#gooooooood fucking food

[bat-revival]

Down in Flames (modern!HOTD)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

pairings: modern!Aegon x Reader & modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You're invited! To a totally not awkward dinner party at the home of Viserys and Alicent, as they attempt to smooth over the animosity between the members of their family.

warnings: 18+ spicy stuff below the cut (explicit sexual situations, oral fem receiving, edging) language, mentions of Aemond's eye injury, fighting, blood, alcohol/drinking

word count: 6.7k

note: another long one because this fic is literally my baby 💚

masterlist

As Aemond pulls up the car to his mother’s house, your whole body tenses. The home of Viserys and Alicent Targaryen looms in the distance up a winding stone driveway. Lights mark a path of stars toward the front door, the glow warm and inviting. It appears as though every room in the mansion is lit, as though burning from within. 

The last time you were at the Targaryen home was nearly a year ago. Christmas time. A different brother in the driver’s seat.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask Aemond.

“Viserys wants us to,” Aemond said, fingers curling on the wheel, his knuckles blanching. 

Aemond’s jaw and shoulders are tense as he slouches over the wheel. He looks the same as when he received the call from his mother; irritated but dutiful nonetheless. Aemond was not one to disappoint Alicent Hightower.

“This is such a shitty idea,” you tell him.

“Well he’s a shitty father so it only makes sense,” Aemond says, smiling tightly.

“At least he’s consistent,” you agree. 

“You’re funny,” Aemond says, getting out of the car.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and go to open the door, but somehow Aemond has beaten you to it, opening the car door for you. He extends a hand, helping you out of the car. 

“What a gentleman,” you tell him, earning a hum, “you gonna carry me across the threshold too?”

“You want me to?” he asks, lips tugging into a smirk.

That would cause a riot, you’re sure of it. Though you admit, the thought is tempting. You roll your eyes, shoving him with your shoulder. When Alicent called Aemond telling him to come for dinner, she proposed it as a rather extravagant dinner party. Anything the Targareyns did was extravagant if you were being honest. 

Apparently it was Viserys’ idea, to ease the tension between the band, and between Rhaenrya. You hadn’t seen Rhaenyra in a long time, and shit was definitely about to go down.

Which led to you having to run home to your apartment to grab your favorite dress. A silky green number that hugged your every inch perfectly, wrapped around you like a second skin. Aemond chose a dark suit, the entire number pitch black. It’s as though Aemond has an aversion to color, despite the blue gemstone that replaced his eye.

“Ha ha,” you joke, walking next to him up the driveway and to the cobblestone walkway that leads to the front door.

Your heels click against the stone, the only sound in the cool night. The air is brisk, and your breath puffs in front of you like a cloud of smoke. It had been days since the blowup. Since Aegon and Cass. Since Rhaena. Your stomach turns at the thought of seeing them both. Everyone is coming no doubt, if this is supposed to be some sort of reconciliation dinner.

You stop just outside the door, bathed in the light that hangs above the door. A beautiful seven pointed star spilling diamonds of light on the stoop.

“You ready?” Aemond asks, sliding his hand into yours sending your heart fluttering. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you tell him and he knocks on the door.

The knocker is huge, a dragon holding a ring between its jaws. The door opens rather quickly to Alicent, Aemond’s mother. Her auburn hair is held away from her face, and she wears a sparkling green sweater and dress pants. Her face breaks out into a relieved smile at the sight of her second son.

Alicent always takes your breath away; she had Aegon terribly young, her face still youthfully beautiful as she has just started to gracefully age. 

“Aemond,” she breathes, pulling him into a hug.

“Hey mom,” he says, placing a kiss on her head. 

The sweet action makes your heart swell. Alicent turns to you. 

“And Y/N!” she says, embracing you, “it's been too long dearest.”

Alicent’s hug nearly makes you burst into tears. You let yourself get lost in her arms for a moment, breathing in her Chanel N°5 perfume. As she pulls away she places a hand under your chin.

“Beautiful as ever, I see,” she compliments, causing you to blush.

“Come in! Let's get out of the cold,” she says, ushering you inside, “Helaena is here already.”

Thank every deity that exists, Helaena is your saving grace. As you walk in the foyer you hear a loud bark, before a bundle of golden fur barrels towards you. Instinctively you drop to your knees, fingers tangling in soft tufts of fur as a warm wet tongue laps at your cheeks.

“Sunfyre!” Alicent scolds, grabbing for the golden retriever’s collar.

“It’s okay, really,” you tell her through laughs as the excited dog continues to push himself into your lap.

Sunfyre always did think he was a lapdog rather than the gigantic ball of fluff he was. You let him lick your face a moment more, scratching at his neck generously, earning several wags of his tail. 

“He’s such a spoiled boy,” Alicent scolds, finally tugging him away from you, “I’ll have to put him upstairs or he’ll overturn the table.” 

You rise from the floor wiping slobber from your cheeks. Helaena appears from down the hall eagerly, smiling at you. She swishes over to you, gold skirts following her like a trail of liquid sunlight. 

“Hey guys,” Helaena says, “you ready for this?”

“Who told him this was a good idea?” Aemond asks, taking your coat. 

“I don’t know, not me obviously,” Helaena says, shrugging, “but I think it's a bunch of things, you know?”

You nod, as footsteps come eagerly crashing down the stairs, drawing your attention. A lanky boy with shaggy silver hair appears, violet eyes sparkling. 

“Ohmygod Daeron!” you exclaim, as the youngest Targaryen sibling comes to the end of the stairs. 

His grin is lopsided as he throws his arms around you, nearly lifting you off of the floor. He’s grown since studying abroad, no longer a scrappy teen.

“Hey Y/N!” he says, squeezing you before releasing you. 

He clasps Aemond’s hand in a friendly shake before looking around. 

“Where’s Aeg? Not with you?” Daeron asks, brow furrowing. 

“Uh,” you tell him, “that’s really a long story.”

“Dude I told you,” Helaena says, rolling her eyes, “there’s been some shifting around here.”

“Right, right,” Daeron said apologetically, “sorry, so you two are…?”

You and Aemond glance at each other. 

“Yeah,” Aemond answers, “yeah we are.”

You can’t help but smile. Daeron nods, approvingly.

“Cool, I can get behind that,” he tells you, as the door opens again. 

Baela is just slipping out of her coat, Alicent closing the door behind her and Jace. She meets your eyes. You haven’t spoken in days, it's the longest you’ve gone without talking. You decide to give her space, walking into the formal living space where a barcart has been prepared with several bottle of wine. 

Baela kisses Alicent politely and you turn around pouring her a glass of wine, along with one for yourself. A peace offering. As you turn back, Baela has already made her way to you. 

“Hey,” she greets, awkwardly.

“Hey,” you say, matching her energy, “Chardonnay?”

A smile twists on her lips before she takes the glass from you.

“You know me well,” she says, clinking her glass against yours.

“Mhmm,” you answer, taking a sip from your own glass, unsure of what to say.

“You done being stupid?” she tells you, the question filled with all the love only a best friend can deliver.

“I missed you,” you tell her and she sighs dramatically.

“I’ve missed you too, can this all stop now?” she tells you, “if I have to spend one more night chilling with Jace and Luke watching football I’m going to go crazy. Do you understand how annoying they are?”

You snicker.

“One of those people is your boyfriend,” you remind her.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be annoying,” she answers, “he doesn’t take the place of a best friend.”

You smile so wide you think your face will split in half. You’ve missed her so much. You wonder if making amends with Rhaena will be as easy, but something in your gut twists telling you it will not. 

“Where’ve you been staying?” Baela asks, sipping her wine.

“Helaena’s sometimes,” you tell her, “and at the apartment.”

Baela raises her eyebrows.

“Girl, you’re ballsy,” she says, laughing a little.

“What? Is that bad?” you ask, frowning.

Baela purses her lips, giving you an ‘are you for real?’ look.

“Getting dicked down one room over from the one you used to share with your ex?” she asks.

“It’s not like Aegon is there,” you hiss, cheeks burning. 

“Mhmm,” Baela says, a mischievous glint in her eye, “you’re going to have to tell me all about it. Every single dirty detail. Was I right?”

“About what?”

Baela rolls her eyes, as though you should know exactly what she’s talking about. 

“About Aemond eating pussy like a champ,” she tells you. 

Your whole body grows warm remembering his mouth on you. Baela’s mouth drops open as you fail to answer, as she watches your cheeks darken as you take a small sip from your glass.

“I fucking knew it!” Baela hollers, smiling while she answers, “you’re getting dicked down, slurped out-” 

Jace makes his way over and you’re shushing her relentlessly as she laughs. 

“What’re we talking about?” he asks, smiling at you.

“Y/N’s turned into a bad girl,” Baela says, causing Jace to flush and avoid your eyes. 

“Um okay?” Jace says, scratching the back of his neck.

“She totally is,” Luke says joining, jumping into the conversation, “she Yoko’d us.”

“Excuse me?” you ask, nearly choking on your wine. 

Luke raises his eyebrows at you, sipping on the beer he holds, before shoving one hand into his pocket. You don’t know when he even arrived, you hadn’t heard the door open. 

“You know, broke up the band?” Luke says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I didn’t break up the band,” you tell him, “I didn’t!”

“Mhmm,” Luke says, sipping his drink. 

“That makes no sense,” Baela says, frowning at Luke.

“It makes sense to me,” he answers. 

“Okay Luke,” you tell him laughing.

This feels good. Normal even. You feel your nerves begin to ease when Rhaena enters the room. You meet her eyes as her forehead creases when she notices you. Luke clears his throat before walking over to greet her. 

“She’s Luke’s date,” Jace tells you. 

“Bae,” Rhaena calls, waving over her sister. 

Baela gives you an apologetic smile.

“Talk later?” she says, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah,” you tell her, “she can’t be mad at me forever, can she?”

Baela’s expression does nothing but fuel the anxiety that burns under your skin. 

“Just give her time,” Baela answers, “she’ll be okay. She just needs a little more time.”

Baela squeezes your hand before walking across the room to join her. Aemond materializes beside you, his cologne making your mouth water. Rhaena’s stare burns through you.

“Let me talk to her,” Aemond murmurs, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Not now,” you tell him.

“Later,” he agrees, a hand lazily wrapping a hand around your waist.

Something you’ve learned about Aemond since making it official; he cannot keep his hands to himself. His hand remains when the door opens, Aegon and Cass stumbling in. Cass supports Aegon against her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She’s terribly pretty, dressed in a silk dress that matches her eyes. Aegon is barely dressed, shirt untucked, tie hanging limply around his neck. Your brow creases and you can’t stop the worry you feel noting his red rimmed eyes.

He’s getting worse. You didn’t even think that was possible.

Daemon and Rhaenyra enter behind them, Rhaenyra rolling her eyes as she crosses the threshold. There is something unnervingly beautiful about Rhaenyra Targaryen, like she stepped out of a storybook. 

Daemon sends you a nod, after eyeing Aemond’s arm around your waist and you look away from him. Something about Daemon’s look makes your skin crawl, as though he’s saying you and I aren’t so different. 

“Let’s sit, everyone,” Alicent calls, clanging a fork against her glass, “dinner is ready.”

“Great,” Aegon says, pushing by you, “I’m starving.”

The table is silent beside the clanging of silverware against the fanciest plates you’ve seen. Viserys joined, wheeled in by Alicent’s private bodyguard Criston Cole, and he’s barely conscious, wheezing over his plate. If he notices the tension between the members of his family he does not comment on it.

Alicent’s eyes flicker throughout the room, her nose twitches like a nervous rabbit. You glance at Aemond, but he remains looking forward. Gods this is so awkward. You meet Rhaena’s eyes and she quickly looks away, mouth remaining in a frown. You feel yourself flush, as a hand creeps to your knee. Aemond’s fingers rub soothing circles on your skin, before giving your knee a comforting squeeze. 

You’re in so deep.

You’re at the most awkward family dinner of your life, and all you can think about is how you wish Aemond would let his hand creep higher under your dress.

Bad girl. Stop that. You shake the thought from your head. 

Daemon laughs into his plate, earning a stern glance from Rhaenyra. Cass sits bright eyed next to Aegon, seemingly just happy to be here. Viserys leans up from his plate, glancing around the room.

“I’m so…happy you’re all here,” he says, speaking for the first time.

Mumbles happen, lots of ‘of course Dad’ and ‘yeahs.’

“Business can tear families apart, but even with two creative visions, we are still a strong foundation,” he continues, “still one family.”

You raise your eyebrows. It’s like Viserys doesn’t have a clue what’s been going on. He simply smiles around the room revealing several missing teeth.

“And my song,” Viserys says looking at the ceiling, “my child you sing it so beautifully.”

You’re not sure which child Viserys is referring to. 

You meet Baela’s eyes, her confused expression mirrors yours. The other faces around the room also appear perplexed at Viserys’ statement. Daeron looks the most confused, as though he’s not quite sure what this dinner was supposed to be about in the first place.

“I’m tired Aemma,” Viserys says suddenly, “I’m going to bed. The rest of you enjoy.”

His eyes are watery, gaze confused as he begins to rise from his seat.

Your heart pounds and you glance at Alicent, though she barely seems fazed by Viserys calling her the name of his first wife. She simply watches him stand, and leave the room while remaining seated. 

“Okay fuck that,” Aegon says suddenly.

Rhaenyra glares at him, but he continues to smile. 

“Dad wrote that song for us,” Aegon tells her.

“He gave it to me, asshole,” Rhaenyra snaps.

“It’s a song about all of us,” Aegon argues, “you don’t get it just cause you decided to fuck off.”

Rhaenyra almost lets it go, Daemon watching her closely. But Aegon can’t help himself as he finishes his drink. You can see down his throat, that’s how wide he opens up making sure every last drop of whiskey makes in his gullet. Cass looks at him, eyebrows knitting together.

“Entitled bitch,” he grunts, and Jace stands.

“Why don’t you just sing it together?” Cass asks, taking Aegon’s hand in hers. You watch her squeeze it. Aegon hates holding hands. You meet his lavender gaze. 

“Never going to happen,” Aegon tells her, not pulling away from Cass’s grip. 

“It’s my song Aegon, it was mine long before you were here,” Rhaenyra continues, “I’ve made the edits, I sang the demo-”

“Are you still talking?” Aegon snaps, causing Cass to flinch beside him at his harsh tone. 

“Okay, Aegon enough,” Jace tells him, resting his hands on the table. He hasn’t sat down.

“You’re on her side now?” Aegon asks, “that’s it huh?”

“It’s her song,” Jace argues, “this doesn’t have to be a huge fight.”

Luke laughs, a small snort escapes him but it's enough to set Aemond off. He stands from his chair beside you, eye narrowing at Luke. Aegon’s eyes are glassy, they seem to glow with mischief at the tension in the room. He loves provoking people. 

“No it only has to be a fight when it's something you care about,” Aegon argues. 

Your blood runs cold, watching Aegon’s gaze flicker toward Aemond. Jace turns red, but he keeps his gaze averted from Aemond. From Luke. 

“We’re not talking about that,” Jace argues.

The accident. 

You look up at Aemond who is standing unnaturally still. You can’t help but wonder if Aegon is bringing it up just to provoke him, rather than from a place of genuine concern. 

“We are now,” Aegon tells him, leaning back in his chair, “my brother gets maimed and its all, no let's keep playing, but one little song-”

“Shut up Aegon,” Luke snaps, fingers gripping his cutlery so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“No, I’m not done,” Aegon says standing, “what’s got you so loyal to Nyra, huh?”

“Fuck Aegon,” Jace says shaking his head, “its just about being a decent person.”

Aegon scoffs at that.

“I don’t think anyone here has a fucking clue about what that means,” he says laughing. 

“You included, asshole,” Baela snarls from across the table, “do you have any idea what you’ve been putting us through?”

“Everyone seems fine,” Aegon answers, an angry gaze falling to you, “happy even.”

“You don’t need to agree,” Rhaenyra says suddenly, “Jace and Luke have already agreed to drop the song and re-record it with me.”

“Fucking of course,” Aegon says, shaking his head.

“Enough of this,” Alicent orders, “let’s have a nice remainder of dinner.”

Aemond sits back down at his mother’s words. You bring your hand to his leg. 

“I’m having a lovely time,” Aegon insists, leaning back and resting his arm across Cass’s shoulders.

“Aegon,” Aemond says, voice low. Aegon meets his gaze, mouth tugging upwards into a smirk.

“What?” he challenges.

“Enough,” Aemond says, to the surprise of Rhaenyra who leans back in her chair, glancing at Daemon. 

“Are you on her side too?” Aegon asks, voice venomous.

“Of course not,” Aemond tells him.

“Steal my girlfriend, break up the band, things are going really well-”

Aegon is cut off as Aemond stands once more. Aegon slams his glass to the table, the glass shattering loudly under his palm. Cass screams, and blood begins to pool on the table.

“Eggy, you’ve cut yourself!” she cries, eyes wide with terror.

“Let’s fucking go! Right now!” Aegon yells, ignoring his injury and walking toward Aemond.

Daemon leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips at the show in front of him. Luke stands up and Aegon pushes by him, slamming him against the table. Rhaena yells and the dinner quickly turns into chaos. 

Aemond slams his fist into Aegon’s chest as he approaches, causing him to fall backwards onto the table. Aegon punches his brother, blood from his hand leaving a streak on Aemond’s cheek. You push back in your chair, feel Alicent’s hands on your shoulders pulling you away from the brothers. 

“You had enough? Huh?” Aemond growls, grabbing Aegon by the shirt.

“Fuck you!” Aegon spits directly in Aemond’s face.

Aemond growls, slamming him back on the table once more, fist reeling back. 

“Let me go!” Aegon cries, as though they were small boys again tussling. 

“Alright, alright enough!” Criston Cole comes between them, pulling Aemond away from Aegon.

“Fuck you!” Aegon yells, and Aemond wipes the blood on his cheek, “come on we’re leaving.”

Cass hurriedly stands, gathering her things. Alicent moves toward her eldest. 

“Aegon,” she begs, but he brushes past her, Cass trailing behind. 

The room is deathly silent now that the commotion has ceased, aside from the soft dripping noises from a spilled glass of wine. Daemon begins to chuckle to himself, before rising from his seat. 

“Shall we?” he says, motioning for Rhaenyra.

“You’ve only just arrived,” Alicent says, her eyes sad. 

“Thank you, for dinner truly,” Rhaenyra says, clasping Alicent’s hand in her own.

She turns to Jace and Luke.

“I’ll see you in the studio, tomorrow?” she asks, and the boys nod. 

Aemond and Helaena stay silent, though they exchange a glance. Daeron has barely moved the entirety of dinner, eyes wide and cheeks red. Rhaenyra smiles as Daemon holds out her coat. 

“Nice seeing you,” he murmurs to you as they walk past.

“You’re really recording with her?” you ask, eyes trained on Jace.

“It’s her song,” he says, meeting your gaze. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Baela says, taking his hand, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Rhaena stands with Luke, not looking at you.

“Rhae-”

“Just don’t,” she says, shaking her head, “just…not tonight.”

Luke squeezes her on the shoulder and leads her from the room. You look toward Aemond, notice him flexing his hand.

“Shit, you’re bleeding,” you say, taking his hand in yours.

“It’s fine,” he insists.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you tell him and though he pauses for a moment, he agrees nonetheless. 

Helaena’s eyes are glassy, she’s standing with her gaze still fixed on the table.

“Oh my love,” Alicent says, moving toward her and embracing her.

Though not often fond of physical touch, Helaena leans into her mother’s embrace as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Daeron reaches up from his seat, holding onto his sister’s hand. You lead Aemond up the stairs, meaning to search for one of the many bathrooms. He says nothing as you find one, sit him down and dig through the medicine cabinet. Aemond’s face is stoic as you clean the blood from his face, his hands. 

You gently wrap gauze around his knuckles, before pulling him to stand. You’re worried for a moment he’s in some state of shock, his movements incredibly robotic as you walk down the hall. He stops suddenly, looking out a window, watching disappearing tail lights fade down the driveway and off in the distance. 

“You know what my father said to me after the accident?” Aemond asked, facing the window.

You take a step closer to him, still giving him space. You’d never asked about it before, you’d barely heard the story at all. That’s what has him shaken up, not the fight. The talk about the accident. The talk about his eye. 

“No,” you tell him.

“He said,” Aemond trails off for a moment, “tell me the truth of it.”

You look to the ground, goosebumps forming on your skin, a heaviness in your gut you cannot possibly ignore. 

“Like it couldn’t possibly have happened the way I told him it did,” he continued, “like he didn’t believe a fucking word I said.”

You’re sick to your stomach, a tear rolls down your cheek. You hadn’t even noticed your eyes begin to well. 

“We’re a family, he said. We have to stick together.”

“Aemond-”

“He didn’t even come to the fucking hospital,” Aemond keeps going, “he just waited at home.”

The thought turns your stomach. 

“Of course when I want to stop playing, its a problem,” he goes on, “but when Rhaenyra left to go solo that’s fucking fine.”

The realization startles you.

“He made you keep playing.”

Aemond releases a bitter laugh, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge.

“Of course he fucking did,” Aemond tells you, shaking his head, “you think I wanted to keep playing with Luke after that?”

“Oh Aemond-”

“It was an accident,” Aemond says softly, “I know that now but…”

“You don’t have to-”

“No I want to tell you,” he continues, “my life fucking changed. Forever. And everyone just forgot about it.”

You’re standing right behind him now, and you place a hand on his back. His breathing is shallow, every breath seeming to catch in his throat. 

“Mom wanted to press charges,” he tells you, “not like Viserys was going to let that happen.”

“I’m so sorry Aemond,” you told him, “you deserved justice, and I’m so sorry you didn’t get any.”

You can feel his every inhale with your hand before you slide it onto his waist, hugging him from behind. You hold onto him, letting him feel you against him. Letting him know you’re here for him. He leans into your touch, before turning to face you, burying his face in your haird. You keep your arms around him, pressing into his chest as his arms tighten around you. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

Soft footsteps can be heard from down the hall, though you and Aemond do not break from your embrace.

“Aemond?” Alicent says, her hands fidgeting as though she doesn’t know what to do with them.

You pull away from Aemond’s chest, though he keeps his arms around you. Alicent smiles gently at you.

“It’s late,” Alicent says, “why don’t you both stay in one of the guest rooms tonight?”

You look up at Aemond, to let him decide. He nods.

“Thanks Mom,” he says and Alicent smiles.

“Of course,” she tells you both, before turning to leave.

“Thank you again, for everything,” you tell her, meaning it sincerely. 

She brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek. 

“Of course,” she tells you, and retreats down the hall. 

“Will she talk to your dad?” you ask Aemond.

“No,” he tells you, “besides, they don’t sleep in the same room.”

Aemond takes your hand, leading you to the guest room. You’d never stayed there before. Sure, you’d been to a handful of Targaryen parties over the past years but Aegon never made it overnight. He hated spending the night in the same house as his father. 

Aemond opens a door revealing a stylish room, with a king sized bed stuffed with pillows. It was basically a hotel, with robes hanging on the back of the door and chocolates on the pillows. From the walls hung different art pieces, mostly that of dragons. You’d remembered once when first meeting Viserys he had told you about the legends surrounding his family. You could apparently trace the Targaryen family name back to medieval times, where it was said they were dragonriders. 

Alicent went all out. You pluck a chocolate up, unwrap it and pop it into your mouth, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue.

“Nice,” you tell Aemond, who chuckles, laying on the bed.

He places a hand over his face, closing his eye. The drama of night has taken its toll. You sit on the bed, the mattress dipping as you do so. You lay down next to him, lacing your fingers together. 

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask him. 

“What?” he chuckles, removing his hand from his face.

“You heard me,” you say, leaning on your side using your elbow to prop yourself up. 

He watches you curiously, before speaking. 

“Blue,” he tells you, tapping at his sapphire.

“I should have guess-”

“Yeah you should have,” he says chuckling. 

You stifle a laugh, face hitting the pillow. Aemond watches you laugh, smiling at you. As you lift your face you meet his gaze, narrowing your eyes. 

“What?” you ask, though a smile comes through.

“Nothing,” he says, giving his head a slight shake.

You push yourself into a sitting position, the remainder of wine that tingles throughout your body giving you an extra boost of confidence. 

“What is it?” you demand playfully.

“No, it’s nothing,” he insists. 

You throw a leg over him, straddling his waist. He tilts his head back, lips parting as he watches you lace your fingers through his own. 

“Tell meeee,” you sing-song, leaning into him.

Aemond keeps your body upright, his arms flexing.

“You’re just cute, that’s all,” he tells you.

You wrinkle your nose.

“Aemond Targaryen thinks I’m cute,” you tell him, nodding your head with every word you speak, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He chuckles underneath you and you raise your hips, adjusting your position. You feel a tingle of desire spark through you as you feel him growing harder underneath you. 

“Mhmm,” he answers, unlacing his fingers from yours, letting your hands drop onto his chest. 

He brings his hands to your hips, resting them there, rubbing smooth circles on the fabric of your dress. You tap your fingers against his chest, moving upwards, fiddling with the silver chain that lays against his throat. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” you tell him, causing a shy smile to appear on his face.

“Do you?”

“I do,” you tell him, fingers ghosting across the scar on his cheek. 

He turns his face toward your hand, kissing the pads of your fingers. Your lips part at the sweet action. Aemond is softer than you’d imagined, his sweetness steals the breath from your lungs. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he tells you, stealing the breath from your lungs. 

Aemond’s fingers dig into where your thighs meet your hips, rocking you against him slightly. 

“And sexy,” he purrs, causing your face to flush. 

“Aemond,” you say, a nervous giggle leaving you, before he flips you over onto your back. 

He brings his lips to your neck, kissing the smooth flesh as you tangle your fingers in his hair. 

“I do,” he murmurs between kisses. 

You sigh, contentedly as he continues to adore you.

“I find you incredibly seductive,” he whispers against you, “it's unfair, really.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you giggle, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck causing him to groan.

“Liar,” he says, bringing his mouth to kiss your lips, “you’re a temptress.”

You hum against his mouth, deepening the kiss as your tongue swipes his lower lip. His hand roams along the side of your body, bunching the fabric of your dress.

“Should we be doing this here?” you breathe as his hand strokes down your thigh and under your dress. 

Aemond’s long fingers grip at the meat of your thigh as you turn your head to look at the door. His other hand grabs at your jaw, forcing your lips back toward him. 

“What if your mom hears?” you whimper, as he kisses you harder. 

Alicent’s room is not far, just down the hall. The enormous house is eerily quiet at night from the lack of residents. You’ve no idea where Daeron’s room is, but it cannot be far from the guest room either. 

“You’ll just have to be quiet then,” he tells you, though it's said as a challenge. 

Aemond moves off of you, dragging you towards the edge of the bed, a small yelp leaving your lips before you slap your hand over your mouth. Aemond kneels on the floor next to the bed, fingers wrapped around your calves. He quirked an eyebrow at the noise you made. 

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he teases, reaching for your underwear, moving it down your legs.

“I’m sorry,” you say through a giggle. 

“I told you to be quiet,” he says, eye darkening, “are you a good listener, Y/N?”

You nod, skin flushed with anticipation. He places a kiss to your thigh as he bunches your dress up toward your waist. 

“Fuck,” he groans, staring at your pussy, “so wet for me already.”

You feel his mouth against your slick lower lips and bite your tongue to suppress a moan as he opens his mouth against you, pressing in. You can feel your thighs clenching, trembling at the feeling of his jaw opening and closing, mouth pulling you apart, tongue swirling against your sensitive clit. He’s truly eating you, he must be devouring you and all you can manage to think is how you need to remember every detail to tell Baela. 

“I think I remember you liking this,” Aemond says, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

You choke back a moan, desperately trying to keep quiet. 

“No?” Aemond says releasing your bud, “hmm maybe I was wrong.”

“What-,” you whimper in disappointment at the loss of contact.

“What?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss upon your inner thigh, “you don’t like my teasing?”

You whimper, head thrashing side to side, causing him to darkly chuckle.

“Then why do you make such pretty sounds when I do?”

You open your mouth to answer before feeling his fingers stretch through your entrance, and your head falls back onto the pillow with a pitiful noise leaving your bruised lips. 

“I know you like this,” he purrs, curling his fingers, “where’s that spot, princess, here?”

He’s fucking with you, you know it. Crooking his fingers, lips barely brushing your clit, as tears begin to prickle at the corner of your eyes. He loves doing this, bringing you ever so close to the edge of pleasure. 

“Here?” he asks again, “hmm I’m not sure I remember.”

“Aemond,” you whimper his name. Fuck he loves torturing you.

His teeth graze your clit, as his fingers locate the rough patch within your warm walls. Your spine bows, arching off of the bed.

“Oh here?” he asks, feigning innocence, “is this it pretty girl?”

“You know it is,” you nearly sob, “Fu-fuck!”

Aemond hums, curling his fingers and circling your clit with smooth, hot strokes of his tongue. You throw your hand over your mouth as you moan, trying as best as you can to stop the sound from echoing throughout the room. 

“Getting a little loud, princess,” Aemond chastises, never stopping the come hither movement of his fingers, “someone might hear you.”

You bite down on your wrist, hard enough to draw blood. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you, building steadily causing your legs to shake. 

“Come on love, come for me,” he demands, burying his face back in your pussy, tongue fluttering around your sensitive clit.

“Fuck!” you yell as do exactly what Aemond tells you, clenching around his fingers.

He releases his fingers from your sopping heat, pulling you up to kiss him. You can feel his fingers unzipping your dress and you hastily shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, the dress didn’t allow it, so you’re naked before him, clawing at the clothes he wears desperate to feel his skin against your own. 

You hear a button ping to the floor as you tear open his shirt, earning a breathless chuckle from him. Aemond cups your face as you pull down his pants, freeing his erection. You pull away from his mouth. 

“Lie on the bed,” you tell him.

He looks at you, clearly surprised at the shift in the power dynamic. He’s still in control ultimately, and you know that. Aemond surprises you, laying back on the bed, erection slapping against his stomach. You crawl on top of him as you did earlier, positioning his cock at your weeping entrance. You hesitate for only a moment, tilting your head.

Aemond’s violet eye is blown with lust, his lips parted in anticipation. 

“Do you want me?” you ask, barely letting the tip of his member inside you. 

“Yes,” he breathes, hands moving to your sides. 

He doesn’t press your hips down, he leaves the control to you.

“How much?” you ask, sliding his head between your slick folds.

You watch a vein in his neck pulse, his jaw clench.  

“Desperately,” he breathes, and you bite your lip. 

You slide his tip through the lips of your pussy again letting it nudge your swollen clit sending a jolt of pleasure dancing up past your naval.

“Really?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he murmurs and you sink onto him, engulfing him in your tight, wet, heat. 

Aemond’s moan matches yours as you let yourself settle with the stretch he gives you. You feel so deliciously full as you lift your hips, before sinking down once more. Aemond’s hands remain on your waist as you slowly roll your hips, riding him at a lazy pace. Your hands remain on his chest, nails gently digging into his pectoral muscles. 

Aemond abandons his grip on your hips, pushing himself into a seated position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bringing you with him, one arm securely around your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck, your forearms helping you keep your pace, bouncing continuously on his thick cock. He buries his face in your chest, mouth latching onto your nipple, a broken moan escaping you.

You feel his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, before you feel his teeth nipping at the skin of your breast, marking a path up to your neck. Your thighs burn and your pace slows as you try to push past the sweet ache in your legs and chase your release. Your whole body is flushed as Aemond brings his hands to your hips, helping slam you on his cock. Your head lolls onto his shoulder as he raises his hips, meeting your movements.

“My gorgeous girl, look at you,” he croons, “riding me so fucking well.”

He winds a hand behind your neck, supporting your head to look at him. Your head is so fuzzy with pleasure all you can do is whimper at the filthy words he speaks, cheeks burning a dark shade of maroon. Aemond gives you a lustful smile, ever so pleased with the effect he has on you, and the fact that he is the only one who can make you feel this way. 

“Does that feel good?” Aemond asks, holding you tightly against him. 

You nod desperately, the feeling of him sliding in and out of you so effortlessly almost too much to bear. 

Your nails scratch down his chest, leaving scarlet streaks on his pale skin. Aemond releases a breathy groan, looking down at the marks before looking back up at you, lavender eye hooded with desire. 

Aemond wraps his arms around you, twisting you onto your back. He slows his thrusts, brushing some hair from your face. Your breathing is ragged, and you’re pressed so close to him that you feel the steady rhythm of his heart matching your own. 

“Look at me,” he says softly, and you meet his eyes.

His lashes flutter and you can feel your cheeks warming with the intensity between you. The butterflies that curl in your stomach as he presses into you. 

You want to run. You can feel the tears prickling at your eyes and hate that you’re going to cry. You can’t help it, can’t stop the warm river that escapes your left eye, falling to the pillow below. You inhale a shaky breath, feel Aemond wipe the tear from the corner of your eye. 

“Hey,” Aemond says softly, tearing you from your thoughts.

“I’m so scared,” you whisper. 

You’re so fucking scared. 

“Why are you scared, baby?” he asks quietly.

His hips have stopped moving, but he still rests inside of you keeping you comfortably full and connected. 

“I really like you,” you tell him, “I really like you, Aemond.”

Aemond smiles, like he’s been waiting forever to hear you say that.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N,” Aemond tells you.

“How can you know that?” you ask, still teary eyed. 

“I just do,” he promises, “I just…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence.

You lift your head connecting your mouths in a passionate kiss. You let yourself believe him, getting lost in the pleasure he gives you, and the promise he gives you. His hips ground against you, gently thrusting himself in and out. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whine against his lips.

“You have me,” he answers between kisses, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your nails are clawing at his back, desperately trying to get him closer. You wish in that moment you could curl up inside of him, keep yourself attached to him. You can feel your pleasure peaking, the wave within you beginning to crest. Aemond takes you over the edge with a final drive of his hips and you’re whimpering into his mouth, screwing your eyes shut in ecstasy. 

He peppers your face with kisses, as his hips stutter with his own release. Each kiss burns away the tears that stain your cheeks, as he gently holds your face in his hands. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aemond tells you again, “not without you.”

note: I am soft for them 🥺

DIF TAGLIST: @padfooteyes, @herfantasyworldd, @kyuupidwrites, @lost-and-founds, @doublesparrows, @virginslut08, @f4ll-for-you, @violet2507, @itsabby15, @raphaellathedragon, @tswiftsthings, @cruelmissdior, @tempt-ress, @lexyr23, @reneki, @fictionalcomforts, @serrhaewin, @yariany02, @lily174, @schniiipsel, @nina2697, @minttea07, @queenofshinigamis, @duesobabe, @maximizedrhythms, @arryn-nyx, @arcadianmoonlight @kittykylax, @hiatuswhore, @issshhh, @echos-muses, @wrendermeuseless, @youcantbesirius, @partypoison00 @chainsawsangel @bellameshipper @wondergal2001, @arcielee @rwdkarla @sweetsweetpsyche @valeric-writes @sahvlren @ohdemimonde @geminidas @darkenchantress @sophielangdonx, @khaothick, @flavorofsalt, @spinachtz, @alitaar, @crazylokonugget @eddiemadmunson

[olahresidence]

Finally finished the set of pinks/purples of huevember, oh my gooood why did the last one take me so long to figure out. (Because I stay silly.)

10 - Barbie Bootz

11 - In the Realm of Flamingos

12 - Popsicle Purple

13 - Monarchs, Mushrooms, & Mottles

[kyros-tha-soldier]

chapter 1103 SPOILERS

I've gotten a bit lazy lately, I'm basically burnt out to the BONE from work so sorry for not bringing the previous leaks earlier:

we've got big news for my beloved bonbon and her bear papa:

The chapter's title is "I'm sorry, daddy" (GOOOOOOOOD WHY!) And we have a beautiful color spread of the straw hats and our beloved wano warrior YAMATO, they're all riding momo in his dragon form (😏) since it's the year of the dragon

We start where we finished in the mini flashback, where bonney is standing in the memory bubble room, she turns back to her original child form and apologizes to vegapunk since she used to think HE was the one behind her dad's death

Vegapunk understands and gives her something Kuma was planning on handing her on her 10th birthday, it's a sun necklace made of sapphire

UAAAAAAAGHHHH NOOOOOO HOW DARE YOU SATURN!! HOW DARE YOU KILL SOMEONE AS SWEET AS KUMA

Speak of the devil (literally!) We go back to the present time confrontation between saturn, the remaining vegapunks, the cp0 and the rest. Bonney uses her attack "Nika-ish future" to attack saturn but she fails. NOW THIS IS WHERE IT'S ABOUT TO GET ABSOLUTELY BONKERS!

Saturn thinks to himself that this form of Bonney's Nika is much more different than the Nika God since she can only replicate the rubber power

This mf Saturn has his power over everybody that they can't budge a single inch, suddenly he notices that Luffy is eating some food from the floor (somebody must've snuck it at the beginning of the confrontation or smtn) of course Saturn is like "how fucking dare you eat while I'm in the middle of my epic fit of rage" and orders someone to chain him with kairoseki (what a vibe killer)

Like oooooooh calm down big man he's not gonna bite you ffs

It's revealed that thw Toshi Toshi no mi power was given to bonney by saturn, now underline the word "POWER" because this is where it's about to get REALLY messed up

Saturn has been experimenting on people to extract devil fruit powers and then give them to other people. And of course, as fucked up as it sounds, Saturn gave the disease to Ginny (probably while she was pregnant) and the poor woman ended up developing the rare sapphire scale disease

i swear on god, if Saturn's bitchass doesn't get absolutely wrecked then I'm dropping OP, do NOT DISAPPOINT ME ODA I AM SERIOUS!

also is it just me, or is this aj attempt from Oda to clarify that the sapphire scale disease is a sideffect and not an STD? Because I've ssen A LOT of fans speculating about that and i have NEVER EVER in my life thought I'd see the day where I'll hear the words STD and ONE PIECE in one sentence until this very arc!

anyways, Saturn's stupid-ass gave the toshi toshi effect to ginny and somehow she passed it to bonney during her pregnancy, this comes as a surprise to him since this has never happened

According to Saturn, the more bonney starts to learn about Nika's true form and tries to copy it, the weaker she becomes. bonney is seen crying in despair and fear, she apologizes to her father about how despite how far he went to ensure she'd make it out alive, she will end up dead anyways

NO BONBON DON'T CRY PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU PAPA WOULD ALWAYS PROTECT YOU!!!

Speaking of her papi, Kuma crashes right into egghead and gets attacked by some marine soldiers who were shooting at him with grenade launchers (taht's hardcore as fuck, I AM DROPPING THE PANELS NOW just so you can see how cold Kuma looks!)

he gets injured once again in his head but is able to reach Saturn just in time (who had thrown bonney to the ground and was about to squash her with his spider legs) just for Kuma to come and shield her with his body, and have the long nail at the end of Saturn's leg punture his back and chest

Kuma grabs him by the leg and turs around, readying a punch as his face grimaces in rage, and saturn looks at him in absolute shock

and now, DRUM ROLL FOR THE LEAAAAAAAAAKS

oh boy, we eating GOOD tonight!

[totallynotsarkaz]

rszm food in Rosa's oprec issh sooooooo gooooooood

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK-

[spoiler for Rosa's oprec bellow]

[warning, I am a rszm dork so you'll see a lot of me gushing over them]

We started of with RosaGummy cooking session and girl is not happy at all (A little bit insulted lmao) that Gummy said she has surpassed Zima when it comes to cooking. I guess my headcanon about Rosa is terrible at cooking was half right.

Then they deliver said Rosa's cooked meals to medical bay(?. Her we have two people chatting with each others. One of them was Rosa's former maid. Her name is Sofia.

She was happy to meet her Mistress but then it goes south the further they talk.

So they went off to Rosa's dorm. And god fuck I don't wanna talk about it... then Zima barged in like usual she is, and you know what. THIS. MAID. BEEFED WITH HER LMAO. I know it's funny in one way but god Zima was PISSED. So they argue for a while until Rosa stopped Zima before she throws hand.

Zima left and Rosa had long, loooong talk with her former maid, saying that she had job to do in nearby village. As volunteer teacher. Her maid follows her there and God FUCK I WANT TO THROW HANDS AT HER. Rosa was being really nice to the kids there, heck one of them shyly gives her herbs as a thank you, Rosa was about to take it and the maid took it and said it is too dirty for her. Ooooh and Rosa did not like that one a bit and softly told her to piss off.

GO GET HER ASS ROSA. Anyway, Rosa apologize to the children about her and her former maid behavior and continue to teach them in peace. For a bit. We move outside to see the former maid talking to Village head who approached and ask who she is. She answer that she's Rosa's maid and it raises question to Village Head, he then begin to question if Rosa is truly noble and you know what, this maid pisses;

Rosa overheard it and told her enough is enough. She have been very patient with her, asked the Village Head if she could receive the payment, got payment, and then put it inside her purse and gives it to her maid (a bit hesitate at first). She then said :

(we also then know the reason as to why the maid stick with her but I couldn't care less because she wants to return back to her former glorious life in House of Rostovs)

Where was I, ah yes, after exchanging words, the maid decide to go off on a journey to find the Rostovs and deliver the news of "their daughter is still alive yadayada". Rosa, feeling a bit tired got jumpscared by Istina (while dragging Zima with her) sudden appearance. Zima told Rosa she informed the gang about what happen and Rosa thank her. Not long after that, Leto informed her that there's a big delivery for her. The piano she'd been waiting for. Girl ran off as fast as lightning after hearing that (cute). We have brief Istina teasing Zima about Rosa's behavior just now.

Keep denying it Zima, we know you care for that giant fluffy bear lady. Long short story, Zima helped her moving said piano (along with the rest of the bears ig) because she worried she'll drop them.

A moment, later they're in Rosa's room. With the piano. Rosa then raise the question.

Pfft, tsundere behavior. The girls then teases this poor leader of their's

That... is very Zima. More teasing later, Rosa offers to play the piano. It's been a while she play piano and both Gummy and Istina were excited to hear. It makes her nervous. As... the other two however XDDD

Rosa roast them As to what piece she actually play, it's Für Elise Laurenz.

That. Is the end of her oprec. Note : YOU SHOULD READ THIS OPREC AS FELLOW BEAR ENJOYER

[icedmetaltea]

I had this little idea, but I'm too shy to post it on my account and I didn't want to let it die. So how about a Sun and Moon outlast au?

You are an older brother, or maybe a parent, the point is that you have a small child to take care of. He disappeared and the only place the police didn't check is this crazy old place, abandoned for all you know and the police would ban you from going if they knew what you were planning.

So, you go in there and, the place is not abandoned

There are many people, deformed and thirsty for blood, you have to run, but you won't leave without your child, You find and a camera and a decent amount of batteries that you struggle to distribute, you lose some fingers, you definitely have traumas and you don't know how to get out, you start to convince yourself that your child is not here.

At one point you find a strange robot that chases you, it laughs like a maniac and its claws leave marks where they rest, it has red eyes that glow in the dark, its sharp teeth make you wonder if it eats meat. He is unexpectedly clean of blood, but to no one's surprise he is not afraid of getting stained. You run and stumble, in the end you reach this large room, it is colorful, happy, but the colors are worn out and there are brown stains on the floor, and you hear someone calling your name.

Your child comes out from under some rubble, runs towards you and you welcome him with open arms. Then you have a few seconds of relief, and then metal arms surround you and you spin around. A laugh resonates in your ears, your feet don't touch the floor and when you look up you see another robot, this time it has rays of sun, a happy smile, pure happiness and when you get off it introduces itself. His name is Sun, he is in charge of making you have a good time and taking care of your mental health.

The robot that chased you enters the room, and Sun must interfere. There is an argument, the red-eyed one says that you are trespassing on private property, and Sun says that they can make exceptions, after all you were friends with his little friend.

Then you spend a whole afternoon with them, the one you discover is called Moon tells you how he was patrolling when he came across this innocent child wandering in the yard, it was too dangerous to leave him there, too many bad people wandering around, they couldn't just push him into the woods. And Sun was glad to have a friend.

When you say you have to go, they just look at you. Moon says he will leave to patrol, you go after him shortly after saying goodbye to a Sun who just looks at you in silence.

The door is locked.

Goosebumps break out on your skin and you are acutely aware of the jingling bells approaching. You hide the child behind you and turn around. Sun opens his arms and talks about how it is safer here, the four of you could fit in here without a problem. Moon was always away but he would bring blankets, food and the basics, Sun would take care of you two, you would play a lot of games. No one would ever bother them.

You have a feeling these robots are going to be more trouble than any crazy person in this damn place.

You will do whatever it takes to protect the innocent who hides here, even if you have to fake a smile until you know how to escape. That probably won't go well the first few tries, you get somewhat humiliating punishments that you have to disguise for the infant, and Sun is okay with that.

But no matter how long it takes, you will get out of here.

FUCK YEA OUTLAST AUUUUUUUU

This is an awesome idea!! Idk if it's more scary to be around a bunch of insane humans or a couple robots with not all their screws intact (I'd stay with them in a heartbeat either way)

Dude imagine the daycare but like. It's even more in shambles and completely in the dark aside from the night vision on your camera. Sun's smile showing up a bit too bright around the corners. You can't even cry, you have to put up a brave face for the kid...

That is some gooooooood soup right there. Thank you for sharing!!!

[halfmoth-halfman]

Nah girl YOU DID NOT JUST WRITE THAT ANGST RIDDLED CHAPTER AND EXPECT ME NOT TO WALLOW???

MY GOD IT WAS GOOOOOOOOD 🥹🥹🥹. You captured the intensity and the anxiety SO WELL even I began to get overwhelmed. Like damn had to take a breather. For some reason the thing that hurt most for me was when canary was eating the tampered with food and drinks. Like ? Being back at a place that was once felt like home. Only to go back to it feeling uneasy WHILE also trying not to bawl over and fucking collapse????? You wrote it AMAZINGLY. AND THEN hearing price say we’ve been looking for you for months and you’re all here dilly dallying. NO BITCH (price my boo forgive me😭) canary is out here being a punching bag mentally/physically/emotionally.

OH OH AND WE GOT FUCKINF SHOT???????

But now that prices know what the FUCK is up now with the whole situation THIS MAN BOUTTA SUFFER since the whole pew pew 🔫 moment . Anyways I’m so excited for the next chapter but It’s gonna be a hefty one I can feel it🥹. Thanks again for such a great chapter to stress out to 😮‍💨

i think the best part about all of this is how many screaming cat pictures you guys keep sending me they’re so funny alskdjsjsh

i know it was a rough one but we’re in the homestretch so it’s all up from here!!!

omg i knowwww, like canary is so nervous and almost sick with worry about being back there but still having that little bit of hope that maybe she can get away from the torment she’s been experiencing only for it to be taken away from by the people she trusted and thought would be trying to rescue her. for me, price would’ve tipped me over the edge with the accusation that canary was willingly working with graves. like he’s the first person she told about her time with graves and to have that thrown back in her face over a misunderstanding??? straight to jail.

price is absolutely gonna be all about giving graves and makarov what’s coming to them, but i think the bigger priority for him rn is helping canary because ultimately it’s not really his revenge to get, it’s hers 👀

[suiana]

"Oh being from Mexico must be so nice!"

"Omg! I soo wanna go to Cancun!!"

"CDM must be so nice!"

"Your school much be fill with so much culture!!!!!!"

"Your food is super cheap and totally always the best at resurants!"

EVERY DAY I WAKE UP IN FUCKING SONORA WITH A SHIT TON OF FUCKING CHOLITOS AND FOOD FROM THE FUCKING PUESTOS-

AND NO-

EVERYTHING ISN'T SUPER "cHeAp" YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING STUPID AMERICAN BRITANY WHO IS PAYING US IN DOLARS AND NOT PESOS BECAUSE FOR US A DOLAR IS WORTH 19 PESOS!!!! YOU LEFT ME A 10 DOLLAR TIP-

no but seriusly that happened today whilst I was at work-

I work at a flower shop so imagine my absolute horror when I see this fucking grimey, crusty, dust, musty, funky ass looking chick walk in, DRAGING MUD INTO THE ESTABLESHMENT I JUST CLEANED, and start touching EVERYTHING ON DISPLAY-

I truely hate it here. This woman talked my ear off for TWO FUCKING HOURS-

Telling me how "Oh wow your english is SOOOOOOO gooooooood" in the most naisally ass sounding voice ever.

So I ask "Hey are you from California?" AND SHE WAS-

Oh and she thought I was from good ol' Texas!

So that was cool-

But I did have to tell her that 10 bucks was WAY too much. So she gave me 15-

She did not understand she assignment ;-;

- Dev anon who got off work 15 minutes ago and is on their way home

your day sounds interesting. I'm glad you got tips anon! and get home safely alright?

[ghostaholics]

Literally my face the entire time while I was reading:

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working. 

UGH. Making him work for it, I love it.

You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas.

I love how reader's coming for Javi's throat.

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros. Still think you’re an asshole, Peña.  It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit. 

Hands down the best part.

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet.  You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.” 

Jo, you didn't have to go this hard on the dialogue...

“You deserve better.” Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?”  He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

FUCK. THAT'S ALL I CAN SAY.

Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.”  “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone.  “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it.  Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

SCREAMING INTO MY FUCKING PILLOW.

The entire time they were saying arepas to each other starting with her saying she was frustrated, I wanted to die along with them. Oh my gooooooood. Emotionally in turmoil because of that.

“Did you warn people from asking me out?” Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.” 

I feel like I should be offended over this but even a crumb of possessive Javi makes me throw out all my morals.

I had to stop pulling direct quotes because I was too invested to pause my reading but the ending?? My heart almost dropped out of my ass. LOL when he saw the empty desk, I was like come back here and fix this. But anyways they're cute together and their banter/dialogue is so smooth.

arepas

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

javier peña x f!reader an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá. 

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him. 

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope?  Depends on who you ask. 

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob. 

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants. 

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him. 

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning. 

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard. 

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you. 

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words. 

You don’t like me much.  I don’t know you.  You could. Know me.  What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa.  I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening. 

Determined—that’s how he was often described. 

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos. 

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond. 

Javi doesn’t. 

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working. 

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.  

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him. 

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this. 

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one. 

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you. 

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them. 

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach. 

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time. 

Why he went in the first place. 

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you. 

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita.  Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores.  You’re not a whore.  No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table. 

It played on his mind. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here. 

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you. 

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña. 

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit. 

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin. 

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile. 

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.” 

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”  

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.” 

“Two night stands?” He muses. 

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?” 

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips. 

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears. 

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile. 

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.  

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start. 

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet. 

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.” 

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile.  “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.”  Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?”  How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.”  Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.” 

You’re everywhere. 

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass. 

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him. 

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him. 

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another. 

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed. 

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure. 

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar. 

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival. 

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible. 

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend. 

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy. 

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two. 

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up. 

So, he didn’t. 

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly. 

He cared. 

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice. 

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal. 

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship. 

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day. 

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat. 

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.” 

“Don’t I know it.” 

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.”  “Believe it, Murphy.” 

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night. 

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance. 

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did. 

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself. 

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off. 

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?” 

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?” 

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.” 

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?” 

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had. 

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms. 

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you. 

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you. 

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow. 

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?” 

“I was drinking.” 

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.” 

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it. 

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?” 

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you. 

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride. 

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do. 

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room. 

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure. 

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?” 

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings. 

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant. 

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing. 

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking. 

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.” 

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret. 

You're waiting. 

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings. 

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name. 

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t. 

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely. 

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that. 

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm. 

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?” 

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you. 

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?” 

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods. 

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.” 

No. He thinks. 

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not. 

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does. 

Not with what happened to Helena… 

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe. 

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.” 

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes. 

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen. 

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb. 

“What you got in mind?” 

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead. 

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?” 

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?” 

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests. 

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin. 

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life. 

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.”  “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.”  Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.”  “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone.  “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it.  Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín. 

The routine, the lines—the friendship. 

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you. 

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke. 

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer. 

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head. 

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given. 

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her. 

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again. 

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs. 

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy. 

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf. 

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again. 

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk. 

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one. 

“Hermosa…” 

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second. 

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.” 

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.” 

Swallowing, he places his mug down. 

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.” 

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do. 

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it. 

Then fucking Murphy arrives. 

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair. 

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left. 

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed. 

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him. 

“Arepas!” 

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.” 

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice. 

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face. 

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.  

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?”  Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?”  Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much.  “Javi.” “What?”  You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as.  “Did you warn people from asking me out?”  Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.” 

Javi knows many things about you. 

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire. 

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes. 

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head. 

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker. 

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself. 

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks. 

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles. 

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.” 

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.” 

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone. 

You’re just… in your underwear. 

Around him. 

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes. 

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous. 

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?” 

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I… I’m struggling to sleep… here.” 

He can relate. 

“How was Gabby?” 

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.” 

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank. 

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.” 

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter. 

Fuck. 

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.  

So close. 

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here. 

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette. 

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

“Your word come in use?” 

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up. 

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.” 

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you.  Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him.  He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. 

When it rains, it pours. 

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned. 

But then, he’d seen you. 

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame. 

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly. 

For a second, nothing happens. 

He doesn’t move. You don’t move. 

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently. 

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t. 

It’s easy, simple—and also everything. 

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter. 

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his. 

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave. 

“Messina send you?” 

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it. 

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it. 

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp. 

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead. 

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.” 

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend. 

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago. 

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip. 

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?” 

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking. 

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A  thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you. 

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair. 

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed. 

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another. 

“Dreamt about you, bonita.” 

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck. 

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...” 

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.” 

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours. 

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin. 

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood. 

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it. 

“Need you, Javi. Just you.” 

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you. 

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want. 

“Javi…” 

“You suit green, bonita.” 

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does. 

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?” 

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.” 

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more. 

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again. 

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek. 

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you. 

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you. 

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?” 

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time. 

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing. 

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss. 

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this. 

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them. 

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately. 

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.” 

He knows. 

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer. 

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.”  “A few times, if I recall.”  “You… you seem rather calm about this?”  You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?”  He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.”  “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—”  He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.”  “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.”  Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts. 

It unravels. 

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers. 

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.  

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close. 

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it.  Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin.  Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…  

Javi doesn’t. 

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting. 

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña. 

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it. 

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi. 

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth. 

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.  

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport. 

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you. 

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you. 

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room. 

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Hi.” 

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile. 

“Bonita… what… how?” 

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—” 

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still. 

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago… 

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….” 

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing. 

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both. 

To protect you. To love you from afar. 

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?” 

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill. 

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.” 

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

[peplexa]

not gooooooood :))

As a person with some kind of mental issue, this relatively low-effort lifestyle is wrecking me. Because I'm not actually getting to relax at any point. Feels like someone always wants something from me - some small talk, my time in the evening, a dinner. I know, these are supposed to be nice things! They happen because people like me, and it's not that I don't have fun.

But it's not rest. Dinners, especially, just ruin me. The social scripts, the constant input, giving up money I hurt myself to earn just to choke down food I don't like so no one finds out there's something wrong with me. I'm so tired, and there's no way to explain to my friends that spending time with them actually makes it worse.

All of it hurts, and it reminds me that I'm not right, and it reminds me that I'm hurting myself pretending, but I feel like I can't get out.

It makes me petulant. Makes me sulk like a child about nice things in my life or come across as over sensitive and stubborn.

It's building up, definitely, because I'm getting more and more irrational. I think I need to let it out, but I don't actually have time. I don't have time to think, to breathe, everyone wants a fucking piece

[ickystickyfrog]

Listen.... listen.... LISTEN,

Okay, so i was SO upset at Girl Scouts discountinuing Thanks-A-Lots, they were my absolute favorites, but, in their place we got

And these bad boys, oh god, i wasn’t prepared, they taste exactly like a type of cookie i had been missing for years, that also had gotten discontinued

Yep, that’s correct, these blessed creatures, they have been revived in the form of Girl Scout toast-yays and for that, i am thankful

[chicken-poncho]

Hey there. Can I request a Joey Tribbiani x male reader fluff and smut like top joey and bottom male reader. If you don't feel comfortable doing it, it's cool. Thank you ❤️

Headcanons for Top! Joey and Bottom! Reader

you sure caaan! sorry it's taken me so long homeslice! big love <3

Holy Shit

It does not take alot to get Joe going

You could be walking from the bathroom to his bedroom and the light would catch your wet shirtless form beautifully he would just feel himself getting hard

You're dancing around the apartment shirtless with jeans on? Or making food in an apron? Or changing after work? Or watching TV in a pair of Joe's own boxers? Or playfully teasing him?

Horn-dog Tribbiani is back for more

The man is pretty much insatiable

He'll just start kissing n grabbing you, hands everywhere like he can't get enough

And, to be fair, he can't

One time Chandler walked in on the two of you making out like a pair of teenagers and (obvs) he was NOT impressed

I feel like Joey would be genuinely so soft the first few times you guys fucked

so kind and attentive

watching your every move

opening you up so gently

soft kisses, soft everything

p much the King of Body Worship™

when he's had a rough day on set or lost a role he'll get so worked up he'll just snap and gets rough to ease his frustration

He'd have spoken to you about it before though, never wanting to hurt you or make you uncomfortable

all that aside though

he's a goof ball at heart

he'll be trying to keep a conversation going as things are getting heated or trying to recount stories as you go down on him

joey loves food

so i lowkey think he loves incorporating food into either foreplay or actual sex

whipped cream? goooood!

chocolate sauce? goooood!

strawberries? gooooooood!

he'll do or try anything once

tldr: gorgeous man, top shagger honestly

[capsteddybear]

Our Playlist: Drunk on Your Love - Brett Eldredge

song lyrics: "It's not in the whiskey, tequila or the wine, It's all about the touch and the fire in your eyes."

You wake up to the touch of Chris planting light kisses on your shoulder.

"Wake up, (y/n)" You moan and snuggle the blanket to hide from the sunlight peeking through the blinds. Chris lets out a soft giggle as he wraps his arm around you and kisses your cheek. "(y/n)?"

"Hmm?"

"Wake up, sweetheart."

"Do I have to?"

"If you don't want me to eat your chocolate chip pancakes then yes."

You open your eyes and slowly roll over to face Chris, "chocolate chip pancakes?"

Chris smiles, "Yes." You roll back and pull up the blanket to cover your face. You hear Chris gasp, "what? I got you pancakes and you're not gonna get up?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they're not made by you."

"So? They're still really gooooooood."

You quickly turn back to him, "So you ate my pancakes??"

Chris tries to hide his smile, "I may have taken a tiny bite." You shake your head and slowly sit up to stretch. Chris leans closer to you and kisses your cheek. He smiles and quickly gets off the bed and runs towards the table where he set up your breakfast. "Oooo look, pancakes!"

"Chris!" You quickly throw the blankets off the bed and jump out of the bed and run towards him. "Stop eating my food!" You aren't quite fast enough, Chris has a mouthful of pancakes and tries not to laugh as you poke his sides.

"Uh, can I help you?" As he squirms to get away from you.

"Yeah, can you stop eating my breakfast?"

"Well since you're finally out of bed then yes." You stop tickling him and start laughing. You wrap your arms around him for a hug.

"Thank you."

Chris smiles and gives you a kiss. "Truce? Can we eat now?"

"Yes we can eat now."

You and Chris take a seat and enjoy breakfast as you guys decide what to do on the first full day of your spontaneous trip.

"We can go for a hike. There's a trail that goes to a waterfall."

"A waterfall?!" You say with a mouthful of food.

Chris can't help, but laugh. "Yes. I'm taking that as you wanna go?"

"Yes!"

You and Chris finish eating and get dressed before heading out. You guys stop at a store to buy snacks for the hike. The trail is about an hour drive from the hotel. Chris pulls up to the gravel parking lot and parks the car. He grabs the backpacks of snacks as you head over to look at the bulletin board of the map of the trail.

"How long is the hike?"

"Hmm, about 4 hours round trip."

Chris looks at his watch, "Nice, we should be done by lunch time."

You smile at Chris and take his hand and lead him on the trail.

You and Chris stop a few times on the trail to take photos. Chris also picks wild flowers for you. Each one he finds is different. He puts them in the side pockets of your backpack.

"Thanks, you're making my backpack heavier."

Chris laughs, "I didn't pick that many." He kisses your cheek and you guys continue on the trail.

As you're hiking you hear something a couple of yards ahead of you. You stop on the trail and Chris bumps into you.

"What is it?"

You point to a deer eating from a bush. "Look."

Chris leans in and whispers, "wanna try to get closer?"

You nod your head and slowly start walking towards the bush. The deer stops eating and looks straight at you guys. You and Chris freeze on the trail to not scare off the deer. No one moves for a moment until the deer looks down and continues eating. You and Chris walk a little bit closer before you stop again and just watch the deer eat. You hear something wrestling in the bushes to the left of where you guys are standing and you spot another deer. You nudge Chris' elbow and point to where the other deer is. Chris slowly moves his hand to his pocket to pull out his phone to take a photo. You giggle at the concentrated face that Chris is making and he tells you to shush. He gets a couple of photos of the deer before they wander off.

You guys continue hiking to the waterfall as Chris shares his jelly beans with you. As soon as you see the waterfall you gasp, "Oh my God!"

Chris laughs and grabs your hand, "come on."

You walk to the edge of the water and bend down to touch it.

"Oooo it's cold." You stand back up and Chris takes off his backpack and places it on the ground. He then kicks off his shoes and starts taking off his shirt. "Uh Chris, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You're gonna get in? The water is cold."

"It's warm out and I'm sweaty, I wanna cool down." He continues removing his clothes except his shorts. "Come on, join me."

You shake your head, "no, the water is cold. You go ahead." You take off your backpack and sit on a log as Chris gets into the water.

"Oh fuck! It's cold."

You bust out laughing, "I told you."

Chris clenches his fist and shakes his head. He turns back around and dives into the water. Your eyes widen as you wait for him to pop back up.

Chris pops up from the water, "Woah! Okay I'm used to it." He brushes his hair back with his hand. He gives you a flirty smile and curls his finger to you signaling you to come in.

"No, it's cold."

"Come on, you need to cool down too." Chris starts walking back towards you. He makes a sad puppy look, "Please?"

You can't turn down that cute face so you start untying your shoes and take them off along with your socks. Chris takes you by the hand and helps you up. As soon as your feet touch the water you yell out, "fuck it's cold." Chris laughs and turns around to pick you up and before you can stop him he has you over his shoulder as he runs into the cold water. "Chris!!! No no no! Please no!" You both splash into the water. "Son of a bitch it's cold!!"

Chris can't stop laughing at you. You splash water at him. "Hey hey hey."

"What? You started this."

Chris gives you an evil smile and tries to grab you again but you swim away from him. "Noooo!" Chris catches up to you and grabs ahold of you. He starts tickling you. You try to get him back but his strength is too much. He stops tickling you and just holds you close to him.

Chris smiles down at you and kisses you, "Hi."

You smile back at him, "hi."

"Are you used to the water now?"

"Yes.... Only because someone threw me in." You give Chris a playful push.

Chris smiles, "let's swim to the waterfall." He tugs on your arm to follow him. You guys swim to the waterfall and notice there's a little opening spot behind it. You and Chris pop up on the other side of the waterfall.

"Woah, this is really cool." You look around the cave under the waterfall. Chris can't stop smiling at how excited you are about being there. He swims to you and wraps his arms around you. He kisses your forehead and you smile at him. "Hi", you kiss him on the lips and you feel him smile.

"Hi." He kisses you back and his light kisses turn more passionate and your little make out session under the waterfall lasts for a while before you guys swim back out.

You walk out of the water and you start to shiver. Chris smiles and quickly unzips his backpack and unpacks a towel and extra clothes he packed for you. He stands up and wraps the towel around you to help keep you warm.

"You packed extra clothes for me?" Chris just smiles and nods his head. "Were you planning on throwing me into the water the whole time?!"

He starts giggling and hands you your change of clothes, "I didn't know it was gonna be that cold."

You shake your head and walk over to a bush to change out of your wet clothes. After you're done Chris does the same thing as you pack your wet clothes into a plastic bag so your backpack doesn't get wet. You dry your hair with the towel as Chris packs his clothes before heading back on the trail.

On the way back Chris picks more wild flowers for you. He puts a couple in your backpack and as he puts one in your hair he kisses your cheek.

You guys jump back in the car and head back to the hotel. On the drive back Chris holds your hand as it rests on your thigh.

Once you guys get to the hotel you race Chris to the room. "Whoever gets to the room first gets to shower first!" You yell as you run down the hallway.

As soon as you get the door open you run to the bathroom and quickly shut the door. Chris tries to open it but you locked it.

Chris laughs and knocks on the door, "hey why did you lock the door?"

"Because if we shower together we won't leave the room." You turn on the shower and start to undress.

"And that's a bad thing?"

You giggle, "no, but I'd really like to take a shower and wash off this lake water."

Chris knocks on the door again, "Well I can help scrub your back." You unlock the door and open it just enough to peak out. Chris tilts his head and smiles, "can I come in?"

You try not to laugh, "damn it, I can't say no. You're too cute." You open the door more and let Chris in. He kisses you and you help each other out of each other's clothes before jumping in the shower.

After the shower you and Chris get dressed to go check out the town. As you're finished getting dressed Chris pulls you by the waist to join him in bed.

"Heeeey, what are you doing?"

Chris pulls you in closer to cuddle, "I'm tired and I need my cuddle buddy."

You giggle, "what about us going out? It was your idea to check out the town."

Chris sighs, "Yeah, but can we take a nap? The hike tired me out and the shower made me a bit too relaxed."

You cup the side of his face and kiss his cheek, "Okay, just an hour nap." You turn to the night stand and set your alarm before turning back to Chris for a nap. He gently rubs your back and hums as you both fall asleep.

An hour later your alarm goes off. You moan and reach over to hit the snooze button. You hear Chris giggle softly. "What's so funny?"

"You said only an hour, but yet you hit the snooze button", Chris answers with his eyes still closed.

You yawn, "Well I lied. I'm still tired." You snuggle back up with Chris. He pulls the blanket to cover you more and wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your forehead before falling back to sleep. You hit the snooze button a couple of more times and then you notice that two hours have passed. "Shit! Chris, wake up."

Chris moans and rubs his eyes, "what is it?"

"We slept in late. We skipped lunch."

Chris moans, "who needs lunch when you can just lay in bed all day?" he softly rubs your back.

You give him a smile and kiss his cheek, "me! I'm hungry. Let's go!" You quickly sit up and pull Chris' hand, "cooooome ooooon."

Chris laughs because you're not strong enough to pull him, "you're so cute."

"Why thank you, you're pretty cute yourself. Let's go, I'm hungry." Chris tugs on your hand and you fall back on the bed and quickly wraps his arms around you and rolls over so he's laying on top of you. "Ah, Chris."

His face is a couple of inches away from yours, "Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

"Mmm, so am I." He leans down and kisses you.

You smile against his lips, "for food."

Chris laughs and rests his head on your chest, "Okay fine, you win... this round." He moves his hands to your sides and starts tickling you.

"No! Chris stop, please? Can we just go?" You squirm below him.

He stops, sighs, and kisses your cheek and helps you sit up. "Only because I love you."

You shake your head and smile, "I love you too, dork."

You and Chris put your shoes on before heading out on the town. You guys hold hands and walk a couple of blocks before spotting a place to eat dinner. Chris orders a burger and fries and you order chicken wings. The football is showing on one of the screens at the bar so you guys watch as you enjoy your food. After finishing your food you share a couple of drinks and notice that there are pool tables on the other side of the bar.

"Hey! I challenge you to a round of pool."

Chris grabs his beer and helps you off of the bar stool, "Oh, you're on."

You head over to a pool table. You set up the table as Chris grabs pool sticks for the both of you.

You raise an eyebrow at Chris as he hands you a stick, "hmm, did you give me a crooked stick?"

Chris just smiles. You roll it on the table to check and it's good enough. "Alright, you break."

Chris breaks and no balls go into the pockets. It's now your turn and you walk around the table to look for a shot. Once you find one you call the shot and successfully make one in. You then make another 2 balls in before it's Chris' turn. He makes one in, but misses the next one. The ball stops right in front of the pocket and Chris gets frustrated, "Oh come on!" You can't help but giggle. "Hey! Cool it. This is a serious game."

You start to laugh. You look for a shot and as you're leaning over the table Chris stands right next to you, "Um, can I help you?"

He shakes his head, "no, go ahead and shoot." He kneels down so his face is closer to yours. You can see from the corner of your eye that he has a smirk on his face.

"Chris, I know what you're doing and it won't work." You take the shot and make the ball in.

He groans and stands up, "damn it".

You laugh and walk to the other side of the table to take your next shot. You notice Chris starting to dance. You shake your head, "your dance moves won't work either, sweetie". You take your shot and you miss, you put your head down and you can hear Chris giggling from across the table.

"Um, what did you say about my dance moves?!"

"Oh God, just go." You shake your head as Chris continues dancing as he looks for a shot. He takes his shot and makes it in along with a couple of more balls. You start to get nervous because it's a close game. He tries to distract you again, but his dance moves not longer work. You hear him mumble 'shit' from across the table as you plan your winning shot. You laugh, "you okay over there?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Uh, because I'm about to win." Chris shakes his head and you call your shot. It seems like the ball rolls in slow motion before finally falling into the pocket. You raise your arms and you hear Chris cuss from across the table. You point at him, "loser racks!" Chris puts down his head and slowly walks to the table to rack up the balls for the next game. You lean on the table to break and Chris stands next to you. You slowly turn your head and give him a smirk, "gonna try to distract me again I see?"

Chris just smiles and shakes his head, "What? Me?! Never." You giggle and turn back to the table, as soon as you're about to shoot you feel Chris' hand on the small of your back. You try not to pay attention to him, but then he starts to slowly rub your back.

"Chris!"

He giggles, "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Hands!"

"What about them?"

"Keep them to yourself please."

"Uuuuh, but they're bored."

You bust out laughing, "Oh my God, Chris! Just let me shoot."

He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, "fine."

"Thank you". You break and one ball goes into the pocket. You see Chris shake his head as you take your next shot. You miss and it's now Chris' turn. He makes a few in. This round of pool is a bit more intense than the first one. You give in and try to distract Chris from his shooting. He notices you dancing as he's about to shoot.

"Hey, what did you say about distractions?"

You continue dancing, "you started this, not me, I'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine".

When he leans on the table to take his shot you dance right next to him. "What are you waiting for? Shoot." Chris smiles and shoots.

He makes his shot and starts laughing. "Haa! You thought your dance moves could distract me."

You stop dancing and make a pouty face. Chris tilts his head and walks up to you and plants a light kiss on your cheek, "Um excuse me, it's still my turn." You give him a playful shove before he takes his next shot.

He misses and the rest of the game you both only make one ball each. Now all of the balls are cleared except the 8 ball and it's your turn to shoot. You glare across the table at Chris who looks like he's up to something. As soon as you lean over the table he starts to move and you glare at him again, "No, stay over there." Chris freezes in his foot steps and puts his head down. You take your shot, but miss. You hear Chris giggle and you shake your head. "Your turn, cheater."

Chris gasps, "Cheater? How am I cheating? I didn't do anything."

"Uh huh, you were about to until I stopped you."

"Well, you won't be able to stop me from making this game winning shot." Chris leans over the table and takes his shot, the 8 ball falls into the corner pocket making Chris the winner. "Boom!" You can't help but laugh at him.

"Hey, don't get too excited, we both won one game. Time for the tie breaker."

"Uh huh, and guess who racks?" He raises his eyebrows at you, "Not me, Ha!"

"Oh my God, Chris. You're too much."

You set up the table for the final game. Chris breaks and one ball drops in the pocket. "Ooo, look. I got again." You shake your head and laugh. Chris makes a couple of more balls in before it's your turn.

"Yay! My turn. Excuse me." You walk by him and poke his side that makes him jump.

"Hey!"

"What?" You stick your tongue out at him.

"What did you say earlier about keeping your hands to yourself?" He pokes you back.

"That was earlier." You smiled at him.

He raises his eyebrows and pulls you in for a kiss. "Hi."

"Hi, can I shoot now?" He slowly shakes his head and kisses you again. "How about now?"

"Wait, one more." He kisses you again and then starts tickling you.

"Hey!" You poke his side and he stops. he gives you a kiss on the cheek before letting you go.

You take your shot and you also make a couple in before it's Chris' turn. For the rest of the game you taunt and distract each other from making in each others shots. The 8 ball is left on the table and it's Chris' turn. You both decide to call truce on the last shot and not distract Chris in any way and just let him shoot. You hold your breath as he takes his shot.

"I win!" You put your head down as Chris does his dorky celebration dance. He walks up to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. You poke him in the ribs. "Hey! What's that for?"

"For beating me at pool. I really thought I could beat you."

He laughs, "they were all close games though."

He gives you another kiss and hugs you. "I love you, (y/n)."

"I love you too."

You guys leave the bar and walk around downtown before heading back to the hotel. You both change into more comfortable clothes and fall asleep cuddled up under the covers with the tv on.

[justbreatheeme]

The Devil On My Shoulder.

"everythings heavy."

like your body for instance?

all one hundred ninety-four pounds.

put the food down.

every bite is guilt

more guilt adds to the plate

and your plate is full.

your. plate. is. full.

i told you "no"

you didn't listen and in a month from now

you wont fit into your favorite pair of jeans.

tell yourself "one more..."

wow, you really outdid yourself.

was the five pound weight gain worth "one more"

congratulations, your jeans don't fit.

what did i tell you?

i told you "no"

you didn't listen and soon everyone will notice.

what are you gonna do?

are you gonna have "one more?"

but of course.

another five pounds and you won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

why aren't you listening to me?

oh right, you cant hear me over the food you just ate.

chomp. chomp. chomp.

you'll never learn.

pathetic.

this morning you skipped breakfast.

im so proud of you.

that's 700 calories you dont have to worry about.

keep it up and your jeans will fit again.

your mom asked what you wanted for dinner

you lied and said you already ate.

i guess you aren't as stupid as i thought.

step up on that scale buddy

whats it say? how much did you lose?

"im down another five, but its still not enough"

that a girl....

gooooooood morning beautiful.

today is a great day to go buy a new pair of jeans

cause those ones are too big!

more money on clothes means less money on food.

what in the actual fuck...

im not understanding why you had dessert after dinner

this is not okay and you need to take care of this right away

excuse yourself to the bathroom. do what you gotta do.

don't disappoint me.

i can see you looking at that girl over there.

comparing yourself to her, as you should.

shes skinnier than you and well...

we cant have that.

wakey wakey, no eggs or bakey

and for good reason, you're down 10 pounds this time.

how do you feel? do you feel good?

you shouldn't, because its not enough.

its never fucking enough.

and ill remind you every single day.

"everythings heavy"

and it always will be as long as im around

and baby, im not going anywhere.

im the devil on your shoulder.

and whatever i say goes.

[minijenn]

Since we’re talking about fast food now, what are your feelings on Pizza Hut’s stuffed crust pizza? (Because I’d kill someone to have one of those.)

gooooooood I fucking ADORE the stuffed crust. Its seriously my FAVORITE pizza from any of the big pizza chains. Its SO fucking good. 

[entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys]

Birth, is a Curse !

God/Ptah/Allah/All Father is the Sneakiest fucker . . . As Long as you Pay your Bio Tax's, YOUR HAPPY !!! Doesn't it feel Gooooooood to pay your Tax's, you get to Live as Long as you Pay your Tax's ! 

aka food, Water, Heat, Sleep, Other shit to Keep you alive and not Let someone Kick the shity out of you re blow your fucking Brain's out . . . God Created a Government, none of us can see ! A Omni Present Government . . . and if you don't want to Pay your Tax's aka the bio tax's YOU DIE !!! aka you tax the Earth of the shit it Need's ! and ... AND You need to take a shit !!! and Piss, ALL THE GOD DAM FUCKING TIME !!! you'd think a all knowing deity would of come up with a better plan for the soul of the spirit realm ! 

Youa'D Think A better Life, A better Reality . . . DID WE AGREE TO THIS SHIT !!! ARE WE ALL THAT FUCKING RETARDED !!! 

THAT WE AGREED ? TO A REALITY !!! LIKE ! THIS !!! 

Wtf, is Going on ? !

[yourladyindank]

Im addicted to shit food to eat my feelings and it’s helping my depression ruin my life sos

It tiiiime to Fix That Habit!

You want something sweet? Get you something sweet then! May I suggest an apple or strawberry.

You want that CRUNCH? You gon get it! Mayhaps, a bit of lettuce.

Oooooo but you want something SAVORY! Mayhaps some fish? Or strips of a lean meat?

Gooooooood but do you want some fuuuuckin SODA. Have you tried flavored sparkling water? Make sure you get sweetened though. Fuck I made such a mistake

Every yummy junk food has an (almost) equal and opposite healthy food. You just have to find what works for you. You’ll feel so much better so very quickly.