#but it's still on the list and therefore counts!!

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Book Haul!: I Am Not Immune To Buy 3 Get 1 Free Sales.

These have all been on my list for a while--I knew the bookstore would have the Jemisin and Jackson books for sure (I'd seen them both there before), and I was hoping they'd have Chronister in paperback (because they had her in hardback). I was glad Turnbull was out in paperback, too! What a delightful evening of book shopping!

[ateliersss]

Bandaids and Kisses

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: One part of motherhood seemed to be patching up your reckless pup after another adventure in the wild against his parents’ wishes. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 2.885 Before the Blooming Family series

⇨ Hello, you Yautja lovers. With this, we are going back in time, before the happenings of the "Blooming Family" series. I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

⇨ You want to know something hilarious? A Yautja in their early twenties is the equivalent of a human in its 50's/60's, so Akail as a ten-year-old Yautja would be a minus something human baby.

"Oh my God, Akail! Again?"

You were taken to Yautja Prime about fifty years ago, Life-mated to Mi'ytiar for forty years, and an accepted and established member of his clan for ten years now. Ten years, the same amount of time your son had walked, talked, and breathed. Ruling alongside your mate and hunting for food weren't enough to make your contribution. Giving Mi'ytiar a pup had apparently been the only thing that changed your role among them — from an outsider (and even a simple plaything for their leader to some) to what you were now — the female counterpart of a clan leader, the Matriarch.

You had heard of several Matriarchs on Yautja Prime. Like you, they were mated to the clan leader, but unlike you, they were the superior one in their dynamic and even above an Elder or Ancient. You wouldn't dare to assume the same form of authority for yourself and therefore kept to the secondary leading role just as a queen consort on Earth would. You had much more freedom and control than you could ask for, utterly content in the position you were holding right now, and you never felt the need to claim the power of a true Matriarch. The fact that the Females of the Yautja race were viewed much higher in leading roles than the Males was satisfying enough.

Nonetheless, you still had particular obligations and a certain appearance to maintain. You would take part in organizing the journey of the Un-Blooded to become Blooded, ensure the civilized coexistence within the clan by taking on the role of a judge like in court on Earth, approve of every newborn pup that was presented to you and deem them worthy, listen to their requests and suggestions and try to contribute as best as you could, and even had become a beacon of generosity and kindness to the clan for advice and consolation. The list went on and on, but instead of feeling crushed by the vast amount of responsibility, you relished in it. It was an honor, indeed.

Another thing that was expected of you was joining the elder Females in their den and listening to their wisdom with other younger Females. Rather than a bothersome duty you had to force yourself to attend, you absolutely loved their company.

And the den was a beautiful place you loved to spend your time in, a flawless merge between ancient architecture and the futuristic Yautja influence, round in shape and with a high dome-ish roof that was held together by a construct of pillars and beams into which hieroglyphs were carved. Fire was burning in the hollow beams and illuminated the room above the heads of everyone present.

A week of adjusting to your new life had gone by without leaving Mi'ytiar's home — your home the second you had crossed the threshold — before he decided it was time to introduce you to his people. And the place he had brought you to first was the den of the Elders. It had been a tough start, but they were surprisingly objective. Instead of seeing you for what you were, they saw you for who you were. Even if you were among giants, you had felt welcomed.

On this day and decades later, you had joined them as well, taking your place at the fire pit and opposite the entrance on the only chair in the round room. The Matriarch had her very own seat in the den, a throne-like construction made of something that felt like a mix of stone and metal. Meanwhile, the other Females sat on white stepstones on the mossy ground around the pit.

Matheih, the Female that held the unofficially highest rank among the Elders and had been the first you felt comfortable with, was just about to discuss the matter of a Bad Blood who had come too close to the clan's borders when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head to the entrance and gasped.

Your shocked exclamation had cut Matheih off, causing her to startle. The rest of the Elders either looked at you or your son, who seemed to shrink under the intense eyes of the Females.

You immediately rose from your seat, the others following you swiftly, and you raced around them to Akail, who anxiously fiddled with the charm attached to his loin cloth.

One day, you had noticed the longing gaze of your pup fixed to his father's loin cloth and the trinkets and trophies swinging on his hips. Without further ado, you tailored him something new and decorated it with a thread on which various square stones and animal teeth were strung, the thread sewn into the front of the self-made cloth to the right hip. His eyes had been so bright when you presented it to him.

"Akail, my little warrior." You sighed when you reached your son, kneeling in front of him to be on the same level as him.

You cupped his cheeks and examined his face. There were several cuts across his face — two on his forehead, one under his right eye, and one above his left eye — and fluorescent green blood was smeared around his wounds and coated his mandibles. When you checked his dreads, running your fingers through the short tendrils, he winced.

"My sweetling, what happened?" You asked when you grabbed his hands and scanned his arms up and down.

"I follow a tochi." He mumbled and instantly avoided your stern glare.

A lie.

Placing your pointer and middle finger under his chin, you tilted his head up so he was looking into your eyes again.

"Were you near the borders again?" You pressed on and raised an eyebrow.

Akail pulled a grimace. "Yeah."

Another lie.

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's dangerous?"

Akail looked down like a kicked puppy. "Sorry, Mama."

No. No, you were not allowed to melt right now. You needed to be strong and determined to be angry at him for disobeying one of your and his father's rules. You needed him to understand that running after an animal for the nth time and moving too far away from the clan's land was risky without someone by his side.

But those damn puppy eyes of his, the same look his father sometimes used on you, they made you weak and yielding.

"Come on." You softly smiled at him and stretched out a hand to him.

When you stood upright again, Akail wasted no time to grab your hand while his other arm wrapped around your leg, clinging to you. You turned to the Females, excused yourself, and apologized to Matheih for interrupting her before you and Akail left the den.

Hand in hand, you walked the short route to your home.

"Does it hurt, my sweetling?" You asked him when you entered the grounds of your home.

You whistled at Be'jaa who had started barking at the intruders, as well as the two other Hell Hounds Mi'ytiar owned, Vohtu and Gihn'tha, and signaled them that it was just you and to stand down.

"Not anymore, Mama." Akail vehemently shook his head, putting on a brave face.

You smiled down at him and led him inside, lifted him into your arms, and carried him to the long table that stood in the center of the main room of your home. Behind it and opposite the entrance door, three other doors lead deeper into your home to adjoining rooms like your bedroom. Just like the den of the elders, this room was round with a dome roof made out of orange and light grey glass, but there was at least a meter of additional ceiling going sideways from where the dome ended and from which a ring of rock was hanging down, like a huge ring-shaped lamp circling the whole room.

Just like a routine, you placed him down on the surface, kissed the little space between his nonexistent eyebrows, immediately eliciting a merry purr from him, and got the Medicomp that was stored in one of the box-drawers under the long shelves where your mate displayed his trophies.

You placed the Medicomp next to Akail on the table, sat down, and quickly got to work crushing the plaster and melting it with the burner, adding the blue solvent and mixing it until you got a gel.

"You know the drill, baby. It's going to hurt." You warned him, taking one of his hands into your free one before you started applying the gel to the thin cuts on his face.

Immediately, Akail let out a sharp hiss and squeezed your hand as hard as he could. But he remained still, not wanting to ruin your already careful treatment. His eyes danced across your face, admired the color of your eyes that was so different from his, studied your smooth skin that wasn't as rough or beige and green as his, scanned your mouth that wasn't hidden behind tusks.

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could even utter the first syllable of his question.

"Be honest with me, Akail. What happened? You don't just get wounds like that because you followed a tochi." You questioned him and placed the spatula to the side before you grabbed the cloth that you had added to the Medicomp and dabbed the blood away from his already healing cuts and his mandibles.

"Stumbled over a stone." He answered in a huff.

Another lie.

"I roll down a slope in a bush."

Lie, lie, lie.

You hummed. "The bad ones near the Stonehenge? I told you to stay away from there. Those statues are unstable and you aren't yet strong enough to withstand their weight should one fall down on you."

"Sorry, Mama." Akail muttered and pulled his head in as if it would help him to escape the shame your words caused him.

You were melting once again at the sincerity in his words and reassurance washed over you. You may have had no idea how to raise a child as you never had the opportunity of doing it before, but you must be doing something right when he was capable of realizing his mistakes and showing remorse. But it wasn't the kind of remorse you were thinking of.

"It's alright, my sweetling. And you did so well in keeping still for me. You were very brave." You cooed and kissed first the healing cuts on his forehead before you turned to the ones at his eyes.

But he wasn't. If he was as brave as you claimed, he would tell you that it wasn't the thorns of the bushes overgrowing the Stonehenge but the still-developing claws of the older Younglings making fun of you that had caused the wounds. Akail had tried very, very hard to ignore their teasing and provoking snides, but when one of them — the tallest of all people — started talking about how glad he was that his mother was a respectable Female of the tribe and not some foreign, lowly pet that warmed the nest of the clan leader and probably pleased any other Male on the side, little Akail saw only red.

He had jumped the older Youngling and bit down on his neck while his claws inflicted as much damage as they were capable of. But due to his smaller size and frail strength, this advantage was turned against him in the next second when he felt his face being scratched open and his back colliding with the ground when he was pushed off by the older boy.

Luckily, before the situation could escalate even more, two Blooded Yautja neared the small group and Akail used the opportunity to quickly stand up and hurry to the den of the Elders where he knew his mother was.

It hadn't been the first time and it will probably not be the last time, but he had promised himself to always protect you from anything that could crush your beautiful heart and kind soul that had shown him unconditional love from the moment he had opened his eyes to take his first-ever look at his mother. It had been blurry and unfocused, but he remembered your smile. That smile.

"Mama?" Akail asked as he watched you packing up the Medicomp.

"Mhm?" You hummed and lowered yourself onto one of the chairs around the table right in front of him.

Instantly, Akail reached for your shiny hair and started fiddling with it, feeling how soft and silky it was. When he was a toddler, he would often play with it while purring, not being able to speak yet but his sweet chatter combined with his wide eyes was enough for you to be reminded how much he was his father's son. Both were enamored, maybe even slightly obsessed with your human features.

Akail huffed. "Why you not look like me?"

"Hm?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise at the topic of his sudden question.

"Why you look like this? Why not like me or Papa?" He pushed further and curled a lock of your hair around his pointer finger.

"My sweetling." You cooed, lifted him up by his waist, and settled him down on your lap, his legs dangling from each side of your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your chest, close to your throat. "Do you remember the bedtime stories I sometimes tell you?"

You only felt vibrations against your skin and you took that as an answer, a cue to continue, "When I was little like you, your grandmama sat next to my bed and told me the same ones."

Akail pulled his face from your chest and lifted his head to look up at you. "Grandmama?"

I nod. "Yeah. Mama's mama." You cupped his little face and peppered it with kisses. "Those stories are from the place I was born. Earth."

"Are there more looking like you?"

"Yes. Many like me. Earth is similar to home. There are villages all over the planet and they speak different tongues, too. They have a clan leader called a major or a president and they have warriors, but also normal people who work jobs or go to school."

"What is job?" Akail asked curiously and cocked his head to the side.

"A job is something oomans do to earn a living, to build a life. It is a little different here. For example, with a job, you can earn money and buy food, but here, you just go into the forest and hunt. With a job, you can also build a house, but here, you just do it yourself with the resources this planet has to offer." You explained with a soft smile.

"What a ooman?"

"It's what I am, my little warrior. Mama is ooman, a human. That's why I look so different than you or your Papa."

"But why I don't look more like you?" Akail asked and his adorable face became even more precious when he pulled it into a frown.

You hummed as if you were in thought before you put on a bright grin and started to tickle his sides. "Because I wanted someone unique and extraordinary, and I hoped for someone who is as handsome and strong and chivalrous as your Papa. And speaking of your Papa, he was determined to have a pup like you, my sweetling."

Mi'ytiar had been very determined indeed that his DNA took root inside you. It also hadn't been the only thing that had completely dominated you.

"I know I'm not as big and strong and pretty as the other mothers-"

"You more pretty!"

"What?" You asked with raised eyebrows at his offended tone.

"You more pretty! More pretty than other mothers, more pretty than other Females! Say you more pretty!" Akail protested, immediately standing up for you even against your own words.

You had to swallow your emotions during his short rant. This boy had your heart, so precious and pure, and your emotional intelligence, already developed so far for his young age. You had no idea you were able to create something so beautiful and unique.

"I'm more pretty." You repeated his words with a smile, petting the top of his head, and kissed his forehead one, two, three times. "Why don't you go and look for Papa, hm? I bet he loves to teach you a little something about leadership."

Akail climbed down from your lap with a click of his mandibles and was already running out of your home. You had followed him, a little slower than the hazardous speed of his, and leaned with your shoulder against the entrance as you watched him in amusement.

You had hated the thought of becoming a mother. You had hated the thought of how children would affect your health and body. You had hated the thought of giving up your freedom for them. You had hated the thought of limiting your own life to adapt to theirs. You had hated the thought of abandoning every hope you had felt, every plan you had made, and every dream you had envisioned to tend to each of their needs.

God, never had you been happier to be wrong.

Masterlist: here

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[g1rld1ary]

5 people james didn't mean to kiss (and one he did) ; james potter x fem!reader

➻ first james fic!! i love reviving old fanfic trends <33

➻ word count: 4494

➻ synopsis: says it on the tin baby!

➻ warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/dirty jokes, era typical homophobia (basically nonexistent)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

James Potter was a very affectionate person, everyone knew that. His love language was absolutely physical touch — everyone knew that too. It was also assumed, therefore, that James Potter had an extensive list of kisses. That assumption wasn’t necessarily wrong, but a good chunk of them weren’t exactly what you imagined when thinking of the great James Potter kissing someone. They were often impulsive when he didn’t know how else to express his feelings. His very first kiss, for example, wasn’t exactly the cheesy, romantic soap opera that he often advertised providing for girls.

Sirius Black

The Marauders sat in their dorm room, early on in second year. While first year was packed with ridiculous adventures and the forming of their friendship group, second year brought a new awareness of girls, romance and especially kissing. That was the topic of discussion as the boys all packed into one bed, hypothesising about what it might be like. James and Sirius led the discussion with much bravado and false confidence whilst Peter looked decidedly scared. Remus, to his credit, just looked rather amused at it all.

“But where do you touch her?” James asked, eyes still wide and innocent and twelve years old, “I can’t just stand there with my hands at my sides like a twat!”

“Don’t be stupid, you hold her like this.” Sirius bent his arms in a direction that looked borderline painful. Remus huffed and climbed off the bed, pulling both the boys with him.

“If you’re gonna kiss a girl,” Remus instructed, “You have to hold her gently. Don’t push her around like she’s dead weight. James, put your arms around Sirius’ waist like that, now Sirius, you put your arms around his neck.”

“Pete’s gonna think we’re bent,” Sirius grumbled, a red hue on his cheeks.

“You are bent, you poof,” Peter quipped from his spot on the bed. He was right, of course, but that wouldn’t come to light until fourth year. James thought this was hilarious though, and began miming exaggerated — rather sloppy — kisses. And since James never failed to cure Sirius of his moods, he did the same. Remus rolled his eyes as the two boys acted out a passionate scene, loose tongues and all, until they were no longer acting.

All four boys in the dorm were frozen as James and Sirius’ mouths had accidentally connected in their stupidity, none of them sure what to do. Seconds passed as the two stood, lips locked against each other, no one daring to move. At least, until Remus let out a long, uncharacteristic wheeze, which dissolved into a fit of giggles that he would usually be mortified by, but there was no way he was outdoing the kiss anytime soon. Peter followed along momentarily, laughing so hard barely any sound actually came out, silent heaves punctuated by gasping breaths.

Released from their stupor both boys leapt apart, wiping their mouths with their forearms. Both had comical expressions of disgust, still slightly too stunned to verbalise any of it.

“We,” James heaved, “Can never speak of this again. Ever.” Sirius agreed in a heartbeat, still unable to completely wipe the blush from his pale complexion. He probably would have dwelled on those feelings if James wasn’t James, beginning to see the humour in it soon enough. By the end of the night it was an inside joke that would proceed to be referenced countless times within the walls of Hogwarts.

So although James would tell the story of his first kiss quite differently — he alleged it was with a Ravenclaw named Keeley a few weeks later, his proper first kiss will always have been with one Sirius Black in the Gryffindor dormitories on an otherwise unassuming Tuesday evening. And that secret was held onto dearly by all four marauders until, of course, Sirius’ best man speech at James’ wedding, where the anecdote received uproarious applause, loudest of all by James himself.

2. Remus Lupin

The Marauders had all known about Remus’ ‘furry little problem’ since their second year — first for the most perceptive of the bunch. Nevertheless, the group were insistent in helping Remus in any way they could, though it was a difficult task when his alter ego had no resistance to killing them. Until Sirius had come to them with the idea of becoming animagi. It was difficult no doubt, advanced magic far beyond the teaching at Hogwarts, but the four of them were exceptional wizards each in their own way, and the project seemed somewhat manageable with four brains chipping away at it over the course of two years.

When they finally did get it, hardly any of them could believe it, least of all Remus. He had never imagined that the human side of him was worthy of this much love and devotion, let alone the monster within him. However, despite how they tried to play it off, the achievement didn’t come easily to any of them. Sirius was the first to get it, big black dog accompanying the group around the castle and becoming an unexpected staple of the Gryffindor common room. You in particular liked to cuddle up with him on the couch and spoil him with head scratches when you were stressed from school — at least until the secret was revealed and you hit him upside his human head for deceiving you.

James was second to get it, though much less gracefully than Sirius. The whole group of Gryffindors had been hanging out together down by the Black Lake, enjoying the slowly warming weather after class one day. James had the misfortune of being sat between you and Lily, which made things very confusing for his hormonal body and brain. His eyes were trained on his hands, too afraid to actually talk to either of you and embarrass himself which was what usually happened. You and Lily, however, were hell bent on making that occur. While James had had a well known crush on Lily for the last few years, ever since you’d come back to school that year post-puberty you could both tell that James was both emotionally and physically confused. You both delighted in this and used it to your advantage, Lily finding him the most annoying man on earth and you delighting in his flustered expressions (secretly finding him actually pretty cute).

After thirty minutes of torture, James couldn’t take it. You’d made one too many dirty jokes directed at him and he was a blushing mess, fidgeting awkwardly between you and Lily laughing gleefully. He excused himself quickly and uncharacteristically quietly, hurrying off to be out of sight of his friends. You all laughed as you watched him go, and Remus reluctantly stood, muttering something about making sure James didn’t drive himself crazy.

Remus headed straight to the Forbidden Forest, knowing the privacy would be what James desired in the moment. Sure enough there he was, taking a moment to breathe against a tree.

“Easy there, Potter, don’t cum in your pants,” He joked, obviously amused by the whole ordeal. James turned quickly, devastated at Remus seeing him so sexually frustrated.

“Sod off, Lupin. It’s not my fault! They both just sit there looking so fucking good, talking about all these unholy things and you expect me to just be fine with it? It’s so—” Instead of the exasperated groan Remus expected, he was met with a stag standing tall in front of him. He couldn’t help his mouth dropping open, the animal far more magnificent than he could have expected out of the fourteen year old boy.

In a weird shift of figure the deer was back to boy, and James only had a moment of shocked stillness before he was whooping and yelling in the grass. Remus joined him, the two of them yelling and dancing around like idiots in their joy. James pulled him in for a hug, appropriately masculine until he pressed a kiss onto Remus’ lips, still grinning ecstatically as they pulled away. Remus scowled in a way he hoped was convincing.

“I hate it when you do that, Potter,” He grumbled as the two of them returned to their friends.

“Yeah, right,” James laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s a blessing to be kissed by my sexy arse.”

3. Peter Pettigrew

While all four of the Marauders were undoubtedly exceptional wizards, that didn’t always translate into their grades. For example, being so ahead in the curriculum made James Potter get lazy, often submitting subpar essays simply because he figured it was already common knowledge and he was more interested in higher level magic. He always ended up with top grades from outstanding extra credit projects, but the point still stood.

Peter was similarly a great wizard. Perhaps not so much a prodigy like James or Sirius, and didn’t dominate the class ranks like Remus, but he did well for himself and was pretty exceptional in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. However, he was failing History of Magic. All four of them had chosen the subject for their OWLs, assuming it would be an easy O because of the ghost professor. They couldn’t be more wrong. Binns was a useless teacher and Peter especially found it difficult to teach himself the material just from the textbook, and was falling dreadfully behind, each essay earning a worse grade than the last.

James had offered to help tutor him before their exams, and the two buckled down in the library almost every day in the weeks leading up to exam season. Peter made pretty good progress, eager to catch up with his friends and prove he was on their level. Still, everyone was nervous for the test and its outcome.

When results were released, you and the Gryffindors were all together. Whilst you and the girls all got the reveal over and done with, the boys all waited with bated breaths. Most of the grades weren’t shocking — three of them knew they could easily get top grades from the little effort they put in, but they were all waiting on Peter’s History of Magic grade. The blond boy opened his paper with shaky hands, eyes scanning frantically over the information contained. Slowly he raised his head, nervous smile apparent.

“I got an A,” He said, and within an instant the boys were on top of him, congratulating him with strong hugs or by clapping him on the back. James grabbed both of his cheeks, pressing them together and pushing a kiss onto Peter’s lips.

“Prongs!” Peter moaned, pushing his face away half-heartedly.

“I’m just proud of you, Wormtail,” He cooed, appearing much like his mother whom you all adored.

“Oi, Potter,” You interrupted, waving your sheet of results around. “I got an O in Potions — where’s my kiss?” James immediately broke your eye contact, and you pretended you weren’t charmed by his embarrassed little smile. He mumbled a response that had his friends ripping him to shreds, egging him on whilst simultaneously teasing him and his alleged manhood. He pressed a gentle peck to your forehead and you raised an eyebrow.

“Not what I meant, but ok.”

4. Regulus Black

Regulus Black had a difficult relationship with the Marauders, to say the very least. By his fifth year — the rest of the boys’ sixth — Sirius had been at the Potter’s for months and Regulus was still reeling from the impact. He was noticeably quieter and more sombre than in years previous, and a dangerous resentment for his brother and his friends bubbled under his skin.

James Potter connected these dots quickly. However, he didn’t really know what to do about it. He wasn’t sorry that Sirius was living with him, but he didn’t like that Regulus was left all alone with their wicked parents, regardless of their personal differences. That brought James to you.

You sat together on the couch, his head resting next to your thighs, curls just brushing against your skin in a way that you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was lamenting about his mental struggles as you worked on your crochet, thinking quietly as he rambled on.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” You asked suddenly, and James tilted his head to look up at you, holding back his laughter at your upside down appearance.

“What?” He asked, “I can’t talk to him, he hates me!”

“When has that ever stopped you before? Lily hates you and yet you bother her all the time,” You said, smile playing on your lips.

“That’s not true!” James protested, “I don’t bother her that much anymore!” You rolled your eyes playfully and turned back to your craft as James continued to ponder the situation.

As usual, he decided you were right. And so he sent a short letter to Regulus, asking for a meeting on the Astronomy tower at midnight. Surprisingly he’d agreed, and the two boys were standing awkwardly across each other on the tower. Regulus refused to start the conversation and so stood in silence, staring down James in an effort to scare him off. James wouldn’t be deterred.

“I just wanted to talk about what happened last year,” He said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“C’mon. I know we’re not friends, but I also figured none of your friends are the talking type either. So, I thought you could talk to me — full confidentiality. I don’t know, blame me, yell at me, I just don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

“How sweet, Potter,” He sneered, “But I don’t need to talk about any of my feelings.”

James Potter was nothing if not persistent.

“Ok, well if you don’t want to talk, how about you listen?” To his surprise, Regulus stayed. One perfect eyebrow raised, he slowly sat next to James, legs dangling over the edge of the tower. After a gesture for him to go on, James started. He began to talk about the process of having Sirius live with him, the feelings they both had about it, and the guilt they both felt about leaving Regulus alone. At that Regulus looked up, eyes pooling with hope.

Then without any warning, Regulus was talking more than James had ever heard before, spilling what he supposed must have been the younger boy’s darkest secrets and vulnerabilities. James was unprepared, not actually expecting him to engage. At one point James had put a comforting arm around Regulus’ shoulder, words failing to express any of the feelings he had inside. Regulus didn’t pull away as James expected, instead only starting to cry. James just watched in disbelief as Regulus cried into his chest. Awkwardly, James arranged himself to press a gentle kiss to Regulus’ forehead right as Regulus moved to look up and speak, resulting in a ridiculous kiss between the two of them.

They jumped apart in less than a second, both with horrified looks on their faces.

“Oh my God—”

“That was an accident I swear—”

“I’m really sorry—”

“I was just trying to comfort you—”

Both boys stumbled over their words as they clambered up to their feet, putting a strictly heterosexual amount of space between them.

“Um, I’m just gonna go,” Regulus settled on, backing up towards the door.

“I’m seriously sorry, Black. It’s just something I do — doesn’t usually backfire like that.” Regulus just nodded, leaving quickly.

“Potter?” He stopped halfway through the door and James looked up. “Thanks.” James didn’t get any time to reply as Regulus was long gone, leaving him to cringe on his own. Neither of them would be telling anybody about the incident. Ever.

5. Lily Evans

You and James had been doing your will-they-won’t-they thing for a long time. Not quite since you met, but once you’d both started to notice the opposite sex you’d been participating in a battle of who could resist the longest. Teasing and cajoling were staples of your relationship. Whilst it had started as a way to pass the time; James had been in love with Lily since second year and you just liked to tease, at some point the feelings crossed over into a real and dangerous territory. However, neither of you wanted to do anything in case the feelings weren’t reciprocated, and truthfully hadn’t realised the true depth of them.

You and James were the only ones not to see the obvious: the feelings were absolutely reciprocated. It was tearing your friends apart, trying to get one of you to finally confess before you finished school forever. There were bets in place, pep talks and everything else the Gryffindors could think of to finally cause the event they’d been hoping for. Eventually, Lily had had enough.

One day you were all hanging out in your dormitory, most of you doing your homework and Marlene fiddling with a record player, trying to get it to come back to life.

“So, what would you guys think if I gave James a chance?” Lily asked, too coy to be genuine, but you were caught off-guard enough that you didn’t notice. “I mean, I know I’ve said some terrible things over the years, but now that he’s backed off he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“But… James?” You asked incredulously, essay immediately forgotten.

“Yeah, why not? He’s the hottest guy in our year, and if all goes to shit it’s only a few months until we graduate and I’ll never have to see him again.”

“But it’s James!” The rest of the girls had caught on to what Lily was scheming and delighted in joining in.

“Why shouldn’t she? It’s not like you like him, right?” Mary asked, studying your expressions. You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. And just when they thought Lily had finally succeeded in getting the ball rolling you answered: “No, of course not. You go ahead, Lils.”

What started as a ploy to get you to admit your feelings only snowballed from there when Lily realised she couldn’t just back out now. And so she hatched a plan. Everything was going perfectly; Sirius and Remus had made sure the common room was devoid of younger students so no unhelpful rumours could be spread, and Marlene had been hanging out with you all evening to make sure you stuck to the schedule she’d devised.

With perfect precision, you and Marlene entered through the portrait just as Lily came down from the dorms.

“Hey, Potter,” She called, and James looked up curiously from his game of wizard’s chess. The redhead marched over to him, cupping both of his cheeks and kissing him strongly. Your jaw dropped open. You couldn’t believe Lily was just going for it like that, but even more you couldn’t believe the sick feeling creeping up from your stomach. You looked at Marlene, who only looked marginally less shocked. A glance around the room proved similar. Although they all knew Lily’s plan, it was two entirely different things to hear about her scheme to get the two of you together and seeing Lily Evans kissing James Potter.

“I’ve, uh, gotta go,” You mumbled, somehow finding your footing to run from the room, desperate to get anywhere where you didn’t have to see that, and the subsequent (or so you believed) union of a happy couple.

Lily pulled away from the kiss, eyes immediately trying to find you and she was puzzled when she couldn’t. A look at Marlene told her all she needed to know and her heart sank; she’d failed. James was looking a little more dazed than the head girl, and suddenly looked terribly awkward in his seat.

“Look, Lils. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel that way about you anymore. There’s— there’s someone else, and I, I have to go.” With that James headed up to his dormitory, and the rest of your friends stood in a thick silence for several moments.

“I think I just made everything worse,” Lily said, and then the chaos started.

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?” Sirius asked loudly, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“I don’t know! I just figured maybe they’d have an epiphany and both realise they’d rather be kissing each other!” Lily cried, throwing herself into an armchair.

You

Lily was right, she’d unintentionally made everything worse. You were upset at what you’d seen and the story you’d attributed to it, and even more so at your terribly timed realisation of your feelings. Because of this you’d started avoiding James in an effort to get over him, which only made you more miserable that you couldn’t talk to your favourite person. James, in turn, hadn’t seen you enter the common room on the night of the kiss and so believed —and dearly hoped — that you were blissfully ignorant, and so was equally perplexed and distraught at the space between you. He’d tried to approach you about it but you evaded him or turned him away every time.

“Hey, love, can we please—”

“It’s fine, James,” You interrupted him, “It was all just a bit of fun, right? All the flirting, the being touchy. But now you’re with Lily and I’ll back off, I get it, don’t worry. I wish you two every happiness.” You tried to sound as genuine as you could while sadness bit at your heart, and left James standing astounded in the corridor. Now he knew that you’d seen the kiss the issue was obvious, but the solution remained a mystery to him.

You’d taken to Marlene to get your feelings out, and she listened patiently as you rattled off a monologue about your childish jealousy and broken heart. Luckily, she’d discussed how to handle this with Lily — who knew you wouldn’t go to her because of her alleged involvement with James, and set off (hopefully) your friend’s last attempt to get you two together. She finally shook you out of it, frustrated with the lack of action.

“They’re not together,” She said, stopping you in your tracks.

“What?”

“They’re not together,” She repeated, making intense eye contact with you. “It was all this dumb plan Lily had to get the two of you together. She thought if you saw James getting with someone else you’d finally realise your feelings for him. And you did, but you were supposed to stick around to hear Potter reject her and say that he liked someone else, you.” You were shocked into silence, what could you say to that?

“So,” You started carefully, “What do I do now?”

James was in a similar situation with the boys.

“She saw Lily kiss me and now she thinks I like Lily when I like her! Plus, she won’t even be in my presence long enough for me to explain that it’s all just this huge misunderstanding and it’s her I want to be snogging!” James lay dramatically across his bed as the boys sighed.

“Prongs, isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asked and James cocked his head to the side, looking remarkably like a confused puppy. “Do something she can’t ignore. Make a grand gesture to prove your feelings for her.” James thought about it, it made sense. If you wouldn’t hear his explanation, he’d just have to make you.

“How?”

You and James went into the following Saturday with the same goal. It was Gryffindor’s quidditch semi-final, so there was a party being held whatever the outcome. It would be the first time you’d see each other since you’d realised your mistake since training was taking up all of James’ time.

Gryffindor had won, thankfully, which had both of you in higher spirits. The party was already in full swing by the time you got there, opting for a smoke first to calm your nerves. You’d spotted James almost as soon as you entered, always the heart and soul of a party. You marched towards him with a purpose, but as soon as he set eyes on you he jumped up to stand on a table. Someone had lowered the volume of the music — not silent, but low enough so you could hear him yelling over it. He said your full name, clearly and intentionally in a way that had surrounding people look at you curiously.

“I love you,” He said suddenly. “I am in love with you, not anyone else, and whatever made you think that’s not true was just a huge misunderstanding. Because I love you so much, and all I want to do is snog you until I’m the only name you remember, baby.” You let out a short laugh at his vulgarity and the cocky smirk that accompanied it, but a cheek-splitting smile won out when you thought about the preceding words and the sincerity he’d instilled in them. Before you even knew what you were doing you were racing towards him, gratefully taking Peter’s hand to join James on the table.

You honestly couldn’t tell who had initiated the kiss, but you were suddenly so intimately joined together it was like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs, compressing your body in an effort to fuse to his. His strong arms around you couldn’t shield you from the confetti being thrown around (for the match, of course, not just your kiss), nor the catcalls of your friends. You only pulled away when you felt James’ tongue start exploring a little too far, mindful that half the people you knew were watching. You wore matching grins as you parted, foreheads still pressed together and breathing heavy.

While it might have taken four years, innumerable (accidental) kisses and one failed set-up plan to get there, you were sure in your heart that James Potter was the only boy you ever wanted to kiss. And so you did, over and over for the years to come, and you cheered and applauded enthusiastically as the seemingly never ending list of friends and family told stories of receiving a coveted James Potter kiss throughout the years, knowing you were the only one who got to be his bride.

[pastryfication]

Hey hey hey! So, I was wondering if you could work your magic on this request? We all know Oscar LOVES sleeping whenever he can but what if he has a girlfriend with quite frequent insomnia such as moi? Maybe the piece could be about him searching for all kinds of serious and wacky methods to help her sleep - white noise, sound apps, black out blinds, counting actual sheep, a cold bedroom etc and eventually something so simple such as snuggling together after he's washed her hair or something soppy works? Thank you, you're an angel!

thank u for the request!! i hope i did it justice but i have no idea how insomnia works so feel free to correct me if i’ve written something wrong 🫶

5 things that didn’t help you sleep and the 1 thing that actually did | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x insomniac!reader

warnings: mentions of insomnia and the use of melatonin

oscar piastri treasures every moment of sleep he can get. cuddling up under the covers, catching up on much-needed rest between races, training sessions and team meetings is his sanctuary, a place where he can recharge. it’s entirely different for you. sleep often feels elusive, insomnia visits you regularly, and after trying to take melatonin, you feel like there truly must be something wrong with you when you’re still left you tossing and turning while oscar dozes peacefully beside you.

one particularly restless night, as you lie awake staring at the ceiling, you decide you’ve had enough. oscar, sensing your frustration, turns over and looks at you with sleepy but concerned eyes.

“another bad night?” he asks softly, voice groggy.

you nod, feeling guilty for disturbing his rest. “i just can’t seem to fall asleep.”

determined to help you find the peace he enjoys so effortlessly, oscar spends the next day researching every possible solution for insomnia, and he ends up with a list. 5 things that have helped others who are suffering from the same problem, and over the next few weeks, he convinced you to try it all, hoping to find the one thing that will finally help you sleep.

1. white noise

the first thing he tries is white noise. researching the best possible brand, he buys a white sound machine and sets it to a gentle hum when you go to sleep one night. the constant noise fills the room, creating a soothing background sound and drowning out any distractions.

it’s nice to lay and listen to, and at first, you think it might work. you close your eyes, snuggle into the covers to find the best position and takes oscar’s hand in yours.

you try, you really do try your best, to let the sound lull you to sleep. everything is nice and calm, but after a few nights, it’s clear that the constant noise only makes you more restless. you lie awake, feeling like you’re trapped in a static-filled void, and you just want to cry.

2. sound apps

oscar is quick to notice your disappointment, and he therefore quickly moves on to the next point on the list.

he downloads several sound apps on his phone, experimenting with everything from rainstorms to ocean waves to forest sounds. he tries different combinations, adjusting the volume and mixing the sounds in various ways, bringing out his inner dj to make you as comfortable as possible.

you appreciate the effort, but none of the sounds seem to do the trick. you lie awake, feeling more like you’re in a nature documentary than trying to sleep. the sounds that are supposed to be calming just keep you more alert, your mind unable to quiet down.

3. blackout blinds

oscar then orders blackout blinds, thinking that maybe the slightest hint of light is the culprit.

the blinds plunge the room into complete darkness, blocking out any external light. at first, you think it might work. the darkness is comforting and you hope it will help you relax, but instead of soothing you, the darkness feels oppressive. you lie there, eyes wide open, feeling the walls close in. the complete absence of light only makes you nervous and the two of you quickly have to give up on that as well.

4. counting sheep

you insisted that counting sheep was silly. there was no way it was going to work and you told oscar exactly that. he didn’t agree though, and with the use of his best puppy eyes, he convinced you to try.

he decides to buy a small stuffed sheep and as you lie in bed one night, he starts an impromptu counting session. you giggle at the sight of him hopping the little sheep across the bed.

“i don’t think this is gonna work.” you hold back a laugh as he makes the sheep take a particularly long jump across your duvet.

“not even if he gives you a little kiss?” he asks, holding back his own giggle as he moves up to you on the bed, making the sheep “kiss” you all over your stomach.

you laugh at the ticklish sensation, and the two of you have to realise that the sheep counting feels more like a silly game than a serious attempt to help you sleep.

5. a cold bedroom

the last thing on oscar’s quickly disappearing list is sleeping in a cold room.

to make that happen, he insists on making the bedroom as cold as a freezer. he cranks up the air conditioning and piles extra blankets on the bed so you don’t freeze to death.

the room quickly becomes chilly, and you snuggle under the covers, head on oscar’s chest as his arms snake around you, trying to regain some body heat. you’re really hoping the cold will help you relax, but you find yourself shivering more than drifting off. the cold air makes you uncomfortable, and instead of helping, it only adds to your restlessness.

the 1 thing that actually did help

after trying numerous different methods, you’re ready to just give up.

“maybe i should go to the doctors,” you eventually suggest. you wish the problem would go away by itself, but it doesn’t seem like it will.

oscar finds himself running out of ideas too, until something dawns to him one night when he’s on facetime with his mom.

entering your bedroom with a book clutched tightly in his hand, you raise an eyebrow at him. “so mom just left to read to read my sister a bed time story, and i thought: why don’t i read to you as well?” he suggests.

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical at the suggestion but at this point you’re willing to try anything.

oscar shuffles across the bed, helping you adjust so your head is pressed against his thigh as he begins to read. his voice soft and steady, keeping a calm pace to his words and you can’t deny that it’s nice.

he plays with your hair as he reads, gently running his fingers through the strands and massaging your scalp. the combination of his calming voice and the soothing sensation of his touch begins to work its magic.

you feel your body relax, the tension melting away. his words become a comforting background noise and his fingers in your hair provide a gentle, rhythmic motion. for the first time in what feels like ages, you feel yourself drifting off, your eyelids growing heavy.

oscar continues reading until he hears your breathing deepen and become steady. he smiles, closing the book quietly and turning off the light, but he doesn’t move, terrified to wake you after you’ve finally found the peace you desperately needed.

sitting against the headboard starts hurting his back, but he still stays beside you, his hand continuously playing with your hair, ensuring you stay asleep.

as the nights go by, oscar’s bedtime stories and hair-playing become your new routine. you find yourself looking forward to bedtime, knowing that sleep is no longer a battle but a peaceful journey.

in the end, it’s not the gadgets or apps that help you sleep, but instead oscar’s gentle presence and unwavering support. his love is your ultimate lullaby, guiding you into the restful sleep you’ve been longing for.

[latenightdaydreams]

Hello, first I wanted to say that I love your writing, I read everything you posted and I'm always on your page, forgive me if my writing is bad because English is not my language, I don't know if requests for fanfics are made here, but I wanted to ask you to write something about König, he is a very special character to me I've seen something like könig viking and könig werewolf on your profile, really strange that I want a mix of the two?😂 I've really been thinking about this but I wanted a little more passionate könig because I'm very needy and silly🥺 I will be happy to receive your answer🫶🏻

Okay, that's a hot idea😮‍💨 Thank you so much for the love💗

Viking!Werewolf!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, mention of blood and violence, p in v, oral, knotty, breeding

2.2k word count

🐺

.

.

No one knows exactly when the folklore began, but there has always been talk about a creature they call ‘The Wolf of the North’ said to be a Viking warrior. A man that stands at 9-feet tall, covered in thick black hair with a face like a wolf. He’s said to have blue eyes as pale as ice. With the strength of one hundred men, there are stories of him destroying villages by himself.

Even though the stories are old and popular, it’s not something that you’ve ever believed. A creature that is half wolf and half man defies the laws of nature; therefore, there is nothing to fear. The mountains surrounding you protect your village, so Vikings have rarely traveled here.

Today is the day that all changed. As you sit in your home, patching clothing by candlelight, when you hear an earth-shattering howl travel though the village. Your eyes snap to your husband, Bjorn. There is a slight panic in his eyes. His mind goes to the thought of it possibly being the infamous wolf man. He stands and walks to the front door.

“Stay here.”

Bjorn opens the door, stepping out to see other villagers also outside, questioning where that sound was coming from. There is a strange tension in the air that everyone can feel. Nature has gone quiet, and the air has grown thick. You stand and walk to the doorway to see what is going on. Bjorn turns to you with a worried face. As he opens his mouth to speak, the sound of a horn cuts him off being blown.

In that moment, panic rushed through everyone’s bodies. Vikings, they’ve arrived. Bjorn turns quickly, his hand grabbing yours and pulling you inside. His hands caress your face, hands shaking ever so slightly. He places a kiss on your lips, just in case.

“What are we going to do?”

“I—”

Another deafening howl vibrates through the walls of your home. A sharp scream echoing through the village triggers a widespread panic. The sound of neighbors fleeing their homes in panic erupts. The Vikings have begun their assault on the village.

König stands at his full height over the body of a man he just mauled. Blood soaking the fur on his face and claws. His eyes gaze around at the destruction he and his men have brought to this once pleasant village. He takes a deep breath, sniffing the surrounding air. There is a scent that lingers, attracting him. His pupils widen, feeling a rush of excitement come over his body. A fertile mate is nearby. Abandoning his men, he searches for you.

Bjorn holds your hand, running with you to a barn that is further out in the woods. He hopes that they simply overlook it since it’s so far away from the village. There is an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as if you’re being chased. You look behind you to see nothing in the darkness. The trees covering you both blocks out any moonlight from breaking through.

Finally, the barn comes into view. You both rush inside, gently closing the door behind the two of you. As you both search for places to hide, Bjorn grabs you by your waist, lifting you behind stacks of hay. He places a kiss on your forehead before turning and hiding behind piles of chopped wood.

The air is still as you both listen to the sounds of the neighbors being slaughtered. Tears flow from your eyes as you feel a heavy guilt in your heart. You begin to pray to your god for safety and peace, praying that some might survive. The thought of returning to the village is terrifying, what will it look like? Who will remain? What of the children?

König stalks the trail of your scent, leading him to your empty home first. He walks inside, taking a deep pleased breath. The scent of you is heavy in the air here. As he continues to follow the trail, he leaves in the direction of the woods. He walks through the darkness with his arousal growing with each step. You’re closer. Very close.

Your tears stop once you hear footsteps outside of the barn. As you try to calm your breathing, you place a hand over your mouth to help silence yourself. There are a few moments that pass with no other sounds. Maybe it was just a wild animal passing by? Or simply you’re just hallucinating from the high stress of the situation?

As you begin to relax, the sound of the barn doors swings open with great force. You close your eyes, trying your best to be still. Heavy footsteps enter the barn, a low growl can be heard as if this is a creature, not a human. Instantly, your mind rushes to the howls you heard earlier. Did the Vikings bring a wolf?

From where Björn is sitting, he can see slightly through gaps in the wood. He watches as the giant, 9-foot-tall creature approaches your hiding spot. Deep inside he knows that he should jump out, distract the creature from hurting you; yet, he remains frozen in place. Fear completely consumes him. As he sits frozen, he watches the creature sniff the air before beginning to tear through the hay with his claws.

Your loud scream fills the space, you scramble back trying to get away from whatever stands on the other side. Soon, you are face to face with the creature. Icy blue eyes gaze down at you, looking over your body in a plain beige dress. A giant man, with features of a wolf. It’s the Wolf of the North. He’s real.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” You cry out as the creature continues to study you.

König sees you finally, and you’re beautiful. Being face to face with you makes your scent become overwhelming. You’re ovulating, ready to accept seed. He reaches out a hand for you to take, but you’re too overwhelmed with terror to realize that he is not going to hurt you.

“Come…here…” König speaks, his voice incredibly raspy as he looks at you.

The fact it spoke made you freeze. The fear turned to curiosity. Why hasn’t he killed you yet? Your eyes look at his massive clawed hand that is extended to you. The blood soaking his fur clean from the little bit of moonlight shining in.

“I won’t…hurt you.” König says as he sniffs your scent more.

You stand to your feet, putting your hand in his. König looks at your small hand trembling in his before looking back into your eyes. With his other arm he grabs you by your waist, pulling you from your hiding spot. He places you back on your feet before him.

“König.” He says his name in almost a whisper.

“Y/n…” You reply confused by his gentle behavior with you.

König leans in and sniffs your neck, taking in a deep breath. A growl leaves his lips, causing you to jump. His arm tightens around your waist so you can’t run away. He can’t let you go now that he’s found you.

“Mate.” König says as he leans back to look into your eyes.

A look of pure confusion takes over your face. Did he just call you a mate? You look around. Why hasn’t Bjorn come out to your rescue? You’re snapped out of your thoughts once König’s large hand drops down to your ass, squeezing it in a firm grasp.

“You’re scent…so sweet. Fertile.”

König grabs the fabric of your dress, just over your breasts, and tears it as if it were paper. He rips it enough to expose your perfectly shaped breasts. The cold air hitting your nipples causes them to harden instantly.

Bjorn watches as this all unfolds before him. He watches as König leans down, licking your nipples as if he is savoring the feel of your body. His massive hands groping you as he groans with excitement. It’s hard to ignore his cock becoming erect. Knowing König said y/n is fertile, he knows what he’s about to witness. While he wants to look away, he can’t seem to.

You suppress moans as he licks your nipples. The sound of fabric tearing echoes as he rips into the fabric covering your rear. König scopes you up in his arms and lays you down on the barns floor, resting you on your stomach. On all fours he approaches you, his hands tearing more of your dress until the skirts torn off.

König presses his face between your legs. His cold wet nose causes a weird sensation to travel throughout your body. As he smells your pussy, he sticks his long tongue out, pressing into your cunt. He wiggles his tongue, tasting you for the first time. You let out a surprisingly loud moan. This was a new sensation you’ve never felt before. Your hands grasp at the dirt in front of you as your legs tense.

Bjorn sees König’s massive body dwarfing yours. His mouth opens to be able to fit his whole tongue into your cunt. The sounds you’re making are sounds he’s never heard from you before. The way you thrash and squirm…as if you’re thoroughly enjoying this. He tries to ignore his own cock hardening in his trousers.

König pulls back with the taste of you on his tongue and your scent smeared on his nose. He lifts your hips up into the air with both hands. You get up on all fours and look back at König. His eyes are glued to your glistening cunt as he approaches you.

His massive body looming over yours as you wait for what’s coming next. The visual of your smaller body under König’s terrifyingly massive body mounting yours was erotic to watch. Bjorn can’t look away as König lines himself up with your entrance. His hips slowly bucking forward causing your head to drop. His cock just as monstrous as the rest of him, he knows it’s stretching your tight pussy to the brink.

König pants loudly as he begins to buck into you at a rapid pace. He gave you no time to adjust, his need for you is too great. Your scent is the first scent he has ever smelled that brings the want to breed. His mind isn’t focused on your pleasure, but more so making you the mother of his children.

Your fingers dig into the dirt as you moan pathetically. König’s name slips from your lips without much thought. His strong musk surrounds you as his heavy balls slap against your swollen clit. You try your best to maintain up as his rapid thrust begins to push you down.

König notices you slipping so he pulls out, flipping you to your back. He grabs your legs, parting them and pushing them back slightly. You watch as his cock pressed back against your pussy, forcefully shoving himself back into your welcoming warmth.

You look up at him as he continues his wild bucking. König’s eyes glued to the motion of your breasts. He can feel your cunt flutter, occasionally clenching down. Your back arches, you close your eyes as you climax on his cock. Rapid burst of ecstasy consumes your whole being. You turn your head to the side, giving König what he wants.

König leans forward, slowly sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. You let out a pained moan as his teeth break the skin. His thrust becomes more sporadic, losing himself as he feels the need to knot you now. Having you pinned down with his teeth in your neck, he slowly pushes forward more. His knot is nearly double the thickness of his cock struggles to enter your pussy that is already full.

“Oh my god!” You whimper as your body feels different pains and still the orgasmic high.

Finally, König becomes too impatient and pushes forward. His knot forces its way into you. A stinging pain radiates over every inch of your cunt. Your eyes wide with surprise. You can feel every throb of König’s cock as he cum deep inside of you.

König’s tongue softly teases your skin as he bites you to attempt to bring you pleasure so your body can relax. His tail wags slightly, he feels relaxed for the first time in a long time. He’s been aware of your husband in the corner this whole time; as he relaxes, he keeps his guard up just in case he tries to protect you now. You’re his now. He’s claimed you in front of the other man.

Bjorn is forced to sit there and watch as König gently caresses your body as he waits for his knot to go down. The events in this room distracted him from the chaos that plagues his village. The sounds of screams have died off, assuming no one is left standing. There is a storm of emotions deep inside, but he is still not brave enough to face König.

Once König is able to slip out from you, he removes his teeth from your neck. His eyes study your face, seeing the look of pleasure lingering. With one hand he caresses the side of your face. He couldn’t have been blessed with a more perfect mate.

“You’re mine… my mate.” König stands up, carrying your naked body in his arms and leaves the barn.

Part 2

[honeytonedhottie]

HOT GIRL SUMMER⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍹

hot girl summer is officially here and its the perfect time to have lots of fun and make rly amazing memories, while also feeling and looking ur best ✨ AND continuing to pursue ur goals while doing it.

THE RULES ;

in order to have a hot girl summer there are rules that need to be set in order to ensure that u have fun in a safe manner that aligns with ur goals and who u are as a person. MY hot girl summer rules are

dont put urself in situations that are compromising to ur safety or the safety of ur friends (look out for each other)

try ur best to keep moving and doing things with ur time

be social and HAVE FUN (dont ruin ur own fun)

if u didn't document it, it does NOT count (take lots of photos)

i dont have a LOT of rules for my hot girl summer, i just put those in place bcuz i wanna make sure that i have the most memorable and enjoyable summer that i can.

THE PREP ;

we should be preparing for our hot girl summer. to be helpful and just for funsies, to help you feel your most confident and radiant this summer ✨. if i were to break down the most important things to prep for hot girl summer they’d be ur base (skin + body) ur company, and ur wardrobe.

BASE ; 

moisturize ur skin after your showers while your skin is still slightly damp. for moisturized and soft skin this summer 

if ur not already using sunscreen on your face AND body then what are you even doing? get in the habit of putting sunscreen on ur body to promote a smooth and even skin tone and protect u from the sun ofc 

get into a solid workout regimen that u can be consistent with. focus on building ur body to perfection! work out as much as u want, i recommend 3-4 times a week. 

my recommendations for soft skin is to use an african net sponge bcuz that always gets me CLEAN. also, use african black soap for glowy skin and use shea butter on ur body while ur skin is still slightly damp. 

not only does it smell yummy but it rly REALLY moisturizes you well. i also recommend using it during the summer bcuz the glow that u get from it is REAL 🌺🍹

i’ve elaborated on sunscreen in the bullet points already so let’s go to body building. get into a workout regimen 3-4 times a week. i’ll share some workouts here depending on what u want. 

the important thing is that you start NOW so that then by the time it’s summer your gains will be visible and you’ll feel stronger and more confident -> therefore more happy and prepped for ur hot girl summer. 

use body scrubs to exfoliate skin and also promote optimal softness bcuz in the summer it’ll be hot and you might wanna show some skin 

WARDROBE ; 

get onto ur pinterest and start looking for inspo for your summer wardrobe that coincides with ur personal style. use ur fashion binder if u have one to start formulating and thinking of outfits. 

create a list of specific pieces that ur looking for (with photos if u can) so that when ur shopping/thrifting u know to get what u want for summer. 

the important things for summer from my own fashion binder are bikinis, camisoles and mini skirts + shorts. bcuz i wrote that in my fashion binder i’ll look for and buy those specific clothing pieces for my summer wardrobe. do the same ✨

COMPANY ; 

it’s more fun when u spend some parts of ur summer with quality company so make sure to prepare that NOW so that then ur plans go smoothly in the summertime. 

make sure to have a list of things/activities that u wanna do this summer either alone or with company. and make plans according to that bcuz ur not about to be cooped up all summer, unless thats what u want ig.

now is the time to test the waters and propose ideas with ur friends about what u guys should do together this summer. maybe it’s simply hanging out, or going on a sort of vacation together. 

whatever it is, make sure that ur company is not only reliable/responsible but also that they have ur best interest at heart bcuz it’s gonna be hot girl summer and everyone’s gonna be out there 😭 u need someone to have ur back and someone that you can trust. 

THE INSPO/MOOD ;

skin is so glossy and smooth it almost looks wet. warm beaches and fruit platters. swimming like EVERYDAY, cruises and shopping sprees and vacations. dinners with ur girls, summer romances. natural yet so ethereal.

SUMMER FASHION LINK ;

i've already made a post that talked about summer wardrobe essentials and its linked right here. but the gist is that summer is all about vibrant colors and skin and shimmer.

PLAYLIST ;

for a proper hot girl summer u absolutely MUST have a proper hot girl summer playlist. the top songs on my summer playlist are jump by tyla, and the 250 remix of attention by newjeans. make sure that u formulate a couple playlists for summer because the music is what makes the season.

PRODUCTS AND ESSENTIALS ;

for the summertime i gravitate towards products that are more tropical and fruity which is a juxtaposition to what i usually smell like. cuz im a vanilla cupcake/strawberry poundcake scented girlie. but in the summer i kind of like to smell like a refreshing cocktail instead.

body shimmer

moisturizing lip oils

cute claw clips

mini fan that u can take in ur purse

thick body butters

a swimsuit on hand

some products that i recommend to achieve that scent are the bronzed coconut products from victorias secret pink, along with strawberry and champagne and fruit crush. the ulta beauty smoothie shower gels r also rly good. lastly bodycology has some great summer scents.

last but not least i rly hope that u guys prioritize having fun this summer and being the embodiment of beauty and confidence that GLOWS. stay safe and have an amazing hot girl summer ✨

[cardinalcanis]

Compliance

*Comes out of a dark alley* "Hey kid, want some Titus smut to scramble that brain chemistry real good? I got your fix."

This is @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond 's fault.

Summary: Titus was struggling with some unexpected side effects from the Rubicon Surgery, luckily he finds relief in unexpected hands.

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x NB!OC

Tw: smut, Adeptus Mechanicus, prostate massage, edging, genitals are a social construct, technically tentacles, Astartes have more holes than you think (trust me), MATH.

Word count: 7316

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

Mechanicus speech cheat sheet:

When the hyperfocus gets in my mind goes so hard into ideas it gets them pregnant. So as this has a lot of Math Symbols as I went hamm on writing the Tech Priest’s way of speaking. I’m not a mathematician, I played loosely with stuff and their meanings, do not scream at me. Here is a quick list: 

>    -> More than. 

=    -> equals. 

!    -> negation of, no 

+++    -> increase. 

<=    -> less or equal to

&    -> and 

- - -    -> decrease 

T(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always true. 

=>    -> therefore, implies, if… then

!=    -> not equals to

∈    -> belongs to

⇔    -> if and only if, only.  

\/    -> or

P(statement)    -> probability of statement

Statement1 | statement2    -> statement1 happened because statement2 happened. 

E(statement)    -> the statement is an expected result. 

∅    -> null

F(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always false. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines, Liberator of Graia, slayer of Grimskull, veteran of the Deathwatch, bane of xenos, executioner of Thousand Sons… reduced to this pathetic drooling mess.

It had started around a month ago, the last bloody bug had been ripped to shreds but still he felt this hunger to keep going. He checked the state of his armor’s system, to his surprise the reserves of adrenaline shots hadn’t been used during the battle. Why did he still feel so restless? When did his bodyglove become so overstimulating? Had the material always been that noticeable on the skin when it was supposed to be seamless? Every single one of his nerve endings was screaming for touch, begging to be rubbed against something, ANYTHING. The worst was his aching groin, he had been close to believing that his codpiece was about to slingshot off him and get someone killed any second now. 

“Testosterone > expected Astartes levels. Positive note. Risk factor = low. !(Possibility) of death.” had stated Magos Biologis Mu-Oragon, brown eyes scanning the dataslate. 

“Low risk factor? I can’t barely focus on anything else Magos. What’s causing this?” 

The mechanicus lifted their gaze from the datapad, pale skin bathed in its faint greenish glow. Titus couldn’t decipher if the person had been male or female before embracing the Omnissiah, but there was a graceful beauty on the mech priest that had been lacking on others of their kind… shit this is bad he’s now sexualizing one of those tin cans.

“This unit understands, patient’s +++frustration = expected. Rubicon <= a year.” 

“Yes.” He had started to rock slightly on his seat, trying to focus on anything else rather than the heat coming from his core. At least his armor helped with masking the worst parts of his current condition, unlike the joke that tried to call itself a robe which he had to wear for examination. 

“[(Rubicon <= a year)&(Testosterone > expected Astartes level)] = normal occurrence.” One of Mu’s mechadendrites reached for the shelf, pulling a heavy binder. They then held it open with the help of their four mechanical arms. “---Symptoms expected. T(Normal progression).” 

“And what do you want me to do in the meantime! I thought the apothecary had referred me here for a solution.” he exclaimed out of frustration standing off the examination table. “Don’t you have any meds you can give me?”

His whole body shivered at the unexpected cold grasp from three mechadendrites pinning him back into a seating position. Blood flowed to his cheeks due to the surprising arousal that came from being manhandled by the seemingly meek Mu. 

“Hormonal cycle must !(be) disturbed => not compliance.  Compliance => possible late implant rejection. I !(compromise) unit Titus’ safety.” Mu-Oragon said in what was a wholeheartedly caring tone, even through the respirator’s distortion.

Titus had been told they had been the one in charge of his rubicon surgery, the one who saved his life. An incredibly dangerous procedure in normal conditions, but with the scale of his wounds it almost meant impossible success. Even with all that he didn’t imagine the Magos would feel protective of him, he was just another number in his surgery record anyways.

“Mu I can’t fight like this…” The same shiver again but now caused by the Magos’ grasp leaving him. Only the phantom feeling of the touch floating over his skin, another painful release he couldn’t attain, adding to the breaking down of his sanity. 

“That statement is true. Hopeful contrast. !(medication) != !(relief).” 

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the meaning of Mu’s words. He had become better at understanding the Magos after the repeated checkups on his condition following the rubicon surgery, yet there wasn’t a chance he could call himself fluent in mechanicus speech, less with someone’s accent as strong as the one in front of him. 

“You can help then, is that what you mean?” 

“Titus attempted stimulation for release = True?” they asked, pulling what seemed to be an informative pamphlet from the binder. 

“You mean if I had tried jacking off?” 

“That statement is true.”

A soft flush washed over Titus’ cheeks, glad the Magos’ examination room was empty today, Emperor only knows how hard this conversation would be in front of others. How could a room feel both so hot and cold at the same time? One of Mu’s mechadendrites tilted his head to drive his attention back towards the mechanicus, the touch has such softness uncharacteristic of what a machine would have. Yet the exception existed on Mu-Oragon, every single one of their four arms and many mechadendrites was designed for careful surgery where an eighth of a millimeter could prove life or death. He couldn’t recall all the instances during previous examinations when he had been touched by them and only noticed it once the contact became absent. 

“Yes I have.” He answered, unfamiliar with the open disclosure of his intimate activities. “It hasn’t been working.”

“Elaboration on process required. Accurate solution given ⇔ accurate description of event.” 

Mu-Oragon seemed to be deciding between a collection of pamphlets and booklets, skimming through them with the many prosthetic ocular lenses around his forehead while keeping their human eyes on Titus, which added to the multiple limbs, gave them quite an arachnid appearance.  

“What do you want me to say? There is not much science to it…” Even though the theoretical was quite clear, for the first time since his neophyte years his mind found itself struggling to find a proper practical for it

Titus held Mu’s gaze, curiously the Magos Biologis had retained both of his human eyes, only attaching more ocular addons around. A thing the astartes found quite curious if compared to others of his kind, who preferred replacing the lesser biological counterparts first. Theoretical: Mu-Oragon retained their human eyes, practical: it was a conscious decision due to the more patient oriented side of their occupation, it helped to establish trust.

He found the practical fitting. Wide almond shaped eyes with a reassuring stare, a window to the candid individual living inside machine parts and shrouded in logic based statements. 

Mu-Oragon’s mechadendrite surprised him again by resting part of its weight on Titus’ shoulder, comprehending the man’s struggle for words. He pondered on how much was Mu’s intent and how much was the limb’s machine spirit acting, he would have been lying if admitting that the relationship between mechadendrites and users wasn’t something he found interesting. One of his brothers, a tech-marine, had explained how they were beings of their own possessing an individual machine spirit; yet perfectly synchronized with his mind. Many times acting upon his thoughts without realizing. 

“Following procedure occurs on common stimulation practice. True \/ false?” asked the Magos, extending a thin booklet towards him that read ‘Comprehensive guide to prostatic stimulation’.   

“No” he answered as stoically as he could, looking at the object being handed to him. 

“Inference: this unit’s previous statement = false.” chirped Mu, computer-like clicks emitted as they spoke, possibly running calculations. “Response to Titus’ current statement: compiled. Deeper stimulation > external. [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | deep stimulation)] > [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | external stimulation)]. E[(---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)]” 

“You mean I can fix this by showing things up my ass?” 

“Statement’s truthfulness cannot be validated. P[ ((---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)) | (Simple anal insertion) ] = not conclusive. Remark: Relief of ailment ⇔ proper technique = true.”   

Titus swallowed a knot in this throat, followed by a long sigh. He didn’t expect the prescription for his ailment to be a masturbation technique. 

“Doubts prostatic stimulation = E(relief)?” Asked Mu tilting their head to the side. “Inexperienced = true?” 

Titus nodded, noticing how he had been holding Oragon’s gaze the whole time. 

“I can provide asistance ⇔ (consent = True). (Perform on Titus & explain) ⇔ (consent = True)” 

The booklet crunched a bit as he held it tighter, Mu had pulled him apart and back together before, likely there is no piece of him they haven’t touched… in the medical sense. Throne that simple though made him almost produce a low gasp. A different occurrence may have ended up in the rejection of such a proposal, but his situation was all but common. He could barely stay still without rubbing his aching crotch against something. Theoretical: this is just a medical procedure; practical: nothing else will come out of it. 

“Alright Mu-Oragon.” He agreed in almost a whisper. “Just… please be careful.” 

“T(Titus’ wellbeing is my priority.)” Even through the respirator their tone came out gleeful and reassuring. 

A couple days after, back at his chambers, Titus gasped and struggled to achieve the previous results he had experienced with the Magos. He was following the same movements and booklet’s instructions to the letter, his fingers were bigger and thicker than Mu’s; still the efforts left him wanting. He had made himself cum, and it had felt good, yes. But his relief was a cup with a hole at the bottom, never filling. 

Titus pressed his face against the drool covered pillow, recalling the memory from the examination room. Every time Mu had pressed their fingers inside him an asphyxiating wave of pleasure had drowned him over and over, his hairs stood with the remembrance of the Magos’ muffled exhalations due to the effort of manhandling such a heavier man. Another finger, he went deeper, a reminiscent thought of firm steel hands that had held his legs still; spread. 

Mu had played him like the director of an astropathic choir does his organ. Has Titus been the only astartes with a similar issue they’ve had to help? He bit the pillow hard enough to cause a rip, there was anger. The thought of Mu-Oragon giving similar care to someone else brewed an overflowing pot of jealousy and rage in him. But why? It was the Magos Biologis’ job to aid the Astartes, it was obvious there was no emotional attachment to the action. Despite the evidence he couldn’t stop the reassuring and borderline loving statements they had directed at him during the procedure to eat at his mind. How comfortable they had made him feel in his vulnerability, how in the time of their exchange he had silently craved for Mu to touch more of his body, to touch theirs. 

Titus sat in silence, frustrated tears sliding off his cheeks, a lone company in the otherwise relatively bare room. It was quite late at what the battle barge’s internal schedule had designated as ‘night time’, how much of a ‘night owl’ was the mechanicus? Was it proper to visit them? Were they busy? Were they saving another Astartes’ life? Were they soothing other Astartes’ post rubicon testosterone spike? Next thing Titus knew he was already dressed, one thought in mind. He should go to see them, by the primarch’s honor he had to see Mu. 

He moved with haste, weaving through the crowd of servitors engrossed in periodic station maintenance under the watchful vigilance of Mu’s brethren. No, they couldn’t compare to the Magos, none of them. Shit, why did he cram the stupid booklet and lube he was provided into his pocket? It was too late to return, his body would have not allowed him. 

Throne, those clothes were clean out of the dryer though they encountered themselves drenched with sweat. Titus’ walk to the desired wing was a blur, the fight between will and arousal occupied his focus in its entirety. Demetrian’s awareness returned to the front stage with his arrival at Mu’s laboratory, empty except for servitors. He pressed on past examination tables and towering shelves full of implements Titus had no idea of purpose, he didn’t need to anyways, he already had one. 

“Mu…” he mouthed at a sound belonging to what could be Mu’s binharic speech. 

The series of rhythmic computation sounds came out of a nearby room, the door almost fully closed. From the narrow opening left, aside from the overpowering smell proper of incense and machine oil, he could make sense that it was a private chamber.

There they were, sitting crosslegged on the floor, bathed in candle glow making their augments look like consecrated gold. Mu was perpendicular from the door, immersed in sacred meditation. In front of them a towering representation of the machine god crowned the extensive cogitator it was embedded on. The Magos’ hood was down, exposing their side shaved head, what was left of their brown hair in the middle presented tightly tied in a low ponytail. Cables came out of ports and cogitators on the sides of their head, neck and under their robes, connecting them to the one they were praying to. Two of their hands were in a prayer position, the other two resting on their knees. The many mechadendrites seemed deactivated, filling a circle around Mu as they laid over the carpet, like the resting wings of an angel. 

He had opened the door a bit more, taking one step inside yet regretting it instantly. It felt wrong, he was a trespasser, disturbing a sacred intimate rite he didn’t belong at. Titus tried to turn back but a mechadendrite stood to life, clasping hand pointed at the marine as if it could see him. Mu’s eyes opened accompanied by a quick inhalation, reminding him of someone waking up from deep sleep. 

“Unit Demetrian Titus…” surprise took over the Magos whose mechadendrites waved around them covering them until they could pull their hood back up. “Urgent assistance = true?” 

The door rattled slightly as Titus’ hand trembled. Was he feeling fear? The feeling he was made immune of? Mu tilted their head, emitting a series of concerned clicks. They patted a space on the rug beside them, limbs pulling aside to make space for Titus. 

“Permissions granted; accompany this unit. ⇔ desired so.” 

He entered further, making sure that the door was closed behind him. The intensity of the incense only increased with his approach. Titus gave the machine god’s image a look, its aura swallowed him, he was allowed into the room but that didn’t mean he was welcomed, that it welcomed him. 

“Detecting elevated blood pressure, presence of hyperhidrosis. Inference: condition disturbed.” They pointed out when he sat, the rest of their limbs focused on respectfully disconnecting the cables that joined Mu to the room’s cogitator. “Request: details needed.”

“Magos I… I have been doing everything as told.” The words were hard to come up with, this was a bad idea, he wanted to run. “Please, believe me.” 

“Complicance.” they said in what could have been a sigh. “Hormoral reading required. !(time) for a blood scan, +++urgency.” With their words they took the disconnected end of one of the cables still attached to them. “Expedited read | (direct connection = true)” 

A mechanendrite exposed the port at his nape. Even taking into account that the Magos’ intentions were clear and the connection into the ports around his body was a day to day affair; he couldn’t but instinctively want to lean away from the attempt. At least while conscious he had only been connected to external machines and his armor, making Titus and it become one. He was unsure of what linking to another conscious creature would be like. 

“Mu wait… ah…” 

He gasped at the connector’s insertion, a cold wave washed over him. Then, pressure. An extra force needed to be applied for the linkage’s proper attachment. Titus flinched when the plug was inserted to full length and secured. It has never felt this way, the imperceptive clicking shouldn’t be that all consuming, the effortless pressure shouldn’t send a shivering echo across his whole nervous system. The next breath came from lungs outside of his chest cavity. Parallel thoughts stood by his own. Connection state: stable. +++(blood oxygenation). Execute t01101000… wait what? 

“Requests: stand still for reading.” Mu pleaded, their voice sounding closer than the separation between them suggested. “Current testosterone levels = previous reading. Insulin levels within Astartes range = true. Leptin levels within Astartes range =  true. HGH levels within Astartes range = true…” they paused, Titus couldn’t see Mu’s throat but felt it on his own as it moved in a swallow. “+++(Oxytoxin levels)” 

A mechadendrite slid its rigged tentacle down his back coming into a wrap around the waist. The Magos glared at it with burning disapproval hasting the limb to release him. Unbecoming = true.

“What is that? Is it wrong?” Titus asked, a pressing heat that wasn’t the one already overwhelming him joined the room. 

“Oxytoxin = {social bonding hormone, love hormone, reproduction…}” 

The command for Mu’s arm to disconnect from him was clear, Titus’ enhanced reflexes were faster, applying pressure on the Magos’ hand before it could pull the connector out. A heart that wasn’t his drummed frantically. P(mutual) = 80%. Could it be that they have also been feeling something similar? P(mutual) = 88%. For how long? P(mutual) = 90%...

Titus leaned forwards pressing his lips on Mu’s cheek right when it met with the respirator, the skin was so soft, their smell like the rest of the room = {iron, candle wax, incense, sweat}. Mu’s arms resisted the approach but the many mechadendrites welcomed him, they acted upon their master’s subconscious wishes. 

“+++(levels) = {oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, vasopressin}.” They reported faintly. “Warning: Unit Titus breaching patient-magos protocol.”

“Are those hormonal readings yours or mine?” He asked with a tinge of humor, yet letting the wanting show. 

“Irrelevant.” The Magos chirped with higher pitch than normal before more mechadendrites started rubbing themselves around Titus like purring cats, then stopping when Mu directed a stern echoing mental order. 

“How long?” he asked, pressing his body against those appendages, begging for their touch. 

“Comprehension | (Unit Titus’ attention = true)” Oragon’s voice barely rose over the rushed clicking of their cogitators. “P(rubicon primaris success | healthy Astartes) = 61.6%. E(rubicon primaris success | medically dead Astartes) = ∅.” Was it a memory that flashed before him? Anger, defiance, approval, tension, relief. “Demetrian Titus: Omnissiah’s miracle. T(Demetrian Titus is my biggest pride).” Mu pressed their forehead against his. “T(Demetrian Titus is this unit’s most beautiful creation). Possessive desire = true.” 

He tried to get even closer, mind screaming to the magos’ to take him theirs as their right was. A slight passing migraine struck him, pushback. 

“I want ∈ Titus. I want Titus ∈ me.” 

They paused, a constant stream of data rushed from them to Titus. Failure = true. Unfaithful = true. Weak = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101.

“I’m here Mu, make me yours.” Titus purred, pressing his face on the Magos’ neck, their scent ordering his body into a surrender. +++(serotonin levels). 

“I want to execute statement compliance. Intervention. This unit !(execute) statement compliance. Mu !∈ Titus. Titus !∈ Mu. Mu ∈ The Omnissiah. Titus ∈ The Emperor.” With the great effort of several limbs they were capable of pushing Titus away, his whimper had a twin companion. “ F[P(I ∈ (Omnissiah & Titus) & Titus ∈ (Me & Emperor)) > 0]. Titus’ understanding = true?” 

“Mu, being with you will not make me stop fighting for the Emperor nor will distance you from the Machine God.” Unit Titus’ statement = True. “It will only make me fight harder, to fight for the Emperor is to fight for humanity, you are part of humanity, you are part of what I fight for; what I will die for.” 

Two of the Magos’ hands cradled his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks, their eyes gifted him a loving painting colored in sorrow ahead of closing them tightly. Mu’s bodily cogitators’ clicking became louder, similar to a tired engine pushing itself up a difficult hill. Every single one of the mechanicus’ limbs trembled and rattled. Titus felt a piercing pain forming behind a skull that wasn’t his own. 

“Magos stop that! You are hurting yourse…” 

“I would hurt myself everyday if it means I do not hurt you Titus.” The lack of machine logic in Mu-Oragon’s statement caught him by surprise, that’s what they were doing, they were ending any process that would distort the message. To the extent of their modification, it hurt. “Attention  =... Listen to me closely please. What’s in your mind, what’s in my mind; it is a chimera Titus. Fantasy. !(logical).” continued as their registry jumped between two conflicting voice modulations. “I will never be able to fulfill your requirements for intimacy. Demand: compliance with silence = true… I am inside your head right now. You have expectations and desires that I cannot match.” Mu opened their eyes, they looked watery and puffy. The clicking sound became more urgent, the cogitators were screaming for it to end. “Body parts you crave that Mu… I…  do not possess. Blessed Cogitators Titus, look how hard it is for me to express myself in your language, do you think a relationship will work? T(I have no place in your world).” 

The hastened clicking relaxed, lungs that weren’t his struggled for air. Mu gave in and placed their forehead on Titus’ chest. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They purred in the comfort they shouldn’t allow themselves to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They were surrounded by strong arms whose warmth they had no business craving. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Their face, implants included, being covered in kisses that had a better use on someone else. Yet they didn’t want someone else to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true.

“You are no heretek” Titus spoke clearly, his voice making a body that wasn’t his own yet felt like it; to tremble. “I never asked you to change for me. I will not allow you to change for me. Whatever you bring to me will make me happy, because it’s yours.” 

“Counterargument. Titus feeling this way | (+++testosterone & +++oxytocin). (Hormonal stabilization = true) => Titus !(love) Mu. E(Desire = {∅}).” 

“Theorerical: the result of your reasoning is false. Practical: you are in my head, you must only look.” 

“Compliance.” 

There was an invasive tingle poking at his brain, searching, inquiring. They shared a long moment of silence, lullabied by cogitators and Mu’s binharic musings. It felt strangely intimate, not the idea he had in mind when he came out of his room desperate to have the Priest inside him. Yet he still ached for it. 

Mu looked up to him. Pulling their hood down then guiding Titus hands on how to properly hold their face without disturbing the cablework. Throne, they were so strangely beautiful. 

“This unit’s compliance: approval pending.” They said, “This unit’s compliance ⇔ (Titus’ trust = true & Titus’ consent = true).” 

“You pulled my body apart and back Magos, do you really need more trust?” 

“Mu-Oragon !(had) Titus’ consent for rubicon. Patient previous state = unconscious. Unconsciousness !(match) consent protocol. Repeating inquiry: Titus’ Trust = True?” 

“Yes Mu I trust you.” 

“Titus’ statement = true?” The Magos pressed. 

“With my life, Mu please just… ah…”

Another cable made its insertion into Titus, now at a port on his lower back. His vision blurred for a second after the push that made the connection click, he felt himself holding Mu’s face and Mu’s face being held by his hands. A series of satisfied binharic purrs came out of him… the Magos. A touch, a gentle hand caressing behind his earlobe and going down the jawline made him moan quite loud. Titus tightened his lips afterwards full of confusion and shame. Mu chuckled behind the respirator. 

“Proud remark: Any mortal knowledge of Titus’ body < this unit’s knowledge of Titus’ body.” Both him and them gasped in unison with the many limbs holding him in place. “Proceeding with statement validation.” 

Fingers brushed his hair back in a soothing motion, just like they did that day at the examination room to calm his nerves. 

“Retrieving previously used data; Titus = {good, strong, capable, beautiful}.” 

With every word a new limb joined the embrace. Hands, ribbed tentacles, mechadendrite claspers; they all rubbed and massaged Titus’ body over his clothes. Pleasurable yet with the Magos’ teasing, no contact was made with any greater erogenous zone. The Marine played against the scheme, moving himself in a way Mu would at least grace the most vocal centers about their hunger, the mechanicus fought back trying to anticipate Titus’ moves and not let him have a win. They both were absorbed by childish chuckle and sporadic gasps. Mu’s binharic clicks were cheerful, jovial notes, light and dark compared with the ones from earlier. 

He placed his lips on Mu’s neck, also feeling them on his. And ran kisses over both flesh and blessed metal parts. They tensed a bit when he attempted to touch their chest, Titus sensed a third heart rate increasing followed by a mental note reassuring him it was fine. Without leaving carefulness behind he went down the Magos’ neck, wrapping, what the jealous tentacle allowed, of an arm behind Mu’s thighs lifting their body enough for him not bend on a weird angle to keep kissing down, his lips making out of fleshy and non biological parts under the robe.

That was when the mechadendrites started to infiltrate the openings on his clothes and slide under. The metal was no longer cold as it had been warmed up by Titus’ own body heat. Had that been the Magos’ plan? 

They both moaned at the sensation of ribbed well oiled tentacles rubbing themselves against Titus’ nipples, lower abdomen and inner thighs. The Marine was sitting on his knees, holding Mu with one arm and kissing their upper robed body, the other hand kept making sense of the shapes hidden by red cloth. 

Anchoring themselves firmly on Titus’ shoulders with two of their arms, Mu used the leftover free hands to undo the ribbons, clasps and buttons keeping the robe on. They stopped, only them letting go would uncover their body. He eyed them expectantly, noticing how shades of pink bloomed on what could be seen on their cheeks. 

“Witness the miracle of machine and flesh ⇔ (Units > initiates). Exception logged: Demetrian Titus.” Their voice sounded even more distorted than usual, nervous binharic chirps made interference with their words. 

“You don’t need to undress more if you are not comfortable, Mu.” Titus indicated lovingly as he massaged one of their shoulders. 

The grill covering Mu’s mouth didn't impede him from noticing they were smiling, the expression brightening their whole face. Adoring notes in binharic were said yet nothing in a manner Titus could understand, but he thought how it reminded him about how their prayers sounded like. With ritual reverence they let the cloth go, causing the scarlet to part and barely hang off their shoulders. He felt Mu shiver as that skin didn’t seem used to being uncovered, it was paler than their face and very thin, so much he felt afraid of his calloused palms breaking it open. Said skin was bitten into by metal, flexible pipes and transparent wiring transporting blood. Just as they did with their head Mu guided Titus’ hands across their upper body, reaching the pant's edge, a scar continuing down into the pubis was seducing him to follow it underneath. He would have if he hadn’t  noticed how in certain places clusters of purple broke paleness’ ruling, matching where he may have innocently grabbed or kissed too excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were that sensible.” 

Titus got his mouth close enough to a bruise yet stopped leaving the lips hovering over it, only his breath making contact. He looked up to meet Mu’s gaze, a request for permission written on his. They tightened any grip on Titus leading to a shift of their weight forwards, pressing themselves against his lips. This time he could appreciate how the binharic purrs and notes actually started somewhere between their ribs and echoed towards the grilled respirator in their face to finish being properly enunciated. The pale layer vibrated and contracted with every joint moan, gasp, huff. 

Mu took hold of another cable connected to them that had an orphan end with no port to call home. Instead of going for it right away they let the cord slide over Titus’ chest, going behind him by the left side of his neck and coming out from the right. The cables had a different texture from the appendages holding the mechadendrites, he enjoyed the contrast between stiff ribbedness and flexible softness. The port on the right side of his neck, by the joining with the shoulder, seemed to be the desired spot. The very moment the plug’s tip was to get inserted into it; Titus moved minimally away with a mischievous grin. Playfulness was older than machines, Mu wasn’t the only one with teasing rights.   

Both continued the jolly game for a couple minutes; shifting, giggling. By the end, it seemed Titus would finally accept the insertion only for the marine to get Mu’s hand holding the cable with a light-hearted bite, not exerting a tinge of actual pressure. The Magos hummed then all together, their mechadendrites compressed his body right over spots he would feel their sting the most, the appendages close to his thighs pulled them firmly; forcing him to a more open and exposed sitting position. At the same time, Mu’s free hand seized as much as Titus’ hair it could and yanked his head back with surprising command; displaying the working area. All of it teared out a pained moan out his core. 

“Delivering request for stillness.” They said, the teasing switched its tone from light-hearted into a lascivious one. “Patient Demetrian Titus !(compliance) => Execute: unit’s protocol for unruly patient subjugation. Titus != {bad patient}. (Titus = {Good patient}) = True?” 

“Apologies Magos, I do want to be a good patient, please show me how.” 

“Compliance.” 

His heightened sensitivity perceived the contact between port and connector in ways words could barely describe. When the tip of the connector touched the outer ring, for half a second he could swear that the candles and lumens seemed to brighten then dull back to their normal luminosity. The friction of smooth metal against smooth metal from the middle of the insertion sparked ripples in his brain that reminded Titus just like a vox signal trying to connect. A final push brought the connection to properly click inside, if before it rippled across the nervous system; now there was no system left unassaulted by a powerful spasm.

Demetrian Titus went blank, only remembering short snippets drunk in this unadulterated euphoria, perception shifting quickly between bodies. Once his faculties adapted to the input stream he discovered himself in the same position but things had changed a little. Titus’ top was gone and his pants were down to the knees. Coagulated crimson lines decorated him all over, evidence from scratches his healing factor closed immediately. The marine was rocking his hips at the rhythm of one of the mechadendrites crossing between his legs, rubbing its oiled shaft over the crotch and between the buttocks. He was still holding onto Mu, quite closely. The Magos’ thighs were at both sides of his neck, Demetrian finding his teeth pulling at their pants’ waist band. Two of their hands were finding support from Titus' biceps, the other two grasping at the marine’s hair for dear life; robe barely hanging by their elbows. He saw no reason to stop it there. 

Firmly holding Mu’s waist with one hand he lifted them up a bit, then using the other to grip the waistband at the back Titus slid their pants down, pulling them fully away. His lips' curiosity could finally scout the track indicated by that scar on their lower stomach. His kisses, the wetness of his tongue, the texture of his shaved cheeks; all sensations were mirrored back onto his skin. Then he made an interesting discovery, when he began charting what was left or lacked on Mu’s crotch it also reflected on his cock with curious representations. A  lick on the front was actually felt at the base of his shaft, yet going and kissing a bit to the right from there was experience at the top of his glans. Mu’s moans were his moans, deep, hungry. Their connection was a cyclical loop of pleasure, what was felt on them echoed onto Titus then back into them. He wondered if the mechanicus was capable of feeling arousal from stimulation on that area without a two way connection. Maybe he could try to investigate in the future, as the now had Titus quite busy. 

Mu moved the anchor points from Titus’ biceps to his hands, a metallic finger pried his mouth wide open making sure the tongue was fully out, then lifting themselves up they started to fully ride the Astartes’ mouth at the same rhythm the mechadendrite grinded its length between Titus’ legs. Their speech reduced to huffs and frantic binharic notes weaving the tunes of their shared pleasure. Titus almost dropped Mu when both of them were run over on climax’s path. Trembling prosthetic legs’ embrace became stronger, pressing him firmly on his face, a mortal with not as good breathing capacity would have likely perished out of air. 

They shifted their weight around Titus to climb off his shoulders, sitting on one arm holding them, they pressed their face onto Titus’. That was when he perceived the respirator being slid down, thin soft lips and skin like the one on their other covered areas nuzzled him. Lungs that weren’t his momentarily ached as they readapted to unfiltered air. Mu’s kiss was shy, sloppy, and inexperienced. Their knowledge of other people’s bodies didn’t transfer well to the skill of kissing, it was fine, not like Titus had much either. They could learn together. 

He pulled back from the kiss, not for lack of wanting but the realization he could finally admire Mu’s full face. It was round with big cheeks that were artificially parted with a depression between the cheekbone and cheek caused by the long respirator use. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to take it off?” He asked quite concerned. 

“!(Every unit).” their unaltered voice was more melodious than when muffled behind the respirator. “Mu-Oragon = {sacred binharic, chemical filtration}. Lung condition: stable. !(Risk)” They kissed him again then moved down his neck, he had forgotten, now they were connected Titus’ unquenching lust was also theirs. “Request: taste Titus.” 

“You know the answer.” he smiled back. 

Hums kept emanating from the respirator but without Mu’s mouth to guide them there was no binharic aria, just airy vibrations. He was fine without the tunes, that mouth looked beautiful with their fleshy lips crowning his nipple, disappearing into the bountiful hairy mass of his chest. Cold, a hand stroked up and down his shaft being unable to fully wrap its fingers around it. And Mu’s mouth, it was already small, yet his cock made it look even smaller by comparison, it made the whole Magos smaller by comparison. 

They licked the leftover cum around the tip and down the shaft, maybe now discovering the taste he’ll have an enlightening comeback when Chairon jokingly tells him to go eat his own dick again. 

Titus buckled and moaned not by stimulation itself but a memory, one of Mu’s hands was running its fingers in circles around the entrance to Titus’ backside. They were slippery, quite well lubricated in fact. 

“Titus = {so good patient, follows prescription well}.” Mu teased him. 

A grasping mechadendrite lifted up, holding the opened lube bottle he had stuffed inside his pocket before. Mu’s fingers barely peeked at the entrance, stretching the aroused fleshy ring. 

“Titus’ memories: seen. This Unit's touch: requested. Compliance.”

They slipped inside with the same effortless precision as before, the joy of getting filled as he had been craving was unmeasurable. Titus grabbed Mu’s head and trusted his cock inside the Magos’ mouth, barely getting a third in. In vengeance they got another finger into him, he wailed at the stretch and pressure curling inside him. If before Mu played him like an instrument, the current Titus was the whole orchestra, from groans to wines they composed a melody out of the Astartes’ desire. 

The rhythm became even faster, building a time bomb of pleasure inside his crotch. Drool and precum dripped down Mu’s chin, Emperor, Omnissiah, whoever was responsible: what a beautiful creature they were. Lustful indulgence was ramping up into a crescendo, Titus was getting close to relief he wanted to cry; and he did once Oragon stopped right at the plunge’s edge, denying him. 

Titus was about to ask why when they held his buttcheeks open for the lubed thin rounded head of a grasping mechadendrite pressed into him.

“Wait!” He howled. 

“Titus trust = true.” They whispered hugging the Astartes between their arms, and his cock between their thighs. 

Bastard, they had made it so aiding his throwing member would mean thrusting back and sodomizing himself into them. He had no choice and soon realized how Mu didn’t oversell themselves when they said they knew Titus’ body best, his hole was so well prepared it took the claw and following tentacle quite well. The stretch was so much yet it didn’t feel painful, Golden Throne, it felt like something he didn’t know he wanted but now will never be able to live without. 

Now the mouths of both of them were free he could appreciate how much of a mirror they had become, Titus was the baritone to Mu’s tenor-soprano, singing the same song in parallel harmonies. It was so much, he began bending over until he had the Magos pinned on the floor under him as he thrusted between their thighs, and the Magos had him entangled in many arms and cables as they stretched his insides. 

Titus had been shivering when he approached the same edge of the cliff as before, it being at a higher distance from the ground compared to the last. The Astartes felt as if the fall was going to make him blackout again, Mu had given him so many gifts, brought back to life and now another way to perceive life through the skin of the one he cherished, their skin. 

The timer on the time bomb in his crotch reached zero, a wave of pleasure after the other washed over him, he suddenly became aware of every pore in their skins, every hair on their heads. But it kept on, every single one of Mu’s appendages grabbed onto Titus as if letting go would cost them their life. He squirmed as his asshole didn’t see mercy nor rest, words were not able to be had with a throat so busy on pained moans. 

Wait, did he have so many cables inserted? Titus finally became aware that more than three ports on his body were in use, when did it happen? When he went blank? Realization dawned on him: he was trapped. All this time he had been a careless fly dancing around the spider’s net, every step entangling him more and more until he was fully helpless, ready to be consumed. The moans transformed into howls, those became wails, wails into whimpers, whimpering devolved into sobbing, culminating in the drained gasps of a fuck hole that knows its place. His mind gave up to the pleasure finally breaking and going  blank. 

He woke to the smell of incense and the realization of being so literally empty, laying on his side with Mu facing him. Mechadendrites and cables were still holding him, not with hunger but care. 

“I guess I ruined your rug.” He joked. 

“!(underestimate) martian chemical cleaner.” The Magos smiled sleepily at him, they hadn’t put the respirator back on yet, purplish red bite marks and bruising dressed their lips and lower jaw, Titus rubbed a finger over those. 

“My doing again I suppose, guess even my bare minimum of gentleness is still too rough. I’m sorry Mu, I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Reasurance. Preemptive awareness = True. Exchange | risk assessed. Titus design = {Strong, powerful, deadly}. (System’s status: fully operational) => no need to disable recurrence of interactions.” they said, soothing his worries. 

Mu’s voice returned to the metallic distortion as they put the respirator back on, gentle binharic hum seemed to communicate the Magos’ bliss on that moment more than any words they nor Titus could spare. 

Then the song changed to a familiar prayer, Mu started to go over the cables connecting them to Titus in reverse, from the last to be connected to the first. Before each of the disconnections the prayers sang a layered stanza Titus attributed meaning due to the tune; gratitude, mourning, hope. One by one he saw himself dividing from Mu’s senses, his mind grasping at any pieces left of that consciousness which melted into his, a cry of loneliness as what as one was became two separate beings again. He didn’t feel gloom though, as the prayer implied, separation only meant a new opportunity to meet again. 

“Wait a moment.” Titus interrupted when Mu-Oragon got to the final plug that was the first, the one at his nape. 

“Attention = True. Unit Titus wellbeing: stable?” They asked with the leftover sleepiness of someone coming out of a deep trance. 

“Titus ∈ to Mu, and = true - and that will always be true.” He spoke slowly, doing his best to speak on their lingo, knowing they may be doing a horrible job with laughable pronunciation. “Do Mu ∈ to Titus - this is a question.” 

At least his hope of not saying anything offensive by accident was reassured. The mechanicus’ face became as red as the clean parts of the rug they were laying over, nervous binharic notes escaped them like an open faucet. 

“Theoretical” they started, earning an instant chuckle from Titus. “Mu ∈ Titus. Practical: T(Mu ∈ Titus).” 

Just as it all started Titus kissed them on the cheek, right over where the skin met the respirator. Weird, Mu was rubbing the back of his neck, plug gone yet he didn’t feel a disconnection. Maybe the Omnissiah had finally made up their mind about him.

[igotanidea]

Batboys' love languages

Graphic is from pinterest and YES it has little to do with the story but YES I had to use it.

Dick.

Sweet, golden-boy, emotional Dick. His love language is definitely touch. Brushing hand over yours, by accident? Yes. Fixing your scarf for you? Absolutely. Putting strand of hair out of your forehead? Sure thing.

This one won’t miss a single opportunity to let you know he’s near and that he loves you by almost putting a warm blanket of affection all over you. (and that time when he tucked you into a giant burrito while movie nights just so you won’t get cold is definitely that).

His second, I believe would be acts of service.

I mean – he’s wanted and needed by literally everyone, starting from family through friends, all the way to the exes that may as well count as friends too. (totally not making you jealous). He cannot spend as much time with you as he’d wish to and acts of service is his way of trying to make up for it.

***

Jason.

Wonderful, misunderstood, resurrected Jason with issues. Acts of service is definitely his thing. What other way to show someone you like them if not by small (or grand) gestures, especially when you are so bad with words, right? So when you come home to clean dishes and fixed showerhead despite leaving it all on the to-do list you know he’s into you.

This one will just do everything without a single word and without the need to be appreciated for it, though those chocolate chip cookies you like to make are so delicious.

On the deeper stages of relationship his auxiliary would be touch. If he trusts you enough to snuggle into your side after a patrol or when his nightmares and anxiety are becoming too much – he is hooked. If he doesn’t care about you seeing his scars and bruises – you better make damn sure not to hurt him, cause I will come after you.

***

Tim.

Busy, sleep-deprived, running on caffeine Tim.

Did I mention busy?

Therefore, my conclusion – quality time.

In his language, the best way to show acceptance towards someone is letting him into his thing. Sitting in the batcave watching him crack codes and break cases? He’s your guy. Allowing you to throw some mellow hints on how something can be solved? Most people would end up with a pencil sticking out of their eyeball, but not you. He actually considers your opinion. (even if rarely using it but still – one day you’ll prove him).

His second would be acts of service, but reversed. He would accept you making him nutritious meals and dragging him to bed for a proper rest.  Scoffing, huffing and throwing comments about how he can take care of himself (spoiler alert – he can’t), but again – still doing it. One step at a time people, one step at a time.

***

Damian.

Raised an assassin, poor on social skills, vehement Damian.

He takes a lot after his father and with combined directiveness and awkwardness on understanding on humans he cannot have developed much of a love language.

But – flowers are nice. And it seems like girls like flowers, if he observed his mother’s secret garden properly. So even if his sense in botany might use a little work (like maybe try telling him that a predatory sundew is not the best gift choice) he’s trying.

Second, surprisingly, I see him as a words-of-affection guy. He may not be saying sweet nothings freely if at all, but after a moment of growing closer, he’ll definitely be your number one hyper. Just imagine, stressing about some shit and Damian, with his calm voice going all like I believe in you, even if that belief may be followed by katana use, but that’s a story for another day.

[jasmines-library]

Pollen

WHUMPTOBER DAY 4: prompt: Hallucinations

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: After being snatched by Ivy, she decides to experiment on you with a new type of plant that causes hallucinations.

Warnings: blood, kidnapping, dislocation.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You were sure you were dying.

Atleast that’s what it felt like. Your entire body was in agony, burning like a thousand fires blazing with the fury of a God.

It had been days since you had been snatched. As a vigilante, much less one of the Robins, you were very high on the profile list for abduction by Gothams criminals. They seemed to have a thing for you and the rest of your team. Probably because of your links to Batman. They all liked to get back at him. Possibly because they hated you for intervening with their ploys. Most likely because they assumed you were young and naive, and therefore easy to take down. You didn’t go down without a fight. No. But Ivy had managed to get the up on you, using her plants as to overwhelm you. And so there you were. Half dead, tied up in what was practically a greenhouse.

Every wall was scaled by some sort of plant. Green. Red. Pink. You couldn’t really tell anymore. Your vision had sort of just blurred into one and when it hadn’t you hardly had they energy to lift your head to look around you. All you knew was that it was uncomfortably warm; beads of sweat rolled down your face into your eyes and caused your hair to stick to your forehead.

It had been days since you had so much as heard from Posion ivy. Or anyone else for that matter. You were so hungry it hurt. But not as much as the various half healed half oozing wounds that were left gaping open from your fight. You had hardly slept either. Too uncomfortable from where you hung from the wall. You were sure that your shoulders were going to dislocate. If they hadn’t already. Perhaps they had. You don’t rember the pop. Or the pain. But then again….everything was hurting. You weren’t sure what was broken and what was bleeding. Only that it hurt.

Ivy had claimed that she had some ‘special plan’ for you. You weren’t sure what it was, but when criminals say they have something special planned, it never means anything good. And that was….who knows how many days ago. Perhaps her plan was to just leave you there to rot. To decay like one of her forgotten plants. With the way you felt, you were sure you weren’t far off. The other pressing matter was the fact that you were still there. That no one had come to rescue you. At first you were confident. You were absolutely certain that the rest of your team would come bursting through the doors not long after they realised you had been taken. But that window of hope had long closed.

The door slid open with a rattle of chains. In strode ivy, her head held high, heels clicking sharply on the floor as she strode over to you with a proud grin on her face. She seemed to circle you, as though you were a prized flower ready to be pruned. Pinching your chin between her index, middle finger and thumb, she lifted your head from where it had been laying on your chest and forced you to look at her. You tried to scowl at her, looking up at her through your eyebrows in an attempt to intimidate her, but it was more amusing than anything and she just let out a short tut.

“That’s no way to treat your host now, is it?”

“I’d hardly call it hosting” you retorted back through a strained, mumbled breath.

She seemed amused at this. “Now now. I told you I had something special planned, didn’t I?” Ivy said, running a slender finger along your jawline. “You see, I’ve been working on something new and I thought it would be fun to try it on you” she said. “I was actually hoping for one of the boys. But now I’m thinking you’ll do quite nicely”

“The fuck do you want with me?”

“I’ve been experimenting with a new type of plant. The pollen is quite fascinating. A very potent hallucinogenic. And I’m thinking it’ll do quite nicely on you. You’ve seen lots. I’m excited to see what it’ll make that fucked up little brain of yours see.” As she spoke, Ivy seemed to be fiddling with something that you couldn’t quite see. When she stepped closer to you, you could see the plant she had clearly been talking about. It was a strange looking flower. Orange with dainty petals. But a deadly pollen. You could already see the spores in that one singular plant; but as she manipulated it to grow and surround you completely, you began to feel their effects almost immediately. At first you felt light headed. And then, Ivy was completely gone.

The first thing your brain conjured up was yourself. It was like you were looking into a mirror. You could see yourself hanging, feet barely touching the ground as you struggled to gain leverage, blood dried and crusted across your skin. But then, your likeness soon merged into Damian, the youngest of your team whom you felt very protective towards. You let out a gasp, struggling forwards to reach him. He was in pain. You could tell from the twisted expression on his face and his cries that cut right through you.

“Dami-“ you struggled, trying to get to him. You hated seeing him in pain. Hated nothing more than hearing his cried. “Dami—“

The hallucination played out in front of you cruelly. The pollen making you completely oblivious to the fact that what you were seeing was in fact, not real.

It wasn’t long before the hallucination changed again. But it was equally as distressing as before. This time it was not one of your team, but it was the joker himself, looming over you with a twisted grin. And you felt the pain and he advanced on you. You weren’t sure if you screamed or not.

No one knew how long the hallucinations had been playing out when they finally found you. Dick and Jason flung the door open and Tim quickly detained Ivy. You were a crying, whimpering mess. Clearly distressed as well as bloody and bruised. You were in a state that none of them had ever wished to see you in and they cursed themselves for not reaching you sooner. Jason approached you cautiously, trying to get your attention. But your eyes stared vacantly ahead, your face painted with an expression of pain. Fear. When Jason reached out a hand to touch you, you practically screamed.

“Hey hey- it’s me. It’s Jason. It’s us.” He tried to say, but your breath came quickly as your eyes darted across the room. You were terrified, that was to say the least. Jason wasn’t even certain if you could see him or not. Your eyes just sort of stared past him.

“Is she…..” Damian spoke rather fearfully.

Dick studied you carefully, cringing at the painful sight of your shoulders and how they practically popped out of their sockets. He noticed you reacting to things around them, but not to them.

“Hey, kiddo…..” dick approached you. “Whatever you’re seeing it’s not real, okay?” He reached out and placed a gentle hand on your face. “It’s not real. But we are. Okay. We’re here. We’re real. It’s me. And jay and Tim and Dami. Okay? We’re real….just look at me….”

Hesitantly, your eyes did manage to tear away from the horrors your mind had created and to find his face. Your eyes watched him. His hand. How it cupped your face with a tenderness that the hallucinations had all lacked.

“…..Dick…..?” You mumbled.

The four boys let out a breath. “Yeah sweetheart. It’s us. We’re gonna get you out of here okay?”

“…….okay….” You agreed quietly. Once you said that, Dick wrapped his arms around you to support you as Tim worked on releasing your arms from their holds. You let out a whimper as your arms were freed.

“I know…I know” Jason said, smoothing your hair away from your face as Dick scooped you up “we’ve got you now, sweetheart. We’re real. We’re gonna get you some help.”

Jason’s words were comforting and they cut over the raucous of your hallucinations.

“We’re sorry it took us so long to find you kiddo….so, so sorry….” Tim said lowly to you as they began to hurry you out of the door and towards the Batmobile so they could rush you back to the cave. You would likely need some sort of antidote or way to flush the spores from your system. “We got you..:and were never letting you go again”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY THREE. ⛤ DAY FIVE ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[pitchsidestories]

Swiss chocolate for breakfast II Lia Wälti x Reader

masterlist I word count: 790

inspired by this sweet request here.<3

Milk, eggs, oats, almond butter, paper towels…

It was all right there on the grocery list that Lia was studying while she absentmindedly pushed the cart.

You knew exactly what it said on there. After all, you were the one who wrote it all down in the morning.

It was all stuff that had to be stocked up before you two would leave with Arsenal for the US tour.

Boring. Something absolutely essential was missing that wasn’t on the list.

With a dull thud you dropped a few packages into the cart.

Lia looked up from her shopping list.

Her gaze drifted from the cartons to you: “Wait, what’s that?“

You innocently blinked at her: “We travel to America therefore I need my English tea, Lia.“

“You don’t need your tea. I’m sure they will have tea there.“, your girlfriend laughed while removing the tea from the cart.

You took the cartons from her and dropped them back inside: “But not as good as this one. It’s simply the best.“

“It’s just tea.“, Lia complained but this time didn’t touch the packages.

You shook your head in disbelief. You had this conversation way too many times. “Lia, it’s not just any tea!“

Lia pointed at the three packages: “You don’t even need that much tea.“

“Yes, I do!“

“You won’t drink it there anyway.“

“Maybe the other English girls and I want some tea in the afternoon or evening…“, you explained but stopped yourself suddenly.

You looked around. How did you two end up in the chocolate section all of a sudden?

You watched as Lia gently placed something into the cart. You immediately recognized the metallic packaging of her favourite chocolate.

“Hold on. Is that Swiss chocolate in the basket? We certainly don’t need that either.“, you decided, giving her deprecating stare and trying to bite back a smile.

Your girlfriend pretended to be offended: “Of course we need chocolate! The flight is super long!“

“Pretty sure they give away chocolate on the plane?“, you playfully rolled your eyes.

“What if they don’t? And what if it isn’t real Swiss chocolate? Also that’s never enough for a ten hour flight.“

“You’re a professional football player my love you should know better.”, you teased her lovingly.  

“If you can’t appreciate my Swiss chocolate then I won’t appreciate your English tea!”, Lia decided pouting, trying hard not to laugh about your little unserious argument.

“You didn’t appreciate my tea to begin with!”, you countered, your lips twitching, wanting to turn into a grin, but you didn’t want to give in already.  Luckily this was London and not the English and Swiss countryside where you both grew up, so no one was turning their heads during the discussion.

“Okay, listen, here’s a deal, we get both, okay? And everyone’s happy.”, the midfielder sighed loudly.

“Deal.”, you nodded satisfied while the two of you continued your way through the supermarket peacefully.  

“I’m sure the new teammates will feel better and more welcomed to our team with that chocolate.”, she declared happily.

Fondly, Lia reminisced the times she joined a new football team in Potsdam or Arsenal and always brought some Swiss chocolate at the beginning which turned out to be a great way to her new teammate’s hearts.

Even your romance started with a little praline which turned up at your seat in the changing room at every home game with a little message until one read, will you go on a date with me? Marking the day where you turned into lovers.  

“And with some tea.”, you added smirking.

“Which tastes like nothing.”, Lia commented chuckling.

“Love, I’m telling you, you’re doing your tea wrong.”, you replied.

“This reminds me we need to get coffee too; we ran out of beans.”, your girlfriend remembered.

After the coffee beans were secured, she looked at her phone before glancing back to you.

“Oh, Steph texted and asked if we want to join making pizzas at Kim’s place tonight and if we’re still in the supermarket.”

“I hate when they do this. They always make us get groceries for them. Okay, text her we’ll bring everything.”, you groaned dramatically.

“I’ll. She immediately replied with a lot of kiss emojis.”, the brunette noted amused.

“Come on, we’ve to hurry up.”, you told her, while simultaneously grabbing the things needed for pizza.

“Please I’m starting to get hungry too.”, Lia said. Both of you couldn’t wait until you meet the other women as evenings at Kim were always a lot of fun which you didn’t want to miss out on.

And maybe but only maybe there would be a bit of chocolate for breakfast in the morning before you took on the long flight on the plane.

[waynes-multiverse]

The Exit Strategy – Part 2

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, minor injuries, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, a reunion, more secrets and revelations 😉

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Guess, the cat's outta the bag! Couldn't reveal too much about the reader beforehand without ruining the surprise now, could I? 🤓 Cozy up in your favorite chair with eggnog. Hope you have some lovely holidays, guys ❤️

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Part 2: This Is a Russell Mission

If Russell hated one thing in this world, it was playing The Waiting Game. The thought of being helplessly stuck inside a car with his hands metaphorically tied behind his back nearly wrecked his sanity. Well, whatever was left of it, anyways.

Colter had a point. Russell knew he could be a little paranoid sometimes, but considering everything he’d seen and done in his life, who could honestly blame him? It was only natural to feel a certain level of paranoia in his particular line of work. It kept him on his toes and, therefore, alive.

But maybe it had nothing to do with the job as he had always told himself. It might have been just a family trait he had inherited. And, well, he hated that fact even more than The Waiting Game.

As he impatiently watched a set of doors once more, he pondered if he was still seeing things clearly or if his kooky mind was playing tricks on him. Adjusting to civilian life wasn’t always easy.

What normal people would see as a perfectly nice, faithful woman picking up mail from the post office, Russell saw as a dead-drop pick-up.

There was a construction crew about three hundred yards to his right that seemed to be on constant break by their lack of work ethic. They also took turns to watch the supermarket closely. Ever wondered why there was so much street construction seemingly everywhere and yet America’s roads were still full of potholes? Russell didn’t.

And then, there was the cashier who handed you a flyer of some sort, which you accepted with a polite smile and stuffed in your purse. Live drop, Russell noted as he watched you walk out of the store hand in hand with your supposed husband.

It was all so abundantly clear to him, he almost couldn’t believe no one else could see it. It certainly worried him that Colter couldn’t.

What if…

What if he was in fact seeing things? Things that weren’t actually there. Ghosts of his past. No drops, live or dead. No secret surveillance in disguises. No fake husband – just a very real one.

Was that even legal? He figured it was under your new identity.

Russell shook the uncomfortable thought out of his mind and concentrated back on you. You stopped short by a row of shopping carts, exchanged a few words with your “husband”, and headed back inside. His little brother, of course, was hot on your tail, following you back in too.

That was when several alarm bells went off in Russell’s body. His head felt like the Liberty Bell on the Fourth of July. Experience told him: If it smelled like an ambush, it usually was.

Jumping into gear, Russell’s gaze snapped to your husband, who not only unloaded the groceries into the trunk of the car but also loaded a pistol and hid it underneath his sweater vest before heading toward the supermarket again.

Russell sprung into action rather quickly then, snatching his own semi-automatic from the glove compartment. Soon enough, he heard two familiar voices flowing out from a back alley behind the main building. There was no doubt in his mind that it was you and Colter.

As he rounded the corner, he had to stifle a laugh once he saw his little brother down on the ground, straddled by your legs. Russell had found himself in similar positions with you, but they had been mostly out of pleasure.

“If it helps, my name is Colter. Colter Sh–”

“Shaw.”

Russell watched as your hold on his brother swayed and shock claimed your expression.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he greeted your eyes with a cheeky smile as warmth spread through his heart.

Fuck, he had missed you.

“Russell?!”

Your jaw had fully dislodged itself as you slowly got back onto your feet and let go of your prisoner. But the shock of seeing your ex here of all places didn’t last long till it made way for your anger.

“Are you fucking insane?” You stormed towards him, shoving his chest. Whoa, broad! Shit, what had he done? Spent more time at the gym? “No, wait, don’t say anything. I already know the answer to that one!”

“I’ll second that,” Colter chimed in with a groan and dusted off his jeans. He stretched his sore muscles briefly before glaring at his older brother, who only offered him an apologetic smile and a half-assed shrug of one shoulder.

“Did you tell him to follow me?” you asked and pointed an accusatory finger at his younger brother while still glaring daggers at Russell. The similarity between them suddenly struck you, and you cursed yourself for not putting the puzzle pieces together sooner. “What was the plan here, huh?”

“Oh, trust me, he had no plan,” Colter muttered sourly, still recovering from your attack.

Russell clicked his tongue and sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, he’s right. There wasn’t a plan. I just-… I had to see you. But once I did, well… here we are.”

Full disclosure: There might have been a little bit of a plan. Just tiny, really. Not worth mentioning at all.

You scoffed and shook your head. “You, of all people, should know better. You could’ve blown our cover. Months of work down the drain…”

“I think your cover’s still good,” Russell assured you with that same old lazy grin of his that was scarily charming and glanced at your partner. “Might wanna call off the cavalry, though.”

You shared a look with Tom, your partner during this mission.

“I’ll signal them. Clean up here,” he said, unamused, and disappeared back to the parking lot.

“Road crew in front of the store?” was all Russell asked. You confirmed it with a simple nod. Internally, he celebrated his little win. His instincts were still intact.

You exhaled a deep breath and threw your hands up. You had been so incredibly relaxed before that menace of a man waltzed back into your life – with a goddamn wrecking ball, no less. Now, the tension was crawling back into your shoulders.

“Russ, what the hell?”

Your question wasn’t filled with anger, however. You were just exhausted by today’s surprising turn of events. The life of a spy…

And probably the life with Russell, too.

“I know. I know, okay?” Russell held up two placating hands. Large hands. Warm. “Can we just talk? Somewhere… I don’t know.”

With some reservations, you still nodded. “There’s a church picnic at First Presbyterian tomorrow. It starts at one. We can talk there.”

There had never been a day in your relationship where you had denied that man a thing – till that last day at least.

“Church picnic?” Russell cocked a brow but was only met with your glare.

“Don’t mock. Be there,” you told him firmly and walked back inside the building. You still had to buy that damn milk. Covers were complicated to maintain – much like relationships.

Once you were out of sight, Russell let out a long sigh of relief, followed by a laugh of happiness. Step One was done. Only when the high of his meeting with you subsided, did he notice his brother’s exasperation.

Colter threw his hands in the air and stared at his sibling with incredulous eyes. “What the hell, Russell? What was that, man?”

“Right, yeah.” Russell bobbed his head calmly, smacking his lips. He knew he owed Colter an explanation at this stage of the mission.

“So, I’m guessing she’s not an old Army buddy of yours,” the younger Shaw started.

“No, not quite. She’s in the CIA,” Russell explained at last. He couldn’t help the grin. He was sure Colter would laugh about it eventually, too. Well, here was to hoping he would. “We worked together when we were both stationed in Baghdad. You know how it goes. We met, and a couple of hours later, we were doing it on the kitchen island of some safe house.”

Well, alright, that was braggy. There was a lot more going on than that. Best night of his life, really. But Russell considered it classified.

“Romantic,” Colter scoffed with sarcasm lacing his voice. Honestly, a part of him was happy for Russell. Another part, though, was incredibly furious for obvious reasons. “But I’m sorry – you had me stalk a CIA operative? During, what I assume is, some elaborate undercover mission?”

“It’s actually not that elaborate,” Russell quipped with amusement. “You shoulda seen half the things I’ve seen her do, so…”

“Oh, hilarious!” Colter shook his head at his childish brother. “Are you nuts?!”

“I think we’ve already established that,” Russell chuckled.

“You know, if Reenie finds out about this, she’s gonna kill me,” Colter said, and Russell swore his brother seemed close to breaking into a sweat. “Oh, you think this is still funny, huh? Guess who she’s gonna kill right after? You.”

Russell rolled his eyes at the unnecessary theatrics. “She’s not gonna find out unless you tell her, brother.”

With pursed lips, Colter nodded in defeat. “Can’t say I like you a lot right now, Russell.”

His older brother only snorted a laugh in response. “Oh, c’mon!”

“You probably would find it less funny if you had been beaten up by a 5’4” woman,” Colter continued and pressed a hand to his ribcage, wincing. “Yeah, pretty sure she cracked a rib or two…”

“Don’t be a baby. Soldier up! You’re fine.” Russell patted his back roughly and inspected the swelling nose for good measure, causing Colter to groan in pain once more. “And by the way, pretty sure she’s only 5’3”.”

“What?! No! She’s at least… 5’4”, okay? Probably even 5’5”,” Colter argued, following Russell back to the truck.

Russell’s lips rose to a teasing smirk. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself whatever gets you to sleep at night, little brother.”

“I will, thank you,” Colter deadpanned and unlocked the car. “So, you’re gonna go to this church picnic thing tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, not just me. We are going to this church picnic thing tomorrow,” Russell said with a cheeky grin and slid into the passenger seat.

“Well, you know, technically, I’ve already… found her. This is usually where my job ends,” Colter said with a tight smile and popped the key into the ignition.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Russell replied, chuckling. “This ain’t a Colter mission. This is a Russell mission.”

“Oh, I got that, yeah. Thank you,” Colter said with a laugh that made his bruised ribs ache. “You know, you could’ve at least told me she was in the CIA.”

“Yeah, probably. But this was more fun,” Russell grinned.

“Did you know this whole time this was a clandestine operation?”

Russell sheepishly twitched his shoulders. “Well, not when we first got to town, but once I saw her in that outfit, I had a pretty strong inkling. I’m tellin’ ya, even if she had changed her entire life and personality, there’s no way she would have accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and savior. I mean, maybe if she suffered a traumatic brain injury…” Russell mused and then grinned. “Or if she got abducted by aliens!”

“Oh, not the UFOs again,” Colter sighed with a shake of his head.

“It’s UAP, man. U… A… P,” Russell corrected him once again and let the last letter pop from his lips for emphasis.

“Uh-huh… Did you even need me for this?” Colter leaned back against his seat and quirked an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah!” Russell assured eagerly before changing course. He dialed his enthusiasm back a little. “Well, honestly, I just needed your op analyst. I could’ve used one of my guys, but then that would’ve flagged it with someone upstairs, so… But c’mon! This was fun, right?”

“I don’t know, Russell. I usually prefer my fun to look a little different,” Colter deadpanned.

“With Reenie?” Russell wagged his eyebrows. The huge smirk on his face spoke volumes.

“Would you stop?!”

“‘Sides, this is nice, isn’t it? Us… hanging out?” Russell’s sly grin then morphed into a much softer and genuine smile.

“I guess, yeah,” Colter reluctantly agreed and shrugged his shoulders. But the tiny smile on his face wasn’t missed by Russell.

“Alright, let’s get some fuel,” Russell announced and playfully slapped his brother’s chest. “I’m starving. We also need to find a place where we can park that Airstream of yours. Maybe get a nice fire going, drink a few…”

“What is this? A sleepover? Did you just invite yourself?” Colter really wasn’t used to family members dropping in like this, but he couldn’t deny that it felt sort of nice, too.

“Yeah, I am. I mean, you didn’t offer. Would’ve been the polite thing, you know, considering I saved your ass last time,” Russell retorted puckishly.

Colter exhaled a humorous breath, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Alright, okay… Consider yourself invited.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Russell’s nerves leaped through the roof as he set foot onto the church grounds. A part of him expected his boot soles to leave burn marks in their wake on the perfectly green and trimmed lawn, considering his extensive list of sins.

Families, children, couples, and the elderly had all gathered in front of the church. There were picnic tables, blankets, even balloons and a banner. His green eyes, however, landed on the giant buffet, his mouth already beginning to water.

That’s also where he spotted you, handing out cupcakes and slices of pie with a pious smile on your face. Your hair was stuck behind your ears, a headband keeping it tightly in place. Your dress looked the same, only the flower pattern varied, with a tight cardigan around your shoulders that hid any naked skin.

Deceptively innocent, Russell thought, causing his mouth to water for a different reason.

“You okay? You nervous?” Colter checked with a curiously raised brow.

“Nervous? Me? No.” Russell gave a quick shake of his head, but his eyes were transfixed on you. “Gotta admit. That outfit’s doing something to me, though.”

Colter patted his shoulder blade. “Yeah, might wanna keep it in your pants, Russ. Pretty sure you get kicked out for impure thoughts.”

Russell snorted a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The Shaw brothers then made their way over to your stand. Russell’s heart thumped louder with every new step he took towards you. And once he was so close he could smell your irresistible perfume, his smile only widened.

You, on the other hand, played your role flawlessly and pretended you didn’t know either brother in front of you. Your brows knit in question, but your devout smile remained the same.

“Gentlemen, how can I help you? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” you said and subtly gestured your head to the pastor next to you.

Russell’s brow raised in understanding. He cleared his throat. “Oh, me and my brother just moved here. Looking for a new church. Heard this is the place,” he stated loud enough for the pastor to hear. “You know, we are very devout Christians. I mean, especially my brother here. If he doesn’t pray at least ten times a day, he gets real cranky.”

Colter threw him a look but decided to play along. “Oh, yeah, I just-… I hate that. Can’t pray enough, right?”

“Amen,” you said with all the sincerity you could muster. On the inside, however, you were bursting with laughter. Leave it to Russell to make you smile brighter than the sun.

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place,” the pastor chimed in with a cheerful smile that spelled kumbaya all the way through as he shook the brothers’ hands. “I’m Pastor Jeff. Welcome to our little congregation, folks.”

“God can never have enough sheep, am I right?” Russell quipped and wondered how long you’d already been undercover, playing your dutiful role as a Christian housewife. Five sentences in, and he already was at his limit.

“That’s right!” The pastor grinned broadly. “Please help yourselves to our delicious buffet.”

“Well, lookey, what do we have here.” Russell’s eyes zoned in on a plate of apple pie, rubbing his palms in delight.

“Oh, you have to try the pie,” the pastor eagerly suggested and put an arm around your shoulders. “Our Nora here is an excellent baker. Her desserts are a real trend in our community. It is downright sinful. But shhhh, don’t tell the big man upstairs.”

“Secret’s safe with me, pastor,” Russell grinned slyly before meeting your eyes for the briefest second. “Say, do you do marriage counseling too?”

The glare you shot him had enough power to kill him from afar. You might as well have ordered a missile strike on him.

“Oh, my, yes, of course!” the pastor eagerly replied, causing your frown to deepen. “Are you married? Having a little trouble with the missus?”

“You could say that,” Russell earnestly played along and propped up his hands on his hips. “Everything was going fine, you know? And then one morning, just whoosh, gone. No explanation, no letter, no anonymous call from a pay phone…”

“Wow…” The pastor was stunned and enthralled by Russell’s colorful storytelling at the same time. You weren’t, however.

“Well, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you feigned your sympathies with tight lips and a fierce glare at your former lover. “But you know what they say, the Lord giveth and he taketh away…”

“You know, Nora here is right. Our Lord does work in mysterious ways,” the pastor chimed in agreement.

“Amen, Pastor Jeff,” you said, smiling contentiously. “Do you have any idea why your wife left?”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s as mysterious as the Lord,” Russell replied.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you forced a tight smile. “I don’t mean to overstep, but it sounds like someone was having a little trouble with commitment.”

“It does,” Pastor Jeff agreed. “Why do you think that is?”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Russell’s head bobbed, his tongue poking the insides of his cheeks. He was definitely feeling a spotlight on him. Even Colter seemed to curiously lean in. Then, the oldest Shaw clicked his tongue. “Rough childhood.”

Amused, Colter scoffed under his breath behind him. “You could say that.”

“Oh no.” The pastor sent the brothers a pitying look and turned his attention to the younger Shaw. “And what do you do?”

“Oh, uh… Well, before I moved in with my brother here, I lived in a trailer and traveled all over the country.”

“Sounds… lonely,” Pastor Jeff stated worriedly.

“Yeah, this one is a big lone wolf. He has commitment issues too,” Russell replied, earning him a scolding look from his brother.

“Uh, I don’t think we need to overshare, Russ.” Colter gave an awkward smile, turning to you and Pastor Jeff. “He’s kidding. I don’t have commitment issues.”

“It’s a sin to lie, Colter,” Russ noted. His tone was serious, but the twinkle in his green eyes was impish.

“What happened to your face there?” The pastor cocked his head and inspected the younger Shaw’s injuries.

Oof, he looked rough. The skin under his eyes and bridge of his nose were swollen and bruised, ranging in color from blue, purple to black. A thin burgundy line also graced his throat. You had done quite a number on him.

You should kick Russell’s ass for setting you both up like this. Who would do this to their little brother?

“Uh, you know, moving boxes…” Colter stammered with a shift of his weight from one foot to the other, pursing his lips.

Russell was a better liar than him, you noted.

“Yup, walked straight into one of those wood planks,” Russell added, oozing just the right amount of charm and humor to wrap the pastor around his finger. “Tiny thing, honestly, but still got him good.”

Oh, he was so proud of that too, you could tell. He smirked right at you. Well, they were both terrible liars.

“Not that tiny. Big, big plank,” Colter corrected. Apparently, you had bruised his ego, too. “Lucky to be alive, really.”

Yeah, he really was.

“Well, speaking of taking things away, I still have to get the eggs from the chickens,” you said, segueing the conversation to an exit strategy. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, you have chickens here?” Russell enthusiastically slapped Colter’s arm. “Did you hear that? They have chickens.”

“Yeah, uh, very exciting,” Colter said, subtly clearing his throat.

“We’ve always wanted chickens,” Russell clarified for the pastor, joining you by your side as you rounded the table. It wasn’t true, though. The brothers actually had a chicken coop at the cabin when they were kids and hated it. The hens were noisy, the rooster was the worst, and it was always a mess to clean up. “I love those clucking little buggers. And now that we have a big backyard… Mind if I come along and check out your setup?”

“Not at all,” you replied with a friendly smile.

“Great. Be right back,” Russell told his brother, hurrying after you before he eloquently made a U-turn back to the stand and grabbed a plate of pie.

“Take your time,” Colter said through a pressed smile, although he wondered how long he’d be stuck here for with the pastor and your fake husband.

“Clear,” you said and held the creaking wooden door of the coop open for Russell to follow inside. As soon as it fell shut behind you two, you crossed your arms. “Okay, talk.”

“What? Here? Now?” With squinted eyes and a cocked brow, Russell looked around the small and dark space full of farm fowl, hay, and feathers.

You threw your arms up in exasperation. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk. What’s wrong with this place?”

“Nothing,” Russell said timidly and swallowed. He scratched the back of his neck. “You know, I just imagined this conversation a thousand times in my head, and it never happened in a chicken coop on church grounds.”

“Adorable,” you commented unamused, your brow knitting even more.

“All I’m sayin’ is, this just takes some time gettin’ used to…”

“Get used to it faster.”

Russell sighed. Then you did.

You softened your stance, crossed arms falling freely to your sides. “I’ve missed you,” you said earnestly and gifted him a small smile, taking in his changed appearance for the first time in detail.

He was hairier than you remembered. That you knew for sure. If you went back even further, he was also a lot broader, too. When you’d met, he was just a kid – as were you. It was only in the last few years of your relationship that he started to gain some serious muscle and really began to fill out his uniform. And all of a sudden, the tall and broad-shouldered soldier became more threatening – and more protective.

Now, clean-shaven, young, somewhat naive, and rule-following was replaced by a rebellious, midlife-crisis beard and the matching hair.

Ah, the t-shirt… Mötley Crüe. He found that thing eleven years ago at a thrift store in Arizona. It had a (bullet) hole on the left side of his lower back that you had patched – thrice. Once even with teething floss in a tent.

“How have you been?”

Russell’s head bobbed. He shrugged. “So-so.” Then he smiled. Soft and warm. The first few rays of sunshine on frozen winter skin. “I’ve missed you, too.” Then, the smile disappeared from his lips, replaced by contempt. “Got your divorce papers. Not signing them, by the way.”

“Good.” You smiled weakly. “I didn’t want you to sign them. I just sent them to get your attention.”

The relief that surged through Russell’s body was ineffable. For months, he thought he’d lost you – that you’d finally given up on him for good.

“How’s the new job working out?”

Russell’s lips drew a smirk, flirtatious charm glimmering in his forest green eyes. “What, you keeping tabs on me, sweetheart?”

You matched his expression. “Who do you think recommended you, huh?”

Russell stumped for a beat. His lips pursed, eyebrows drawing into a wondering v. “Well, they said someone did. Just didn’t think it was you.”

All this time, he’d believed you had crossed him out of your mind with a red pen as soon as you’d walked out the door that very morning.

“I told you. I’ll always look out for you,” you replied simply, a caring smile dancing on your lips. “So? Did it help? Are you any closer?”

“Yeah, guess so…” He paused for a moment, his gaze focused on the tips of his boots as he thought. “Not sure it was worth it, though. Actually, I’m fucking sure it wasn’t.”

You exhaled a long breath. You knew this day would come eventually. You knew he’d come back for you. Granted, you had expected him on your goddamn doorstep years ago, but he never showed. Sending divorce papers was a last resort in hopes he’d wake up then. That had been nine months ago.

“Why are you here, Russ?”

“Things have changed.”

Ah. That made things perfectly clear.

Lifting a brow, you crossed your arms again. “Is that why you brought your little brother along? As a show of good faith?”

“Kinda.”

“Poor Colter… How’s his nose?”

Russell wiped your sincere concerns away with a shrug. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. Just a scratch.”

Just a scratch…

“It’s weird… seeing you two together,” you said. For more than fifteen years, you had wondered. A part of you thought this day would never come, so maybe Colter being here was indeed a show of good faith and Russell was finally, finally dealing with his shit.

That man could easily fill the Denver airport with his baggage.

“You look good,” you noted. You were trained to control your heartbeat, but he had always made your job harder. “Different.”

His fingers brushed his beard as if to emphasize the newness. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Well, uhm, I don’t hate it,” you said rather coyly. Did you want to give him a win? No. But if he stepped any closer, you would falter. Your cheeks blushed as the tip of your shoe drew circles in the sandy ground. Why did your ears suddenly feel so hot?

Russell smiled as heat crept to his cheeks as well. “Your new look is somethin’, too.”

“God, shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re allowed to take the Lord’s name in vain here,” Russell teased. “Don’t let good Pastor Jeff hear ya.”

You laughed, scoffing. “I hate that man.”

“Pastor Jeff? I can tell,” Russell chuckled in amusement and finally stuffed his face with the first bite of pie, chewing a mouthful as he spoke. “But c’mon, he ain’t half bad.”

“Really? You don’t wanna shoot yourself after spending five minutes with him? ‘Cause I do. And it’s been months for me,” you said. “You don’t know what that man does in his office.”

“You bugged his office?”

“And the confession booth. Two words: game changer,” you said, wide-eyed. Russell whistled lowly. You narrowed your eyes at the half-eaten plate in his hands and the pie crumbs in his beard. You raised a scolding brow. “Did you really have to bring the pie?”

“Do you even know me at all? Of course I did.” Russell then shoved the last bite into his mouth to prove his petulant point. “Did you actually bake this?”

In expectant offense, you stepped back a little, crossing your arms again. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s good.”

“Do you even know me at all? What d’you think?”

“Thought so.” Russell gave a shrug of his shoulders. “The first bite of this didn’t give me immediate food poisoning.”

“Fuck you. I’m a great cook,” you huffed but couldn’t help the grin on your face. You had missed this – the bickering, the bantering, the fun. And Russell, the sly asshole, knew that, judging by his own smirk.

“There’s a lot of reasons why I love you, but your cooking skills ain’t one of ‘em, sweetheart,” he quipped.

“I’ll use you as shooting practice, Shaw,” you threatened playfully. Russell laughed, but it sounded more secretive than a laugh about a joke. “What?”

Russell’s eyes found yours. “Nothing. This is nice, right? We slid right back into it. Like the last three years never happened.”

“Russ…” You sighed, your heart hurting. For you, they happened.

“Just saying it was easy. That’s all,” he said with placating hands. “How’s the family? How’s your dad?”

That caused you to suck in a breath. You had wondered when he would finally dare to ask. You knew this was the real reason why he was here. “Dave finally married Jill last spring. It was a nice wedding. Florence, Italy. Got to wear a sun hat.”

“That’s good.” Russell smiled softly, although it stung that he wasn’t invited. He had always imagined he would be, once your brother popped the question to his longtime girlfriend. After all, Russell was the one who introduced the couple in the first place.

“They wanted to do it sooner, but because of the pandemic…”

“They shoulda done it ten years ago. I kept telling him to lock it down,” Russell quipped, the irony not entirely lost on him. He knew even if something was locked down, didn’t necessarily mean it would stay forever.

“You did,” you remembered with a fond smile. “They wanted you there,” you added, noticing his saddened expression. “It’s just-…”

“No, I know. Don’t worry about it,” Russell brushed it off with all the coolness he could muster at that moment.

“Russ…”

“I said it’s fine,” he repeated and forced another smile. “So, how’s the old man?”

Silently, you bit your lip and sent him a look that spoke volumes.

“Uh-oh. That bad, huh?”

“It’s the reason why I moved back here. To be closer… As close as I can be with this job. Figured it was best for everyone,” you explained. “In the beginning, he had a lot of good days, you know? Now they just all seem… bad.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry,” Russell replied, dumping his empty plate by the chickens. He stepped closer.

Uh-oh. Now, you were in trouble.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Russell’s brow jumped up. “What are you sorry for? It’s your dad.”

“I know. But… he kinda was yours too, right?” Russell’s green eyes meeting yours confirmed your statement. “He still talks about you on his good days. God knows you couldn’t throw a football before you met him.”

“Hey, that’s not true. I could throw the old pigskin around perfectly fine,” Russell defended.

You snorted. “You could not,” you argued with a teasing smile. “You knew how to kill sweet little forest critters and turn your pee into drinking water. But you did not know how to throw a damn ball.”

“You’re never letting the pee thing go, are you?”

You shrugged. “It was a very memorable trip.”

Russell laughed at that. Then the melancholic sadness returned to his face. “How’s-, uhm, how’s Lewis?”

He’d made it through the list of your relatives, finishing with the most important one. And it stung so unbearably much it broke your heart for him. But in the end, you knew he’d done it to himself.

Fighting the tears in your eyes, you forced a smile to your lips. “He’s good. He’s a sweet boy. Keeps asking questions about his daddy that I don’t know how to answer…” you scoffed humorlessly but decided to forgo the pettiness. It would be so easy to be mad at him, but not even on your darkest days could you do it. “He’s starting school this fall.”

“School, huh?” Russell huffed a devastating chuckle, the tears brimming in his eyes as the lump in his throat only grew. “Shit…”

It was getting to him, you could see, and he hadn’t expected that it would. Knowing Russell, he probably figured he could push through the pain and be fine. But he had never really been fine since the day you met him – and he wasn’t this time either as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink the tears away, and turned his back to you with a hand clasped over his mouth.

“Should I stop?”

It felt like you were torturing him with a cruel new method of some PsyOp. Even if you had cursed this man for the past three years, your heart refused to see him hurt.

But Russell shook his head, finding your eyes again. He offered you a weak smile. “No, uh, don’t. Just tell me something about him, okay? I’m fine. Please.”

Sighing, you nodded in acceptance. “When my dad was better, he and Dave would take him fishing a lot. He loved it. He’s in his ‘backyard adventures’ phase,” you said, giggling softly. “He’s catching frogs and releasing them in the house. Never imagined I’d wake up with an amphibian on my head. It’s been a delightful experience.”

Russell laughed, but it was feeble at best. “I can imagine…”

And I can’t imagine I missed it all, he thought self-punishingly. But the hard part still hadn’t come yet.

“And, uhm…” Russell wrung for words, taking a deep breath. “How’s the baby? Is it–”

“She,” you stated, watching him swallow upon your correction. “Her name’s Amelia. She turned two in April.”

“Huh, girl…” His heart beat faster, grew bigger, and painfully yearned. His feet trembled to get home, wherever that was, and see them, but he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t so easy, after all. “Guess I was right…” he said with a sad smile.

You had been sure you’d have another boy. However, Russell had bet you ten meatball subs – your craving at the time – that it wasn’t.

“What happened to Ann? Thought that’s the name we picked,” Russell teased in hopes of lightening the mood.

“Yeah, well, if you wanted a say, maybe you should’ve been there…” you retorted.

Russell should’ve known winning you over wouldn’t be as simple as spelling the ABC.

“You’re the one who left,” Russell muttered finger-pointing-ly under his breath.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why,” you bit glaringly.

Russell swallowed lightly, nodding. “You’re right. I do. I’m sorry.” Pausing, his eyes glanced around the coop before he gestured with a hand at your outfit, looking you up and down. “So, speaking of the kids, what’s going on here? Thought you were done with the deep-covers,” he changed the subject with a clear of his throat.

He knew if he continued talking about what he’d missed, he wouldn’t make it out of that chicken coop for the next several hours, sobbing uncontrollably in the hay with the hens.

“I was. Had a desk job. Kinda…” A desk job in the CIA still never really was a desk job. “I was station chief in Paris.”

“Paris, huh? Fancy,” Russell said, but the joke didn’t reach the crinkles around his eyes.

“It’s the job I took after I left. We only moved back to the States in the beginning of the year,” you explained. “The kids loved it there, though. Lewis still gets a craving for crêpes every once in a while.”

Russell chuckled, even though every story added another bruise to his heart.

“Anyways, I got a job at Langley. Desk. Bought a house not too far from here, actually. It’s nice. Got a big backyard. Even bigger oak tree,” you told him with a smile. “Lewis wants me to build him a treehouse, but I’m not sure I can swing it.”

“I could help,” Russell offered, trying to keep his eagerness at bay when truly all he wanted was to race there and build the damn thing now. “I mean, if I can come by sometime…”

Your heart sank. “You can always come home. You always could, Russ.”

Home.

That four-letter word filled him with so much warmth and longing it brought back the tears in his eyes.

“So, uhm, why are you here and not there then?” This time, he switched the topic because he would’ve kissed you if he hadn’t. “You running a sting on the pastor or…?”

“One of his sheep.”

“Ah.” Russell nodded. “Need any help?”

“From you and Colter?”

“Yeah.”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon, just lemme help. The faster you get this done and over with, the sooner you can stop clutching your fake pearls and get home to the kids,” Russell reasoned.

You sighed, knowing he was partially right. You did hate your disguise as much as you hated the annoyingly nosy pastor. Moreover, you missed your children a fucking lot. It had already been three months. Fall was coming soon, and you had promised your son you’d be home by his first day of school.

“C’mon, how did they lure you back in, huh? Who’s the naughty little sheep you’re working?”

“Can’t talk about this here,” you told him, automatically lowering your voice. It was hard to remember who you were right now, when what you were used to be was standing right in front of you.

Russell quirked a brow. “Did you bug the coop, too?”

“No, the pastor’s scared of the chickens, which is why I didn’t bother. But you never know if someone else isn’t listening. We’ve already shared too much. We shouldn’t do this here,” you insisted, and Russell nodded in agreement. He knew the dangers as well as you did.

“Then where?”

You exhaled a deep breath and thought for a moment. You wanted to see him again. You knew he didn’t just come find you to catch up and then leave again.

“Come by the house tonight. Make it look natural. I’ll invite you guys to dinner as a sort of friendly welcome wagon to the neighborhood. The pastor is gonna buy it in a heartbeat. Just give me a good reason to invite you over.”

Russell nodded in understanding. “Alright.”

Part 3: This Is a Heart-To-Heart – SOON 💚

Welp, seems like Russell omitted having a wife and two kids... 🙈😂

I'll post the next part in the beginning of the new year or straight after Polaris has finished. We'll see ☺️

Enjoy the rest of your holidays, loves! Can't wait to read your comments on this one 😉🤍

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[wave2tyun]

cherry wine | ☆

pairing: taehyun x reader

genre: college!au, chef!tyun, fluff, suggestive (it gets steamy towards the end?!)

prompts: - "i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now"

- "here- let me help you"

warnings: none<3

word count: 2.8k

a/n: special dedication to the anon who sent me an ask about this fic, hope you'll enjoy reading this again :D💓💞💘💖💓

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

there were many things that you were good that. cooking, however, was not one of them. when you first got one of your friends to come over and taste one of your dishes, they could barely hold back tears as they tried to chew the food and make it slide down their throat. knowing that you’re not a big fan of takeout, they could barely comprehend how you’ve managed to survive up until now.

the minute your uni opened up a cooking course held by the culinary arts students, your friend made sure that your name would be the first one to appear on that list- without telling you about it, of course. you had a big ego, and you most likely wouldn’t have accepted to sign up for the course yourself. therefore, so as not to risk anything, they only told you about the secret they’ve been keeping away from you one hour before the first class started.

‘stupid course’ you mumbled, putting on the apron that the chef’s assistant handed you. was it really necessary to wear it? you were thankful that at least there weren’t any other familiar faces in the room, otherwise you would have died of embarrassment. everybody else seemed to have, in one way or another, some sort of knowledge in the cooking field. meanwhile, you lacked the skills, and the blue apron you were dressed up in made you feel goofy. you glanced over at your watch: 11:02. if you were fast enough maybe there was still time for you to sneak out of there-

“good morning, everybody” a male voice was heard.

great. your one and only chance to escape slipped away from your hands. the course was officially starting, and there was no way you could back out now. you lifted your head, eyes searching for the source of the voice, and once your eyes landed on him- you couldn’t help but inhale sharply.

you were screwed.

the student that was assigned as the ‘head chef’ was cute- so much cuter than you thought. he was somehow the perfect combination of cute and hot: big shiny eyes that resembled two tapioca pearls, a soft smile that revealed his cat-like fangs, as well as broad shoulders and toned arms, which were exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

“i’m taehyun, a 3rd year culinary arts major” he introduced himself “i will be the one leading you throughout this course. thank you to everyone who has signed up, i hope you will find these lessons useful”

taehyun’s words were met with a round of applause from the other people in the room. he smiled brightly, clasping his hands together “without further ado- let’s get started. we’ll start of easy, with a basic soup recipe”

you glared at the vegetables in front of you. it seemed like your definition of easy didn’t exactly match his. making a sandwich was easy. cutting vegetables? absolutely not. you clumsily tried to follow along as taehyun demonstrated each step, paying close attention to not cut or stab your finger with the knife. these poor vegetables- your cutting board resembled a crime scene. you sighed, looking at the potatoes and carrots that you had yet to handle.

taehyun started roaming around the kitchen counters, making sure that everyone was carrying out the task well. you sensed him stopping right next to your place, and you resisted the urge to hide the mess you created with your hands. knowing that his eyes were on you, you were now feeling even more nervous than before. your hands were now starting to shake as you continued using the knife.

“can you give me your knife for a second?” taehyun asked, interrupting your actions.

 “s-sure” you stuttered, handing him the sharp object. taehyun moved closer to you, grabbing one of the carrots from the basket.

“when you cut these- make sure you get rid of the ends first” he spoke as his hands followed the instructions “this makes it a bit easier to hold the rest of the carrot. then- hold the knife straight, and push it down, separating it into smaller pieces” you watched as taehyun chopped up the rest of the carrot flawlessly, in probably less than 10 second “give it another go” he offered you the knife back, making you gulp.

you breathed in deeply, trying to calm yourself down as you reached out for your own carrot. however, your attempt was in vain. no matter how many times you tried, the pieces you were cutting ended up looking uneven. you could feel your cheeks burning intensely. “i’m so sorry-“ turning to look at taehyun in pity, you were expecting him to start laughing in your face, but you were only met with another one of his sweet smiles.

“you’re holding the knife at an angle. here- let me help you” taehyun walked behind you, his hands hovering right above yours “is this okay?” he spoke softly, waiting for your confirmation to go on.

you nodded, and taehyun took hold of your hands guiding them as he explained again “like this” he whispered, pressing down the knife gently. he was just correcting your mistakes- just doing his job, but god, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

“think you’ve got it now?” he chuckled.

you almost forgot to reply, too caught up in the moment “yeah- thank you”

“you’re welcome-“ taehyun sneaked a glance at your name tag “-y/n” the words rolled off his tongue softly.

taehyun removed his hands from you, going back to his place at the front to go on with the lesson. perhaps this course wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

the next time you had to attend the cooking course, you put in a little bit more effort in your appearance. for taehyun? maybe. only something subtle though. you did want it to be noticeable, just not too much. he wasn’t supposed to catch on to the fact that he was the cause of this.

the thought of doing mistakes didn’t seem as taunting anymore- not if it meant that taehyun would be the one helping you out again.

no matter how many times you were struggling, taehyun came over to you with a smile, fondness taking over his eyes as you furrowed your brows, paying close attention to his words.

one day, he called your name out at the end of the lesson- asking you to remain for a bit. you waited next to him as the class emptied, and taehyun shily pulled his phone out once it was just the two of you there “if you ever have questions or need help with anything- you can always text me”

and so you did. you used any excuse to talk to him, asking small questions like “how should i prepare this?” “what can i add to this?” “does this look right?” and taehyun seemed to reply with enthusiasm every time. you looked forward to seeing him every saturday at the course. any kind of stress created by college disappeared the moment you were in his warm presence, and felt his soft touch. you couldn’t help but sulk a little bit whenever he helped out other students, even though that was simply what he was supposed to do. maybe you just wanted to have all of his focus on you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

walking out after your last course of the day, you received a new message:

taehyun :)

[6:34 pm] are you free tonight? there’s something i want you to try

you typed in a quick reply, an almost immediate raise in heartbeat taking place at the thought of seeing him that evening.

you got back to your dorm as fast as possible to drop off your bag, as well as to get changed into something a tad bit more special than just some jeans and a hoodie.

once you reached taehyun’s door, you took a moment to rearrange the flyaway hairs and to make sure that your outfit looked in good condition. ringing up the doorbell, taehyun didn’t take long before opening the door, the smell of freshly-sprayed on cologne enveloping your senses, a breathless ‘hi’ escaping past both your lips at the exact same time.

the only source of light in taehyun’s apartment was the small candles sitting on the elegantly decorated dining table. it seemed like he had everything prepared, except for one single thing: the dish itself. all the ingredients were neatly prepared on the counter, as if waiting for your arrival. those were, indeed, taehyun’s intentions. he did have a special dish in mind that he wanted you to try, but the though of having you in his presence while preparing it just seemed to make his heart flutter a bit longer.

even though you were definitely not as skilled as taehyun when it came to cooking, you still offered to help him in any way you could, not wishing to simply sit around waiting to be served. for your first task, you were chopping some tomatoes for the pasta sauce. taehyun came up behind you, putting his hands on top of yours like he did during your first course with him.

“don’t worry- i know how to do this now” you said.

“really?” taehyun quirked an eyebrow, the tone of his voice both amusing yet also incredulous.

you hummed, proud of your small progress. taehyun didn’t separate himself from you “maybe i just want to stay close to you” he admitted, voice low as if he didn’t know whether it was right to confess his thoughts out loud.

“i wouldn’t mind that” you spoke quietly, letting out a confession of your own as well.

you could hear taehyun softly exhale in relief at your response. his warm chest came into contact with your back, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. it was intimate- way too intimate for those feelings of love to be clouding your heart only. his warm breath on your neck was starting to make you feel almost light-headed, to make you lose focus, and in a moment where your attention had completely dissipated into thin air, you almost let the knife cut your finger.

“are you okay? did you get hurt?” taehyun asked in worry. he brought your finger to his face upon closer inspection “it’s all good, don’t worry” you replied hurriedly, embarrassed by your lack of concentration at the task at hand “i just got lost in thought that’s all” you babbled on further. taehyun nodded as he started guiding you, holding your hand and the knife with slightly tighter grip than before to ensure that there wouldn’t be any more slip-ups “do it this way” he said.

“like this?” you repeated, trying it out yourself. you turned your head slightly to face him. there was a soft pink dusting taehyun’s cheeks.

“yeah, just like this” he answered back in a daze. you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes sneaked a glance at your lips. the thought too tempting and inviting- especially when he was holding you so close. but he had to wait- he couldn’t give in yet. the tension and lingering touches were consuming you whole as you continued to prepare the dish together.

the wine taehyun placed down the table seemed to be the perfect solution to loosen things up, to get rid of all the worries of your unspoken feelings.

“i bought this especially for tonight- it goes well with the dish” taehyun looked down as he smiled shily “i hope you’ll like it” he said as he poured each of you a glass of the sweet cherry wine.

“swirl it around first- then let the liquid touch your lips for a bit to get a small taste” he explained. taehyun already had an interest in alcohol, and the culinary arts programme had only expanded his knowledge in the field further. although it was necessary for him to learn- you found it attractive how he paid attention to even the smallest details.

the wine was more of a sweet kind than dry, intense- yet not overwhelming, and just as intoxicating as him. the pasta didn’t let down your expectations either. you had never tasted pasta with a sauce so creamy and full of flavour before, you couldn’t believe that you had assisted in the preparation and didn’t somehow ruin it.

“this tasted so good” you complimented him hurriedly between bites. taehyun couldn’t control his face at the sound of your words- a cocky grin taking over which he tried to hide subtly by having another sip of wine.

“only the best for you” he replied brazenly, reaching out his glass towards you. meeting him half-way, you clinked your glasses together, giggling at his words.

the wine glasses were filled right after another without a moment of waiting as you got through your dinner. and before you knew it, the expensive bottle was already sitting on the floor underneath the table, not a singular drop remaining in it. to you, taehyun’s eyes seemed to sparkle a bit more now, his smile at least ten times more endearing. and to taehyun? he could barely hold himself back from confessing out of the blue just so that he could finally give your lips a kiss

you clumsily gathered the dishes, bringing them over to the sink. you both agreed that washing them should be a problem for later, since you were quite (very) tipsy and didn’t want to risk flooding the apartment.

turning around after you placed the last plate in the sink, you were taken aback to see taehyun so close to you. he put his hands on the counter behind you, trapping you between it and his own body. his eyes were firmly placed on yours and you noticed how the blush on his cheeks had never disappeared. was it because of you? or just the alcohol?

his head fell on your shoulder, his hands were now on the small of your back as he tried to keep his balance.

“tae- is everything okay?” you asked worriedly. you didn’t know what his alcohol tolerance was, and you didn’t want him passing out on the floor in front of you.

taehyun hummed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his soft black hair tickled your skin, and you wished you could run your hands through it “can we just stay like this for a bit?” he mumbled.

you opened your mouth to speak, but taehyun interrupted you before you could do so “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he lightly chuckled.

“you’re probably the cause of that...” you replied, the alcohol giving you the slight push to admit it. “is that so?” taehyun lifted his head up slightly, peering into your eyes “every time i get close to you- my heart beats just the same”

your face burned instantly, locking eyes with him for just one moment, before you noticed the way his travelled down to your lips once again. taehyun licked his lips before resting his forehead against yours. his warm breath tickled your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation for him to close the gap. pulling him in by softly grabbing the collar of his shirt, your lips captured taehyun’s in a tender kiss.

taehyun melted into your touch, letting out a small gasp once he promptly parted away from you, only to come back to taste you with even more passion than before. warmth consumed you, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together in a frenzy “your lips taste so sweet” taehyun breathed out “even sweeter than the cherry wine”. taehyun clumsily moved any leftover ingredients out of the way before lifting you up on the counter, his hands trailing underneath your shirt, touching your bare back as he continued to kiss you, the desire flowing through your veins was making it unable for you to stop. it made a chill run down your spine, and you parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. your fingers got lost through the strands of his hair, pulling at them slightly and emitting a deep hum from him; hot, passionate kisses sending a rush through your whole body as you tasted him. his lips were so soft- so warm, and so incredibly addictive.

in need of oxygen, you parted away for him for a moment, his glistening lips trailing back almost immediately.

“please- will you let me have another taste?”

[respectthepetty]

Choose Violence: Pick One - GMMTV Edition

This started because of a "we hear you, and we don't judge" post because I was thinking about a pair who has *the* show that everyone loves, but I wouldn't pick that show as the show that highlights them best as a pair. So I'm going to sit in my truth for the GMMTV branded pairs and pick which show I think highlighted them best as a branded pair.

However, in order for the couples to be in this list, the pairs must have acted as at least THREE different couples as of the end of 2024, so for example, JimmySea is out because they only have Vice Versa and Last Twilight. The implied relationship in Perfect 10 Liners doesn't count since Jimmy didn't appear. So by these standards, even Singto x Krist are OUT! Most of the "newbies" like Winny x Satang are out too, but not all of them!

Off x Gun

Senior Secret Love, Theory of Love, Not Me, Cooking Crush, The Trainee

These are the boys who started the list because I should pick Not Me, but I'm going to be honest with the crowd - COOKING CRUSH! It's been their best show. Fight me!

Tay x New

Dark Blue Kiss, Cherry Magic, Peaceful Property

Technically, they shouldn't be on this list because they didn't play a couple in Peaceful Property since it wasn't a BL, but this is my list and there is no way Polca wasn't going to be included, so it's canon to me, and therefore PEACEFUL PROPERTY is their best show! I wrote what I wrote!

Earth x Mix

A Tale of Thousand Stars, Cupid's Last Wish, Moonlight Chicken

It's way too soon to know how Ossan's Love will turn out, but even if it's great, I know my choice because it will always my choice - CUPID'S LAST WISH! They played comedy, drama, and romance. It gave them dimensions. It gave them the range.

Pond x Phuwin

Fish Upon the Sky, Never Let Me Go, We Are

Oh, this is soooo har---NEVER LET ME GO!

Force x Book

Enchanté, A Boss and a Babe, Only Friends, Only Boo, Perfect 10 Liners

I know I should pick A Boss and a Babe, and before 2024, I would have easily picked that show, but now I know that Force and Book have the range, yet have been handed some of the weakest plots that horribly typecast them, so my pick is the only one that did them true justice - PEACEFUL PROPERTY with a steel chair!

First x Khaotung

The Eclipse, Moonlight Chicken, Only Friends, The Heart Killers

They will always turn out the best performance, but I have to go with the reason we even got them in the first place - THE ECLIPSE. Easy.

Milk x Love

Bad Buddy, Vice Versa, 23.5

BAD BUDDY, duh.

Gemini x Fourth

My School President, Moonlight Chicken, My Love Mix-Up

Were they a couple in Bad Buddy? Doesn't matter because there is only one show here that proved to me that even if I hate their upcoming Ticket to Heaven, they will win all the awards for it because they can act and had me by the throat in MOONLIGHT CHICKEN. Good for them!

Junior x Mark

Midnight Museum, Cherry Magic, Perfect 10 Liners

I really think they are going to serve in Perfect 10 Liners, but just like Force and Book stealing my heart in one episode in Peaceful Property, Junior and Mark did the same in MIDNIGHT MUSEUM, and I still hope they are together in a parallel universe.

Boun x Prem

Until We Meet Again/Between Us, Even Sun, Cutie Pie

It'd be obvious to go with Win x Team since they played them twice, but fuck it, we ball, so it's CUTIE PIE for the established couple!

View x June

10 Year Ticket, Dangerous Romance, 23.5., High School Frenemy

I have to squint for some of these, but this is my list, so since I'm not getting them again, I'll do what I want! I'm giving it to the show I only watched fan-made videos of their parts - HIGH SCHOOL FRENEMY since I think they did best with hating AND pining.

Aou x Boom

Midnight Museum, Vice Versa, Hidden Agenda, We Are, Perfect 10 Liners

This is the hardest one because they have played a couple so many times and it all started with Enchanté where they weren't even a couple (right?), but even the tiny knowledge that Dome took over Boom's body in Midnight Museum had me in my feels! I'm confident that Memoir of Rati is going to be their best outing so far, but I still wouldn't be able to pick just one. DRAW because I think every version of a couple they have played is fantastic. Period.

Joong x Dunk

Star in My Mind, Hidden Agenda, The Heart Killers

I'm a Jaidee fan first, and a human second, so I love everything they have done, but gun to head, it'd be THE HEART KILLERS.

And it's only because the show leans into why I think they are a great pair in the first place since this is how they behaved in Safe House.

Basically, I think they are playing themselves.

A really loud kid pestering a quiet kid into leaving the house.

Choose Violence Bonus Round:

Ohm x Singto in He's Coming to Me is the best pairing either has had, and the competition isn't even close.

Thor x Fluke should have been a branded pair after The Warp Effect and could've easily pulled Wandee Goodday off (glad we got Great x Inn though).

And for Marc x Poon to be thrown together at the last minute, they are running circles around these established couples.

I wrote what I wrote. Fight me in a Texas Chicken parking lot, and come prepared because the streets raised me, and I'm Catholic, so I ain't afraid to go hard 'cause God will forgive me!

[wheeboo]

the secret life of jun | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. in which jun gets set up on a blind date by his best friend. PAIRING. zoolinguist!wen junhui x gn!reader (ft. minghao, gyu the golden retriever, boo the duckling, and lil mentions of some members as their representative animals. not hybrids.) GENRE. fluff, humour, kinda strangers to lovers, magic-realism au WARNINGS. cursing, jun just being a very cute awkward shy boy :(, my first attempt at something remotely magic/fantasy WORD COUNT. 3k

notes: this is for the caratlibrary secret gift exchange event! and therefore, this gift is for @phenomenalgirl9 who also gifted a fic for me hehe. i hope you enjoy <3 this is also my first time writing something remotely fantasy/magic, so... feedback is welcome! ty to my lovely moots who read this over for me ^^

"Jun! Can you tell your dog to get the fuck off me?" Minghao attempts to shove away the ever-persistent golden retriever pawing and licking at his face, but Jun doesn't seem to hear, seemingly engrossed on something else entirely in the kitchen.

Minghao just groans annoyedly, and just as he's about to call out for his best friend's name again, a thought crosses his mind. A sort-of stupid one that he knows won't work, but he'll try it out anyway.

He brings a hand up, watching the dog follow it with curiosity, and he points to the ground while firmly saying, "Down."

Unfortunately, the dog only tilts his head inquisitively, as if dazed and confused by the action, before relentlessly pouncing on the boy again, and all he could do is surrender himself to the attack of excitement. Right, he thinks, these animals don't exactly understand him normally.

Jun finally emerges from the kitchen after what feels like an eternity, a black cat cuddled gently in his arms, lightly running his fingers through its fur carefully. When he picks his head up, he could only chuckle at the sight in front of him. Minghao only rolls his eyes, shooting a playful glare to his best friend who only seems amused.

"Your dog is a menace," Minghao declares, wiping away the slobber from his face.

"Come on! Gyu just likes you."

"I'm not sure I share the sentiment right now," Minghao replies almost coldly, perhaps even half-jokingly, attempting to regain his composure.

Jun just sighs and sends out a whistle from his lips to get the dog's attention. And with a subtle look from just his eyes, as if sending a silent signal, Gyu hops off the couch and trots over to Jun, letting out a few barks in response.

"He says he doesn't like your attitude today," Jun translates, setting the cat in his hands down on the floor. "but he's forgiven you."

"Gee, thanks," Minghao scoffs and crosses his arms together, still trying to maintain a façade of irritation, though it's quite easy to see right through it.

He watches for some time as Jun crouches down to the dog's level, the two of them communicating in a way he knows he can never understand, but is grown to be amazed by every time. It isn't a secret that he knows that his own best friend can communicate with animals, as strange as that might sound (because... it's true), but it's a fact he's fully accepted.

Jun probably has more animal friends than human friends at this point. He's made friends with the birds at the park, the stray cats that roam the streets, a deer that comes to visit occasionally behind his place, an otter that frequents at a nearby pond, hell even one of the tigers at the zoo𑁋the list goes on.

And not to exactly complain, but he also really wants Jun to find a fucking partner.

Not that it's a bad thing Jun isn't seeing anyone, and it totally isn't the entire reason why Minghao is here right now. He has tried to set Jun up on dates, but the older boy almost always manages to find some excuse or simply doesn't show up, claiming he got caught up in a conversation with a stray cat or a butterfly on the way. Or the date ends up in disaster with a chase down the street of the neighbourhood raccoons stealing food.

But then again, that's Jun for you𑁋unpredictable.

"One more date."

Jun raises his head, and the moment he sees that particular smirk to Minghao's face, he groans.

"No."

"Oh, come on, just one more," Minghao insists. "I promise you'll like them. They're an animal lover."

"Just because they're an animal lover doesn't mean𑁋"

"You're either going to be drinking 'till you're absolutely couch-ridden on new year's because you're single and lonely again, or you could be celebrating with someone special. Your call, dude."

Jun finds his face flushing out of embarrassment, scratching absentmindedly behind Gyu's ears as Minghao's words wash over him. Then his features soften, and he lets out a sigh.

"Fine," he relents. "One more."

Shit, he's screwed. The minute Minghao told him the date would be happening in the middle of the park where he often chatted with the local squirrels and ducks, Jun knew this already wouldn't end well.

He also had quite the love-hate relationship with blind dates𑁋or dates in general, to be honest𑁋and the thought of meeting a stranger made his palms sweat even with the cold threatening through his thick coat (he's convinced that Minghao is pulling anyone out of his ass at this point).

The park is covered with a light blanket of snow, the trees standing tall and glowing with strings of fairy lights against the grey winter sky. Jun shivers in place and adjusts the scarf around his neck, partially from the cold and partially from the impending awkwardness he anticipates.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry for being late! The traffic was awful coming here and I got a bit lost..."

The voice is frantic and panicky to Jun's ears akin to his equally panicking heart, who turns around to a figure rushing up to him, covered in layers and letting out misty breaths that appear in the air.

"It's okay," Jun says, voice coming out a bit awkward. He offers a reassuring smile. "I'm, uh... Jun, by the way."

"Y/N," You say, relieved as you finally catch your breath and look up at him with a cute grin. "I'm so sorry for being late. I hope you weren't waiting for too long."

"Oh, not at all. I... just got here as well." It's a bit of a white lie𑁋he was beginning to worry you ditched him, honestly. Jun feels his hands fidget in his pockets nervously, yet he sees the ease that washes over your features at his words, and he relaxes slightly. There's something about the way you carry yourself and the slight blush on your cheeks from the cold that eases some of his tension.

And maybe, just maybe, his heart stutters a little at your smile, like a startled butterfly in his chest. Did the lights at the park grow brighter?

"Would you like to, uh, maybe grab some hot chocolate?" Jun suggests, gesturing towards the small, lit up kiosk nestled in the corner of the park that seemed quite busy with customers. "It can help... warm you up."

Your eyes light up to his words, grinning. "That sounds perfect, actually."

As you both walk towards the kiosk, the air seems to crackle with a nervous energy Jun hadn't expected. Despite the awkwardness gnawing at him, he can't deny the strange sense of hope fluttering in his stomach, somewhat like a small bird unsure of its flight. He's not the best at dates and probably never will be, but for some reason, feeling this sort of apprehension is unlike anything else he's felt. It's not uncomfortable per se, but more... exciting?

The two of you stand in the back of the line, shoulder-to-shoulder, hands tucked deep in your pockets and sharing silences punctuated by the occasional nervous giggle when your eyes meet. The line at the kiosk is surprisingly long, a mix of bundled-up families with laughing children and young couples warming their hands around steaming plastic cups.

When your shoulder brushes against his, Jun freezes for a moment, feeling a warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate. He steals a glance at you, finding your gaze already on him, and there's a shy smile that you both share before you look away first.

Then Jun notices it𑁋you're shivering.

It's almost imperceptible at first, a slight tremor running through your shoulders as you shift your weight from foot to foot. He hesitates for a moment, then a nervous breath leaves him. Fuck it.

Without a word, he unravels the wooly scarf from around his neck and drapes it over you, fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary as he adjusts it comfortably. You blink up at Jun with wide eyes.

"Sorry I, uh... noticed you were cold," he mumbles, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

You glance at him, surprise evident in your eyes, and then you chuckle. "Are you sure? I don't want you to freeze."

"I'll be alright," Jun just assures calmly, though the chill creeping up his neck is a bit hard to hide now.

The line moves forward, and soon you're ordering hot chocolate for the both of you. Jun pays for both, insisting with a small nod when you attempt to pull out your wallet.

As Jun and you clutch the steaming cups, the warmth radiating through the thin plastic felt almost comforting. The park bustles around you, but with each sip, the outside world seems to fade away, leaving only the diffident hum of conversation and the fluttering hope that dances between you.

"So, uh, what kind of animals do you like?" Jun asks, trying to break the ice as you both trail down an empty path close to the icy pond nearby. He's not exactly smooth with conversation, but he figures asking about your supposed love for animals is a safe bet. "I've been told you like them."

Your eyes light up as you take a swift, long sip of the hot chocolate, the warmth quickly spreading through you.

"Oh, all kinds!" You answer eagerly. "I volunteer at an animal shelter not that far from here and take care of the injured ones. I have a lot of pets at home too𑁋a hamster, a dog, a few cats, a rabbit... How about you?"

You spoke so quickly that Jun could barely register it all, but he can't help but grin at your enthusiasm. It’s almost infectious.

"Wow, I have, uh... a dog and a cat at home... Gyu and Woozi are their names," Jun replies slowly, almost unsurely.

"That's really cute!" You tell him, catching the way the corners of his lips crinkle up just slightly and how he has to angle his face down just to hide it. "My hamster's name is Hoshi! My dog is Minnie, my rabbit is Hannie, and my cats are Wonu, Nonie..."

Listening to you list your pets' names and some of the ones you've taken care of at the shelter makes Jun feel just a tiny bit lighter with each step he takes with you, and also from the way your eyes sparkle with every word you spoke. He finds himself letting out giggles at your stories of Hoshi's escape attempts and Min's stubborn streak, and for the first time in a long time, he feels truly comfortable, truly seen in a way that didn't feel fake.

Yet it doesn't take long for that feeling to falter just slightly. He doesn't know what Minghao exactly told you about him, or if anything at all𑁋how does he explain to you that he can quite literally talk to animals?

He knew that spilling the beans could go one of two ways: either you'd think he was crazy, or you'd be amazed (and maybe even a little scared). He's never exactly revealed it to any person he goes on a date with because, in the end, after a handful of mishap encounters with animals that don't mean to ruin the date, they end up leaving anyway.

Should he tell you? The words dance on his tongue, ready to tumble out, but that unwanted fear of rejection holds him back once again.

But before he can say anything, a squeaky quack pierces through the air, snapping Jun out of his thoughts. He looks down to see a small duckling waddling towards them, its tiny yellow head bobbing with each step. It stops in front of you, tilting its head inquisitively as it looks you up and down curiously, before heading to Jun's feet and quacking loudly.

It's Boo, one of the park's young resident chatterboxes who loves nothing more than socialising and the occasional spread of gossip. Jun had befriended Boo a while back, often sharing stories and snacks by the pond. But what was Boo doing here, and why does he look so worried? Jun could almost hear a frantic heartbeat echoing through the duckling's chest.

Boo lets out a series of rapid quacks. Jun strains to decipher the splurge of words, picking up snippets about stolen food and a local raccoon, and... how one of his siblings is stuck somewhere.

"Oh my gosh, you're so cute!" You exclaim, kneeling down upon noticing the young duck in front of Jun and extending a tentative hand. "What are you doing out here, little one? You're going to freeze."

Jun could only listen as the distraught duck spills its frustration on you. Yet you didn't understand anything, only continuing to coo about how cute the duckling is, and Jun watches as Boo looks up at him with pleading eyes, urging him to do something. He knew he had to act, but he glances at you, still kneeling with outstretched hand at Boo, and his mind races.

Should he explain his... ability to you and risk making you uncomfortable? Or maybe try to handle it on his own, somehow decipher Boo's instructions and lead you on a cryptic animal rescue mission that might look completely bizarre, delusional, and psychotic?

"Do you think it's lost?" You ask worriedly, glancing back up at Jun. And when his gaze catches yours, warm and hopeful in the glow of the fairy lights surrounding you, a surge of determination pulses through him.

Jun only quietly chuckles at Boo's attempts to tell you his name, his tiny feathered body vibrating with slight annoyance, but your gentle cooing and outstretched hand seem to soothe him a little. The sight stirs something deep within him, a warmth that spreads beyond the simple comfort of the hot chocolate from earlier.

"He's not lost," Jun says, his gaze meeting yours. "He's... a friend. And he's telling us a story. Oh, and his name is Boo, by the way."

Your brow furrows in confusion, a tiny crease appearing between your eyes. “You… understand ducks?”

Jun offers a hesitant smile, a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. There's no going back now.

“It’s a bit more than that,” he admits sheepishly, watching your expression shift from curious to intrigued. “I can, um, like... sort of talk to animals, I guess. Or they sort of talk to me, basically, yeah..."

The silence that follows is deafening. Jun braces himself for a wave of disbelief, rejection, maybe even a startled shriek. But instead, your eyes widen with awe, a growing smile forms on your lips, and Jun can't quite bring himself to tear his gaze away from you. He'd taken a leap of faith, and you, instead of running for the hills, were looking at him with... wonder?

"Wow, that's..." You breathe, voice hushed with wonder. "I-I mean I always knew that... sort of existed? Like, in research papers and ancient history, but meeting someone who can actually do it is just..."

Jun blinks, a bit taken aback by your reaction.

"You're not... freaked out or anything?" he asks cautiously. "Like... you actually believe me?"

"Jun." You turn to him, shifting so that your knees are slightly touching in the snow. "Minghao told me like... a lot of things, or tried to at least. I mean, at first I found it ridiculous, then I realised that this is Xu Minghao telling me this, and if he's vouching for you, it must be true. And, well... I really wanted to get to know you too."

Oh. "Oh," Jun mutters, cheeks flushing and face burning. Minghao, of course. He should have known his best friend with a 'credible' reputation wouldn't simply set him up on a blind date without throwing him under the bus a little bit. "I mean, it-it's nothing too fascinating. No mind-reading or telepathy exactly, just… understanding their gestures and stuff. It's kind of like learning a new language, you know?"

"Well, can you tell me what Boo is saying then?" You quirk up expectantly, and Jun swears he cannot handle more than five seconds of you peering at him without melting completely. His heart does a little double flip in his chest, landing somewhere around his ankles.

Jun chuckles, a warm sound that feels right at home amidst the snowy air. Then he takes a deep breath, steadying himself under your gaze, before turning his attention back to the little duck at his feet.

"Alright, alright," he teases, ruffling Boo's feathers playfully. "Don't get jealous, little guy. Spill it."

Boo then goes on an insistent frenzy of quacks, and you could only watch in awe as Jun listens carefully, nodding and humming in response. There's a certain magic in the air that you can sense, as if you've stepped right into a fairytale of some sorts. The small duckling then looks up at you with begging eyes, as if seeking your help as well. Jun shoots you a quick glance, and you can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"He's pretty worked up," he admits, clearing his throat. "He's telling me about a raccoon that stole his flock's food, and... um, one of his siblings is stuck in a log somewhere. I have some food with me, but he wants to find his sibling first. He knows the way."

"Then let's do it," You say, rising to your feet and dusting off the snow on your pants.

Jun hesitates again, staring at you in slight disbelief𑁋you want to come with him? He glances at Boo, who lets out a frustrated quack, urging him to make a decision. Then he looks back at you, your kind eyes holding his own, and suddenly the choice becomes clear.

"Do you trust me?" Jun asks softly, his heart pounding in his chest.

You hold his gaze for a moment, a thoughtful look on your face. Then a smile blooms across your lips, one that reaches your eyes and seems to chase away the worry.

"I trust you," You answer, stretching an open hand towards him.

Jun feels a warmth spread through him, and he grabs your hand in his. Relief and something else courses through him, like excitement and perhaps a bit of fear. You were in, and that was all that mattered.

Boo lets out a triumphant quack, and with him waddling excitedly at your feet, you follow Jun deeper into the park, the fairy lights casting long shadows against the snow-covered ground. It's a strange sight𑁋you walking on one side of Jun and a duckling trotting on the other𑁋but with every step, whatever awkwardness that was lingering seems to melt away.

And maybe, just maybe, something else was blossoming too.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Masterlist

My Dead Boy Detectives swearing posts are on the way!

I went through each episode and tallied up every curse word I could find, and the results are in!

I’ll be putting up posts for individual episodes, characters, and words- with lots of interlinks to hopefully make navigating everything easy. This post will be the Masterlist, updated with direct links each time a new individual post goes up.

Each post will have charts and graphs, as well as the original lines containing each swear.

Lines in red below are posts that have not gone up yet. Lines in black are up and links should be live. All posts will be tagged as “#dead boy detectives swearing” on my blog.

Episodes:

The Case of Crystal Palace

The Case of the Dandelion Shrine

The Case of the Devlin House

The Case of the Lighthouse Leapers

The Case of the Two Dead Dragons

The Case of the Creeping Forest

The Case of the Very Long Stairway

The Case of the Hungry Snake

Characters:

Edwin Payne

Charles Rowland

Crystal Palace

Niko Sasaki

Jenny Green

David the Demon

Esther Finch

The Night Nurse

The Cat King

Tabby and Calico Cats

Litty

Kingham

Maxine

The Boys Who Killed The Boys (Simon & Charles’ ‘Friend’)

Ghostly Clients

Brad

Hunter

Maren

Twitchy Richie

Crystal’s Parents

Girls in Crystal’s Memories

Non-Cursing Characters

Words:

Fuck

Shit

Bitch

Ass

Damn

Hell

Bloody

Bloody Hell

God

Jesus

Screw

Words said only once

Words said only twice

Words said only thrice

Overall notes/caveats:

-I did a couple double check rewatches, and tried my best to be accurate, but I still might have missed something- if you spot one I’ve not included, please let me know!

- I did not include the episode recaps in the tallies.

- Variations of the same word are grouped together- for example, ‘Shit’ ‘Bullshit’ and ‘BS’ were all counted towards the total for ‘Shit’.

-The exception to this was ‘Bloody’ ‘Hell’ and ‘Bloody Hell’- all three were counted separately.

- If a word was not used as a curse, it was not counted. For example, ‘I spent seventy years in Hell’ was not counted, while ‘What the hell?’ was.

- I am not British, and therefore I’m not 100% on all the British curses. If there were words I wasn’t sure about, they were not included in the tallies, but will appear in the relevant posts as bonus comments. Again, please feel free to correct me if any words were categorized incorrectly and I’ll update the posts!

- I’ll do my best to get them out as quickly as I can, I’m aiming for minimum one a day but will be trying to do more whenever possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detective ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Color Changes

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full Soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress.

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

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

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

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

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

The year moves too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens when you’re finally being served.

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

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

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

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

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

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

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

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

You compartmentalise.

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

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

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

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

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

A late night.

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

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

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

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

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

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

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

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

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

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

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

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

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

You just know its absence is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

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

His grip loosens, though slightly.

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

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you open the tap.

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

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

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

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

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

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

You don’t remember.

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

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

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

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

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

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

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

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

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

None of it arrives.

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

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

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

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

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

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

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

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

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

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

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

“But I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

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

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

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

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

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

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

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

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

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

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

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

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

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

“Good,” you reply.

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

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

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

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

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

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

He keeps his word.

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

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

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

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

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

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

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

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

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

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

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

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

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

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

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

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

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, then audibly reply.

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

The drive is quiet.

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

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

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

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

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

He’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

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

The clinic is bright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A confused sound leaves Javier.

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?��

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

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

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

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

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

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

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

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

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

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

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

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

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

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

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

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not pregnant.

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

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

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

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

Over your empty womb.

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

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

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

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

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

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

See, you know why he’s calling.

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

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

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

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

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

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

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

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

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

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

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

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

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

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

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s on the younger side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

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

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

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

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

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

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

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

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

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

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

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

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

You both gather some decorum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then two steps, which you also match.

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

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

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

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

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

That single action changes the game, entirely.

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

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

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

The grip tightens.

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

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

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

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

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

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

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

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

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

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

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

A picture of Javi, and you.

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

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

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

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

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

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

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

He does good to bring you back into the room.

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

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

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

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

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

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

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

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

The card is plucked out your hand.

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

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

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

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

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

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

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

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

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

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

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

A few seconds pass. 

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

You feel the air tickle your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

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

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

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

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

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

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

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

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

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

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

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

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

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’d catch you, if you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both crash and burn, together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

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

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

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

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

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

Lights, baubles, action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

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

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

“Some what?”

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

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

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

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

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

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

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

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

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

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

Until tonight.

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

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

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

He’d offered to take you home.

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

He squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

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

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

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

It’s not just Christmas.

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

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

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

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

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

It’s the part you look forward to most.

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

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

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

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

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

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

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

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

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

Hinted at it, slightly.

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

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

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

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

The whole room stops.

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

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

Fades to grey.

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

He knows.

Of course he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

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

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

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

You say you’re tired.

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

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

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

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.