#but in my heart and soul I would want him to get treated and cleaned up and put into a nice conservation center

[blackbackedjackal]

I live in Tacoma and some locals want to make Jawless Jerry the unofficial city mascot since we're known as Grit City, and he is gritty as fuck. I'm sad to hear the mange will probably take him out. He's been going strong for at least 9 months, which is fucking impressive. Long live Jawless Jerry.

That's hella impressive, and I'm excited to hear that he's gotten that much positive traction locally. As sad as the situation is for him, it's always good to see positive change towards "wow coyotes are metal as fuck," because they are. Wish it was under better circumstances for Jerry, but I hope more people become interested in coyotes because of him.

[sweetiecutie]

Part eight: first time/virginity loss~ 🩷 Kinktober Masterlist 🩷

Pairing: John Price x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, virginity loss, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do that), fluff and soft, I don’t like the ending but dunno how to fix it

- You came to me like a smart girl that you are, made me so proud, - John murmured against your ear as two of his thick fingers were working your pussy open, stretching it out to fit his girthy cock inside. His thumb never stopped rubbing the swollen nub of your clit, causing your mouth to fall open in silent moan, your nipples pebbling up at the intensity of newfound pleasure.

- Yeah, you came to a real man who would treat you so good, not some stupid frat boy who’d fuck you in the back sit of his car and then act like nothing ever happened, - Price kept on whispering, placing small kisses on your temple and hairline in between each word, his beard tickling you slightly, adding to sweet sensation. Your wide teary eyes looked up right into his, making John’s heart skip a bit - how pretty you looked underneath him, so soft and sprawled out on his sheets; how those doe eyes sparkled, gazing at him with so much trust and need, how your puffy lips formed a perfect little pout, melting every bone in his massive body into mush.

John leant in, connecting his lips to yours in a slow sloppy kiss; skilled tongue sliding along your lower lip before slipping into the warmth of your mouth, nose bumping against your cheek. Price gladly swallowed a small squeal you let out as he added third finger inside of your cunny, pumping them in and out slowly, smiling into the kiss as you started buckling your hips up ever so slightly, matching the pace of his hand. Man hummed approvingly as he felt your small hands trailing down his chest and sides, clumsily trying to caress his burly body - your touch is tentative and unfirm, but oh how much John enjoyed your eagerness to please.

- You think you’re ready to take me? - John asked after breaking the kiss, his lips mere centimetres away from yours, piercing eyes gazing right into your soul. You nodded rapidly, mouthing small yeses. - That won’t do. Use your big girl words, hm?

- I want you inside of me, - you uttered under your breath, bright pink dusting your cheeks and ears, heart humping rapidly inside of your chest at the realisation of what was about to happen.

- Love, it’s no pressure. You say stop and we stop, get it? - Price said, his voice sounding as serious as ever, startling you slightly by the sudden change. You nodded in agreement, nibbling on your bottom lip as John slipped his fingers out of your hole, making you feel so cold and empty. - Now clean my fingers f’me.

You obliged happily, opening your mouth and taking three of Price’s fingers inside, soft tongue swirling around rough fingertips, tasting your soury essence off his skin. You watched with immense interest as John undid the button and a zipper of his cargo pants one handed, tugging them down to his knees. His cock, once free from confines of black boxers, sprung up to his stomach, standing tall and proud and incredibly thick. You gaped, glancing up at your lover in confusion - will that thing even fit in? John chuckled, satisfied with your reaction, taking his digits out of your mouth and pulling your hips closer to himself.

- Don’t worry doll, I’ll be as gentle as ever, - he reassured, wrapping wet with your saliva fingers around his thick shaft, pumping it a few times.

John aligned thick cockhead to your fluttering entrance, causing your breathing to hit hitch in excitement. First stroke was slow and smooth, forcing about one third of Price’s cock inside of you. The stretch burnt, but John did good job earlier, working you open on his fingers, slowly easing you into taking the whole thing. After a few long moments he continued, slowly pumping his hips back and forth, sheathing more and more of his length with each new stroke.

First small moan fell from your lips, John’s cock stretching your pussy to its limits, but his thumb caressing your clit relentlessly made it so much easier to handle. Your tits bounced with each slow thrust, making it impossible for Price to resist grabbing them and playing with your perked up nipples.

- Fuuuuck, you’re so perfect for me. My perfect little girl, all mine, forever mine, - John groaned out, holding you so tenderly, his brain barely functioning at the feeling of your rippling heat wrapping so snugly around his throbbing cock, bringing him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

Your hands grabbed Price’s wrists for some kind of grounding; initial pain started dissipating slowly, giving place to warm pleasure to suffuse you. Your clit was throbbing. unused to such close attention, back arching up at the intensity of the feeling.

- John, I think I’m gonna- your words broke off as a sudden wave of pleasure crashed over you, washing away all the remnants of thoughts that still were in your head. Pure ecstasy was pumping through your veins, making you shake and tremble in your lover’s firm hands, clamping down onto his thick cock, bringing him closer to his own high.

- That’s it doll. Just like that, cum on my cock, make that pussy cream for me baby, - Price muttered above you, his stomach muscles flex upon feeling you clench around his needy leaking cock. But his hips never stopped, fucking you into and through your high, not planning on stopping anytime soon. Not until John showed you how much pleasure a really good sex may bring<3

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hazbin Boys x reader- Comfort ❤️‍🩹

This is a request from an anon- hazbin boys comforting reader with depression/mental illness. Includes Lucifer, Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and just a dab of Alastor. Original request here + a heart felt message from yours truly 💌

TW: depression, mental illness, sickeningly sweet fluff

Notes: gn!reader, NSFW during Angel’s part 18+ plz

Lucifer 🍎

Oh my goodnessssssss, prepare to be treated like absolute royalty.

I’m talking foot rubs, back rubs, playing with your hair

Not only will he make you food, he’ll literally try to feed you and offer you sweet praises when you do eat. Eating can be a real chore sometimes…

“Good job, my love. It’s gonna be okay…okay?”

I think Luci is pretty touchy in general, but when you’re down in the dumps, he gets extra clingy and touchy

He’ll pretty much constantly have a hand on you- holding your hand, a hand on your back, a gentle rub on your shoulder

Will unfurl his wings and drag you close to him in bed, wrapping his arms and silky feathers around you as he lulls you to sleep

Like imagine a midday depression nap all tangled up with Luci, curtains drawn so the room is nice and dark, the temp is perfect, the bed is hugging you just as good as your babe next to is. Ugh. Plz, I want this. I need this.

Will try to gently coax you out of bed and try to get you out of the house. He knows it won’t be easy for you but he thinks getting you cleaned up, dressed and out doing something fun you’ll feel a bit better. You’ll at least be distracted from your sadness for a bit.

He’s so kind and nonjudgmental too. He gets it completely. He has depression too. Even the king of hell deals with mental illness, okay? Mental illness does not discriminate

He’ll offer the best advice he can muster up, using his own experiences to help you out of your funk

All in all, he’s just an absolute sweet pea. So doting, so caring.

Angel Dust 🕸️

Also has mental illness, also gets it completely.

KING OF DISTRACTIONS

Angel is a sweet boy but I don’t think he’d be too great at offering advice…

So he does his best to distract you from your feelings, doing whatever it takes to get you to smile, even just for a second.

Will ask you what you want to do first, whatever will make you happy, he’ll go along with it.

If you insist on rotting in bed, he’ll probably respectfully pull you out of bed, tell you “this ain’t good for ya, babe” and force you to go do something fun, something relaxing, something for yourself

Sorry not sorry but he’ll def offer to cheer you up by fucking you, letting you fuck him, eating you out, sucking your dick. Go ahead, take your stress out on him, he can take it ;)

Also the king of self care.

SPA DAY SPA DAY SPA DAY

Will draw you and him a bath, rub your shoulders while you sit in the warm water together, will even wash your hair for you

Forces you to wear a face mask with him lmao

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Lemme paint ya nails! You’ll look sooooo cuuuuuute~”

Expect lots of touching and kisses with him at night, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping

Rubs your back, rubs your arms, will rub gentle circles on your butt if you’ll let him, kisses your head, kisses your cheeks, kisses your nose

ALL THE KISSESSSSSS 💋💋💋

Husk 🃏

Okay listen…this guy is obvi a great listener and he’s pretty good at giving advice. Honestly, he’s probably the best person to go to.

Husk is an old soul, he’s pretty wise, has a lot of life experience, death experience, his own experience with mental illness and even addiction.

He could just listen to you talk for hours, waiting for you to pause before he replies. He’d never interrupt. He’s so patient with you 🥹

Will keep a close eye on you and any new habits you’ve seemed to pick up. He fixes his own issues with booze but he’s the type to say “do as I say, not as I do”

Won’t let you spiral into addiction like he did…it’s not an option.

I think Husk would be a good mix of “Come here, give Husker a hug. It’s alright, hun. Let’s go take a little nap, yeah?” and “Hey, I know what’ll cheer ya up!” *proceeds to show you the coolest, craziest magic tricks*

He’s a good balance of comfort and distraction

Anything he can do to help, just say the word

Will tell you funny shit he’s seen the folks around the hotel do just to see you laugh for a moment

“One time, Angel was walking right in front of the bar at like 7 in the morning and tripped over literally nothing and face planted! I had the best seat in the house. It was hilarious.”

This is my own personal headcanon, idk why but I feel like Husk can cook really well. He’d totally make you food, even bring it to you in bed if you don’t feel like getting up

Will absolutely let you play with him like a kitten, won’t even be upset about it. Play with his ears, give him pets, let his fur be your stim toy, let his purr soothe your achy heart

Sir Pentious 🐍

Plzzzz, he’s such a simp. I love this slippery, special little guy 💚

Big on cuddles! Will cuddle you all day, all night if you want. Loves the physical contact, and loves it even more when he can feel you relax a bit against him.

Will make his eggs boys do anything for you. Whatever you want, you tell them and they’ll happily oblige.

Kinda random but I think he’d be the type to try and pull silly little pranks on ppl around the hotel just to get you to laugh. He’s such a silly goose omg

He doesn’t really understand what you’re going through so he’ll just keep asking you what he can do, how he can help, what you want, what you need from him.

He doesn’t get it but he’ll do anything for you.

When you’re feeling particularly lazy and it’s extra hard to leave your bed, he’ll literally carry you around. Just lounge in his arms, darling, he’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t need to go anywhere? Fine, you’re gonna come along with him to do his daily tasks. Sit in his lap and just watch as he works.

Just wants to keep you close. He can’t stand the thought of you being alone when you feel like this. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, he wants you close.

Unless you insist on having some alone time or needing some space. Again, whatever you need from him, you got it.

Although, he may get a little teary eyed and pouty when he leaves you. Can’t stop thinking about you all day and probably comes and checks on you several times.

Vox 🖥️

“CANCEL MY MEETINGS, HOLD ALL MY CALLS, TELL EVERYONE IM NOT RESPONDING TO EMAILS UNTIL TOMORROW!”

Guy needs to focus on his baby right now. You are his top priority, everything else can wait. You are just too precious to put on the back burner.

Will be sure to tell Val and Velvette to leave you two alone. He doesn’t want them upsetting you any more than you already are.

This man has his assistants waiting on you hand and foot. He’s gonna stay in your bed with you, cuddled up with tons of blankets, both in your pajamas as you watch movies while ordering his staff to bring you whatever it is you desire.

Will eventually yank you out of bed bc he can’t stay still for too long but you’re coming with him. Wants to keep you company always

In public, Vox isn’t the most romantic or touchy. He’s a busy man with a huge reputation to uphold. While he would never completely ignore you and he’s no ashamed to show some PDA with you, you sort of always find yourself following in his shadow when he’s hard at work.

Once he sees how much your mental health is affecting you, he becomes much more attentive, much more protective of you.

He’ll hold your hand or keep his arm around you when out and about. Will give you a gentle kiss and a prideful smile before getting on set for a news shoot.

If you’re having a particularly hard day, everyone get out of the way! Hes taking the day off, he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone says or thinks.

You are too important to him. Without you, what good would all his accomplishments be? Without you, who would he share all this with?

He needs you to stick around 🩵

Alastor🩸

I think Alastor would be absolutely clueless but he’d try his best nonetheless!

He’d also be one to try and distract you.

Wanna go to cannibal town and visit Rosie? She’ll help cheer you up! She’s a great listener with tons of good advice to give

Will reluctantly invite you into his room and lead you to the half of it that looks like a swamp/forest. He will take off his coat and sit in the grass with you, staying silent but watching you look around in awe.

He’s got lots of cool powers and will summon or manifest little things here that he thinks will bring a smile to your face.

Summons little lightning bugs to carefully dance around your face, holds back from slaughtering a deer that’s approaching just so you can admire it from afar, will watch with a genuine smile as you lay back in the grass and relax to the sound of crickets chirping and light jazz music.

If you asked…he might give you a hug. Might.

Also sends his shadow to check up on you every so often but if you notice this, he will deny it with all his might.

[blackknight-kai]

So sorry to bother you, but while I was cleaning our fridge and listening to music, Lana Del Rey's Young and Beautiful played, I can't stop thinking about mortal fem reader with Sun Wukong being like, "Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? When I got nothing but my aching soul?" 😭

So if that's okay, I want to request a short fic about Wukong/Mortal!Reader going through this dilemma? What is he going to do? To say? I'm so sorry for this angst but I'm so HMSNDGSG 😭😭😭🙉🙉🙉

Ngl I’m forever an optimist (also I’m baby 💀 I’m like ‘no heavy angst happy ending only!’) so uh yeah 🤣🤣🤣

This may not be a full fic but here you go!

Wukong and you have discussed your aging at some point. It honestly was probably one of the things that held you back from furthering your relationship with him. But it was hard to resist because well….hes HIM. Charming and sweet when he wants to be, especially for you. You find his nature endearing and honestly? He wants to be better for you. For your life together.

Thing is though, you’re gonna age. And unfortunately it’s a sensitive topic. Why? Because it’s painful in different ways for the both of you.

You fear you won’t be beautiful or be able to keep up with him. Just a husk holding your soul…

He fears losing you in general.

Both are valid. And honestly you hadn’t told him your exact fear regarding it before tonight. Something about today got to you. Maybe it was the way your back ached? Or the way your knee popped.

But today just was not a pleasant day for your thoughts. You start to really think about your future, something you shy away from due to how depressing it seems. And Wukong can sense your mood shift. Knows something’s wrong.

It takes him a while to weasel it out of you, he brings you flowers and your favorite treat. He even rubs your shoulders and kisses your neck soothingly as you relax in a warm bath together.

When he softly asks you what’s been wrong, well you honestly don’t have the walls up to deny him an answer. Hearing your fears about your youth and beauty don’t necessarily surprise him, but it does bother him.

It hurts him to think you worry about such a thing. As if he’d ever tire of you or find you anything less than gorgeous. His main fear is just losing you entirely, you no longer being there at all…the though makes his chest ache enough to want to rip his heart out. Which he might do if the time ever came for you to disappear from his side.

He pulls you back against his chest and nuzzles his nose and mouth against your neck as he reassures you that of course he’s going to find you beautiful, no matter what. How nothing not even wrinkles would ever make him stop loving you. That he will love every single part of you from here on until the end of time. Wukong spends the next several hours pampering you and showing you just how much he loves you, and will continue to love you. He is soft, tender, and gentle with his words and touches. Pouring every ounce of his feelings for you into every action and murmured word.

He does tell you that it won’t matter if you go grey and slow down. He will care for you and be by your side as long as you let him. That you better let him, or it might kill him. He wants to be with you for every moment up to the last so that the last thing you see, hear, smell, touch, taste, and know is his love for you.

Come morning you feel better but the thought of growing old and slow while he remains as he always is tingles in the background of your mind.

His too.

And so, he makes a decision. One he will definitely discuss with you but only after he’s found the solution. Because he would never ever force something on you, not like this. But he is going to get you an option.

Months maybe a year or two later he finally has something. It’s tangible and will work. You could remain by his side forever if you so choose. But….the question now is…will you choose to do it? Or will you refuse and let life take its natural course?

He will respect your choice….but with every fiber of his being and hair on his body he hopes you choose him.

(On the flip side, there’s the alternative of him finding a way to rid his immortality but I think that’s less likely. I know there are darker sides to this but I didn’t feel like exploring that here 😊).

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

𝙂𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙁 𝙎𝙀𝙓

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏.

• 𝟭𝟴+ 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴), 𝙋 𝙄𝙉 𝙑, 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆, 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙀, 𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝙔/𝙉.

𝙎. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙭 𝙔/𝙉

• ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ •

Y/N knocked on the door of the abandoned home that Sam was in. Ruby had texted her telling her that Dean was dead and her heart broke the Winchester man. She knows what it feels like to lose someone you truly love. Family is the most painful thing you can lose. She could never wish that upon anyone. Not even her worst enemy, it fucking sucks to feel alone. Sam opened the door and looked down at her. “What do you want?” He asked her as he opens the door to let her walk in. “Ruby texted me, telling me that Dean is dead.” She told him as they walked into the home. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. He looked really bad and she could see how bad he’s grieving his big brother. She’s had to do it before a long time ago,

She almost sold her soul to bring her brother back from the dead, but Sam and Dean were able to stop her from doing something stupid. Dean had talked her out of it a few times. “Why did ruby text you to come?” He asked her as he leaned on the table and took a bottle of alcohol taking a big gulp. “Because, I’m human and she’s not.” She told the Winchester.

“Well, I don’t want you here.” He told her as she scoffed. “Too bad, you big crybaby, you have no one else. So you either have me, or you have ruby.” She told him as he glared at her. “What the fuck do you want?” Sam asked getting annoyed that she was there. “Look, you saved my ass more times than I can count. The least I could do is be there for you as well.” She told him as the man scoffed shaking his head. “I don’t need you fucking pity.” He told her.

“I don’t pity you!” She snapped at him getting annoyed that he was treating her bad when all she wanted to do was help him. “I know what you’re going through!” She yelled at Sam as he just scoffs. “You don’t know shit.” He said as he took another gulp. Y/N walked over to him and snatched the bottle from his hand. “Hey! Give it back!” He yelled at her trying to take it back. “No! What you’re going to do. Is get yourself together and I’m going to help you hunt down that bitch Lilith.” She told him as he shakes his head. “She’s gone.” He told her as she just shook her head. “Ruby told me she’s back. So, you’re going to get sober and ruby’s going to show you how to use those abilities of yours.” She told the hunter.

A month later Sam was getting a little good at using his abilities. Sometimes he was able to send the demon back to hell, and sometimes Ruby would just have to kill them. Sam was being so impatient and it was starting to work her nerves. She was getting annoyed by his constant bitching and for the thing they cannot control themselves. It irked her a lot.

It’s been a month since Ruby and Y/N started to work with Sam in using his abilities. He was getting better, but it was frustrating him that he couldn’t just kill the demon or send them to hell. “I’ll clean up, you both can go.” Ruby told the two hunters and Sam didn’t hesitate to walk out of the room angry. She sighed walking out after him. They both got to the place he was staying in and takes a couple of pills and drinks more. “Hey, you did good.” She told him.

Sam scoffed “what the fuck are you still doing here y/n.” Sam asked her as she glared at the hunter. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not Ruby!” She told him as he nods. She gets that he’s grieving but it was irritating her that he would take it out on her. “All I’m trying to do is help you!” She told him. “You, trying to help me? Since when? All I do is treat you like trash.” He told her as he leans against the table. “Yeah, am I get it. I deserve it. But all I want to do is help you Sam.” She walked closer to the Man.

“I don’t need help from the woman who broke my heart.” He said. “I have ruby, I don’t need you.” He told her, dismissing her. But she shook her head at that. “I don’t want to leave.” She said as she walked closer. He didn’t move and only looked at the woman. She hesitantly reached over and moved his hair to the side. His hazel eyes closing at her touch. One he missed at lot. “I missed you so much.” She softly told him. She got in between his legs her lips hovering over his. “I missed you so much, Sam.” She told him.

He reacted and softly pushed her away. “No, I can’t.” He said as he went to go sit on the bed that most likely Sam had put there. She walked over, taking off her jacket and got in between his legs as he looked to the side. She pulled his face to look at her and she kissed him. Sam’s eyes closed as they both softly kissed, but Sam pulled away. “I said no!” He said to her. “Sam, please.” She told him as her eyes watered. “You left me for another guy, Y/n.” He told her as she shook her head. “It’s something I still regret till this day.” She told him as tears fell from her eyes as he shook his head. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done what you did.” He said as he looked at her again

“I broke it off with him that same day.” She told him. She wasn’t lying about that. It was a mistake what she did. She was drunk and she let the alcohol take control. Sam looked at her. She placed her lips on his again pulling away and kissing down his neck as his breathing started to pick up. “Fuck.” Sam whispered as she grazed her teeth on his neck. Sam, he hasn’t been with anyone since the last time he was with her.

He couldn’t. He still loved her so much. He tried to do it with Madison, the werewolf, but he just couldn’t do it. He told her the reason he couldn’t and she was so understanding. Y/N pulled Sam’s shirt over his head as he did the same with her, her jeans and his jeans coming off, her panties and his boxer shorts coming off. Leaving them both naked in front of each other. She straddled his hips, her bare chest touching with his bare chest. Y/N softly gasp as she felt his rock hard cock on her entrance as they both roughly kiss.

He pulled away from the kiss, kissing down her neck her head being thrown back as she enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on her skin. She really did miss that feeling of his perfectly shaped lips on her skin. He kissed his way back up, lifting up her body as she grabbed his cock lining it up at her entrance and she slowly slides down both of the hunters gasping as she slides down. “Oh, god.” She moaned softly as Sam hissed feeling how tight she was. She had forgotten how big and long the Winchester hunter was. Once he disappeared inside of her. Sam let her sit, letting her adjust to him again. Meanwhile Sam and Y/N kissed, pulled on each other’s lower lip, suck on each other’s neck leaving marks on them as they both mark each other as their own, and nobody else.

Y/N kissed her way up to his ear, Sam’s eyes closed as he held her hips. “Move.” She whispered and she gasped into his ear as he didn’t hesitate to move her hips. Sam’s mouth falling open as she rolled her hip on his. “Fuck, aah.” She softly moaned as she went slowly up and down. The tip of his dick hitting her cervix. “Fuuck, baby.” Sam groaned as she hugged him closer to her body and him doing the same with her. Y/N moaning into his ear as both of his hands got ahold of her ass and started slamming her into him at a fast pace. “Oh! Oh, god!” She gasped loudly as Sam had his eyes shut hard as he thrusted his hip up into her. “Sam! Aah! Aah!” She felt her legs start to shake. “Sam! I’m coming! Oh fuck!” But he stops.

He takes her off of him. “Hands and knees.” He told her as she shakily turned doing what he asked of her. She could feel her pussy fluttering from her almost orgasm. Sam slapped her ass making her arch her back as she gasped. Sam pumped his cock as his long fingers teased her entrance. “Sam, please.” She begged him. His fingers slid inside of her making her scream out as his fingers went in and out of her in a brutally fast pace. “Don’t stop, fuck! Don’t stop!” She yelled as her legs shook. Sam replaced his fingers with his cock slamming into her. “Aaah!!!” The coil in her stomach about to explode. His cock going in and out of her tight pussy walls as he grunted in pleasure.

Sam grabbed both of her hips and went faster not stopping. “Ooh!!!” She gasped loudly as she lets go her pussy walls clenching hard on his cock as Sam groaned. “Aarugh.” Sam moaned as he felt his cock twitching inside of her, meaning he was about to reach his own high. After she rides out her high. She pushed Sam off of her making him lay down as she got on top of him. She grabbed his dick and she didn’t waist any time sinking down making them both gasp. Y/N because she was sensitive from her orgasm. Sam because he was about to let go when she pushed him off. Y/N started to bounce on him.

Up and down and up and down. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuu—.” Sam gritted his teeth, letting out a low gasp, turning loud as he spill all of his cum inside of her. “Argh!!” Sam tried to stop her but she didn’t stop as she started to shake, her second orgasm hitting her full on force. “Saaaam!!!” She threw her head back as Sam’s cock twitched. Ropes of his white seed painting her walls as he moaned and called her out. Stopping she looked down at his dazed look.

Both were breathing heavily and she could still fee how his cock was twitching. “Oofm.” Sam’s Body twitched as she fell onto his chest looking all fucked out. Both catching their breaths, calming their hearts

Y/N rolled off Sam and she looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes closing as she had gotten tired.

“Fuck, it’s been a while.” Sam said as he stood back up, his dick soften as he pulled up his boxers.

“Now, how about you get dressed and get the fuck out.” He said making her sit up as she looked at him heartbroken that he used her just for sex and now was kicking her out. “But Sam ——.” He interrupted her. “Nah, get the fuck out.” He told her as she nods her head getting up and changing back into her clothes as her eyes watered. “Bye, Sam.” She said.

She walked out and outside she slides down the wall and lets out a loud sob. She knows she fucked up a while back. She knows she shouldn’t not done it, but she did and it was too late to get him to accept her apology. He hated her, and he only used her, to fuck her, to fuck out his grief, to forget about his brother for a little bit. It was meaningless sex to the hunter.

Y/N got up as she wiped her tears. “How’d it go?” Ruby appeared out of nowhere scaring her.

“How do you think?” She sneered as she pushed past her and walked away from the demon.

• ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ •

I feel like I want to make a pt. 2 to this! Should I? If you have any ideas let a bitch know! Request away!

I also want to start doing tag lists! So if you want to be in my tag list! LMK! In the comment section!

[kisses4kuna]

reader who's afraid of the dark and needs a nightlight to sleep, but refuses to tell a soul next it's embarrassing. satoru x reader & modern/no curses au.

when your boyfriend, satoru, asks to stay the night, you've always come up with every excuse in the book, every lie your mind can think of just to be able to get him to leave your home or be able to leave his.

until one night, you two are hanging out at his house, sitting on his living room floor.

there's a blanket laid out and you've both just been eating snacks, watching youtube and talking, and now it's nearing midnight.

“i should probably go home soon.” you say as you check your phone, realizing just how long you've been here and just how late it is.

“why not just stay the night?” satoru replies, attempting to give you puppy-eyes so you'll fold. (and you hate the fact that it's working.)

you're about to cave but you remember your unshakeable fear of the dark. for a moment, you consider just coming clean and telling satoru, but all you can imagine as a reaction is his laugh, how he'd mock you and call you pathetic. you know your boyfriend would never treat you like that, yet you still find yourself scared.

“babe? you still there?” he asks, a small grin on his face as he gently shakes your shoulder.

you grow slightly flustered at the nickname. despite having been with him for a few months now, he still manages to steal your heart all over again with the little things he does.

“yeah, i can't stay the night 'cause..” you attempt to think of an excuse that he won't be able to refute, but your mind is suddenly at a blank.

“'caaause?” he drags on, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

you realize if you make any excuse now, he'll know it's a lie. and the last thing you want is for him to assume you feel the need to lie just so you won't have to be around him, so you decide to come clean.

“don't laugh, but i can't stay the night because i'm afraid of the dark. i have a nightlight at home and i can't sleep without it.” you immediately look down at the blanket, bracing yourself for his laughing and taunts, but you're met with silence.

you look up at him hesitantly, startled and almost threatened by his silence.

“is that why you never let me stay over and always leave whenever i ask you to stay here?” he asks, genuine surprise etched onto his beautiful features.

“yes...” you reply meekly, a little embarrassed that he had clearly noticed your clear avoidance in the past.

suddenly he lets out a laugh, but it's not the malicious, pitiful one you thought it'd be. it's playful and lighthearted.

“well why didn't you tell me sooner? we can keep the hall light on and crack the bedroom door so you can still see, hell, we can sleep with the lights on if you really wanna. i just wanna be with you, silly. i couldn't care less if you need a little light.” at hearing his words, you start to forget and even wonder what in the world made you so scared to tell your dear boyfriend of your fear? of course he'd handle it with such care, just as he's done with you throughout the entire relationship, what made you think otherwise?

---

bro idk how to end this so uhhh yeah also ik this is lwk dog water.... BUT IT'S MY FIRST REAL WORK be nice guys 😣😣

[louloulemons-posts]

Tea and Toast

Eddie Munson X Reader

Summary : Eddie shows up at your house in the middle of the night.

Word Count : 1.1k

Warnings : Not proofread, another 2am fic, angsty, happy ending?, reader isn’t described with any pronouns or psychical features, Eddies dad, Eddie gets hurt, physical assault, talks of Eddies mom, sad Eddie, cuts and bruises, reader takes care of him.

A/N : This one is a heavy one, so please don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable 🤍

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Baby,” you hear, brain foggy with sleep. Whining in reply, you try to block out the noise. “Sweetheart,” you feel your body being shook.

You’re awake, rubbing your eyes, to wake up your mind. Looking around in the darkness you find Eddie. “Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep.

Pushing up, you look at him, leaning over to your lamp. He stops your hand. “Eds?”

“Just leave it off.”

“What are you doing here, thought you weren’t coming over tonight?”

“I know, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have come.” He stood from your bed, but you pulled him back gently.

“You know you’re welcome anytime,” you said softly. You pulled him closer to you, “But I know you, and I know you wouldn’t show up at,” you paused and looked at your clock, “2am, randomly without a reason.”

“I couldn’t stay there,”his voice broke.

“What?” you instantly become concerned.

“Im sorry I didn’t know where else to go. He showed up and Wayne’s at work and I-I couldn’t,” his breathing sped up.

“Hey, hey slow down it’s okay. You’re safe,” you pulled him into your arms. Rubbing his back and playing with his curls the way you know he loved. “It’s okay Sweet boy, I’ve got you.”

Slowly you felt him calm down. “My dad,” he began, you didn’t rush him, “I got back from dropping you home and he was at the entrance of the trailer park.

“Wanted to talk to me. To Wayne. Started yelling, saying we ruined his life, his reputation. I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn’t … a-and then … then he um ..”

“Baby did he hurt you?” you asked carefully, not wanting to overwhelm him. He nodded into your neck, letting out a sob. “I-if he wasn’t being so loud, and the neighbours didn’t come out … I just shut down … just like I used too.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“One of the guys at the front of the park threatened to call the cops and he bolted.”

“Cause he’s a coward,” you didn’t like bad mouthing people, but Al Munson was the worst.

“Eddie my love, will you let me see your face?” you softly kissed the top of his head and he nodded, sniffling. Pulling back slightly, but not letting go, you turned on your lamp.

Looking at his face, tears came to your own eyes, “Oh my baby, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” leading him to your bathroom, you pulled out your first aid kit.

His lip was popped, the side of his face bruised, he had a black eye coming and his eye brow was cut. “Can you sit here for me?” you motioned to the closed toilet. He sat on the lid silently.

Making your way to stand between his legs, “This is gonna sting,” you spoke, antiseptic wipe in hand. He hummed, you tried to be as careful as possible, touching his eyebrow, but he let out a hiss.

“Sorry, oh I’m sorry baby. I know it hurts.”More tears fell but you knew it wasn’t out of pain, well not physically, this was in his heart. “Why does he hate me?” he sobbed, resting his head on your stomach.

“Because he’s an awful person. You are everything he could never be. You are kind and loving and sweet and gentle. He is a mean man, a broken man.”

“H-he said it was my fault mom-“

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare listen to him, it was not your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“B-but he said-“

“I know, but that is because he is a broken man who never learnt how to deal with his emotions. He didn’t talk about your mom and took out all his feelings on you, but Eds you were a baby.

“You were your moms pride and joy, she would hate the way he’s treated you. You have such a good heart and soul, and you honour your mom everyday by being so strong and kind,

“The way you look after Wayne, the kids, me. She’d be so proud. So please do not listen to a thing that nasty man says.”

He calmed in your hold, still holding you tightly. “I love you, thank you for being here,” he said, pulling away from your tummy, his face now splotchy and swollen with tears.

“I will always be here. I love you so much.” You kissed his lips softly, not wanting to hurt him anymore. “Tell you what, if you’re feeling up to it in the morning, we can go and talk to Hop. Tell him what happened, how does that sound?”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Always. Now let me finish cleaning you up.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddie had changed into a pair of clothes he’d left here, whilst you went to make him some toast and tea. Something your mom did whenever you were upset.

You also decided to call Wayne’s work place. “Hello?” an unfamiliar voice answered, clearly tired. “Hi, um I was wondering if I could talk to Wayne Munson please.”

Soon enough you heard his voice, “Munson,” he said simply. “Hey Wayne it’s me.”

“Oh hello Honey, is everything okay?”

“Not really,” you then explained the events of the night. “Is he okay?”

“He was shaken up. I’ve cleaned him up, we’re going to talk to Hopper in the morning. I just wanted to tell you so you could be careful, keep an eye out for him”.

“Well thank you for letting me know. Just … tell him I love him okay, and thank you for taking care of my boy.”

“I always will Wayne, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wandered up to your room, finding Eddie sat on the bed, legs crossed, eyes skimming across your bookshelf, to keep himself distracted.

“Hey,” you said softly, not wanting to make him jump. “Hi,” he smiled weakly. Passing him the plate and the mug you sat next to him, sipping your own drink.

“I spoke to Wayne, just so he can keep an eye out. He wanted me to tell you that he loves you.” Eddie paused mid bite, almost choking.

“Really?”

“His exact words, he loves his boy. I love him too,” you nudged his shoulder.

“I love you.”

The rest of the night was quiet, you and Eddie drank your tea and ate toast. He lay on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, as you played with his curls.

Soon his soft snores were filling the room. He would be okay. He was surrounded by love, maybe not Al. But Al didn’t deserve him.

People like you, Wayne, your friends. Those were the ones he needed. His family, definitely strange and not at all normal, but a family nevertheless.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

[live-laugh-legolas]

heyy idk if you take requests right now but I was thinking maybe you could write headcanons about how the fellowship would act like around their crush. Let's say reader is the crush in the scenario, so how do you think the members of the fellowship would act around them? And maybe Thranduil as well if it's not too difficult!

The fellowship around their crush (+Thranduil)

Aragorn:

-There is no possible way you can tell he has a crush

-I mean he is so sweet to everyone; and everyone falls in love with him for it

-So you definitely assume he doesn’t have any special feelings towards you

-But there are signs

-He lets you be first for everything; like being served food, bathing first, etc

-It is obvious to anyone paying attention that his eyes are basically always on you

-He just wants to make sure you are alright

Legolas:

-He is pretty subtle about it

-But he’s not shy either

-He’s awkward yes, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed to admit he has a crush

-It’s a huge compliment for someone to have a crush on you, and that’s all he means by it

-I think he is more talkative around his crush too

-Because he wants to engage with them and get them talking too

Gimli:

-Blushes so fucking much

-And he stammers

-He gets really nervous and feels he needs to impress you

-Kinda overcompensates by being a little gruff; but not in a mean way; more in the sense that he shortens his sentences so he doesn’t stutter

-That being said, he isn’t afraid to tell his friends all about you

-I imagine him being like Sam was with Rosie at the party; his friends know but can’t get Gimli to act on anything

-He says he doesn’t want to be rash

-And that he doubts you would be interested in him

-But if he eventually does ask you out and you say yes his whole demeanor changes instantly

-He is confident and so happy

-“YES! Oh um I mean thank you, I mean…”

Boromir:

-I know he is a pretty confident guy and quite outgoing

-But I stick to my characterization that he actually doesn’t have many friends and is actually kinda socially awkward

-So he’s very nervous about ever saying anything to you

-He talks a big game, but is super nervous if he decides to ask you out or you ask him out

-Such a protective soul; you will never have to worry about being hurt because he will protect you without having to be asked

Frodo:

-I think like Legolas, he also isn’t necessarily shy about it

-He wears his heart on his sleeve and isn’t afraid to let you know he cares about you

-But he says it in a way that could be taken as “I love you because you are my friend”

-Which he does. He would never feel the need to rush into anything and will be your best friend before asking you out

Sam:

-Well we know he is shy and can’t bring himself to think he is deserving of you

-But also he can’t think of anyone who would treat you better than him

-He always offers to help you out

-He will carry anything for you, cook you anything, help you clean; you get the idea

-Very protective and will immediately come to your defense should someone even look at you wrong

Merry:

-Cocky mf

-Seriously he is so flirty

-He immediately looks to you after he says a joke to see if you liked it

-But also on the flip side, he actually talks less around you

-Not because he is nervous per say, but he wants to listen to you talk instead

-He has a super good memory and will remember any little thing you tell him

-Like if you mention once that you like a very specific type of pastry; he will get you one even if it’s months later

Pippin:

-Definitely not subtle but he is very bashful about it

-You think he is giddy normally, well wait till he’s around you

-He uses humor to try and get over his nerves

-I think he is the type to go home with the biggest smile and will rant to anyone around about how great you are after hanging out with you

*Bonus Thranduil

-He’s a king and has mastered the art of remaining stone faced and keeping his feelings hidden

-But he makes a point to always try and be around you

-He always invites his crush for tea and asks their opinion on matters

-He will never admit to having a “crush”

-He’s too sophisticated for that, or so he says

-His love language is gift giving

-He will start with smaller things, like a new bow or nice dress for a party

-But it eventually becomes beautiful jewelry and gifts fit for royalty

-He hopes, and kinda assumes, you will get the idea from this because he isn’t one to speak his affections

-He is indirectly protective; making sure guards know to keep an eye on you and he will make sure you have anything you need

-It is only in rare moments of vulnerability that he will soften; I imagine this happens after you get injured or something

-He will admit that he can’t lose you

-The type to kiss you before ever saying that he likes you outright

[jermer10]

i really liked your yandere sniper! could you do a oneshot? fluff or smut is fine and you don't have to do it :) -

TF2 his prize | sniper x reader

18+ only, afab reader | thank you so much for the ask anon!!!! i am NOT the best at yandere, but i put my heart n soul into this for u <3

tw: sexual content, somnophilia, stalking, yandere, noncon that turns consensual, hunt/prey dynamic, kidnapping

drabbles under the cut :P

He could stare at you for hours. Hours, and hours, and hours. You were pristine, soft, clean. You keep yourself looking good for him, he knows it. He sees the way you strip to nothing in your room, tits bouncing as you squeeze into your cute little pyjamas. You lived with your curtains wide open, something he had a love-hate relationship with. How many other men sat in the apartment across the street, staring at your figure through the scope of a gun? Probably not many, but the thought still enraged him. Mundy wanted you all to himself, he wanted to earn you, to indulge in the hunt. He didn't want you to gift yourself to him, not like you had to the other people in your life. He amount of people he killed for you, for less than cheap sex, for less than treating you shitty. For less than a dirty look.

Tonight was the night he was going to win you. He had begun to make himself known, lingering too long in your peripheral vision, becoming sloppy when exploring your apartment, leaving your window open, using your shower. He reveled in the way you begun to take precautions, and the way he had managed to avoid getting caught. You setup cameras, looked over your shoulder more often, made sure to check your locks multiple times. Tonight, it would all become worth something. He knew you were asleep, 2 years of monitoring you and he was certain of your sleeping patterns. The window slid with ease, you had likely forgotten to lock it, but to him this was a sign of surrender.

Mundy entered your room swiftly and quietly, making sure he had left the window opened slightly. If you did awake, he would need a quick exit strategy. He couldn't bring it to himself to kill you, so getting caught and running away whilst you were still in a groggy state was preferable. The smell of perfume hit him first. Then the feeling of the carpet beneath this shoes. Then the sight of you. Your face was scrunched in a sort of desperate, needy way. Eyes shut tight, hips grinding into the pillow between your legs. His cock stood at full attention, uncomfortably rubbing against the fabric of his pants. He wondered if you were dreaming about him? He wondered if the excitement of having a stalker ever turned you on? He crept behind you, sliding his pants down to his ankles, pulling his throbbing dick out from his boxer shorts.

He spat in his hand, and began to stroke the length. It was all too exciting for him, his breath came out short and hot, light sighs and moans extruded from his throat. This wasn't the first time he had masturbated over your sleeping form, but it was the first where he had the intention of fucking you. Precum dribbled from his dick into his hand, which he used as lube. He didn't typically enjoy edging himself, but the thought of finally being able to feel you wrap around him almost pushed him over. He had to regain his composure, cock twitching in dissatisfaction. "Lucky fuckin' pillow..." He mumbled annoyed, listening intently to your quiet moans. He was sure you were close, he had to act fast.

The creaking of the bed under his added weight should have been enough alone to wake you. He cringed at the sound, but your moans did not cease. Mundy almost ripped your shorts off of you in anticipation, the sight of your bare pussy up close could have made him cum then and there if not for his unwavering determination to fuck you. You were already slick with wetness, and Mundy was sick of waiting. He slid his length in, one hand on his cock and the other on your hip, slowly and deliberately. You stirred, mewling as he stretched you open. You felt so gummy, so tight around him. Mundy couldn't take it, this was his one chance and he wasn't going to waste it. He thrust into you sharply, you cried out. It was a wonder how you were still sleeping during this, he considered it a miracle.

Well, he knew you weren't going to be asleep for long. He thrust into you a second time, cock spasming at the sound of your throaty moans. Then again, and again, and again. He couldn't hold back, hands ravaging your body. He laid behind you, on his side, and as uncomfortable the position was, he didn't care. Mundy was pussy drunk, unrelenting and cruel. You shortly awoke, feeling his hands gripping onto your tits and the feeling of his dick rearranging your guts. You wanted to scream, to cry, to fight off the man behind you. You knew it was him, your stalker. But a part of you found the whole ordeal....exciting. More exciting than any mentally sound person should.

Mundy didn't notice you, and if he did, he didn't seem to care. He drove into you, the feeling was unbearably harsh, you were unbearably warm, you were in pain, and yet it all felt so good. Moans drawn from your already sore throat, your hands gripped the side of the bed and your eyes squeezed shut as you began to hit your orgasm. A low, reverberating moan from the stranger behind you and you were undone, walls spasming around his cock, a high pitched squeal emitting from you. Your breathing was heavy, exhausted. Mundy came shortly after, pulling out and spilling onto your back and bedsheets.

You were an even better fuck than he could have imagined, how could he bear to let anyone else experience you this way? To let anyone else have you? And so, a calculated decision was made. You awoke in a room you had never seen before, arms and legs bound to a beam in the middle of the cold, plain room. A stranger walked in, no, not a stranger, it was him.

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space. (1)

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 1 of 3 ! (part 2)

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, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), 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. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, 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!

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it made you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkept facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped upon your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

[mini-mews]

"Happy Birthday Shota" <3

p1harmony: shota haku (soul) x gn!reader

wc: 485

warnings: none! fluff, celebrating shota's birthday

a/n: I know Soul's birthday was on Feburary 1st, but I just struggled to finish this off so i'm sorry for the delay and if the ending feels rushed.

Happy birthday to my son, Shota! I hope 19 treats you well, please stay healthy, eat lots of fries, be happy, and continue to out dance the industry!!

A counter covered in various baking ingredients, food color staining your hands, and bowls. Patting your hands against your flour covered apron, you stare down at the cake staring back at you. A simple two tier chocolate cake with a small design on top; a Minecraft creeper standing next to a box of fries. It screamed Shota in ways you hoped he’d enjoy; he’d beam brightly at. 

Glancing at the clock, he should be home in a few minutes. “Oh shit a few-?!” You muttered out, starting to frantically clean the kitchen to make it look somewhat presentable and not the state of a tornado running through the kitchen. 

You were so busy scrubbing your hands to lift the green dye staining your hands that you didn’t hear Shota coming in. He drops his practice bag down on the couch, quietly treading into the kitchen looking for you.

✰࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✰

It was an enjoyable day spent with his members, small treats and presents given to him, congratulations and wishes of his healthy and happy years to come. But he had yet to spend time with you. An early morning practice caused him to slip out of the apartment before you would even consider being awake. 

By the time you had woken up, getting rushed away to get ready for work, you barely had a chance to shoot him a text asking if he had ideas what he wanted for dinner so you knew if you had to go grocery shopping on your way home. 

But what he didn’t know was that you had taken a half day off to get all ready for his birthday. Coming home early to ensure you had time to prepare his cake, knowing you weren’t the most amazing baker out there. Stringing up brightly coloured streamers, and lights. A small bunch of wrapped presents lay on the table, adorned with shiny bows.

✰࿒ ჻࿒ ჻✰

Shota can feel his heart warm at the sight, a toothy grin taking over his face as he quietly admires all of your hard work.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Green hands?” Muttering out as he feels you relax in his hold. Giggling as green tinted water drips down, “Welcome home Shota.” leaning back to press a kiss to his jawline. 

His smile grows as you turn around in his arms to face him properly. His two-toned hair slightly frizzy, and boba eyes shining brightly as they meet yours. “All for me?” Shota asked quietly, referring to everything you set up. “All for you baby.”

Suddenly feeling a slight embarrassment from the intimacy he dips his head down to rest on your shoulder, holding your waist tightly to press against you in a hug. “Thank you, Y/n.” Your hand brushes through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Happy birthday Shota.”

i hope you enjoyed, please like/comment/reblog as any interactions is greatly appreciated and motivating! ©mini-mews

[princelylove]

Hello Your Highness!

I was wondering, since Leone is completely obsessed with his darling, if there’s any time he’s completely unhinged and feral in bed? Like maybe darling does something that just… hits different and he can’t control himself on the spot? Would that lead to sexual advances?

Leone, Leone. He's so cute.

He's dominantly a 'I need to keep my hands to myself or everything is going to go wrong and they're going to hate me and oh god I'm not enough anyway what the hell am I doing' type. He doesn't really ever make those sort of advances, even when he's intoxicated.

Leone is often passive. Which is amusing, because of how aggressive he can be when pushed. It's different with his darling. Leone rarely initiates things- he wants to do whatever you want to do. You own his heart. His soul.

He's kind of just praying silently that you're going to touch him eventually. Consent matters. Never mind the fact that Leone is bordering on free use for his darling- begging to be manhandled, begging to be groped, begging to be touched at all- Leone would never even briefly consider making a physical move on his darling just because you're driving him insane. That's his problem.

Sometimes you'll say something so adorable that he has to turn his head away to scrunch up his face. It's normally accompanied by a sharp "Hm!" sound. He's lucky he uses such a high coverage foundation. He gets pretty bad cuteness aggression, but he has a surprising amount of self control about it. It's admirable, really.

For someone as indulgent as him, you'd think he'd fight urges related to his darling constantly, but Leone isn't the type of person to pounce on his darling the second he gets the chance. He'd never. He's a bad man, but he's not a predator. He loves you so much that wronging you is worse than actual moral wrongdoings.

. . . But he is a creep. Your possessions aren't safe from his urges. Any damning evidence is taken care of accordingly. He's so diligent, isn't he? Doesn't he clean so well? Praise him.

Leone getting hard because his darling is just so perfect and gorgeous and adorable is so common that I couldn't actually specify. He just takes care of it himself in privacy. Again, not your problem.

You know what, though? Sex is different.

He has some things he goes crazy for when he's submitting. Direct eye contact, praising him, treating him like a human dildo and disregarding what he can and can't take, pretty average things for a man like him. Leone is the type of yandere to become so obsessed with his darling that all sexual behavior is addictive- he just wants you.

He has his kinks and fetishes, sure, but the thing that's really doing it for him is that it's you. The love of his life. Leone can't get enough of his darling, he's pleased with whatever they want to do, it's quality time! If you prefer the Leone that opens his legs and moans like a very well paid whore, that's the Leone that you're going to get.

I tend to see him as very submissive, but he is capable of being dominant. It's just not something he thought he'd ever do. I mean, look at him. His face is screaming 'please touch me please touch me please touch me.' Leone- frankly- doesn't think it's ever going to be an option until he falls in love.

Topping is one thing, and actually dominating a partner is another. Topping comes naturally to him, and it's not like he hasn't had partners over the years. Although, that doesn't mean he's going to do it in the way you like it without some coaching. It's been quite some time. Leone has no idea what to do with pacing, how hard he's supposed to be going, if it even feels good- he likes it rough for him, he'd rather his darling just shove themself inside him and disregard his feelings entirely, use him, break him- but his darling..... they're so precious that he can't bring himself to go buck wild right off the bat.

It takes him a little while to learn, but Leone will eventually settle into a pace that pleases his darling. His only goal is their pleasure.

But, that's a lie. Leone enjoys dominating just as much as he enjoys submitting, he's just quicker to offer his own body. Domination can be very fun, Leone isn't a stranger to biting a partner's ear lobe out of fondness.

Leone tends to think of dominating someone in the way he thought of restraining criminals- you show you're the boss by physically intimidating them, restraining them, generally just using force when they're out of control. He doesn't know how to be gentle initially, but he'll get there. He wants to treat his darling gently, but he's like a dog that was left outside all day and finally someone stopped to play with him.

Leone has the opposite demeanor when he's tasked with dominating. Slow and firm, Leone takes his time with his darling's body and doesn't bend his knee in the slightest. You can't rush him, as much as he'd like to obey your every whim. He can't act as excited about it as he wants to, otherwise he'll lose the mindset and risk giving his darling the ick, so he temporarily slips into his old, mean self. He's not particularly a sadist, he takes no pleasure in degrading his darling or hurting them, but a little teasing is fair game.

Leone is quite a big man. It's not like he just forgot how to use his size from years of hiding in corners to avoid being in his darling's way. Using his size to his advantage is common sense when attempting to dominate his darling, he can pin a smaller darling in place and refuse to move until they say what he wants, he can hold them up against a wall so they have to look at him, he could even just drop his body weight on top of them for a not-so-nice little reminder about things being on his terms.

He's selfish, you know. He'll beg for more when it's obviously not an option. It's not like he deserves it, but he wants it. Indulge him. Please. Please?

Funny for a man that gives the second you suggest you want it. Leone's teasing is usually with actual penetration, and sometimes (All the time) his words. It's not his fault you look perfect with it against you. Leone is very speech heavy when he dominates- he rarely stops talking, partially to keep himself in the mindset and partially because he just can't stop, even if he wanted to. It just won't stop pouring out of his mouth. He loves you, you're taking it so well, he had no idea you were more eager than he was, did he mention he loves you?

So what does Leone go crazy for when he's in a more dominant mood?

He's a smells kind of person. His darling's natural scent- whatever's under all of that soap and perfume- is addictive. Of course, your soap and perfume are fantastic- but they smell different on other people. He can spray your perfume on his pillows and your dirty laundry all he wants, it's not the same as when it's actually on you.

He loves when his darling says his name. Even in casual conversation- it's the best way to get him to break character from his grumpy act and look your way. A sharp Leone will have him turn his head and cross his legs.

Declarations of love and praise really do it for him. Nothing drives Leone wild like praise and feeling like his darling loves him. Do I really need to elaborate on the attention whore wanting to be loved and praised?

A good look at your figure doesn't hurt, either. It doesn't always have to be skin, but Leone loves shape.

I don't think I answered your question. Oops.

[harryxmarvel]

Shatter my soul ~ Part - 2

Summary : Harry has been suffering from an addiction and y/n decides to take time for herself or based on this ask

Pairing: rockstarboyfried!Harry x reader!y/n

Warnings: Angst

My masterlist

Read part 1 here

I love you and I've loved you since the day I met you. I'm sorry i couldn't realise how to be better for you for us when you were here. You were the only one who struck by me through it all and now I'd do the same for you but there are some truths you need to know before. I swore to be honest and I wanna be that way with you because that's the least you deserve.

All those your friends tell you they hate me but they spend the nights you are out in my bed. I had no recollection of the first time it happened. After a particular hars session I was high and drunk i thought it was you but when she showed back two days later I didn't stop it. I should have I knew I should have but I didn't and I don't know why I didn't.

I don't even remember what happened the night before because I was that high. It think I needed osme kind of relief that the drugs couldn't give me or maybe i wanted to hurt you. I'm an arrogant son of a bitch and you shouldn't be with someone like me. You should be with someone who would treat you well and take care of you like you deserve to be. Everyone taught us to chase money for happiness but they have no idea what losing happiness is an that's what's I felt when you left me. The last ounce of happiness walking out of my life leaving me with nothing and I wanted it back because it was everything to be an di didn't even know it until I lost it.

But i was never that kind of happiness to you. You loved doing you job, you lived little things around you that brought you happiness but I wasn't one of them because all I ever did was hurt you.

I wish there will be a day when I get to the place to be someone you deserve. I'll come find you if I ever become worthy of loving you. Untill then if that ever happens I wish you all the happiness because that is all you deserve in this cruel world.

I will always love with my whole heart y/n.

Love, your H

*

I love sunsets, the beautiful hues of colours filling the cloudy sky. Driving out to the suburbs and watching the chemtrails with her little brother every weekend was y/n's favourite thing.

"Harry called me yesterday" he says as he munches his waffles they got on the way.

"He wished me for my birthday and asked about you" he says as he side eyes her trying to see her reaction.

Nate's birthday was ten days earlier but y/n did give harry credit that he had called.

It had been almost a year since she moved away from New York. All she had there were haunting memories she wished to forget. The sun sets as they sit on the back of the truck eating the food. After reading the letter y/n knew what she had to do. And that was to get away from there as soon as possible.

She couldn't believe she had trusted people who would do this behind her back. Y/n thought moving back home would help her mend her broken heart but after weeks of crying over the betrayal and hurt she was numb.

Harry was her home. She doesn't even remember her life before him. 11years through thick and thin all for nothing. She moved out on her own after three months and adopted a puppy to keep her company. She doesn't know she would ever get over him. Would people ever get over their first love. She didn't know but she knew it will be better. It's going to get better.

Harry had been clean since their breakup and she couldn't be more proud of him. They hadn't talked or seen each other in a year. All y/n knew was she was miserable without him. After reading the letter y/n had disappeared from all of her friends life and while they were worried and had spammed her phone like they care she never replied. How do you trust someone when every single person you had trusted had backstabbed you?

*

The city was beautiful after a rain. A chill in the air making harry hug his coat tighter as he walks around. He had been doing well. His next album was ready to be released in few weeks, he was clean for almost two years but the hole in his heart didn't seem to be mending. It only grew bigger every day he was away from her. He knew she wouldn't forgive him. He also knew she was it for him but now it has all gone the drain and he has to live the rest of his life without her.

He stops to get a coffee and his eyes spots a familiar face in the corner her beautiful laugh echoing through the cafe. He spots a blond guy sitting opposite to her and his heart sinks further. Right as he was about to leave y/n's eyes meets his and a smile grazes her features and Harry returns it as y/n turns her focus back to the guy she was talking. Harry is about to walk away when y/n gets up nodding at the guy before hurriedly walking out.

"Hi Harry" she starts and Harry engulfs her in a hug which y/n happily hugs back. God knows she missed his hugs. They just made her feel like she was finally home and safe

"god....I missed you so much, how have you been?" he asks a little hesitant.

"I'm all good, created a whole new life. think I needed the change..." She ends nothing wanting to sound like it was all his fault.

"I'm really really sorry y/n... you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I just can't believe-"

"h, it's okay. I've forgiven you a long time ago." y/n cuts in much to Harry's surprise to hear she had forgiven him. " so how have you been?"

"I have been good, pulled my life together. been sober for almost two years now."

"that's really great to hear h, im so proud of you" y/n says and Harry nods with a smile. It's a little silent as they both decide how to go further from this. harry was in over his head about losing her again because that is what he deserves after everything so he was ready to bid goodbye and leave her life for good but y/n spoke up before him "You wanna grab a coffee?" she asks pointing towards the cafe.

harry was glad to hear y/n still wanted him in her life and vows to never break her trust again and to win back her trust no matter what and y/n on the other hand is ready to try to mend their broken relationship. it will be slow progress but as they sit there laughing as they share their life like they used to they both knew that they will be okay.

A/n : I know you guys wanted Harry to beg to take him back but I made this as them realising they were meant for each other. And the begging gave me another idea for a one shot so see you there. Thanks for the ask anon 🫶🏻

[phoenixkaptain]

I just can never get enough of Shen Wei’s wavering control when it comes to Zhao Yunlan

(I got Zhen Hun vol 1 and I read it in three hours I was so excited)

Like, Shen Wei is so obviously obsessed. He stares at Yunlan constantly (as long as Yunlan is not looking). He can’t help but to look back when he leaves Yunlan. Yunlan is sick and Shen Wei helps him home, basically tucks him into bed, and cleans his entire apartment. Shen Wei is absolutely the type of person to smell Yunlan’s clothes-

But my favourite scene is definitely when Shen Wei helps Yunlan drink. Because he does very well! He and Yunlan drink an alcoholic under the table, and Yunlan is really only tipsy, meaning either Shen Wei did all the heavy lifting or Yunlan’s liver is inhumanly quick.

And with being drunk comes Shen Wei completely losing his last threads of sanity. He is a being born from darkness whose hunger can never be sated, and good golly it shows. Him basically trying to eat Yunlan has always been a highlight. The moment Yunlan shows resistance (full resistance instead of just hesitance), Shen Wei full on unpossesses his own body.

I’m fully convinced (I wasn’t on my first two reads, but I am now) that Shen Wei unpossessed himself. He is so talented. His entire body shuts down, Yunlan of course fucking panics, and Yunlan takes three tries to literally summon Shen Wei’s soul back. Man just unpossessed his own body. The body that he is attached to. Shen Wei has never stolen a body, this one is just his, and he manages to unpossess it.

It’s so great. Yunlan told him to stop and, like, he did. He really, really did. He stopped his heart beating and himself breathing and literally being in his own body. 10/10, Shen Wei is so good at following directions.

Yunlan, upon realizing that Shen Wei is the super intimidating, ominously cloaked figure who literally everyone on his team is fucking terrified of and who has worked with him for years and has only been sort of (very) obsessive over Zhao Yunlan: “I should probably stop flirting with him, because it’s a bit awkward.”

Yunlan, approximately five seconds later: “You threw yourself at me while you were drunk. I never knew how much you favoured me.”

Zhao Yunlan is the best character ever. A hot professor acts really weird and is so obviously attracted to him and Yunlan is super into it. Shen Wei treats him like precious glass that cannot be allowed to even get dirty and also like he will die if Yunlan looks at him for too long. Shen Wei tries not to touch him but revels in the warmth left behind. Shen Wei bit him like thirty times because of his conflicting desires to both eat or fuck him. Zhao Yunlan is so fucking confused.

Zhu Hong suggests that Yunlan could sleep with her in lieu of payment and Yunlan is like “Okay :)” (because he thinks it would be nice to not need to have to pay her). Yunlan is openly bi to the point that him flirting with a hot professor surprises literally none of his coworkers (they just tease him because it’s funny).

Yunlan is positive that Shen Wei is attracted to him, because obviously Shen Wei is? Yunlan isn’t being vain or overly confident, Shen Wei literally caught him while he was falling off of the school roof and tended to his light scrape like it was Yunlan’s arm coming off. Shen Wei is so obviously attracted to Yunlan, but at the same time tries desperately not to show it. Zhao Yunlan is so confused. He is bummed when Shen Wei declines to meet with him and even more bummed when Shen Wei tells him he doesn’t want to go out with him and he is also baffled because he woke up to find Shen Wei literally watching him sleep less than a week later.

If I was Zhao Yunlan, I would also be confused.

Zhao Yunlan also is great because he’s the world’s best detective who comes up with half-baked theories and tricks people (well, mostly Shen Wei and Da Qing) into admitting he’s right. He cannot stand how useless Guo Changcheng is, but Guo Changcheng is his little good luck charm and he will be bringing him everywhere. Wang Zheng tries to die and he berates her like a little kid. The Emissary sends a spooky little guy to keep Yunlan from continuing forward, and Yunlan can’t bring himself to knock it aside, so he just steps over it. When it follows him, he eventually just picks it up. When it gets scared, he lets it hide in Clarity (his watch). He is disrespectful to the very idea of gods. He is unintimidated by the Emissary who literally everyone else is terrified of. He burns incense for the little messenger even though he didn’t have to.

There were some (a lot of) parts I didn’t really get, even during my second read. However, this translation makes a lot of sense! The underworld folk are fucking terrified of Shen Wei. Shen Wei is overpowered and answers to nobody and his very presence as the Emissary is enough to make most ghosts run and hide. They are so scared. Shen Wei is getting worse. If Shen Wei goes rogue, literally nobody can stop him.

Man, if only that mountain god, the one being in the entirety of history that Shen Wei was willing to listen to, was still around.

(They decide to get that mountain god back.)

Honestly, them wanting Yunlan to remember makes a lot more sense than whatever I thought they were doing the first two times I read it. They just need someone to hold Shen Wei’s leash, and they couldn’t have known that Zhao Yunlan is literally the worst possible choice for that.

(Zhao Yunlan doesn’t even care when Shen Wei tears his shirt (apparently with fucking claws) or bites him and he really doesn’t care what the Emissary does as long as Shen Wei lets him get his baby Wang Zheng back first. The mountain god, from what I recall, was more amused by Shen Wei’s darker tendencies than anything else. There is no one worse to hope will control Shen Wei, because there is no one else who is as willing as Zhao Yunlan is to sleep with the most powerful, uncontrollable being in metaphorical Hell.)

I’ll give them points for trying, but really, they didn’t do a very good job picking. I mean, there was literally no other option, but still. Shen Wei who retains some degree of his self control vs Shen Wei who is feral over Yunlan is a pretty obvious choice.

All in all, I love Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei. Yunlan thinks he might be coming on too strong, meanwhile Shen Wei would probably collect Yunlan’s hair if he thought he could get away with it. Shen Wei knows where Yunlan lives and lives nearby, he works in the same city, and he has stalked seen Yunlan on cases before, meanwhile Yunlan’s worst crime is sullying the professor in his head. I love them. They’re perfect for each other.

[ovwechoes]

Serenity: Lifeweaver x Reader (GN/SFW) I miss my partner so this' self indulgent, I hope you enjoy or find the same level of comfort as I did when writing this c: I just need my silly little moments of comfort and coddling sometimes… Themes: pure fluff, bathing and taking care of s/o, gn reader Word count: 822

You couldn't help but to let your eyes drift closed as you felt him kneed into your shoulders with his hands. The elegant way his touch felt heavenly and yet undid the knots that tied into your muscles was addictive. You felt your heart flutter the more he catered to your needs, helped undo the stress that had collected into your body. 

You sat with your back against the bathtub, water risen to your chest with bubbles floating calmly, gently on the surface. All you wanted was time to relax, and Niran was happily providing that for you. With his hands carefully working to relax you, relieve you of your pent up anxieties, his words were affirming you through it all.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he almost whispered, as he continued massaging your shoulders. You could tell he was grinning ear to ear, enjoying the view he was left with completely. There was no stopping Niran from reminding you of how much he adored you, especially when he knew how much it would mean to you to hear those words.

“You tell me all the time, Niran…” “Well, I mean it every single time. You deserve to be reminded how amazing you are, especially after a day like today.”

As he spoke, you felt Niran's hands move from your shoulders to your waist, holding you gently under the water as his lips began planting soft, gentle kisses against your neck. Instinctively, you moved your head, letting him shower you in his love.

“Let me take care of you now, just relax.” he mumbled against your neck, before moving his hand to the loofa that bobbed on the surface of the bath water.

Your eyes followed his movements, as he leaned back from your neck and took your favourite body wash from the lip of the bath. A loud, but expected squelch noise came from it, as he squeezed a good amount onto it. You couldn't help but chuckle slightly, letting yourself enjoy how silly it sounded in the quiet room. His own followed softly, with his focus staying attentive to massaging the gel-like liquid into the loofa. His hands were precise, gentle with the material, before finally gathering enough of a lather for him to get started. 

Without hesitating, the hand that wasn't holding the loofa now was pushing against your back tenderly. It was his way of asking you to lean forwards, and you were happy to oblige. Before long, the loofa met your back and you could feel circular motions cleaning you slowly. His pressure was enough to relieve you of stress, whilst still treating you delicately. Niran was always steady with you, and right now was just the same - you knew you'd never be overwhelmed with him, and you trusted him with your body completely right now. For him, he was only concerned with making you feel relaxed and at ease under his loving touch. 

He was, soon enough, done with cleaning your back. Niran's free hand moved to your shoulder and calmly pulled back, gesturing you to lean back too. Your body followed his touch, as he dipped the loofa back into the water and began to create more of a lather for the front of your body.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Niran interrupted the silence with his soft words, intending to pick your brain right now. He loved to in moments like this - he found them nurturing to both his soul and the relationship, so it wasn't unexpected for him to ask this. You always indulged his curiosities, and knew you could be completely honest.

“About how lucky I am to have you. You always know how to make me feel better, inside and out…” your voice trailed off as you practically whispered those words. You could hear Niran chuckle at your kindness, finding himself loving the way you make him feel as though he's completely adored with just simple sentences like that.

You felt him plant a kiss against your cheek, his hand holding the loofa above the water as it gently dripped droplets. You leaned into it, enjoying how tenderly he planted it and let his lips linger for a moment. As he pulled away, his hand on your shoulder moved to your neck and jaw, positioning you to turn towards him. Eyes opening, you watched him carefully observe you, drinking your beauty in completely.

“I’m the lucky one. Seeing you smile and knowing I can help make your day a little easier—it’s all I ever want." he spoke, his words almost purring as they fell from his lips. Before you could respond, his lips had found yours as he gave you gentle, graceful pecks. You accepted them completely, feeling your heart grow all the more fonder to the man you found yourself being enamoured with love by. Not long after, you felt him pull back slowly, but not far enough to miss his presence.

“I love you more than you know.”

[thr-333]

In other news- because tbh this other au holds more meaning in my heart (just cuz of how I relate to Donnie the most out of all of the aus), I genuinely am craving for angst with hurt/comfort for Leo Jr au.

sooo time for THOUGHTS I really am longing for moments with Leo Jr and Donnie, because...hnk- Donnie actually receiving comfort, care, patient understanding and acceptance instead of being told to suck it up or being ridiculed/treated like a ticking time bomb???? Means the world to me????? Idk- I guess my soul just aches for this version of Donnie who didn't get that safe space Leonardo's Donnie did. (i get the au is mainly Leo-centric, but for some reason this version of Don-tron ya created has somehow wormed his way into my heart and he is truly my favorite iteration in terms of aus???)

When I tell you that I felt my heart break over the silly comic where Leonardo says that Leo Jr and Casey Jr are twins, solely due to what that implies to the overall story. In a sense, Leo Jr gets to have variations of the life he would have if he hadn't been kidnapped (by all technicalities Leo Jr IS a victim of kidnapping no matter how wholesome it turned out to be). He gets to know the joys of having a twin, of being able to goof around and laugh, being understood/accepted, being able to make friends and be a kid! Meanwhile...Donnie (the one who was MEANT to have Leo as his twin) didn't get any of that. It hit hard that, even if it wasn't intentional by any means, Don was "easily replaced." (which idk if it's intentional or not, but that seems to be a reoccurring theme for the spiny softshell in this au). He'll never really have that close knit bond, not know what it's like, even if Leo Jr and him do grow close during their teenage years. Because in this reality, the "Disaster Twins" exist, Donnie's just not apart of it. Which is just another way that shows how much of a stranger the kid is to everyone who is supposed to be his family; his father, two brothers, and even the one who was at one point meant to be his twin.

That thought is sorta what led me down the rabbit hole of Leo Jr AU! Don brainrot. The kid's reality is one of neglect, extreme isolation, fear and...probably a deep well of self-hatred, loneliness, non existent self-worth, etc. (we saw how he struggled with in Rise Canon, so i can only imagine it is so much worse in this au). I can only imagine that this also impacts his ninpo and mystics later on, which probably is going to make his self-esteem take a nosedive.

Ngl if Leonardo's twin (who I'm gonna call Tello) is actually watching over his past self, it makes me wonder what he's thinking. His pov would be intriguing consider he'd be witnessing how much pain his twin's actions caused. Idk- I just- when I look at everything from this particular au, it makes me hope that Donnie is allowed to feel his big feelings without people trying to rush him. He should be allowed to be terrified, hurt, angry, etc towards Splinter and Leonardo. Neither of them deserve his forgiveness, because shit- both of them fucked up big time. They both caused complex trauma...and like- really need to face consequences. (apart of me sorta hopes Donnie DOESN'T forgive them) dakjsfsadfas sorry for rambling, not sure if any of that made sense, but I just- I have so many feelings about Donnie in the Leo Jr au, and really want to see more of him!

The sewers were a gross place to live if you asked Junior but Splinter refused to move to the hidden city. Luckily he had his portals meaning he could step into the already cleaned portion they called a home.

“Leo!” Mikey was the first to notice him. Dropping the plates on the table he was setting them vaulting over it, “You came!”

“It’s still Junior,” He reminded for the umpteenth time, “And yeah I said I would,”

Mikey collided into him for a hug. Junior gave a small wave to Raph- or Red, probably Red as the snapper wasn’t meeting his eyes while trying to hide his scowl. Splinter was setting the table in Mikeys stead, making wayyy too much eye contact as he kept staring at Junior. He was placing the plates down carelessly. The one in front of Donnie was placed down with a crack, only Junior caught his flinch.

“Great, he’s here, I saw him,” Donnie pushed away from the table in a frenzied movement, “Can I please leave now,”

“Purple your brother is here, that is more important than some computer,” Splinter snapped. No one took note of the way both Donnie and Junior cringed. 

“Nah he’s just tryna get out of showing me his lab since he promised last time,” Junior stepped forward and away from Mikey.

“I did no such thing,” Donnie scowled at him as Junior came around to his side,

“No use backing out now Dee,” Junior grinned, shuffling towards Donnie so the softshell backed away. Kind of like herding a very liable to bite sheep, “I’m expecting the grand tour, don't wait up everyone! “

But dinner…” Junior pretended he didn’t hear Mikey as he walked Donnie towards his room office lab space.

It was empty, with sections obviously organized out to put things there but with not enough actual stuff to do it. Donnie held himself like a tightly drawn string as they walked in. Not looking at Junior as the red slider circled around to the other's bed.

“What did you want to see?” Donnie asked tiredly as Junior came up behind him, “Most of my stuff is at the old place, or the other old place, or-”

Donnie was cut off by the blanket being draped over his head like a tablecloth.

“Nothing much,” Junior shrugged stepping away as Donnie went very still under the blanket, “Just had to get out of there, think I might sit quietly against a wall for the next half hour, not say anything, not do anything, you know how it is,”

Junior slid down the wall. He would have to go back eventually, or the others would break down the door and pull them both back to dinner. He estimated he had about thirty six minutes before that happened and that he could convince them to leave Donnie be. He’d say he asked if the softshell could make something for him. Something big so Donnie would have an excuse to disappear for the next week or so. They tended not to bother the other turtle as much if they thought he was doing stuff for the yokai.

The blanket shuffled, bunching up on the ground as Donnie sat near him. Only just within arms reach. He was covered head to toe, curled up and completely silent. Junior occupied himself trying to come up with a believable project. Maybe a new mask? That way he could wear his old one and the others would never know, it’s not like Splinter ever let them follow Junior to the battle nexus.

The blanket shifted but Donnie didn’t emerge. A hand poked out the bottom, listing up the cloth and bunching it up while still keeping the soft shell hidden. Junior reached his hand out halfway. Donnie couldn't see it but paused when his searching hand brushed up against it. Junior kept still, waiting, not minding one way or the other.

Donnie held his fingers, squeezing lightly. Junior squeezed back, not taking Donnie’s whole hand but meeting him where he was. It was pleasant, it was quiet. The noise from the others blocked off. A little bubble away from everything where they could just be. 

Junior thought growing up in the sewers may have not been all bad… if he got to do it with Donnie.