#day 5: flight/nature
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naminethewriter · 5 months ago
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Overwhelmed but Happy
Day 5 and who to better focus on when it's about flight than Virgil? 🤭 @anaroceitweek
Masterpost | Anaroceit Week 2024 Masterpost | Ao3
Summary: Virgil runs when flustered. This is the most flustered he's ever been, probably.
Content Warnings: None
~~*~~
Virgil continued to run until he collapsed on a bench along the path. He took deep breaths as he let the situation that had just happened play in his head again.
Roman and Janus had asked him to join them on a walk.
Then they had confessed to him.
Both of them.
Virgil had felt his face go red and instinctively, he had run.
Fuck, was that embarrassing.
He could never face them again.
“Virgil, darling?” he suddenly heard Janus voice. “That was very cute but are you okay?”
He groaned but couldn’t help smiling. He did love them back.
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boysbeloving · 8 months ago
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I totally understand not feeling human and not being able to think properly without 8 hours of sleep because I am the same but I just can't imagine the man who is a model/actor/CEO of boc music s family business and just loves to have late night sessions with his guitar and consistently posts 3 am ig reels somehow also gets 8 hours of sleep a day. WHEN DO YOU HAVE THE TIME MILE??!??
NONNIIIIEEEEEE 😭😭😭😭
the man being busy is an understatement lol
i honestly don't think he's getting his eight hours.....not daily for sure
but he's managing to keep himself fit and available for the commitments that he's required to be at so that's a great thing
honestly, back in my 20s i also did A LOT on a daily basis along with travelling long distances...i was young and had slightly more energy than now and was passionate about the things i did
and i think it does come down to that a bit....your own passion and joy that you derive out of things....that helps drive oneself to do more of it i think...along with MANY other factors ofc but yeah, this is one big factor too
and i'm VERY VERY happy that mile has given himself this opportunity to pursue his love for music in a professional way.....he's a music lover and a business lover so why not combine both the loves right?
i hope he gets time and energy to look after the family business as well
nonnie we can wish mile success in all his endeavours and wish for him to be healthy and happy!
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thorsenmark · 1 year ago
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A Sunday Vacation Along the Shores of the Pacific Ocean in Tolowa Dunes State Park by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A setting looking to the north while walking along the Pacific Ocean coastline in Tolowa Dunes State Park. The overcast skies and off and on drizzle helped to create what I felt was a minimalist feel to the image captured.
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arolesbianism · 1 year ago
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It's so sad that I have some stories I don't talk abt on here because I wanna keep them in the "I might do smth with them" vault. Y'all would love Barry B. Barry, rip
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sobfultoast · 8 months ago
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•~°◇ Just the Little Human Things ◇°~•
Prompt: Humans and demons are different, no duh. There are some things that we do naturally that shocked and freak out the brothers. Here are some random few (each linked to a specific brother, like 1 means Lucifer, etc).
Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor.
• ~ ° ◇ ° ~ •
1. Cracking bones.
You spent a long day dealing with your studies. Your fingers cramped. So you cracked them. Lucifer was appalled. He thought you just broke yourself. Lucifer goes straight to you and asks if you just broke your finger or something along those lines. After calming him down and just explaining that you were popping the air bubbles in your joints because they ached, he was more appalled.
Humans can get air bubbles in between their bones?! That's so weird. Demons can't crack their joints. If they make any cracking noise, they probably cracked their bones.
At least you're not hurt. That is all that matters to him.
2. Adrenaline.
Demons have instincts like humans, but they don't have adrenaline. They have the same amount of strength and power, no matter the situation. No amount of tension will give them a random boost in a fight. Humans do. It's called adrenaline (SHOCKING). Boosting our stamina, pain tolerance, reaction time, and strength. It's like a superpower! A superpower that Mamon was unaware of at the time.
You both were running from trouble, as normal. Even though your body was in its flight or fight, no amount of adrenaline will make you run as fast as the fastest demon in hell! So how was he supposed to know! It was until there was a dead end. The door was locked. Mammon was about to use some magic to open it because the angry demons were very close behind you guys. before he could, BAM! You ram right into it and smash it open
What. The. Hell??? Are you on steroids or something?!
Once you escape, Mammon has so many questions. He now thinks adrenaline is so cool.
3. Being social animals.
Demons aren't necessarily social creatures. Some will go millennias without talking to anything, and they don't go insane. It's just a lot of demons like socialising. Levi is not one of those demons, though. Levi will go some months without speaking to anyone, even some days without speaking to his brothers. He thought humans were the same. He didn't know that it could cause mental issues like insanity or depression.
Levi only found out because he was watching a horror anime, where a human character was isolated for months and went insane. He thought it was fiction, but then he asked you. As soon as yes leaves your mouth, he is in utter disbelief.
Now he feels bad whenever he has you holed up in his room. Don't you want to socialise? He wouldn't mind if you went to party with Asmo and Mammon... At least he'd try not to mind. Are you sure you're okay with just him? Yeah? ... He thinks he is okay with just you, too.
4. Humans on the moon?
When you came to devildom, even though Satan wasn't that close to you, he did research about humans out of curiosity. Satan learnt about human history, myths & legends, science (a.k.a human magic), medicine, and even decided to research human technology.
The only thing he didn't know was that humans went to the moon. When he was doing human history, he was doing ancient human history. Being a demon who was immortal, Satan classed anything from the last 100 years as morden to him. He was alive during it. He should know when it happens. But somehow, no one talked about the humans landing on the moon.
You wanted to know if demons had also gone to space, and he answered with, "No. Some of angels have... What do you mean also?" Humans, flightless and magicless fleshbags, have gone to the stars?!
5. Baby teeth falling out.
Asmodeus wanted to see childhood pictures of you! He was going on about how cute you were until he saw that in one of your photos that you were missing a tooth?! Asmo didn't know you were missing a tooth! He immediately tried to look in your mouth for that missing tooth, but there was a tooth there?! What?! Did you get some sort of tooth surgery?
Demons and angels don't have baby teeth. They are made not to naturally lose any of their teeth, and if they lose a tooth, they have to get a surjery to get it back. So, this concept is crazy to them.
Asmo was thankful it was natural. You made him panic!
6. Stretch marks.
Demons have rapid regeneration, so they don't get stretch marks. The scars just heal immediately as it isn't a deep wound to them.
Beelzebub had no idea humans could get them. He thought some demon attacked or tried to put a hex on you, but once you explained it to him, it blew his mind. Losing or gaining weight causes these marks? Humans are stretchy??? That's cute.
Beelzebub likes running his hand over the marks. It's fascinating to him.
7. Modern medicine.
Belphegor knew a lot about humans due to his human phase when he was an angel. There isn't anything that you do that surprises him. Belphie even knows humans went to the moon because he is an astrology girlie. But he is clueless about morden medicine.
Belphie lost interest in humans when he fell, obviously. He didn't want to interact with humans after his hatred for them developed. So he has no idea about morden human medicine.
Humans don't use frog eggs anymore? They were unsafe? Really? Belphie thought they worked. He did not know humans were just as unknowledgable as he was back then. Belphie learnt after you accidentally got a paper cut, and Belphie said he'd go get the plasters and leeches.
You had to tell him that the leaches were outdated by a few decades.
•~°◇ Have a kind day! ◇°~•
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moonstruckme · 1 month ago
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hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈
Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)
collab with @ellecdc
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12
cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words
“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”
Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better. 
You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice. 
You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine. 
Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends. 
Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you. 
He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room. 
Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives. 
But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good. 
Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door. 
He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.
Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question. 
He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it. 
You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.” 
“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.” 
“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”
“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.” 
“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.” 
“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.” 
“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?” 
Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more. 
“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?” 
That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed. 
He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes. 
“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.” 
“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.” 
The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years. 
“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.” 
“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.” 
Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either. 
“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.” 
You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?” 
“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.” 
You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?” 
A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.” 
“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?” 
Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.” 
You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand. 
“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I���m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.” 
That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again. 
“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I’m going to let you both down.” 
“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.” 
You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him. 
“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.” 
You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.
“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.” 
“You did, too,” you murmur. 
His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.” 
Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand. 
You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?” 
“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?” 
You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.” 
“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.” 
Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound. 
Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—
Sirius. 
Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you. 
“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”
Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. 
“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.” 
He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide. 
“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” 
You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.” 
“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 
“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.” 
Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand. 
“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly. 
He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”
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doctorbeth · 2 years ago
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Mimming from Singapore
A couple months ago I received an email from Mimming's person in Singapore. Mimming is an almost 40 year old teddy bear, and she's been very well loved... and hugged.
This is what Mimming looked like when she was young:
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And this is what she looked like at the start of 2023:
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As you can see, she lost a lot of weight and fur from hugs over the years. Her eyes have cataracts (you'll see those better later), her nose is dangling due to muzzle shrinkage, and she has some pretty significant wounds she usually keeps under her shirt. But she's still a very cuddly bear with an endearing expression.
Her person was hoping to get Mimming recovered in new fur, so she could be hugged and have adventures for at least 40 more years. A new nose and new eyes were under consideration, and we agreed starting with a spa (especially since her stuffing was so compressed, was probably in order. So... Mimming found a flight with her buddy Little Mimming to keep her company (you'll see her later) and headed across the Pacific to CA. While Mimming is well travelled, this was a first solo Pacific flight, and so it was bit scary, hence the company. It actually took less than a week for her to arrive!
She started with her bubble bath, that way new fur would match her cleaned fur color.
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You can see her cataracts, particularly in her right eye, and how loose and chipped her nose is here.
Next was deciding if she would get a new nose and eyes, or keep her originals. Turns out, there were many nose options. Smooth like nose, flocked/velvety, size differences:
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Her person opted for a new, velvety, triangular nose. For her eyes, there was really only one option, new or not. I can usually get pretty good color matches, but Mimming's eyes had also faded, so new eyes would be a touch brighter. Once eyes or a nose come out, they can't go back in, and with recovering it's best to remove them before recovering, so this was a decision that needed to be made before fur choice. Here's the eye option next to her original eye:
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Mimming's person opted for two new eyes. We agreed to preserve her old eyes and nose in her heart with a bit of her stuffing. But first, she needed new fur. Here were some of the white fur options:
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Mimming's person went with the thick white faux fur, and surgery proceeded. For her brown patch, I had furs to match all of the white fur options, so we were all set there.
Here's her heart being made and installed:
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And here are the first photos of Mimming in all new fur. She still has open seams, so her chubbiness can be adjusted:
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While she sits naturally like in her baby photos, she can also lay flat like she could when she arrived. Chubbiness approved, Mimming got dressed and went outside for a photo shoot. She was well traveled, but had never been to California, and she wanted some photos as souvenirs. Little Mimming joined her for the photo shoot (those were the first tulips of the season):
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And those adorable knitted overalls? Those are Mimming's regular travel clothes that she arrived in. Good thing that knit stretches. I particularly liked the little teddy bear buttons to hold the straps.
Mimming and Little Mimming flew home and again, it was a fast trip, just 5 days! Here they are safe and sound, albeit a little jet lagged, with their friends:
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Her person wrote:
Thank you so much!! She looks amazing! We are so happy we got to spend the rest of our lifetime with her - another 40+ years!! Thank you Doctor Beth for taking great care of her. You’re such a blessing to all of us! Praying for your good health and good life. Stay happy and blessed!
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solarmorrigan · 2 months ago
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It's Coming From Inside the House
For the @steddie-spooktober day 5 prompt: "Did you hear that?" Rated: T | Words: 2472 | CW: panic attack, mentions of recreational drug use | Tags: Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington friendship, pre-relationship, sorta, Eddie Munson being an asshole, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, he has the range, Steve Harrington has PTSD, post season 2, pre season 3 Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics
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Now look, Eddie has never claimed to be the world’s nicest guy. He’s often claimed the opposite, in fact, in the name of getting shithead bullies and jocks to leave him and his alone.
And Harrington is no saint, either. Sure, he’s turned over some kind of new leaf since last year, ditching the assholes he used to hang out with and mostly keeping to himself (particularly since November, when his busted face had been the talk of Hawkins High), but he’s been part of enough sportsball-related hazing rituals for Eddie to assume he can at least take a joke.
Anyway, the point is, when he’s given occasion to realize that King Steve seems to be afraid of the dark, Eddie isn’t quite able to resist the urge to poke at him. Just a little.
He’s got Harrington in his trailer, just dropping by for a late-night transaction, and they’ve got an unexpected spring storm raging outside. It had just blown in, heavy winds and rain and all, surrounding the trailer with the sound of nature’s howling fury, and Harrington already seems on edge (probably why he needs the weed, really).
And then the lights flicker–
Flicker–
Flicker–
And cut out.
Both Eddie and Harrington freeze, plunged into darkness cut only by the frequent flashes of lightning.
“What just happened?” Harrington asks, his voice gone tight.
“Seems like the power went out,” Eddie snarks, because that much should be obvious. “Probably the wind. The grid isn’t as secure out here where it’s only us poor people.”
Harrington has no comeback, which is a little disappointing. He’s so quiet that the only way Eddie can tell he’s still there at all is because he can see him illuminated by brief lightning strikes.
Eddie sighs and starts shuffling in the direction of the kitchen. “Gimme a minute, I think we’ve got an old camping lantern somewhere.”
He bangs his knees on just about every object he walks past, swearing up a storm, but he finally makes it to the kitchen and feels around in the cabinets for the lantern he hopes is still there. He knocks over a few pots and pans in the process, but finally – success!
Eddie gropes for the switch on top of the lantern as he pulls it from the cabinet, praying that the battery inside is still good, and flinches and blinks the sparkles from his eyes when the thing lights up about six inches from his face.
Illumination acquired, Eddie uses it to find the junk drawer and pull out the flashlight they keep inside (might’ve been easier to find that first, instead of knocking into all the cookware, now that Eddie thinks on it), and then heads back to where he’s left Harrington standing in the living room.
“Let there be light,” he says, holding up the old lantern in victory.
Harrington, again, says nothing. He looks pale in the light of the lantern, nearly frozen where he stands, staring out the window. He almost reminds Eddie of a frightened rabbit, eyes wide and body locked up in a fight, flight, or freeze response heavily weighted in favor of the third option. And if he’s the rabbit, Eddie is like nothing so much as the wolf, ready to sink his teeth in.
Just a little. Just as a joke, that’s all.
As he places the camping lantern on the table, he pauses and cocks his head, pretending to listen.
“Hey,” he says quietly, and Harrington finally turns to look at him. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Harrington rasps, eyes darting back towards the window.
“I don’t know, it was… like sort of a scratching sound? It’s– There!” Eddie jumps, playing at being startled. “There it was again, did you hear it?”
Harrington swallows heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything, are you sure–”
“I think it’s coming from the door,” Eddie hisses, voice gone low, nearly covered by the steady roll of thunder.
Harrington whirls back around, looking at the shadowed shape of the door where it sits just outside the halo of light the little lantern is throwing out.
“What if something’s trying to get in?” Eddie’s practically whispering now, low and dramatic. “Should we– should we check?”
Slowly, Harrington nods. “I’ll check,” he says, and he sounds so resolute about it, so resigned, like he’s agreeing to go off to war, that Eddie has to bite down on a laugh. So fucking serious, this guy.
“I’m right behind you,” Eddie says, though Harrington barely seems to register when Eddie sidles up at his back.
They cross from where they’d been standing by the coffee table and over to the door, standing in front of it as another crack of thunder booms overhead. Harrington reaches for the handle.
“Go ahead,” Eddie breathes, raising his arms. “I’m… right… BEHIND YOU!”
As he shouts, he grabs Harrington around the middle, digging his fingers into his sides almost like he’s trying to tickle him, and holy shit, Harrington’s reaction does not disappoint. He jumps and jerks like he’s just been electrocuted, letting out a strangled yell as he pulls away from Eddie, whirling around to face him, and Eddie can’t help it– he laughs.
Like, not a cruel laugh, just the laugh of a prank successfully pulled off.
“I can’t believe you actually fell for that!” he wheezes out around his giggles.
And Eddie isn’t fully ignorant to the idea that there are consequences for his actions; he’s pretty sure at this point Harrington is going to start yelling, maybe start swinging, almost definitely cussing Eddie out – except he doesn’t.
He doesn’t actually do anything. He’s just standing there, eyes blown wide, one hand clenched over his chest while he almost heaves for breath.
“…Harrington?” Eddie tries, as his laughter dies away. “Hey. You good?”
Harrington doesn’t reply. Eddie’s not even sure he’s seeing him right now; his gaze looks glassed over in the low light, staring at something in the middle distance that Eddie can’t see. It’s kind of freaking Eddie out.
“Harrington. Hey. Can you hear me?” Eddie reaches up to wave a hand in front of Harrington’s face, and the reaction is immediate.
He jumps again, swearing and stumbling backwards until he hits the wall by the door with a hard thump, where he slides down into a sitting position on the floor, knees pulled up in front of him and arms wrapped around his middle. He’s still breathing hard, and his eyes are darting around the trailer, still looking for something, but fucked if Eddie knows what.
And fuck. Shit, Eddie feels like an asshole, he’s just given Harrington some kind of full-blown panic attack. Shit.
“Harrington,” he says, trying to sound firm and reassuring even though he has no goddamn idea what he’s doing as he crouches down in front of the guy. “Listen, there’s nothing to be scared of, man, it was just me being a dick.”
Harrington’s eyes flick in Eddie’s direction, but Eddie’s not all that convinced he’s registering what Eddie’s saying.
“Okay, I’m gonna – just a second.” Eddie holds a finger up and stands again, darting over to the coffee table to grab the lantern and, almost as an afterthought, the flashlight. “Okay, here we go,” he says, kneeling in front of Harrington and placing the lantern between them. “Do you wanna hold the flashlight? Would that help?”
He’s barely held the flashlight up for Harrington to take when the other boy’s fingers are wrapping around it, nearly jerking it out of Eddie’s hand. He flicks it on and sweeps the beam around the room, nearly blinding Eddie at least twice in the process.
“See?” Eddie says once Harrington’s performed as much of an inspection of the place as he can from his position on the floor. “Nothing here. Just you, me, and the storm.”
This doesn’t seem to be as reassuring as Eddie would have hoped; Harrington is still on the hysterical edge of hyperventilating, flashlight clutched in one fist and the other hand clenching his jacket where it’s still wrapped around his middle.
“Harrington. Steve,” Eddie tries, and he finally gets a long enough look from Harrington that he thinks he must actually be hearing him. “You’ve gotta breathe, man. Deeper breaths, c’mon. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
And it looks like maybe he’s trying, but the air keeps stuttering back out of his lungs before he can hold it for long. He shakes his head, and Eddie bites his lip, thinking.
“Here. I’m just gonna– don’t freak out again, okay?” Slowly, Eddie reaches for Harrington’s free hand, and with an air of confusion, Harrington lets him take it, unwrapping his fingers from where they’re clutched in his jacket and letting Eddie pull until his palm is pressed flat against Eddie’s chest. “Copy me, okay? In… and out.”
Exaggerating his breaths, Eddie takes big gulps of air, in and out, and waits for Harrington to follow suit – and after a few long moments, he manages it.
Slowly, his breathing deepens out, no longer coming in quick, shallow gasps, and his posture seems to deflate as it does. He sags back against the wall, the flashlight still clutched tight in his fist, and lets his head fall back.
“Better?” Eddie asks.
Harrington shrugs. He flinches at the next flash of lighting, and Eddie squeezes his hand, which he is, for some reason, still holding.
“Just the storm,” Eddie says, and Harrington shoots him a vaguely bitchy look that feels a lot more on par with how he should be acting.
He doesn’t take his hand back, though, so Eddie just keeps holding it.
He holds it and he talks, trying to drown out the rumbles of thunder that are growing more and more distant, trying to distract from the flashes of lightning that seem to be distressing Harrington more than anything else, trying to make up for the fact that he’d caused this whole mess in the first place. And Harrington seems to listen, watching him with eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, even cracking a tiny smile a few times, when Eddie gets particularly animated.
Then, after about an hour of nothing but the warm glow of the camping lantern, nothing but the sound of Eddie’s voice and the dying storm, the power kicks back on. The lights come to life and the fridge starts humming from the kitchen, and Harrington squeezes Eddie’s hand hard, eyes falling shut for a moment in apparent divine gratitude.
“Oh, thank god,” he mutters, and Eddie can’t help but agree.
Slowly, he lets go of Harrington’s hand, and Harrington takes it back, awkwardly handing over the flashlight as if in trade. He stands from the floor, a little shaky, and Eddie follows suit, ready to catch him if his overtaxed body doesn’t prove to be up to the task, but Harrington manages to stand on his own two feet, so Eddie takes a step back.
“Uh… thanks. For all of that,” Harrington says quietly, voice a little wrecked.
Eddie shakes his head. “I’m the one who gave you a fucking panic attack in the first place. Sitting with you was literally the least I could do.”
Harrington shrugs. ���You didn’t have to, though.”
“Common decency—and my conscience—beg to differ,” Eddie says, and Harrington lets out a little huff that might have been a laugh.
“Anyway, I should get out of your hair,” Harrington says. “Do you still have the, uh–”
“Oh, shit, yeah.” Eddie had nearly forgotten why Harrington had come over there in the first place. He crosses back over to the coffee table, where he’d dropped the bag when the power had gone out, and snatches it up, offering it to Harrington. “Here you are, my liege.”
The title, caught somewhere between mocking and actual friendliness, makes Harrington huff out another laugh, and he reaches for his wallet.
“How much do I owe you?”
Eddie almost can’t believe he’s about to say it, but– “Don’t worry about it. This one’s on the house.”
He’ll eat the cost if it’ll assuage his guilt – if it’ll get the image of Harrington crumpled on the floor, gasping for air as he searches the room for some kind of threat, out of Eddie’s head.
Harrington frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”
Eddie shrugs. “Call it even for having given you all the more reason to need to smoke it.”
Harrington is still frowning, hand still poised to pull his wallet from his back pocket, so Eddie shoves the baggie into his free hand, closing his fingers around it and letting go.
“Looks like it’s in your hands now, no takebacks!” Eddie insists. “Or, you know, no givebacks, I guess.”
Harrington rolls his eyes, but he drops his hand and tucks the baggie into the pocket of his jacket. “Well, thanks, then. I think.”
Eddie nods, searching over Harrington’s face; he’s still pale as shit, and it makes the dark circles under his eyes, previously barely noticeable, stand out in stark relief. He looks like he’s almost swaying where he stands, and Eddie frowns.
“You gonna be good to drive?” he asks, not really sure what he plans to do if Harrington isn’t.
“I think I’ll be fine, man,” Harrington snarks, and it’s close enough to what Eddie’s used to hearing from him that he’s willing to let the matter drop.
Harrington turns for the door, but pauses just before he reaches for the handle. Eddie wonders if maybe he’s still thinking of Eddie’s stupid prank, unable to shake the idea that something really might be waiting at the door to get him, when Harrington turns back to look at him.
“Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?” he says, possibly going for demanding, maybe even threatening, but landing somewhere closer to a plea. “I don’t need– I just don’t need anyone knowing…”
“Mum’s the word, man,” Eddie assures him quickly, miming zipping up his lips, locking them, and tossing the key over his shoulder.
With a tiny smile crossing his face, Harrington nods. “Thanks. I’ll, uh – see you around, I guess.”
“Yeah. See you around.” Eddie nods.
And with that, Harrington is gone, out the door and crunching across the wet gravel to his car, taking the strangeness of the night with him.
Eddie stands in the middle of his living room for a long moment, feeling as though something about his view of Steve Harrington—possibly even his view of something larger—has shifted, though he can’t quite put his finger on how.
He puzzles it over for a bit before shrugging it off, stooping to grab the lantern and put it back where it belongs. It doesn’t really matter, he figures. It’s not like he and Harrington will have much reason to interact after this.
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filled-with-fat · 22 days ago
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My weight skyrocketed at College 🫢
When I moved away to college at 18, I was an athletic, healthy young man. In high school, I had played on the football team, and had always been into working out and staying fit. But this all changed when I moved away to college.
I was allocated self-catered accommodation, which meant for the first time in my life I had to cook my own meals. At home, my mum would always make me healthy, nutritious foods. But I definitely underestimated how time consuming it is to cook. As the weeks progressed, I got fed up with having to make myself my own meals, and so I would order food. I fell into really bad habits; staying out till sunrise, and then ordering takeout throughout the day. I stopped attending my classes, as I just couldn’t be bothered to walk across campus. Instead I would lay in bed, scrolling through TikTok, awaiting my next McDonald’s delivery. I would order at least 4 takeouts a day.
I quickly became hooked to this lifestyle. Binge drinking on the weekends, and bed rotting during the week, gorging on unhealthy fast food. And with every week that passed, I began to notice my body enlarge. My belly grew outwards, stretch marks appeared across my mid-section, and cheeky layers of fat hung off my sides and back. My hips widened, whilst my thighs and butt started to look revoltingly big.
I had turned into a chubby freshman, and I desperately needed an intervention from my friends to help me loose weight. I asked my college roommate, Daniel, who frequently went to the gym, if I could come with him. But, rather than encouraging me to get more active, Daniel convinced me into thinking laying in bed all day eating pizza was better for my wellbeing/overall happiness. I was easily persuaded into believing that my current eating habits were healthy. And so I continued to order excessive amounts of takeout, and sometimes Daniel would even bring me McDonald’s back from his workout. We would sit on my bed together, and I would devour a BigMac in under 5 minutes.
I rapidly outsized all my clothes, to which Daniel bought me a new sets of T-shirts and pants (in size 4xl of course).
As I grew bigger, I became more self-conscious of my weight and how I appeared in public. I was always a shy guy, and never liked attention. Yet, as I got fatter, my size drew attention, as I would struggle to walk even a few steps, or get out of breath from climbing a flight of stairs. I began to dread leaving my dorm, as I knew I would have to deal with the stares and sneers from everyone on campus. Whereas in my room, I felt like royalty. Daniel would praise my body, he would say how beautiful my curves and rolls of fat were. As I grew bigger, he showed more and more interest in me. He couldn’t keep his hands off me, saying just how much he adored my obese body. And so, I kept eating, as I craved Daniel’s attention and attraction.
By the end of freshman, I had ballooned to over 450lbs. I got so big, that even sitting up, or rolling over in bed, had me wheezing. But I was so attached to this lifestyle, there was no braking free. I kept on gaining weight, with every mouthful of greasy, calorific food I consumed. All to please Daniel. And the bigger I got, the more time he spent with me. He loved feeling my body, placing his lubricated hands over my enormous chest, squeezing my love handles and fat hips. I craved his attention, and so naturally I felt compelled to eat, eat and eat even more.
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eelnoise · 6 months ago
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with hearts aligned (nsfw!)
zoro x fem!reader this fic's followup btw. takes place between fishman island and PH (yes there's lore!! 🙄! and yes zoro did keep all that shit bottled up for a bit!!) cw: confessions of love, somewhat troubled zoro, not-so-awkward first times (our boy is intuitive okay ?!), piv sex, fingering, cute stuff idk an: okay i know this took a long time but i re-wrote this like 5 times and accidently got hyperfixated on ffxiv and generally needed a break from writing BUT WE ARE BACK BABY !!! wc: 3.4k tagging @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @sleepymarimo @willowbelle @nina-ya
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The clinking of cutlery upon plates and chatter among friends fills the small island tavern with animated joy and serene relief. Brook plays the violin somewhere to the left side of the room, though the eager blathering of the crew drowns out the more finer notes and melodies played. 
A well-deserved interruption and a welcome change from the unpredictable nature of the past few day’s events – though for Zoro, it’s a distraction that’s come to an end. Despite the crew being whole again, he still feels a hollowness within – something no amount of eating or drinking or fighting can fill.
And it’s entirely his fault.
You sit across the table from him, sipping at a near-empty glass of wine and discussing something inaudibly with Usopp. He can’t quite read your expression from where he’s seated, but you look interested enough in the conversation. 
And if it’s obvious to himself that he’s keeping you at arm’s length, it’s clear to anyone with a working conscience that he’s doing his utmost to avoid you. The many longing gazes from his peripheral do not go unnoticed, but he dares not to look – for the hurt in your eyes would crush him and sear and stain into his soul.  A far-flung difference from the camaraderie that came before all of this, when the two of you were rarely found an inch too far apart from one another – and now Zoro can’t even look you in the eye. After his many imagined intimate rendezvous,how could he?
With you distracted, he lets his eye wander across your face, to the length of your arm, down to the glass pinched between your fingers – but it comes to rest upon your lips. He watches, transfixed on the flight peek of your tongue behind your teeth when you speak, how your lips twist with each syllable, how they purse when you’re in thought, and the way they stretch across your cheeks when you smile.
Zoro’s throat tightens, a sharp dagger of guilt carving into his chest. He forces his stare to the table, the tiniest sliver of your form still lingering in the corner of his vision. You’ve journeyed this far, fought, bled, and laughed together. And now, for once, he’s unable to find the words to say.
The weight of his inaction bears down on him, leaving him listless. The only respite he’s found is in the distraction of a battle, a thudding, a clash, steel ringing against steel. In those moments, he’s alive, he’s focused, and the words that plague his every waking thought cease to exist. But without the battle, Zoro is left with nothing but the echoes of unspoken desires.
His hand trembles, gripping his mug of ale as he brings it to his lips. The bitterness of the brew does little to quell the fire in his chest. He’s a swordsman, a pirate – not a poet, bard, or a man of words. It’s a mess of feelings. Lust, want, longing, love, all these indescribable sensations that only serve to make Zoro feel weak and helpless and vulnerable when faced with them. He feels like a coward, daring never to speak to you again, never to confess his feelings, and never pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless.
Zoro’s eye meets yours for one singular fleeting moment, the intensity of the connection making his heart race. He knows he can’t keep up this charade, this dance of avoidance – but how does one even confess to these feelings? How does one bridge the gap between comrade and lover? He scratches his chin, trying to come up with a solution, but all he can think of is a single, frustrating fact: he can’t keep running.
Whether it’s every empty bottle he’s seen the bottom of tonight, the last of his resolve wearing thin, or just the sheer guilt of it all that drives him suddenly to his feet, he isn’t sure. Inhaling one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken, he silently trudges around the table to where you’re seated.
At first, he hovers awkwardly so as to not interrupt the conversation you’re having. Both hands come to rest at either side of the back of your chair and he can feel his pulse through his fingertips on the wood – and when you tilt your head up to look at him, a curious smile twitching at the edges of your cheeks, he cracks.
Zoro clears his throat and forces his gaze. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”
His voice is hoarse as he asks, and he hopes you can’t hear the nerves that lie beneath his words. Surprised by how much he’s sweating and how his heart races against his ribcage, he swallows to regain some semblance of composure.
“It’s important,” he adds, trying not to stumble over his thoughts. It’s a pitiful excuse, but all that comes to mind amidst the maelstrom of emotion in his head.
“Oh, yeah – of course!” You reply with raised brows and begin to stand. Zoro allows you the room to move, taking a step back from the table. “Sorry, Usopp,” you say as you turn and give him a weak shrug, “Remind me where we left off later?”
“No prob!” The sniper shoots a thumbs-up and the two of you exchange a wave before you turn to follow Zoro away from the lively table and out of the tavern.
Zoro leads you to a quiet spot by the docks nearby, where the salty scent of the sea mingles with the faint tang of fish and the distant hum of the island. He can’t bring himself to look at you, electing instead to focus on the water and the twinkling reflection of the night sky in the soft waves.
“Everything okay?” You ask softly, taking a few steps toward him and assuredly taking note of his hesitance. “What’s up?”
“I missed you,” Zoro replies, fixated on the sigh of the shifting tides lapping at the wooden posts below. “A lot.”
“I missed you too, Zoro, but what’s so urgent?” The concern in your tone is apparent and caring, and normally works to soothe him when his mind runs rampant – but this moment, this situation he finds himself in, it does the opposite.
“No,” Zoro shakes his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I missed you - differently from the others.”
“Differently?”
Zoro’s jaw clenches, and part of him wants to jump into the ocean and swim as far away from the island as his arms will take him. The honest admission hangs heavy on his tongue, the weight of the years of denial suddenly threatening to push it out. He pauses, opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally, with a shaky exhale, he looks you straight in the face.
“I love you.”
The admission hangs between you, the weight of years of suppression. Zoro shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twinges of regret creeping up the nape of his neck.  It takes you a moment to reply, and considering the nature of the confession, it's reasonable. Zoro's nerves feel like hot coals beneath his skin as he watches your face for any sign of an answer.
“...for real?” Your gentle response fills his entire being with a wistful spark of hope.
Zoro's fingers curl into fists. "Yes, for real," he confirms, still not looking up. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, a heavy, leaden weight. All his hopes and fears rest on the outcome of this conversation. He's unsure if he could handle rejection, but he can't go back to the pretense any longer. Zoro swallows, tasting bile at the back of his throat. "I should've told you before now, but I... I'm an idiot.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet.
He isn’t sure when you move, but a smaller, softer hand wraps around his – and in an instant, he feels himself relax into your touch. Zoro relaxes his grip, allowing your fingers to entwine with his.
He snaps his gaze towards you, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. You peer at him, a sweet, crooked smile on your lips and a blush across your face. And when your free hand finds purchase on his cheek, Zoro finds himself leaning in. 
You meet him halfway in a genuine, tender kiss that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Zoro's arms wrap around you and pull you close. The world around falls away as you both delight in the embrace. The kiss is gentle, delicate, and filled with longing. It floods him with an unexpected warmth – and for once, he can't think of the past or the future. He's simply lost in the present moment.
When you finally pull away, Zoro can't help but lean into your palm on his cheek with a bit of a dazed smile on his face. Holding onto your hand, his other hand slowly moves to cup your cheek in return. His heart is pounding, his mind a blank slate tinged with overwhelming happiness. He's lost in your gaze, unable to speak, but he doesn't need to. The moment says everything.
"Do you know how much I missed you?" you murmur, lips ghosting his and thumb trailing upward to gently trace the lower half of the scar that now covers his right eye. "How often I thought of you?"
And then you say it - the words he's only imagined hearing you speak.
"I love you, too.”
Zoro's chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat as he meets your gaze, his heart swelling. Words fail him, the raw emotion in his gut silences his voice.  A slow smile spreads across his lips, a look of awe and joy shadowing his features. He doesn't need words. The simple fact that you feel the same is enough to fill him with warmth and peace. 
Leaning in again, Zoro captures you in another deep kiss – a deep and soulful kiss that speaks volumes. He's consumed by the feeling of being with you, of finally being able to express his love. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he kisses you with all the passion and longing he's suppressed for far too long.
You sigh into him, the sound willingly swallowed by Zoro’s growing hunger. Arms wrap around his shoulders and you press yourself into him, the opened-mouthed kiss quickly turning into a twist of tongues dancing together in a frenzied rhythm with audible smacks of saliva mixing with each meeting of your lips. His hand clutches your hair more firmly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull you impossibly closer.
The gesture is all-consuming, a whirlpool of desire and affection that leaves him lightheaded. For the first time in years, he feels like he's truly alive, his heart beating in perfect harmony with yours.
Slowly breaking the kiss, Zoro's lips ghost over your jawline, trailing down to your collarbone as he breathes in your scent, savoring every moment. He wants to memorize the taste, the feel, and the sound of your breath as his hands roam over your body, his heart beating a furious tempo.
You let out a small gasp when his lips touch your sensitive flesh, your body reacting to his every move. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips as he nibbles at your neck, causing your grip to tighten and for you to moan softly into his ear. 
Part of Zoro wants to take you here and now, but what remains of his will stops him. He growls into your neck and lifts you up fully and, – with a little assistance from you –  heads in the direction of the ship anchored nearby. The others wouldn't be back for a while, so why not take advantage of the privacy?
You’re weightless in his arms as he carries you away from the bustle of the small island village and towards the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro can feel himself growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants as you kiss and nip along his neck, giggling in his ear when he retaliates with a playful squeeze to your rear and a rumbling growl against your skin.
He wastes little time pushing the door to the men’s quarters open with the tip of his boot, his grip on your hips tightening when he moves to lift you onto the nearest bunk, one hand still clutching your waist while the other travels up under your shirt to caress your chest, deft hands making quick work of unhooking your bra and tossing it aside to be forgotten.
Zoro’s breathing hitches, his eyes dark and lustful as he dips his head to suckle at the swell of your breast. He can feel himself twitching against your thigh, and despite his inexperience, he wants nothing more than to please you. 
He kisses down your body, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue while his hand roams, finding your core already soaked with desire. He pauses, fingers grazing over your clothed slit and feeling you shiver in pleasure. Zoro murmurs your name, and snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties before sliding them down your legs in one motion, leaving you naked and bared before him. His own pants follow suit, quickly discarded next to yours.
Zoro's hand finds its way between your thighs again, spreading your folds with ease, and he lowers his head to kiss you once more, his tongue probing your mouth as his fingers gently stroke your clit, drinking in your soft moans.
"Show me." He whispers just loud enough for her to hear. His expression is a loving one, though she notes the slightest bit of hesitance in his words.
Show me how you like it.
You nod and guide his fingers, taking two of the large digits and easing them in circles on your clit. "Not too rough, though," you say patiently, letting go of him with a soft sigh and an encouraging smile. 
Zoro hums in acknowledgment, his thumb and forefinger doing as you ask, the slickness of your pussy allowing his fingers to move easily as he continues to tease at your clit. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you as his thumb rolls over the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting small moans from you. 
Zoro brushes the tip of his finger against your entrance in an experimental move, and by the way you wreathe and whine, he's urged to continue his work. He slides one past your folds and inside of you, making your toes curl and your back arch.
"Shit–" You sputter out between breathless sighs of desire. "Feels really good..."
One finger becomes two, your inner walls clenching around them as he scissors them in and out of your pussy. There's a wet slosh of sound coming from where you meet, your wetness audibly coating his fingers and dripping down down his wrist. 
Zoro's breath hitches at the sound of your pleasure, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your reaction. He's entranced by how your body responds to him, and he can't help but lick his lips as he continues to finger you. He adds a third, the stretch making you gasp and tighten around him.
His pace increases, his fingers swirling and thrusting within you, and he watches as your body writhes and arches beneath him. He can feel the tension building in you, the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.
"Do you want me inside you?" Zoro asks, his voice low and thick with need. He's anxious to give you pleasure, but he's struggling to keep himself from joining his fingers inside you.
"Please," you whine, eyes wide and watery with pleasure but red hot with the need for more. "Need you, Zoro."
Zoro's heart beats wildly in his chest, his own need for you overwhelming as he pulls his fingers from your slick warmth and licks them clean before sitting back on his heels to position himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your entrance and looks into your eyes, the passion reflected in his own.
Without warning, he thrusts forward, plunging deep into your tightness. You're hot and wet around him, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction as he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to adjust and to revel in the feeling of being connected. He pulls back, slowly at first, then picks up the pace as he leans over you, the headboard digging into the wall with each forceful thrust. Zoro's eyes never leave yours, his gaze locked as if he's trying to absorb every detail of your expression.
Each stroke of his cock against your walls feels heaven-sent, and the taste of you that lingers on his tongue drives him crazy with want. Nails dig into the flesh of his triceps and your back arches, a song of passion belting from between your lips, a serenade made for him and him alone.
Zoro grunts at the sound of your pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more ferocious as he watches your reaction, the sight of you so lost in ecstasy driving him to the brink. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, the sweat glistening on your skin as your bodies collide.
The moonlight trickling in from the window illuminates your body below him. It's a sight better than anything he could dream, your face contorting in bliss and ecstasy, hands clinging harshly onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. Savoring a feeling that neither wants to forget.
"You're so fucking perfect." Zoro growls, leaning over you to kiss you feverishly, his tongue seeking yours as he fucks you. He can feel the tension building, the way your body tenses and your nails dig into his skin, and he knows you're close. He wants to give you this moment, wants to make you cum as much as he wants to feel it himself.
"Come on," he urges, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me." The words were a warning, a promise that he wasn't going to last much longer..Zoro increases the pace of his assault, his own release imminent as he watches your face, your eyes half-lidded and flushed with pleasure. Together, you move, driven by the primal need for release.
Zoro's thumb meets your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with the speed of his ministrations. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, crying out butchered attempts at his name as your body convulses around him, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Zoro can't hold back any longer, feeling his own climax building as he watches you.
With a roar, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums, the spasms of your walls milking him as he shudders and groans into your ear, seed spilling inside of you. He pants heavily, leaning over you as he rests on his forearms, his forehead meeting yours. He stays like that long enough to press a quick kiss to your lips before collapsing atop you with a very exhausted, but very relieved sigh. 
You breathlessly hold him close. Cradling his sweaty form to your chest, one hand makes its way into his moss-green tresses to lightly scratch at his scalp. Zoro lets himself relax, letting out a sigh and nestling into your shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly sated in your embrace.
Zoro pulls out of you eventually, gently rolling off your body to rest. He pulls you into his side as he nuzzles into your hair. "I love you." He whispers, his voice soft and tender and almost unrecognizable.
Snuggling into his side, your hand still lazily strokes his head. "I love you too," you reply, voice equally tender, and a smile playing at the corners of your lips.
Your soft touch and tender words soothe Zoro, your shared connection cemented in the aftermath of passion. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips. The words you whispered echo in his mind, a warm feeling settling in his chest – and together, in each other's arms, you find peace.
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moonlightwonu · 6 days ago
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서명호 // Xu Minghao [The8] Fic Recsᡣ𐭩
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다른 언어와 다른 시간도 이해하지 않아도 다 알 수 있어~
Main Recs Masterlist
MINORS DNI!!!!!!!
Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~
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“How To Lose The Girl” by @nevernonline
Afab!reader || How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days au, humour, fluff, angst || W.C: 10.3k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・minghao was feeling tired of shallow relationships. his friends, noticing his frustration, challenge him to pursue a girl and then push her away within ten days. intrigued by the idea, he reluctantly accepts the bet as a fun challenge.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“We’re All Made of Stardust” by @synthetickitsune
Gn!reader || Sci-fi au, fluff, angst || W.C: 18.9k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・He's read books of philosophy, he's read about the opposing forces in nature and one's mind. He's read of yin and yang. But knowing, being aware of certain ideas, could never prepare him for experiencing the duality of his soul - if he has one, that is. No matter his own experience and feelings, he's just a machine and humans have always treated him as no more than another tool at worst and unnatural phenomenon to be studied at best. He's free now, however, and in the chaos of this new life he struggles to navigate the clashing forces within him. Maybe it's time he embraced the enemy - after all, his makers might know him better than he knows himself.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“The Letter” by @toruro
Fem!reader || childhood friends to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst || W.C: 26k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・in which you’re jun's little sister and have been pining for a man so close yet so out of reach for ages. now, years later, when you see minghao all grown up, famous, and still making your heart flutter, you're not so sure what to do about your not-so-little crush.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“All For Love” by @viastro
Gn!reader || Hanahaki au, angst, some fluff, some humour || W.C: 9.5k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・when you cough up the petals, you’re left with two choices. undergo the surgery where you’ll lose the love you have for the person that caused the disease, or tragically die with your love unrequited.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“War of Hearts” by @viastro
Gn!reader || mafia au, strangers to lovers, angst, some humour, some fluff || W.C: 17.8k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・you had one mission: find out who had been the cause of your father’s downfall. after a year of finding him, however, is when things get complicated. because how were you supposed to know that his son was someone that you got acquainted to very easily? (based on the kdrama: my name)
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Lost in Translation” by @ylangelegy
Idol x Translator au, idiots in love, yearning, hurt/comfort || W.C: 25.8k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・The story of how Minghao falls— slowly, then all at once— for you, the group's translator.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Now or Never” by @heartkyeom
[Series] || Fem!reader || strangers to lovers, fake marriage, angst, fluff || Parts: 5 || Total W.C: 46.2k || Status: Completed
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・when you make a chance encounter with your ex, you end up saying that you're engaged to your estranged neighbor xu minghao. when you find out your ex is coming to your friend's wedding, you've only got a month to become a convincing couple.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Haven’t We Met” by @ylangelegy
Kimi no nawa au, soulmates au, body swapping, time travel, light angst || W.C: 9k+
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・where Minghao sporadically switches bodies with you.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Oh My!” by @toruro
Smut, mutual pining, fluff || W.C: 13.6k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・choosing to be roommates with vernon chwe would undeniably be one of the few life-changing decisions you made in your lifetime. he brought along support, friendship, and most importantly: a hot friend. — or, in which you’re roommates with vernon and you happen to fall for one of his many chaotic friends.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Flight of the Stars” by @toruro
F1 au, brief high school au, smut, angst, fluff || W.C: 13.3k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Felix Felicis” by @blue-jisungs
Hogwarts au, fluff, angst, comfort, humour || W.C: 7k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・befriending minghao, the slytherin your friends (no one knows why) hated was horrifying at first. but after some time passed, you’d start wondering if it was some unknown side effects of felix felicis
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“To Love Easily” by @minghaoyoudoin
Fem!reader || fake dating, angst, smut || W.C: 13.5k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・fake dating the beautiful stranger you met in the men’s room: what could go wrong?
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“Meet Me in Amsterdam” by @okiedokrie
Fem!reader || artist au, idiots to lovers, smut, angst, fluff || W.C: 10.8k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・Minghao finds himself under a mentorship program from one of the most brilliant artist in the contemporary circle, where he meets Y/N and bond with their journey through art, overcoming traumas, and hopeless romanticism of the life and love around them. But all things come to an end at some point, the mentorship program ends, and they both go back to their lives. But they do meet again to finish what they started; 'if there is a next time, meet me in Amsterdam.'
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“A Thousand Words Left Unsaid” by @twogyuu
Gn!reader || Mafia au, strangers to lovers to exes, fwb(?), angst, heartbreak, implied smut || W.C: 6k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・The story in which the dancer broke the killer's child, and the child broke the dancer.
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✮
“And We Meet Again” by @idyllic-ghost
Soulmates au, romance, fluff, angst || W.C: 6k
⋆.ೃ࿔*:・There is something familiar about that house on the hill, even though you swear that you have never seen it before. But you’re drawn to the lavender fields and the ocean view - and the lonesome looking man you see sitting on the porch. When you approach him there is something in his eyes that you cannot understand - a knowing, a deep feeling. The question is, will you ever have enough time to figure out what that look means?
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Please let me know if the links have any problems~
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jamiepaige · 9 days ago
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Constant Companions Closeup #3: ROT FOR CLOUT
youtube
(also on bandcamp and spotify!)
WHAT'S going on guys, welcome back to another Constant Companions Closeup, the show where we take a DEEP DIVE into what makes these tunes tick! Last episode, we went aaaaaall the way there on Not Quite There, and today, we're making that liggity-line go up up up up up with ROT FOR CLOUT featuring VISUALEYES!! Before we get started, remember to SMASH that like button, SLAM subscribe, and FUCK the bell icon. This week's community challenge: leave your credit card info in the comments! Bet you won't!
(*cough*)
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I check my notifications way too fucking much. It's a habit I'm trying to curb, and to my credit, I am doing better lately, but being chemically predisposed to dopamine deficiencies has done a number on my ability to go five minutes without checking the funny glowing numbers on my phone. Naturally, I also very much seek more validation than I should from the opinions of strangers yadayadayada yeah that's what the song is about but none of that actually has to do with why I started writing this song in the first place.
Have you ever taken a flight with American Airlines?
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This was after waking up at 4 in the morning to fly out of Houston thinking I'd be napping on a couch in Ohio by 2 pm at the latest.
I want to make one thing clear here, and that's that I made this bed for myself. Tucked the sheets in and all. You see, on the rare occasions I fly, I normally take Southwest. Southwest does not overbook flights like a lot of other airlines do, so it's a practice I am mostly unfamiliar with. So, when I received a notification on my phone promising genuinely ridiculous amounts of flight credit money in exchange for taking a slightly later flight, I thought - well, shit! That sounds nice!
This is how they trick you. I didn't really realize I'd been tricked until I was on my second flight of the day, sitting in a middle seat at the very back of the plane, heading from Dallas, a city I don't live in, to Washington, DC, a city I was not trying to get to, staring down the barrel of another flight I was destined to get on that had been delayed like two fucking hours.
I became the Joker. All I could do to remain sane was write a song about it. This is how ROT FOR CLOUT came to be.
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I guess the moral of the story is this: Don't go to Ohio. And to answer your question,
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Yes I am
Not really
No
---
This is a complete sidenote but I want to mention it here: I'm genuinely overjoyed at the amount of people excitedly talking about my songwriting or the intention behind my lyrics. For a long time, it really felt like lyricism was the last thing people cared about from me, while it was always the thing I wanted to take pride in the most... So genuinely, thank you everyone for caring!! Every single fire emoji people have put next to a line I've written has extended my lifespan by multiple years
There's a brief little moment where the song's chords leave the key, doing a really stereotypically jazzy 2-5 movement, and it's one of my favorite parts of the entire song. I'm not really a music theory buff or anything, and I'm certainly not formally trained, but I've always been very passionate about more complicated harmony in otherwise poppy and accessible contexts - bo en's album pale machine really rewrote my brain when I first heard it.
On that note, there are microtones in the vocal melody - During the chorus, some of the rapidly repeated words move up in quarter tones! Possibly the simplest way I could've included microtonality, but I'm genuinely afraid if I learn more than what I already know about it I'll be lost to the darkness.
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Obviously, the work of Sasuke Haraguchi was a massive influence on this song, particularly the song Igaku. I think basically everyone on the entire planet has picked up on that at this point, but I do also wanna point out some other songs that were on my mind at the time! (two for three on these posts mentioning louis cole now)
I'd also like to take a moment to spotlight the vocal samples on this! They previously appeared on エビチャーハン!, and they've honestly become some of my favorite samples to throw in things. They're also just a fucking goldmine sincerely
Finally, HUGE thanks to Visualeyes for the delightful synth solo on this!! I had put out a call on Twitter looking for instrumentalists, genuinely originally envisioning a super jazzy piano solo, but their synth playing genuinely brought the whole song together perfectly!
That's about it for this song - though again, if there are any more questions people have, I'd be happy to answer them in the replies to this post or elsewhere!! (*ahem*) THAT'S gonna do it for today's video, folks! Feel free to leave a like, comment, hit the subscribe button for more and click the bell so you don't miss any new videos. Tomorrow? I Wish That I Could Fall. it hurts.
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thorsenmark · 1 year ago
Video
Taking in the Sight of a Pacific Coastline at Tolowa Dunes State Park
flickr
Taking in the Sight of a Pacific Coastline at Tolowa Dunes State Park by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While walking along the California coastline with a view looking to the south at a pod of California brown pelicans flying my direction as I walked along the main beach area in Tolowa Dunes State Park.
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vestaignis · 3 months ago
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Мадагаскарская комета или Сатурния мадагаскарская (Argema mittrei) - Эту представительницу семейства павлиноглазок в природе можно увидеть только на африканском острове, именем которого она и названа. Также бабочку называют «сатурния-комета», «бабочка-комета», «мадагаскарская лунная бабочка», «павлиноглазка-комета», «мадагаскарская комета».
Мадагаскарская сатурния имеет яркий желтый цвет, на каждом из крыльев есть коричневые круги с черными точками посередине. Вершины крыльев украшены темно-коричневыми пятнами. По крыльям проходит тонкий красновато-коричневый волнистый узор. Свое необычное название сатурния-комета получила благодаря оригинальному внешнему виду: на задних крыльях у нее есть красные выросты, напоминающие след летящей кометы, они помогают ей балансировать во время полета.
Мадагаскарская сатурния относится к гигантским бабочкам, размах ее крыльев составляет 14-18 см. Брюшко крупное, бочкообразное. У самца перистые и крупные усики. Самцы и самки этого вида тропических бабочек различаются. Самка мадагаскарских сатурний больше, у нее более широкие и округлые крылья, а выросты на задних крыльях чуть короче – 8 см, в то время как у самцов они достигают длины 13 см.
У сатурнии-кометы нет развитого ротового аппарата, поэтому она ничем не питается.Бабочка расходует пищевые запасы, собранные ей еще в том момент, когда бабочка была на стадии личинки.   Сатурния комета активны в темное время суток. Их можно встретить вечером или ранним утром. Днем же насекомые сидят на одном месте. Необычный внешний вид имеют и гусеницы сатурнии-кометы: тело личинки покрыто зелеными чешуйками. Гусеницы питаются тропическими растениями: уапакой, скумпией, марулой и т. п. Стадия личинки долгая: она может длиться до двух месяцев. Окукливаются в белоснежных пористых коконах. После стадии куколки появляется взрослая бабочка. Наслаждаться ее великолепным видом можно недолго, т. к. живет сатурния-комета всего 4-5 дней. Целью имаго является оставить потомство. На Мадагаскаре успешно разводят этих великолепных бабочек на особых фермах.
Madagascar Comet or Saturnia madagascarensis (Argema mittrei) - This representative of the peacock-eye family can be seen in nature only on the African island after which it is named. The butterfly is also called "Saturnia comet", "comet butterfly", "Madagascar moon butterfly", "peacock-eye comet", "Madagascar comet".
The Madagascar Saturnia has a bright yellow color, on each of the wings there are brown circles with black dots in the middle. The tops of the wings are decorated with dark brown spots. A thin reddish-brown wavy pattern runs along the wings. Saturnia comet got its unusual name due to its original appearance: on the hind wings it has red growths resembling the trail of a flying comet, they help it balance during flight.
The Madagascar Saturnia is a giant butterfly, its wingspan is 14-18 cm. The abdomen is large, barrel-shaped. The male has feathery and large antennae. Males and females of this species of tropical butterflies differ. The female of the Madagascar Saturnia is larger, it has wider and rounder wings, and the outgrowths on the hind wings are slightly shorter - 8 cm, while in males they reach a length of 13 cm.
The Saturnia-cometa does not have a developed mouth apparatus, so it does not feed on anything. The butterfly uses up food reserves collected by it back when the butterfly was at the larval stage. Saturnia cometa are active at night. They can be found in the evening or early morning. During the day, the insects sit in one place. The caterpillars of the Saturnia-cometa also have an unusual appearance: the body of the larva is covered with green scales. Caterpillars feed on tropical plants: uapaca, smoke tree, marula, etc. The larval stage is long: it can last up to two months. They pupate in snow-white porous cocoons. After the pupa stage, an adult butterfly appears. You can not enjoy its magnificent appearance for long, because the Saturnia-cometa lives only 4-5 days. The goal of the imago is to leave offspring. In Madagascar, these magnificent butterflies are successfully bred on special farms.
Источник: //domvred.ru/madagaskarskaya-saturniya/,//x.com / flyamur/status/1343837885779374080,/ucrazy.org/animals/1422804820-madagaskarskaya-kometa.html,/fotkiflo.ru/zhivotnye/saturniya-madagaskarskaya,//ekogradmoscow.ru/eko-blog/umnyj-dom-s-aleksandrom-perepechko/madagaskarskaya-kometa-vasilij-klimov-i-ego-okno-v-prirodu,//www.mirkrasiv.ru/nature/madagaskarskaja-kometa-argema-mittrei-krupneishaja-babochka-planety.html, /pikabu.ru/story/videli_takikh_babochek_9580589.
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bruhnze · 2 months ago
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PLAYING FOR KEEPS
CHAPTER 4 – Attraction
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Summary: Ona Batlle has had a crush on Lucy Bronze for a little while now… how will it go when she joins Barça? A 10 chapter series.
Warnings: Slow burn, angst, fluff, smut. All the things, but I give this as a complete warning for the whole series. Not every chapter involves all the warnings :).
masterlist
October 5, 2023: vs. Valencia CF (6-0, home) October 8, 2023: vs. Real Sociedad (3-0, home) October 15, 2023: vs. Atlético Madrid (1-0, away)
It had been a few weeks since that night. The first night she and Lucy had been together in one bed. When Ona had been cuddled up against someone who made her feel far more than she'd ever admit. And it hadn’t been a one-time thing. During the next away game, they’d ended up sleeping like that again. Twice. Both nights they stayed there, the warmth of Lucy’s body against hers, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, had become something Ona looked forward to happening again.
Ona kept repeating to herself that it was just for comfort, for both of them. They were teammates, they were friends. Just sharing a bed for some cuddles, falling into comfortable silence after a day of travel or matches, it didn’t mean anything. But no matter how much she told herself that, she couldn’t help the excitement building inside her as another away game approached.
After two successful games at home, Ona’s focus wasn’t entirely on the field anymore. She had played well, maybe even better than usual, but beneath it all, she had caught herself enjoying Lucy’s company more and more. There was no denying it. She enjoyed how they teased each other, how they joked together, how they pushed one another to be better during practice. Even the coach had complimented them on how well they worked together.
Now, it was the morning of the trip. Ona was deep in thought as she stood in her apartment, unable to stop herself from feeling eager about the journey to Atlético Madrid. The game wasn’t until the end of the week, but today marked the start of their trip. They would travel early so they could rest and train there before the match.
She was going to meet Lucy in a few minutes to drive to the stadium together. From there, the team would have a short flight to Madrid, followed by a light training session at the fields near the stadium where the game would take place.
Ona glanced at the time on her phone. Almost time to go. She felt that familiar flutter in her stomach, the same one that seemed to arise every time she was about to see Lucy. Over the past few weeks, she had tried to ignore it, to shove it down and act like everything was fine. But it was getting harder. Lucy’s smiles, the way she teased Ona without ever seeming to notice how it made her heart race. It was too much sometimes. Ona was happy to have built up such a good friendship, but the closeness was also hard. A little painful maybe even. She was so close to having something she knew she’d never have.
Pulling her suitcase to the door, Ona couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to that last away trip. The way Lucy had casually draped an arm around her as they watched a match of some other football club in their hotel room on Lucy´s iPad, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, later, when they had gotten ready for bed, it was like they didn’t even need to talk about it. They just curled up together. She could remember waking up with Lucy’s breath warm against the back of her neck like it had happened a few minutes ago.
And now, with this trip ahead, Ona could feel the excitement building again. She knew she was being ridiculous. Lucy was Lucy. Funny, playful, but most of all seemingly oblivious to anything happening beyond a friendship. But for Ona, those nights they shared were becoming something more. She had conflictive thoughts about how ethical all of this was towards Lucy. If she knew someone had a raging crush on her she´d definitely wouldn´t hold them so close, and definitely wouldn´t be wearing only some underwear.
Ona felt a little bit bad and definitely a little dirty about it, but the images she´d gathered from sharing rooms would make a regular appearance when she would have some alone time. But for some reason she felt ten times better then when she used to hold Lucy´s Instagram open, that used to bring a lot of anxiety for a stupid accidental like.
The team had arrived in Madrid, dropped off their bags, and gone through a pre-training routine. This time the schedule had been treatment, stretching, then Ona had had bit of downtime in the hotel room. But despite the team being together for most things, Ona hadn’t seen much of Lucy since they arrived. It was almost like she’d disappeared.
Now, everyone was in the dressing room, the team getting ready for field training. The mood was light, there was a familiar buzz of matchday -1 excitement as players chatted and prepped themselves, pulling on socks and tying boots. Ona sat quietly in front of her locker, her thoughts drifting as she laced up her shoes, listening only half-heartedly to the conversations around her.
Just then, the door Ona had been keeping an eye on, opened again. Lucy walked in. Ona looked at her surprised. Lucy’s usual bright and smiley demeanor was missing, replaced with a slight frown. She tossed her boots down with more force than usual, her movements quick and a little tense as she began putting on her training kit.
Ona watched from her spot, noticing how Lucy avoided looking at anyone, her jaw clenched. The rest of the team didn’t seem to pay much attention, continuing their own routines, slowly trickling out the dressing room one by one as they finished getting ready.
Patri and Bruna were the last to leave, still mid-conversation as they headed for the door. “You coming, Ona?” Patri asked, glancing back at her.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” Ona replied, her gaze still lingering on Lucy. She had been pretending to tie her boots for maybe 10 minutes already.
Once the door closed behind them, Ona hesitated for a moment before standing up and quietly making her way over. Lucy was sitting on the bench, still fiddling with her boots, her shoulders tense. Ona could feel the unease radiating from her. Without thinking much about it, she sat down beside Lucy.
“Hey,” Ona said softly, laying a hand on Lucy’s back. “What’s going on?”
For a moment, Lucy didn’t respond, her focus still on the boots in her hands. But then she sighed, her shoulders slumping as if she was finally letting go of some invisible weight. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, but her voice wavered just enough for Ona to know it was a lie.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Ona said gently, leaning in a little closer.
Lucy’s hand stilled, her fingers tightening around the laces. “It’s just... my knee,” she finally admitted, her voice low, almost reluctant. “It’s been bothering me again.”
Ona’s heart squeezed a little at the confession. She knew how much Lucy prided herself on pushing through pain, how much she hated admitting when something was wrong. “Is it bad?” Ona asked, her tone soft with concern.
Lucy shook her head quickly. “Not physically. It doesn’t hurt too bad. It’s... it’s more the way I feel about it than the actual pain.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the knee strap she had been wearing off and on during the season. Her fingers hovered over it for a second before she dropped it onto the floor with a small thud. “I have to wear that stupid thing again.”
Ona looked at the strap and then back at Lucy, her expression softening. “Aww, come on,” she said, her voice light but warm, trying to lift the mood a little. “Let me help.”
Before Lucy could protest, Ona was already kneeling in front of her, picking up the knee strap. Lucy blinked, surprised by the sudden gesture, but she didn’t say anything, just watched as Ona carefully positioned the strap around her knee. ‘’This side right?’’
Lucy nodded, watching Ona attentively.
Ona worked quietly, her fingers gently securing the Velcro, adjusting it with a focus that made Lucy’s breath catch. She didn’t realize how good of a friend Ona was until now - how careful, how thoughtful she was being. For a moment, the tension in her body eased, but then, almost out of nowhere, Lucy felt a sudden sting of emotion rising in her chest. She blinked, trying to push it back, but her eyes betrayed her, filling with tears.
“Hey,” Ona said softly, her fingers pausing on the last strap as she looked up at Lucy, her eyes filled with concern.
Lucy quickly wiped at her cheeks, embarrassed by the tears. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she mumbled, her voice rough.
“It’s okay,” Ona said quietly, she was leaning with a hand on each of Lucy’s thighs, leveling their faces trying to catch Lucy’s gaze. “It’s frustrating, I get it.”
Just then, the door slammed open. Ona and Lucy both turned their heads to see Bruna standing in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of them. “Oh, uhhh... I was just getting my shin guards, I forgot them.” Bruna stammered awkwardly, glancing between them.
Ona stood up, her hands falling to her sides as Lucy quickly wiped at her face again, standing up to grab her boots. Bruna, sensing the mood, quickly grabbed her gear from her locker and slipped out with a hurried, “See you out there.”
The door closed, leaving them in silence again. Lucy took a deep breath, her hand resting on the strap now securely in place around her knee. She glanced down at Ona, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks,” she said, her voice soft.
Ona smiled back, standing up and grabbing her own boots. “Anytime,” she replied, her tone light but sincere. “Now, come on. Let’s go train.”
Together, they headed out to join the team on the pitch.
...
At the beginning of training, the team always gathered on the field to stretch. Everyone had seemingly started already, Lucy and here were the last ones on the field.
Normally, Ona would pair up with Aitana for these exercises, but today, Bruna had apparently insisted on stretching with her instead. She called Ona over. They stood a little away from the others, quietly looping the elastic bands around their legs as they began their warm-up.
Bruna shot Ona a quick glance as they moved in sync, stretching the bands with steady resistance. After a few beats of silence, she finally asked, keeping her voice low, “So... can I ask what that was? You and Lucy in the dressing room earlier?”
Ona hesitated for a moment, knowing exactly what Bruna was referring to. She’d seen her walk in while she and Lucy had been standing close, too close maybe. “Oh,” Ona said, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah, of course, you can ask.” She paused, pulling the band a little tighter. “It was to do about Lucy’s knee... it’s been bothering her again. She was just frustrated about it.”
Bruna gave a small nod, her brow furrowing slightly as she thought about it. “Right... I could tell something was off,” she murmured, glancing toward Lucy, who was stretching with a few of the other girls not too far away.
They both fell quiet again, focusing on their stretches for a few minutes, but Bruna wasn’t done. As they switched legs, she looked back at Ona with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “You two... you’re getting really close, huh?”
Ona’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, trying not to let too much show. “Yeah,” she replied with a small smile, keeping her tone light. “She’s becoming a really good friend.”
Bruna didn’t say anything for a second, just nodded as if she was processing Ona’s answer. Then, with a knowing smile, she nudged her lightly with her elbow. “That’s nice. Lucy seems nice.’’
Ona’s smile faltered for just a split second before she nodded again, a soft “Yeah, she is,” slipping from her lips.
Bruna chuckled. ‘’A really good right back too, maybe she can teach you.”
At that Ona pushed Bruna, ‘’Oh shut up.’’ She chuckled.
As they finished their stretches, Bruna let the topic drop, and they rejoined the others, but the weight of Bruna’s words lingered in Ona’s mind, her thoughts swirling around the idea that maybe their closeness wasn’t going unnoticed after all. She was afraid everyone could notice from miles away that she had a crush on Lucy.
October 15
The day after their 1-0 win against Atlético Madrid had come to a close. They had completed their recovery session, shared a team dinner, and now, at midnight, they were ready for bed. Tomorrow morning, they’d fly back to Barcelona.
“What are you smiling about?” Lucy asked, her voice soft but her tone clearly curious.
“I’m just happy you felt good playing,” Ona smiled back, trying to keep her tone casual. “I heard you talking to the physio,” she added quickly, “sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just overheard.”
“It’s okay, I’m happy too,” Lucy chuckled. “Didn’t know your happiness was based on mine as well.”
Ona felt her face heat up, shrugging as she tried to play it cool. “Of course.”
“So... are we cuddling again or sleeping apart?” Lucy asked with a raised eyebrow, the casualness of her tone making Ona’s heart flutter.
Ona glanced at her, trying to keep her expression neutral, though inside she was screaming. "Whatever you like," she replied, trying to stay calm even though her mind was racing. She had been looking forward to this. The nights they'd spent curled up together had been the best part of her live since she’d joined this club again, and the thought of more made her feel warm all over.
“I’d like it,” Lucy smiled, eyes softening. “Am I coming to yours, or are you joining me?”
Ona didn’t hesitate. She was already on her feet before Lucy had finished the question.
Lucy laughed lightly, holding the covers up as Ona slipped under them with her. The small lamp on the nightstand flicked off, casting the room into the familiar quiet darkness. Out of habit, Ona nestled half on top of Lucy, just like they’d done before. It felt natural, almost like it was meant to be.
“Hmmm,” Lucy hummed as Ona buried her face in the curve of her neck. “I really like our cuddles too.” Her hand began tracing soothing circles on Ona’s back, the warmth of her touch sending pleasant shivers down Ona’s spine.
Ona’s heart thudded in her chest as she nuzzled against Lucy’s warm skin. She smelled so good, Ona thought, her senses overwhelmed by the closeness. She wanted to kiss the skin, feel the softness of Lucy’s lips. No, she tried to steady herself. It’s just cuddles... just comfort. But the sensation of Lucy’s hand slipping under her shirt, skin on skin, changed everything for her. It wasn’t just comforting anymore. It started to feel different, more intimate and suddenly, she was all too aware of how their bodies fit together.
Her breath hitched when she realized the pressure of Lucy’s thigh between her own. She shifted, trying to pull back slightly, her mind a swirl of confusion and want.
But Lucy’s arm tightened around her waist. “No, don’t leave,” Lucy murmured, her voice almost a plea. “I’m comfy.”
Ona chuckled softly, her tension melting a little.
She pressed her face back into the crook of Lucy’s neck and, without thinking, planted a soft kiss there. “Okay,” she whispered against her skin.
Lucy shifted beneath her. “Or... are you not comfy?” she asked, pulling her hand away gently.
“No, I am,” Ona hummed, almost instinctively placing another kiss, lingering a little longer this time. “Really comfy.” She took in the taste of Lucy’s skin, the scent of Lucy entering her nose.
Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. It was all her mind could come up with. Fuck, she really needed to get it together.
Lucy was quiet for a minute before asking softly, “Then why did you want to move?” It was a question but in some way it sounded like a challenge.
Ona froze, feeling the weight of the question. She didn’t have a good answer. Or rather, not one she was ready to say out loud. Why did she? Was she afraid? Nervous? The truth was, she wasn’t sure she could control herself anymore, not when they were this close. After a long pause, she sat up, straddling Lucy’s hips before she could second-guess herself.
Lucy blinked up at her, a mix of surprise and amusement. “What are you-”
Ona leaned down, her lips brushing against Lucy’s, barely touching. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling.
Please, stop me if you don’t want this, she thought desperately, though every inch of her hoped Lucy wouldn’t. “Stop me if you don’t want this,” she repeated, barely audible, feeling Lucy’s breath on her lips.
For a second, there was silence. Lucy’s eyes were wide, startled maybe, but there was no resistance. No sign she wanted Ona to pull back. And that was all the encouragement Ona needed.
She pressed a tentative kiss to Lucy’s lips. A soft, experimental nip on her bottom lip before pulling away again, her heart racing so fast she thought Lucy might hear it.
She sat back slightly, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run a marathon.
Lucy sat up slowly, her eyes locked on Ona, cheeks flushed.
“Where did I deserve that?” she asked, her voice breathy, a hint of a grin forming. Their faces now inches apart.
Ona hesitated, her gaze flicking to Lucy’s lips and back to her eyes, trying to read her. She.. liked it? Ona realized, her own lips curving into a careful smile.
Their faces were inches apart now, and before Ona could think too much, Lucy leaned in. This time, Ona didn’t hold back, answering the kiss with all the emotion she’d been bottling up for weeks, months, years.
As Lucy deepened the kiss, Ona’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind was spinning, every nerve in her body on high alert, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was intoxicating. She could feel Lucy’s hands sliding up her sides, resting just below her ribs, fingers pressing gently, grounding her in the moment.
Ona leaned in closer, her hands slipping around the back of Lucy’s neck as their kiss deepened further. Her body was reacting without her even thinking about it, the heat between them palpable. She could feel the way Lucy’s breath hitched every time their lips met, how her hands tightened on her waist, pulling her a little closer each time.
Instinctively, Ona shifted, her hips brushing against Lucy’s as she moved. The friction sent a spark through her, and she gasped softly into the kiss. She froze for a moment, her heart pounding as she realized what she had done. But Lucy didn’t pull away. Instead, her hands slid lower, resting at the curve of Ona’s hips as if encouraging her to continue.
Ona hesitated, her lips parting from Lucy’s just enough to catch her breath. Is this okay? The thought flashed briefly through her mind, but the way Lucy’s fingers pressed into her hips, the soft murmur of her own name on Lucy’s lips, erased any doubt.
Slowly, she began to move again, her hips rocking against Lucy’s, carefully at first, then with more confidence as she felt Lucy’s body respond beneath her. The soft fabric of their clothes barely separated them, but it was enough to let Ona feel every shift, every movement, the friction sending jolts of warmth through her.
Ona’s hands trembled slightly as she took one of Lucy’s, guiding it between their bodies with slow, deliberate movements. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as the weight of what was happening settled over her. But there was no hesitation—just an intense, overwhelming need.
The sensation of Lucy’s hand slipping under her waistband sent a shiver through her body. Ona gasped softly, burying her face in the crook of Lucy’s neck, her breath warm against her skin. She bit down on her lip, trying to stay quiet as Lucy’s fingers started to explore, tracing slow, teasing paths that made her body pulse with heat.
The touch of Lucy’s fingers sliding through her arousal was enough to make Ona groan, a breathless sound that echoed between them. She felt like she was unraveling, like every nerve in her body was on fire.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” Lucy breathed, her voice low and rough, the surprise and desire evident in her tone.
Ona lifted her hips slightly, positioning Lucy’s hand where she wanted it most. "Because of you," she whispered, her voice unsteady as her lips brushed Lucy's ear, the closeness amplifying everything between them. She let out a soft, desperate moan as Lucy’s fingers finally pressed against her entrance, the sensation sending sparks through her body. "Every time I see you in your underwear like this..." she groaned, her words dissolving into another gasp as Lucy’s thick fingers, the ones she had thought about so many times, slipped inside her.
The tight, exquisite pressure made Ona’s whole body tense for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed her forehead to Lucy’s shoulder, breathing heavily as she adjusted to the feeling. It was better than she’d imagined—better than all the nights spent wanting this, thinking about what it would feel like to finally have Lucy touch her this way.
Lucy’s other hand moved to hold Ona’s waist, steadying her as she began to move again, the rhythm of their bodies syncing naturally. Ona couldn’t think straight anymore; every thought, every sensation, every ounce of her focus was on the way Lucy’s fingers filled her, stroked her, the slow, steady pressure making her moan softly against Lucy’s skin.
Lucy swallowed hard, her breathing shallow as she pressed her fingers deeper. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire.
Ona could barely respond, her body taking over, grinding against Lucy’s hand as the pleasure built steadily inside her. She clung to Lucy’s shoulders, nails digging in slightly as her hips moved instinctively, chasing the feeling she’d been longing for. The sound of Lucy’s breathing, ragged and heavy in her ear, only made her want more.
Ona’s lips found Lucy’s neck again, placing soft, messy kisses as she let herself get lost in the sensations. The way Lucy’s fingers moved inside her, the way her body responded to every touch, every thrust. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as she felt herself getting closer to the edge.
“Lucy…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her body tensed, trembling with the pressure that was building, threatening to spill over at any moment.
Lucy responded by curling her fingers, hitting that perfect spot inside her. With a few more minutes Ona’s world exploded in a rush of pleasure. She moaned loudly, burying her face in Lucy’s neck as her body shook with the force of her release, her hips stuttering as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.
For a moment, everything was hazy, nothing but the sound of their breathing and the pounding of Ona’s heart in her ears.
Slowly, she came down from the high, her body still trembling slightly as she collapsed against Lucy, exhausted but satisfied. Lucy carefully laid back down on her back, her arms wrapped around Ona, holding her close, her fingers now gently tracing soothing patterns on Ona’s back.
Ona smiled weakly, her face still pressed into Lucy’s neck. “You’re... good at that,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathless, still trying to process everything that had just happened, her body still humming from the intensity of it all.
Lucy chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through her chest and into Ona. “Thank you,” she murmured, her tone light but warm.
Ona hesitated, feeling a wave of shyness wash over her. She leaned back slightly, her eyes meeting Lucy’s. “I-I’m sorry about that,” she stammered, her confidence shaken by the vulnerability of the moment.
“Why?” Lucy frowned, confused for a second, before her expression dropped, a hint of worry crossing her face. “Oh... regret? You regret doing this with me?” she asked softly, her voice suddenly uncertain.
“No, no!” Ona rushed to clarify, her heart clenching at the thought of Lucy misunderstanding. She reached out, her hands resting on Lucy’s shoulders as she tried to make her feelings clear. “I really liked this. I think you’re so hot. I’m just... I’m sorry if it felt like I used you?” Her voice faltered, uncertainty creeping in as she struggled to find the right words.
Lucy’s chuckle was soft but reassuring as she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Ona’s flushed face. “Used me?” she echoed with a smile. “You gave me more than enough chances to back out. No, trust me, this was really fucking hot. I liked it,” she added, her tone playful yet sincere, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Ona felt her cheeks warm even more, the relief flooding through her. She leaned forward again, resting her forehead against Lucy’s collarbone, breathing in the steady rhythm of Lucy’s heartbeat. “I have to confess something,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Lucy chuckled again, the sound deep and teasing. “You’ve always wanted to sleep with me, haven’t you?” she teased, her fingers gently tracing the back of Ona’s neck.
Ona’s face grew even warmer, and she leaned back just enough to meet Lucy’s gaze, eyes wide with embarrassment, but also a hint of playful defiance. “What if that was the case?” she mumbled, a half-smile playing at her lips.
Lucy, who had been chuckling until then, paused, narrowing her eyes at Ona with playful suspicion. But her expression softened again quickly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Really?”
“Maybe,” Ona said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. “Depends if you’d be into that.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “I think it’s cute,” she said, her hand cupping Ona’s chin gently, her thumb brushing over Ona’s cheek.
Ona swallowed hard, her gaze flickering down to where Lucy’s arm flexed subtly in front of her. She traced the curve of Lucy’s bicep with her eyes, suddenly aware of the depth of her attraction—how much she had always wanted her.
“I think you’re really hot,” she confessed quietly, her voice soft, almost shy. Her fingers traced the edge of Lucy’s arm, hesitant but drawn to the warmth of her skin.
Lucy’s teasing smile softened at Ona’s words. Her hand, still gently holding Ona’s chin, tilted her face up until their eyes met again. The playful banter they often shared seemed to fade, replaced by something deeper, more sincere.
“Well,” Lucy murmured, leaning closer until her lips barely brushed against Ona’s, “I think I can live with that.” She chuckled lightly, her voice a little lower. “And, for the record, you’re not too bad yourself.”
Ona’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade, the tension between them shifting into something more intimate. Before she could stop herself, a question slipped out. “How many…?” She trailed off, immediately shaking her head, embarrassed. “Never mind, sorry.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed slightly, amused. “You really need to learn to say what’s on your mind.”
“Huh?” Ona asked, tilting her head slightly.
“I mean,” Lucy said softly, her hand moving in gentle circles along Ona’s back beneath her shirt, “you don’t have to hold back with me. Say what you want. Don’t be afraid.”
Ona chuckled nervously, burying her face briefly against Lucy’s neck before she whispered, “How many people have you… slept with?”
‘’Huh.’’ Lucy raised her eyebrows but smiled. “Is that really something you want to know?”
Ona nodded, still feeling the warmth of her blush. “Only if you’re okay with telling me.”
Lucy paused for a moment, her fingers still tracing slow, comforting patterns on Ona’s back. “Six people,” she said simply.
Ona blinked, processing it, then asked softly, “Am I the sixth?”
Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. “No, we haven’t slept together yet.”
Ona looked at her, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”
Lucy grinned, leaning in to kiss Ona’s forehead lightly. “I’d say we’ve fooled around a bit.’’ She chuckled, ‘’Sleeping with me, that’s a whole different thing, trust me,” she teased, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, “it would be way better then this.”
Ona laughed, her earlier nerves dissolving into the ease of Lucy’s words. “Is that a promise, Bronzey?” She said, her voice flirty.
Lucy smirked, her thumb brushing lightly over Ona’s cheek. “Mhm, it can be.’’
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wardenparker · 2 months ago
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Bones Full of Words, ch 9
Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
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“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.
He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Violence, kidnapping, physical violence, discussion of torture, descriptions of injuries sustained while being held captive, fear of mistreatment, certainty of death. Summary: As your disappearance makes him increasingly desperate, Javi enlists Carrillo to help him and Murphy track you down. The nature of his relationship to you is a revelation to some, but one person knows more than expected. Notes: Another heavy week. High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. This chapter contains descriptions of the mistreatment of prisoners. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8
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Pablo talks for hours. Expounding on his business while making it seem as if everything he had done has been completely legal and above board. Never actually admitting that it is cocaine that he is running. Griping about the interference of the U.S. and the threat of extradition.
He talks until the sun starts to set, the light starting to fade against the walls. He’s gone through a pack of cigarettes and there’s been several cokes brought in for him. And one for you after he had noticed you staring at the bottle.
Sitting back, he crushes out the last smoke and looks at you. “We will stop here for now.” He announces.
For now.
You nod, feeling weak and tired from having had no food or sleep in well over twenty-four hours. Any adrenaline that had carried you through earlier parts of the day has flagged and the bone-deep exhaustion of fear is starting to set in. That soda may have been a good will gesture but it won't do a damn thing in terms of keeping your body going.
For now, he said.
"We will continue when you're ready." This won't happen any other way. No part of this gives you even a shadow or pretense of control – this is Pablo Escobar talking at a journalist, and it's your job to simply regurgitate the information. Thank god you're not still taking notes by hand otherwise you're pretty sure your fingers would be cramping beyond recognition. He talked all goddamn day without stopping.
“Bring her something to eat.” Pablo tells one of the men who had originally kidnapped you. He had disappeared for a few hours, but now he was back. “Take her to a room on the other side of the house.”
A perfunctory “Yes, boss” comes before the man yanks you up off the chair you’ve been attached to all day and a younger man — a teenager at best — scrambles to cut the tape from your ankles.
Stumbling is your best form of movement with the speed at which they push you along. It’s clear you are in a mansion wherever you are, as the other ‘end’ of the house is a long trek away. Two men propel you down a flight of stairs into the basement, where a room in one end of the space is apparently meant to be your prison for the time being. Inside the small room they toss you into, there are only a few exposed pipes and nothing else. Enrique — or whatever his real name is — enters with a wolfish grin and a set of chains, saying nothing while he cuffs and chains your hands to two of the pipes. A bare cement floor, torn clothes, and chains. That is what you’ll be dealing with tonight. And if you’re lucky, the worst thing that will happen is pissing yourself. Escobar had allowed you a single bathroom break today — and only because he had realized that he needed one himself.
“I think you don’t need food.” Enrique snorts as he turns around. “You won’t starve to death. Might do you some good. Bitch.”
“Do you always disobey orders on a whim?” Fat bitch remarks are just the right level of petty to piss you off right now, and even feeling weak you still have a smart mouth.
“I’ll make an exception for stupid American bitches.” He sneers, turning around and shooting you a glare. “Keep your mouth shut unless you want a cock stuffed in it until you choke.”
The threat is obvious. And real. And entirely what you expected. But that doesn’t stop you from summoning what little muster you have and spitting on him with gusto. “You’ll have to find somebody with a cock over two millimeters first.”
He huffs a laugh for a moment before he rushes over and kicked you in the side as hard as he can. Once and then one more after you gasp out in pain.
Well, you definitely hit a nerve, at least. The pair of men who threw you in here disappear, slamming and locking the door behind them. It isn’t until the second afterward that you realize there is truly going to be no relief at all tonight. No hoping to be dumped in the jungle with your cassette tapes to survive by your own wits. No dumping you back in the trunk of that car to be tossed out again in the streets of Bogotá. Not even the swift release of being shot.
The best you can hope is that your eyes adjust to the pitch blackness and that no one comes back to beat or rape you tonight.
******
“We don’t have time to fucking waste with this bullshit!” Javi hisses, jaw clenched and he’s ready to just rush past both Steve and Carrillo to make the woman talk. She had kept her mouth shut so far and he’s tired of this. Every second they waste is another second that you could be abused like Helena or worse. He’s checked his marks from you nearly a dozen times in the past twenty minutes alone.
“She’s the only lead we’ve got.” Steve reminds him, raking one exasperated hand through his hair. This woman has been terrified into silence and nothing is cracking her. A waitress for fuck’s sake.
Javi’s eyes are flatter than they’ve ever been before. “Then we torture her.”
Murphy’s mouth flattens in turn, not because they haven’t done it before but because Peña is too invested. But at the same time, his partner has to be in the room to catch any vital piece of information that the interrogation might produce. He’s been intentionally cagey with information about his living situation and now it’s obvious why. “We do.” Murphy bargains, gesturing between himself and Carrillo. “You don’t lay a finger. Got it?”
He’s not happy with that answer, even if he’s never really been one to torture someone. He’s watched, sometimes feeling sorry for the bastard, although it’s hard to feel sorry for a sicario. This is a civilian woman and while he should want to protect her, he wants to find you more. “Fine.” He growls, glaring at Steve.
"Listen, ask questions, but let us do the work." Us means mostly Carrillo and they all know it. Murphy is a little too moral to be hung-ho about red-blooded American information gathering techniques, but they all know this is too important to fuck around with today.
Javi clenches his jaw, his entire body rigid with worry that comes out as pure fury, but he nods. He should have had it out with you. He should have demanded Trujillo go with you. It’s his goddamn fault you are missing. Every fucking thing that happens to you right now is because of him.
"Alright, sweetheart." Steve strolls across the room with a raised voice, bypassing the open doorway which effectively leaves Javier behind while Murphy and Carrillo do the dirty work. Even though he knows Javi won't stay put. For that matter, he shouldn't. He just needs to stay far enough away that he keeps his hands clean – in a literal sense. "I think we've had enough stalling, haven't we?" It's become clear through the first part of this interrogation – however fruitless – that this woman does speak English, which is good for Steve if nothing else.
She tries to appear like she doesn’t understand, keeping her face blank as her eyes shift to the man behind her. She knows him. She’s seen him somewhere. She just can’t place where right now.
"Answer him." Carrillo orders in Spanish, his expression as stone-faced as ever. He hasn't heard all the details but he doesn't need to. Peña has done enough for him with interrogations in the past that he's willing to help if it's this important to the man.
“I don’t know what they want.” She answers Carrillo in Spanish, waiting for the other one to come and scream in her face again. He’s the one she’s scared of. Especially if it’s true that Escobar kidnapped his soulmate.
"Yes you do." It's clear she's stubborn but not stupid, and Carrillo is more than sure that it's clear to her exactly what Peña wants. He looks over at Murphy, inviting him to take over again. "She claims not to know what you want."
"Sure you do." Murphy stands directly in front of her, arms crossed and looking down his nose at the waitress that has been stonewalling them for hours. "What's Escobar got on you, huh? He got your sister or your mom or baby brother locked away somewhere?"
Javi marches into the room, pulling out your press pass to the embassy from his pocket. He had snatched it from your room and he shoves it in her face. “This woman! You saw her!”
"I see a lot of people." She drawls, affecting nonchalance in the face of the only one of these three men she is actually afraid of. It's the way she deals with the sicarios, too.
“Javier.” Carrillo turns to Javi, putting his hand on the other man’s chest and lifting a brow when he feels how hard his heart is pounding. Whoever this woman is to him - he hadn’t learned that yet - this is really getting to him. “Go watch.” He orders softly. “We’ve got this.”
"Most people who get taken by sicarios don't live long enough to be found again." He is so deeply intent on finding this woman – the scary one is – and while she feels something akin to sympathy she also has to look out for her and hers. "Or if they do, they wish they hadn't."
“She’s fucking alive.” Javi snaps, nearly snarling at the woman for voicing his fears. How broken would you be when you are found? If you are found? For all he knows, Pablo will mail him your body in pieces.
"Is she?" She seems dubious of that fact. Or maybe dubious of these men.
Javi stares at her, glaring at her for a moment before he leans down slightly and yanks the edge of his jeans up, kicking off his boot and sock to reveal the tattoo that is never visible to many. “She is.” He hisses again. “Her tattoo is still on my body.”
The air is sucked out of the room so quickly that Murphy actually turns away, wiping his hands down his face as he tries to process just how fucked they really are. The waitress, restrained as she is, doesn't have to strain forward a single inch to see the anchor tattoo on the man's ankle. It was the same one — with a word in English — that she had seen on that American woman last night. She gulps down a nervous breath, eyes darting up to his, and wets her lips. "I don't know where they took her."
“So she was there last night.” Javi scoffs, reaching down and swiping his boot off the floor before he turns to Horacio. “I don’t care what it takes.” He tells the other man in Spanish, aware she will listen in. “I want to know everything.”
"Peña..." Carrillo levels him with a warning expression, wondering if he is really willing to take this interrogation to the end of the earth for a soulmate that he, and seemingly Murphy, have never even heard of before.
His eyes are flat, almost black, glancing back at the woman in the chair who suddenly looks like she’s about the throw up. “Find her family.” He decides. “Bring them here.”
"They already have my family!" He has found the key, it seems, because the woman is now borderline frantic in her restraints. "If you go to find them, Escobar's men will kill them out right!"
Carrillo stares at Javi for another moment, waiting for the man’s expression to soften, but he doesn’t waver. Making the SearchBloc commander’s brows shoot up. It seems that Peña is willing to go even farther than what was needed to save Helena. He’s got it bad for this soulmate of his and he hadn’t even realized it until now. “Tell us everything you know and we can protect them, and you.” He promises her, turning back around to face her struggling in the chair. “Keep wasting our time, and my friend- I’m afraid that I don’t know what he would do.”
"Listen, sweetheart." Steve rolls his shoulders, gasping at straws to try to figure out if he can stop all of this bullshit before literal torture of this woman begins in earnest. He may not be the most moral motherfucker out there but this is still something he isn't totally comfortable with. "I believe you. You don't know where they took her. But you do know who took her, doncha?"
Swallowing harshly, she looks at the blonde American, biting her lip and nodding. “Yes.” She whispers in English.
"I get that you don't wanna make the sicarios mad." Seeing that he's cracked the surface, Murphy kneels down to be eye-to-eye with the woman. She can't be more than thirty years old, and more than likely she's much younger. The stress of a life lived in the shadow of a cartel ages people far before their time. "You just want to protect your family. But we can help you with that. We just need to know what you know, and we'll help you keep your family safe. How does that sound?"
“They own the building we live in.” She stresses, shaking her head. “Our lives are all hanging by a thread. All the time.”
"Well." Murphy offers her a smile, dropping his voice to push the drawl and laying that Southern charm on thick. "Ain't it good that we own apartment buildings, too?"
“Pablo knows everything that goes on.” She whispers. “His men are always around. Watching. Listening.”
"You've been with us long enough." He reminds her quietly. "They're going to think you talked no matter what. But if you actually cooperate we can help you. Even get you some visas if you help us enough." He takes a stab in the dark, hoping he's got it right, and tilts his head sympathetically. "How many kids do you have?"
“Dos.” she frowns. “Two. Two boys. They are only six.” Again her face sets into a panic, but it’s almost resigned. Like she’s becoming more aware of the fact that she is going to die. All because of Enrique wanting the American that comes in sometimes.
"My little girl's still a baby." Murphy nods in shared solemnity and looks back at Carrillo and Peña. "Visas for a mother and two sons in exchange for information leading to the return of a DEA agent's soulmate." He lays it out flatly, waits for Carrillo to nod, and turns back to the waitress. The visas won't be for America, but they'll at least get the woman and her kids out of the country and far enough away to hopefully give them a second chance. "Who took the American woman?"
“Enrique and Santiago Alvarez.” She knows that a visa will be the best offer she will get. She is in the middle of a power struggle and while Pablo has the force necessary here, he has far less control outside of Colombia. “Pablo’s men.”
Shit. Murphy glances back at Peña and Carrillo, recognizing the names all too well as ruthless enforcers who work directly for Escobar. “That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells the waitress soothingly when he swallows down the fear that his partner’s marks might not be around too much longer. “Was anyone else involved?”
“Our cook.” She swallows. “He didn’t want to, but everyone had to do what they say. They would have killed him. They are going to kill me when they learn I’ve talked.”
“They won’t.” He can’t be sure of that, obviously, but Murphy is going to be as reassuring as possible right now. “We’re going to give you our best protection.”
“Like that politician?” She snorts, wondering how the hell she gets out of this with her skin intact.
Murphy exhales, a long and disappointed sound. “He refused to follow our security recommendations,” he tells her sharply.
She senses that was the wrong button to push and she nods. “I won’t disobey anything.” She promises.
“Good.” He won’t guarantee her more, but at least knowing she’s wearing a damn tacvest if they have one to her is a helpful sign of cooperation. “Then let’s go back through everything you remember from last night.”
******
The door clanks as much as a heavy wooden door can, right before it bursts open. Enrique grinning as he see you jump, but your eyes are still closed. Swollen slightly, but not enough to piss off the boss. “Wake up, bitch.” He hisses, kicking at your feet and then your leg when you don’t respond fast enough.
“I’m assuming it’s morning?” Not that you could tell in this cement prison. Not that you weren’t woken up every few hours last night so someone else could kick you across the floor or use you as a punching bag.
“Still mouthy.” Enrique snorts, shaking his head. He had thought you would have learned some manners by now, but Americans are stupid it seems.
"I'm not dumb enough to think I'm gonna get out of here alive." If you had had any glimmer of hope before, the continuous beatings you got last night were proof that they have no intention of going easy on you here. Or maybe the fact that it was only beatings was their version of 'easy'. Either way, you make a show of shrugging your shoulders. "The least I can do is make an impression."
He’s impressed with your tenacity and stubbornness, even if he’s dragging you to your feet and shoving you. “Go.” He barks. “The boss wants you.”
"Can't wait for him to see my face." It sounds pithy or sarcastic, but you actually wonder – as much as you can focus on thoughts other than keeping your feet moving under you so you don't fall over – if he'll be upset that his lackeys kicked the shit out of you last night. With your face swollen and blood and piss staining your clothes, there's no way they can pretend that you were well taken care of last night.
“Bitch.” He hisses, shoving you again, but he hadn’t really thought about that. Pablo would be pissed at him. “Come on.” He growls, guiding you out of the basement and towards the bedroom you were supposed to stay in last night.
Expecting to be shoved along the length of the main floor of the hidden mansion like you were yesterday, you're surprised to be pushed up an extra flight of stairs and down a hallway into another mostly empty room. This one at least has a bed in it, and fear flits across your mind for yet another countless time. "What the hell are we doing up here?" You ask, deciding to mouth off one more time and pray that it won't be the very last.
“Shut the fuck up.” He huffs, pushing you towards the door across the room. “You have five minutes to shower.”
A shower. And then putting the same filthy clothes back on. It seems utterly useless but maybe the reminder of being covered in dirt and blood is part of the point. Humiliating the prisoner.
Whatever.
You're getting a chance to shower and you're not going to throw that away on the fact that you're going to have to put dirty clothes back on after. The chance to wash your wounds and hopefully stave off any possible infections is worth it, and you dive into the bathroom immediately. Wasting precious seconds is not an option.
Once the door is closed, Enrique moves to the closet and pulls out the larger dress that had been procured. He tosses it on the bed and scoffs when he hears a quiet groan from inside the bathroom.
It's the fastest shower you've taken since summer camp when you were thirteen, but it's glorious to scrub the dirt from your skin and to carefully tend to the wounds you can see through swollen eyes. Most of the damage is probably internal and you can't do anything about those, but you'll take this. You'll take this chance to wash your hair and wipe away the grime from your body.
After what you assume is five minutes, the water shuts off on its own. Somebody somewhere in the house has cut you off, but it's fine. You managed to clean up and for now you're going to take what you can get. There's a towel on the edge of the sink that you didn't notice originally. It's not big enough to wrap around you but you can at least dry off.
Prepared to put your old clothes back on, you step out into the bedroom and see the dress flung out on the bed waiting for you. There's no hint of underwear and you have no idea what happened to your shoes, but there is a clean item of clothing that actually looks like it might fit you. Taking a chance, you rummage through the drawers of the dresser – the only other piece of furniture in the room – and find a pair of boxers that clearly belonged to a large man. They'll do perfectly well for you, and you tug them on under the dress and can't believe how human it feels to just be clean again.
Enrique beats on the door, only a few seconds before he flings it open. “Let’s go.” He grunts, glaring at you like it’s your fault that he’s had to let you shower.
"What?" Feeling infinitely better just from five minutes of hot water and soap, you move past him the best you can on shaky, weak legs. "No words of appreciation for feminine beauty? That's why you're so angry, ya know."
“You’re lucky Pablo wants you right now.” He hisses, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the room.
Now it's back down to the same table where you sat all day yesterday. Enrique shoves you along until his boss is barely in sight. It's only at that point that he pushes you one last time then lets you walk forward of your own accord. He really must have been under orders to go easy on you. There isn't even a gun to your back today.
Pablo calls your name, a smile on his face until you get closer and the sight of your face becomes very obvious. “What happened?” He demands, staring at your face and then looking back at Enrique.
"You ought to keep a tighter leash on your men." You have no fear of throwing any of these bastards under the proverbial bus of Pablo Escobar's anger. It's as if being bound to a chair while he shot a man yesterday has only made you more acutely aware of how that could easily have been you and your fight or flight reflex has chosen to fight with words.
“I see.” He narrows his eyes and motions to Enrique. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” He hisses angrily. “Go to fucking Medellín.”
Well...it's better than having to witness another man's murder. Though you can't pretend you'd be upset for Enrique to be punished. "I assume I wasn't supposed to be starved in a room in the basement, either?" You prompt, knowing full well that he had told the bastards to feed you.
“Fuck.” Pablo shakes his head and shouts for another sicario to come to him right fucking now.
"Boss." The man he called over is doing his best to cover up the fact that he's nervous, and you wonder if he's one of the ones that came in last night to kick you across the room or not.
“Get her some fucking food and something to goddamn drink.” He growls, looking towards you with a hard glare. “This is not the treatment I wished for you to have.” He admits.
While you're sure it isn't the worst that anyone has endured here by far, you still nod. "I understand that." It doesn't make you like him by any stretch of the imagination. In fact? It just makes you think of him as a sniveling little suck up, trying to curry favor with the American journalist.
“Good.” Pablo sighs, tapping the table and standing. “We will wait to continue the interview.” He decides.
“Of course.” He is in charge, after all. You may be surviving this ordeal with your mouth and your wits, but you aren’t stupid enough to think anyone else is in control.
“Sleep, eat.” He orders. “We will talk later. You need to be able to write this article clear headed.”
It goes on like that for days.
You're fed and that small bedroom to sleep in, with only minimal instances of guards bursting into the room in the middle of the night to beat you in places that your dress covers – which is why you're fairly certain you have a few broken ribs and are astonished that no crippling damage has been done to your back. One of the men the first night definitely broke your nose but much of the other swelling has gone down over the course of the days and nights that Pablo Escobar keeps your hostage in his hidden estate.
Every day you fill up tape after tape just letting him talk, and at night he lets you write. The article will have to be finished eventually, but the more he talks, the more material you have. And while you remain acutely aware that your lifespan directly relies on how long it takes you to write the piece he wants, there is another notebook hidden in that little bedroom that is your story. The account of how you're treated, how he treats his sicarios, the identities of those sicarios, and as much information as you can cram into it about the location you're being kept. All written in short hand like your own private code, the second your private notebook makes it into a secretary's hands at the embassy, it can easily be translated and distributed to anyone who can make use of the information.
******
“GODDAMNIT.” The entire department has become used to the sound of slamming drawers and papers being flung across the room the in frustration. Eyes wary as they glance towards the closed door and wonder how long it will take for it to slam open and Javier Peña to come rampaging out like a bull on the loose. His normal sarcastic charm is non-existent and everyone has felt the force of his temper. “Where the fuck are the satellite photos?”
"They're coming. We just called for them five minutes ago." Steve has sorted to being ultra-calm in the face of his partner's frantic chaos. It's not the survival technique he expected to use, but he does understand. Every single day he goes home late and holds Connie close, grateful that it wasn't her that went missing instead.
“She- it’s been days!” He hasn’t slept and his hands are shaking from the amount of caffeine he has lived off of. His eyes are gritty and heavy, but every fucking time they close he sees your body sprawled out.
"And she is still alive." The marks on Javi's body are proof that you're still hanging on, although both men have voiced their surety that more will join the set he already has in the days and weeks and months to come. There is no way you aren't being hurt, wherever you are. "We'll find her." He repeats the mantra for the hundredth time today. He has to believe it, or else Javi might break.
“Every fuckin hour- every hour that passes.” Javi closes his eyes and shudders. “You know what they will do to her. What they are doing.” He can’t think about that right now, he can’t. He has to focus on finding you. He’s already gone to some of his lesser acceptable contacts for any information he can find. It’s worth the possibility of selling his soul to the devil.
"Peña!" Carrillo's voice comes in a holler from down the hall. Not the photos they expected, but only one small piece of paper clutched in his hand.
He startles, leaping up from his desk and rushing towards the SearchBloc commander. “What is it?”
"We have leads." Carrillo shoves the information into Peña's shaking hands instantly. "Enrique and Santiago Alvarez have been spotted in four different places in as many days. Driving the same car that the waitress identified as their getaway vehicle. They're either headed for Cali, or for Bucaramanga. Which..." His lips purse, displeased. "Are in opposite directions."
“Fuck.” Javi hisses as he stares at the paper, squinting slightly. “They could be trying to throw us off. Or they are stupid enough to think we don’t know what they drove when they kidnapped her.”
"One team in each direction?" Steve suggests, having followed Peña into the hall to find out what Carrillo had found.
"They wouldn't take her to Cali." Javi reasons, staring at the information written as if it would magically give him more. "The Rodrigez brothers would not appreciate him bringing trouble to Cali. Paco Herras has already warned them."
"As far as we know, there are no labs or safe houses in Bucaramanga." The term 'safe' in safe house is relative if Carrillo knows about the place, but the point remains. As far as they know, Escobar has no solid footholds in that particular city. "Might be somewhere nearby. But that's a lot of area to cover, plus mountains and ocean."
"Order it searched." Javi crumples the paper in his hand. "I don't give a fuck if I need to have the Marines go in."
"We'll be ready to go the second you find something." Steve tells Carrillo, giving the other man a nod before he jogs away down the hall. If anything, Murphy is the optimism of the group right now so he has to believe that something will be found.
He watches Carrillo turn and stride down the hall, his footsteps quick and determined but it will still be hours, or maybe days before he learns anything. "I can't just sit here." Javi growls, slapping his hand against his thigh and turning to grab his jacket off the back of his chair.
"Where are we going?" Steve grabs his coat instantly, not willing to let his partner go anywhere alone. Mostly out of concern, but also because Peña is so wired and exhausted all at once that he might succumb at any point. The last thing the man needs is to fall asleep at the wheel on his way to find his soulmate.
"Stay here." Javi shakes his head, knowing that Steve would neither approve, nor want to be a part of what he was about to do.
“Where are we going?” Steve repeats, continuing to follow his partner down the hall.
"I'm serious, stay the fuck here." Javi hisses, glaring over his shoulder at Steve and putting a little more effort in his steps to get some distance from the long-legged bastard. "I don't need you fucking something else up."
"I've been fucking helping you, asshole!" Steve points out, hollering back with his own frustration bubbling over. It's been four days since Peña's soulmate went missing and he's been understandably insufferable.
Stopping short, Javi whirls around and grabs Steve by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him back against the wall with heavy thud. "You're the fucking reason she was unprotected!" He angrily accuses him. "You had to bring Elisa to my fucking house and leave her there. Complicating my life and pissing her off where she wouldn't even fucking look at me when she left!" His face is twisted in rage and regret, making the scowl even darker as he glares at the blonde man.
"I didn't make you fuck her!" Steve reminds him, growling right back as days' worth of exhaustion and anger boils over in both of them.
His face tenses and for a moment, neither one of them knows if Javi is going to punch him. After a second, he lets him go and his hands drop to his sides. Steve's right, he didn't have to fuck Elisa and this is all on him. He doesn't say anything else, just turns and flees down the hall.
******
Escobar does the same thing each day when he decides he is done talking to you, and you’re continuously unsurprised to find it is always right before his dinner time. The man is selfish in every way, including wanting a long and indulgent meal at the end of things.
But each day he will slap one hand on the table between you, stub out his cigarette with the other, and proclaim that you need something to eat. Apparently the treatment he wished for you to have is coffee in the morning, Coca-Cola and cigarettes — always shared with him — during the day, and a child’s portion of whatever he is eating for dinner. You never complain because you’re not stupid, but it does seem like treating you as a prized prisoner really always was his goal. Never letting you have any illusion that your life is in his hands.
As if you could ever think anything else.
“You need to eat something.” Pablo crushes out his cigarette and sends you a smile. “I’m eager to see what you have written so far.” He adds.
“It’s written in shorthand at the moment.” Turning the pad of paper you’re allowed to take notes on over in your hands to show him, you set it down on the table with the confidence that he won’t have a clue what it means. “If you would like, I’ll write it out tonight for you to read in the morning? So you can approve before we go on.” His version, of course. Not the one you’ve been actively writing for days now that is your real article. The one you’ll give him to read will be full of his naked lies and ambitions.
“Good.” He nods and looks very pleased with the idea. “A few more days and you will be able to send the truth to your papers.” He shrugs. “Maybe even win you that prize for journalists.”
“Perhaps.” A few more days. It’s disarming, to hear your expiration date said out loud like that. It makes you wonder how often the Pulitzer in journalism is ever awarded posthumously. “You will decide when you are satisfied with it.” And when he’s done with you.
“Of course.” He dismisses the very notion that he would allow anything else. “It will be the perfect way to show your soulmate that I am not the enemy.”
Very careful not to react sharply or irrationally, you exhale a measured breath and raise your head from looking at your notebook. "My what?" He fucking knows. Of course he does. Javier is in so much danger and doesn't even realize half of it...
He tilts his head, amusement glittering in his eyes. “You do not know?” He asks mockingly. “I know of your soulmate.” He teases. “I have a price on his head. And you will bring him to me.”
------
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