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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 months ago

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NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 1 : oh shit. a cowboy.

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.9k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers, toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😗 (sry baby), yj and reader get into a pretty big fight

notes: literally thank you so much to @ateez-main-yapper for helping me write this! like this would not exist without her letting me yap in her dms. or letting her help build the story up. or asking her to help edit. this was a two woman job 🙂‍↕️ so thank you baby 💗

ALSO there have been a couple changes and edits from the teaser, so not everything of the first 1k words is the same ☺️

and YES there will be a part 2 (& 3 💀) so PLEASE don't ask for it 😭 she will come when she's ready

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley, the sky strangely overcast for two in the afternoon.

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music since the stereo had broken months ago when Yeonjun slammed his fist against it in a fit of rage when you asked him to skip his gig this weekend to attend your sister’s wedding. Now it just blinked periodically when the car hit a bump, giving it miniscule signs of life. And for a man who focused his whole life around his music, he seemed uncharacteristically uninterested in getting it repaired. And maybe it would never get fixed because you could only afford to get the big issues fixed today.

After six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended this garage when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she insisted on here. You had your doubts when she pulled up the Instagram of one of the mechanics to show you the shop and ended up going on about how hot he was for several minutes, but you didn’t really have any other options.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house two large garage doors that opened up the shop to the dusty parking lot. Peering inside, you could see that there weren't many people inside the garage. There were only two mechanics in your line of sight, the closer of the two venturing back and forth between his toolbox and the taillights of an old Chevy, and you were their only customer as far as you could tell. You shrugged, Maybe they’re understaffed.

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside.

You spent several moments hovering by one of the garage doors, shuffling your feet and trying to catch the eye of one of the mechanics, but neither of them looked up. Entirely too absorbed in their work to notice your presence. They must not get very busy.

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them.

They both turned to you, and the man who’d been fixing up the Chevy opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off by his coworker, who jogged over from where he'd been partially hidden from view behind a rack of miscellaneous parts, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.”

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god.

“Hey Doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but you chose to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt that anyone else uttering that word toward you would’ve disgusted you to your core. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backward on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face, strands you imagined yourself brushing up under his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “‘Course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration’s been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was a little loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?”

You pointed across the lot.

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction.

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing them over, embarrassed.

He took them from you with a 'thanks doll' and a tip of his head, hand hovering over his forehead in a way that made you think he was used to wearing hats much bigger than this simple baseball cap. Before you could even question it further he was jogging across the lot and pulling the car through the big garage doors.

When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, nodding slowly.

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so I would get tired of his whining and go on and get it fixed myself,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face.

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back, and your grip on your hair tightened just a little in frustration. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I doubt I could get her done any sooner than tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try and get a ride home then.”

“Alright, Doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I–so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash.

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

Yunho watched as you stepped out into the parking lot to call someone, presumably that questionable boyfriend of yours who seemed to be way more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t help how his heart had dropped when you told him you had a boyfriend in the first place. After a long while of singleness, he was kind of hoping to test the waters when he saw you, and it even seemed like you responded positively to his obvious flirtations.

“So a boyfriend, huh?” Mingi startled him from behind.

Yunho let out a small sigh, trying not to let himself get too worked up about it. You had only met twenty minutes ago for fucks sake. “Yeah, seems like a real piece of work though.”

“Really?” MIngi gave his friend a skeptical side-eye, “Or is that the jealously talking.”

“No, seriously! This is his car. And she said it’s been actin’ up for a while, but he never made the time to bring it in. She only brought it here ��cause he wouldn’t stop whining ‘bout it.”

“Huh. Sounds kinda child-like to me, but who are we to judge? We haven't even met the dude,” Mingi pat his friend on the back, “Try not to let it get you down, man. I’m sure there’s a cowboy-lovin girl right around the corner waiting for you.”

Yunho nodded, moving along so Mingi would let the whole thing drop. But no matter how many times he repeated in his head that you were taken, he just couldn’t stop looking over in your direction. You just seemed so…tired. He didn’t want to assume, but he got the feeling that this boyfriend of yours might be the main cause of that. And try as he might to reign in his ego and keep it in check, he couldn't help the part of him that knew that, whatever this man was providing for you, he could do so much better. That wasn’t really his place, though. So he let you be.

“Yeonjun what do you mean you’re busy? You were on the couch when I left an hour ago,” you sighed through the phone.

“Baby, come on. You know I have a gig tonight,” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And I need to get in the right headspace, so I can’t leave the apartment. It’ll ruin the mood.”

“Is that really more important than picking me up? I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know. Call an Uber?” Oh, you were gonna kill him.

“What? Why would I pay for an Uber when I have a boyfriend at home with my perfectly functioning car who could drive his ass over here and pick me up? For free!”

You hated how difficult it was to get him to help you out in any way. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Listen, I really can’t break my flow right now. Maybe wait a couple hours, and I’ll come pick you up, okay? Or maybe have one of your friends pick you up.”

“It’s 3 pm on a Tuesday, Jun. Most people are at–” He hung up on you, “Work..” You trailed off.

God, this is so embarrassing. What the hell were you going to do now? You could call an Uber, but you could barely afford groceries this week. And getting this car fixed was gonna drain the last of your paycheck.

You bit at your lip anxiously, wracking your head for options. Your friends would be more than happy to pick you up, but most of them wouldn’t get off work for another two hours. So maybe you could just wait until then. Or maybe you could hitchhike? The highway was miles off. And your gut wrenched at the idea of a stranger knowing where you lived…But maybe that could work. Or maybe you cou–

“Everything alright out here, sweetheart?”

You jumped at his voice, “Oh! Yeah,” you scratched at your head, trying to force a smile, “My boyfriend’s just really busy, so he can’t come get me.”

“Do you…need a ride?” He offered sincerely, “I don’t wanna overstep or anything, but I could help ya if you need it.”

“Oh god no! You don’t have to do that.”

He grinned softly at you, “It’s really nothing at all. I’ll tell you what, I’m leaving here in about an hour. If you can’t find a ride before that, you’ll let me give you drive you home.”

Just say ‘yes.’ Your brain was practically begging you to speak, but you knew this would cause an argument with Yeonjun. A random handsome man bringing you back to the apartment? Oh, it was a recipe for disaster. But what other choice did you have? It wasn’t like he was gonna pay for an Uber to help you home or pick you up himself. No, he left you stranded here with a shit reason, so you were gonna get home the best way possible, and, if it pissed him off, that was his own damn fault.

“Ok,” you smiled up at him, “If you really don’t mind.”

“Trust me, Doll, it’s no problem at all. Let me just finish a couple things up and change, and then we’ll get going, okay?”

You sat on the bench inside the shop while he finished his work. Trying to give yourself a moment to breathe. This was supposed to be your day off. You had finally been able to get a break from both of your jobs, and this is how you were spending it. Trying to fix the car of your boyfriend who couldn't even put his “pre-show ritual” on hold to make sure you got home safe. Part of you was mad at him. Livid that his priorities were so far in the gutter. But you were mostly angry at yourself. Because at the end of the day, when all was said and done, you were the one who had spent six whole years of your life bending over backward for a man who wouldn’t even reach out his arm to catch you.

You worked two jobs to support the two of you. Your paychecks paid for groceries, rent, insurance, everything. And what did he pay for? Nothing. Because he didn’t have a job. He played two gigs every month at the dingy bar two miles from your apartment, which somehow justified not even bothering to look for employment.

How did you even get here? A deep sigh rose out of your throat. What the hell were you doing all this for? Your head hurt just thinking about all the times he’d let you down and all the stupid little arguments those let-downs had caused. And yet you were still out here paying his bills and running his errands.

“Alright, sweetheart, ready to go?” You broke out of your spiral when he called for you, and you looked up to see him no longer in the denim and baseball cap he was sporting earlier.

Lord help me. You silently prayed to whoever might be listening, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat. He was sporting a light blue button-down shirt with the top two buttons left open so his collarbones were exposed and a light brown cowboy hat that almost exactly matched his hair. A cowboy. Of course. You couldn’t help the racing of your heart as he reached to adjust the brim of his hat. Unsure of whether you wanted to praise or curse whatever fate had sent him your way.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the bench, barely pushing a ‘yes’ out of your mouth.

He grinned and motioned for you to follow him to the parking lot. The innocent gesture left you lightheaded as you focused on the way his index and middle fingers curled towards his wrist.

As you approached, he gestured to a baby blue pickup truck, “Here she is. My baby.” You chuckled, endeared by the pet name, the image of him gently patting the hood of 'his baby' as he walked around the front of the truck with you reminding you of cowboys in old westerns, leaning their foreheads against their mares as they gently stroked their manes.

It was sweet. So sweet that you almost missed the fact that he was coming around to the passenger side of the truck with you.

He brushed past you, reaching for the passenger-side door. Swinging it open, he held out a hand to you, and you took it without much thought.

“Up you go,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice, helping you hold your balance as you climbed into the truck.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Doll. I got ya.” He was going to be the death of you for sure.

“Ten years. You’ve been working there that long?” you looked over at him, amazed, “How old are you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Twenty-five. Mingi and I used to come up after school every day and help out. His grandpa used to run the shop but he retired a few years back and left it to him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” The thought of a little Yunho sweeping the floors and vacuuming cars made you smile.

He hummed, “Yeah, it’s been a real nice job. Flexible hours, good pay, get to meet pretty girls from time to time.”

The tips of your ears burned at his blatant flirting. You looked over to see him focused on the road in front of you. The rays of the late afternoon sun shone on his face, letting you see the tan glow of his skin up close.

Why did you have to meet such a seemingly perfect man today? Why couldn’t this opportunity have fallen into your lap six years ago?

And fuck you knew you needed to end things. But more than half a decade of your life had been poured into this relationship and you couldn’t find it in your heart to let that go so easily.

Yunho noticed you looking over at him in his periphery, expecting some kind of playful rebuke, but was more than a little worried by your silence. Afraid he'd crossed a line, he was quick to apologize, eyes sincere and tone sober when he chanced a proper glance your way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’ mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! It’s fine,” You assure him, unconsciously threading your fingers through the ends of your hair, “I just don’t usually get this kind of attention. I know you’re just being playful.”

He nodded, some of his playfulness seeping back into his expression as he cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fixed his attention back onto the road in front of him. “I promise I’m not lyin’ about the ‘pretty’ part, though. I hope you know that.”

You scoff, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks rise, “Thank you…”

Silence enveloped the two of you after that, but he didn't seem to mind. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the music playing out of the car's stereo. In another life, one where the man waiting for you back at your apartment wasn't hell-bent on driving you insane, you wanted to believe that you could be strong enough to look away. To ignore the butterflies filling your stomach. To ignore the way he made your heart flutter. But you just couldn’t find it in you to look away, but he didn’t seem to catch on.

He thinks it's cute that you think he doesn’t notice. He’s very keen on noticing your every little move. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when he called you pretty and the way you awkwardly fidgeted with your bag when you told him that you didn’t normally receive that kind of attention.

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep him from prying. But he couldn’t help the way he started to hate this man that he’d never met even more. What he wouldn’t give to have a partner who was willing to go get his car fixed without asking. Someone who was so dedicated to the relationship that they were willing to sacrifice the little free time they had just to help out.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he glanced over at you and met your eyes for a second. You quickly whipped your head away, embarrassed that you’d been caught red-handed. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, smiled, “Here we are.”

“Mhm,” you nodded awkwardly, busying yourself with checking that you had all your things set to go. “Thank you for the ride. It means a lot.”

“Not a problem at all, Doll. Need me to walk you up?” he asked, leaning forward to try and meet your eyes.

You shook your head, “No, I’ll be alright.” You gave him a smile, “So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

He nodded, the tip of his hat dropping slightly, “Yep, I should be done with ‘er around noon.”

“Perfect! Again, thank you so mu–”

You were cut off by the sound of someone pounding on the passenger side window. Both of you turn at the sudden commotion.

Yunho watched as you hurriedly swung the door open and slid out of the car. And he heard a muffled, “Jun, what the hell!?” after you’d slammed the door of his truck.

Ah, the boyfriend.

“Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled.

Yeonjun glared at you through the wild strands of his crimson hair, “My problem!? Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, that’s your issue? That I had to have the mechanic drive me home?” You seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest, “This could’ve easily been avoided if you had picked your sorry ass off the couch to drive me home yourself. Like any decent partner would.”

Your not-so-subtle jab seemed to go over his head, his mind too focused on the image of you smiling and blushing in response to a man that wasn’t him. “You really couldn’t have found a woman to drive you home? It just had to be this dick.”

“No, Yeonjun, I couldn’t find a woman to drive me home. You know why? Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon and all of my friends have jobs. Unlike you who can’t even take the time to take a break from whatever the fuck you do all day to give me a ride.”

He gawked at you, clearly offended, “I have a job.”

“Oh my god. This again?” You ran a frustrated hand over your face, “No. You don’t. Practicing with your bandmates twice a week and playing a single gig a month is not a job. You make $100 a month.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a nine-to-five? I like my schedule the way it is.”

You could feel angry tears forming at the back of your eyes, stinging as you held them back, “You think I DO!? Yeonjun, I work sixty hours a week trying to keep us afloat. I pay for our food, our rent, our insurance, your fucking car! And I can’t even get you to pick up the damn apartment when I’m gone.” The tears started falling before you even realized it, shocking both of you. It had been a long time since he’d last seen you cry. Because you always chose either anger or an eerily calm response to his childishness. Knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you if you slipped into vulnerability. “I’m fucking tired Jun. This was my first day off in three months, and I spent it trying to get your car fixed. And I can’t even get a ‘thank you’ out of you. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You aren’t nineteen anymore, and I think it’s time you grow the fuck up.”

He didn’t say anything. The anger in his face replaced by a mix of shock and awkward discomfort, one of a man who was embarrassed to even be in this situation.

You stayed like that for a beat, holding your breath, praying for the moment when he realized everything he’d done wrong. Where he woke up from the immature daze he’d been trapped in since you were teenagers. But you supposed that was all wishful thinking, the tension broken not by either of you, but by a honk from behind him. His bandmate was here to pick him up.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled before jogging up to his friend’s car and sliding into the passenger seat. You watched him give his friend one of their ridiculous handshakes, the sound of blaring music and feminine laughter spilling out into the parking lot before the car door slammed shut. The scene was so ironic in the face of everything he'd just yelled at you for that you really couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up through your tears, bitter as acid on your tongue.

Yunho sat in his truck as he watched your asshole of a boyfriend leave the parking lot. He stayed like that for a while, watching you wipe at your tears and try to compose yourself. When you’d calmed down enough for his conscience to let him leave, he looked down at the passenger seat and noticed you had left your purse behind.

Grabbing the bag, he exited the truck and approached you. Trying his best not to startle you, he cleared his throat.

Surprised by the sound, you turned around to find Yunho standing there awkwardly, holding out the purse you now realized was missing from your shoulders, “You left your bag.”

“Oh…thank you.” You mumbled, closing the distance and grabbing it from him with a bit more force than you meant to. The mechanic didn’t so much as flinch.

How could he when his heart hurt for you? This woman he could barely even claim to know. He hated the fact that you felt the need to respond defensively, the pain in your eyes, and how you could barely look at him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of this. It wasn’t your fault. But Yunho knew without you having to say anything that you were incredibly embarrassed.

“Listen–”

“Oh god. Please don’t”

His shoulders dropped, “I just wanted to–”

You lifted a hand to stop him, “Yunho, please. You’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate your help today. But please for the love of god don’t make me dump my relationship problems on you.”

“Hey now,” he said, holding both his hands up in a calming motion as he spoke in a voice so deep and steady in contrast to your own that it caught you by surprise, “I don’t mean to push or pry, Doll, you just look like you could use someone to talk to is all.”

“I just don’t want you to think down on me,” you sighed.

He looked at you sincerely, slipping the hat from his head and placing it on the hood of the truck, “Now, have I given you the impression that that’s somethin’ I would ever do?”

The appreciative smile you gave him almost made him melt. You leaned back against the side of his truck, tilting your head back until it hit the window with a soft thud, “I’m just so tired.”

Yunho slid next to you, awkwardly scuffing his boot into the pavement, “Would it be too rude to say I could tell?”

You chuckled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve been trying for years to get him to just put in an ounce of effort, but he won’t budge. But we’ve been together so long I don’t know if I have it in me to end things.”

“You know it’s not your job to teach him how to be an adult, right? He’s a grown-ass man. You shouldn’t have to beg him to help you out.”

The somber look in your eyes when you looked up at him made Yunho want to pull you in and hug you to his chest, but he respected your boundaries.

“I know. I just…” you trailed off, no longer finding it in yourself to argue for your relationship.

Yunho took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he wanted to get off his chest, “Look, Doll, I don’ wanna overstep or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt with you.” He paused, giving you room to tell him to stuff it and save it for someone else if you wanted to. But you were looking up at him expectantly, teary eyes nearly pushing his little speech clean out of his skull. He had to clear his throat a little before continuing. “The way that man treats you is just disgusting. For everything you do for him? The least he could do is make sure that your apartment is spotless and you never have to cook again. And I’m not saying it’s me who should give it to you, but you deserve worlds better than that.”

“Yeah…” was all you could get out before you felt a tear fall down your cheek, and you tried to wipe it away before Yunho saw. But of course he noticed.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort, running his thumb along the fabric of your t-shirt. You surprised him, though, when you turned into him and started sobbing into his chest. Your fingers desperately gripping his button down.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. Holding you with so much warmth and sincerity that you felt safer than you had in years. In the arms of a stranger, no less.

general taglist: @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha

ateez taglist: @certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai

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karlachismylife · 3 months ago

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Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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zyxoxox · 4 months ago

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a new face on sixth street.

wise x reader || 1k wc

in which wise is very focused on solely his proxy and manager duties, and is definitely not intrigued by your move to sixth street.

note: new blog, new beginnings! it’s been so long since i’ve written anything, i feel like i’ve forgotten how. wise has been rattling around in my head nonstop for the last two weeks, so here’s some indulgence~

a deep breath.

you needed one; lifting boxes to your flat was the most work you’d ever done in your life. mr.chop was helping, for you’d moved into the room just behind his shop, but it was still a bit much.

sitting down on the ground for a break, you scanned your surroundings. so this was sixth street. quite kind, quite warm- it was new, but you had a feeling you’d like it.

opposite to your door seemed to be the side of a shop. what was it? random play?

“har, ya interested in the video shop?”

mr.chop appeared in front of you, snapping you out of your thoughts. you nodded, and his eyes suddenly lit up, seemingly with an idea.

“you know what? you should take a break to meet the managers! they are your age, you know, and- don’t tell them i said this- but they don’t really talk to anyone but each other i think. yes, yes, this will be good! they ordered some noodles too, you can go give it to them. you will be neighbours after all!”

>>-<<

a deep breath.

wise found himself having to take one when he saw the new face in front of him.

he really had no clue why. was it because you were a new customer? the video store’s business was quite fragile, more people meant it was getting better, so naturally he was excited. that was it, right? right?

the girl walked past all the shelves, scanning their contents, but also seemingly looking for something. she had a bag of noodles from mr.chop’s, which smelt eerily like his own favourite flavour.

“can i help you?”

she jumped, with a bewildered look on her face. wise looked at her widened eyes, and the way she held her hands close to her chest in alarm, and found himself needing to take another breath.

“ah, y-yes! i’m looking for the managers of this store. these noodles are for them, mr.chop asked me to bring it to them.”

another breath.

really, what had gotten into him today? was it because she had come looking specifically for him? wait, no, no, what kind of reason was that?! he was the manager of the store, of course people would look for him!

“well, you’re in luck. you are looking at him right now.”

her eyes lit up. “really! i’m [name], it’s nice to meet you. i’ve moved into the flat just next to this store, so in a way, it’s like we’re neighbours! here, take the noodles. they’re fresh, better eat them when their hot.”

wise reached out to grab it from you. for a fraction of a second, the tip of your fingers touched- it could barely be computed as skin contact, and yet wise felt it through his whole system. the pits of his stomach did a flip, his chest nearly jumped! for the goddamn life of him, he couldn’t think of why?

you were having thoughts of your own. who was this guy? he looks so cool, so handsome? his voice is so clear, why’d he stop talking? would getting a membership to this place mean seeing him m-

“thank you for the delivery , miss [name]. my sister and i are really grateful.”

shit, you were still holding your hand out, even though it no longer had the bag! hastily, you put both you hands behind your back, nodding awkwardly.

your mind was blank for things to say, so you looked around. the shelves were stocked with all sorts of movies and records. you could spot your favourites, as well as titles you’d never heard of before.

“it’s a lovely store you’ve got,” you amused. “quite fitting for you, i should think.”

he raised an eyebrow. “oh? what do you mean by that?”

you felt your cheeks heat up. yeah, what did you mean by that?

“it’s just, this store seems cozy and safe, and you have the composure of someone you’d feel like talking to about anything, you know? i mean it in a good way, really! the store gives off the same energy as you do, and anyone could feel your presence here even if you were away.”

he was silent for a couple of seconds. had you said too much? before your thoughts could go overboard, he broke into a soft laugh. it was so crisp, you found yourself wondering if any of the tapes had a recording of it you could loop for hours.

“well, i’m glad i’ve left a good reputation on you, miss [name]. i hope to see you- ahem, your patronage often.”

“right! and i hope to see you around too, mister manager!”

you waved and turned to leave. barely a day in sixth street and your heart already hummed with a new crush. opening the door, the fresh breeze made a poor attempt to cool down the warmth you felt all over. then suddenly, you remembered-

“your name! mister manager, i don’t know your name!”

he had a soft smile, steadfast and enduring. “it’s wise, miss [name]. i was wondering if you wanted to know,” he shook his head, grinning. you mentally cursed at yourself. how could you forget something so basic!

he walked closer, with a movie tape in his hand. you caught a glimpse of it- Life Before the Hollow; presumably a history documentary. his eyes locked with yours, and he stuffed it in your hand. “consider this a welcome gift.”

he seemed to want to say more, but he didn’t.

you inspected the record in your hands, and the boy who gave it to you. you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and yet-

“i guess i have no choice but to come back again now, mister manager wise! you’d best be here when i do!”

#zyx’s brews >>#wise x reader #zzz x reader #zzzero #zzz wise #zenless zone zero #zzz

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sugar-plum-writer · 8 months ago

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Box Me Hard Tonight Boxer <3

Tags: Crazy sex; Nanami losing his mind; NSFW and more NSFW; Boxing terms not used the way boxing terms ought to be used cough; Nanami in a rut being hard and rough; is it even Nanami anymore? what have you done to him?; Fem!reader x Boxer!Nanami Kento; established relationship; marriage; MDNI; (18+)

A/n: I had the most delusional Nanami imagination. Normally I don't write him as I cannot write him properly. But today he summoned me to write on him. And thank you for 200+ followers! I am so happy and am kicking my feet right now! I have opened my asks feel free to check out the pinned post in my blog for more info on asks~

Synopsis: What happens when the promised surprise is you riling him up and breaking the control over himself he had so carefully crafted?

Word count: 1.8k

[Pic not mine I randomly found it on the internet; I'll change it the owner requests ]

Kento Nanami was a boxer turned UFC Champion-infamous worldwide for his tactics and combos, calm demeanor, polite nature but brutal and efficient fighting tactics.

Nanami focuses only on you as you rush towards him screaming in happiness, throw yourself over him and he holds you tight burying his head in the crook of your neck and inhales your scent god you smelled delicious

He had hustled towards you immediately once he was free from the press; had the seats specifically saved for you. You only deserve the best: the front row seats, the closest to his corner as the love of his life.

"Baby" he smiled at you softly compared to his ruthlessness in the ring as the reporters crowd around you and him trying to capture your pictures. He is a star, the sole focus- the champion the only "Kento Nanami"

His muscles flexed as the sweat dripped making his body glisten under the lights.

"Kento! we won! yay!", you kissed him excited unbothered by the people around wrapping your arms around his neck

"Yes, we did" he hums and melts under your kiss with a slight groan as he kisses you back, "So sweet- I can never get enough"- his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt not wanting to let you go.

As the mob gets more violent trying to click pictures, the bodyguards around you struggle to keep them away. Seeing the crowd he immediately scooped you in his arms, "Let's go home, love", he smiled softly as he carried you effortlessly

"Yes Darling let's go home~", you chuckle as his bodyguards in a matter of seconds have you two inside the car through the back door.

"You were so amazing Kento!", you look at him your eyes beaming with happiness, "It's all because of your love and support darling", he kissed you softly as the car started moving

"Kento~ haha!" you laugh as he kisses you and you kiss him back, "Love let's go for a vacation, where do you want to go hm?", he looks at you lovingly. Every time Kento had his match; after the match, you guys would go to for vacation to relax and unwind.

The car ride continues peacefully as you and Kento keep chatting, "Kento you know~ I have something special prepared for you today", you look at him playfully as his eyebrows arch intrigued

"What is love?", he chuckles as he looks at you amused, his hand finds its way to your thighs, caressing small circles into it as he hums softly. Squeezing your thighs.

"It's a surprise~ be patient Kento", you giggle as you rest your head on his shoulder and pat his crotch area making him hard, "Be good for me won't you?"

Let grunted and looked into your eyes hotly as if wanting to stuff you full with him right this instant, "Fine- I'll behave for you love…", his hot breath making you shiver as he whispered, "If only I get a reward later"

Soon you guys arrive home; Nanami gives you his hand to take as he helps you get out of the car and kisses your knuckles lovingly but- the moment the door opens and shuts behind the two of you, he's on you immediately- pinning you against his large frame on the wall.

His hand finds you on your cheek, tilting your face up as he kisses you deeply; your tongues intertwined. Wanting to taste you like a man who finally found an oasis in the desert; he kisses you even harder.

"I cannot be patient"- he looks at you in the eyes hungrily, his hands touching and squeezing your body as he fondles your breasts; wrapping your thighs around his waist- picking you up into his arms as he walks to your shared bedroom

"Ah-Nanamin" you moan as he kisses you hard biting your lips and nibbling on them, "Nanamin hah-" you look at him breathlessly, "Box me hard in the bed won't you?" you whisper as you wrap your hands around his neck making him freeze

"What?", his eyes darken, "Is that a proposal love?", his breath gets heavy as his lips hover above yours

"Do you like it?", you cheekily kiss him and smile teasingly making him lose his composure, "Love it to the ring baby", he whispers making you blush;

He pulls you into another kiss making you moan this one being rougher, hungry, and, full of carnal desire; "Ah- hah Kento ah", you moan against his lips as his hands slide under your shirt taking it off you, his teeth graze your neck before leaving bites leaving a hickey as you squirm

"Kento", you moan as he kisses you deeply once again and pulls away leaving a string of saliva, "Yes darling?" he chuckles as he removes his shirt gazing at your body, his toned muscles flexing themselves under the dim light- a confident smirk is on his lips- a completely different look than how he normally looks at you, what happened to him?

"I wonder", You look at him up and down as you touch his v-line making him groan, "Baby this is a dangerous game you are playing", he whispers with his cock twitching in his pants- oh how badly he wanted to touch him their and milk his cock with your pretty hands

"Hah~", you smirk as you look into his eyes, "Really? well, I wonder how hard my boxer can knock me out tonight~", you smirk with your words instantly sending goosebumps up his spine

"You are just asking to be punished aren't you?" he groans as his fingers dig deeper into your waist your words stirring something carnal inside him- he always likes to be gentle with you- loves you and treats you like the treasure you are, but your words are slowly eating away his control bit by bit

"Punish?", you smirk determined to break his composure to see what animalistic desires hide behind his calm demeanor. You have seen him when he boxes- that hint of insanity in his eyes makes you squeeze your legs together so tight- making you desire him so much it's embarrassing

"Why? will you box my pussy till it's stuffed and knocked out all sloppy?", you smirk and say as you spread your legs open making his breath hitch and his cock harden even more as he gazes at you and that damp spot on your panties- the spot so reserved for him and his dick

"Baby.." he leans in close so fast making you jump back, "Do you know what you are saying huh?" he whispers as he lowers his head and with his teeth rips your panties off throwing them off god knows where animalistically officially losing it; making you shudder as goosebumps spread all over your skin.

Oh shit- Oh shit you fucked up big time, you have never seen Nanami like this

But you aren't done yet hell you planned all kinds of vulgar things just to rile him up with a sharp breath you look at him and he notices as a devilish grin spreads across his lips

"Hah" you lean in and hotly whisper near his ears as his grip hardens on your hips bruising them and making you wince in pain, "Ya know… How about… You give me a fast jab with your dick-", you moan, "Then flip me over and do an uppercut as you fill me up-", his nails dig even deeper and he bites your shoulder bruising you like an animal in heat, "You slut you will be the death of me" he whispers and groans

"Then a side punch into my pussy from your dick as you fuck me from the side…and" your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes because of the pain but it felt so good, "Make me sit on top of you and do fast combos of uppercuts huh?"

Without any warning he stuffs his dick into your pussy roughly making you clench hard- your cunt desperately cries sloppily not used to harshness as she's always been treated like a princess not like a whore; working hard to adjust to his dick as he ruthlessly bullies his length inside you "Fuck" he groaned, "You are driving me crazy"

"Ah-hah-" you moan desperately, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts deep inside of you- hard, fast, and deep wanting to feel every inch of you around him, "Shit Kento! ahhh-", tears spill out of your eyes as you moan; your body aches with every insane thrust

"Hah-", he pants "You're absolutely mine, split so prettily on my dick my darling wife" he hungrily kisses you as his dick keeps moving, his one hand pinning your wrists above your head

There was not a hint of rationality behind his eyes as he was in a rut and just kept fucking you, even after you orgasm he kept going, fucking you through so many orgasms you'd lost count god he was treating you like a prostitute

Your eyes roll back at the sheer intensity wondering how you are even alive right now, "Kento- ah…hah~" you moan as your voice cracks, "Fuck- so perfect, so dirty and wet all for me hah", his hand bruised your skin where ever they touched

Your brain is so cock drunk you drool as he keeps going. He flips you over burying your face in the pillow roughly, his grip hard on your head and neck choking you all out as your vision goes white, "Kento- ah…I love you so much…I love your dick so much ah", you blurt out and choke even more as his grip on your neck makes you faint as you clench around him desperately not wanting to let go

"Oh yeah? Do you love my dick? Then take it like a good bitch! Don't dare let a single drop go to waste", his pace increases even more, making you go numb from sheer pleasure as your hands mindlessly scramble to grip the sheets to hold on for dear life as moans spill out from your mouth like a porn actress

"So fucking good!" he grunts and tosses his head back pussy drunk, you felt so good around him he can fuck you for days and nights just like that.

"ah- hah Kento-" you moan crazily as he and you reach the peak of your animalistic rut and desire, "Naughty girl.." he moans as he shudders with his climax approaching and he cums inside you hard painting your insides white, filling you up to the brim inside your womb, "You'll break my dick" he groaned as he panted heavily

"Hah…Kento…'tis so full ah…" you feel your brain short circuit as you knock yourself out dumb oozing out cum

Looking at you so fucked up, so messy, aroused him even more, his eyes darkens again with insanity behind them, "Don't knock yourself out now…you asked for this..I'm not gonna stop until you're a quaking mess" he whispers hotly near your ears nibbling on it as he sees his cum drip out of you; making his dick still hard enough to keep you up all night.

A full hand-on session of 'Technical Knockout' live; all by Nanami Kento for the love of his life

Link to masterlist!

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vendetta-if · 11 months ago

Note

Hello

Just wanted to ask if everything's good. No activity on the blog since January.

Hope you're good. Love the game.

Thank you for checking up on me 🥰 And to answer the second anon, no, I’m not dead yet, fortunately 😂

I’ve been sick for the latter half of January 🤧 Had to stay in bedrest and couldn’t do anything much. It was for sure the worst sickness I’ve had in years and I pray to never experience it again—or at least for the next few years 💀

And then I had to catch up on the lost progress as soon as I felt better and basically focused solely on that up until today. But now that the early access update is up, I’ll be back to answering asks here again 😮‍💨

Sorry for the radio silence and thank you for the concern ❤️

#asks #anon ask #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript

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justgivemethephd · 10 days ago

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30.12.2024

Happy Monday everyone! It feels like forever since I last uploaded, but I wanted to take some time offline and really enjoy my vacation to the fullest.

I’m going away for a few days again in the new year, and in this strange in-between period it’s been very hard for me to not do any work. I did have to briefly go into the lab to take care of my cells, but other than that I’ve been staying at home and relaxing. I’ve decided to dedicate more time to hobbies I haven’t touched in a while, and today’s victim was cross-stitching! I haven’t so much as looked at this project in probably over the year, but I ended up sitting at my desk and embroidering for about 5 hours. My mind was so quiet and I was so focused… it was honestly the perfect afternoon.

I’ve also been spending an hour or two every morning practicing languages, with a particular focus on Spanish as I was able to speak German more while we were in Austria. It feels so exciting to be able to spend more time on languages, as it’s definitely one of my more treasured hobbies, and it’s something I want to stay consistent with next year!

On a more important note, it seems that while I was away I managed to surpass 100 followers??? I’m very shocked that a blog I started solely to fall in love with my PhD again is actually interesting to people, but I’m very excited to be a part of this community and I hope I can continue to entertain you guys! Thank you so much for your support.

I hope everyone is enjoying the New Year’s celebrations! Take good care of yourselves and rest well!!

———

🎧 - Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen

🎮 - Planet Zoo

📖 - Salem by Stephen King

#study aesthetic #study blog #study inspiration #study motivation #study space #studyblr #studyinspo #studyspo #study tips #phd life

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misscammiedawn · 9 months ago

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Ange Ushiromiya's Recontextualized Memory and Unprocessed Trauma in Umineko No Naku Kori Ni

CW: Full spoilers for Umineko, a mystery visual novel game which is best enjoyed without knowing spoilers in advance. The game and thus this essay will feature discussion of child abuse and suicide.

For those unfamiliar with my blog I have a tag called Media, Myself and I where I talk about positive/accurate representation of dissociative disorders in media.

Today I want to talk about Umineko No Naku Kori Ni the third and fourth titles in 07th Expansion's "When They Cry" franchise. The game is a multi-layered fiction that starts off as an Agatha Christie inspired closed circle murder mystery taking place during the weekend of October 4th 1986. The murder mystery displayed has no more than 18 humans stranded on an island in the middle of a storm and the audience is invited to try to work out the mystery of what happened.

As the story progresses the audience are presented with a number of different possibilities, each an in-universe attempt to rationalize the tragedy that took place and killed all but two members of the Ushiromiya family.

It is eventually revealed that to the eyes of the world, no more than 18 humans were on the island that weekend and only one returned to their life afterwards. Some in the world have been quite focused on working out what happened during that weekend.

It's a complicated narrative that has multiple layers and each layer communicates not only with the audience reading the game but an audience of people in-universe trying to solve the mystery as well. When we first experienced the game we had joked that it was sold to us as Anime Homestuck but it ended up being Anime House of Leaves.

The easiest way to describe the narrative structure is that the first 7 episodes of the game, each containing about 20 hours of narrative, have within them a fictionalized version of events written in-universe by people who may or may not have been present at the event with episode 8 is mostly its own thing. To explain in further detail would distract. The point is Umineko is a complicated narrative and there is too much to cover a play-by-play.

The narrative is intentionally convoluted and contradictory with part of the fun of playing the game being to work out what events are true and what the rules are for discerning "magic" from "truth".

Even with a concept as seemingly opaque as Truth, there is the often quoted "Without love it cannot be seen" motif, that our emotional connection to events will always color how we interpret events.

The story is remarkably long. How Long To Beat puts each half of the game up at about 60 hours. So that's 120 hours of pure reading with very little gameplay.

There are multiple plural characters ("Oh, I am one yet many", indeed) and we shall discuss them in due course, but for clarity I wish to focus my discussion today upon the relationship between a survivor and their histories. The novel has much to say on the topic.

The above image discussing the nature of truth is from Episode 4, the chapter where the protagonist is Ange Ushiromiya. Younger sister of the protagonist of the first Episodes, Battler Ushiromiya.

Ange, 6 years old at the time, was sick on the weekend of October 4th 1986 and was not present on the island for the massacre. One weekend she had a full and lively family and then in the span of a single week everyone she had a connection to was killed in unknowable circumstances, she was whisked away to live with her aunt, the sole survivor of the tragedy, and would live the life of a cursed child, forever haunted by the tragedy that stole away her life.

Ange's story takes place in "The World of 1998" where she seeks The Truth. She states multiple times how she is incapable of going on with her life until she knows The Truth.

The events of 1986 are presented via "forgeries", published stories which tell the story of the 1986 tragedy utilizing facts that are known about the family. Ange pours through them, attempting to uncover the truth. She suspects her aunt may be responsible. Why wouldn't she harbor suspicions? Aunt Eva was the only one of the no more than 18 humans to leave the island and became the sole inheritor of the Ushiromiya family fortune.

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is formed when an individual endures long-lasting and repeated bouts of ongoing trauma, typically in childhood. Survivors often find themselves caught in an inescapable cycle of grieving that lasts months and years beyond the loss and remains fresh and raw in spite of the time and changes that have occurred since the event. The individual is tethered to the past by an inability to move on from their loss. In psychology this is referred to as Complicated Grief and though it is most commonly discussed with death, it can present itself for grieving lost time, stolen youth and lives unlived.

Ange is riddled with Complicated Grief. Her story takes place 12 years after the events on the island of Rokkenjima and yet she constantly tells those around her that she is unable to live without knowing the truth. Ange's unprocessed grief is unearthed when her aunt, the only survivor of the massacre, passes away while maliciously refusing to give Ange any insight into the truth that she alone knew, twisting the knife as she turned over the family fortune to a child that was not her own beloved George.

Ange's sole reason for existing is to make peace with the tragedy of her past and Eva's final act was to tell her she would never have it and would instead live a cursed life of a victim in the public's eye. Eternally scrutinized and criticized.

Ange, now knowing that the only chance she had to be given the truth and still feeling that she needs it in order to live her life, runs away and starts a journey to either make peace with her tortured past or end her own life.

Ange's suicidal tendencies are played up dramatically and much of the final episode is the conflict between Ange's inability to live with her grief being played out in hyperbolic fiction. The stakes of the story amounting to "will she be able to live after learning The Truth."

But what is Truth? Would learning who is responsible for her family's death truly give her peace or would it only serve to trap her further in her endless cycle of grief?

Trauma therapy tends not to focus on Talk Therapy for the most part as such therapy indulges a survivor to dwell on their unprocessed traumas and will only serve to retraumatize the client. In many cases it is detrimental to perform Motivational Interviewing (reflective statements designed to display to a client that the clinician is listening and interpreting their words without offering direct guidance or intervention) or Rogerian "person centered" (a similar tactic designed to keep a client talking without engaging in a back-and-forth, every reply should be a prompt that inspires the client to continue sharing without boundaries and reach their own conclusions) techniques.

The reason why is that these forms of therapy have a belief that "the client holds all of the answers" and the clinician's job is to let the client get out of their own way and walk towards the answer. It is a solutions based therapy where the client is trusted to clear cognitive distortions and navigate around mental blocks between themselves and what they need.

Ange's stated goals are far from healthy.

In survivors their Core Beliefs are informed by their trauma. Those who were raised in a house of neglect may have an unresolved core belief that they are unworthy of love, those who feel shame and guilt for what happened/how they were treated may have a belief that "I should have..." - A helpful list of common negative core beliefs and positive beliefs that can be instilled, click here.

Trauma therapy contains an element of identifying these beliefs and where they originated and working to overcome them. There are many different therapies in the world that attempt to do this but they all include some element of processing trauma, accepting trauma and committing to the future.

In Ange's case she does not need to know what happened in order to live. She has to accept what happened and live.

To make this clear, should Ange learn what is presented to be The Truth it will break her and she will be unable to accept it and in doing so ends up unable to live.

All of this is a prologue to talk about acceptance and our emotional connection to memory.

Prior to Eva's death, Ange was raised in a boarding school where she was ruthlessly bullied by the other students. Both Ange and her aunt are in the public eye for the scandal associated with the Rokkenjima massacre and Eva actively despises Ange and refuses to give her the care, nurture and privilege that the other students of the rich academy enjoy.

She lives a lonely and cursed life. Her one solace is getting to find time alone to sit and read her cousin Maria's "Grimoire", her journal. When she reads the journal she can clearly picture her cousin in her mind and interact with her. A form of "magic" that Maria taught Ange back when the two of them were friends, prior to the massacre in which Maria lost her life. In the past Maria had created a magical society called Mariage Sorciere and Ange was one of the members before being excommunicated.

We'll discuss it further in a while however while introducing Maria I wish to note that she was most likely forming a dissociative disorder prior to the massacre. The series writer Ryukishi07 was a social worker prior to his career in visual novels. He does a remarkably good job of displaying how abusive and neglectful family dynamics can impact a young mind. Maria, despite being 9 years old, has speech patterns linked to an infant's maturity, she often switches into a "witch" persona and she will hold up her stuffed animals and voice out their speech, treating them like separate individuals. She is bullied at school and her mother hits her when she does this but she is incapable of acting any other way. It's who she is.

A small portion of the second chapter even having some of the cousins stop to discuss the possibility that her overactive imagination and play-acting may contain elements of dissociative identity disorder. It's never fully confirmed and she dies at age 9, but Ryukishi07 displays a convincing depiction of extreme childhood neglect that would lead to a severe dissociative disorder had she have grown up.

We learn throughout the story that her journal contains sketches of many magical entities impressed upon the servants of the island and toys that Maria has. These entities becoming the magical cast of the "Gameboard".

Though not the focus of this particular essay, each episode of the game is depicted as a chess match between a game master (representing the author of a murder mystery) and an opponent (representing the reader trying to solve the mystery) and these matches take place in a world of purgatory. This world is populated by a magical cast of characters each of whom is paired with a member of the mundane cast on the island.

The game often repeats that it takes "two to create a universe". There needs to be one to imagine it and one to perceive it and mark it as real. This is displayed on the gameboard but it is also displayed with the way that for every imagined character who exists as part of the magical cast, there is the one who imagines and then there is one who their imagination is displayed onto.

Maria is a child of extreme neglect, as we will discuss soon, she had no one to displace her imagination upon (spare for her mother who she imagined as being possessed by an evil witch when she became violently abusive) and so she imbued life into her toys. Bringing Sakutarou, her stuffed lion doll, and her band of toy rabbits to life. This earned her the title "Witch of origins".

The magic in the game's universe operates on a rule that "it takes two to create a universe" logic. The concepts of Magic and Love being intertwined. "Without love it cannot be seen" has many meanings but in terms of creation it means that anyone can apply "the anti-magic toxin" of mistrust/disbelief by simply rejecting another person's reality.

So much of the magic and love in this world is built on trust and being able to believe in that which is shared. The concept is explored from many angles throughout the game, Episode 6 focusing on love in the form of trust between a writer and a reader and the contract between them requiring a murder mystery to be solvable and for a reader to earnestly engage with the fiction and accept it as it is written.

Within Mariage Sorciere, this love is to accept that the characters and imaginings of its members. To be a member is to accept all as it is presented. Sakutarou is a magical lion boy who speaks. To doubt this is to be excommunicated from the order, which is why Ange was kicked out of the witches alliance. To say Sakutarou wasn't real was tantamount to trying to kill him.

Maria's love is without doubt. In Episode 7 we learn that she is not capable of viewing people as anything more than how they present to the world. Her imagination paints how she perceives the world. When her mother's behavior drastically shifts when she enters a violent and abusive rage she firmly believes that her mother has been possessed by a cruel witch.

When a familiar adult approaches her speaking as the Golden Witch Beatrice, she does not see the adult. She only sees Beato. This is vital to her testimony throughout the game regarding the murder mysteries.

One last thing I wish to go over during this analysis of Ange and Maria and their relationship to their traumatic childhoods. That is the title of witch.

By now I hope it's been made clear that magic is imagination and love is trust. Whether it be testimony being believed, the contract between author and reader or the inner reality of one being seen and regarded and acknowledged by another.

As someone with DID, I like this concept a lot. It would be so easy to simply dismiss our condition and the presentations. But with love it can be seen.

The game shows a number of different types of witch. From the witch of origins who can make new imaginings that do not require another person to validate them to the Golden witch who has enough money to make reality via sheer financial coercion or the witch of truth who can make reality by asserting it to be so or witch of resurrection who can keep those who died alive in their memory.

Each witch is using their magical ability to "create" by taking their imagination and moving it out into the world. The Witch of Truth is a detective whose deductions are believed to be fact even if the accused disagrees. The Golden Witch can take any scheme or desire and pay people to make it a reality.

And Ange, the Witch of Resurrections, can bring back the dead by remembering them and keeping their voices in her heart. They live on in her writing. In her words. In her memory. So when she reads Maria's journal she can bring the Maria of 1986 into the world of 1998. When she reads of Maria's magical companions they can accompany her.

With this context, we return to Ange in her teen years.

Lonely and consumed by grief she is only able to find solace in imagining Maria with her, imagining Maria having forgiven her for saying Sakutarou wasn't real.

As she accepts the role of apprentice witch she is allowed to perceive Maria and her menagerie of imaginary friends.

Though there's a certain amount of strain and physical discomfort in maintaining the thought process of so many at once. Maria is able to do it remarkably easy but Ange has to struggle.

It's okay, Ange, dissociation headaches are an absolute bitch. They get better after a certain amount of stabilizing and communication work.

All the while she reads about Maria's home life.

To break the essay structure and be real for a moment. This segment hit me hard. I choked up crying and needed to take a break from the game for a while. The depiction of child neglect and abuse was too real and I feel it serves the fiction to depict it as such but it is a hard read. Please be kind to yourself as you read on.

Rosa Ushiromiya is the youngest of the Ushiromiya children, furthest from the inheritance and least respected of Kinzo's progeny. She likely suffered a large amount of abuse and neglect in her own childhood both physical from the eldest sibling, Kraus, emotional/psychological from her sister Eva and a combination of both from her other brother Rudolf.

Children raised in abusive households are more likely to develop personality disorders born from attachment trauma. A typical display of this is dichotomous thinking, praising and devaluing the same subject in waves based on stimulus. Within Borderline Personality Disorder, for instance, this is where the concept of Splitting and Black and White Thinking come from.

For Rosa, this manifests with her mood swings that have her violently scream and hit her daughter before lavishing her with apologies, affection and attention.

Every character in Umineko is burdened with a painful past. Each character feels the need to displace that pain outwards and project it onto other people. For instance Rosa displaces her pain onto Maria. Both of Ange's aunts displace theirs onto her. Kyrie displaces hers onto Battler.

Generational trauma is a heavy theme of this game.

Rosa makes her way as the head of a small fashion design label though she does not see a lot of success in her role. Early in adulthood she had a relationship that ended with her pregnant with Maria. Maria's father, upon learning of the pregnancy, left.

Rosa is young, lonely and feels that having a child makes it difficult for her to find love; in the time and culture of 1980s Japan being a single mother was seen as shameful. She finds that the best way she is able to date is to act like she does not have a daughter and take extended vacations across the country on weekends with her dates.

Leaving her daughter home alone.

Rosa has a number of hang-ups about the optics of leaving Maria in someone else's care, she is shown on multiple occasions in the story to fly into a rage when her ability to be a parent is put into question and she has massive cognitive dissonance in that she cannot bare to be seen as a bad mother and so she acts like a horrible mother to avoid looking bad.

I have seen a lot of debate on the logic here and first off, anyone who approaches this story with a view of "it does not make sense that a character acted this way" lacks the Love required to enjoy this story in full. The author enters a firm agreement with the audience to work within the confines of the fiction and not to disrespect the fiction by rejecting that which is offered. He will deceive us but never lie. In that we have to believe in the story.

But it's also a sign of those who have grown up with a proud optics obsessed parent and those who did not. Sad to say, I have experienced a few of the things which happen in this chapter and I have no doubt that Ryukishi07 saw some of it in his social worker career.

When Rosa leaves Maria alone at home, for days at a time, she orders her to never make anyone aware of her situation. More important than anything else never speak to the police about what goes on in this house.

That. I have lived that one.

What Ange reads and what Maria shows us in this episode is a weekend where Maria is home alone, her mother having forgotten a promise that was made to her and Maria is locked out of her house. She spends an entire evening searching for the lost key and eventually needs to seek a friendly store worker who recognizes her to get help.

This leads to police intervention, a social worker showing up at Rosa's house and...

I glossed over a lot. This is a dense book and this story takes up much of Episode 4. Suffice to say, Maria's friend Sakutarou was murdered in retaliation for Maria summoning attention of Rosa's bad parenting. Rosa abandoned her daughter for a full weekend after breaking a promise and when she was locked out and defenseless she asked for help and was violently punished for doing so.

Another function of the witch of origins is the ability to break the cycle of generational abuse. She does not take her pain and push it into someone else, she creates an imagined evil mother to hate and fear while continuing to love her 'real' mother. This way she never has to doubt the love she has for the mother who she has happy memories of and who custom crafted a lovely plush lion just for her.

Which leads to the discussion of trauma, memory and processing.

Ange, upon reading this story is crestfallen. She views Maria as a pitiable child, only to be confronted by MARIA who defends Rosa. Arguing that she legitimately forgot her promise, rather than deciding that her daughter was not worth the time or effort.

She claims constantly that Rosa is a good mother and that she is happy.

Maria, a being who can only view the world with love, despite being abused and hurt; chose to be happy and so through her magic it was so. She was happy.

There's a misconception I have seen and I will admit I held for myself upon reading Episode 4 that Maria was preaching to deceive ones own self in order to be happy. That it was enabling and accepting of her own abuse.

But this is actually one of the deepest things Umineko has to say about generational trauma...

Chapter 8 revisits the idea with a version of the gameboard where the Ange of 1986 is allowed to be on the island, something which was impossible because in truth she was not. Not even the witch of miracles could change that which is certain.

In this game, set by Ange's older brother BATTLER, the 6 year old Ange is treated to a fun halloween party with her aunt Eva run by her loving family. Throughout the entire story Grandfather Kinzo was made out to be the source of all evil and in this episode he is displayed as a kind and loving grandfather.

The entire reason I wanted to write this post and include it in my Media, Myself and I series (in lieu of discussing the overt plurality in the game, even) was due to a conversation Ange has with Battler about this deception.

Source: LP Archives - The full conversation can be found on this page for anyone who wants the full breakdown.

The entire story of Umineko is a struggle for those who experienced horrors to be able to come to terms with their memories and process them. This is true for Ange, it is true for Maria and it is true for the other members of the cast also.

Memory is malleable and uncertain and can and does become distorted due to understandings and contexts gained at a later stage, particularly when bias is in play.

For a graphic of how this works please look at this:

Source

The more a memory is reactivated the more it is eroded of its initial context and additional contexts bleed in. For Ange's circumstance she remembers her parents through the lens of knowing that her father was embroiled in legal troubles from his womanizing behavior. It is unlikely a 6 year old Ange remembers Rudolf in this light but her view of her father is painted through this lens and thus when she retrieves these memories the present context forces itself into the past.

This is just how the human mind works.

EMDR and other trauma treatments are focused on hijacking this system. When a traumatic memory plays out the amygdala processes the emotions and sense of danger which activates the nervous system. This process does not even require a conscious recollection; should a trauma memory be associated with a certain scent the nervous system will activate upon smelling it even if the survivor does not recall the event attached to the stimulus, the amygdala most certainly does.

I have spent too much of my life considering which of our memories had lavender scenting…

For EMDR the process involves retrieving the traumatic memory without allowing the client to reexperience it while ensuring they do so within the context of the present while highlighting safety and security. This allows the memory to be filtered through without the activating the nervous system. In some therapies this can be a process of re-parenting in which the emotional absence is provided either by the self or via a proxy. The idea is to allow the memory to break association with the trauma and be decontextualize until the memory no longer has negative associations.

Where I had assumed Maria's choice to be happy and think the best of her abuser was an act of enabling and self-deception, I now see was an attempt to stop dwelling on the negatives of the situation and allowing the past trauma to become a defining point within the present.

Maria cannot choose what happened to her. She can choose how she intends to live with what happened with her. She cannot know for certain what Rosa's motivation was in her actions. In fact as we go through the game the audience comes to be given some sympathetic information which though can never redeem Rosa's terrible parenting, can allow one inclined to feel sympathy for her. Like everyone else in the game, she's a victim too. Quite literally in 1986.

There's no way of knowing if she maliciously lied to her child and went off on vacation abandoning her or if she legitimately forgot her promise. No one is arguing that what Rosa did was forgivable. But it helps Maria continue living a happy existence knowing that she was loved and that the good memories she has of her mother are true, even if the bad ones are also true.

Maria, filled with love as she is, elected to see The Good Mommy and The Bad Mommy. Is this right or wrong? It's unimportant. What matters is if Maria can be happy.

Sakutarou was a stuffed lion said to be handcrafted by Rosa. Given as a gift and beloved above all things for Maria. When Rosa destroyed the Sakutarou doll the lion cub boy died and could not be resurrected by Beatrice because it was a unique item created by Rosa.

In Chapter 4's conclusion, Ange does the impossible and resurrects Sakutarou. She does this because Sakutarou was never a custom made doll crafed with love. He was a mass produced toy sold in travel gift stores that Rosa happened to pick up on her way home. She lied. Ange never tells Maria this. The miracle of Sakutarou's rebirth is enough. Knowing that the beloved handmade toy was not hand-crafted would not make Maria's life any better. Sometimes believing in magic is the best thing for someone living in a world painted by despair.

Funny that Ange understood that much for Maria and yet still sought after the One Truth up until the very end.

The finale of the game comes down to presenting this option to the player and by proxy Ange herself.

In a world where you cannot change the past and you cannot fully accept what happened, is it better to continue digging up the past and re-experiencing the trauma in hopes that there lays a truth that will make it all finally make sense or to try to make peace with the past and find moments of peace to hold onto. Holding to hate and pain only serves to bring the pain of the past into the present.

Ange, the witch of resurrection, has the ability to keep her family with her long after their death. Should she be haunted by the family that she was deprived or be happy for the limited memories she had and not be tethered to a world of the past she could never have possibly been part of.

Healing in Umineko is accepting love and making peace with loss. It is learning to live unburdened by tragedy and do the best with what was done to us.

If we cannot let go then we'll continue living in the world of the past turning over the events over and over trying to make sense of it and even if we are somehow granted the magical context, the one and only shining truth... it will only serve to make things worse. You can keep the past alive without letting the past control your future.

And Umineko does a remarkably good job of showing that.

Gosh... that took far longer than I'd hoped. Umineko is a difficult piece of fiction to type about because so much of it is subjective and hard to present to a broad audience without providing ample context.

I'd hoped to talk about Yasu's DID but I suppose that shall have to await another update. My original draft for this discussion was to discuss the different forms of dissociative amnesia with Ange's story serving as an example of how recontextualizing memory works. I may yet go back and do a full amnesia based ramble in the coming months. I just needed to get at least one aspect of Umineko drafted as it's been living rent free in my brain since December.

If you enjoyed this breakdown and found it interesting, please check out some of my other Media, Myself and I essays.

Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal gear Solid 2 - Describing the sensation of derealization where the brain stops connecting associations between the self and the things one perceives in their surroundings. One example displaying how this impacts a person living with DPDR and the other showing an example of a game attempting to make a player share the experience with the player character.

DID and the healing process in Mr. Robot - A run down of the experiences of discovery, exploration, rejection and healing within DID as displayed in each season of Mr. Robot, along with a disappointed rundown of why the final episode fumbled the ball.

Bruce Banner and the roles of his alters - A breakdown of the formation of The Incredible Hulk's DID and what roles his many alters play.

Romantic relationships with systems - A look at the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot-Ross Banner in Hulk comics and a frank discussion between Betty and one of Bruce's alters about how relationships function in a system.

Personality Play in Penlight - A review of one of the routes for a hypnokink visual novel called Penlight in which the protagonist hypnotizes a woman to have an alter personality, along with some descriptions of how dangerous play like that works in real life and what the consequences could be.

#dawn posting #umineko #ange ushiromiya #maria ushiromiya #ahaha.wav #media myself and i #media essays

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adragonprinceswhore · 7 months ago

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Hi friends!

My name is Inka and I used to have a blog here called adragonprinceswhore.

Some time ago, I deactivated my account because I felt like my interest in fandom, and especially writing, was dwindling.

In an attempt to not lose my interest in writing completely, I left Tumblr and focused solely on continuing my two ongoing series.

To those of you who followed me over to AO3; you don't know how grateful I am for your support. Today, I saw that Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back reached 300 kudos. That warms my heart and makes me so incredibly glad. Thank you thank you thank you! ❤️❤️

Some time away has been good. It has stopped me from renouncing HOTD and writing completely, and now all the new promos have made me miss tumblr and being a full-on weirdo here. Having a blog is my only outlet and I don't think I can watch season 2 without screaming about it on tumblrdotcom

When I deleted my account I didn't think much of it; it's just a blog after all. But to be honest, I am sad that all the lovely engagement with you; the comments and reblogs, asks and discussions, are all gone. And I understand that the comments I left for you are all gone as well, which hurts my heart the most. But, you know, that's life, innit.

Anywayyyyy, premiere toniGHT?! I am already losing my mind 😌

Can't wait to see those dragon wankers in action in two weeks 🤩

#- Inka

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gothcsz · 5 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVII.

GIF by darksber

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Obligatory storm chapter.

WORD COUNT: ~13.4k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: the crime plot is slowly but surely progressing, smut, a very wet blowjob, p in v sex, dirty talk bc duh, using panties as a gag, praise praise praise, javi being soft and vulnerable my god, STEVE MURPHY MENTION!!, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i'm just absolutely feral over these two... that is all <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3 [ paloma's piano song ]

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier wanders through the quiet aisles of the library, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as he makes his way towards the now familiar astronomy section.

He pauses occasionally, eyes scanning the titles on the spines of countless books, searching for something that might hold the answers he’s looking for.

What begun as a mere attempt to impress Paloma had unexpectedly blossomed into a genuine interest. It was during a reading on lunar cycles that a sudden gut feeling prompted him to revisit the case files.

And there, in the minutest of details, he spotted a new pattern.

Each date of the murders fell in perfect alignment with the full moon phase. This illuminated the otherwise randomness of the crimes—one girl per month, precisely when the moon shone its brightest.

He read over the files at home, searching for any significance the moon held within the context of the original group, but found nothing. This raised a crucial question: Is this the same group resurfacing, or a new player putting his own spin on things? Understanding this pattern isn’t just a matter of detail; it’s essential for deciphering the motive.

The slow progress of the investigation is frustrating, with each discovery taking its sweet fucking time to unfold. But at least this is some kind of development.

“Did you find what you were lookin’ for?” Paloma’s whisper catches his attention, drawing him from his focused search. He glances through the narrow gaps between the shelves and books to find her standing on the other side. Her dazzling brown eyes meet his, a warm smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, actually,” he scratches at his jaw, “She’s standin’ on the other side of this thing.” Flirtatious as ever, he’s pleasantly surprised to see her. She hadn’t mentioned working today during their phone call last night.

Then again she might’ve, but after talking her through an orgasm then finishing in his own fist shortly after, Javier was more focused on reeling himself in from how good her pretty little voice sounded while she was whispering pure filth into the receiver.

Part of her face is hidden, yet he doesn’t miss the entertained expression that dances across her features.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any books on the moon, would you?” He asks, trying not to let his mind drift to the sounds of her moans and pants over the static of the phone.

“I don’t think there are any libraries on the moon,” she banters playfully, “but we can always call the NASA hotline and ask.” Her teasing has him rolling his eyes, yet he can’t hold back a lopsided smile.

“Alright, smart ass, you know what I meant.”

She laughs softly, her amusement barely contained as she tries not to disturb the other patrons. “Yeah, we got a couple. They’re on this side, though.”

He licks his lips slowly, narrowing his gaze. “Really? Because I see a few right here.” He pulls out two books that had caught his eye before she arrived, holding them up for her to see.

“Yeah, but there are better ones over here.” Paloma’s voice is inviting as she slowly starts to move down the aisle, her presence a tempting distraction, and he follows like a desperate puppy.

They reach the end of the row, and now her eyes narrow teasingly, silently urging him to make the first move.

Which he does, obviously.

Rounding the tall shelf, he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close. The warmth of his body against hers is very welcomed, and she looks up at him with bright eyes that are swimming in excitement.

“You’re very lucky there ain’t no cameras back here,” Paloma breathes out in a hushed tone. He presses her back against the flat end of the wooden surface, gazing down at her.

She bites her lip and his eyes lock onto the movement, bringing his thumb up to gently pull the flesh from between her teeth. “Lucky me,” he murmurs, dipping his head to place a tender kiss on her cheek.

She pouts. “Really? Just on the cheek?”

“You make it so hard to be normal about this.” Javi leans in to kiss her properly, her lips warm and soft, tasting faintly of the coffee she had earlier.

His forearm rests against the shelf, towering over her, hip jutting out slightly. In his other hand, he easily holds the two books.

The sound of their kiss breaking has her blushing, hoping no one was nearby to hear it. Thank God this area of the library is usually a dead zone.

Her eyes fall to the items he’s holding. “Still keepin’ up with this shtick?” she jests, unable to help herself from doing so. Her laughter tapers off quickly when he shoots her a hardened look.

“Sorry,” she manages between snickers. “That was rude. M’glad you’re actually enjoyin’ it.”

“This shtick helped me notice a pattern. It’s why I’m here, actually. Looking for more information before I reach out to the professor at UCLA again.”

Paloma reaches out to play with the golden star pinned to his chest, her fingers tracing its edges as she listens intently. “What’s the pattern?” she looks up at him with genuine curiosity.

He explains, and she is truly awestruck at how intricate it all really is. It’s the same feeling she got after watching the press conference. “When’s the next full moon?”

“In two days.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh, “Maybe enforcing a curfew. Make sure everyone is safe and at home. That won’t be very difficult to do considering the storm that’s headed this way.”

When it rains, it pours. The last time their little town had seen any type of precipitation was the day of Nina’s funeral, and that seems like it was forever ago. Now, they’re being warned of some pretty strong winds and potential flooding.

“Then maybe nothin’ll happen,” she suggests, her voice hopeful.

“I sure fucking hope so,” Javi’s eyes drift to the nearest window where he sees the gray clouds gathering in the distance.

He’s frowning, lost in thought, and she reaches out to get him to look at her again. “No need to get all frowny. Save all that for the town hall later tonight.”

Javier exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders, his attention back on her. “You excited to see your future husband?”

She knows he’s talking about the mayor, yet she can’t help the way her heart flutters at the idea of that being him. She shakes those delusions away as his brown eyes hold an expectant stare.

“Y’know I could say yes ‘n use this as an opportunity to piss you off, but I’m bein’ good today—so I’m as excited to see him as you are to have to be up there with him.”

“You’re bein’ good today?” He cocks his head to the side, staring down at her with a roguish smile. “And you wouldn’t get very far with trying to piss me off. I know that asshole has nothing on me.”

“I’m always good, Javi,” she purrs, though her tone suggests otherwise. Her eyes darken slightly as she hooks her fingers onto his duty belt, pulling him closer.

His knee moves between her thighs, and she silently curses the fact that she wore jeans to work today. “You might think that, but we dunno know for sure… still gotta try him out myself. See if it really compares.”

The arm that was resting against the shelf comes down, and he wraps his fingers around her throat, holding her with a tantalizing pressure that gets her wet and throbbing.

A gentle moan sneaks past her lips. “You wanna ‘try him out,’ be my guest, nena. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Really, ‘cause it feels like you do,” she quips, her fingers grazing the growing bulge between them.

Javier’s grip on her throat tightens ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing with a possessive intensity. “Cálmate,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

“Make me.”

They’re jolted back to reality when a bang echoes from nearby, the sharp sound enough to have him loosen his hold and pull back from her. “Like I said, you make it real fucking hard to be normal about this. ‘I’m always good, Javi’ my ass,” he mocks her with a wry smile.

She giggles, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, as she bites down on her thumb. The sight of him flustered only entertains her further. “M’sorry… can’t help but poke the bear.”

Their moment is further interrupted by the abrupt static of his walkie-talkie coming to life. An officer’s voice garbles through, requesting his assistance with a disturbance at the grocery store.

“Be right there,” Javier responds flatly, his mood shifting as he hands her the books he plucked out. “Weather’s got people acting like fucking idiots. I’ll come back for these later.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she reassures him, clutching them to her chest. “I’ll bring ‘em tonight. Give ‘em to you after the meetin’.” She’s visibly bummed that their time together is cut short, but remains optimistic about seeing him again. Soon, hopefully. Maybe on another date.

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you then.” Javier leans in for a departing kiss, this one softer and sweeter. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of him calling her baby or any of the other terms of endearment that he has for her.

He adds a gentle nuzzle of his nose against hers before pulling away and making his exit, leaving her feeling all lovestruck against the bookshelf.

He knew the meeting was going to be a shit show. After putting out all relevant information through the press conference, the department has never been busier. Phones ringing left and right with false accusations, bullshit information, and the occasional prank call.

Partially expected but annoying nevertheless. No progress, aside from his own little lunar revelation, has been made.

So it makes sense that the people of Seminary are currently acting out in the stands of the high school’s gym. An unorthodox place to meet, but the rain had exposed leaks in the government building’s weathered roof so they had to improvise and move it here.

Javier leans against the fold out table that is placed right in the middle of the basketball court, arms crossed, watching Jonah Abbott deflect every question thrown his way, answering with something completely unrelated. Typical politician.

He rubs at his temples, craving a cigarette. His eyes scan the crowd until he sees Paloma sitting on the far left side, their gazes meeting and her mouth curving into a small smile which has him feeling a little less miserable about being here.

That is until the crowd starts to get riled up again, being very vocal about their gripes with the murders, as if officials haven’t been working tirelessly to figure things out.

The girl in the hospital remains unconscious and unidentified—who knows when she’ll wake up.

Another dead end just as they thought they were gaining some traction. Their knowledge of the occult only takes them so far.

Fear and anger envelop the room with an oppressive weight, voices escalating, each question sharper and more accusatory than the one before as frustration boils over.

“How can we expect y’all to keep us safe if more dead girls are bein’ found left and right?!” a man shouts, pointing his crooked finger at the three of them.

“This is what happens when we stray from the Lord ‘n quit instillin’ His will onto our children!” an elderly woman with an actual Bible clutched to her chest cries out.

“Maybe s’best if we took matters into our own hands ‘n found this son of a bitch ourselves!” another voice yells, and murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd.

His jaw tightens. He’s well aware that the deep-seated religious beliefs of this town run strong; and the murders, with their disturbing satanic imagery, have only heightened the community’s fears and suspicions.

“Folks, I understand your frustration,” Jonah starts and this gets an eye roll out of Javi who plays it off by looking down at his boots, “We’re doin’ everythin’ in our power to find who’s responsible for these heinous crimes. But takin’ the law into your own hands is not. the. answer. It’ll only lead to more chaos and possibly more innocent people gettin’ hurt.”

“The law ain’t doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ back ‘n lettin’ it happen!”

Comments and questions fly at them from all directions, with smaller arguments erupting on either side of the gym. Javier and Romeo exchange a knowing look, silently expressing their shared annoyance.

The sheriff steps up, taking control to regain the order that the incompetent mayor had lost.

“What’s important right now is that we all get prepared for the bad weather that’s hittin’ us pretty bad these next couple of days. S’already startin’ to pick up outside now,” Romeo announces, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.

Quiet murmurs fill the space, the faint sound of rain hitting the roof almost amplified now that it has been pointed out.

“Most of the town is gonna be shuttin’ down tomorrow at midday, so I suggest gettin’ your essentials and supplies tonight or in the mornin’ before you’re shit out of luck,” he continues, his tone brooking no room for nonsense.

His crassness serves its purpose, smothering most of the arguments from before. He motions for his right hand man to continue, and Javier clears his throat, straightening his posture and pushing himself off the table.

“We will be upping patrols and enforcing a curfew after the storm passes through,” His voice reverberates through the room, steady and authoritative. “The anonymous tip line is still running in case anyone sees or hears anything out of the ordinary.”

Javier scans the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as he can, trying to convey his sincerity and determination.

“We understand that these are frightenin’ times,” The sheriff interjects. “We’re dealin’ with somethin’ unprecedented, ‘n it’s natural to feel scared or frustrated. ‘Specially when they’re bastardizin’ the word of God. But we need to stand together, support one another, and trust that we are doin’ everythin’ in our power to bring this person to justice.”

The room is silent now, the only sound is the soft patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

Javier notices Paloma again, her eyes fixed on him like he’s the only person in the world, and he almost stumbles over his words as he continues with the more procedural part of the announcement.

“We’re also working closely with weather experts to monitor the storm. We’ll keep you updated with any new information as it comes in. In the meantime, stay vigilant, look out for your neighbors, and follow the curfew to ensure everyone’s safety.”

The townspeople nod, their faces a mix of concern and reluctant acceptance. He knows that words alone won’t be enough to quell their fears, but he hopes that this assembly has at least provided some clarity and direction.

After a few more closing remarks, the meeting ends, and Abbott wastes no time approaching him and the sheriff. “That was great work, gentlemen. Lost ‘em for a second there, but you two wrangled ‘em back under control. S’why I got the best of the best…” his words are slick, and Javier can see right through the man’s bullshit, “that will hopefully bring an end to all this madness soon, right?”

Abbott doesn’t care about the town’s safety—he just wants the murders solved so the media attention goes away. The newfound scrutiny is clearly bothering him.

Apparently there is such thing as bad press.

“We’re workin’ as hard as we can,” Romeo replies curtly, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

Javier quickly bows out to ‘prevent any dispute from breaking out in the parking lot’ but really, it’s because he knows he won’t be able to hold his tongue against the arrogant mayor if he’s around him any longer.

He positions himself by the large exit double doors as the crowd files out. Javi nods to those he recognizes from the bar or his frequent patrols in town. The weight of their expectations adds to the already heavy burden on his shoulders.

Just another part of the fucking job.

When the last person exits, he chains the doors closed and jogs over to his truck.

The rain falls gently, wetting his hair and sending droplets running down the roughened texture of his bomber jacket.

“Here are your books, space cowboy.” Paloma’s voice catches him by surprise. She seems to appear out of thin air, a colorful umbrella shielding her from the rain.

“Gracias, palomita,” he takes them from her and puts them in the cab of his truck.

“Tough crowd,” she remarks, looking around as more cars pull out, leaving the lot empty.

“They’re just scared. Fear makes people act out like that.”

“You handled it well. Unlike others…” Her tone carries a hint of amusement, eyeing his wet appearance and how the raindrops fall from the curve of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones. So dreamy.

He chuckles dryly, “Tell me about it.”

Just as the conversation begins to drift into flirtatious territory, Romeo’s car pulls up beside them with the window rolled down.

Javier is glad he resisted the urge to step forward and kiss her in the rain, though he knows she would have liked that.

Her father? Probably not so much.

“Finally got Abbott to stop runnin’ his mouth. S’like talkin’ to a spoiled brat,” he complains, clearly frustrated.

Paloma finds this interesting, especially given how he used to advocate for her to give Jonah a shot and go out on one date with him.

It never happened, and now her father’s irritation is almost a satisfying twist.

“You campin’ out in that dogshit trailer of yours?” Romeo asks Javier, shifting the conversation.

“Don’t have much of a choice.”

“You’re better off stayin’ with us.”

The comment throws him off but he doesn’t convey it, gaze flickering over to Paloma, who has an encouraging look already in her eyes.

Accept the fucking invite! It’s a dangerous, dangerous game, but one he’s foolish enough to be tempted to play.

“You sure?” Javi asks, a subtle trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Positive. Got more than enough room. Beats bein’ hunkered down with just this one,” Romeo jokes, glancing at his daughter.

“Jeez, daddy, thanks,” she playfully shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she rounds the car and gets into the passenger seat, closing and shaking off her wet umbrella.

“Alright,” he concedes and she’s over the freaking moon, “Thanks. I appreciate it. See you all tomorrow.”

Romeo nods in acknowledgement and Paloma winks at him behind her father’s back.

She is kneeling over her plants when Javier shows up the following day. The rain from last night and this morning has finally let up, and she’s using this pocket of dryness to put row covers over her garden to shield it from the severe weather.

“I’ve always admired a girl who likes to get her hands dirty,” he says from behind her with a cocky grin. She turns to face him, mud covering her overalls and caking her rain boots.

“How original,” she replies, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, smearing some dirt there in the process. “So damn humid, feels like the devil’s ballsack out today.”

Javi chuckles and steps closer, affectionately wiping the dirt from her forehead. “You have a way with words, sweetheart. Where’s your dad?”

“Went to get a few last-minute things ‘fore town closed up.”

“So I can kiss you without having to look over my shoulder?”

“Dunno if you wanna do all that when I’m dirtied up like this.”

“I think you wear the mud real nice,” he murmurs, pulling her to him. He places a wet kiss on her lips, which she reciprocates without hesitation, her tongue breaching his mouth.

“Guess I’m not too dirty for you after all,” she whispers when they part, a flirtatious simper ghosting over her mouth.

“Never that, preciosa. Do I need to remind you how dirty you were over the phone the other night?” he raises a brow, voice dropping to a low timbre that sends a thrill up her spine.

“You might, actually…” Her pulse quickens, a flush creeping up her neck as she recalls their late-night conversation.

It was the first time she’d ever done anything like that, and while she felt a bit embarrassed at the start, Javier’s soothing, erotic guidance had turned it into something fucking incredible. Everything he does is fucking incredible.

He hums appreciatively, “Wouldn’t mind that,” his fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.

He leans in again, capturing her lips in another kiss. His hands slide down to her hips, tracing the exposed skin along the side openings of her overalls, squeezing gently.

Paloma could really die a happy woman in his arms.

Javier groans softly, the sound vibrating against her mouth, making her knees weak. “I should help you finish covering these plants before the storm hits,” his tone makes it clear he’s struggling to pull himself away from her. “Before your dad gets home.” He clarifies.

“Yeah, you probably should,” she agrees, but not without placing a sweet peck to his chin.

As if she needed his help, but hey, when a man is willing; why not unload some of the labor onto him?

She hands him a row cover, her fingers lingering on his as they exchange the material. “Can’t have ya standin’ around lookin’ all pretty while I do all the hard work.” She beams.

“We certainly can’t have that,” there’s a grin on his face as he moves to help her finish the task.

Javier’s hands are deft and strong as he secures the covers, getting dirtied up and looking straight up manly. It has her clit tingling with arousal, imagining his fingers inside of her again and how fucking amazing they felt when she rode them in the bed of his truck.

Between his uniformed presence and country boy charm—this man is going to be the death of her.

His eyes never stray far from her, drinking in every detail of her mud-splattered appearance as she moves between planter boxes.

She catches him looking each time, sending a wink his way and his tongue pokes against his cheek bashfully.

He can’t help it, Paloma is just so beautiful.

A piece of wood, obscured by the mud, has Javier tripping over it, his feet betraying him as he loses balance on the slick, muddy ground.

Her hands fly up to cover her mouth in shock, eyes wide as she watches him go down, mud splattering everywhere.

She almost bursts into laughter but catches herself, the worry for him outweighing the amusement.

“Oh my goodness gracious, are you okay?!” she rushes towards him and discards her gloves.

Javier lies on his back, the cold, wet mud oozing through his shirt and coating his skin. He looks up at her, squinting one eye close. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grunts, despite the faint ache he feels at his lower back.

Sitting up, he extends his hand towards her to get him back on his feet.

As soon as their hands touch, he seizes the moment. With a mischievous grin, he yanks her down with him.

She gasps, a startled shriek escaping her lips as she tumbles into the thick, squelchy mud beside him.

“I knew you were goin’ to do that!” she exclaims with exasperation and laughter.

“And yet you still tried to help me up anyway,” he retorts with a playful smirk.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends a handful of mud flying at him. It lands squarely on his cheek, sliding down in a comical, slow-motion descent until it plops into a heap on his lap.

“Oops,” she says with a feigned innocence.

In mere moments, they’re both engulfed in a muddy, joyful chaos. They spring to their feet and Javier begins to chase her around the garden, both of them taking turns flinging mud at each other.

They’re so engrossed in their antics that they don’t notice Romeo’s return.

The sight of them through the large bay window in the kitchen catches him off guard. He furrows his brows, puzzled and slightly amused by the raucous scene.

“Y’all look like a pair ‘a pigs runnin’ around like this.” her father’s voice rings out, dripping with bemusement as he descends the back porch steps.

His sturdy boots thud against the wooden planks when he approaches, gaze sweeping over them, taking in the sight of their disheveled, mud-coated figures.

“Javi slipped tryin’ to help me put the covers on and it was the funniest thing ever,” Paloma explains, her voice a little too high-pitched as she fails to clean herself up completely, wiping at her muddy cheeks, only managing to spread it further.

“Well, I reckon that’s one way to make a mess of things,” Romeo drawls, his gaze fixed on Javier with a pointed, almost accusatory edge.

Javier, caked in mud and feeling every bit like an overgrown teenager caught in trouble, manages a self-deprecating laugh. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”

He knows he needs to have the awkward conversation sooner rather than later. He has to tell Romeo about his relationship with Paloma and face whatever fallout comes with it.

She insists that her father will eventually come around, but it’s the immediate, explosive reaction that he dreads. He has to brace himself for the storm of anger and disappointment that is sure to erupt.

It won’t happen today nor tomorrow—not when he’s been offered shelter under his roof that Javi had stupidly agreed to, just to be near his fucking daughter.

What’s romance without a little risk?

“Well shit, if you wanna rinse off, I’d give it about…” Romeo glances up at the sky, his eyes calculating the darkening clouds. “Ten minutes ‘fore it starts raining again. Or you can use the hose,” he adds, gesturing towards the garden hose coiled beside the shed.

“M’not gonna get caught in the storm. Don’t wanna get shocked up. We’ll use the hose.” Paloma replies.

“Right,” he grunts, rubbing his jaw. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I gotta finish puttin’ everythin’ away inside. Sure I can trust y’all out here?”

What a loaded fucking question.

“We’ll be fine, daddy. S’just a little mud.”

“I’ll try not to slip again,” Javier adds with a dry laugh, hoping he didn’t just make himself look like a clumsy idiot in front of the older man.

The sheriff snorts and gives a curt nod. “Alright then, you do that. Don’t need y’all trackin’ muck into the house.” He mutters, turning on his heel and heading back inside.

Javier watches him go, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he turns to Paloma. “Skatin’ on thin ice,” he says, beginning to walk towards the shed and trying to get some of the wet dirt off him.

Paloma’s smile fades slightly, a hint of frustration edging her words. “Wouldn’t be if someone––”

“Okay,” he cuts her off gently, already knowing where that conversation is headed. “Let’s rinse off before he comes back out here and kicks my ass.”

She huffs out a laugh, “Fine. Glad you knew where I was goin’ with that.”

Javier reaches for the hose, adjusting the nozzle to a gentle spray, then aims it at her soiled overalls. The cool water hits the fabric, making the mud dissolve into dark, swirling rivulets. As the grime starts to wash away, he moves methodically, making sure to hit every spot.

Paloma watches him, her heart warming at his careful attention. The water cascades down her clothes, revealing glimpses of her soft curves beneath the mess.

When he’s done, she takes the hose from him with a mischievous grin. “Mi turno.”

As she works, she decides to be bold by reaching out to touch him. Her fingers brush against his skin and Javier’s throat bobs, meeting her eyes with a wary look then glancing over her shoulder to make sure Romeo wasn’t watching them from the house.

“Thin. Ice.” He repeats.

“Live a little,” she counters with a playful lilt.

She leans in closer, her wet body brushing against his as she continues to rinse. The proximity feels like a charged exchange of impulsiveness since they both can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, even with the looming threat of her father’s presence just inside.

When she finishes, Paloma sets the hose down, her fingers lingering longer than necessary, his shirt clinging to his torso, accentuating the lines of his muscles, luring her in.

She looks up at him. “All clean.”

“You want him to kill me.”

“No, this is just fun… ‘n I love seein’ you squirm like a lil worm.”

He licks across the bottom row of his teeth, “You keep fuckin’ around like this, nena, and I’ll have no choice but to put you in your place.” She wants him to squirm, fine, but he’ll make sure to return that energy tenth fold.

“That a promise?”

“You really want to see how far you can push me, huh?”

“Un poco.” She pinches her thumb and pointer finger together, mocking him and he scoffs.

“Gettin’ in over your head babygirl. Now’s not the time to do this, not when I can’t bend you over and fuck you stupid. Then you wouldn’t have a choice but to shut up and be compliant.”

Oh fuck, his words go straight to her pussy and her heart skips a beat. “Who says you can’t do that?”

Javier groans. Nope, not doing this right now. “You’re baiting me like a fuckin’ fish and I’m not gettin’ hooked. Inside. Go.”

She smirks like she’s just won the fucking lottery, stomping back towards the house with her chin held high.

If anyone is in over their heads here it’s him, accepting Romeo’s invitation to stay knowing Paloma is his greatest temptation.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds with a sense of normalcy, despite the tempest raging outside. The sky has grown dark, pierced by occasional flashes of lightning that illuminate the living room. Thunder rumbles intermittently, its low growl resonating through the house, while the wind howls and the rain pelts against the windows, creating a rhythmic drumming sound that is soothing yet insistent.

Inside, the atmosphere is comforting. After showering off their mess from the mud, they settle into the warmth of the house.

Paloma busies herself in the kitchen, preparing an early dinner just in case the power goes out.

They used to have a back up generator, but it crapped out on them last year and her father, ever the forgetful one, never got around to replacing it.

Javier and Romeo are engrossed in a tense card game at the dining table, their competitive banter punctuated by the clinking of chips and the shuffling of cards.

They sneak glances at each other every so often, their eyes conveying what they can’t say aloud.

Lingering touches become their secret language—his fingers brushing her arm when he scoots past her to grab another beer from the fridge, her body pressing subtly against his as she reaches over to grab something from the table.

If there was ever a time to show restraint, it’s now. She treats this as a game, trying to get him to break in front of her father, to force him into a confrontation.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, daring him to give in. He meets her gaze with a steady determination, silently promising that he won’t let her win so easily.

Eventually the three of them migrate to the living room. Romeo, having suggested an old movie to pass the time, is sprawled out on the couch, his snores becoming a steady background noise.

The movie plays on the screen, its dialogue a distant murmur amidst the storm. It’s a miracle the power hasn’t gone out yet.

Paloma uses this brief respite to seize a moment alone with Javier.

Quietly beckoning him down the hall, she leads him to the family dining room where a grand piano sits in the corner. It was a gift from the church, given to her on her tenth birthday.

After flicking on the lamp, she settles onto the bench, her fingers poised above the keys with a delicate grace.

She begins to play, her touch tentative at first, then gradually more confident as the familiar notes fill the room.

Javier leans against the door frame, mesmerized by the scene before him. He watches her intently, captivated by the subtle expressions that flit across her face as she listens to each note, her eyes closed in concentration.

He breaks the spell with a gentle question, “How long have you been playing?”

She glances over at him, her expression wistful. “Ever since I could, really. Momma wasted no time in teachin’ me.” Her voice carries a touch of nostalgia, a subtle sadness that she hopes goes unnoticed.

She’s relieved when Javier doesn’t press further. Instead, he simply nods, his understanding evident in his gaze.

“Come sit,” Paloma invites, her voice honeyed like it always is. She shifts slightly on the bench, patting the empty space beside her.

Javier moves to join her, their shoulders brushing. He’s too damn broad to be sitting on this small ass seat.

He does feels a flutter of excitement at hearing her like this. It’s different from her shows at the bar, more intimate and personal, reminding him of that time in the shed when he was fixing her car and she played her guitar.

The memory of her song about Nina, which she hasn’t brought up since that day, lingers in his mind.

“It ain’t anythin’ new, just an old song I wrote after George,” she begins, and a small, sad smile touches her lips. He wants to kiss it away. “It’s my favorite to play on the piano. You can really feel the heartbreak.”

“Your heartbreak?” he asks, the question slipping out before he can catch it. He bites the inside of his lip, worried that he’s overstepped somehow.

“Mhm,” she doesn’t mind, opening the folder that rests against the music desk and pulling out her short-hand sheet music. “Took me so long to finish it. I was stuck on this bench for what felt like an eternity before I got it done.”

He doesn’t know what to say and she doesn’t expect him to be necessarily chatty. They’re taking turns showing their vulnerability, sharing a little at a time at a pace that seems to be benefiting them both and their relationship.

The room is filled with the soft, melodic strains of the piano as she starts again, blending with the patter of rain and rumbling of the thunder. Her voice joins shortly after, and the entire time Javier can’t keep his eyes off her.

Beneath the warmth of his admiration, Paloma feels oh so exposed. She’s never played this for anyone before, and the only reason she’s doing it now is because she wants him to understand why it’s so important to her that he doesn’t love her in secret. That he doesn’t string her along.

She’s already been through that heartbreak before, and it left her with this nasty, harrowing feeling that didn’t go away for years. Now, considering everything they’ve been through, she knows she won’t be able to recover if things go awry again.

And he listens—Javi listens to each word that falls from her lips, her voice soft to compliment their surroundings.

She’s got real talent; he’s known that from the dozens of times he’s been at her shows, hell it was evident at the fair. But here, with just her voice and the piano, weaving a story that is both haunting and beautiful; she’s opened herself up to him, letting him glimpse her pain.

She doesn’t do it in a verbal confrontation; she does it in her own way, and the message comes across just the same.

Sure, Javier might not be good with words, but he doesn’t need them to let her in. He just needs to lower his guard and not hide from her or any of his past grievances.

He’s never met anyone who makes him self-reflect as much as she does.

As the final notes fade into the quiet, the sounds of the weather seamlessly take their place. Paloma’s fingers linger on the keys as she turns to look at him, “What’d ya think?”

Javier reaches out, stroking her cheek affectionately. “Increíble, cariño. Can’t imagine how hard it was for you to go through that.” he replies, words laden with sincerity.

A small yet genuine smile paints itself on her face and she shrugs lightly, “It was tough, but I’m a tough girl. Got through it eventually…” she trails off, attention flickering to the keys before meeting his brown eyes again, “And I know I’m bein’ kinda anal about you tellin’ my daddy ‘n stuff but there’s reasonin’ behind it. I wanted you to know that reason. You make me feel all these...things. Things I’ve felt before. Things I’ve lost. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“And it won’t.” He reassures her, tone hushed as to not wake her father.

The lights flicker suddenly and they both look towards the lamp before he’s getting her to look at him again.

“Paloma, those things you feel. I feel them too and I don’t want to fuck ‘em up either. Te quiero a ti (I want you), mi corazón, te necesito (I need you). Like fuckin’ air. It’s ridiculous how spun you’ve got me.”

Paloma’s heart swells at his words, the rawness of them, and she doesn’t give a fuck if her dad was to walk in in this very moment; she lurches forward to kiss him, holding his jaw tenderly.

The power finally gives out, accompanied with a deafening crash of lightning, plunging the room into darkness. The storm outside intensifies, its ferocity underscored by the unrelenting roar of thunder.

They pull back abruptly, but he’s still close enough to brush his nose against the soft skin of her cheek. He needs her so bad.

Paloma’s eyes flutter close at the feel of his warm breath caressing her, a polarizing energy drawing them together and she almost crawls onto his lap.

She hears her father’s voice calling for her and she wishes she hadn’t. Wishes he wasn’t around at all so she could take Javier right here on the fucking piano.

She moves off the bench, flustered completely, shouting down the hall, “We’re gettin’ the lanterns outta the closet to set ‘em up.”

Javier clears his throat, following her down the shadowy hallway until they’re at the closet, watching her rummage through it.

The dim light from the lightning intermittently illuminates her figure, making her movements more sensual than they should be.

When his vision becomes clouded by lust, it’s hard for him to focus on anything that isn’t his subject of affection. That currently being her.

His gaze lingers on her bent over figure, her leggings hugging her curves just right, shirt riding up to expose a slither of skin at her lower back. “No candles?”

“Not safe in a storm like this,” she replies, pulling out a taped up cardboard box. “Don’t want the house goin’ up in flames if the gas lines get hit.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, she smirks when she sees that he’s distracted. “Hey handsome, my eyes are up here.”

“And while your eyes are definitely worth admiring, I’m more intrigued by this ass you got, baby.” He can’t help but deliver a slight spank.

A flush creeps up her cheeks and she gasps his name softly, “Just go put these out by the kitchen and living room, please.”

“Si, jefa.” His grin widens, clearly enjoying her reaction, as he takes the box and heads toward the main rooms, leaving her to handle upstairs.

When Paloma rejoins them in the kitchen, she finds Javier and her father standing by the window, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the lanterns. They peer out into the storm, watching the rain lash against the windowpane.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these,” she comments.

Romeo, with a small scowl, shakes his head. “Leave it to everyone in town to think this is the work of the devil.”

She snorts at the remark, recognizing the truth in it. A weather anomaly in their small town is enough to stir up wild tales and superstitions. That atop of all the rising tensions and well…

“Yeah, one odd storm, and it’s suddenly the apocalypse,” Javier quips.

She moves to set the table. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to have dinner. In case the end times really are amongst us.”

They sit around the table, their conversation punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. As they finish their meal and clean up, her father clears his throat and stretches, glancing out at the downpour with a tired sigh. “I’m turnin’ in for the night,” he announces.

Paloma and Javier exchange glances, her drying off plates next to her dad and him leaning against the kitchen island, trying not to show how eager they are to be left alone.

“Me too. Probably gonna read a bit before bed. Javier, we’ve set up my old playroom for you to stay in.” His lips twitch at the use of his full first name, and he looks at them both, rubbing his lips together.

“I appreciate you letting me bunker down here.”

“Not a problem. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw your tin can blowin’ across the yard.” Romeo jokes, drying his hands off then leaning over to pinch at his daughter’s nose affectionately, like he always does. She scrunches her face up in response.

“Night y’all. Javier help yourself to anything.”

He bites back a smirk, the first response to cross his mind being like your daughter? Like the smug bastard that he is. Instead, he gives him a curt nod. “Thank you, goodnight.”

“Night daddy.”

There’s a charged silence as Romeo saunters down the hall, and it’s not until they hear his bedroom door click close that he rounds the counter and walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“Help myself to anything I want. Hm…” he whispers hotly into her ear, one hand moving up to grope her breast, the other toying with the band of her leggings.

She exhales shakily, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and closing her eyes as she enjoys his touch on her body, the way she can feel his erection poking against her ass. “What happened to you not gettin’ hooked?”

He sees the small smirk on her face and he squeezes his grip on her tit, nibbling along her neck. She shudders.

“Shut up.”

Javier spins her around, caging her between him and the counter, dark eyes boring into hers. He goes in for a proper kiss but she stops him, pointer finger pressing against his pursed lips.

He growls her name out and it’s almost drowned out by the wave of thunder that rolls by.

“Meet me in my room in an hour.” She whispers, dropping her hand and spreading her palm against the center of his chest, pushing him back so she’s able to slip away from him.

“Always a tease,” he grumbles, adjusting himself in his sweatpants.

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Paloma walks backwards, blowing him a kiss before disappearing upstairs.

Javier stands on the other side of her door, exactly an hour later as instructed. He rasps his knuckles softly against the wood, and the door opens immediately.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They share a moment of silence, exchanging a lustful stare before she opens the door wider for him to come in.

“This is a bad idea, bebita. Your dad is just downstairs.” Though the statement dies on his tongue as his eyes rake over her body.

She’s wearing his red checkered flannel, the one he had let her wear the night of the Fourth of July. She hasn’t got anything on under it aside from the only thong she owns, since she isn’t privy to them.

Usually, she would just forgo underwear altogether instead of wearing the uncomfortable scrap of fabric.

But it’s serving its purpose right now.

The flannel doesn’t smell like him anymore since she’d washed it, but she still liked how soft it felt against her skin.

Plus, she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist once he saw her in it.

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” Her voice drops to a whisper, walking him back until he’s sat at the edge of her bed, Paloma standing between his spread legs and her hands cupping his face.

He swallows hard, his large hands automatically finding her hips, sliding under the flannel to feel the warmth of her skin. “You look incredible.”

Paloma leans in, her lips ghosting over his. “I wore it just for you.”

Javier’s heart races as he feels the heat emanating from her body. He gently tugs her closer, exploring the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips, then grabbing her ass. “You’re killing me, princesa.”

She loves hearing that coming from him.

“You gonna be able to stay quiet? Last time we had to be, I had to shut you up myself.” His touch shifts to the back of her thighs, fingers caressing the soft skin there, eyes focused on her and how she reacts to him.

Two lanterns bathe her room in warm light, casting a glow that aids her in her quest to seduce him.

“I think I can manage this time.” She ducks her head to kiss him, not hungrily or passionately, but slowly, savoring the taste of mint that lingers on his tongue.

His lips travel from her mouth to her jawline, and down the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Javi?”

“¿Si, muñeca?”

“I need your help with something.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Need you to talk me through sucking your dick.”

He pulls back abruptly, blinking rapidly as he processes her words. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” she juts her lower lip out, “I’ve… well I’ve never done it before and I really, really really want to do it with you.” She sounds desperate but she doesn’t care.

Paloma’s been fantasizing about it for a while now, the desire to do it only growing the more intimate they got. Her mind has been filled with images of him, his reactions, and the way he might look at her with that smoldering gaze of his.

The thought of pleasing him, of having his taste and scent overwhelm her, has her buzzing with a heady mix of excitement and nervousness.

“I’m having a hard time believing that. You’ve got perfect fuckin’ lips,” soft, plump, just begging to have a cock between them.

She giggles, feeling his fingers toying with the thin strap of her thong. “Thank you. I’d like to put ‘em to use if you don’t mind.”

He blows out a breath, trying to keep his composure. “How inexperienced are we talking here?” Javier’s cock is already twitching, knowing that no one has breached this part of her and that he’s the one who gets to do it is making him delirious.

“I know what it is. Given a hand job before but never had one down my throat,” she admits, her cheeks flushed.

He grunts at her wording. “I’ve seen a few dirty flicks where the girl’s done it. I think m’capable, but I wanna know what you like. How you want me to take it.”

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep my shit together.”

Another giggle escapes her lips as she slowly moves to her knees, the plush rug cushioning her descent. Her dainty hands come to rest on his muscular thighs, fingers gently kneading the fabric of his gray sweatpants.

He looks irresistibly sexy in his casual attire, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants that do nothing to hide the raw masculinity that has her already dripping wet, eagerly awaiting his instructions.

The look she gives him—those eyes, brimming with lust—makes him wish he had a video camera to capture this moment.

He wants to immortalize the way her lips part slightly, how her breath quickens, the way her hands tremble with enthusiasm.

He wants to be able to replay it over and over again, to remember how she looks up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze filled with an intensity that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.

“Unbutton the shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits of yours, sweetheart.”

Her thighs clench, fingers flying to the buttons of the flannel, deftly popping them open to reveal her chest, a shiver skipping over her exposed skin and perking her nipples.

Javier’s eyes darken with hunger as he licks his lips slowly, savoring the sight before him.

He brings his hand up, cupping her left breast, his thumb brushing over her skin in teasing strokes. His calloused touch sends a ripple of pleasure through her, responding with ragged breaths.

Just as she starts to lean into his hand, he pulls away, leaving her yearning for more.

“Now touch me, princesa. Feel how hard you got me.”

This is how she dies, she thinks, with Javier Peña talking her through her first blowjob. Their little erotic phone call had been one experience, and now he is bestowing another one upon her. In the same week.

Maybe she’s already dead.

Her palm glides up and down his length, tracing the hardening outline over the soft fabric of his sweatpants. The sight of her full tits and pebbled nipples enough to get him fully hard.

Paloma leans in, gently lifting the hem of his tee out of the way. She places a delicate kiss just above his waistband, her lips brushing against the warm skin of his lower abdomen and her nose scrunching as the dark trail of hair tickles her.

Her hand continues its rhythmic motion, eliciting a slow, deep exhale from him— unspoken encouragement to keep going.

“So big,” she murmurs, “don’t know how I’m goin’ to fit it all in my mouth.” Her tongue darts out, teasingly licking around his belly button, causing his stomach to tighten in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, muñeca,” he coos, “We’ll make it fit.”

With starry eyes, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his bottoms, slowly dragging them down. He lifts his hips to help her, the fabric sliding off and pooling around his ankles.

His cock springs free, resting heavily against his pelvis.

Her eyes widen, mouth watering.

She’s felt his impressive size, but seeing it so closely in the flesh sends thudding pressure to her clit, blood rushing with a desperate need to please him.

He’s thick and perfectly sized with an enticing curve that has her tongue moving involuntarily in her mouth. The skin is a shade lighter than the rest of him, currently flushed a deep, heated red, the smooth head throbbing and glistening with precum dripping from the slit.

“Damn, Javi,” she purrs, a content hum vibrating through her chest. “Every part of you is handsome.” It makes her heart race, and she can feel heat licking at her labia, eager to show him just how much she aches for him.

He exhales through his nose, stroking her hair and gently urging her forward. “Give it a kiss, bebita.”

“Where?”

“Donde tú quieras.”

She sucks her teeth, contemplating how she wants to do this. The soft lighting of the room and the flashes of silver from the lightning outside accentuate every ridge and curve of his cock—making it look so yummy.

Javi can feel her warm breath fanning over him, then the blissful wetness of her plump lips as she presses them against the blazing skin of his base. Her tongue follows, tracing the path of a thick vein with deliberate slowness.

He curses under his breath, biting down on his tongue to stifle any involuntary noises, but fuck, it feels good.

Her tongue traces the protruding vein all the way to the top, circling around the head, mimicking what she’s seen in the pornos. More precum leaks from his slit, and she laps at it thirstily, welcoming the peculiar flavor. The salty tang mingles with the taste of his skin, driving her fucking crazy.

“It doesn’t look like I have to teach you much, chiquita, you’re doing an amazing fuckin’ job so far.” Javier praises, continuing to stroke her hair with a satisfied, wolfish grin playing at his lips.

“Really?” She seeks his approval like a drowning woman seeking air.

“Of course. Always so good for me.” His dark eyes gleam with ardor, “Now get it wet, baby, so it can slip in your mouth easily.”

Obedient as ever and fueled by his praise, her tongue moves with sinful precision, eyes fluttering close as she focuses on licking every inch, using her lips to press open mouthed kisses all over.

More saliva gathers in her mouth, and she deliberately lets a thick, glistening strand fall from her lips, dribbling over the sensitive tip and trailing slowly down the full length of him.

Paloma’s hand comes up, fingers wrapping around his dick with a teasing grip. Her movements are slow, pumping him gently.

“Your nails look so sexy wrapped around my cock like this baby holy fuck,” Javier can’t help but compliment as she squeezes him, clenching his jaw. “That’s right, así mero princesa, shit.” He grunts, the hand that had been tenderly stroking her hair now tangles into her long, silken strands, fingers gripping and gently tugging, a primal response to her actions.

He mentioned a long time ago how much he loved it when a woman had a fresh manicure, and Paloma, ever wanting to get his attention, has not missed a single appointment with her manicurist since.

“Got ‘em done just for you,” she coos, winking up at him and leaning forward to purse her lips, slapping his fat head against them.

“Gettin’ yourself all done up for me? Mi muñequita so eager to please. Go ahead and put me in your mouth. Wanna see those pretty lips around my cock.”

She can feel her slick dampening her panties, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good. Show up any other woman he’s ever taken to bed.

Holding him steady at the base, she parts her lips and slowly envelops his cock in her hot mouth.

The heavy, pulsing weight of him pressing down on her tongue amplifies her craving for more. His slick, warm flesh, generously coated in her spit, has him sliding effortlessly into her mouth.

Javier brings his fist up to bite into it, letting out a choked groan.

The weather continues its tyranny outdoors and he’s fucking grateful that it’s loud enough to cover the sounds of pleasure she’s pulling from him. “Take it slow, baby, open your jaw a little more.”

She listens, lowering her chin and taking him deeper into her mouth. The blunt tip grazes the back of her throat, causing her to gag and she pulls back, struggling to catch her breath.

The feeling is overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks in a low, gravelly murmur, eyelids heavy as he watches her.

The fingers previously tangled in her hair now brush away the few stray strands that have fallen forward behind her ear.

She responds with a breathy hum of affirmation, determined to push him further down her throat. But her eagerness causes her to overestimate her capacity, resulting in a sputtering mess as she chokes and coughs, droplets of her saliva splattering over him.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he soothes, his thumb gently swiping at the spit on her lower lip. “Take it easy. S’not a race.” The tender gesture only heightens her arousal.

“I jus’ wanna make you feel good, Javi,” she replies, voice hoarse from the strain of her attempt at deep throating.

“Trust me, you’re doing just fine. Here, let me help.” His hand moves to the nape of her neck, carefully guiding her closer.

He slowly breaches her mouth with his cock again, slipping in and out in a gentle rhythm. He helps her find a steady pace, his care and control transforming the act into more of an intimate experience.

“Atta girl, just like that. Tan hermosa,” he murmurs, admiring the view of her flushed face. “Think you can handle it all on your own now?”

She responds with a soft nod, the subtle move has her teeth just barely grazing his throbbing cock and it makes him shudder, jaw going slack.

More confident and her jaw worked open more, Paloma hollows her cheeks and blows him with keenness.

Her hands join in, one cradling his balls while the other wraps around his dick, stroking him in time with her mouth.

She looks up at him through her wet lashes, a loving glint twinkling in her eyes.

Javier curses under his breath, head lolling back and eyes fluttering close as her mouth and tongue work together to tread the fine fucking line of his orgasm.

She takes him deeper, her swollen lips stretching around his cock while her jaw aches from accommodating him.

He gathers her hair into a loose ponytail with his fist, hips starting to move in tandem with her mouth. “Just like that, palomita.”

She’s got the hang of it now, able to take him all in, nose brushing against the tuft of hair at his base that’s damp with the saliva from her ministrations.

The storm rages outside, but here, in this moment, all he can focus on is the exquisite torment of her mouth tightening the coil at the base of his spine.

Paloma stills, swallowing around his length and he praises her in a hushed whisper.

Javi gently strokes her cheek with his fingertips, his touch tender and reassuring, the contrast of his soft caress with the way she’s got him down her throat making her heart do jumping jacks.

She struggles to breathe but she doesn’t really give a fuck. The intense thrill of his reactions has her losing herself completely, thighs tensing together.

Her thong, now drenched with her own excited mess, sticks to her pussy; reminding her of how hot and bothered she is from just blowing him.

Between her tight throat, swirling tongue, and pretty gags, Javier has to pull her off of him before he spills his load down her throat.

Gasping for air, her eyes are glazed with tears of both pleasure and strain.

She looks up at him again with an expression so intoxicating—he nearly paints her face at the sight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nada, cariño. I’d just like to fuck your pussy and not come down your throat tonight.” Some other time, for sure.

“I take it as I did a good job?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

Paloma’s lips curl into a triumphant smirk, brown eyes glowing with satisfaction at his praise. She licks her lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as she leans in, pressing a final kiss on the sensitive tip of his cock with the electrifying touch of her lips.

Slowly, she rises from her knees, her movements fluid and deliberately sensual. She trails heated, open-mouthed kisses up his torso, each touch igniting a feverish path on his skin.

As she moves, she pulls his shirt up along with her, her soft breasts brushing against his firm stomach.

He reacts quickly, shedding the shirt and tossing it aside.

Their lips finally meet in a fervent kiss. It’s messy and passionate—they’re drunk off each other.

“How do you want me?” Paloma asks in a sultry whisper.

“Face down, ass up,” he grunts, pushing the flannel off her shoulders, eager to feel more of her bare skin beneath his touch.

She positions herself on the bed, her face nuzzling against the soft mountain of pillows, arms stretched out in front of her.

The recently fixed headboard offers a silent promise; no noise will give them away, and they won’t have to worry about getting caught.

That’s the last thing they need.

Whether they’re able to keep quiet themselves is an entirely different thing.

Javier, now fully nude, strokes his cock slowly, savoring the sight before him. Her plump ass is on full display, tantalizingly framed by the thin, barely-there panties.

He grunts with satisfaction, his gaze hungrily devouring the view of her pretty pussy, ready for him to take.

As he closes the distance between them, he kneads her ass cheeks firmly, the smoothness of her skin and the way she molds to his touch triggering a searing lust in him.

Every fantasy he’d ever had about her in this position is now a vivid, thrilling reality. He’s intent on taking full advantage of this, to make her his in every sense.

“Don’t know if I can trust you to stay quiet,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls down her underwear, a string of her slick sticking to it, making the sight so fucking erotic.

Paloma can’t help but sway her hips, enticing him further, as she lays bare on the mattress. “I will be, honey, I promise.” She turns her head to try and get a better look at him, cheek resting on the cushion.

“Can’t take that risk. Not tonight.” The bed dips when he positions himself behind her, and his broad frame bends over hers, chest to her back, wet cock brushing up against the skin of her ass. “Abre,” he commands lowly into her ear and she whimpers, parting her lips.

Her eyes go wide with surprise and her pulsating sex drools when he shoves her damp, ruined panties into her mouth. The fabric is cool against her tongue, tinged with her own tangy scent, and she can taste the remnants of her arousal.

Her moan is swallowed by the material, muffled and contained, amplifying the sensation of helpless pleasure that floods her senses.

“Calladita te ves más bonita (you look prettier with your mouth shut),” he taunts, placing a kiss to her cheek, bristling mustache dragging at her shoulder, until he straightens up and takes his cock into his hand again, slowly rubbing it along her slit and spreading their mess all over her cunt.

Paloma clenches around nothing in anticipation, arching her back and spreading her knees a little more to give him the perfect angle to rut into her.

He sinks into her pussy slowly, growling expletives under his breath at how fucking amazing she feels positioned like this. Her tight, wet heat wrapping around him as he splits her open on his girth. “Sucking me in so well, amor, just like that fucking mouth of yours.”

Every sound of ecstasy gets lost on the now wet cloth as drool pools from her lips, brain absolutely melting once he’s balls deep inside of her, the weight of them pressed up against her clit.

All she can think and feel is him. He doesn’t give her a moment to adjust, pulling out until only his fat head is inside before roughly snapping his hips against hers.

The pace he sets is deliciously brutal, tears sting at her eyes as he presses up against that spot inside her that makes more juices drip out of her pussy and slather all over his dick.

Javier is completely entranced, watching as her cunt stretches open for him each time he rolls his hips, spitting his cock out, covered in her creamy arousal.

He spreads her cheeks to get the best view possible, biting his lip harshly and digging his fingertips into her skin.

The thunderstorm doesn’t let up, perfectly masking the filthy sounds of their fucking. “Feels fucking amazing baby, shit, can feel you clenching around me. Love being gagged, don’t you?” He can’t help himself, moving his hands so one hand tangles itself in her long hair, pulling at it so she’s on all fours now while the other grabs onto her hip.

Like a doll, she lets him move her however the hell he wants. Her arms tremble as she holds herself up, her scalp burning from his firm grip, each tug cascading waves of blissful electricity all over, starting at her toes.

Sex with Javier is unlike anything she’s ever experienced—raw, fiery, and profoundly exhilarating.

As he moves, her body dances to his rhythm, each motion perfectly synchronized with his. The soft flesh of her ass jiggles enticingly with each thrust, the twin dimples at the base of her spine deepening and winking at him.

Beads of sweat glisten on her golden skin, trailing seductively down the arch of her spine. He leans closer, his tongue darting out to lap at a single drop of perspiration, savoring the salty sweetness.

Paloma keens, bringing one hand back to dig her nails into his wrist as he fucks her like those stars in the dirty flicks.

Javier moves quickly, pinning both of her wrists at the base of her spine, her face falling flat on the pillows and further making it hard for her to breathe. She loves it, loves the way he’s manhandling her.

His balls tighten, as does the grip on her wrists.

He’s right at the edge of his precipice. But he can’t let go just yet—not without getting her off first. “So proud of you for taking this cock so well, muñeca. C’mon, baby, come all over it. I can feel how close you are. She’s grippin’ me so tight. Doesn’t want me to leave.”

Paloma squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating on the relentless way he fucks into her. Her walls convulse around his shaft, each stroke lighting up every nerve in her body.

He’s filling her to the brim, burying every bit of his soul and essence into her pussy.

It’s a raw and intimate exchange, a way he opens up and surrenders himself to her.

She sings, he fucks. He’s finding a healthier way to fuck his feelings into his woman without the devastating angst.

Unlike before, where passion was tangled with pain and regret, he now seeks a more fulfilling release.

Javier finds solace in their sex.

A stark white flash of lightning illuminates the room, casting fleeting shadows over their intertwined bodies, followed by the familiar, rolling rumble of thunder. The storm outside mirrors the tempestuous passion in her bedroom.

Thank-fucking-God her daddy was a heavy sleeper.

He yanks her up, pressing his chest flush against her back and trapping her wrists between them, the heat of their bodies melding them together.

One arm snakes around to grab her bouncing tit, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, while his other slips down to her clit, alternating between softly pinching and rubbing circles against the sticky, sensitive flesh.

“When I pull the panties out your mouth, I want you to moan my name. You understand?” he whispers hotly into her ear. At first, she’s too lost in the pleasure he’s bringing her to fully grasp his words, mind clouded with nothing but Javier Peña.

He delivers a particularly harsh thrust, making her gasp and snapping her eyes open––bringing her back to the present.

Repeating himself in a throaty and commanding voice, she nods faintly, understanding now, her body quivering.

After a few more intensely euphoric moments, another strike splits the sky. Javier hastily removes the gag from her mouth, his fingers brushing her lips. “Give it to me, Paloma,” He grits through his teeth.

And she does. The crack of the lightning and the storm’s thunder roar loudly, shaking the house, her primal cry of bliss drowned out by the heavy noise.

“Javi!” her jaw falls open, walls contracting tightly around his dick, milking him as her climax crashes into her.

The sensation is so much, she nearly blacks out, her vision swimming in a haze of pleasure. Paloma’s body tenses, and that’s all it takes for him to follow suit.

Javier tightens his grip on her, his fingers pulling at her nipple as his own orgasm hits.

His cock twitches, releasing his hot seed deep inside her, filling her up completely. He grunts against her neck, his breath ragged, teeth finding and sinking into her damp skin.

He kisses her sloppily, leaving a trail of wetness from his tongue as he marks her, claiming her in their shared moment of fucking paradise.

They stay like that for a few moments, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in sync, as they come down from their respective highs.

“M’never, ever, ever gonna get tired of that,” she pants out with a satisfied grin, tilting her head to pepper kisses along the side of his head as his lips continue to press against her neck.

“You and me both, princesa.” Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, both of them smiling into it. His hold on her loosens, now cradling her affectionately, and she melts into his embrace.

“Lay with me, Javi, please?” she whispers, running the tip of her nose along his cheek, giggling softly as his mustache tickles her skin.

He nods, momentarily forgetting where they were and the implications of what would unravel if the man downstairs decided to come up and check on them. “Okay.”

They untangle and she isn’t bothered by the way their mixed release seeps out of her, smearing all over her folds. She’ll shower it off in the morning.

They move beneath the sheets of her bed, settling against her pillows and the many stuffed animals she owns. “Damn, how many of these shits do you have?” Javier asks, holding a tattered bunny in his hand that she takes from him and tenderly caresses.

“Hey, don’t be rude. Mr. Bubbles was my very first best friend and a very important member of the family.”

Javier snorts, and she shoots him a playful glare, carefully placing her beloved plush on her bedside table. He shuffles as she leans against the headboard, his head resting on her stomach while her fingers play in his hair.

The rhythmic pattering of the rain is comforting now, the warm lights in her bedroom embracing this moment with a soft glow.

It’s quiet for a few moments, his lips placing tender kisses all over her soft skin. When he reaches the scar on her hip, he can’t help but bring his curious fingers up to gently trace it, the question hanging on the tip of his tongue.

“How’d you get this?”

Paloma takes a deep breath, her fingers still entertaining themselves in his curls. “I got it when I was thirteen,” she begins softly, “I used to love climbin’ this big tree we had in our backyard. I’d always go as high as I could, ‘n once I reached the top, I swore I could see the whole world from up there. It was beautiful, you know? The view, the feelin’ of being so free and above everythin’.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips as she remembers the exhilaration of those childhood climbs. “But one day, I saw somethin’ out in the distance—a shadowed figure. It made me feel… uneasy. I’d dreamt of somethin’ like it before, so seein’ it in person… it instilled this fear into me. Felt like a bad omen.”

Paloma shivers slightly at the recollection, and Javier’s hold tightens around her in silent support. “Somehow, I lost my footin’. Slipped off the branch and tumbled down the tree. The fall was chaotic as hell. One of the sharp branches nicked me and cut up my side. It was real deep, felt like I was gonna die.”

It was a miracle she didn’t break a bone or snap her neck. “I smacked the ground hard, it knocked the wind right outta me. I remember jus’ layin’ there, unable to breathe, and seein’ the blood. It was everywhere. The pain was so intense, and it took almost ten minutes of pure agony ‘fore I could use my lungs again. I started screamin’ like a banshee and my parents rushed out, absolutely frantic.”

The tip of his nose grazes the mark, his lips following suit, showering it with tender kisses. Her skin prickles with goosebumps as her fingertips gently scratch at his scalp.

“They rushed me into town to see Dr. Hughes. She stitched me up and told me I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Daddy and a few of his lumberjack buddies cut the tree down the next day. I was so sad.”

“Bet you didn’t climb more trees after that.” He smirks up at her and she snorts softly.

“I did, I was jus’ more careful.”

Javier’s affections trail upward from her stomach to her sternum, then to her neck, and she sighs happily.

The feel of his body between her legs, flaccid cock pressed up against her sore pussy, cradled in her arms, is a high she’s going to spend the rest of her life chasing.

They kiss and kiss until her lips are blue and his lungs beg for oxygen, exchanging tender touches.

His hand finds its familiar place around her neck but doesn’t apply any real pressure, thumb gently brushing against the column of her throat.

She revels in the feel of him.

Her dainty hands roam over his muscular back, broad shoulders, and toned triceps, exploring every inch they can reach. Each touch feels like a declaration of their mutual addiction.

The way they fit together, both physically and emotionally, is intoxicating.

She can feel his love in every movement, every kiss, and every gentle brush of his thumb.

This is their sanctuary, a moment where they can express their deepest emotions without fear.

“I could stay here all night.”

“Why limit yourself to all night? Why not forever?”

He groans out in satisfaction, nipping at her chin, needing his lips on some part of her at all times.

“As much as I’d love to pretend like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I have to go back across the hall.”

“You don’t have to do anythin’. Said it was a bad idea to mess ‘round while my daddy’s downstairs but that didn’t stop you from fuckin’ me.”

She can’t even take the expression he flashes her seriously, not with his hair sticking up in odd places and that fucked out glaze over his brown eyes.

“Just leave early in the morning. Or at least wait until I fall asleep.” And out of spite, she’s tempted to stay up all night just to keep him in her bed.

“Fine. Until you fall asleep.” He kisses her on the lips, moving from between her legs until he’s settled behind her, scooping her into his arms. Her head rests on his chest, one leg hitched over his, and her palm sprawled against his stomach.

He trails his fingers up and down the length of her spine, the other hand stroking the thigh draped over his hip. He nuzzles his nose against the crown of her hair and inhales deeply.

Her scent is not only an aphrodisiac but also incredibly calming.

She feels the accelerated pounding of his heart and before she can ask what’s wrong, his tongue loosens.

“I had this partner in Colombia. Steve Murphy. The most American American you’ll ever meet.” A small smile forms on his face as he reminisces, “Didn’t speak a lick of Spanish but still managed to help me get shit done. We went through the fuckin’ trenches together down there and I put him through the wringer so many goddamn times. I was such an asshole.”

“Was?” She can’t help but quip, kissing up on his chest. Javier slaps at her thigh.

She can tell he holds fondness for this man and she wonders why he’s just now bringing him up. Regardless, she enjoys hearing about his time in the DEA, despite how dark it can get.

He was a completely different man with baggage she can’t even begin to fathom.

“We found a baby girl in her house one day. Her mother and the rest of her family had been shot up by some of Escobar’s men. They were about to kill her when we showed up.”

The conversation takes a turn, and Paloma lifts her head to meet his gaze, but he looks relatively calm as he goes on with the story.

“We chased those bastards all over the neighborhood. Right as I got the upper hand on one, a kid no older than ten cornered me with a fucking pistol.” Her eyes widen, and she brings her fingers up to touch his cheek.

“‘Course I wasn’t going to shoot a fucking kid. They both ran off. Murphy and his wife, Connie, ended up adopting the girl. Olivia, they named her.”

“Olivia’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s precious.”

The context of his past has jaded such a good man, molding him into a cynic over the years. No wonder he struggles to be vulnerable.

His eyes, though calm, reveal a depth of pain and reflection, the memories of those days etched into his soul.

��I think they’d like you.” He turns his head to kiss her palm, nuzzling against it as she cradles his face.

“Well maybe I’ll get to meet ‘em one day. Your pops, too.”

“Oh I know he’d love you. Just knowing how you tend to the house and yard is gonna have him wanting to steal you from me.” Javier playfully nips at her fingertips, those golden flecks she loves to see in his eyes returning.

“If he’s anything like you, then you’re in trouble, cowboy.”

She’s tickled by the hairs of his mustache and accidentally lets a loud laugh slip, causing him to grip her jaw gently as he shushes her. “Shhh, baby…” His thumb is at her bottom lip, “Gonna get us caught.”

“Tell that to your ‘stache, sir. S’always ticklin’ me.” Paloma bites down on his thumb playfully and he lean in to kiss her for the millionth time.

They indulge in more pillow talk until eventually she’s just humming in response, half asleep, her body going limp against his and her breath leveling out.

Exhaustion tugs at him, the weather lulling him into an almost serene state. Watching her sleep in his arms, her already soft features look even more angelic.

Her long lashes rest delicately against her cheeks, and the rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic, reminding him that she’s real and here for him.

Javier doesn’t want to leave even though he knows he must. He doesn’t want to rob himself of this moment—of how, for the first time in a long time, he’s able to cradle something in his hands and not break it.

Her presence is a soothing balm to the wounds of his past, and he wants to savor every second of this newfound peace.

But as he holds her, the rhythmic patter of rain against the window and the rumble of thunder weave a lullaby that’s impossible to resist. His resolve falters and his eyelids grow heavy.

He takes in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against his, and the feeling of absolute contentment that she brings.

It’s a sensation he convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of experiencing, so having it now fills him with a profound sense of gratitude.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake and to tell himself to get up, he eventually succumbs to the exhaustion, his head resting gently on hers. His arms tighten around her protectively, even in sleep, as if to ensure she remains safe and close.

The storm rages on outside, never letting up despite the tranquil note in which their night ends.

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