No I wasn't." Rafe replies defensively.

You smile at him cockily, tilting your head and waiting for him to spiral on it.

"I wasn't! I tried to help. That's what I get, I guess!" Rafe throws his hands up.

"And here I was thinking you were mad at me for ditching you. Turns out you were just horny." You smirk, knowing you were just pushing his buttons this time for fun.

"Oh, fuck off, Y/N, you're just trying to piss me off now for fun."

"You're not denying it." You shrug, looking back over to the fire for a moment, seeing Jesse sitting there with paper towel pressed to his nose and a few girls surrounding him.

"You're making it difficult not to be when you’re walking around like that.” He replies, smirking as he looks you up and down.

“Don’t be gross, Rafe.” You smile, dropping your arms from they were crossed over your chest.

He takes a step closer at that, delicately placing his hands on your hips. “You love it, Y/N/N, you know you do.”

taglist: @bookishbabyyy @madelynie , @whore-4-drewstarkey , @slut4drudy , @winterrrnight , @totalswag , @sadfury @fullfledgedemo @rafemotherfuckingcameron , @urfaveluvr , @chenslucy , @hxnnah-397 , @s-we-e-t-t-ea , @tahliac11 , @ragingsammie , @ietss, @dee127

[zirobitches]

One Piece: Soulmate AU pt. 2

Always in this twilight - Sir Crocodile x GN!Reader

here's pt. 1

Summary: In a world where soulmates are incapable of harming each other, you just found out your captain is your soulmate because he attempted to kill you. Sadness ensues

Tags: angst no comfort, Original characters bc I needed a crew for Croc, no beta we die like Roger, reader is former's Roger pirate raised alongside Shanks & Buggy, also reader is a former slave, the Vice Admiral is Sakazuki but it is not formally mentioned, Tom's Workers are the best

word count : almost 5600. damn.

Notice: this is not a croc/reader centric plot!!!! if you wanted to make out with croc im sorry this aint it. hop over to my ao3 if you want spoilers for this universes timeline: ao3 - im sorry in advance

You evade the Navy and Crocodile for a while into the night.

Back when you had helped your crew settle into the hotel you all had noticed some individuals dressed in robes and masks - some sort of festival they had going on in Water 7.

May as well participate.

You manage to swipe a black robe and nondescript mask from a local vendor. Normally you would have paid, but you had a feeling that the Navy may have spread word to locals to keep an eye out for you.

Even with your new disguise you still didn’t feel at ease walking through the canals, so you went up.

Up the levels of Water 7 towards the top. You found a fire escape that allowed you to get to the rooftop of some hotel. You stopped and took off your mask for a moment; there were no buildings nearby taller than yours, so you felt as though no one would see you. 

A warm gentle breeze brushed against your face. The view of the city at night was wondrous- warm lights glowed all across the spire city, gently illuminating the pale buildings, the midnight blue sky filled with stars and the dark seas blended with the sky on the horizon. The sight would have put a smile on your face if you could have seen it in a better situation. You replace your mask and keep moving, hopping from building to building. There was no final destination in mind, just wandering atop the city. The only thing on your mind was to keep running. Thinking about anything else would make you distracted; distractions could get you in hot water.

But you couldn’t forget your crew. They were in danger - Crocodile wanted to take them to fight Whitebeard. To be killed by Whitebeard.

You and Crocodile had planned for the crew to stay in Water 7 for three nights. You weren’t sure if that was still his plan, but it’s not as though the Marines were going to chase him out of Water 7.

You stood at the top of a building overlooking a large square, one of the first open spaces you’ve seen in Water 7 that isn’t by the shore or occupied by multiple canals. You observed the space watching as some locals walked through going about their day.

Running errands, taking leisurely strolls, leaving their day job.

Why did you choose this life?

You could have settled down - Dressrosa was always your favorite place if you ever ‘retired’ like you joked you would. 

A quaint, beautiful kingdom with a fair ruler. Fairies and flowers. It’s literally the place of your dreams, the kind you dreamed of when you ran out of reasons to keep going, back when you were in chains.

Why did you stay on the seas after Roger left?

Because you loved being a pirate? 

Or because you didn’t have the strength to live alone?

A voice takes you out of your contemplation. Your eyes that had been gazing upon the locals' little lives now locked onto a silhouette you could never mistake.

Crocodile had entered the square.

And he carried something in his arms.

How you had tried to run away from your captain and ended up running into him anyway made you feel stupid. Without a doubt, it was odd that Croc was in the middle of Water 7. There should have been no inclination that you went this direction. So what was he doing here?

Crocodile was calling out to a group of Marines in the square that you hadn’t noticed. Even from your high vantage point you recognized the same Vice Admiral from before among them. Your position made it hard to make out what they were saying, so as quickly and quietly as you could, you jumped onto the lower building next to yours.

It was dark enough that with your black robe you shouldn’t be easily seen. By the time you had yourself better positioned, Crocodile had met in the middle of the square with the Marines. During your move, Marines had closed off the square, forcing local residents to evacuate the premises. God forbid they acknowledge their cooperation with pirates.

But then from your new vantage point you finally saw what your captain was carrying.

It was a dead body.

It was certainly not the first time you had seen him kill someone - and you knew he had killed this person because of their desiccated corpse; dried out in his signature fashion.

But it was the first time you had seen him carry a body so tenderly. 

And the first time you had seen a dead body wear your clothes.

“I found them.” Crocodile’s deep voice clearly reached your ears. A chill went down your spine at his implication.

The body was supposed to be you. At closer inspection, the body he had had a similar skin tone and hair color as yours - if you had been dried out maybe. You’re not sure how he planned to explain the change of clothes - the body wore some clothes you had planned to wear during your stay here and had brought to the hotel.

But then again, Marines weren’t very clever.

Your captain dropped the corpse at their feet. Some of them backed away in disgust as parts of the corpse crumbled away at the impact. The Vice Admiral simply looked down with disdain.

“You were supposed to bring them in alive. No pirate affiliated with Gold Roger should be allowed to evade proper judgment.” The Vice Admiral’s words were laced with poison. You could feel his hatred from your hiding place.

Your hands clenched at his mention of the Roger pirates. Your old crew weren’t bad people - you had encountered plenty of truly evil pirates, and the crew of the Oro Jackson were far from evil.

Crocodile ignored the Vice Admiral. “You got what you wanted in the end though. A dead Roger pirate, courtesy of your new Pirate Warlord. Put that in the papers and you’ll have a field day with the celebrations. They might even give you a medal.”

You flinched at memories stirred up by the newspaper comment. For the past three years since Roger’s death you’ve seen some of your former crewmates names end up in the paper - articles about their capture and subsequent execution. Crocodile was very aware of your history, of how close you were to your old crew.

He had seen your sorrow once when you happened to be in a civil town when the news of one such loss hit the papers. How you had struggled to hold back tears while civilians laughed and celebrated ‘one less dangerous pirate’. How you shut yourself away that night. How you kept your distance from your new crew for weeks after.

And now here you two were.

Still the older Marine was not pleased. “I’m surprised you killed your first mate. Aren’t you pirates supposed to have a code that prevents you from doing so? How am I supposed to know this is actually their body?” The Vice Admiral did have a good point. A mummified corpse was hard to identify, it could be anyone. Apparently the Marines were more clever than you gave them credit for.

But before Crocodile could defend himself, there was a small commotion at one end of the square.

“Hey, no civilians allowed!” A marine was blocking someone from entering. A familiar someone. You felt your heart sink like a stone.

It was Tink.

Tink, one of the four that was part of Croc’s crew before you joined. Tink, the Neverland pirates' loyal shipwright. Tink, who was so young, a teenager that you had grown to see like your little sister.

She shouldn’t be a pirate. And she shouldn’t be here now.

“Let me through! That’s my captain!” She cried out. Crocodile looked back at her. You saw him clench his jaw - in anger? Or in dread?

You knew Crocodile was always more gentle with Tink. She was the kid of the crew, everyone loved her. And now she was caught in the middle of negotiations with him and the Navy. And she was about to see a dead body that was supposed to be you.

“Tink,” you whispered, unable to keep the words inside. “Tink, please go. It can’t be you, anyone but you, please.”

But Crocodile was in need of someone who could back his claim that the dead body was yours.

You didn’t know if he had told the crew about what had happened - his acceptance of the Warlord title, his offering you to the Navy, about you two being…

You two being-

He didn’t tell them. Sir Crocodile would certainly have taken this burden alone. He always kept secrets from you, and this was not something he would have shared with them. There was a possibility he ran into the crew when he went to retrieve your clothes from the hotel. But you imagined he snuck in and out - being able to turn into sand made things like that a breeze.

So in short, Tink was about to walk into this square surrounded by Marines, see a corpse that could only have been killed by Crocodile, dressed in your clothes.

You were frozen in place as you watched Crocodile beckon Tink towards him.

It felt like an out of body experience. Maybe you had died. Maybe he did kill you and this was your soul punished to not be able to do anything but stand by and watch your family fall apart again.

She walked past the Marines to him - gods, she looked so small from this height. Tink has never looked younger in your eyes than she did now.

Tink paused.

She had finally caught sight of the body on the ground.

A whisper of your name passed her lips.

You had to cover your mouth to hide the sob that threatened to escape.

A louder question of your name now. Then she ran past Crocodile who stood motionless. He didn’t watch.

Tink fell to her knees beside the body. Her eyes ran up and down and then carefully, so very carefully, touched the arm of the body. It fell apart in her hands.

She gasped a sob out, then started crying fully. She kept reaching out to grab the body - your body - but would then flinch back in fear of it crumbling away. Tink ended up wrapping her arms around herself to prevent from touching ‘you’ and just wailed.

This clear display of grief seemed to satisfy the Vice Admiral.

“Hmmm. I knew you wanted this title badly Sir Crocodile, but I’m still surprised at how far you were willing to go.” Crocodile still had not turned to face Tink and the body and had instead pulled out one of his cigars and set it alight. The smoke hid his face from your sight.

Tink’s grief stuttered in response to the Marine’s words.

“W-What?” She looked up at the Vice Admiral who only met her tear stained face with contempt and a small smirk. Tink then turned her head to Crocodile, who had finally mustered the decency to face what he had done.

“Captain, it can’t be true.” Her voice, broken though it was, still carried through the square. You saw some of the Marines forming the barricade uncomfortably shifting in place. Some just stared at the ground.

“Did you do this?” It could not have been clearer that it was his handiwork, but you understood denial very well. It was a strange feeling to see grief from the outside like this.

“Did you really kill our first mate? After everything?” She cried up at him, still on her knees on the ground, but now she sat in between your body and him as though she was trying to prevent him from getting closer to you.

“And for what?! A fucking title? A little more power?” Tink was yelling now, screaming even with tears and snot still running down her face.

“They loved you more than anyone else on our ship!”

You gasped at that, tears freely falling now behind your mask, hands tight against it to prevent the crowd below from hearing. You never thought your admiration was noticeable - hell, you hadn’t even fully realized you were in love with Crocodile till today.

But Tink did. The crew had known.

The force of Tink’s words hit Crocodile the hardest. He flinched back at Tink’s scream, a small step back as though she had actually hit him.

“They would have given you the world! Why couldn’t that have been enough?”

“Why aren’t we enough for you?” 

These last gut wrenching words seemed to drain Tink’s strength. She fully fell to the ground now, head to the ground, entire body shaking with her grief.

Crocodile could do nothing but stand and stare at the mess at his feet.

Through your tears you noticed movement near where Tink had entered the square. You looked, and let out a quiet sob.

It was the crew. Not the whole crew, but your original crew.

There were four people who accompanied Crocodile before you: Tink the child shipwright, Diat the purple-haired helmsman, Kalmia the mute sharpshooter, and Rutako the fishman navigator. It was an odd crew to begin with, a group of individuals you would not have assumed were related in any fashion, but quickly grew to see their friendship.

You grew to love them.

They were the first family you found outside of the Roger pirates, and you had wanted to run from them. Wanted to run so if things fell apart as they did in front of you now, you wouldn’t have to feel the pain.

Was that really just last night you had wished for that?

Now all you want is to run to them.

But you had just been declared dead - Crocodile has gone and killed a random civilian to fake your death. If you ran out now you could prevent him from becoming a Warlord. Rejoin with your crew. It's not as though Crocodile could kill you - but the Marines could.

To reveal Crocodile’s deception would be to risk the safety of everyone you loved. It would begin an instant fight to the death, one your crew was heavily outnumbered for. No party would walk away without losses.

As it stands now, the only thing that will be hurt tonight would be the Neverland pirates. The crew would certainly fall apart with you, their beloved first mate, dead; killed by your own captain no less. Maybe this is how your crew would be saved from Whitebeard. As foolish as Sir Crocodile may be, even he surely wouldn’t fight Whitebeard without an entire crew to back him.

And this was your chance to escape. Leave it all behind, get rid of all attachments so you could never feel this pain again.

You watch as your original crew find Tink and the body. Watch as Rutako gently takes Tink into his arms. Watch as Diat starts to interrogate his captain for answers. Watch as Kalmia tries to keep their composure since they know the danger of being surrounded by the Navy, but still notice the way they begin to shake.

Diat was furious. “I’m not an idiot Captain, it is clear as day that you did this, but I just can’t figure why in the hell you would kill your own first mate.”

Crocodile is now appearing unfazed by it all, seemingly detached from the world around him. “They were going to try a mutiny in response to my new title as Warlord. They were the one who instigated a fight between us. I had no choice in the matter: it was me or them.”

Tink, who had been crying into Rutako’s shoulder, looked up at this. “That Marine said you killed them, in order to become a Warlord!”

The Vice Admiral who had been watching the scene as if it was normal to him, snorted at Tink’s call out. But Crocodile continued to back his lie. “They were going to betray me because I’ve already accepted that title. And now they are dead. There’s no way to change what’s been done.” He fixed Tink with an icy glare.

“Now get over it.”

Diat would never let anyone talk to your crew like that, not even Crocodile. You had seen him angry before, but now he was truly incensed. “They were our family! How fucking dare you tell us that!” 

During all this commotion, a couple Marines walk up and begin to carry away the body. Rutako attempts to stop them, but guns are drawn on him in response. Diat points to the corpse. “Look at what you did to them. Look, you bastard! And now you’re letting them be taken by the Navy? You know what the Navy did to them! And to the people they loved!”

You can only watch as Diat finally also breaks down. “They belonged with us! Us, damnit!” Finally Kalmia interferes, setting a hand on Diat’s shoulder to pull him back. Kalmia guides him to where Tink and Rutako sat, regrouping the four of them.

Of course Sir Crocodile couldn’t allow them to grieve in peace for even a minute. “Listen up. From here on out things will be different. If I’m going to achieve my goals I need a loyal crew, not people who try to stab me in the back at the slightest thing.”

The four look up, still crying but managing to glare at their captain as well. He continues anyway,  “However, if you are only going to follow me out of fear that I’ll kill you as well then I have no want for you. I need unwavering loyalty if I’m to rule the seas. This is your one chance to leave my crew without any consequence.”

The four are startled - and you as well. Mercy, after such cruelty? This was out of character for your captain, but you think you understood why.

You’re very familiar with cutting off the people you love because you love them.

They seem at a loss for an immediate response, but the Vice Admiral finally chimes in again. “Can you pirates figure out your problems elsewhere? I have better things to do tonight than listen to you all whine about some criminal getting what they deserve.”

The crew is clearly set off by this, words yelled immediately, but Crocodile steps between them and the Marine. “It’s time to go. Get up,” he commands to his crew who slowly and begrudgingly listen to him. The five walk out of the square in single file, Crocodile taking up the rear.

As they pass through the Navy barricade, Crocodile pauses, then turns and takes a glance in your direction. You duck back before he sees you, and take that as your cue to leave before anyone else notices your presence.

- 

You don’t know how long you wandered. You recall wandering down the city, back to the shoreline. You found a small, dimly lit corner you deemed good enough for sitting in, and plopped yourself down. The adrenaline had worn off and the tears of the day had left you an empty shell of exhaustion.

You had only meant to close your eyes for a moment, have a chance to catch your breath, but you fell unconscious.

Eventually the early morning sun wakes you. It is the dawn of a new day, and you have no idea what you are going to do. Your body and heart still ache and your head pounds from dehydration. 

You keep thinking about Tink and Diat.

 Kalmia and Rutako.

Shanks and Buggy.

Rayleigh.

Crocodile.

The vivre cards.

That finally clicks. You can't let anyone else find those. Ditching your clothes on the ship would've been fine, but you can't leave the vivre cards. If Crocodile wants to turn in Roger pirates he has a whole free list to steal, one that'll lead him straight to them.

You have to get back to your ship.

Head pounding and vision fading temporarily as you stand, you try to orient yourself. Based on the sun’s position, you are on the north eastern side of Water 7. If you remember correctly, and if the ship hasn't been moved, your ship should be on the north western side. So not too far, but still not as close as you'd like.

So with a dry mouth and your disguise from last night still on, you make your way to your ship.

You find it docked where you left it. Sails tied up, anchored down, in pristine condition. And hopefully, empty.

You still didn't know what happened after your crewmates left the square last night. If any of the crew was still intact. If they were still alive.

When the ship docks most of the crew are typically thrilled to sleep in some fancy hotel with their own beds, but after the events of last night some may have left the hotel to stay on the ship.

The only way to find out was to look. You walked up the plank to the deck.

It was empty. Just as you had left it. No one at the crow’s nest, no one at the bow.

Then you went below deck to the cabins. No snores were behind any doors, and no sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen.

You finally arrived at your quarters and quietly opened your door.

There, on your bed, was a curled up tiny Tink.

You immediately went still, freezing every muscle, holding your breath.

She was out cold.

You slowly walked towards her. She clutched your pillow, burying her face into it. Short blonde hair stuck up on her head, tussled from her slumber. You wanted to reach out and fix it, but you had your priorities.

You walked to your dresser. Middle drawer, back left side, under some old t-shirts. The vivre box.

You grabbed it then began to quietly look around your old room. You spotted an old backpack of yours. You decided to take just a couple things, not too much so Tink wouldn't notice, but a couple old things that wouldn't be missed.

A couple of those old shirts, some pants that hadn't been worn in a while. Other little mementos and old knick knacks.

You paused after almost filling the bag and stared at a sword hanging by your door. It was your main weapon, gifted to you by the man who taught you to use it.

It was one of the few things you still had from your time on the Oro Jackson after Roger left.

You grabbed it, hoped Tink wasn't planning on taking it as a keepsake, and holstered it.

While doing a last sweep for things as Tink slept, you paused in front of your mirror. It was the first time you had looked at yourself wearing the mask since you grabbed it. The cloak hid your body entirely. You would never have recognized yourself.

In the mirror you notice it. It had been hanging around your neck for so long you hardly noticed its presence, its absence was more noticeable to you - it had been there that long. A necklace that matched ones around the necks of the other original five crewmates. A chain that hung a ring, a ring far too big for anyones hands.  Except for your captains. 

Years ago there had been a challenge to steal one of your captains rings. You at first claimed it was a stupid endeavor. Then when Diat showed off the ring he snagged, your old competitive streak came back. You managed to sneak one off Croc’s hands - no one was sure how you managed it, not even yourself. Then Kalmia got one, then Rutako, and finally, Tink. You all had succeeded and ended up keeping them as mementos. It became a symbol of the “first five” as other crewmates like to call you. Crocodile never asked for them back.

Now you stared at it hanging from your neck. Your hand clutched it, the cool metal burning your palm now. You wanted to tear it off, maybe leave it with Tink. But then you turned to look at her, still asleep on your bunk.

The rings no longer belonged to the captain. They belonged to you.

But you couldn’t leave your crew like this. You needed a way to say goodbye to your family.

You left your room, quietly closing the door behind you. You snuck into the captain's office - also empty - and grabbed a blank paper and pen. A letter would work. A letter that allowed you to say goodbye to your crew and warn them about battling Whitebeard.

After trying to compose your thoughts, and a couple discarded drafts, you ended up with this:

Dear Tink,

If you are reading this it means I have left the crew. I am sorry that it happened like this, but I simply cannot stand by Sir Crocodile any longer if this is the path he has chosen. I imagine my departure may cause some of the crew to want to leave as well, but do not be mistaken, I have no aspirations of being a captain myself.

This letter is a goodbye and a warning. The captain believes he can defeat Whitebeard. Apparently that’s part of his deal as a Warlord with the Navy. Let me clear: he has no chance of winning. Please don’t let him drag you and the rest of the crew to their deaths; it will be a massacre of the Neverland Pirates. whitebeard and my Captain Roger were lifelong rivals, I witnessed several of their battles last days on end. Whitebeard is the strongest man alive, with a fleet to match. Sir Crocodile has become delusional. If you hope to keep this letter at all, best not to tell him I said that.

If you ever reach the New World you might find me in Dressrosa. I’m not sure if I ever told you about it, but it is one of my favorite kingdoms I’ve ever been to. I believe it will be a nice retirement home for an old pirate such as myself.

I wish I had the courage to say goodbye to you and the others in person, but the truth of the matter is, I am a coward. I run when I get attached so others cannot hurt me. I understand the irony of hurting the ones I care about, but unfortunately this is my true nature.

I love you Tink. Thank you for being my family the past few years.

Your former first mate,

And then you signed your name on the letter with a shaky hand. It’s hard to write legibly with watery eyes.

You felt bad for not leaving a note for the others, but you knew that Tink would need this the most. You walked to Tink’s usual sleeping quarters, folded up the paper and stuck it under her pillow with just a corner peeking out with the hope she will find it.

And then, for the last time in your life, you walked off of Crocodile’s ship.

-

You wandered back into the streets of Water 7. You had taken your wallet from the ship as well - thanks to your years on the ship, you were pretty well off financially. 

You found a street vendor in a market and grabbed something for breakfast. Eating in public didn't feel right especially with your crew still in town, so you scaled the buildings once again. Eating with a rooftop view was fun. Watching the city wake up and come to life.

You remembered visiting here before as a kid on the Oro Jackson. Apparently the man who built your ship lived on Water 7. He was a large fishman by the name of Tom.

You wondered if he still lived there.

As you pondered your situation with empty exhaustion, you noticed a news coo fly overhead. 24 hours ago it was the newspaper that started you on the path of your fabricated demise and subsequent departure from the crew.

Time to test your luck again.

You waved the bird down and it landed on the ledge in front of you. You aren't very good with animals, but if you've ever seen a bird look shocked, this was it.

You handed it the fee for the paper and it apprehensively handed you a copy, then took off with haste.

Confused, you open the paper. Then you understood the bird's reaction.

On the front of the paper was Crocodile’s face and your own. It announced the official instatement of Crocodile was one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and your death as a former Roger’s Pirate.

Your apathy disappeared as it all sunk in again.

Sitting on the roof, you cried as you ate your food because you knew: you were alone and no one except the man you loved and the man who tried to kill you knew you were alive.

-

After a couple hours of walking through town and asking locals, you found Tom’s Workers.

During your search you learned that Tom was in hot water for building the Oro Jackson and he was now building a… water train? For the government. You knew this meant he may no longer have any sympathy for Roger and his old crew, but you had no other friends in Water 7, and no plausible means of leaving. Not when your face was in the morning’s paper, announcing your death to the world.

You stood on a nearby building, the roofs of Water 7 your new temporary home, and watched the workers from a distance. Tom is hard to miss - a giant yellow fishman, hoisting and tossing heavy materials as though they were light as a feather. Working alongside him was a tall teenage boy with dark purple hair who kept yelling at a younger boy with bright blue hair.

Their quarrels only made Tom laugh, mixed in with the occasional reminder to keep on task.

You didn't really understand what they were building or how it would work, but watching them made you feel as though you were watching a scene from your childhood.

It made you miss your brothers.

-

You waited till nightfall to approach them. The boys had left around sunset when an older woman came by to tell them to go have dinner. You followed them at a distance and planned to wait for at least two more hours, hoping the boys would go to sleep, so you could have the chance to talk to Tom alone. But only ten minutes passed when the door opened.

You hopped back from where you had been loitering, trying to hide from the light that poured from the doorway. However the woman who opened the door only looked amused.

“Tom says to come join us for dinner.”

You stood in the shadow for a minute trying to process what she said. But knowing you were going to approach them anyways, you gave up hiding and stepped into the light.

“I don't mean to intrude. I just hoped to ask Tom for a favor.”

The woman smiled and waved you in. “Why don’t you ask him over a warm meal?”

You walked inside. It was a small space, clearly the living space of shipwrights with papers, drafts and other craftsmans things scattered about. Tom and the boys sat around a dinner table, the boys giving you an odd look - you figured your mask and robes would lift eyebrows. The woman also noticed you made no motion to take off your disguise.

“It’ll be hard to eat with a mask on.” She smiled, still trying to coerce you to the table.

“Thank you, but I already ate.” You replied, choosing to awkwardly stand in the entryway instead.

“Kokoro’s food isn’t that great but it’s warm!” The blue haired boy piped up, a goofy grin on his face. His smartass comment however earned him a smack on the back of the head by the older boy who sat beside him.

“Franky, you can’t say things like that! Have you no respect for adults?” The purple haired boy reprimanded him.

“That’s enough you two, we have a guest.” Kokoro interjected, seemingly unfazed by Franky’s insult to her cooking. “Even if you aren't hungry, you can sit beside me as they finish if you’d like.” She turned to you as she rejoined the table offering the seat next to her.

You looked at the table; Tom took up the majority of one side with Kokoro next to him, and the boys sat across from them. You would end up sitting at the end of the table Between Kokoro and Franky. You cast a glance around the home and found no other space you could possibly stay in instead as you waited, so you ended up taking her offer at the table.

Dinner resumed as it had been before you joined. The boys bickered, but both would go silent to listen as Tom told stories. He had several, all about ships he had built or pirates he had encountered. The older boy, Iceberg, would discuss schematics and plans with Tom for projects beside the Sea Train. The younger boy Franky pulled out his own plans for small warships - meant to bring down Sea Kings apparently.

Kokoro just seemed to enjoy some booze and the company at the table.

Eventually, after some odd looks from Iceberg and invasive questions from Franky, the boys went to bed, Kokoro and Tom sending them off. Kokoro ended up leaving as well, and then it was you and Tom.

“Kokoro mentioned you wanted a favor from me? Just know I’m awfully busy with the Sea Train and I don’t have time for much else.” Tom had a friendly demeanor, but you could tell your insistence on hiding your appearance from them had bothered him.

You glanced at the door to the boys’ room. “Is it okay if we stepped outside? I think it may be best to leave others out of my problems if possible.”

Tom again seemed to question what was going on, but he stepped outside anyway. A couple yards from the house you handed him this morning’s paper. You braced yourself, then asked him, “How do you feel about the news of another Roger Pirates dying?”

Tom bristled, “Look, I’ve been welcoming but I have to know who you are. If you’re another CP agent I’ve told you I-” But before he could finish you pulled off your mask.

Tom froze.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Tom. I didn’t want to come here and endanger you and your family but I’m out of options. If there’s anything you know about a way I can escape Water 7 I would be grateful.” You rambled, trying to explain you knew his situation and that you could pay him for just a schedule, someway he might know of that could help you sneak off this island, but you didn’t quite finish your thoughts.

Tom reached out to you, and you flinched, preparing for the worst. Instead, he crouched down to eye level and rested the hand on your shoulder. His eyes were sad, mouth pressed into a hard line.

“If there’s anything I can do for one of Roger’s kids, I will do it without hesitation.”

You crumpled beneath the weight of his words. The smile that stretched across Tom’s face gave you the same feeling when Roger smiled at you after he told you you were no longer a slave.

For the first time since you got to Water 7, you felt safe.

More Notes: tysm for reading!! never expected so many people to want a continuation - i knew this is where it would go when i wrote pt 1, but im sure this is a surprise for some of you. i really appreciate comments and might write a non-canon compliant au of this soulmates fic - MAYBE, do not expect anything. also i cant write smut so it would just be fluff/ angst w comfort kind of thing. get dicked down by croc elsewhere

ily all, ty again - Ziro(Bitches)

[ms--lobotomy]

Hi, can I request a Konrad Curze x reader oneshot? I like how you’ve written him so far.

anon im so stupid for curze its not even funny. i love rat men. in my head hes really dumb but also a little shit.

---

summary: curze has no idea how to court someone he finds attractive, lmao

word count: 1184

content warnings: its curze so nearly comical amounts of violence, i feel like im putting a lot of headcanons on him but what even is canon anymore we're all primarch fuckers here, also its kinda toxic because its curze

---

Nostramo was a lightless planet. The only things illuminating the path you tread were manmade lights, harsh and unyielding. It didn't help that it was pouring rain, either. You trod alone, but it was time for the factories of the planet to close, so you were just one face in a sea full of people.

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. This wasn’t an uncommon feeling, things commonly went wrong in the hive city in which you lived. You clutched the bag you were holding, a sad brown thing that carried the remnants of corpse starch and some money and other things you needed to get through work. It smelled awful. 

“Put the bag on the ground,” you heard a voice behind you proclaim. You felt something round and hard at the back of your neck. 

You already knew what to do. Nobody turned around to look at you, the people walking home milled around the two of you. You turned around to see someone wearing nondescript black clothes and bearing a cold iron gun. You put your bag on the ground. “Here you go,” you sighed. He did have a gun, but this wasn’t your first day around town. “There’s maybe two coins in there, if you even care,” you continued. “Enjoy.”

Just before you turned around, while you were thinking about how many factory shifts you would need to replace your dearly departed bag, a dark blur hit your mugger. Your… would be mugger now, because he had just become a cloud of blood and viscera. It would be almost comical if a man weren’t turned to dust before your very eyes. 

Your eyes darted to that… thing that attacked him. It--no, he--was tall, very tall. Maybe twice your height. He had dark, unkempt hair and his sclera was black. The crowd was starting to disperse, taking different directions, but you stood there dumbfounded. And he looked just about as dumbfounded as you did. 

“Um…” you managed to squeak out. “Can I help you?”

He pursed his almost nonexistent lips. “Follow me,” he said, his voice more rumbly than anything you’ve heard come out of a human before. You weren’t even sure if this was a human you were dealing with. While you were busy contemplating whether or not the being in front of you could be considered human, he put a firm hand on your shoulder and started walking. You had to run to keep up, or you felt your shoulder was going to be yanked from your body. His fingers dug into your flesh, almost breaking it open. You saw the crowd part in front of you, the odd person giving you a confused stare before darting away with the rest of the crowd. 

After winding through the streets of the dimly lit city, you found yourself in front of a large, imposing building. Skulls around your size hung on pikes around it, and that had to be human skin carpeting the ground. 

“Your… new quarters,” he said bluntly. 

“Excuse me?” you asked. You had lived in crummy apartments your whole life. Having a whole building, let alone one this large, was an alien concept to you. Not to mention the uncouth decorations. 

He stared, nothing hiding the crazed way in which he looked at you. You looked away to break the intense eye contact. A few moments later, he scanned his hand and led you through the door. The door was the perfect size for him, but the knob was just a little further down than you were tall. 

“Thanks?” you asked as you entered the threshold of the building.

You entered the elevator in the center of the room, and it shot you up to the highest floor of the building. It was as if you could see the entire city from where you were. His hand trailed from your shoulder to your waist. You looked out to around where you came from, there were people milling around again as if nothing had happened there. You looked back up at the man who had brought you here. He was staring at you again with that same crazed look in his eye. 

“Who even are you?” you asked. 

“You don’t know?” he responded. The crazed look became one of genuine confusion. “You haven’t heard of the Night Haunter?” 

“I have no idea who that is,” you responded flatly. “I don’t get out often.”

“Well…” he said, looking away from you for a second. The elevator dinged, you were at the floor you were looking for. His hand left your waist. He turned around to exit, but you could still hear him fine. “You can call me Konrad.” 

He scanned his hand next to the single door, and it swung open. The room that greeted you was nothing short of opulent. Windows opened up a view of the city, and there was a bed big enough for three Konrads nested in one of the corners of the room. Sure, the paintings on the wall were… unsettling, but you’d seen worse. He put a hand on your shoulder again and led you to the window, staring down at the city. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked as he knelt down next to you. He was still taller than you. 

He took one of your hands in both of his, clasping his hands around yours. “I…” he started. “Uh… I suppose this is how courting works, correct?” 

Your mouth hung open. Of course this was what he was doing. What other explanation would there be for this behavior? “Absolutely not,” you said after a moment. You couldn’t help it, but the corners of your mouth quirked up. You knew that he could tear you to shreds if he wanted, you could be another part of those skulls and skins at the front of his dwelling if he so chose. But there was something about the gestures that he made that was… charming. 

“We will be sharing a bed anyways,” he said, bringing your hand to his mouth. He ran his lips over it in an almost-kiss, but pulled away. “I imagine you are going to be okay with this arrangement.” 

You felt your face go warm. “I… I guess I can’t refuse, can I?” 

Konrad chuckled. “You are getting it,” he replied. “Now, it is getting late. And you need to go to bed.” 

“I just got off of work,” you protested, but Konrad led you to the bed nonetheless. He practically threw you on the mattress before slumping onto it himself. After hitting a button to turn the lights out, he grabbed you and held onto you. You went limp on the bed. If he said you were going to bed, who were you to argue? 

His breath was warm on your exposed neck, his face nested in the crook of your neck. You ran a curious hand through his unkempt hair. The bed was softer than anything you’d ever experienced. 

You could get used to this.

[ro-presents-jenniferjareaushorts]

REQUESTED

jennifer jareau x black!femme!reader

includes derek and savannah morgan, emily prentiss, luke alvez, tara lewis, emily prentiss, matt simmons, penelope garcia and spencer reid. no mentions of rossi or the others. mentions will.

After two years of dating JJ, mostly behind closed doors, you finally meet JJ's friends.

Basic fluff

Unspecified age gap, but reader is an adult. Reader is related to Savannah. Mentions of divorce. Mentions of coming out. Nondescript mentions of sexual conduct. Mentions of drunkenness. Hints at past-Jemily. No use of Y/N.

2.4K WORDS

not really sure how i feel about this. sorry. it's not my favorite thing, and can't say im super proud of it tbh. but, it kind of helped my rut.

JJ found herself tinkering with the watch on her wrist. Tonight was going to be an important night. You were finally meeting the team. It had been on the books for weeks, and it had taken months for you to have been able to mention it with her eyes nearing jumping out of their sockets. They were her family, after all. And, you? You were special. She wasn't sure what she was worried most about, them not liking you or you not liking them.

She sighs, pushing herself off the frame of the front door. You should have been out of the bathroom right now.

"Are you almost ready?"

You dropped your arms, just enough that the mascara in your hands is no longer close to your eye. She's called out to you, not even five minutes ago. Three minutes was generous, even. It was starting to get a bit, frustrating.

"Jennifer!" You call back with nothing else to really say after. You just want her to hear in your tone how tired you are of her asking. After a moment, you hear footsteps, and you huff. She steps into the bathroom, and you look up in the mirror. She's ready, and she looks good. Casual enough, jeans and teeshirt. Her make up was minimal, but she looked gorgeous, as usual. You speak up before she does, "Baby, stop bugging me. I'm getting ready, okay? We finna go to a bar, not a dinner reservation. Can you just stop rushing me?"

JJ ignores the question, zeroing in on your middle statement. "Exactly, we are going to a bar to meet them. So, what's all this? You don't have to go all out for them."

"You should know better than to think I'm getting gussied up for anyone but me." You retort, finishing up your mascara.

"You look beautiful, already," she sighs, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, "Can't you just, wrap it up? Your makeup looks about done."

You twist the cap back on your mascara and look up at her with a smile as you know what you're about to say is not going to be music to her ears. "My makeup is done. Now, I have to do my hair."

JJ groans, turning her body away from you. Her back, now, flat against the frame, she leans back against it. Eyes closed with a deep exhale, she slides down a wall. You have the most beautiful, artful head of hair ever. And, damn, if you didn't do a damn good job about making it into any masterpiece you wanted. But, God, did it take forever. She texts her team that you guys are going to be a little late, tells that they she would like them to meet you while they are at least mostly sober.

Emily reads JJ's text and sighs. She slides her phone into her back pocket, annoucing, "Beers only, for now, guys. They're going to be here a little late, and JJ wants us to be fairly sober when they get here."

Matt takes a swig of his bottle, "Did she say how long they were gonna be?"

"Uh, no, but she said her girlfriend was doing her hair," Emily answers, shrugging, "So, it shouldn't be too much longer." Derek and Savannah exchange looks before laughing. Seeing as Savannah had introduced JJ to you, she and Derek were the only ones who knew anything about you. Including how you looked, and more particularly, knew it would take a bit of time for you to do your hair. Emily squinted, as did the rest of the team, "What's so funny?"

Savannah amused, shakes her head while Derek answers through his laughter, "Nothing, I'm just saying that, if JJ wants us to be sober when they show up then we should switch to water."

The team talks amongst themselves, enjoying their night out. The first night out in a while, that they've gotten to enjoy Derek and Savannah's company. So, they make the most of it, while they wait. In fact, they were having such a good time, they had completely lost track of how long they had been waiting. The filled their drinking gap alternating between beers and water, and occassionally, ordering a round of shots. Then, the door opens, and Penelope gasps about someone so gorgeous she felt blinded. The team follows her line of sight, set directly on the door. As Savannah jumps up excitedly and moves around Derek to approach you, JJ walks in right behind you, after having just held the door for you. You grab her hand the moment she's close enough.

"Damn," Luke exhales, "JJ's girlfriend is.." He trails off, catching himself before he finds himself on the recieving end of pointed looks and the back Garcia's hand smacking his chest.

Maybe it's because he cut himself off, maybe it's because everyone's too busy staring with their jaws knocking between their ankles but neither reactions come. Instead, they just hum along while Emily lets out a quiet, "Tell me about it."

Derek laughs, "Pick your jaws up off the floor before they get here and JJ catches your eyes."

Matt is the first pull his eyes away and thus, respond. "Aw, c'mon, JJ doesn't really strike me as the possessive type."

Emily, getting flashbacks from years ago, tears her eyes away from the couple, getting this far away look in her eye as she murmurs, "Oh, yes, she is."

Matt, Luke and Tara give her a curious look as Reid, Derek and Garcia exchange looks because they know where Emily's mind went. Before Emily went to London, things between the two of them, made team nights out really uncomfortable sometimes. Even moreso, when Will was with them, confused as they were. How JJ didn't realize she was gay until two years ago will forever be something that confuses them. When they get closer, they stand in anticipation to greet the stunning couple. When they are within earshot, the group clammers over the sound of each other's voices to greet JJ, who's arm is tight on your waist because Luke still has that glazed over look in his eye when he looks at you. Dumbstruck and in love, and your body is going to pay the cost of that later.

"I'm sorry we're late," JJ says, after greeting her team back.

You smile, "It takes work to be this pretty."

"No, it doesn't," JJ argues, "You're always that beautiful."

Penelope squeals, "You guys are so cute." She locks eyes on you, pointing, "You, you are gorgeous."

You laugh, extending your hand to her, "You must be Garcia," and when she excitedly confirms, shaking your hand with a vigor you should have been expecting but was still surprised by, you introduce yourself to her. Letting go of her hand, Emily introduces herself to you and you make your way around the group. Before getting around to Derek and hugging him instead of shaking his hand.

"Oh, so you know two know each other?" Emily asks.

JJ's eyes sparkle as she bites back a laugh, looking at Derek and Savannah both, "You guys didn't tell them?"

Reid squints, "What was he supposed to tell us?"

"You were being so secretive about your relationship, I didn't say a thing." He answers.

You answer Reid, "They," pointing to Derek and Savannah, "introduced us."

"Wait," Tara asks, motioning between you and Derek and Savannah, "So, how is it that you know each other."

JJ immediately goes cherry red as you look at her, seeing if she would be willing to answer since she brought it up, and all. You laugh. She's still mildly embarrassed, certainly not ashamed, but it's still a fact that flusters her.

"She," you start, pointing to Savannah, "is my Aunt." Derek laughs as jaws drop and JJ's eyes become wide and glued to the floor. Luke and Tara start making cradle robbing jokes at JJ's expense, and you didn't think it was possible for her to become more red, but she did. You defend her, "To be fair, it took me six months of relentlessness for her to see me as the adult woman that I am, so please, hop up off my woman." And, you laugh, but you're kind of serious. You've never loved age gap jokes from the outside, and you weren't comfortable enough yet with JJ's friends for you to find them funny.

Savannah slides back into the conversation, "Okay, also, to be fair, I became an aunt rather early in life. So."

Now, they're dying to know how you two met, exactly. Which makes JJ's blush deepen because she does remember the first time she saw you. You think those six months of your effort was because she didn't see you as a woman, but it was really more because she was trying not to see you as a woman. The moment she saw you, she isn't going to say she fell in love with you, but she definitely imagined herself fucking you. In so many ways, so many positions. She imagined the way your moans and whimpers would sound in her ear, imagined how your sweat and arousal would taste on her tongue.

She had only recently truly realized she liked women; it's why she and Will separated, why he went back to New Orleans, and she hadn't even verbalized her newfound self discovery outloud to herself, much less to anyone else.

Furthermore, she had been leaning heavily on Derek and Savannah during this difficult time, as he and Savannah were helping her out with the boys. So, the very last thing she needed to be doing so imagining all the ways she could possibly having their niece screaming her name, but that's what she was doing. And, your sizing her up and giving her those flirtatious glances did her zero favors. Then, you started giving her more than suggestive glances, and she thought the devil sent you to her. So, not wanting to complicate her friendship with the Morgans, she did her best to keep a respective distance, but you made it so hard every single time she saw you. Because you'd openly wanted her just about as much as she wanted you in her mind.

Eventually, the two of you found yourself to be alone, and JJ did her best, but the chemistry was electric. After six months of trying to do the right thing, she had ended up absolutely railing you in your bedroom. And, you were caught as soon as Derek and Savannah came back home with the kids. So, as JJ blushed and blushed and avoided every eye in the room as you weren't shy about it at all, though, thankfully, you did spare them all the sweetest details.

"A go getter," Matt nodded, thinking back to when he met Kristy, lifting his beer to tip at you, "I respect it."

Emily's mind did some quick math, "Wait, is she the reason you came out?"

"Well," JJ looked at you with that lovesick twinkle in her eyes, "She certainly helped."

"I wasn't sure you would ever come out," Reid chimes in. And, everyone mutters their agreeance. If what Emily, Derek and Penelope are doing can be considered muttering.

"Aye," you speak, defensively. JJ looks slightly offended, and slightly is enough for you to say something, "Some journeys are longer and harder than others. She came out when she was ready."

"Protective, too," Tara notes, looking at JJ, "I like her." And, she's not the only one to say so.

The conversation shifts as they pry to get to know you. Penelope fires a million questions at you, and she's pushy about you answering. Apparently, she had tried to look you up, but you aren't active enough on your socials to give her much insight. She was firing questions at you a mile a minute, and you were just as honest as you needed to be. You were losing track of how many questions you'd answered in this, and sensing your tiredness, JJ slides in to your rescue.

"Penelope," She cuts her off mid question, "This isn't going to be the only time you see her," She gives that smile, the one does when things are tense. Or, when she's nervous. Or, when she's forcing herself to be polite, "Leave some mystery to her."

"Right, right," Penelope concedes, "I'm sorry. I've just waited so long to meet you, and now that I'm meeting you my excitement has not wound down because you're so stunning, and you two are stunning together, and JJ has been so happy. I've never seen JJ this happy, not ever since I've known her, and I didn't even realize she wasn't quite happy until I've seen her truly happy, and seeing her happy just makes me so happy," she leans forward, takes one of your hands in both of hers, "I am so happy that you make her so happy. Thank you for making her so happy."

Your eyes soften as her ramble comes to an end, and when you look at JJ, she's give you that puppy eyed look she only seems to fix on you. You steal a small kiss from her, and Reid averts his eyes out of respect while the rest of the table coos at the two of you like children do.

It makes you keep the kiss short. JJ rolls her eyes when she pulls away and looks back at them, but even so, there's a fondess to the action. She switches the conversation, though. Takes it to something more casual and pulls the focus away from you and y'all's relationship. Things amongst the group settle easy then. You guys have plenty of drinks and you have so much more fun than you expected. You didn't expect things to go badly, but you honestly hadn't expected to mesh with everyone so well.

By the end of the night, the only person good enough to drive is Derek, and you all find yourselves cramming up in his SUV, heading back to his place for an impromptu, drunken sleepover. With the exception of Matt, who has Kristy come and pick him up. When you back to yours and your Aunt Savannah's house, you give Reid, Tara, Luke and Penelope some blankets for them to set themselves up and pass out in the living room while you and JJ go curl up in each other's arms in your room.

"Your friends are nice," you murmur against her neck, drifting off to sleep in her arms.

JJ -- both too tired and too drunk to revel in the newly formed bond between her favorite people -- simply falls asleep right after you with a faint smile on her lips.