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thelastofhyde · 1 year ago

Text

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 3 ! (part 2)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation (please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

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

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

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

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

It’s something new to fidget with.

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

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

If you do, you’ll blame him.

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

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

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

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

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

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

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

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

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

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

There were usually three of them.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

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

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

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

Javier Peña was none of that.

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

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

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

It was like, nothing.

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

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

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

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

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

His hair, freshly cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you stumble to the elevator.

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

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

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

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

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

He catches you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thud against the nightstand.

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

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

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

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

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

He looks like he wants to.

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

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

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

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

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

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

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

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

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

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

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

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

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

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

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

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not in the mood.”

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

“I have an early flight.”

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

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

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

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

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

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

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

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

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

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

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

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

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

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

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

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

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

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

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

A broken earring.

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

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

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

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

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

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

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

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

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

The silence returns.

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

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

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

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

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

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

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

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

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

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

“I don’t underst-”

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

He’s stern.

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

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

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

Everything, you want to tell him.

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

“I just thought-”

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

I know, you mouth.

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

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

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

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

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

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

Kid.

That makes you angry.

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

“Don’t call me kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late, you want to say.

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

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

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

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

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

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

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

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

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

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

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

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

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

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

You let him invade your senses.

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

You pull back. He follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, you do trip over them.

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

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

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

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

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

Later with Javi never seems to come.

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

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

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

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

You’d never gotten those panties back.

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

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

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

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

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

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

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

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

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

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

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

A splotch of red stains your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

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

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

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

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

He’s rambling.

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

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

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

He chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

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

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

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

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

“What more could you have done?”

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

You whine out his name.

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

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

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

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

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

The words catch in your throat.

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

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

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

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

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

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

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

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

By July, things change.

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

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

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

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

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

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

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

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

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

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

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

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

Not right now.

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

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

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

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

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

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

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

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

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

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

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

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

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

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

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

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

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

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

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

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

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

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

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

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

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

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

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

You’re usually more careful.

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

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

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

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

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

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come up empty handed.

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

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

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

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

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

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

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I- What?” Confussion.

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

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

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Or both.

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

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

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

Your father’s voice.

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

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

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

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

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

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

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

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

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

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

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

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

You feel his eyes on you.

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

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her fault. You know.

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

Your dad is.

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

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

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

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

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

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

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

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

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

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

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

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

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

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

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

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

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

“London.”

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

All eyes snap to him.

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

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

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

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

That peaks your interest.

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

“Really?”

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

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

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

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

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

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

“Mr... Bond?”

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

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

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

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

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

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

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

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

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

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

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

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

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

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

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

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

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

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

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

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

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

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

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

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

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

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

And all because you heard his voice.

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

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

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

And a well-rounded belly.

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

You’ve never seen her before.

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

She’s a total stranger, to you.

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

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

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

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

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

You won’t let it fester.

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

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

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

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

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

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

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

Your heart’s palpitating.

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

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

Because, how could he do this to you?

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

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

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

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

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

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

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

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

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

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

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

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

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

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

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

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

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

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

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

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

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

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

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

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

Your breathing stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

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

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

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

You wake up early.

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

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

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

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

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

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

A quarter past six.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your ringtone is the culprit.

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

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

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

“Corazón.”

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

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

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

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

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

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

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

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

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

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

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

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

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

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

You sure felt alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For answers, for clarity, for closure

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

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

Even then, it kills you to do so.

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

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

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

“What answer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The image doesn’t quite form.

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

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

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

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

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

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

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

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

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

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of them have, really.

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

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

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

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

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

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

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

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

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

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

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

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

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

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

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

Immediately, you spot chicken.

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

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

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

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

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

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

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

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

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

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

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

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

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

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

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

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

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

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

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

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

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

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

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

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

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

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

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

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

“Was she a good cook?”

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

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

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

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

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what to say.

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

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

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

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

��Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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winternet-s · 2 months ago

Text

CAMPING IS FOR FALLING IN LOVE, ( r.miyagi )

، ✶ 🍚 ¿ ¡ ✷ we could stay out late until the sun sets past eight 𖤛 ⋆ 🧻 𖥉

summary : After Shohoku’s big win, you invite the team to your family’s camping site for a night under the stars. It’s supposed to be all fun and games—until Ryota Miyagi sees his chance to finally confess his feelings for you. With the fire crackling and the team teasing, he’s ready to open up… if his nerves (and Sakuragi's ego) don’t get in the way first.

notes : i loved writing that as u can tell sakuragi is my favorite 😔 plus be patient for misunderstood i'm trying to make the chapter long and bro it is hard !

warnings : slow burn - christian values and i think that's it

cw: 9,6k

━━━ 𝓘t was when the final whistle blows that the crowd exploded in noises. And it was at that exact moment that you felt yourself breathing, not even noticing that you were holding it. Every Shohoku player present on the court was drowned by their own sweat, still trying to catch their breath before finally erupting in cheers that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. Their voices rise in unison—triumphant shouts, laughter, and cries of victory filling the air. High-fives, fist pumps, and backslaps are exchanged, the adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

The public join in, their cheers merging with the players’, a deafening roar that surges like a wave through the stands. Banners are waved, chants grow louder, and the entire gym is alive with the electric buzz of success. It’s a moment of pure euphoria—one born of hard work, determination, and the thrill of knowing they’ve earned their victory.

"They truly did an amazing job," you couldn't stop the smile that was spreading on your face , your eyes still absorbed by the team's excitement. "And Sakuragi seems to improve day by day! Every game, he’s improving—faster, sharper. It’s like he’s finding his rhythm, piece by piece" Your eyes lingered on the red-head proclaiming himself as a genius.

Kakuta shot you a grin, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re being way too nice, [Name],” he chuckled, leaning back with a teasing gleam in his eye. “He was just lucky!” His voice was light, playful, but you could tell he wasn’t totally serious—just ribbing Sakuragi the way he always did.

You awkwardly laughed while remembering a few scenes where Sakuragi was — embarrassing because of his ego — clearing your throat you continued, "Don't erase the fact that he's improving quite fast, you did a good job bringing him in the club Haruko!"

The brunette standing beside you flushed at the compliment, waving her hands in front of her modestly. “Oh, no, no!” Haruko shook her head, smiling shyly. "I didn’t really do much… he’s the one putting in all the effort." She glanced over at Sakuragi, her admiration for his determination clear, though she was far too humble to take credit for it.

At that very moment, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sakuragi’s ears comically stretch and perk up like radar dishes, locking onto the sound of praise. His whole posture straightened up, and a huge, triumphant grin spread across his face.

“Nya-hahaha! Did you hear that, Ryo-chin?” Hanamichi’s booming voice cut through the conversation, puffing out his chest dramatically. “I’m improving fast! I’ve always been a genius, but even [name] can’t deny it anymore!”

Ryota groaned, glaring at him, while Sakuragi swaggered over to his teammates, throwing an arm over Ryota’s shoulders with exaggerated confidence. “You better catch up, little man, or I’ll be the star of this team in no time! You’re lucky to witness my greatness.”

The rest of the team exchanged amused glances, all too used to Sakuragi’s over-the-top ego boosts. Ryota shot you a look, half exasperated, half playful. "See what you started?" he said with a smirk, shaking his head.

You could only laugh at the scene, the red head antics were impossible to not laugh at and Ryota’s exasperated groans were impossible not to find amusing. Completely caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the way Ryota’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as he admired the way your laugh lit up your face. But underneath that fondness, a small twinge of jealousy tugged at his chest. He couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the affection you seemed to have for Sakuragi, even if he knew it was just playful.

"How about me, [Name]?" Ryota asked, his brown eyes sparkling with a playful glint, but beneath the surface, there was a light note of hope. Not that you caught it.

"You make the point guard position look so effortless," you replied, smiling brightly. "You’re so fast and agile. Plus, you do look really cool while playing, Ryo-chin!"

At your words, Ryota's face broke into a wide, giddy grin. His whole demeanor shifted, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. "Cool? Did you hear that?" He mimicked Hanamichi's earlier boasting, lightly bouncing on his feet. "She thinks I’m cool! Oh, man! I'm on fire today!"

His exaggerated, playful reaction earned a sweat drop from his teammates, masking the way his heart actually leapt at your words. He ran a hand through his hair in mock arrogance, hiding any trace of the hope that had been there a moment ago. "Looks like I’m winning on and off the court!"

Excitement filled your body from head to toe, a positive energy coursing through you. You let your feet carry towards the players, , the source of that joy. The noise of the gym swirled around you laughter, shouts, the slap of high-fives, but your focus was ahead, where the team stood, basking in the aftermath of their triumph.

Haruko by your side reflected your enthusiasm, taking your arm in hers, a soft smile on her face as the two of you closed the distance.

Once close enough you called for them, “Hey, guys!” The players paused, turning their attention to you. “I wanted to invite all of you to my family’s camping site this weekend! It’ll be a great way to celebrate the win and bond a little more.” You announced.

A collective murmur of curiosity rippled through the team, and you could see the surprise on their faces. Hanamichi’s eyes widened in excitement. “A genius like me deserves a break after this exceptional performance!” Hanamichi puffed out his chest, grinning widely as if the entire match had hinged on his skills alone.

Clearing your throat you deviated your gaze on the others.

"My family owns a camping site, and with the summer holidays coming up, I thought it would be, um, a good idea, you know? Like, we could all go and, uh, hang out, maybe? I mean, it’s a really nice spot—there’s a lake and everything! We could have bonfires, or maybe… I don’t know, roast marshmallows? Or, uh, play some games? If everyone’s free, of course! I just thought it’d be fun, especially after all the hard work you guys have put in… but if it’s too much, that’s okay, too! And with Anzai's agreement too-"

Suddenly, you caught yourself rambling, the words spilling out in a rush as you felt heat creeping up your cheeks. You stopped short, laughter bubbling in your throat. “Wow, I’m really going off there, huh?”

Ayako who once was speechless found herself amused by your antics and approached you. “You’re fine! It sounds like a great idea!” She nudged you gently, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Haruko chimed in with a warm smile, “Honestly, you just made it sound even more fun! Who wouldn’t want to roast marshmallows and hang out by a lake?”

You let out a relieved laugh, grateful for their encouragement. The tension eased, and you felt a little more confident about your invitation.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Ryota who was drinking water, a teasing grin on his face. “Oh, come on! Who wouldn’t want to spend a weekend with all of you?” he chimed in, his tone playful. “It’ll be a whole new adventure for the rest of the team!”

He paused, glancing at Hanamichi, who was enthusiastically pumping his fists in the air. “Except for Hanamichi, of course. He’ll be the one leading us into trouble, trying to wrestle bears or something.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. Just then, Mitsui walked over, Rukawa following closely behind, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Yeah, Ryota’s right,” Mitsui chimed in with a grin. “I can already see it: Hanamichi trying to show off, and we end up in the middle of the forest because he thought he could talk to a raccoon.”

Rukawa only nodded to the shooting guard's statement. Hanamichi pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. “You guys are just jealous of my camping skills! You’ll see, I’ll be the best camper ever!”

The room filled with laughter, the sound ringing off the walls and creating a warm, cheerful atmosphere. Your heart swelled as you looked around at your friends, their faces illuminated with excitement and joy. It was moments like these that made everything feel right.

“Oh thank you Lord! it’s settled then! A camping trip it is!” you declared, your voice ringing with determination. A broad smile spread across your face as you beamed at everyone, your spirit infectious. “And I’ll invite Anzai-sensei too! He can help keep things under control with Hanamichi around.”

The thought made everyone chuckle again, and you felt a flutter of anticipation. You continued, “And we can’t forget to invite Sakuragi’s gang! They’ll bring their own brand of chaos, but it’ll be fun!”

As you spoke, a wave of excitement swept through the group, eyes lighting up with eagerness at the prospect of the adventure. The anticipation in the air was electric, each person feeling the thrill of what was to come. You imagined the nights filled with stories around a campfire, the laughter echoing through the trees, and the bond of friendship growing stronger.

The team cheered at the idea, their voices melding together in a joyful chorus that filled the space around you. As you took in the happy faces, your heart swelled with warmth. This was the start of something special, a weekend filled with adventure, friendship, and unforgettable memories. You couldn’t wait for the camping trip to arrive, knowing it would bring you all even closer together.

After that day you sure couldn't handle your excitement the d-day was approaching and you wanted to make sure, everything was perfect and that everyone would feel comfortable. Armed with a notebook and a pen you dove into a planning determined to make it unforgettable, but also eager to make a balanced schedule mixing fun and relaxation.

You spent hours crafting the perfect itinerary. There would be nature hikes in the morning, where the team could explore the surrounding woods and enjoy the fresh air. You made sure to highlight the best trails and included some scenic spots for group photos. For the afternoons, you planned various activities—friendly competitions, like a three-on-three basketball game, followed by a team-building challenge that would push everyone to work together.

"Okay perfect! Now the meals .."

But you didn’t stop there. You knew that a camping trip wouldn’t be complete without some delicious meals. You mapped out the menu with care, balancing easy-to-cook meals with everyone’s preferences. For the first night, you decided on a classic campfire dinner: hot dogs and veggie skewers, followed by s'mores for dessert. The next day, you planned a hearty breakfast of pancakes and fruit, ensuring everyone had enough energy for the day ahead.

Staring at your planning you couldn't deny the proud feeling that you had at the moment, you were excited not only for the trip but also to spend time with your friends out of a formal place, away from the pressures of basketball practice and school.

The day you finally shared your meticulously organized plan with the team, their faces lit up with enthusiasm. “Wow, [Name], you really went all out!” Haruko exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This sounds amazing!”

Kogure, always the supportive friend, nodded vigorously. “Seriously! You’ve thought of everything. It’ll be a great way to bond as a team!”

Even Akagi, the usually stoic captain, couldn’t hide a smile. “This will help us build camaraderie off the court. Good job, [Name].” His praise made your heart swell with pride.

Ryota chimed in, “You’ve really put in the effort, and I appreciate that. This is going to be epic!”

But then, your excitement was interrupted by a wave of worry. “Like this, though—no surprises if someone doesn’t feel comfortable with some activities or…” You paused, suddenly flustered. “Wait, is any of you allergic to something or—” Your rambling turned into a cascade of concerns. “I didn’t ask about food allergies! What if someone can’t eat the hot dogs? Or if we go swimming and someone has a phobia of lakes? Oh no, what if Hanamichi tries to wrestle a bear and gets hurt?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself, and you could feel heat creeping up your cheeks. You stopped short, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Wow, I’m really going off again ..?”

At the mention of bears, Hanamichi’s eyes lit up dramatically. “Wrestle a bear?! Pfft! I could take on ten bears at once!” He puffed out his chest, striking a heroic pose as he flexed his arms. “I’ll show them who’s the real king of the jungle!”

Everyone else stared at him, trying to suppress laughter. Ryota couldn’t help but roll his eyes, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Right, because bears are totally scared of an overgrown monkey like you. Plus bears don’t live in the jungle idiot!"

Hanamichi waved his hand dismissively, undeterred.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his antics, the tension easing away as you watched the absurdity unfold. Ryota chuckled softly beside you, his expression a mix of amusement and fondness.

“Hey, don’t worry, [Name]. I’m sure everyone will be fine. Just ask them, and we’ll figure it out together,” he reassured you, his warm demeanor making you feel a little better. You remained oblivious to the way his eyes softened as he watched you.

“It’ll be an adventure, and we’ll all look out for each other, right?” you said, still giggling over Hanamichi’s theatrics.

As the laughter died down, Ayako’s gaze shifted between you and Ryota. A knowing smile crept onto her lips as she watched the way Ryota’s expression softened when he looked at you. There was a spark of something special in his eyes, a warmth that hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. She nudged Kogure, who was busy trying to stifle a laugh at Hanamichi’s antics.

“Do you see that? He’s totally into her,” Ayako murmured, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

Kogure chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, it’s been pretty obvious for a while now. But I think [Name]’s completely oblivious.”

Hanamichi, still hamming up his imaginary bear-wrestling scene, overheard just enough of their conversation to catch on. His ears perked up, and with a dramatic pivot, he pointed at Ryota and shouted, “Wait, what? Ryota likes [Name]?!”

The sudden outburst drew the entire group’s attention, including yours, though you didn’t quite catch what he said. Ryota’s face flushed bright red, and he turned on his heel to face Hanamichi, already regretting everything about this moment.

“Sakuragi! Shut up!” Ryota hissed, glaring at him. “You’re way too loud!”

But Hanamichi was already rolling with it, puffing out his chest as if he were some great mastermind. “I got it! I’ll help you win her over! Leave it to me—the great Hanamichi Sakuragi! This will be the greatest play of my life!” His eyes gleamed with determination as if he were planning some sort of heroic moment.

Kogure and Ayako exchanged amused glances, knowing where this was headed.

“Oh no, no, no,” Ryota groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t need your help, Sakuragi. Really, I’ve got this.”

But Hanamichi wasn’t backing down. He threw a confident arm around Ryota’s shoulder, giving him a hearty shake. “Trust me, Ryota! I’ll come up with the perfect plan! Like, you could rescue [Name] from something dangerous! Maybe a bear!”

Ayako burst out laughing at that, and Kogure covered his mouth to hide his grin. The others were already chuckling, but Hanamichi’s next comment sent everyone over the edge.

“Yeah! Ryota will save [Name] from a bear! And then, when she’s all impressed, he’ll confess his feelings!” Hanamichi was so caught up in his fantasy that he missed Ryota’s growing look of horror.

But then, Hanamichi’s face twisted as he suddenly processed his own words. “Wait... hold on!” he exclaimed, looking deeply offended as if a great injustice had been done. “Why is Ryota the one wrestling the bear?! Everyone knows I’m the strongest one here! If anyone’s gonna fight a bear, it’s gonna be me!”

He stood tall, puffing his chest out even more, as if the idea that someone else might handle the dangerous task was an insult to his abilities.

Mitsui snorted from the side, shaking his head. “Hanamichi, you do know no one’s actually fighting a bear, right?”

“Yeah,” Rukawa added coolly, barely looking up from where he was sitting. “You’d lose.”

“WHAT?!” Hanamichi whipped around to face him, fists clenched, his face turning red with fury. “I’d never lose to a bear! I’d have it pinned in seconds! Don’t you dare underestimate the great Hanamichi Sakuragi!”

The rest of the team erupted in laughter, completely caught up in Hanamichi’s wild overreaction. Even you couldn’t help but laugh, though you still weren’t sure why everyone was talking about wrestling bears all of a sudden.

Meanwhile, Ryota stood there, his face buried in his hands as he tried to recover from the whole embarrassing scene. “This is a disaster…” he muttered.

Ayako, ever the observant one, saw the way Ryota’s flustered demeanor shifted slightly whenever you laughed, his eyes lighting up at the sound. She nudged Hanamichi playfully. “Maybe you should save the bear wrestling for the professionals, Sakuragi. It sounds like Ryota has his own plan.”

Hanamichi huffed, crossing his arms in a pout. “Yeah, well, whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when Ryota messes it up!”

Ryota glared at him, then shot a quick, almost shy glance in your direction. “I won’t mess it up, you idiot…”

Completely oblivious to the undercurrent of teasing and tension, you let out another laugh. “Well, let’s just hope no one has to wrestle any bears during the camping trip, right?”

Hanamichi puffed up again. “Don’t worry! If there’s a bear, I’ll take it down in one punch!”

"Stop with that bear thing!"

The excited buzz from the team planning session lingered in the air as you gathered your things, still feeling the high energy of the conversation. Once the final details were ironed out, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride for putting it all together. But as you packed away your notes, you noticed Hanamichi hovering near the door, his arms crossed in a self-assured stance.

“I’ll walk you home, [Name],” he announced, a grin on his face as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Since when did I need you to walk me home, genius?” you teased, your tone light.

He puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying his role as the self-proclaimed protector. “Since always!"

You rolled your eyes with a smile, falling into step beside him as the two of you exited the gym. The cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, and the distant hum of the town’s nightlife filled the space between your playful banter.

As you walked, you found your mind wandering back to the camping trip, thoughts of the logistics and details creeping back in. “I just hope everything goes smoothly,” you muttered aloud, almost to yourself. “What if someone doesn’t like the activities, or—oh, no, I didn’t ask about food allergies! What if someone’s allergic to the marshmallows or the hot dogs?”

Hanamichi gave you a sidelong glance, noticing the shift in your tone from excitement to concern. He shook his head in mock frustration. “You’re overthinking it again. It’s just camping, not a battle plan. Besides, if anything goes wrong, I’ll take care of it. I am a genius, after all.”

You let out a laugh, his confidence impossible to ignore. “Yeah, because when it comes to problem-solving, I’m sure ‘Hanamichi Sakuragi: the genuis’ is exactly the kind of help we’ll need.”

Without missing a beat, Hanamichi puffed up his chest, striking a mock-heroic pose. “Of course! Nya-hahahaha!” His voice boomed with exaggerated bravado, making you giggle.

“Sure you will,” you replied with a playful eye roll, though your smile never left your face.

Despite his usual loud and overconfident manner, there was a sense of comfort that came with having Hanamichi around. He had been by your side for years, your childhood friend who always made sure to walk you home—even if he made a show of it. And while he talked big, you knew he meant it when he said he’d always look out for you.

As the two of you walked in companionable silence, the streetlights casting soft glows along the sidewalk, Hanamichi suddenly spoke up again, his tone less playful this time. “You’re always putting everyone else first, you know. Like with this camping trip—you’re making sure everything’s perfect for us. But don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

You blinked, taken aback by his unexpected sincerity. “Since when did you get all wise on me?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, but his words had hit home.

Hanamichi shrugged, glancing away as if embarrassed by the sentiment. “I’m always wise,” he said, though the usual bravado was missing from his voice. “Just… don’t overwork yourself, alright? We’ll all have a good time no matter what.”

The warmth in your chest grew, touched by his words. “Thanks, Hanamichi. I guess I needed to hear that.”

“Of course! I’m a genius at everything, including pep talks,” he declared, back to his usual over-the-top self. “Just leave it to me. And no more worrying about it, got it?”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, grateful for the way he always seemed to know when you needed a little reassurance, even if he disguised it with humor. “Got it,” you replied softly.

As you reached your doorstep, Hanamichi stopped and gave you a small, sincere smile. “Alright, see you tomorrow! And remember—if a bear shows up, just call me. I’ll handle it.”

“Goodnight, bear wrestler,” you joked, waving him off.

With a final thumbs-up, Hanamichi turned and walked off into the night, leaving you with a lighter heart and the comforting knowledge that you weren’t alone in organizing this trip. Even if he was always a little dramatic, Hanamichi’s loyalty and friendship had always been unwavering.

The late afternoon sun bathed the street market in a warm, golden glow as the three of you continued your search for the last few items on your list. You were absorbed in picking out sunscreen and other camping essentials, humming quietly to yourself as you compared brands. Hanamichi and Ryota, on the other hand, had found themselves falling behind, distracted by the various street vendors and the usual chaos around them.

Hanamichi, ever the loud one, was grabbing random things from stalls and examining them with exaggerated curiosity. “What do you think of this hat?” he asked, plopping a wide-brimmed sunhat on Ryota’s head. “Too much?”

Ryota rolled his eyes, pulling the hat off. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the look I’m going for.”

You glanced back, smiling at their antics. “Guys, focus! We still need to find a few more things for the trip.”

But even as you busied yourself with the task, Ryota’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at stalls, his eyes catching on various trinkets and gifts, trying to think of the perfect thing to get you. Something that showed how much he cared, something that was personal.

As they walked on, Hanamichi noticed Ryota’s distracted expression and smirked. “Oi, Ryo-chin, what’s with the face? You look like you’re trying to solve a mystery or something.”

Ryota blinked, snapping back to reality. “What? Oh, nothing, just… thinking.”

Hanamichi raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a knowing smile. “You’re thinking about getting something for [Name], aren’t you?”

Ryota rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. Just something small, you know? Something that’d mean something to her.”

Hanamichi’s smirk softened into a more serious expression as they walked. For all his bravado and loud personality, when it came to you, Hanamichi knew a lot more than he let on. After all, you were his childhood friend—someone he had known for years, someone he cared about deeply, even if he didn’t always show it.

“I get it,” Hanamichi said, glancing over at you as you sifted through a stall. “She’s always been the type to put everyone else first, y’know? When we were kids, she’d give up her snacks if someone didn’t have any, or spend hours helping with homework even when she had her own to do. She’s always thinking about others, making sure they’re okay.”

Ryota listened intently, surprised at how sincere Hanamichi sounded. “Yeah… I’ve noticed that about her.”

“And,” Hanamichi continued, his voice dropping slightly, “her faith’s a big part of that. She doesn’t talk about it all the time, but it’s there. It’s why she’s always looking out for people, why she worries about things like whether everyone’s comfortable, if we’re all taken care of. It’s just how she is.”

Ryota blinked, taking that in. “Her faith, huh?”

Hanamichi nodded. “She’s a Christian. It’s not something she pushes on people, but it’s important to her. When things got tough, like when her mom was sick a while back, her faith was what got her through it. I mean, she didn’t say it outright, but you could tell. She’d go to church, pray… It helps her stay grounded, I think.”

Ryota’s gaze flickered toward you as you chatted with a vendor, unaware of the conversation happening behind you. “I didn’t realize it was that big a part of her life.”

“Well, now you do,” Hanamichi said, his tone more serious than usual. “So, if you’re thinking of getting her something, maybe keep that in mind.”

Just then, Ryota’s eyes landed on a small stall displaying Christian jewelry—a collection of crosses, pendants, and simple charms. Something clicked in his mind as he spotted a delicate silver cross, its design simple but elegant. It was perfect.

Before Ryota could respond, though, they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Sakuragi’s gang. Yohei, Ookusu, and Noma approached with their usual casual swagger, carrying bags of their own. Yohei raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Hanamichi! Ryota! Looks like you’re stocking up for the trip, too.”

Ryota smiled and nodded. “Yeah, just getting some last-minute stuff.”

Yohei glanced between the two of them, then at you, still distracted with your shopping. He leaned in closer to Hanamichi, smirking. “So, what’s this about Ryota trying to impress [Name]?”

Hanamichi, of course, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease. “Ryo-chin here is trying to find the perfect gift, something that’ll sweep [Name] off her feet. But he’s a little nervous.”

Ryota’s face flushed as he elbowed Hanamichi. “Shut up! I’m just… trying to get her something thoughtful.”

Yohei chuckled. “Sounds like someone’s got it bad.”

“Don’t worry,” Hanamichi added, “I’m sure she’ll love whatever you get her. Just don’t overthink it.”

As the group laughed and joked around, Ryota slipped away for a moment, returning to the jewelry stall. He bought the silver cross and the small leather-bound notebook, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he tucked them into his bag. They were simple gifts, but they carried meaning—something personal, something that connected to her faith, her love for others, and the way she always put everyone before herself.

When he returned to the group, you were finally finished with your shopping. You smiled at everyone, your arms full of bags. “Thanks for waiting, guys. I think we’ve got everything we need now.”

Hanamichi grinned. “You bet! And I made sure Ryo-chin didn’t buy anything too ridiculous.”

You laughed, not noticing the way Ryota’s gaze lingered on you for just a second longer. His heart raced, but he managed to keep his cool. He’d give you the gifts later, when the moment was right. For now, he joined in the banter, keeping things light and easy, but knowing deep down that the trip would be the perfect chance to show you how much he cared.

The day had finally arrived. Similar to the nergy that you were giving, the sun was bright and warm, casting golden hues over the camping site. As you stood in the middle of the grassy clearing, taking in the calm before the chaos. The supplies neatly organized, and everything you had spent the past few days preparing was in place—food, sunscreen, even a first-aid kit, just in case.

You took a deep breath, feeling the slight tinge of excitement and nervousness dancing in your chest. Everything was ready—the only thing missing now was the team, Sakuragi’s gang, and your friends.

And there you could hear the faint sound of voices and laughs echoing. Moments later, the familiar figures of your friends emerged from the trees, with Haruko and Hanamichi in the lead both were conversing - he looks giddy, you thought with a small smile.

Until his eyes fell on you, "Hey, [Name]!” Hanamichi’s voice boomed across the field as he waved, already hyped up. “The genius has arrived! I hope you’re ready for the best camping trip of your life!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his energy, waving back. Behind him, Yohei and the rest of his gang followed, along with Ryota, Ayako, and the rest of the Shohoku team. Everyone seemed in high spirits, their excitement contagious.

“Hello everyone!” you called out, stepping forward to greet them. “I’m so glad you all made it! You’ll see camping isn’t as boring as people make it look! My family’s camping site is the best! We have everything—a beautiful lake, hiking trails, and my dad always has the best stories to tell around the campfire!”

You felt your excitement bubbling over as you continued, “I mean, we have great food! My dad makes the best hot dogs and s'mores, and the scenery is amazing! It’s the perfect place to unwind and just enjoy nature. You’ll see—there’s no way this is going to be boring! I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a weekend camping with the best team ever? It’s going to be epic!”

As you rambled on, you noticed the team exchanging amused glances, a few sweat drops forming as they struggled to keep straight faces. Ayako stepped forward, her smile wide and playful. “Okay, okay, we get it! Your dad is amazing, and the food will be great. Just promise us you won’t keep talking about it all weekend, alright?”

You cleared your throat before apologizing.

Hanamichi crossed his arms, feigning annoyance. “Honestly, you sound like you’re trying to sell us on this camping trip! I get it; your dad’s great, but don’t make us feel bad about our own camping skills!”

Ryota, who had been leaning against a tree, watched you with a soft smile that spoke volumes. “I could listen to you ramble about your family’s camping site all day, [Name].” His voice was sincere, his brown eyes sparkling as they met yours. “It’s really great to see how passionate you are about this.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks, Ryota! I just want everyone to enjoy themselves.”

He nodded earnestly, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “It really shows how much you care about everyone having a good time.”

You tilted your head, puzzled. “Uh, thanks? But, I mean, isn’t that what friends do?”

“Of course!” he replied, but his tone was slightly more eager, causing Hanamichi to smirk and glance at him knowingly.

“Looks like someone’s a bit lovestruck,” Hanamichi teased, crossing his arms with a grin.

You were oblivious to the undercurrent of teasing. “So, are we going to set up the tents or what?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“Right!” Ayako chimed in, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get started! The sooner we set up, the sooner we can enjoy the rest of the day!”

As the team began to move towards the area designated for the tents, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that Ryota was acting a bit different, but you shrugged it off and focused on the excitement of the camping trip ahead.

As the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the campsite, you could feel the excitement bubbling in the air. "Alright, everyone! For our first activity, we’re going to set up the tents!” you announced, your voice ringing out above the chatter of your friends. The team gathered around, their faces lighting up with anticipation. “But here’s the twist! We’re going to see who can set theirs up the fastest! The winners get first dibs on the food tonight!”

The response was immediate—a chorus of enthusiastic cheers erupted from the team, filling the clearing with a sense of camaraderie and competition. Hanamichi, ever the dramatist, puffed out his chest, eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ll show you all how it’s done! No one can beat the great Sakuragi!” He struck a pose, hands on his hips, and a wide grin plastered across his face. Laughter followed, light and infectious, as the rest of the team playfully rolled their eyes.

“Just try not to trip over the tent poles this time, okay?” you teased, recalling past camping mishaps where Hanamichi’s enthusiasm had led to comical disasters. He huffed in response, his pride wounded but only momentarily.

Your father stepped forward, arms crossed with a knowing smile, clearly enjoying the banter. “So, who’s going to lead this expedition into the wilderness?” he asked, his tone teasing as he directed his gaze at Hanamichi, who stood with exaggerated confidence.

“Me!” Hanamichi shouted, puffing out his chest further as he embraced the moment. “I’m a camping genius!”

Your father raised an eyebrow, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “A genius, huh? Last I checked, you almost set our tent on fire during that camping trip when you were younger. What was it you said? ‘I can make fire like a pro’?” His laughter was contagious, and soon the entire team joined in, memories of Hanamichi’s previous escapades bringing about a flood of fond chuckles.

Hanamichi’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of red, indignation clear in his voice. “Hey! That was one time! And I still managed to help with the marshmallows!” He crossed his arms, trying to appear tough despite the laughter directed at him.

As the team began sorting out their tent supplies, you noticed Ryota standing a little off to the side, brow furrowed in concentration as he prepared his gear. He looked so determined, and you found it kind of cute. Before you could dwell on it, your father leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s nice to see everyone so excited, especially Ryota. He seems to be quite taken with you,” he said, glancing knowingly in Ryota’s direction.

You blinked in surprise, turning to follow your father’s gaze. Ryota was deep in conversation with Mitsui, laughter ringing out as they joked about the competition ahead. You shrugged off your father’s comment, genuinely oblivious to any underlying feelings. “What do you mean? We’re just friends!” you replied, waving your hand dismissively.

Your father chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Sure, if you say so,” he replied, but the glint in his eye indicated that he wasn’t convinced. “Just keep an eye on him. You never know when a boy might start taking a special interest in his childhood friend.”

You shook your head, still not quite understanding. “We’re all just here to have fun camping together!” With that, you clapped your hands together, rallying the group’s focus. “Okay, everyone! Let’s get those tents set up!”

With a rallying cry, the teams scattered, each group diving into their supplies with enthusiasm. You joined your friends, the sound of laughter and chatter swirling around you like a warm blanket. Hanamichi immediately grabbed a pile of tent poles, launching himself into the project with reckless abandon, while Ryota moved methodically, glancing around to ensure everything was going smoothly.

Your father watched the scene unfold with amusement, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like some are better at basketball than camping,” he joked, shaking his head. You could feel a wave of warmth at his support and encouragement, even amidst the light-hearted teasing.

As you positioned your tent, your eyes drifted toward Ryota. He was deep in conversation with Mitsui, animatedly discussing strategies for setting up their tent. You felt a flutter of admiration at the way he commanded the attention of his teammates, but it was a simple appreciation. The thought that he might have deeper feelings for you didn’t cross your mind.

“Alright, everyone! Time to see who can get their tent up the fastest! And remember, there are prizes at stake!” your father called out, igniting a spark of competitiveness among the group. Cheers erupted from the team, ready to tackle the challenge.

With your team in high spirits, you felt a sense of pride swell within you—not just for the tents that would stand tall by the end of the day, but for the bonds being strengthened in this beautiful outdoor setting. The laughter, the camaraderie, and the warmth of shared moments filled you with happiness.

As the tents began to take shape, you couldn’t help but smile at the chaotic yet joyful scene before you. This camping trip was going to be unforgettable, and you were determined to make the most of every moment.

The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor as you stood at the center of the campsite, ready to kick off the next activity. The group had just finished setting up their tents, and the excitement in the air was palpable. You gathered everyone around, heart racing a little as you prepared to explain the rules of the scavenger hunt organized by your father.

“Okay, everyone!” you called out, waving your hands to get everyone’s attention. “We’re about to start the scavenger hunt! My dad is leading this one, and he has set up a great list of items for you to find. This will be a fun way to explore the area and work together!”

As you looked around, you spotted Kogure, Haruko, Ryota, and Yohei in your group. Their eager expressions reassured you that the day was shaping up to be a blast. “The rules are simple. Each group will have to find a series of items from the list my dad created. The first group to find everything wins!”

Just then, your father appeared, holding a clipboard and sporting a grin that radiated excitement. “Remember, teamwork is key! Make sure to stay together and watch out for one another. There’s a little prize for the winning group, so I expect you all to give it your best!”

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at your dad’s enthusiasm. He glanced at you and winked, and you felt warmth spreading through your chest. But then he added, teasingly, “And no slacking off, Ryota! I know how you like to zone out when [Name] is around!”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, glancing quickly at Ryota, who looked a bit sheepish but was clearly amused. He caught your eye, and you both exchanged a brief, nervous smile. For a moment, the atmosphere felt charged, but you shook your head to clear your thoughts, determined to stay focused.

“Alright, let’s get started!” you said, trying to bring the energy back up. “Kogure, Haruko, you two can help keep us organized! Ready, set, go!”

With a whoop, the group burst into motion. As you led the way, you began to feel a mix of excitement and nerves. Your father’s teasing comment lingered in your mind, making you acutely aware of Ryota walking beside you. You tried to shake off the feeling, focusing instead on the scavenger hunt.

“Okay, our first items are a red leaf and a smooth stone,” you announced, glancing at your list. “Let’s head toward that cluster of trees over there!”

As you navigated through the underbrush, you could feel Ryota’s presence next to you, and it both comforted and flustered you. He seemed to be scanning the ground intently, clearly focused on finding the items. You couldn’t help but admire his determination, which only heightened the butterflies in your stomach.

“Look! There’s a red leaf!” you exclaimed, pointing toward a particularly vibrant one hanging from a low branch.

“Nice spot!” Ryota replied, smiling as you both rushed over. Just as you reached for the leaf, your fingers brushed against his, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You quickly withdrew your hand, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

You focused on the scavenger hunt to distract yourself, but it wasn’t easy. As you gathered the leaf, your father’s earlier comment echoed in your mind. Ryota was genuinely trying to help, but you found yourself feeling increasingly awkward around him.

As the group continued to search for items, you caught Haruko and Kogure gathering a few items in the distance. You felt proud of your team, but your mind kept drifting back to Ryota, who was trying to help you with the scavenger hunt. He noticed your distracted behavior and gently nudged your arm.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” you replied too quickly, forcing a bright smile. You could feel your cheeks warming, but you tried to brush it off. “Just thinking about what we need to find next.”

Ryota looked at you with a knowing expression. “You sure? You seem a little… lost in thought.”

“Oh! Um, well, it’s just that we need to find a smooth stone now, and—” Your voice trailed off as you searched for something to say to divert the conversation from your swirling thoughts.

Before you could say more, Kogure’s voice broke through the moment. “Hey! Look what we found!” He waved a bright green feather, and Haruko held up an oddly shaped rock, both of them beaming with pride.

“That’s awesome!” you cheered, momentarily forgetting your awkwardness. “We’re still on the lookout for our red leaf and smooth stone!”

“Don’t worry; we’ll catch up!” Haruko said, playfully nudging Kogure, who was puffing up with pride.

As the scavenger hunt continued, you found the smooth stone and rushed back to join your teammates. The chatter and laughter around you felt comforting, but every now and then, you caught Ryota stealing glances your way. It made you self-conscious and yet inexplicably thrilled.

Finally, when the time was called, everyone regrouped, and your father tallied up the findings. “Looks like Team [Name] is the winner!” he announced with a grin, holding up a small prize bag filled with goodies.

You cheered with your group, feeling a swell of pride. But your thoughts drifted as you looked at Ryota, who was beaming at your success. The moment felt meaningful, and you couldn’t help but wonder what his smile meant.

“Alright, let’s celebrate with some lunch!” your father said, clapping his hands together. “You’ve all earned a good meal!”

With everyone buzzing with excitement, you took a moment to reflect on the scavenger hunt. You felt grateful for the friendships you had nurtured over the years and the memories you were creating, even as the stirring feelings for Ryota lingered in the back of your mind.

Lunch felt like the perfect reward after the excitement of the scavenger hunt, and as everyone gathered around, the spread was unmistakably traditional. Haruko and Yohei unpacked a variety of beautifully arranged dishes: onigiri stuffed with different fillings, tamago-yaki (sweet rolled omelet), grilled fish, and fresh vegetables. There were even a few containers of miso soup kept warm in thermos flasks. The familiar aroma of soy sauce, sesame, and seaweed filled the air, blending seamlessly with the natural scent of the forest.

Everyone sat down on picnic mats, chatting about the hunt and comparing the items they'd found. The conversation was light and cheerful, but you couldn’t help but glance over at Ryota every now and then, feeling a new tension you hadn’t noticed before.

After everyone had their fill of food, your father announced, “Alright, who’s ready for some fun by the lake? We’ve got kayaks, and those of you who just want to swim or relax by the water can do that too. It’s a bit of a hike, but nothing too tough after that meal!”

The group’s excitement reignited at the mention of the lake, and you all packed up quickly. The walk to the lake was filled with more laughter and friendly chatter, the path lined with mossy stones and towering trees. Ryota stuck close to you, but this time, you found yourself less anxious about it. His presence had become both familiar and comforting, and the awkwardness from earlier seemed to fade into something more intriguing.

When you arrived at the lake, the sight took your breath away. The water was a calm, deep blue, reflecting the sky and surrounded by thick trees. A few kayaks rested on the shore, while a wooden dock jutted out into the lake, perfect for those who wanted to dive in for a swim. The air here was cooler, the breeze carrying a refreshing hint of water.

Some of your friends immediately headed toward the kayaks. Haruko and Kogure paired up, already debating who would paddle faster, while Yohei stripped off his shirt and dove into the water with a triumphant splash. The scene was peaceful but lively, and you found yourself drawn to the calmness of the lake.

Ryota wandered over to the edge of the dock, motioning for you to join him. "Want to sit for a bit before jumping in?"

You nodded, walking over and sitting beside him, your legs dangling over the edge, just above the water. The two of you watched your friends in comfortable silence for a while—Haruko and Kogure laughing as they struggled to synchronize their paddling, Yohei floating lazily on his back, and your father enjoying the sight of everyone having a good time from the shore.

Eventually, Ryota broke the silence. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said, leaning back on his hands as he glanced your way. “Your dad mentioned your faith a couple of times. You’re a Christian, right?”

His question caught you off guard, but you nodded, curious about where this was going. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been a Christian for as long as I can remember. Why do you ask?”

Ryota hesitated for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I’ve always been kind of interested in that. It’s different from how I grew up, you know? And I guess… I’m curious about how it works. Especially when it comes to things like relationships.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a mixture of surprise and nervousness. “Relationships?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to phrase his thoughts. “Yeah. I mean, I know in some faiths, there’s a certain way people are supposed to approach relationships, right? Like, with certain values or… expectations? I don’t know, I’m probably not explaining it well.”

You smiled, touched by his interest. “No, you’re making sense. In Christianity, there are definitely values that guide relationships. Things like love, respect, and faithfulness are really important. And, well, being honest about your intentions with someone. I think the idea is that relationships are meant to reflect how God loves us—selflessly and with a purpose.”

Ryota nodded slowly, his gaze drifting out over the water. “That sounds… really different from what I’m used to hearing. My parents never really talked about relationships in that way. They were always more focused on other things, like school or work. But I think there’s something nice about the idea of being with someone for a reason, like it’s not just random.”

Your heartbeat a little faster as you considered his words. Was he just curious, or was there something more behind his questions? You could still hear your father’s teasing voice from earlier in the day, and now, it seemed to echo more loudly in your mind.

“I think it makes relationships deeper,” you said softly. “When you believe there’s a purpose behind them, it changes how you see the person you’re with. It’s not just about how you feel in the moment; it’s about something lasting.”

Ryota glanced at you, and for a moment, you felt as though he was seeing you differently. The look in his eyes was more thoughtful, like he was really taking in what you were saying. He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “That’s… pretty cool. I didn’t know you thought about things like that.”

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. “I think about it a lot,” you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. “Especially when it comes to people who are important to me.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of the water lapping against the dock and the distant laughter of your friends filling the silence. You felt that same charged atmosphere from earlier, but this time, it felt less awkward and more like… potential. Something was shifting between the two of you, and you weren’t sure if you should be excited or scared.

Ryota leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter now. “So, do you think... that’s something you’d want? A relationship like that?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he asking about your general beliefs, or was this more personal? You weren’t sure, but as you met his gaze, you realized something had changed. Maybe your father had been right, and maybe, just maybe, Ryota was seeing you in a new light.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, feeling your pulse quicken. “I think I would.”

Just then, Hanamichi called out, breaking the moment. “Hey, you two! Are you coming in, or are you just going to sit there all day?”

Ryota chuckled, shaking his head, and you both stood up. “Let’s join them,” he suggested, his expression brightening. As you walked together to the water, you felt a new sense of connection between you, something that promised to grow deeper with time.

Once you reached the shoreline, you all split into teams for some fun activities in the water. Hanamichi and Mitsui set up a light-hearted relay race involving swimming and kayaking, while the rest of the group gathered in the shallow end to play games. As you teamed up with Ryota, you felt a giddy rush of anticipation and nerves mingling together.

Ryota grinned, and you noticed how he looked at you with a newfound spark. “Ready to get wet?” he challenged playfully, splashing water in your direction.

With laughter spilling out, you splashed him back, the both of you fully immersing yourselves in the cheerful chaos. As the laughter and shouts surrounded you, you felt lighter and freer than ever, and the connection with Ryota grew stronger.

As the sun began its slow descent, casting a golden glow over the lake, the group gathered on the shore, preparing for their final activity of the day. Your father had planned a simple, laid-back session—painting on small wooden plaques, each person getting the chance to reflect on the day and create something meaningful to take home. The atmosphere was calm, the earlier excitement of the scavenger hunt and lake fading into a quiet sense of contentment.

The group settled on blankets near the water, the wooden plaques and paintbrushes laid out in front of you. Haruko was already chatting with Kogure about what she wanted to paint, while Yohei, never one to miss a chance to make a joke, was talking about painting a self-portrait “so everyone can remember his greatness.” Laughter rippled through the group, but as you glanced over at Ryota, you noticed he was quieter than usual, focused on something in his hands.

After a while, everyone got lost in their own creations, and the conversations became softer, more reflective. You dipped your brush into the paint, unsure of what to create but enjoying the calmness of the moment. The day had been perfect in its own way, but there was still something lingering in the back of your mind—Ryota’s earlier questions about relationships and Christianity. The memory of his thoughtful expression stayed with you, making your heart race whenever you looked in his direction.

As you worked on your painting, Ryota stood up and wandered over to you. “Hey,” he said quietly, his voice a little nervous but gentle. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Surprised, but curious, you nodded and stood up, leaving your half-finished plaque behind. He led you a little farther down the shore, away from the rest of the group, to a quiet spot near a cluster of trees. The soft breeze from the lake carried the faint sounds of your friends’ chatter, but in this moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Ryota took a deep breath, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he seemed to gather his thoughts. After a long pause, he pulled something from his pocket—a small cross necklace, simple but beautiful, glinting in the fading sunlight. He held it out to you, his hand steady even though you could tell he was nervous.

“I wanted to give this to you,” he said, his voice soft. “I know how much your faith means to you, and… I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. About how relationships are supposed to be about love, respect, and purpose. I don’t know if I fully understand everything yet, but I’ve been learning more—about you, your beliefs, and what really matters to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he continued, the weight of his words sinking in. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small notebook, its cover worn but neatly kept, and handed it to you. “I’ve been writing in this for a while now, just thoughts and questions about everything—about life, and faith, and you. I want to understand, and I want to do things the right way. So… I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

Ryota paused, his gaze steady but full of emotion. “I like you, [Name]. A lot. And I want to be with you, but I also want to respect what’s important to you—your faith, your values. I don’t want to rush into anything if it’s not the right way to do it. I’d rather get to know you better, in a way that honors what you believe.”

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words. The sincerity in his voice, the way he had thought about this so deeply, touched you more than you could have imagined. Your father’s earlier teasing seemed to have been more than just playful—Ryota had clearly been thinking about you in a different way for some time, and now he was standing here, offering you something real and honest.

Your heart raced, but you felt a deep sense of peace. “Ryota,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “I really appreciate this. It means a lot that you took the time to understand what’s important to me. I like you too, but I think… I’d like to take things slow. To get to know you more, the way my faith teaches me to. It’s not about rushing into a relationship—it’s about building something with intention, with respect.”

Ryota nodded, a warm, relieved smile spreading across his face. “I’m okay with that,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “I want to do this the right way, with you.”

In that moment, everything felt right. You reached out to take the cross necklace from him, your fingers brushing against his hand as you did. The simple gesture felt meaningful, like a quiet promise between the two of you. Ryota gently helped clasp it around your neck, and as his hands lingered near your shoulders, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The gesture was sweet, respectful, and full of unspoken emotion. It wasn’t rushed or filled with the urgency of new relationships—it was thoughtful, careful, the beginning of something deeper.

As you stood there by the lake, the warmth of the necklace resting against your chest, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. Not just for Ryota’s confession, but for his willingness to respect your values, to take the time to do things the right way. And for the first time, you felt that the possibility of something meaningful with him wasn’t just a distant hope—it was something real, something you could both build together.

You glanced up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying more meaning than you could express.

Ryota smiled back, and in the quiet moment that followed, everything felt perfect. The future was uncertain, but for now, you both knew that you were beginning something special—something worth waiting for.

As you shared that look of understanding, the gentle waves lapping at the shore felt like the perfect soundtrack to your budding relationship. Hanamichi and Ayako exchanged glances, clearly thrilled by what they’d witnessed. With soft whispers and playful nudges, they continued to cheer each other on, completely happy for their friends navigating the thrilling waters of newfound affection.

winnie's talk: so if it seems rushed it is bc tumblr did not saved at some point and i got fed up - anyways please reablog, comment & like !

#anime fanfic #slam dunk x reader #slam dunk fanfic #slam dunk fic #sakuragi hanamichi #ryota miyagi #mitsui hisashi #akagi takenori #ryota miyagi x reader #fluff #fanfic writing #jujutsu kaisen #anime x reader #rukawa kaede #christianity #christian values

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cleolinda · 1 year ago

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Creepypasta: Ted the Caver (2001)

youtube

There was a season of Are You Scared? that presented some actual famous creepypasta (pasta? pastas?), and I was so giddy about it. I love creepypasta and Weird Internet Fiction, and I recognized all the famous ones right off the bat; the moment there was a season preview and a cave was mentioned, I KNEW. So the episode with "Ted the Caver" instantly became one of my favorites ("GET IN THE FUCKING CAVE, TEDDY!!"). But it also kills me that the show presents the final installment as if it's the whole story: just one spooked, caveless guy wandering around meebling about his spelunking obsession. Buddy, there is SO MUCH caving in the full version, you don't even know. There is NONE MORE CAVING:

[Note: The original Angelfire site still works, but while I was researching this, I started running into malware. As such, I'm going to also link you to an unofficial mirror of the site at a creepypasta wiki.]

But I get it: there's no way to read the entire story aloud for a half-hour show. It was originally published as an unassuming hobbyist blog in 2001, and "Ted the Caver" is partly so effective because it is genuinely just an amateur caving blog for about 10,000 words. My understanding is that the author really is a caving enthusiast—I mean, he'd have to be, because the story is filled with actual photos of him and a friend chipping their way through a hole the size of a baseball into a cave they dub "Floyd's Tomb." So this was a real expedition... that the author wrote a delightful little spoop around.

Honestly, the real horror for me isn't even the Descent-style Something that seems to be living down there; it's the genuine terror of these fools squeezing themselves through eight-inch openings into the bowels of the earth, God bless. You can tell the mundane aspects are absolutely true to life, because the squeezing and the scraping and the panic—I'll just stop there, in case anyone has any phobias, claustro or otherwise. If I didn't before, I do now.

But it also has to be noted, "real horror" is what "Ted the Caver" is all about: the horror of a story backed up by reams of accurate detail and told through a really, really basic-ass Angelfire website. (I say this lovingly, as someone who had a shitty Geocities site herself.) It truly looks like it's just someone's blog—because that's mostly what it really is. Who wrote it? Well, an actual guy named Ted:

Well, I guess it’s time I add my two cents to the topic. My name is Ted and I am the author of the story you have been discussing. I am the original author. I created the story on my own and copied no one

...he wrote, in response to a plagiarism accusation (turns out the other guy copied him, and closely at that).

Between December 30, 1999 and February 24, 2000 Brad and I worked on a passage in Freeway cave. We made numerous trips, and spent many hours of hard work, before we were finally able to get through the opening and into the new section of cave. During the course of our adventure I kept a caving journal and documented our activities surrounding our attempts to be the first people to enter the new passage. Since we were giving friends and family members updates as we worked, I thought it would be a good idea to put my entire journal on a web page, along with our pictures, then we could simply refer people to the site. The thought then occurred to me: It sure would be fun to embellish the story a little!

Ted hasn't given his full name, but he is an actual Ted, it seems. And honestly, as much as I would like him to be credited as openly as Eric Heisserer is for "The Dionaea House," it really works in the story's favor that it's so difficult to figure out who wrote it. Not to spoil you, but the story told by the blog, much to Shane and Ryan's frustration in the video above, ends in a single puff of irony:

See all of you soon, with a lot of answers! Love, Ted

Magnificent. Because, let's face it: if a cave monster really did eat trap and eat your friend, isn't this what it would look like? No silly explanation for how a video camera somehow made it back to his friends and family from, like, the center of the fucking earth through a hole the size of a cantaloupe. No, your man there is just gone. And he's given enough detail in previous entries for you to imagine that what he finally came face to face with down there is Not Good. That's enough.

#creepypasta #internet fiction #first look on patreon #claustrophobia #spooky season #halloween everyday #watcher #are you scared #video #long post

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skxllz · 1 year ago

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(shhhhh I'm testing out a new fandom. this is just experimental. PS- let me know what I can do to better improve my writing for him.)

john shelby x fem! american! reader: to touch you, is to feel gold amongst my finger tips

“ shh- keep yer’ fuckin’ mouth shut, would’ya? ”

you giggled in a hushed manner while stumbling down the cobblestone path to the shelby manner. it was late- around one in the morning when you two set out of the car and down the road to the house, freshly smelling of alcohol and john's cigars from celebrating all night. it was your birthday, just having turned twenty three. given it was six months down the line that you and the shelby man had been eloped in an arrangement of sorts... john figured it'd be a good idea to wed you into his ideal web of fun. drinking, dancing the night away, possibly snorting some forbidden snow and better yet- causing a wee bit of trouble.

see, you were only eight months into pearling around birmingham. when you first arrived, you were seen as nothing more than an innocent, bobolyne (1) of a gal. wearing long, flowy skirts and cute tops sewn with what seemed to be faux pearls and jewels; smiling so kindly to whoever passed by you; having the jolliest of pep in your step over the smallest things. It was sickening to a lot of the folks, given their little quarry of a town was so used to being dreary and filled with... well, people who weren't like you.

that seemed to be a temporary stain on your name for a month – before polly gray, the shelby brothers’ aunt, caught site of you at the cheltenham races speaking brashly to an older man who just wouldn't keep his mits off of you. you backhanded him and kneed him in a very particular area, earning not only interest from the woman, but the utmost respect for not letting yourself to be whored out.

she unintentionally met your father, who spoke rather highly of you. the two mingled, she found out you were in need of a suitor, and the rest is history up until this point.

because of being wedged into the shelby family and in the protection of them, the town's people no longer looked at you funny. If they did, john would have his way them – as would his brother, arthur, since he took a liking to you.

“ m’not doing anything! ” you lightly hissed, trying to keep yourself upright in the green wedges you wore. there was barely any height given to you, yet the heal was just not agreeing with your drunken state, leaving you to almost fall more than once.

john made a face of agitation, clicking his tongue. “ y/n; you're ready to fall on your bloody face, for fuck's sake. ” he yet again tried to take ahold of your wobbly body, going in for your arm which had stretched out so you could balance yourself, but you once again shooed him away. even though it's been a short amount of time, john's come to realize you were not like any woman he's met; you were a stubborn broad. he admired that, though. surprisingly..

“ you know what? ” john muttered to himself, before he spat the toothpick he had between his lips to the ground- only to bend at the knees to scoop you into his arms. the sudden weight of his bicep under the backs of your knees ripped a gasp from you, making you react on instinct to wrap your arms around his neck.

“ john! ” you looked at him with half lidded, sleepy eyes and whined. “ put me down! I can walk on my own. ”

he paid no attention to you, choosing to look ahead with his lips drawn together in a flat line. he scoffed once he heard what you said, trying not to roll his eyes. “ right- ‘cause you could certainly make it up the walk way without runnin’ into the wall and bustin’ yer’ arse. I believe you, sweetheart. ”

you were too out of it to notice his attitude, but you did pick up on the slight sarcasm. “ shut up... ” you huffed, glaring at him; arm lifting to lazily smack him. he immediately looked down at you after that. “ you're just mea- ”

“ say I'm mean, love, and I'll show ya’ how actually mean a shelby can be. ” john interrupted before you could even finish your thought. “ if anythin’, I believe I've treated you quite fairly. had it been anyone else, you'd be kickin’ an’ screamin’ right now. ”

turning his attention forwards again, he took your silence as a good thing - for now, anyway. “ now – be a good girl and hush yer’ mouth, yeah? don't need t’be wakin’ the whole house with yer’ loud gob. ”

It wasn't until john heard a rather small sniffle, barely audible, moments later did he stop in his tracks. he looked down, only to see you looking away from him with teary eyes and a quivering lip. you were not an emotional person, but getting drunk always toyed with your brain to where you'd get easily offended. so in a way, you were an emotional drunk. It could be quite annoying on your end, because even though you got upset over little things, you didnt want to - which only made you more upset. and being more upset, made you even more upset. the cycle just kept going which would eventually lead you to balling your eyes out.

fortunately for john, he wasn't oblivious to this act within a drunken state. when ada was younger and first started her fair share of booze, she'd get emotional as well, leaving her brothers to coddle her in someway because any chap that even tried to sweep her away, arthur and thomas would see to it.

with a sigh, john pondered in his head on how to approach this situation with ease without accidentally hurting you more. he could have quite the temper at times - as well as say things a bit harsher than meaning to, and it could break the dam that was barely holding your tears upright. that is something he didn't need nor want to happen. everyone in the house would awake from the fuss, and he'd be left to feeling like an asshole for making his future bride, cry.

“ sweetheart... ” carefully, he set you down - but immediately you stumbled from not being fast enough to catch the door. due to this, john quickly fastened an arm around her waist as he stood - thankfully, it cracked a small smile from him. “ careful. don't need you breakin’ somethin’. ”

you had looked at him, chin downcasted just a bit, making your eyes seem larger and doe-eyed. lip stuck in a jutted pout with the tiniest line of mascara running down your cheek, you appeared to look like a little kid planning on getting payback; just, with the way you looked, so devilish yet cute.

it pulled on John's heart strings.

“ don't look at me like that... ” he mumbled, lifting his free hand to caress your cheek into a gentle cradle of his palm. “ ya’ know I fuckin’ hate it when you give me those eyes. I can't resist ‘em. ”

(I'm stopping here. this was only an experimental piece. I did plan on finishing it, but for now I'd just like opinions on this.)

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #john shelby x reader #john shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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l3viat8an · 2 years ago

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For Asmo eh? Then may I please ask for a scenario? Mc surprises Asmo for a spa date but it ends in sex please

@crazyyanderefangirlfan

Nsfw content MDNI

Giggling like a fool writing this one~! it might not be perfect but I had fun with it! Thanks for requesting Yan <3 CW: possible typos I’m sorry and dyslexic Fem!Reader, lots of kisses! + an attempt at plot for a change- Pet names and fairly soft sex honestly.

Asmo’s always treating you to the newest spa treatments or taking you to the hottest places in the Devildom! So what better way to celebrate his birthday? and get some alone time!- then to take him out to a little family owned spa you’d found a few days earlier while scrolling through the Devildom equivalent of google.

You’d made reservations to have the whole spa to yourselves and everything!

The morning of his birthday you surprised Asmo with the reservation and after getting a few kisses as thanks ofc~ the two of you drive to the little spa.

Almost immediately making your way to the little on site hot spring~

Asmo’s holding your hand and laughing the whole time, “Sweetie~! This is amazing, come on let’s get in already!” Asmo starts half tugging at your shirt to help you strip and you laugh. “I can undress myself Asmo, how about you get the robes? They should still be in the house.” Asmo nods, giving you one last kiss on the cheek and running back inside.

You sigh happily and look around the little walled yard, stepping back inside for a moment to take off your clothes, you start blushing. Even though you know. Nobody else is here it’s still a bit embarrassing to just strip on the back porch. But you hurry up, setting your clothes in a neat little pile off to the side and then half running to get into the warm water. Just as the water hits your chest, you can hear Asmo’s footsteps then giggling, “Oh, my~ what a view~” he teases as you turn to face him sinking into the water a little more, “Just hurry up and get in.” You half pout, looking up at Asmo (who already changed into his robe inside) “I’m coming~ I know, you just can’t wait to see more of me~” Asmo keeps teasing you as he slides his robe off. Setting in with yours on a nearby rock and walking into the water. Immediately walking over to you and pulling you in for a kiss. “Hehe~ I really can’t thank you enough sweetheart! This is an amazing birthday present.” you laugh and kiss him again “It’s not much. But I’m glad you like it.” Asmo gasps “Not much? Sweetie, I don’t know many people who would rent out a spa for me.” “Any of your fans would.” You counter and Asmo rolls his eyes “But I wouldn’t have fun with them! It’s only special because I’m with you~” Asmo kisses you again, nipping at you bottom lip, before sliding his tongue into your mouth. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.

——————————————————————————

Stepping out of the warm water about an hour later, you use the towel provided and dry off a little bit before slipping into your own fluffy robe.

Asmo gets out behind you, you turn to watch, enjoying the way water runs down his shoulders over his chest and lower~ “You’re staring sweetheart~ although I can hardly blame you!” Asmo giggles walking over to you and dying his hair a bit before slipping on his own robe “So? What’s next?” He smiles at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Next, is a massage! Done by yours truly~” you grin. Grabbing Asmo’s hand, taking him back inside to one of the little side rooms that’s set up like a massage studio.

Entering the room you look around a bit, before tuning back to Asmo and making a ‘ta-da’ motion.

Asmo looks around and his eyes land on the massaging table, he grabs your hand again and walks over, gently setting you one the edge, “Lay down, sweetie~”

His voice is so soft, so sweet, and your already relaxed body melts at the sound of it. But wait! You’re supposed to be treating him and you say so, “But Asmo-“ “No buts! You’ve already spoiled me today! and I promise this is what, I want~ now, lay down.”

You huff out one more protest and Asmo leans forward and kisses you to stop it “Just lay down~” you do as you’re told, slipping out of your fluffy bathrobe and fully laying down on on your front.

You’re completely naked for a minute at most another moment before he drapes a towel across your backside. You wonder why he covers you, considering he’s still as nude as the day he was born. Not that you mind. You just don’t see the point as you turn your head to watch Asmo.

You watch as he pours some rose scented oil into his hands and warms it between his palms, slowly as if he’s putting on a show (ofc he is~) coating his fingers with it. You sigh in anticipation, resting your cheek on your folded arms.

Asmo’s hands are so soft as they begin to work at the knots in your back, feather light touches mixed with hard rubbing to keep you relaxed, his hands feel so warm against your skin as, they work your skin with skill and care.

A sound like a moan, or a whine, slips past your lips as hands roam higher and his thumbs rub firm circles into your shoulders, practically evaporating any tension present in your muscles.

Asmo only just started, and your body already feels like jelly.

“Lucifer’s been working you too hard! If only he could feel these knots he’d be ashamed.” Asmo says working another knot out of your shoulder before, his hands move down your back. “No…..well maybe a bit….” you trail off, before sighing contentedly as Asmo’s hands move lower.

Asmo almost laughs at the way your our argument died in your throat and places a few light kisses down the middle of your spine. “Seriously, your muscles are too tight!” Asmo tries arguing again, and you cut in, “I thought you loved that about me~” you tease and Asmo gasps dramatically “Hey! You know I do~! And that’s not what I meant.”

It’s your turn to gasp as his thumb presses a particularly tender spot and a wanton moan slips past your lips.

His hands smooth over the length of your back, from the nape of your neck, to the very all the way down to the top of the towel, carefully, sweetly, rubbing and caressing your skin ever inch of the way,

Suddenly Asmo stops for a second and squirt a little extra oil on your skin. You squeak out a small protest at the cold oil, and Asmo only lets out a small laugh before he’s back to touching you.

All the way up your spine and back down, a little lower this time, as his fingers slip underneath the towel, just barely running his finger tips over the curve of your ass.

Asmo does the same thing again. Up your back and then his hands slip underneath the towel moving a little further the second time.

You half wonder again why he covered you? The towel really is pointless after the bath.

With that thought in mind you reach one hand down and tug it off, a satisfied hum leaving you when the towel hits the floor, you can hear the amused giggle Asmo let’s out at, your action, and the little “What a tease~” he whispers before he takes it as an invitation to massage your hips, and then your ass, fondling and rubbing over the newly exposed skin.

You sigh and let out your own happy giggle as his hands, feeling another kind of pleasure start building up inside you as Asmo moves to work on your legs, tenderly squeezing at the soft skin. You gasp and sigh quietly as his thumbs dip between your legs, hands softly brushing the your inner thighs, not even an inch away from where you’re starting to need them. To need him.

You’re so relaxed and happy and aroused. Your thighs press together at the tingling sensation builds between them. Asmo’s thumbs travel dangerously close to your wet pussy again, though he pulls his hands away before he can touch you there.

A few more teasing kisses across your lower back before he pulls away, humming in thought, “Maybe we should move to a different bed~?” he suggests his voice still light and soft, “Asmo…need you now…please?”

Asmo giggles one last time and helps you move to sit up on the table, facing him, as he steps between your legs, his lips meeting yours for a few more quick kisses.

You can feel his hard on into presses into your stomach as you keep kissing him, finally tugging his robe off.

You feel a wave of satisfied pleasure when you see just how hard he is as his robe falls to the floor.

As his lips move to your neck in hot open mouthed kisses, his hand snaking lower again moving over your tummy, still traveling lower and you feel a little jolt of pleasure as his skilled fingers start playing with your clit.

Moans fall freely from your mouth, and Asmo loves it. Every sound you make is like a little reward for him~

The pleasure builds within you, but he’s not ready for you to cum yet.

Slowly easing up when you get too close, “Asmo…please?” You whine again and he only smiles at you “Soon, MC, soon. Just hang on to me~”

Asmo pulls away from your clit and hooks one hand under each of your thighs wrapping them around his as he stays standing beside the table, letting go of one of your legs Asmo moves to angle his cock so that his it’s head sits just inside your wet hole as you brace for the stretch.

Asmo might not be the biggest demon you’ve taken, but he’s still on the larger side and every time he fucks you, you feel so full~ and he takes Great pleasure in that~

He’s slow as he slides into you, letting your body adjust, and take in every inch.

“Oh~ MC~” he moans in your ear as he stops his thrust, finally “So good for me~ my perfect little present~” Asmo sighs against your lips as he starts moving his hips again

“Asmo~” you moan out as he begins to fuck you, “Yes~? I’m right here sweetheart~” Asmo can’t stop teasing you as he moves to kiss his way down you neck and across your chest.

Moaning his own appreciation for you~ and the pleasure you give him.

You shakenly nod as you whimper, “You’re doing so good~ always so good for me, taking everything I’ll give you right~?” “Mmmhhh!”

You can only nod and moan as you feel your high getting closer, Asmo can feel it too and he slides a hand back down in between the two of you and starts, playing with your poor clit again and that’s all it takes for your orgasm to come crashing over, your body shakes as Asmo keeps moving “Almost, ahh~ almost sweetie~ just hang on to me ‘kay?” as if you could do anything else as you grab onto his shoulders as he overstimulates you.

A few more thrusts and he’s cumming inside you. Asmo’s breaths become a high whine of pleasure as he does so and he kisses you eagerly.

A few minutes of heavy breathing and soft kisses, pass before Asmo asks with a smirk on his lip,

“Feeling loser now?” You playfully smack his chest as Asmo frowns “Ouch!” “Oh, you know I feel better! But what about you~” you move to kiss down his neck this time and he eagerly bares it for you, “Welllll, I wouldn’t mind going again~ it is my birthday after all~”

#roro writes #obey me!#obey me #obmswd #om!#obey me asmo smut #obey me asmo x reader #obmswd asmo #om! asmodeus #om! smut #om! x chubby reader #om! x reader #obmswd x chubby reader #obmswd smut #obmswd asmo x reader #obey me smut #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me fem!reader

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ben243s-transformation-stories · 8 months ago

Text

A harmless prank

Ah, you’ve got to love our educational system. School was canceled because of a teachers strike. They claimed they were striking for better pay, or training or some other such nonsense that was supposed to make out lives as students better. Of course, most of the time actually being in school and learning would have been better than sitting around at home goofing off. But it’s all for the kids. Yeah right.

So anyway, I had nothing better to do with my day than hang out with my friends and get into mischief. Everyone should know it’s never a good idea to leave teenagers unattended for long periods, but my parents didn’t have the luxury of taking off every time the teachers decided to go out on strike

I had just spent the morning with my friends, and was feeling kind of amped up and was in the mood to see what kinds of things I could get away with.

The area of town I lived in was fairly quiet and rural. There weren’t really any good places to go, or even a mall to hang out in, so I found myself lying on my bed tossing a ball in the air while i tried to come up with some kind of plan.

I was never one to get into too much trouble, and generally stuck to the rules. Today, though, something must have been in the air because I was especially restless and ready to see how far I could push my luck.

I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I decided to have a little fun online and started searching for interesting websites. I scrolled for nearly half an hour before one finally caught my eye.

I’m not entirely sure what drew me to it, but I landed on my city’s government website. I had never really had cause to browse it before, and I was amazed by how many options it had, and the array of things that you could do totally online. Most would have taken the full day to do in person, but could be completed in minuets on the new site.

I couldn’t help but be amazed as I scrolled through the options. I stared to get a seed of an idea forming in my head. I should pick something and fill out the form and see what I could get to happen. At the very least I would waste some bureaucrats time, At best I could maybe cause some huge scene with the police or fire department. A grin spread across my face.

I browsed the site for a while longer, but nothing really met my requirements for my masterplan to cause havoc. Most of the options were fairly mundane and boring. Nothing worthy of my time. Except………

I clicked on the link for their new online pet registration page. Something felt right. This was the page I had been looking for. I decided to set my plan into action, Granted it wasn’t well thought out, but hey what do you expect from a bored 14 year old boy?

I brought up and read through the forms. Nothing too complicated just basic details. it looked straight forward enough. I started entering my real details in the fields, age, height, weight, etc. I even listing my parents as my owners, and uploaded my recent school photo. Under species I checked canine, and chose yellow lab for breed. I decided to list my name as the nickname my parents used for me “Sammy”.

I looked over the completed form and smiled. No way they would accept it, and at least it would waste some poor bureaucrats time reading and deleting it. Oh boy, I am such a reprobate now.

Satisfied that I had done something awesome, I clicked submit. A few seconds later I got an email confirmation that the form had been received. I waited a while to see if I would get some error notice, but nothing came. Oh well, maybe they have a lot of submissions to go through.

I gave up and decided to boot up my playstation and catch up on my games. Before I knew it it was time for dinner. After a good meal and little conversation with my parents I headed to my room to watch tv. Before I knew it, I was drifting off and decided to head to bed.

I forgot all about the form until about a week later. My mom had grabbed the mail and brought it into the dining room to read. I noticed the envelope for the one she was reading was from the city, but I didn’t think anything of it until she looked over at me.

“Samuel Benjamin Waldorf?!?!?! What have you done?” She asked me. You know you’re in trouble when they use your full name. I gave her a quizzical look, not exactly sure what she was talking about.

She turned to my father and started to read the letter out loud. “Thank you for submitting your registration for your dog “Sammy”. It has been approved and ….” She read on for some time and rattled of a bunch of legal jargon I had no hope of understanding. The bottom line was that I was now fully registered and classified as a dog in their system.

And to make matters worse,The letter said my “owners” had Just 72 hours to get me the required vaccines and license or there would be fines and penalties. My parents spent a number of those 72 hours yelling at me for being stupid, and how could I do something like that, all the typical parental things.

Once they had calmed down, they found a customer service number, and celled. The person they talked to tried to be patient and polite with them, but had to keep telling my parents that all registrations were final. Defeated my parents discussed what they should do next.

Since the deadline was looming, and there didn’t seem to be any way to resolve the issue quickly, they decided that I should comply with the mandate.

My mom called the vet, and explained what had happened. After a fairly awkward conversation, on both sides I’m sure, I had an appointment for an exam and shots in the morning. I always hated going to the real doctor, and this wasn’t anymore appealing to me. I tried to get some rest, but I kept tossing and turning.

I must have fallen asleep for at least a few hours, because my mom came into my room, shaking me to wake me up and make sure I was ready in time for the appointment. I was still half in a daze, but I managed to throw some clothes on and make it to the car.

My mom drove me to the vet hospital, which we hadn’t been to since our last cat passed away a few years ago. We went inside, and mom told me to grab a seat while she checked me it.

Mom talked to the receptionist, pointed at me a few times, and was given a clipboard with a stack of forms to fill out. She brought them over to where I was sitting, and sat in the chair next to me.

It seemed like it took her hours to fill out the forms. Every once in a while she would ask me for some detail or other she needed for the form. While she worked I idly look around the office. It hadn’t changed much from the last time we had been here.

When she was finally done, mom took the forms back to the desk and we were led back to an exam room. I was told to disrobe and sit on the examining table. I looked at my mother, and she gave me that look that every kid knows means “don’t you dare argue- just do it.” So i quickly stripped out of my clothes and sat on the table. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything as cold as that exam table in my life.

A few minuets later, the vet came in a greeted us. He looked at me as said “this must be Sammy.” The vet spent a few minuets looking over the forms and talking to my mother. it felt a little strange to have my medical history talked about like I wasn’t in the room, but I guess that was standard practice for a Vet. Most of their patients didn’t talk back.

It wasn’t long before he stared the exam. He poked me and prodded me all over. He examined my ears, eyes, and mouth. I tried to keep my privates covered and maintain some modesty, but it was no use. He drew several vials of blood for tests, and even used a rectal thermometer to get a temperature. I never felt so humiliated in all my life.

Remember when I said the table was the coldest thing I’d ever felt? Well it was nothing compared to the stethoscope. He most have kept that thing in a liquid nitrogen freezer. I drew in a sharp breath when he put it on my skin and could barely handle it while he listened to my breathing and heart beat. He even reached down and palpated my testicles.

When he was done, he told my mother everything looked good, and he would let her know when the blood work came back. He, jokingly i hoped, suggested neutering me.

He then proceeded to fill several large syringes full of various vaccines. When he was done, my mother, worrying about me as she always does, asked the vet to include a microchip. I never liked needles and almost fainted at the sight of them.

Luckily the Vet was skilled, and I barely noticed as he plunged each one into my skin and injected the liquid. The vet grabbed the microchip and inserted it under my skin between my shoulder blades.

The Vet filled in all the forms and gave them to his tech, who took them to be entered into the computer. He told my mom we could head up front in a few minuets and his receptionist would have the proof of vaccinations and microchip forms ready for us. She thanked him, and he left so I could get dressed.

When we got to the front, everything was ready for us. My mom paid the bill and received a stack of forms i would need for my license. They event threw in a puppy kit with some food, treats and other essentials for me.

Mom took me back to the car, and had me sit in the back. Something I hadn’t done since i was little. She said it was where dogs belonged.I was still sore and embarrassed by the whole thing, so I didn’t feel like arguing. I hopped into the back seat and just enjoyed the ride home.

Once we got home, I gave my parents the passwords and login I had used on the city website, and they sat down to submit the forms and paperwork to get my license. I will give the site this, it may have its flaws, but it sure made the process easy. It only took them about 15 minuets to get everything entered.

They were even able to print out a temporary confirmation until the official form and tags arrived.

I was now officially licensed and registered as my parents pet dog. I thought the worst of my problems were over. Even if we couldn’t get the registration reversed, what harm could it do? Just renew the license every few years, and i would be good right?

It turns out it could do a lot of harm. What had started out as a joke was having serious consequences. My dad had gotten a call from the school district while I was at the vet. They informed it that since I was no longer classified as a human, I was not eligible to be enrolled in school.

Apparently my registration had spread through the other databases connected to the city system. Now all of my official records, even my birth certificate listed me as a canine. Not only was I licensed and registered as a dog, I was legally classified as one as well.

We sat around the table and had lunch, then my parents sent me to my room while they had a little “talk”. We all know what that means. I was in some serious trouble. I sat in my room trying to overhear what they were saying, but it was no use.

They talked for quite a while before I heard one of them leave. I glanced out my window and saw Mom heading to her car. I wondered where she might be going. I didn’t want to make my Dad angry, so I sat on my bed and watched tv until he called me down.

“Sammy”, he said, “Seems like you have gotten yourself into quite a predicament. Since you seem to want to be a dog, and now thanks to your little prank, you are one legally, your mother and I have decided that your role in the family should shift to that of the family pet.”

I couldn’t believe what i was hearing. Did he actually expect me to live as a dog? Sure I was one. legally, for now anyway. We could have that fixed right? this seemed a little extreme.

I took a look at my father. Every kid knows when it’s not worth arguing because your just going to lose and make things so much worse for yourself. Begrudgingly I gave in and said “OK, if you think thats best.”

Dad looked pleased and said “Good boy. Now lets get you out of those silly clothes” I started removing my clothes slowly, but Dad came over and pulled them off a little roughly. Then my Mom stepped over carrying a few bags. I recognized them from our local pet store. She pulled out a collar and fastened it around my neck. She then attached an Id tag that read “Sammy” with our address and their names as my owners.

My mom produced a dog bed from the bags and placed it in a corner of the living room. She then pulled out a pair of metal dog bowls, showing me that she had engraved my name on them. She took those into the kitchen and told me I would be fed there as long as I was a dog.

She had also purchased a few other things every dog needs, Some toys, and a variety of flavors of food, along with a few other essentials. I could tell they were serious about this and I would be filing the role of family pet for the foreseeable future.

I spent the next few days getting used to walking on all fours, being naked, using the bathroom outside, and being taken for walks. They even used some youtube videos to help them teach me basic tricks.

I wasn’t allowed to see my friends, play video games, or watch tv. I spent a lot of my time outside exploring the back yard and the little wooded area behind it. I was never one to spend a lot of time outside before, but I was oddly fascinated by every little thing I found.

After about a week, I decided that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. My parents were spending more time with me, and I enjoyed the attention, and much to my surprise I enjoyed being petted. It was certainly better than going to school.

The more time I spent in the role, the more comfortable I became as a dog. I hardly noticed as my thoughts and behaviors started shifting and becoming more dog like. If my parents noticed, they didn’t say anything.

After about a month, I had fully integrated myself into the role of family pet. I was thinking and acting just like another dog most of the time. This role felt so natural to me now and i decided I wanted to remain my parents dog.

One evening I told my parents that they could stop trying to reverse the registration. Little did I know they had given up weeks ago, and had agreed that they were enjoying having me as a dog, and could see how happy it made me. It was settled. I was now permanently the family pet.

My parents packed up all my human belongings and put them into storage, and hey converted my old bedroom into an office. I was kind of sad about that, but I hadn’t been using it. I had been sleeping exclusively on the dog bed in the living room for weeks now.

Over the next few weeks, something amazing happened. I’m not sure how to explain it, but my body started to change. I began to notice my fingernails turning black and getting longer. My fingers started to shorten, and I developed pads on my hands and feet.

I showed my parents what was happening to me, but they didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. They said I was being silly and told me to go play.

The changes made it so much easier for me to walk around on all four. Soon instead of using my knees I was on my hands and feet. Each night I was eager to head to bed so I could see what changes would happen over night.

The next morning I noticed some new changes. I had started to grow in some yellow fuzz over my body, and my ears seemed to be getting longer. My privates changed shape and attached them selves to my stomach in some kind of sheath.

Over the next couple of days, my fur grew in fully to cover my body, and my ears were long enough to flop over, and had moved up a little on my head. Next I noticed a nub of a tail protruding from my spine. My nose also started turning black.

It wasn’t long before I had a full tail that I could swish around when I was happy. I also developed a full muzzle. I caught a glimpse of my self in the mirror, and marveled at how much I looked like a dog. Some of the proportions were wrong, but It was unmistakable. I was becoming the yellow lab I had registered myself as.

One night I tried to sleep but I couldn’t get comfortable. I kept tossing and turning all night, until finally I felt kind of a snap as my ribcage and other bones shifted and made their final changes.

When I awoke in the morning, I made my way to the mirror only to see a fully transformed yellow lab where a human boy had been not that long ago. I stared at my reflection just long enough to watch my eyes fade from blue to brown and the transformation ended.

I was now fully a dog. I was so happy that i raced to find my parents. It wasn’t hard, my new nose was flooding me with all kinds of information. When I walked into the kitchen, my parents stopped what they were doing and looked me up and down. They looked very happy, and said “Good boy, Sammy”

They seemed to think all this was normal, and that I had always been their dog. Hadn’t i though? I was having trouble remembering that i used to be anything other than their pet.

Oh well, it didn’t matter. I was a good boy. I could feel the memories and thoughts of my former life slowly fading away like melting icebergs, but I didn’t care. I knew I was their faithful dog and that was all that was important.

A little later, my former parents attached a leash to my collar and took me for a walk. I loved the explosion of input from my new senses and the feeling of the grass on my feet.

We spent the day playing fetch and going to the dog park. I was loving life. Of course it wasn’t all fun and games. I still had to go to school. Obedience school that is. I was top of the class and learned each new trick quickly.

The other downside is that my former parents decided to neuter me. Oh well. I wasn’t going to be out dating much anyway. And it was for my own good they told me. Sure I believe that one. It wasn’t so bad except for that cone I had to wear. I swear the other dogs were laughing at me.

I never did find out exactly why I transformed, or even why I registered in the first place. Maybe it was the universe trying to fix a mistake. Maybe it was a sinister AI the city has that can somehow manipulate people. Now I’m starting to sound like a conspiracy theory.

Ah well it really doesn’t matter, I am much happier this way than I ever was as a teenage boy, and my parents seem really happy to have me as their pet.

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deeptrashwitch · 2 months ago

Text

OC Interview

Alright! I saw Taro did this here and she did it after seeing this post from @kaitaiga about their OC's being intervewed! And why not, it sounded fun, so let's do it!! (Also it's a interesting challenge, since I rarely write in second person in some parts)

November 2024

You arrive to the medium sized base near Fort Cavazos with a bit or nervousness, you've heard about it before. When you were told about this interview, one of your collegues told you what she knew about that place. Apparently this was her sister's place, and she was meant to be the one to make the interview, but she was sent to another site instead.

In silence you shook your head, for some reason it didn't surprise you coming from Camila Marchant. Anyway, you went to the door where someone was already waiting for you despite the movement behind her. She introduced herself only as Wraith, and simply guided you through the yard.

To your surprise, a plane was open and people were pouring out of it. All of them covered in dust and just now taking off their helmet. And one by one nodded towards Wraith before going to one of the buildings.

At least until the only woman came down and looked at Wraith, shaking her head softly. She was in her gear, with half her face covered by a mask and she simply took off her helmet before speaking.

"You brought her in the worst moment possible, Wraith." She said, amused while walking towards you.

"You said you'd do the interview no matter what, didn't you?" Wraith joked. "And anyway, this is about the 75th Regiment, Alicia, it was necessary."

You didn't understand why they mentioned the Rangers Regiment, but you decided to stay quiet. Instead you noticed how she nodded with a sigh.

Then she laughed and then looked at you. "I'm sorry for Wraith, she's like that. Is it okay for you do it now? Well, despite me being covered in dust."

You looked at her, surprised for a second, and then nodded. "Y-yes! There's no problem, ma'am!"

"Great, then let's go walk for a while."

Then you started to walk with her in a calm silence, until you took out you notebook to start the interview. You glanced at her and sighed relieved when she nodded.

Basis

Name

"Alicia Marchant. Captain of the Marine Corps and the leader of my team, the guys you saw earlier in the plane. And I'm the only Marine in my family."

Are you single?

"No, I'm not. I'm a relationship with my boyfriend, Alejandro, and we are pretty much serious."

Birthplace

"I was born in Arlington, Texas. So nothing really weird about that, actually we're kinda near my hometown."

Hair color?

"Black, it comes from both sides of the family. My siblings are also black-haired."

Eye color?

"Brown, like everyone in my mom's side of the family. Honestly? Only my sister has blue eyes, and we always say that fate had pity of my dad and let one of us look a bit like him." She joked, chuckling with a little smile.

Birthday?

"October 15th, right now I'm 37. But damn, I feel like I'm 50, my whole body cracks as if I was made of wood or somethin', y'know?"

Gender

She looked at you and smiled a bit with her eyebrow raised. "Female. I've always been a female."

Mood

"Hungry." She admited, making you chuckle. "No, seriously, I'm hungry. So after this, I'll go get something to eat."

Are you happy?

"At the moment? I don't think so, I'm too tired to be sure. But in my general life? That's a good question, to be honest. I'd say...yeah, somehow I'm happy, mostly because after so many crap that has happened to me, I think I'm grateful and happy to be alive." She said with a soft hum while you both walked next to the walls.

Are you angry?

She laughed, a cold laugh that sent a shiver down your spine. "Trust me, you'd know if I was angry right now. Unfortunately that's one of the emotions I can't control completely. There's only a person I'm truly angry with, and it won't be nice."

Summer/Winter?

"Hmmm, winter, I think. I like winter more than summer to be honest."

Morning/Afternoon?

"Morning, despite I'm usually sleepy, I prefer do most thing in the morning. And, at least inside the base, I like the environment we have in the morning with my team."

Eight things about your life

Are you in love?

"Absolutely yes."

Who ended your last relationship?

She coughed and looked away for a second. "...That's a spiky topic, um, but, it was my ex. The reason? Well, mostly because of our ideals, but we had a WHOLE lot of other problems between she and I. So, let's leave it there."

Have you ever broken someone's heart?

"Yes, during high school. It was during the time I was denying my romantic preferences, so it was also messy as hell."

Are you afraid of commitment?

"No, I'm not. Actually, after I started my relationship, again, with my boyfriend, we've been thinking about marriage. Even before we were thnking about marriage. And also, even if we didn't, I'd still be commited to the realtionship."

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

"Nope, neither this week."

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

"So far I'm aware, no. But considerng I was really easy to distract during my teenage years and I had my identity crisis, probably there was one that I don't know. I'd have to ask my siblings."

Six Choices

Love or lust?

"Love, no doubt."

Iced tea or lemonade?

"Lemonade. I never liked iced tea for some reason."

Cats or dogs?

"Both. I simply like animals in general, except snakes, those are the only ones I can't tolerate. We have both here, they're the favorites of this place." She said with a chuckle.

A few best friends or many regular friends?

"Also both. I like to have a big group of friends to pass the time, but to be honest I just have three or four people that are my best friends. They're the ones that know almost everything about me."

Wild night out or romantic night in?

"Night in. We're usually too tired with Alejo to think and go out, so we simply get some food and we watch a movie or even make cooking our date."

Day or night?

"Day, always day. I have...a problem with the darkness, so I prefer the day."

Four have you evers

Been caught sneaking out?

"Nope, that was my cousin. I was quite calm as a child and I didn't want to do it when I was in basic. So no, never."

Fell up/down stairs?

"...Yes, and no one in my family has let that one die. I fell down a set of stairs while I ran trying to win over a piece of fruit, and the worst part was that I didn't get the damn fruit."

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

"Being a Lancero. I was doubtful at first, but once I got into the course I simply said to myself: I'm not leaving without the damn badge. And it was horribly painful to win that, but I managed to get it, and it made everything worth it."

Wanted to dissapear?

Then she stopped for a second, looking down at the floor before sigh and keep walking. And she spoke serious and sharply. "Not gonna deny it, I've wanted to dissapear more than once. And that's all I'll say about it."

Four preferences

Smile or Eyes?

"Both, definitely both. I always looked at the eyes and the smile when I had boyfriends or girlfriends, it's something I love personally."

Shorter or taller?

"I don't mind, honestly."

Intelligence or attraction?

"Ehhh, both too, I have to admit. A bit of intelligence so we can speak really nice and attraction because, well, I like some things." She joked, humming.

Hook up or relationship?

"Relationship, I'm not much of the hook up part, I'm not comfortable with it."

Family

Do you and your family get along?

"Absolutely! My siblings and I have a great relationship, and also my cousins are really close with us despite the distance. And don't make me start with the relationships with my uncles, my aunt, my grandparents and us! Get along it's leaving it short." She said with a laugh.

Would you say you have a ‘messed up’ life?

"Nah, I had a normal life, just the usual problems of trouble kids with my cousins, but they were mostly our doing because we were bored."

Have you ever run away from home?

"Hell no, honestly, before enlisting I had no idea what to do even if I ended locked out of home. Say less if I ran away, I would've been so screwed just starting."

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

"Also no, my parents never kicked us out and I thank them for that."

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

"No...? Why would I hate them if they're my friends?" She says with a laugh.

Have you considered all your friends’ good friends?

"I mean, yeah, I've been lucky they are good friends despite how screwed we are up here, y'know?" She commented, pointing to her head with a shrug.

Who is your best friend?

"Ohhh, do I have to choose just one? Because Alejo is one, but there's also Rudy, and there's also Luke and Kanoa and Tiala (@islandtarochips oc's). So I don't know who to choose, being completely honest with you."

Who knows everything about you?

"Alejandro, my boyfriend, he knows basically everything about me."

Like that, the interview finished and you look at the woman, who just raises an eyebrow. Once you inform her that she just nodded calmly, and started to guide you to the front gate of the base.

"Did we finish? That was surprisingly quick." She said with a soft hum. "I have to admit it was interesting."

"Eh, yes, we already finished the questions I had for you. Thank you so much, Captain." You said with nervousness.

"You're welcome, thanks for coming all the way here. I'm sorry I couldn't do this in my office or anything."

You shook your head. Then, to your surprise, she took off the mask and let you see the rest of her face. As she smiled, you tried not to stare at the huge scars nad instead tried to keep looking at her eyes. In the end, you just looked away before they arrived to the main gate.

Alicia just nodded towards her while Wraith came back, this time reading something on a tablet. In silence, she gave it to Alicia, who just read it before getting serious for a second and then smiled calmly at you.

"Excuse me, work calls." She said before walking away, leaving you with Wraith.

Wraith just hummed softly and looked at you. "Seems like you had a good talk with her, huh?"

"Um, y-yeah, it was an interesting talk. Thank you for letting me come for the interview, Ms. Wraith."

After that, you were guided outside of the base to get your car and go back to edit the column. However, right before you walked out the gate, you noticed something on a bag. It was a patch, blue with a broken sword and a lighting bolt.

You didn't say anything, but it called your attention since you knew other patch when reading a bit about that team. In silence and with a soft frown, you shook your head and simply went to your car. It was better not to ask about it, you had a feeling that something about then should remain hidden.

Taglist (just to show :3): @alypink @snootlestheangel @islandtarochips @hollywood-is-bleeding

@cynicvice @midnight193 @mutantthedark @justasmolbard @welldonekhushi

@tapioca-milktea1978 @imagoddamnonionmason @stargazing-sapphire2 @milkteaarttime @blacktacmopsi

@maymaylyn @thatonesillyducko @seraphiixiao @me-is-confused @gunnrblze

#call of duty #cod oc #ocs #oc #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #oc interview #team charlie

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writing-for-life · 1 year ago

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Sandman Master Post and Intro

Hi, I’m so glad you’re here! This started out as a small writing blog but has developed a horrifying (^jk) life of its own over the past two years, so it was about time I just faced the facts:

A Sandman Blog it is!

I organised the links and tags to all my Sandman stuff for you to make it easier to find your way around.

I love getting asks, about analysis, about my fics, prompts or generally just to chat, so see this as an encouragement to slide into my inbox…

[For quick reference:]

[The Ultimate Sandman Character Tag Library]

[The Women of the Sandman Tag Library]

[Sandman Comics: Original Artists Library]

[Sandman Reread (Comics)]

[Sandman Rewatch (Netflix)]

[Sandman S2 News, Casting and Speculation]

[Sandman Reference: How to Collect the Comics, Companion Books, Annotations/Reference Literature etc]

[Sandman Movie Concept Art by Jill Thompson & John Watkiss]

[In Light of Recent Allegations]

Ordered by topics (recommended):

Sandman Meta-Analysis: My literary/conceptual/psychological analyses. I have also written some musical and art metas. You will find further links via all three.

The Sandman Book Club Community: Just follow the link if you’d like to join.

Sandman Fics & Poems: My own work, mostly m/f and f/f canon pairings and OCs, both long fics and shorter works.

I’m also Dream’s Therapist. I think we all agree he needs one.

Sandman Art (general tag that contains all art posts, from fan-art to gif-sets. Separate tag for official Sandman artists. Plus the very few pieces of my own art I’ve ever posted on here).

Sandman March Mania was an event we specifically ran for the comics art lovers, so check it out.

Sparkle Content Curation (a not-quite-serious collection of Dream/Morpheus thirst-trap fan-art and unhinged posts). Please also peruse the tags #contraceptive sparkles, #glitter herpes and #murphy and his cool hat (yes, I am sort of responsible for the #muhulhu tag on here) if this hell-site has left you in a state of being desperate for laughs

A Little Intro…

…and why this blog will keep on existing

Once there was a girl with so many words, so many images, so many songs in her head that had no place to go. So she decided some of them will just go here…

Well, that sounds a bit contrived, but it’s not entirely untrue. Apart from the “girl”-part, because I’m at the younger end of Gen X. Or the “no place to go”-part, because some of my work actually *did* go places. Just not the stuff I decided to put on here…

Which is mostly Sandman stuff right now, let’s be honest (I fell in love with it when I was 16, and it still has a tight grip on me three decades later). And the fact that my blog a wild mix between my metas, my fanfic and a bit of my doodling already shows the pull in different directions I have experienced for most of my life:

I guess I’m just a multi-hyphenate who can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life, so she tries to do it all and ends up burned out half of the time.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to publish a few novels under a pen name, and only a select few people know about it. And I intend to keep it that way.

I used to draw much more (mostly pencil and ink), but between working and having a family, something had to give, and if I have to choose, writing always comes first. But I doodle and experiment a lot in Procreate, and it usually helps me when I procrastinate on my writing. I drop the odd drawing in here (like my profile pic), but I don’t see myself as a fine artist, and I’m in perpetual awe of the talent I see on here.

This is just an account for unapologetically being me, with all my hyperfixations—and undoubtedly some pointless shitposts just for fun…

In light of recent happenings, I explained my personal stance and, by extension, why this blog will keep on existing.

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ashweather · 1 year ago

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Daily RPG Readings

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, Part 5

If you want to read along with me, you can get the demo copy for free on A.N.I.M.'s official site or head over to their Patreon to get a copy of the latest playtest draft for $5. I'm reading the most recent playtest draft and there are significant differences from the demo copy, just as a heads up.

For part 5, I've stopped lying to myself that I'm ever going to be able to keep up a daily schedule. Today, we'll be going over Pages 94-104, finishing chapter 1. This is a short post, but next time I'll be covering the entirety of character creation, and that's definitely going to be a lot to cover.

Today is all about Traits! Traits, features, powers, perks, whatever you want to call them, they're little mechanical bells and whistles that make a character stand out and really pop off the page. In many TTRPGs they're the most fun part of making a character, and I would argue that holds true for Eureka as well. Investigators get three to six of them initially (but usually three). Traits are sometimes purely beneficial, but especially powerful Traits usually have an attached drawback. These are one of my favorite parts of game design, so let's get granular and cover some highlights!

Bumbling Detective lets characters take after Inspector Clouseau (the book might not be able to mention copyrighted characters, but I sure can!) and be a bumbling fool who completely botches the investigation but then saves the day in the nick of time! Mechanically, the character is more likely to fail Knowledge rolls but more quickly accrues valuable Eureka! Points.

Elementary! is a trait that emulates the famous "biography-at-a-glance" of Sherlock Holmes... or, at least, the character thinks they're that good. An investigator with this this trait can have the Narrator make a hidden Social Cues roll (essentially the skill for reading people), and learn two facts about a person - but the investigator has no idea which of these facts is correct or incorrect.

Final Girl gives a small bonus to Physical Skill rolls when facing off alone against supernatural threats, and also allows the character to spend Eureka! Points to hinder a supernatural threat's rolls rather than just boosting their own. Its a very fun survivor's trait, taking after the time-honored tradition of "final girls" in horror movies. Of course, the character taking the trait need not actually be a girl.

Just One More Thing... is similar to the Bumbling Detective Trait, but for Interpersonal Skills instead of Knowledge. If you somehow didn't pick up from the name, its the Columbo Trait. You know, Columbo? You agree. Reblog.

My Glasses! gives a flat +1 bonus to all investigation rolls, but gives a possibility of the character's glasses getting knocked off in any combat encounter. As long as their glasses are off, they become pretty useless but also blind to the stresses of the situation with a +2 to all Composure rolls. A must have for the Velma Dinkley fans out there.

Not Finished Yet is for a bloodied and beaten investigator dragging their body through the dirt to see a case through. The character has double HP, but if they have less than half of that at any point in the story, they succumb to their injuries and die as soon as the story ends. This one's a personal favorite, as I'm a sucker for stories about the irrepressible human spirit.

Unpredictable is a fun one - add a +1 to all non-investigation rolls. However, all rolls are made with a 1d12 instead of a 2d6, making both Full Successes and total Failures far more likely.

#a.n.i.m.#book club #daily reading #eureka #eureka: investigative urban fantasy #rpg analysis #ttrpg

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clarepreed · 2 years ago

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Mud

Short Story Summary and Content: 5,100 words. Northerner Nikki may not survive her first mudding date with her Southern boyfriend. Suffocation/drowning and on-site resuscitation. Features Zoll AutoPulse.

“So… we’re riding these things down a muddy trail and into a muddy field and spending the day getting covered in mud?” Nikki eyed the four-wheeler askance and tugged on her old, red-and-blue leggings.

“That’s about it.” Caleb grinned at her. “I swear it’s fun.”

“I guess I’m about to see for myself. Are we wearing helmets?”

“Nah, you don’t need one. Everything’s so muddy it’s like falling in melted ice cream. But I won’t tip us over.” He stepped close to her and snaked his arm around her waist, resting his palm against the bare skin between her leggings and sports bra. “Then we can shower off together later.”

“Well, that part I know I’ll like.” She pressed her curves against him and tipped her mouth up to be kissed.

He grinned, gripped her ass with both hands, and kissed her hard.

“Ugh! Get a room!” he heard his older sister, Em, say. “Gross.”

He broke the kiss, but he didn’t release Nikki, pivoting her around with him as he turned to look at Em and the disgusted expression on her face. “Just because you aren’t getting any—”

Em snorted and rolled her eyes. “Like you would know. I’m knee deep in—”

“NOPE!” Caleb released Nikki and clapped his hands to his ears. Em just grinned at him and sashayed over to her own four-wheeler, her thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her cargo shorts.

“You deserved that,” Nikki said when he dropped his hands. She offered him a wicked grin. “Over here playing with fire, of course you’re gonna get burned.”

He rolled his eyes at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

A half hour later, their group was headed down the trail. There were five total ATVs carrying eight people, all friends, family, and significant others. There’d been hard rain for two days prior on into the early morning, so the trail was a wide, rutty swath of red clay mud.

“Holy shit!” Nikki exclaimed, her arms tightening around his waist as the four-wheeler bounced and a muddy spray from a nearby vehicle doused them.

“That’s why I gave you those goggles!” Caleb shouted, laughing.

“I’m never getting this out of my hair!” she groaned, reaching up to pat her twists.

Eventually, the trail opened into a large, muddy field that Caleb’s uncle had given over to four-wheelers. During the wet times of the year, the field was nothing more than a vat of thick, orange soup.

He drove over to the edge of the field where the ground was firmer and there were downed trees to sit on, thinking Nikki might want a beer or at least a chance to rinse her mouth out. This was also the end of the field where his uncle’s gravel access drive terminated, giving them quick access to the house, should they need it.

The next hour flew by. Sometimes he rode with Nikki, sometimes he went solo. For being out of her element, he thought she was having a good time.

“I’m gonna take your girl out,” Em said, winking at him. Her short hair was spiked with mud, giving her a rakish look. When he didn’t react, she said: “For a ride…”

“Stop,” Nikki said, laughing as she put on the ATV goggles he’d loaned her.

Em turned and patted the seat behind her, grinning when Nikki climbed on and slipped her arms around her waist. “Wish me luck!”

They took off, pulling in behind Caleb’s friend Mike as he rounded the curve of the field. He chuckled when he heard Nikki squeal, reaching into the cooler to get another beer.

Mike made a point of circling around the women and then cutting across their path, spraying them with a heavy wave of muddy water. Caleb shook his head, a little annoyed. Mike had a tendency to ride too close and go too hard, which is why the friend group often called him “Dumbass” instead of his name.

The far end of the field sloped up toward a ridge of pine trees. Em was more sensible than Mike, and she cut left pretty early before they gained much elevation. Mike, on the other hand, came around them on the right, engine roaring as he overtook them and surged up the hill.

He lost control halfway up, the weight of the ATV tipping back and carrying him and the four-wheeler downhill. He bailed, just before his vehicle crashed into Em’s. The four-wheelers collided and rolled together, dumping the women into the mud.

Caleb sat his beer down, already losing track of who was where. “Hey! Fuckhead! Em? Nikki?”

“I think someone’s hurt,” he heard Robb say from behind him. “No one’s up waving their arms around to say they’re okay.”

“Em! Nikki!” Caleb hopped onto his four-wheeler and rode across the field, his heart pounding. He’d been in a number of rollover accidents over the years and had always been fine. But when he was in elementary school, his neighbor’s dad had died instantly in an ATV accident. He’d been there, too young to exactly understand what was happening, watching people run around trying to revive him. Also, this was his sister and his girlfriend, and he couldn’t help but feel protective.

Caleb jumped off his four-wheeler, his boots squelching in the mud. The ground was especially soft here, water pooling up around his ankles. He heard another ATV roar up behind him.

Mike was bent over next to one of the overturned four-wheelers. “Em! Hey! Em!”

Caleb ran up beside him and saw his sister sprawled on her back in the mud, her eyes closed. Blood trickled from her nose and a gash near her hairline.

“Em!” Caleb shouted, shoving Mike to the side as he dropped to his knees next to her. “What the fuck was that, asshole?!”

Mike sat down hard in the mud. “I didn’t mean to! Fuck, I think one of the tires got her in the face…” Their friends Robb and Dana pulled up beside him, coming from a different angle.

Caleb leaned over her, gingerly touching her muddy skin next to the gash. Em groaned and her hands clenched. “Em?”

She didn’t respond, so he looked up, trying to see where his girlfriend had ended up. “Nikki?”

He almost didn’t spot her due to the mud, but his eyes stopped on something red and blue under one of the ATVs.

He reacted instinctively; he wouldn’t even be able to recall his actions later. Skirting around the ATVs, he slid in next to her, ignoring the sludge that lapped over the top of his boots. Her upper half was completely submerged in the thick, watery mud. He first tried pulling her up at the waist, but the weight of the four-wheeler resting on her lower half pinned her down.

Robb ran over, and they lifted the ATV off her prone body, setting it upright. Mike broke free of his stupor and grabbed Nikki under the arms, hauling her up and out of the divot she was lying in.

“She didn’t jump free?!” Mike exclaimed, mouth agape, still holding her out of the mud. “Why didn’t she jump free?!”

Caleb and Mike turned her over. She flopped boneless onto her back, covered in mud, her goggles lost in the puddle. He cradled her head in one hand and rubbed his other hand down her face, trying to wipe the mud off. Watery muck leaked out of her nose and mouth. In a panic, he pushed his fingers into her mouth, trying to scrape out the mud.

“Nikki! Nikki!” She didn’t respond, her limbs dangling as he shook her. “Fuck! I think she breathed it in!”

Caleb leaned his ear close to Nikki’s face. She was motionless, reclined back in Mike’s lap. He’d never seen someone so still outside of a casket. Her chest wasn’t rising, and he couldn’t feel any movement. “She’s not breathing!”

He pinched her nose shut, not bothering to drag her out of Mike’s lap, and sucked in a deep breath. He covered her mouth with his, felt the grit of the mud on her skin. The chill of her lips. Then he breathed into her. Or tried to. His cheeks puffed out, her cheeks puffed out, but then the air stopped, finally forcing its way out of the side of his mouth with a sputtering sound. He took a breath and tried again, with the same result.

“I can’t get any air in her!” He shouted, looking up at Mike.

“Dana’s calling 9-1-1,” he heard Robb say.

“Is your uncle home?” Mike asked. His own wild eyes reflected Caleb’s fears. “Can he help?”

“Get her on a four-wheeler with you!” Robb shouted. “Get her over to dry land! I’ve got Em!”

Mike and Caleb scrambled to their feet, awkwardly hauling Nikki’s limp body between them. Caleb climbed onto his ATV and dragged her out of Mike’s arms, setting her sideways on the seat in front of him and wrapping his arm around her middle to keep her from falling off. Holding her was like holding some kind of rag doll; there was no muscle tension in her body whatsoever.

His ATV roared and jumped forward, and Nikki’s head lolled back on her neck.

Their friends Leigh and Nina waited on the other side, and they helped him get Nikki off the ATV and over the ring of tree trunks. Then they laid her out on one of the drier sections of grass.

Caleb leaned over Nikki again, forcing his fingers between her teeth to scoop out more muck. Leigh dropped down across from him. “Is she breathing?”

“No, and I can’t get any air into her!”

“I think we need to do chest compressions!” Leigh said, briefly resting her hand on Nikki’s motionless chest. “I know CPR from school!”

Caleb leaned over Nikki and tried to breathe for her again. When the air escaped uselessly out the side of his mouth, Leigh rose up onto her knees. She clasped her hands together and pressed her palm between Nikki’s breasts. It took her several hard compressions to figure out depth and rhythm, and then she started counting, her thrusts making Nikki’s body quake and twitch.

“One and two and three and…”

Caleb turned Nikki’s head to the side, hoping more mud would trickle out. Nina joined him, a bottle of water in hand.

“I’m going to wash off her face,” Nina said, meeting his eyes. “Is that okay?”

Caleb nodded and watched as she used a bottle of water and a cleanish t-shirt to wipe the mud off Nikki’s face.

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…”

“Mike’s gone to find your uncle!” he heard Robb call out. “And Dana took my four-wheeler to try to find cell service, we couldn’t stay connected long enough to talk to 9-1-1!”

“…thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two…” A faint sound came from Nikki’s mouth with each compression. It was disturbingly like the sound you’d expect to hear if someone were violently squeezing a bag full of liquid.

Now that Nina had washed Nikki’s face, he could see that her beautiful umber skin had gone gray, her full lips purpling. He grasped her jaw, holding her mouth open so he could sweep his finger inside. More muck came out, along with another gush of orange water.

“How’s Em?” he called, his voice cracking.

“She’s okay!” Robb called. “She’s conscious. Keeps trying to get up, but she’s making sense now, so I think she’s alright. No, dammit, stay down, they’re taking care of her!”

“…eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight! When I get to one hundred… after you try to give her breaths… I need to switch!” Leigh was breathing hard, and if Caleb weren’t so terrified, he would be impressed by her strength. She hadn’t faltered once as she forcefully compressed his girlfriend’s sternum. “Ninety-nine, one hundred!”

Caleb scraped more muck out of Nikki’s mouth and then turned her face to the sky, tipping her chin back and pinching her nose shut. Her cold mouth was still as much of a shock as it had been the last time. He blew hard, but again the seal broke from the pressure. “Fuck!”

“Nina, sit with Em,” he heard Robb say. “I’ll take over compressions.”

Caleb opened her mouth. The inside of her mouth was mostly clear, but he of course couldn’t see into her airway. He tilted her head back further and covered her mouth with his again, blowing hard.

Then Robb was on his knees beside her, his hands coming down hard between her breasts. Caleb turned Nikki’s head back to the side, his fingers lingering on her cheek. Her head was moving with each compression, but her face was still. She looked bad; he’d never seen someone that ashen color, not ever.

The squelching sound coming from her throat resumed. He watched Robb moving over her forcefully, the compressions from his burly arms making her stomach bulge out even further. Looking at her bloated abdomen, he thought she must have swallowed some water. The thrusts caved in her ribcage, jerking her shoulders and making her arms twitch. There was even movement down her legs and into her feet.

“…forty-three, forty-four, forty-five… I’m counting to one hundred, right?” Robb asked.

“I think…” Leigh sounded uncertain, and she was still breathing hard. “I think so, yes. Until we can get air into her. Anyone disagree?”

No one said anything except Robb, who was still counting.

When Caleb looked back at Nikki’s face, he could see foam, mud, and water oozing out of her nose and mouth again. “I think this is helping… the mud is coming out! Come on, baby, I need you to start breathing!”

“I can keep going,” Robb said. “After the next breaths. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!”

Caleb quickly cleared her mouth and then leaned in to try another rescue breath. This time, though there seemed to be a lot of resistance, he saw her chest rise. He forced another breath in and got her chest to rise a little further.

“One, two, three…”

“I got some air into her!” Caleb exclaimed. “This is helping!”

“Should we switch to thirty compressions and two breaths?” Leigh asked, her voice anxious and loud. “I think we should.”

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

The wet bag sound was transitioning to a gurgle, followed by small surges of muddy water and orange-tinged foam leaking from Nikki’s nose and mouth.

A hand suddenly touched his back, and Em dropped down on her knees by Nikki’s head. She looked terrible, her face ghost pale and a dirty shirt pressed to her head wound. “Oh God… Caleb…”

“Thirty!”

Caleb turned Nikki’s face to the sky again and forced another breath into her lungs. Her chest rose, then fell. He gave her another breath.

“One, two, three…”

Caleb spared another look at Em. She was crying, her eyes locked on the violence Robb was doing to Nikki’s chest. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault,” Caleb choked out.

Abruptly, Nikki’s body heaved, and a great deal of muck shot up into her mouth.

“I need to turn her on her side for a second!” Caleb exclaimed. Robb stopped compressions and Leigh helped them roll her over so the muck would slide out to the ground and not back into her throat. Nikki made a gagging and choking sound, and then there was another flood of orange water and mud from her mouth. Robb pressed his fingers into her neck as Caleb cleared her mouth.

“She doesn’t have a pulse!” Robb shouted after several long seconds, and they put her on her back again. “Caleb, take over!”

He didn’t hesitate, thinking about what mud might still be in her lungs, and how her heart wasn’t beating. He tried to mimic what he’d seen from the others, his clasped hands thrusting into her chest with a force he never would have previously imagined using on her.

As he worked, wisps of thought kept curling through his mind, threatening to distract him.

How relaxed he’d felt when he’d picked her up that morning, Nikki coming to the door and insisting he approve her outfit before they left. Peeling the clothing off her when they decided they had time to spare. Further back, the look on her face when he’d explained what “mudding” was, and his own surprised laughter when she’d agreed to come along. The day they’d decided to make it serious. The first time they had sex. The day he met her, just a Tinder date that became so much more.

“Hey, Caleb, that’s thirty!” Robb had his hand on his shoulder. Caleb rocked back, lifting his hands. Em had moved, and Leigh leaned over to give Nikki rescue breaths.

“Count out loud,” Robb said. “It helped me concentrate.”

Caleb forced her sternum down. “One, two, three…”

They heard the roar of an ATV coming up the gravel access path behind them.

“… eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Caleb!” His uncle hit the ground running. “The ambulance is on its way; your aunt and your friend are in place to lead it up here. What the hell happened? Em! You’re bleeding!”

Leigh leaned over and forced a breath into Nikki, her chest rising higher than it had so far.

“I’m okay,” he heard Em say. “But… we rolled and the four-wheeler…”

Another breath.

Em couldn’t speak. Caleb started chest compressions again.

“One, two, three…” Come on, baby! Wake up, wake up…

“We found her face down in the mud with the ATV on her, sir,” Robb said. “We pulled her out and brought her over here. She inhaled a lot of water and mud. She’s not bleeding, we don’t think, but we don’t know how else she might be hurt.”

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Caleb finally looked up at his uncle. The man’s face was pale, his eyes wide. His uncle David was typically stoic. He’d never seen him look so rattled.

“Rescue station ain’t far,” David muttered. “We should start hearing sirens soon.”

Then it was time for Caleb to perform compressions. He could see her stomach bulge slightly with each thrust into her chest, felt the cartilage in her ribcage give. “…ten, eleven—Are we breaking her ribs? Fifteen, sixteen…”

“I don’t know,” Robb said. His face was blotchy; pale with red splashed across his cheeks. “I think… I don’t know.”

“You’re doing the right thing, son.” he heard his uncle say. “Do you know how long it’s been? The paramedics will want to know.”

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Caleb hovered over her, shaking his head as he watched her chest rise with Leigh’s exhalation. “I don’t know how long… Too long!”

“At least eleven minutes,” Nina said, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “That’s when I saw you pull her out.”

Caleb felt his eyes sting as he started compressions again. “One, two, three…”

“I hear the ambulance!” Nina said, her voice much louder.

“…seven, eight, nine…”

“We should switch,” Robb said. “We don’t know how long it will take them to get up here.”

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, okay—”

“I’m going to stand at the top of the drive,” Mike said.

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Caleb leaned back, gasping and shaking out his burning arms, his eyes flying to Nikki’s face as Leigh breathed for her. She was still gray, with bits of dried mud along her jawline. His eyes traced down along her long neck and down to her chest. The sports bra was cut low enough that he could see the top of a bruise, looking like a malevolent shadow cast on her skin.

Robb started compressions, his big hands obscuring the bruise, fingers pressing against her left breast through the sports bra. “…three and four and five…”

The siren was getting louder, and Caleb could hear the tires crunching on the gravel. He reached out, took Nikki’s hand. Squeezed it, then brought it to his lips. He thought it was a good chance he was saying goodbye, and either way they would be loading her up in the ambulance soon and he didn’t know when he would see her again.

Then he gently sat her hand down in the damp grass.

“One and two and three and four…”

The ambulance was close enough now that the sirens and the sound of the tires on the gravel drowned out the squelching sound coming from her swollen stomach and her wet lungs. Caleb’s uncle showed the paramedic driver where to stop so that it wouldn’t get bogged down.

Caleb was about to be in the way. He scrambled to his feet and almost fell back down, the scenery around him tilting madly. He stumbled backward and then dropped to a crouch as the paramedics unloaded and hurried over to Nikki’s side.

“We have another unit on the way, but they’re twenty minutes out. Where’s the second victim?”

“It’s me,” Em said, sounding miserable. “But I’m okay.”

Robb and Leigh were asked to move back, and he watched the medics quickly assess Nikki’s condition. The female paramedic restarted chest compressions.

“How long have you been performing CPR?” the male paramedic asked. He’d grabbed a duffel bag from their collection and produced a mask with a balloon coming off the top of it. He pressed the mask to Nikki’s face, squeezing the bulb twice before moving on to another task.

“We pulled her out of the mud about thirteen, fourteen minutes ago,” Robb said. “We saw the accident. The ATV rolled over her and she ended up unconscious with her face in the mud and the ATV on her legs.”

“...ten, eleven twelve… AutoPulse?” the female medic asked her partner.

Everything was going so fast, and Caleb didn’t know what a lot of what they were saying meant. He jumped in when he could with things like her name and age, and no they didn’t think she was injured but they really weren’t sure. The male paramedic gave her two breaths from the bag and then checked her abdomen and chest for obvious injury. He went on to use a pair of shears to snip the fabric of her bra down one side and across the straps. The female medic lifted her hands for a second, and he pulled the fabric to the side, revealing her breasts. Compressions started again, her breasts undulating.

The two worked together, the female medic giving Nikki forceful chest compressions, lifting her hands again so the male medic could apply a large white defibrillator pad over Nikki’s sternum. Then she went straight back into compressions, Nikki’s head bobbing with the force. The other pad was applied just below and to the side of her left breast. A few seconds later, a high-pitched whine filled the air.

Caleb watched the male paramedic grab a large, flat blue bag and set it on the grass above Nikki’s head. He opened it up, revealing large white pads attached to straps and a short blue backboard. The female paramedic was still pounding mercilessly on Nikki’s chest, her ribcage flattening and rebounding. Caleb was too far away now to hear the sound the forceful compressions made.

The male medic walked around to Nikki’s feet, stepped one foot between her legs, and grasped her wrists. The female paramedic stopped compressions and he pulled Nikki up into a seated position, her head lolling back. Something about the way Nikki’s body flopped made Caleb want to cry, and he pressed his hand to his mouth.

The male medic held her there for a few seconds as the female medic dragged the blue board underneath her. They laid Nikki back, her breasts swaying, and the male medic rapidly fastened the white pads over her chest before pressing a button.

The straps moved automatically, pulling the large white pads down to her chest. Shortly after, the machine started pumping, pulling the pads down across her chest over and over again. The machine was surprisingly quiet against the noise of everything else.

Nikki’s stomach rippled and her arms twitched. The male medic folded something white down by her head to hold it in place, and then clipped a harness over her shoulders.

“I’ll get her going on an IV and epi, you intubate and suction."

The machine clicked away, stopping briefly for the male medic to provide breaths from the bag.

“I didn’t know that a… a CPR machine was a thing,” he heard Leigh murmur.

The male medic tipped back Nikki’s head and angled a device into her throat before he said: “Pause compressions.”

The female medic reached over and pressed a button. The machine beeped, and the compressions stopped. The high-pitched whine from the monitor continued. The male medic made quick work of the intubation, and shortly after he reached around and pressed something on the screen of the compression device.

Compressions started again.

This time, they continued even when the male medic squeezed the bag, which he’d removed from the mask and attached to the end of the tube.

“Caleb.”

He looked up. David kneeled next to him, putting his hand on his back.

“I called your folks.”

He had a hard time paying attention to what his uncle was saying. There was a noisy motor sound, and some commentary about what she’d aspirated. He kept looking back at Nikki. He felt hollow and distant.

“They said they have a number for her parents. They’re going to call her folks and send them on to Grace General. If anything changes, we can let them know.”

“Nothing shockable,” the female medic said, pressing a button on the machine. The pads pulled themselves down hard into Nikki’s chest. “…epi.”

“…time?”

“Caleb?” His ears were ringing.

“Coming up—twenty—”

“Caleb!”

His hearing was fading in and out.

“Give—no ROSC—load and—”

“Caleb!”

Caleb blinked in surprise at his uncle’s worried face. He was laying on back in the wet grass, David looming over him.

Leigh’s worried face joined David’s. “One of the paramedics just asked about Caleb.”

“Okay,” Caleb muttered, though he felt disoriented. “Nikki…”

“He’s conscious and talking,” David said, pitching his voice loud enough for the medics to overhear. “I reckon he fainted.”

“She’s dead,” Caleb whispered.

David’s face changed, unexpected tears glistening in his eyes. Caleb didn’t think he’d seen him cry other than at the funerals of his grandparents. “They’re still working on her, son.”

Caleb didn’t respond. He let his head fall to the side so he could see Nikki. He really couldn’t see much. A bit of her profile, with the tube protruding between her teeth. The machine pumping her chest. Her muddy sneakers, swaying.

He looked back up at his uncle and felt a tear roll down his cheek.

David held out a hand. “You up for sitting up yet?”

“V-fib,” he heard the female medic say. “Let’s shock her.”

David pulled him upright and kept an arm tight around his shoulders. “You don’t have to watch that, Caleb. It might be upsetting. See, your friends are all looking away.”

He watched anyway, as her chest jumped and her limbs twitched. There was a silent few seconds before the whine started up again.

“Damn. Asystole. Resuming AutoPulse. I’m going to push another epi. Give us back something we can work with, Nikki.”

“After that you want to package her up and do another rhythm check in the bus? Before we head on to the hospital?”

“Let’s do it.”

Caleb thought this was probably a bad sign, but he wasn’t sure. David must have felt similarly, because he said: “They haven’t called the time. They haven’t called her.”

The male paramedic stayed with Nikki while the female quickly packaged things up and hauled most of it to the ambulance. When she came back, she spoke briefly to Robb.

The female medic crouched at Nikki’s feet and leaned forward, tugging on the blue fabric at the bottom of the CPR device. It unfurled into a lightweight stretcher. Then she picked up the monitor, slinging the strap over her shoulder, and lifted the IV bag. Caleb was surprised to see Robb helping them with the blue stretcher. His friend’s face had gone white.

When they stood, Nikki’s legs hung limp over the end of the stretcher. The machine kept performing compressions, unfazed by the movement.

The female medic looked over toward David and Caleb. “When we start moving, we’re going to take her to Grace General. They can do more for her there and they’re expecting her.”

They walked her to the gurney, and then loaded the gurney into the ambulance. Both medics climbed in and closed the doors behind them.

Everyone was silent for what felt like a very long time. Caleb let his breath out in a rush and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He felt like he was supposed to be doing something, when there was no longer anything for him to do.

David was speaking to him, he realized, and he looked up, though his eyes immediately drifted to the ambulance.

“We’ll ride down after the ambulance and your aunt is going to pick us up at the bottom of the drive,” David said. “She’s already ready to go. Why don’t we go ahead and get ourselves ready to do that?”

Caleb nodded.

“Does she have a bag that you need to grab? She might have insurance cards that she’ll need.”

“Everything’s in my pack,” he muttered, and suddenly his was in front of his face.

Mike, his face anguished, clutched the pack. “Caleb,” he began.

“Not right now.” David took the pack from Mike. “He can’t hear you right now.”

“But I—”

“Go the fuck home,” Caleb heard himself say, his tone ice.

“Don’t push it,” Robb interjected. “Come on.”

“We’re going to go,” Leigh said. “We’ll get him out of here, Caleb. Robb and Dana are going to get Em down to the house. You’ll let us know? Let us know what…?”

“He will when he can,” David said. “Come on, Caleb.”

Caleb let his uncle help him to his feet and steer him over to a waiting four-wheeler.

The back doors of the ambulance suddenly opened, and the female medic jumped out, slamming the doors behind her. She stopped long enough to call out: “We just got her pulse back. We’re transporting her now.”

Caleb climbed into the ATV behind his uncle, stunned into silence as the ambulance started, turned on lights and sirens, and headed down the gravel drive.

“Does that mean she’s going to make it?”

“It might, son. If you pray, do it now.”

#cpr resus #female resus #medical drama #resus writing

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