#his only options were to go to school part time + try to pass with his dyslexia which made him essentially unable to read

[bioethicists]

irt poverty/homelessness + alcohol use (esp with @butchfeygela‘s tags on my post)- people really underestimate the function that substance use/alcohol use can have for someone who is unhoused. being unhoused is boring, cold, painful, + lonely. substances can allow the 8 hours panhandling to get the $45 you need for a motel to fly by. alcohol reduces your perception of the cold + can knock you out whben you can’t sleep. substances can help you cope with the physical deterioration from malnutrition, constant stress, + sleeping outside. substances can provide social connection with others who you would otherwise not enjoy or help you cope with being alone.

not only that but- many unhoused people are stuck in a seemingly inescapable position. the pathway to financial stability or even housing is difficult or even impossible. in the wake of that hopelessness, the downsides of substance use start to seem insignificant. arrest? you’re getting arrested anyway for sleeping outside, peeing outside, standing in the wrong place, etc. physical danger? you’re already beat the fuck up, anyway, right? loss of relationships? you’ve lost most people already. inability to keep a job? nobody will hire you + you can’t stay employed, anyway, because you have no car + no shower.

perhaps for you or me, the cons of heroin use or binge drinking nightly greatly outweigh the pros. that isn’t the case for everyone. if we are really serious about ending overdose/addiction, we need to start looking at giving people lives worth recovering into instead of shaming them for their own hopelessness.

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨

𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (potential for nsfw continuations) / jjk manga spoilers / this is my version of "came back wrong" gojo inspired by recent events, but it turned out somewhat softer than i expected / what happens when satoru is brought back and suddenly finds himself deeply attached to you of all people?

yandere!gojo / he's also slightly higher-needs disabled coded… idk i tried to approach it as best as i could. it's an unfamiliar thing for reader and they're trying to process it / i very well may try to continue this because it is rotting my brain!! / 1.7k words

“Satoru… you need to eat.”

A full bowl of soup sits on the table before him untouched, his hands resting unoccupied in his lap and eyes trained on your figure as you circle around to stand near him. That piercing blue gaze is ridden with innocence, lips parted like those of a quizzical child, but they turn upwards into a pleased grin when you take a seat in the chair next to him.

You’d prepared a rather simple dish, something you figured might be easy for him to consume and digest given his… peculiar state, but Satoru apparently had yet to pay any interest to it. He instead sat obediently in his chair just as you had commanded several minutes ago, unable to initiate the task of feeding himself, for he was much more intrigued from afar by your every move as you tidied the kitchen. It was as though he couldn’t find the drive to function unless you were within an overwhelmingly short distance of him.

Satoru’s heart thumps now that you’re close, a burst of satisfaction rushing through his brain. Dopey yet stimulating chemicals. You are Pavlov’s ringing bell. 

He is reminiscent of a child picked up from school by their beloved parent, or a puppy being reunited with its owner after a day at the vet, overcome with joy and unable to properly contain it. He leans forward and presses his lips to your neck as though that is the appropriate response to his elation, the crossed wires in his brain telling him that this is the sort of affection that will please you and is therefore the sort of affection he most desperately wants to give.

His condition was difficult to understand, and you wouldn’t call yourself properly equipped to deal with it, but there was simply no other option but to try; Gojo wouldn’t let anyone else try, the horrible rattling in his skull consuming him when deprived of your presence for too long. Yuuta had described the look in his eyes as “frenzied and lost.” You were told that the infirmary still needed repairs.

Once he returned to this world, Satoru had been stripped down to his essence, bare bones, a creature of instinct, reduced to something quite simple yet difficult for the average person to understand. But you had to understand, or try at the very least. This was the new burden placed upon your shoulders; it was either soothe this new version of Satoru Gojo for the sake of the world, or find a way to send him back into the icy arms of death. You were often caught between which option sounded worse.

However, when met with the sweetest and most earnest of his smiles, your bones were frosted with guilt, and you regretted ever entertaining the idea of letting him go again.

You stumble over getting him to perform necessary tasks and be further than 5 feet away from you at any given time, because it seems that, upon his revival, Satoru equates you and only you with everything of importance in his life. It’s more than a little unnerving given the fact that you’d never so much as even kissed prior to the loss of him, and now his neurons only fire off every happy memory he’s ever had of you, every positive thing he’s ever felt, no matter how stifled. You are his entire world now, and he can’t even verbalize it, but as each day passes following his awakening, you’re starting to gather that much on your own. You can’t be frustrated for long, however, because his cheerfulness is contagious, his enthusiasm making you feel loved even if it is somewhat smothering.

Is this selfish of you? 

The man's lips travel slowly across your skin, pacified by your presence, your taste, and ignoring the grumble in his stomach. How does one differentiate the types of hunger? You don’t attempt to fight him off, but rather exhale a defeated sigh in response. It hasn’t been long since you’ve been tasked with this responsibility, but it feels as though you’re frequently fighting a losing battle and failing him all the same. It’s so peculiar, so very unnatural… but still, you have to try.

“Satoru, please…” you beg, voice light in his ear and a hand settling at his nape. His nerve endings come alive every time his name leaves your lips. The bell. “Just one bite? For me?”

That seems to do the trick, as you’ve gathered. Satoru pulls himself back, hyper-aware of the tone in your voice and suddenly willing to comply. He’s more than eager to accept the spoon into his mouth when you offer it, placing your fingers beneath his chin and carefully bringing the soup up to his lips. He swallows it with ease, the task literally more palatable now that you’ve reminded him of how badly you would like him to complete it. Anything for you.

“There,” you say, satisfied and offering a faint, exhausted smile. He grins widely in response and hums, no longer capable of words of his own, but his simple noise expresses his glee with efficacy. Satoru decides to punctuate it by pressing the tip of his nose to yours for good measure.

It feels wrong to enjoy these subtle moments of intimacy with someone who doesn’t appear to be in his right mind, but who are you to say whether he is or not? There’s still an agency he possesses, a heart full of emotions, and a mind teeming with thoughts that you wish you could be privy to. He might be different now, but part of you wants to say with certainty that the old Satoru is still here with you somehow—you can sense it. He chuckles at particular images that flash across the TV and still gets a kick out of teasing you to some degree. To diminish that seems like a disservice to him.

You’re unable to deprive him of the happiness your closeness provides nonetheless; in fact, it’s obviously rather dangerous for you to even try and do so. Satoru’s conscious recollections are filled primarily with you, but his body is still more or less the same as it always was—the vessel of his clan’s power, the strongest sorcerer on earth. You’re not sure to what extent he remembers how to control these abilities, but part of you doesn’t wish to find out. For now, you care for him, placate him, re-learn him. Nothing is certain about the situation other than the fact that he apparently needs you now more than ever.

Your eyes soften at the warmth he exudes, and you wonder if he really remembers who you even are—or were—to him. It’s not worth pondering over for now, however. He needs to eat.

“Another?” you ask, testing to see how willing he is to fulfill your wishes. Satoru often easily complies once you’ve expressed satisfaction in him doing so, but all of this is still so new and experimental; you never know when he might decide to switch gears.

However, still smiling, he nods, and you bring another spoonful of soup up to his lips for him to swallow. It pleases you to see him finally getting something into his stomach, and he can sense it, taking it upon himself to further your agenda and simultaneously realizing just how gratifying it is to fill his belly.

“Good,” you say, and he feels rewarded. He is crowned by your praise. Exalted. You take him to the greatest heights with the simplest of words.

You place the spoon back in the bowl and Satoru takes it in his grasp, feeding himself without quarrel while you observe. Most of his motor skills appear to be intact as far as you’ve seen despite the cognitive and behavioral changes, and if someone were to look upon him from afar, you’re fairly certain they would never know the difference. But you’re still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together little by little, deciphering each bit of information and also determining just how deep his severe attachment to you really goes.

Why did it end up being you? Why do you suddenly seem to be the only thing that makes sense to him in this entire universe?

You can’t answer that, he can’t answer that, it’s just the way it is. Satoru doesn’t need to know why you nearly consume his every thought, he just knows that you make him happy, and that’s truly all that counts in his version of the world. He’ll chase it on instinct until death decides to take him again; he’ll tear down anything that stands in his or your way, for you alone are all that he thinks he has left to cling to. Never matter the others that show concern for him—they’re nice enough, earning a small smile or even the privilege to touch before he shakes them off and seeks you out again. It’s nothing personal. It’s simply pathological.

Leaning an elbow on the table, you turn the possibilities over in your mind as you silently watch him eat. A life has been restored, but yours has been turned upside down, and you have to figure out just exactly what you’re going to do about it. You suppose that taking baby steps ought to be the best way to make progress, but how do you make space for someone like this out of the blue? You’ll have to give it your best shot.

Satoru finishes drinking down the remaining broth of his soup, and you pose a question. “Would you like to go for a walk with me today?”

He sits the bowl down and looks over at you, eyes assessing your features and mind processing what you’ve asked. He hasn’t been out much in the days following his return, but you don’t see any reason to keep him cooped up inside if he happens to respond well to a casual outing with you. Taking him for a stroll outside seems like a decent way to test the waters.

Satoru smiles and nods, recalling memories of how your hair looked when touched by the wind. He’d be glad to accompany you outside if it meant he could see you glow in the sun, radiant and warm. The center of his universe.

“I think it’ll be nice,” you remark with a grin, an ounce or two of weight being lifted from your shoulders at the positive shift in outlook. Baby steps.

Reaching out to take your hand, Satoru squeezes it in his own to convey his agreement. It’s as if he’s trying to say, “everything is nice when I’m with you.”

[linkemon]

Confession headcanons

You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Other headcanons from Twisted Wonderland can be found here.

Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Deuce Spade, Lilia Vanrouge and Vil Schoenheit.

Deuce Spade

• Ace would have realized what was happening to Deuce faster than him. Spade had always liked you very much but he didn't even realize when his feelings started to go in a completely different direction. He stopped seeing you as just a friend and started to imagine what it would be like if you spent even more time together alone. Which with your friends always looking for trouble was really hard.

• Ace would come up with several potential plans, each of which would backfire. The flowers? Ruined by Grim. The letter? Misplaced somewhere. Everything would turn against Deuce. His friend, tired of it all, would tell him to just get a grip because he had no more options.

• To say Deuce was shaking the whole way to you would be an understatement. But in the end, he decided he had to be himself. Deuce wanted you to love him like that. So he went exactly as he was, at night when the thought occurred to him. In his pajamas, during curfew in Heartslabyul. He figured he'd admit it to the prefect in the morning, like an honor student.

• When you opened the door for him, he said what was in his heart in one breath. He promises to love you just the way you are. Because he knows he's not perfect himself. He'll try to change, for you. Hard work is his specialty. So give him a chance and you definitely won't be disappointed.

Warning! This part contains spoilers for the beginning of the 7th book!

Lilia Vanrouge

• This would be a confession that would survive many trials. From the very beginning, something drew you to him. Maybe because, as it turned out later, Lilia is a completely different student than everyone else at NRC. Because of his flirtatious behaviour, it is easy to perceive it as fun. Something seemingly non-binding. As if everything was fleeting for him because after all, he had lived so many years. That is why you would have to wait for a real, sincere: I love you.

• When he announced he was leaving school, you were devastated. Here he was, announcing the news to everyone and you were standing at his farewell party, looking him straight in the eye with boundless sadness. Lilia truly believed it was for the best. Until Malleus decided to put everyone, including you, into eternal sleep.

• When you woke up in Vanrouge's dream, he wasn't the same fae you knew. You didn't really want to admit it was him but with every passing second, you began to understand him better. All the reasons why he became who he was. The lengths he would go to when he loved someone. It was then that you realized that only now did you fully understand him.

• When Lilia pulled you desperately to him in the dream, you didn't know what to do. He was your beloved but also a general who shouldn't exist anymore. His lips wandered for a moment. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Quite the opposite, it expressed hunger and longing. It said what words couldn't before the dream separated you. Now you have to do everything in your power to be able to feel it once more.

Vil Schoenheit

• Vil doesn't look for people who can't match his determination. He's got his life in order and knows exactly what his goals are. He's only changed the methods to achieve them. So when he realized how much he cared about the potato, he knew you had to grow up to that level of determination.

• He gave you time to read the gestures that expressed romantic interest. At the same time, however, he was very direct. He didn't want to leave anything unsaid. He waited for you to realize it and ask directly. He loves you and is able to do a lot for you. He made it clear that you have to accept that his career won't go anywhere and will be an important part of your lives. However, if, despite this, you return his feelings, he will move mountains for you because he knows he can. When you were already sure that you felt the same way, he asked you out on a real date.

• The date was classic and classy. A bouquet of wine-red roses. In addition, you, dressed in the best, elegant clothes that Vil chose for you two. An expensive restaurant and exquisite dishes that melted in your mouth. Afterwards, a walk. The starry sky above you, which turned into a cluster of torrential clouds halfway there. However, this gave you the opportunity to play a truly cinematic scene.

• You will remember the kiss in the rain for the rest of your life. Just like running in the downpour to the nearest free roof, covered with Vil's jacket, while holding his hand. His sincere laughter is not something you hear often. It will play in your ears like a melody for a long time.

If you'd like to be tagged in the next part of Twisted Wonderland headcanons, let me know!

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?)

genre: enemies to lovers I guess? I'm bad at these 😭

summary: one week, your usual work partner is absent, so instead you are seated next to a genius with attitude problems. it happens.

wc: ~500

A/N: if i can manage to be consistent for once, this will probably be a series because I haven't done one in a while. pls feel free to leave your reactions in the tags or comments! happy reading 🫶🏾

next see all parts in my masterlist!

Sunlight filtered through the large classroom window. Usually, you'd be seated right by it, letting the rays warm your face in the air-conditioned room.

Not today. Your usual partner was out sick, so you were moved to the back of the classroom. Blocking out the sunshine was the silhouette of a boy you had only seen in the hallways once or twice.

He had deep brown skin, with two neat cornrows cascading down either side of his neck and brushing his shoulders. You also made out an undercut, faded cleanly beneath the braids. There was a case meant for holding glasses sitting at the front of his desk, but no spectacles sitting on his prominent nose. 

The boy was bent over his worksheet already, arm covering the page.

"Hey," you said with a pleasant upturn in your voice. A full thirty seconds passed. He didn't answer, so you try again.

"Um, excuse me-"

"I heard you." 

The boy kept his eyes on his desk, brows knitted together with focus. He was making broad, sharp strokes with his pencil. His elbow moved for a moment, revealing not a sheet of math problems, but a piece of printer paper filled with intricate geometric designs. Precise lines come together to create the form of a caped figure. It has large, mechanical claws and a mask with sharp, wide eyes.

"That's a cool drawing," you commented. The boy's shoulders jumped to his ears as if he'd been caught before dropping back down. He finally looked up from the page and paused. Wide, brown eyes flickered across your face, trying to determine what to make of you.

"Thanks," was all that the boy said before returning to his sketching. It wasn't long before you interrupted him again.

"You not gonna finish your work?"

"I'm already done, that's why Ms. Jones put me back here and let me rock."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," you muttered to yourself. 

You messed with the sleeve of your royal blue uniform blazer in silence, weighing your options. Ms. Jones wasn't going to let you turn in another incomplete assignment, and this kid couldn't even be assed to say 'hello'. A deep sigh escapes your lips.

"Can I get your name, at least?"

The boy set his pen down with a slam, and looked up at you as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.

"Morales," he deadpanned, with a slight roll on the 'r'. 

"Which Morales?"

"Miles."

You hummed in slight recognition, having heard the name somewhere before, murmured next to you in passing.

"You Dominican?"

"Puerto Rican."

"Oh, cool."

"M-hm." 

He picked up his pen again and began to twirl it between his pointer and middle finger, but held your gaze. You looked like you were finally about to get to the actual question.

"Well, Morales," you began with a smile.

Here it comes.

"Since you're done, can you help me with-"

"No."

You scoffed, "What's the point of being partners, then?"

Miles had already returned to his original position, scribbling away. He didn't look at you, this time.

"We not partners, ma."

...And so began the longest school week of your life.

[thebluester2020]

[TWST] "Confessions Through A Red Haze"

Summary: The perfect way to spend a four-day weekend? Go to a cabin and get into...unforeseen "troubles" with a prince of course!

Warning(s): Unknowingly taking aphrodisiacs (Both Yuu + Leona),

Side note(s): This is for @kimdourden for my follower potion event! <33. Thank you for giving me this juicy idea 👁️ ✨ (Now I have to proceed to see if I can chuck out a short comic based on this idea—)

I hope this is close to what you wanted! (Sorry to leave off on a cliff-hanger T0T. But hey, I like this idea so much that I think Ill just create a longer fic based off this tbh)

"Go on a vacation with me."

You didn't expect this would be how you spend your four-day weekend.

When Night Raven College decided to announce that the student population would be receiving a four-day weekend due to repairs and additions to the classrooms. You had made mental notes and plans as to what you wanted to do and accomplish during that timeframe! The most notable part of those plans? You wanted to spend some time alone.

It had been three months since you had arrived to this strange new world and already so many things had been happening! You could barely keep up, attempting to stay focused without subsequently losing your mind was a hard set of knives to try and juggle with. You thought that this vacation would have done you some good until...Leona Kingscholar, the Housewarden of SavannaClaw and the local arrogant prince, decided to crush all your attempts at being by your lonesome via his request.

And you had a mind to reject the offer.

It wasn't like the two of you were close in any way, shape or form! You disliked him and he disliked you, a fact that you were completely fine with. So...why were you in a cabin with him in the middle of the woods? Simple! Because his car decided to run out of gas all of a sudden and the once gentle pitter-patter of rain was becoming an all-out thunderstorm. Any attempts to look for help or some type of gas station to refuel had been crushed the second you two heard the thunder in the distance.

Although the cabin was in slight disrepair and lacked air conditioning. it was clear that it was nowhere close to a five-star motel. But it was the best and only option for you two.

Much to Leona's annoyance with each passing second, he thought he could feel something crawling on him as you two decided to hang out in the living room area of sorts. "How troublesome," He said.

"Maybe you should've listened to me when I said that I didn't want to go." The prince's eyes rolled at your words, he'd be blunt with himself when he said that there was no real reason as to why he asked for you to come with him, aside from the fact that Ruggie said he'd be busy this weekend going back to the Sunset Savannas. Although he could've asked anyone else...you, strangely enough, were the first person that popped into his mind.

Leona then turned to look at you, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as his arm was propped up on the arm of the couch he sat on. "Be more grateful, or are you always invited places with princes?"

You guffawed. "You're so full of it."

He smirked. "Am I?"

"Yes!"

"Hm, I wonder if your answer would remain firm if I suggested we do something more fun together."

His smirk grew when you turned your head away with silence, however, his senses caught onto the brief scent of...sweetness in the air.

You were fun.

Way more fun than Ruggie, perhaps that's what first made him begin liking you a little bit more than anyone else at this school. Not that he would be so quick to admit that to yourself, it had taken him a very long time for him to admit it to himself! Though he didn't know exactly when his liking towards you started, all he knew was that...he wanted to be closer to you. But until he was ready to make that first step, that or your clear lusts towards him reached their boiling point and you confessed yourself. He rather enjoyed teasing you.

A true lion knew how to wait for his prey to come to him.

Suddenly however, a scent of something sweet caught his nostrils. The prince's nose scrunched up at the smell. "What's that?" He looked around.

"What's what?" You responded, your head turning to him as he smelled the air before you copied his actions. It reminded you of a vanilla scent, mixed with a hint of chocolate that grew more potent with each breath, with each pull of the smell into your lungs as you began to feel yourself relax more and more. As well as grow...strangely hot.

You wanted to panic as you felt your vision starting to become hazy but as your eyes dragged over to Leona. You couldn't help that your thighs started to clench once more. The lion beastman was never ugly in your eyes, his strikingly handsome features, as well as the fact that he was a prince, was a juxtaposition to him being rude and lazy. Still, it seemed that the heart wants what the heart wants because despite those facts...despite you desperately trying to tell and scold yourself that you shouldn't like Leona.

Here you stood, vision hazy and silently pleading that he would just walk over to you and kiss you like you wanted to kiss him.

And as you focused on that fact, you had barely noticed he had walked up to you until he was right in front of your face, your eyes glued to his moving lips until...you leaned in to kiss him. A chaste peck, nothing more, but one that left the prince stunned as his eyes widened until they were almost comically large.

He'd been waiting for that since he had a crush on you.

But...judging from your smell, your clenching thighs, and how you looked at him as if you were in a daze.

This strange scent in the cabin was affecting you—no, the both of you. He was harder than ever in his entire twenty years of living. As he continued to look at you, all he could think about was fucking you into the nearby couch and making you his officially. But, he desperately tried to keep his mind afloat and free from letting his instincts and wants take over. No matter what this smell made him want to do, he wouldn't do it unless you were in the mindset for you to ask him to do it.

"C'mon, we need to leave—" His eyes immediately snapped shut, his teeth gritting together to the point it was almost painful as he tried to ignore your shameless moans the second he tried to help you up. And the way the sounds kept repeating over and over and over in his head, was maddening. "Quite your squeaking and get up—"

"Nooooo...." You whined. "Leona, I really like you."

He rolled his eyes. "You're not in your right head."

You pouted, the adorable sight nearly making the prince falter. Almost.

"You like me too, right?" You asked, your voice almost a plead as you grabbed onto Leona's forearm tightly, begging him to look you in the eyes.

His mouth opened and closed before he nodded his head.

And that's all the confirmation you needed before you tried to lean in for another kiss, only for Leona to put some distance between the two of you once again. "Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes." Then you pulled him to your lips by tugging on his hair, ripping a raspy groan from the lion beastman as his arm snaked around you to pull you closer to his chest. The two press of your lips together made your nerves fire off as if they were being electrocuted every millisecond, your hands grabbing and pulling at the prince's clothing as he clumsily carried you to the couch before he placed you down and started to pull off your clothing. Whatever the scent in the air was doing, it made the both of you feel closer to wild animals in heat.

As if you couldn't get enough of each other.

And quite frankly? The both of you didn't want to.

[writingseaslugs]

Diasomnia: When You're Sick

The last dorm, and probably the one dorm you don’t want taking care of you…minus Silver. Hope you guys enjoyed this dorm series, I know I did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to skedaddle back to work. Also the intro is the same for all parts, so if you’ve read it once, you’ve read it all.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Diasomnia: When You’re Sick

The worst thing to ever happen to you while attending Night Raven College had to be, hands down, getting sick. You were alone in the dorm with only ghosts and Grim to keep you company, and as much as you loved them, they couldn’t take care of you when you became sick. This meant you had to make do and hope that everything was alright. Normally if you were under the weather, you’d just suck it up and go to class so as to not worry anyone. This time however, that wasn’t an option.

You woke up with every muscle in your body feeling sore and aching with even the slightest movement. Your stomach churned something fearsome and you had a runny nose and cough to boot. You had no idea what illness you had fallen to. Having so many symptoms…you could only assume it was the flu or something akin to that.

Still, there was no way you were making it to class like this. So begrudgingly you told Grim you weren’t feeling good and needed to rest, and to go to class and get your homework so you could do it later. The demon cat was grumpy about not having his henchman, but eventually gave in, leaving you alone to rest in your room and hope that whatever you had would go away.

Malleus Draconia

Sebek will be the one mentioning you being sick in passing, noting how Grim had been out of control due to your absence. That’s all Malleus needs to hear before he’s sneaking away from his retainers and going over to your dorm. Thankfully you’re asleep when he appears in your room. He’s standing over your bed, looking over you and placing his large hand over your forehead, noting that it’s warmer than it should be. This prompts him to call up Lilia to inform him of the situation. That’s where the trouble begins.

Malleus has no clue how to care for a human, so it’s already off to a rocky start. Lilia himself knows a little bit, as he had to take care of Silver. The thing with Silver is, other than the narcolepsy, he was always a fairly healthy child…according to Lilia. Really he just always missed the signs that Silver was sick or though it was just a quirk. So now you have two fae over your bed, trying to figure out what’s wrong as you slowly wake up and meet their eyes. You might have a heart attack that devolves into a coughing fit as Malleus is frantically trying to help you.

You’re going to be the one needing to tell them they need to get you the school nurse, and no this is not the time to experiment with treatments. Malleus does so, just because you seemed really adamant, and it’s a good thing. The nurse is nervous with both Lilia and Malleus in the room, but eventually manages to figure out how to take care of you, and even noting that the stuff served in the cafeteria is best for your recovery. Once Lilia knows Malleus has it handled, he leaves. Malleus is doing everything the nurse says, with a little flourish of magic, to make you get better faster. He’s pretty good at reading you as well, so if you move slightly he’s already fluffing your pillow to make it more comfortable, and asking if you’d like more water. He can be very doting normally, and it only increases once you’re sick.

Malleus is going to be relieved, but also not trusting that you’re totally better. Be expecting him to take care of you for a solid week after you’re better, visiting you after classes and bringing you meals, as well as checking your temperature the entire time. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your word, he just doesn’t trust the nurse having the best treatment plan. If he could have it his way, he would’ve brought you to Briar Valley to have one of the doctors there check you over.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia had just decided on a whim to visit your dorm the previous night, wanting to see what you were up to. When he found you curled up in bed shaking, clearly still asleep and unaware of your current condition, he decided to just stick around until the morning. After Grim leaves for school, he makes his grand appearance and is asking you what’s wrong. He’s not as concerned as he should be, since he’s seen Silver like this many times and his son has always made a full recovery. Still, he is a little upset to see you in such a state.

He’s not the best, at all, but he kind of knows what to do. He’s taken care of Silver while he’s sick so he assumes he knows what he’s doing…he doesn’t. If you had a fae illness, he'd be perfect. He could treat that almost as well as a normal doctor. A human illness though…well he’s less experienced in that. Still, he’s going to try and do his best before calling the nurse to get whatever medications he needs to hand you. At least he’s willing to call in help once he figures out he doesn’t know how to make you better.

He’s pretty attentive, if not a little teasing while he takes care of you. Again, he knows you’re not dying so he can have a little fun with it. He will try to put some medicine on a spoon and pretend to be a bird as he brings it to your mouth. Show him the most unimpressed look and he’ll break out into a fit of giggles. Just make sure when it comes to meal times, you request being brought something from the cafeteria, letting Lilia know that his seasonings would be too much on your stomach right now. He agrees and brings you proper food, even if he really wants to add something to it.

He’s going to be over the moon when you’re all better, telling you how happy he is and asking if you want to do something fun now. There’s no resting time after being sick, he’s been so good the past few days waiting for you to be better, that now you need to go and do something with him. He’ll be happy if you agree to sit with him in his dorm room and play a few rounds of a video game though. He’s just happy to have you back honestly.

Silver

He’s another one who finds out through Sebek. He’s half asleep when Sebek begins shouting about how you’re missing and Grim is causing havoc and how he won’t stand for it. Silver only hears you’re missing and after asking he finds out you’re sick. He knows just how bad it can be, being sick with nobody to take care of you. Most of the time Lilia didn’t even realize Silver was sick growing up, so he was on his own. This is going to prompt him to go ahead and check in with you.

Silver is actually pretty good at figuring out what to do while you’re sick. Since he normally took care of himself growing up (even if half the time it was sleeping it off) he at least knew the basics. When he noticed you had  a fever he was looking for things to help with it, alongside something for your cough and stomach. In no time he had all the things he needed to take care of you, and was able to do it without much of an issue. Good news for you, he is very quiet while he speaks to you, so you don’t need to worry about his presence causing you more of a headache.

He’s not perfect at it, but he tries to keep a good schedule up to make sure you’ll be okay. He can cook you something to eat as well, that tastes pretty okay so he doesn’t need to worry about running to the cafeteria before it closes. For the most part though, you both are asleep. In fact, sometimes you need to nudge him awake to grab your medicine, which he will sleepily do and mumble something about being sorry about falling asleep like that.

He’s relieved to know you’re all better and that he managed to help you, but he’s exhausted afterwards. Let him crash at your place and possibly also check in on him to make sure he didn’t catch whatever you had going on. Once he’s awake he’ll just smile and say he’s grateful you’re feeling better, but he needs to get going since you’re both behind on school work. He doesn’t need anything in return for helping you, but if he ever does get sick it wouldn’t hurt to help him out. He was good to you, so returning that favor is needed…especially since Lilia might not even notice Silver is sick…again.

Sebek Zigvolt

He’s going to notice right away once he sees Grim by himself, doing whatever he wants. He’s going to say the only reason he’s going to check in on you is because the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can control Grim. After all, Grim being crazy can disturb Malleus and cause distractions, and he would be a horrible retainer if he allowed that to happen. Nobody but Lilia and Silver would comment about how he was more fidgety the moment he found out, and how he bit down on his bottom lip, gnawing it with worry for you.

Sadly he’s another one who’s totally hopeless when it comes to taking care of someone else. More or less…it’s a bit disastrous. He’s too loud and causes headaches by accident, and he hasn’t the faintest idea on human illnesses despite being half human himself. Normally when he got sick, nobody knew if it was a fae or human illness, so he was treated for both. Which doesn’t bode well for you since he’s going to use that to try and treat you initially.

Once he realizes his efforts aren’t making you better, he’s going to call Silver to help out. He doesn't want to bother Lilia for something like this, and Silver is the only human he likes other than you. Thankfully Silver explains what to do and Sebek will do so, but stumbles a bit. At least you’ll slowly be getting better, and he’s not an idiot and will make sure you’re eating good food. He’s determined to make you better, and eventually he forgets all about the horrible excuse he told others, letting his worry take over for you. After letting him know his voice is a bit too loud, he’s going to quiet down for you. 

He’s relieved to know you’re better and for a while he’s significantly less tense, and everyone notices. Lilia is going to be teasing him about it, making poor Sebek go bright red since he’s been outed for caring about a lowly human. When you thank him, he’ll go back to the lie he told everyone else about wanting Grim to be properly handled, but the red on his cheeks is persistent enough to let you know that it’s a horribly fabricated lie…though you would’ve been able to tell either way.

[goldsbitch]

Hypochondria

part 2

Fate decided to play a little game and set up a disastrous dinner. Pulling heatwaves back and forth to prove that the path to hell is paved by good intentions.

warning: non-linear time line

21:10

"I'm sorry, but do you guys know each other?" she asked, with a tone of annoyance barely hidden behind a fake smile.

Lando froze once again, like he had many times that evening. It was not his fault. His soon-to-not-be girlfriend set this seventh circle of hell up. How was he supposed to respond to that?

Y/N hesitantly responded. "No, of course not. I mean, I've only worked with the team here for few weeks anyway."

Her words got buried in the stare down between Anita and Lando.

"Seems like you do, by the amount of questions you're asking" she said directly at Lando, fully ignoring Y/N at that point.

"If I had known her, I would not have had to ask questions, right?" he responded, failing at letting his sassy side dormant.

"Is that why you never ask me any questions? Because you know me?"

He bit his tongue. Lando was trying to be good.

Anita made her signature "I knew it" smile once again, which finally set Lando off.

"One asks when they want to hear an answer."

20:13

He was not late, right? Only thirteen minutes. It still passed. And judging by the quick glance he gave at the table, Anita brought a friend. She does that often, he had no idea why.

Sometimes he felt like a ghost watching his own life. Just sort of floating around, letting things happen to him. It was easy with his status. Almost like racing was the only time he really cared.

As he walked over to the table, lost in his own head, life gave him a pretty big slap to wake him up. Next to Anita sat the one and only, the one who had haunted his dreams and reality for decades by now. Frozen, as if his blood suddenly decided to start flowing in the opposite direction, he blinked as he watched the two share a laugh while Anita showed something to the girl on her phone. Seamlessly, as if they weren't defying the laws of Lando's universe. It was like that one time when two girls he kissed around the same time found him, having no idea what he had done with the other. Strange panic, excitement laced with guilt. It was that, dialed up to infinity.

A day had barely passed since he first saw the mystery girl in real time. Without giving him any time to absorb that information and decide what to do with it. He was getting angry, everything was going wrong. The painful truth hit him - he would fuck it up anyway. Like he always does. Feeling like a dried piece of fruit, he got back to walking over to the table of doomed dreams.

He had no plan going in. Well, no, he did. But he had about five plans that strongly contradicted each other. But god, destiny did not even give him time to breathe.

12:29

Another car flashed unbelievably fast right next to their station. She watched them with awe and slight terror in her eyes. Funny how the desire for a little thrill in the driver's lives makes them willing to risk it all. She understood this desire, but never shared it. Safe and sound on the ground, that's where she was happy.

Happy was probably overreaching. These past few days were flowing in a blur, somewhat missing her.

It's been only a few weeks since she joined the formula medical team. A strange choice frowned upon by almost anyone in her life. She was just out of school, finished her degree and was set up for a perfect career in some decent hospital. But no, the prospect of waking up everyday at the same place was the definition of horror for her. Her university years felt like torture.

Her free spirit caused few issues in her past relationship. House with a picket fence was not something she considered an option. At least not for another ten years or so.

There she was, sarcastic as ever because how else are you supposed to deal with a chronic pain. Well, pain was an exaggeration. More like muscle fatigue, on occasion sharp pains in random places. Nobody knew why or what caused it. This search for answers was what got her to study medicine at the first place. Still, years after, no answers. So she just lived and hoped not to die randomly one day.

This was the downside, the one she shared with the public. What she did not share, as it seemed not that important, was the irregular waves of pleasure she felt, usually late at night. Self induced orgasms, is what she concluded once she finally experienced one in real life. What was there to complain about? Nice way of spicing up the day without even trying. If it weren't for these, she'd probably be more active in seeking out the real deal. Ever since her break up few months ago, it was a full on dry spell.

She was a little bit lost after school. Formula track was an interesting distraction.

/

Heatwave. It hit hard as the sun blazed into the track, as if the goal was to burn the whole area down. There were many instances of people crashing down and having seek medical attention. A busy day for Y/N. She loved it. Rushing around like a busy bee, helping around and chatting with all those interesting people attending the race. Lots of beautiful people. Some extraordinarily.

In front of Y/N was one of those heavenly looking people. Apparently a girlfriend of one of the drivers. Cheerful looking model, who apologized about seven times for being there. Y/N gave her some magnesium, gave her some advice on how much water she should drink and checked her basic stats.

"You're all good. Make to sure to relax, don't drink any alcohol today and you'll be fine," Y/N ended her examination with a smile.

"You're amazing, thank you! Can I snap a photo of you for my story? I'm happy to tag you," she winked, suddenly looking all better now.

"Thank you...Um, happy to take a photo, but no tags. I have enough stalkers already," she tried to get out of the slightly awkward conversation with a joke that did not land.

"I do too, awful, right?" she replied, in full seriousness. Y/N smiled, hoping a new patient would arrive soon while she let her search for the right light. Few too many snaps and fake smiles later, they both sat in the ambulance nearby the track.

"I think you're free to go. Of course, stay here as long as you feel like you need to," Y/N said to her, while filling a general medical report.

The girl shifted, looking more than fine again. In the corner of the eye, Y/N observed how she kept shifting and looking for her phone.

"Is everything all right?" Y/N asked, unable to stop herself.

"Um, I was sort of hoping my boyfriend would come to pick me up here. It would look really good."

Y/N smiled. "I imagine it would also feel good, right?"

"Yeah," she said, not in a tone that would suggest she felt any butterflies. She looked stiff.

Y/N took a deep breath, not sure why her mouth let those words out. "Whatever happens in the ambulance, stays in the ambulance, you know? Just throwing it out there in case you want to share something..."

A weak smile appeared on her face. A glimpse of realness. After few moments of obviously thinking it through, she allowed herself to speak freely. "Promise you won't tell anything to anyone..."

"I swore an oath one time, I think we can apply that to this situation." The medics were always told to provide excellent service to these people. Sometimes, it involved a little psychology as well.

Anita poured it out like an overflowing mug. "I'd love to be with someone who would drop anything to pick me up when I'm sitting in an ambulance. But, I feel like that's not coming anytime soon. He just...He just does not see me."

It was easy for most people to get raw in the closed safe space of an ambulance. Y/N had already heard many similar stories, despite being on this job for only few weeks.

"Does he make you happy?"

"Um...Not really. The sex is good. And the life that comes with him..." she seemed to loose herself in her thoughts.

"You should trust your gut. It's probably pointing you in the right direction," Y/N replied, trying to not push anything.

"You're probably right. He's the best thing around here, so why complain. Thanks! You're really the best. You sure you don't want to be tagged?" she asked once again.

"Sure, go for it," she said, hoping this would finally get the girl out and gave her the instagram info.

She felt an immense wave of embarrassment as she read the comment about how amazing she was.

//

Lando felt a very familiar stroke of humiliation - well, he did not, but he knew who did anyway. Anxiety was not uncommon.

He was done with practice for the day and was staying behind with the engineers to further analyse. He ignored his phone for a while, only finding out his girlfriend had to go to the medics after she came back to the McLaren garage.

His first thought should have probably not been about a wasted opportunity.

"Hey, sweetheart, how do you feel now?" he said while holding Anita's hand and trying to find traces of her feeling unwell on her face.

She felt a bittersweet punch, obviously him checking up on her while she was gone not passing through his mind.

"Yeah, all good now. We have some good medics over here. I took a photo of them, so hopefully they'll get some boost online."

"Oh, can I have a look?" he said with an obvious interest. She smiled, hoping it was because he cared about her. She gave him her phone and saw him freeze for a moment.

Out of nowhere, he was staring into the eyes he longed to drown in. He never got a look this close at her. Not his girlfriend. The awkward smile he understood as if it was his own. It was like being taken over by a tidal wave. He knew everything about her, except her name. It was all really overwhelming.

20:15

Lando should have connected the dots. Anita was a bubbly friendly person, of course she would invite someone who had helped her, over to dinner, in case he himself does not show up due to some unforeseen circumstances. He sat down, without saying a word. "Oh, you're here, amazing!" Anita greeted him with a light peck on the cheek. Lando almost flinched away, physical contact with her suddenly feeling wrong. He kept his eyes down on the table, all of this being a little too much. "Lando, meet Y/N."

Finally. A name to a face. Strong sense of relief and excitement washed over him. Of course it was that name, it suited her vibe completely. The best name. He finally looked up and locked eyes with her for the first time. She was already looking at him and visibly gulped as finally joined her.

These few seconds before the silence got broken were more like hours. They both studied each other like astronomers who get absorbed by the beauty of a distant comet. One they'd only read about and one that's finally passing the sky in their lifetime.

"And Y/N, this is Lando-"

She knew his face, of course she did. But never paid much attention to it, as he served more like a concept, than an actual person to her. Sitting across from him however brought a sense of understanding. No wonder everyone liked him and many people obsessed over him. He was gorgeous, electric. Y/N was grateful for the table that put a physical barrier between them, as the urge to touch him, to test if he was real, overtaking her brain quickly. Like a siren luring her to jump into endlessly deep waters. She had a hard time believing that she would refuse. Her one and only thought was that a person like that is born once in a century.

Except that's not exactly true. But unbeknownst to her, they were soulmates. She was destined to be eternally delusional about him. He was fated to dance around her until the end of time.

"-my boyfriend."

Anita's words cut through like knife. Both of her dinner partners shifted, as if she had splashed them with cold water, and returned back to reality. A great cloud of guilt sat on the fourth empty chair, which the waiters forgot to take away, invisible to Anita, but smiling evilly at Y/N and Lando. And they hadn't even said a word to each other yet.

part 3

[billiethepumpkin]

Crave: Shota Aizawa x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for those ages 18 years and older. If you are a minor, do not interact.

Contains: AFAB!Reader. Dom!Aizawa. Pinning to the wall. Teasing. Penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Female and male anatomy.

Author's Note: All characters are written to be adults because I am an old fuck :)

Long days haunted the two of you. Aizawa had long days of training, and longer nights of mixed activity, either spending nights in the school dorms or stopping villains under the starlight. You were pursuing your own desires, studying and working, coming home exhausted. Sometimes you didn't even have the energy to prepare a decent meal for yourself, just settling on instant ramen before falling into bed.

And Shota... You had no idea what must be going on in his head. You talked almost every day. He made sure there was enough room in his life for you, always. But you still missed him, still ached for him. Sometimes when he walked past, you caught a whiff of his scent and had to keep yourself from swooning. You hadn't spent the night together in weeks. You craved his muscled warmth, his rough hands... Simply his touch.

And, oh, did he miss yours. When you sat together at lunch, it was all he could do to stop himself from taking you right there in the teacher's lounge. He would catch the scent of your perfume, the fruit and blossom of your shower gel, and Aizawa became feral.

That was why, when he learned he'd have the night off from patrol, he'd immediately texted you, "I'm coming over."

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe you'd strip right then, so that you'd answer the door naked for him. Or maybe you'd leave the door unlocked and wait for him in some pretty lacy thing in the bed. No time for that. You'd go with the first option.

You slung a silky robe around your arms, letting it hang at your sides. Your breasts displayed in front of you, your nipples stood at attention. You waited for the knock on the door. It came quickly. Had Aizawa run here? Your heart jumped anyway.

You opened the door, and Shota's gaze met your eyes first. He had been telling himself that he was just coming over, that he wanted to spend real time with you. But you both knew that Aizawa was just as lonely as you were, just as needy and pent up.

As if some invisible force came over him, Shota picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and pushing you inside. In one swift, slick movement he shut the door, locked it, and pinned your back against it, your hands above your head. The only thing really holding your weight was one hand and his strong torso. One second passed. Two. Three. Aizawa hadn't even kissed you, hadn't even touched you in any of your most sensitive places. But even as he stayed inches from your face, your eyes seemed to glaze over at his touch.

Usually he could play this part, could be powerful and dominant, could pin you to the wall and edge you until you were on the verge of tears. But today--not today. Today, he needed to take you. Now.

He pressed his lips to yours. Instinctively, your hands found purchase in his long, tangled hair. Shota's hand found its place on your jaw, simultaneously pinning you to the wall and claiming you as his own. Your lips moved to the skin on his neck. And suddenly, you were clawing at his shirt, biting at his flesh. It was like you were trying to climb inside his skin, remain in his touch for the rest of your days. You couldn't help but squirm against him, your bare sex rubbing against his body. You couldn't even feel any of his skin touching you there, but he knew how badly you needed him, too. You had to be dripping, thought you might cause a puddle to form on the hem of his shirt.

Aizawa didn't care.

As your teeth and lips and tongue slid over his neck, around his ears, Shota shifted his weight and moved to carry you somewhere more solid, somewhere he could get his pleasure too.

The couch. It was close enough.

He settled your bare body on the couch, your arms still desperately clinging to him. But he stood up, pulling out of your touch. You couldn't help but whine at the loss of contact. But you sighed at the sight before you as Aizawa tugged his black shirt over his head. "Spread your legs, baby," he purred, settling down on his knees in front of where you sat. "I want to look at you." You whined again at the thought. Just take me already, you thought. You couldn't stand being out of reach from him. "Come on, honey. I'm going to help you," he persuaded, running a warm, rough hand over your soft thigh.

Butterflies ruled your stomach now, your breathing heavy as you shifted your weight and spread your legs, awkwardly settling your feet on the couch on either side of you. "That's my girl," Aizawa crooned. He pressed a kiss to your inner knee, similar kisses creating a trail to where you needed his touch most. He caught your scent. Not your perfume, not your soap. No, the scent of your quivering, weeping pussy before him. You swore you saw Shota's eyes roll into the back of his head.

You threw your head back in protest. "Please, Sho," you whined, involuntarily wiggling your hips. If you could get just a brush of attention...

"Shh," he shushed, his callused thumb brushing over your more sensitive lips. "I just want to look," he clarified, his eyes locked on your pussy. His thumb weaved in and out of your heat, playing in your slick as Shota tried to tell himself he wouldn't cum just as he entered you.

But the sound of your whine, your desire--your need--for him... It was almost too much for him to handle.

You weren't sure when he'd unbuckled his belt and let his pants and boxer briefs fall to the floor, but you were pleasantly surprised when he stood up and situated himself above you. You wouldn't look away. Wouldn't even blink, you promised yourself. You had to watch this, soak in everything you could, remember this later--every single word and breath and movement.

Shota settled his tip at your entrance. His shaft was an angry red, bleeding into the warm dark brown hair at the base. You could feel how warm he was, even without him actually entering you.

Aizawa braced himself and took several deep breaths before he plunged deep into your wet, aching cunt. A groan escaped his lungs, and now he was watching your eyes roll into the back of your head.

On instinct you closed your eyes to take in the feeling, the pleasure. But Shota again grabbed your chin, tilting it so he was looking you right in the eyes. "Don't look away, baby," he commanded. "I want you to remember every bit of this."

He began to pull out of you and plunge back in, over and over, again and again. And it seemed that you could feel every millimeter of his cock, every vein, every wrinkle. You couldn't help the way your mouth hung open, the way your lungs pushed out moan after moan as the pleasure intensified with every thrust of Shota's hips. And no matter how much you wanted to close your eyes, fall back into those habits from every other time, you didn't. You fought those habits to keep looking at him, right into his dark eyes. You felt him everywhere, all at once. Your hands tangled in his hair. His hands gripping your thighs and hips. His cock slamming against your cervix, bringing you shamefully close to that high you were so desperately craving.

It snuck up on you. And, out of nowhere, you tumbled over the edge into bliss. You couldn't help it. Your pussy clenched and pushed and squirmed around Shota's hard cock.

Aizawa pulled out before he had his own orgasm. He carried you into the bedroom.

That was just one of many he planned on giving you tonight.

[astolfofo]

I lowkey kinda feel like writing smth for dr ratio but take this idea for now:

Revisited the 36 questions musical (music in it is so banger my god). Imagine you're one of dr. ratio's old classmates. An academic rival if you will. You part ways with him after high school. You could not imagine going to a university with him. You pity the poor students that do.

But he does come back into your life. You've seen him occasionally at your job. YOu do your best to ignore him, treat him like you would with any other colleague that you might have known. At an arm's length. You're not friends with any of them. You certainty would not treat him with more kindness than you would with any other person. Suffice to say, although petty, you had never gotten over how he was just always just barely a mark or two above you.

That was until you realized that the distance between you two was so great, that he was now your boss. You found out he was a professor in a university through the grapevine of your coworkers who can't stop swooning over him. You tried to ignore them, focus on your work, but today, they were loudly announcing that he was going to be the manager of your department. Strange, you think to yourself. He had never seemed to have an interest in your line of work. He had always been highly theoretical. You had turn to be highly practical. He was one meant for the sciences, while you could only surmount to doing practical application. You'd have imagined he would be doing things that were beyond what the mundane could comprehend. He shouldn't be here.

But he was.

WHILE being a professor at one of the top universities. Countless accomplishments, probably a wall full of certificates and awards. You had grown not to care about things like that. But it still felt that he was invading the one thing you were good at. Still though, you wouldn't let it bother you. In the worst case, you'd switch companies, maybe move somewhere else and he wouldn't be a problem anymore.

But Dr. Ratio seems to have different ideas. Management under his hand was very different. You were immidieately promoted to the highest rank, below manager. Much to your distaste, you had told him multiple times to promote one of your coworkers. They had much better qualifications for becoming a manager than you did. But alas, your protests always came to deaf ears.

Suddenly you were crushed by work, tons of pressure, and under his scrutiny. He was a big fan of doing big, risky projects. Ones that you'd always be responsible for if you failed. You'd try to politely deny his requests, but he'd insist, threatening that you'd be fired if you didn't pull through.

At one point you had just had enough.

You coldly place your resignation onto his desk. The box of your belongings was balanced between your hand and your knees.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"My resignation. I'm leaving." You say simply. "Don't try to convince me to stay. Working under you is simply not something I am suited for."

He seems uninterested. He raises an eyebrow at you. "Is that so? I was under the impression that you were doing quite well."

You didn't know whether you wanted to laugh or scream in that second. You were sure your hair was going to turn half-white before he picked up a goddamn clue. You suppose passing out three times and looking like you had your eyes punched wasn't a strong enough indicator.

"Ah... well... I'm flattered you think that way, but I really think it's time for me to move on...."

"And your plan after this is...?"

"Oh. Maybe work at someplace else." You lie, "I have a few options I can choose from, I'll probably end up working at one of those."

Dr. Ratio looks at your face, and then looks up and down. You stand there akwardly waiting for his approval to leave. You began counting down seconds. If he wasn't going to let you leave in the next two minutes, you'd walk out the door yourself.

"Why don't we sit down and talk first? Before you leave."

What? "Oh no sir.. it's fine... really..."

"It's been a few years since we've last seen each other and talked, hasn't it? I was wondering when you were going to approach me again. It's just a shame it's in this way."

He turns around and puts the sheet of paper into the shredder. You look back at him wide-eyed, debating on whether you would just walk straight out.

"Why don't you set your things aside? Maybe put them back on your desk? It's not like you'll be leaving soon. Unless you want to retire now?"

You open your mouth preparing to yell every curse word you can at him.

"Save your insults for later. Now tell me why you pretended not to recognize me for the past year I've worked here."

[pinkroseblooms]

Options

Arajin Tomoshibi/f!Reader/Marito Jin

Summary: A misunderstanding leads Arajin to realizing he's not quite over his crush on you; it's even harder ignoring his own feelings when you also manage to peak his volatile boyfriend's interest. A/N: This takes place in a AU without magic and honki people. Suggestive language, but no smut: part 2 coming soon! Enjoy! wc: 2.3k

“Let Arajin go!”

Marito felt something smack the back of his head, right dead center of his bun; he slowly turns enough to see you holding a ladle high above your head. You flinched, but held the utensil higher. Arajin shrugged off Marito’s arm; his soul might have ascended from his body, seeing you standing in the middle of the street.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’s okay; you start running, I’ll hold this jerk off!” Your knees shake, threatening to buckle under you at the glare Marito is casting your way. “Run!”

“Wa-wait! It’s not what you think!” Arajin sputters, hands raised as he gets between you and Marito. “What are you even doing here? Mom said you were on serving duty today; just go back to the restaurant-”

“Ara-teen, do you know this little beast?” Marito’s lips form a slow, cold smile. “That must be it; otherwise, I sure hope she has a good reason for attacking me so rudely on our date.”

“Date?” You blink, lowering the ladle to your chest. “Arajin, you…know this guy? So, he’s not bullying you?”

About ten minutes prior, you, a server at the Chu Chu Chinese Restaurant, had been tossing a couple of trash bags out in the dumpster when your eyes spied Arajin walking past with someone you didn’t know. The taller boy’s arm was slung over Arajin’s shoulders and he was talking animatedly, but your immediate assumption was that this stranger was shaking down Arajin for money or favors. You didn’t know at the time Marito Jin was in fact a gang leader, but currently you’re apologizing profusely for your “attack”; Arajin and Marito sat across from each other at an empty table as you explained to them what was going through your mind.

“I feel so dumb.” You bow your head in Marito’s direction specifically. “I really am sorry, I jumped to conclusions; I’ve been worried about Arajin having a tough time at school and I guess…I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry, Jin-san.”

“I’ll let it go this time.” Marito says coolly, barely glancing your way. “I wouldn’t normally let you live after such an offense, but for Ara-teen’s sake, I’ll excuse your rudeness.”

Arajin gulped: there’s no way he can tell you Marito is actually not only a juvenile delinquent but a dangerous psycho. No, it’s better you don’t get involved in any of this; Arajin’s known you most of his life. His mother and yours had been friends forever and when your mother passed, you had been all but adopted. You made ends meet working at Chu Chu; you were earnest and hard working but something of a worry wart, at least when it came to Arajin.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Arajin tries to sound casual and breezy as you set down two cups of hot tea. “Marito might seem scary but he is a…well, he’s very…he would never, uh…” 

Okay, maybe it’s dishonest to try and tell you Marito is a “good” person but Arajin really doesn’t want you to be concerned; if anything, he knows Marito is going to be the first person to throw down on his behalf should anyone even try to hurt him. Now, whether or not Marito will be inflicting any of that pain himself, that’s something Arajin can’t quite say for sure. 

“Is your head okay?” You look around Marito’s head; you lightly touch the spot you made contact with. “I can get you some ice.”

“Wow, you are wound up tight.” Marito slaps your hand away, but it’s more of a light swat than anything. “Ara-teen, tell her to calm down and bring us food; it’s bad enough our date got interrupted, I’m starving.” he whined as you left to fetch them some appetizers. “Also, you didn’t ask how my head was…”

“You said it didn’t hurt though,” Arajin grumbles under his breath, blowing on his tea. “I can’t believe this. What on earth was she thinking?”

“Is she your guard dog? A little beast like her couldn’t hurt a fly.” Marito snickers, teeth baring wolfishly. “Don’t tell me she thinks you need her to protect you.”

“It’s more like…she’d step in to help anyone.” Arajin smiles a little himself; he remembers how hard you were shaking, the real fear behind your bold glare. “She’s crazy, that girl.”

“Hey, who are we talking about here?” You come back to their table with two plates loaded up with food. “Arajin, so mean.”

“No, I didn’t mean it how it sounded!” Arajin scrambles to explain himself. “You were really cool back there actually.”

“Aw, come on, you and I both know I’m useless in a fight; that was all a bluff.” You address Marito. “Besides, he’s the one who looks cool. I really like your hair and piercings.”

“Flattery won’t get you on my good side.” 

“No, I’m serious.” You tell him with some surprise. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you could be a model or something; of course, Arajin’s still the cutest. He’s off the charts when it comes to being a cutie pie.”

“Ugh, don’t make fun of me.” 

“Come on, no need to be modest in front of your date.” You tease. “He knows what I’m talking about, right Jin-san?”

“I’m an expert.” Marito agrees, fixing Arajin with a knowing look. “You should see how cute he looks when-”

“KNOCK IT OFF!”

“Soooo scary!” Marito cackles. “Is your face red from anger? Or something else?”

“You’re both awful.”

Arajin scoffs but inwardly he’s getting…tingly. It’s almost like both you and Marito are flirting with him, giving him all this attention. He has to remind himself you’re just being nice.

Marito takes a chicken skewer and tears a bite of juicy meat off with a satisfied hum. “Hm, these are different.”

“Oh that one is my recipe.” You grin. “Arajin, do you like it?”

“It’s delicious.” 

“Yay!”

Arajin feels his chest swell at the look of pride on your face; honestly he would happily swallow unseasoned glass shards by the spoonful if you asked him to. You were wrong: if anyone’s cute it’s you. God, he’s only been back for a few months; Arajin thought by now you wouldn’t have the same effect on him, especially now he’s seeing someone. To be fair, with Marito he wasn’t exactly given a choice, but still. 

“Feed me, Ara-teen!” Marito leans over the table and points to his open mouth. “I want a dumpling.”

“You have hands!” 

Arajin’s cheeks flush and he hopes you don’t notice. He uses his chopsticks to take a dumpling and pops it into his mouth, ignoring Marito’s whimper, but hunger wins out and he takes a dumpling for himself. 

“Here, don’t forget the sauce.” Arajin slides the bottle over to Marito. “You always eat too fast and forget to use it.”

“Aw, thanks honey~”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“Yum!” Marito licks his lips eagerly. “These really hit the spot.”

“I hope you like them; I still feel bad about earlier, so I doubled the portion.” You smile sweetly, hands clasped to your chest. “I made them with lots and lots of love, just for you two!”

Arajin almost chokes when your hands form a heart shape; Marito pauses mid bite as you shoot them with a “love beam” and giggle childishly. 

“Chu!” You blow them a kiss. “Please let me know if you want anything else; have fun on your date, Arajin-it was nice to meet you, Jin-san.”

Arajin can barely stop himself from staring as the skirt of your uniform flounces around your thighs and your hips sway with every step.

“I see how it is.” Marito leans over the table with a sly smile. “Ara-teen, bad boy. You’re practically family, aren’t ya? Does she know about your little crush? Or were you childhood sweethearts? Don’t say it’s so, I’ll be jealous.”

“No, no, no! We’re barely friends, my mom knew her mom, she’s just…”

But Arajin can tell Marito isn’t buying his excuses; of course he’s thought about you that way. 

“I liked her.” Arajin confesses quietly. “She’s cute and she's a good person: I admire her, that's all."

Cute, brave, sweet, and only the most perfect girl and Arajin knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. Besides, you don’t see him that way; he might as well be your kid brother, the way you fuss and act so protectively. 

“I can see it now: two love birds who grew up together, getting married and running this place, a few kids maybe, real domestic. Blegh.” Marito rolls his eyes. “I bet your mom would be thrilled; is she planning the wedding? You're not just playing with me to pass the time, are ya?”

“You know mom likes you; you shocked her maybe, but she thinks you're funny and cool.” Arajin replies with a small smile. "Not that she wouldn't be happy with anyone as long as they treat me well. The only thing that would make the old hag happier is maybe if you and I and-”

“We all got together? You, me, and that little beast?” Marito picks up a dumpling, almost gingerly with his chopsticks, inspecting it with an odd half smile. “Nah, more like…a nervous little kitten who doesn’t know how to use her claws yet. She needs training.” 

Arajin watches Marito carefully; he’s been acting off all afternoon. More so, at least. 

"You heard what she said: besides, she hates fighting." Arajin remarks, passing Marito the whole plate of skewers. "Go on, these are your favorite right?"

"They're best when you make 'em though." Marito winks, basically salivating as he picks up another stick. "I bet you've had a lot of her cooking, huh?"

"Why do you keep bringing the conversation back to her?" Arajin sighs; his teas gone cold but he's too anxious to call you back over to bring more. "My mom teaches her and she has me for a guinea pig. Actually when she started cooking it was awful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, always over salted or undercooked or burned, you name it." Arajin recalls various failed dishes he had been assigned to taste test. "She'd do it over and over again though. It was important to her. Mom would tell her food can be an expression of personality; I guess that's why she put so much effort into doing better."

Every time, you would go to him with a hopeful spark in your eyes; even now you're self conscious about how your food tastes. Arajin would say the practice paid off, but considering he would consume poison made with your painstaking care, maybe he's not the one you should've been going to for critiques.

"Her food tastes like her." Marito smacks his lips in satisfaction. "I taste it."

"The saying isn't really literal." Arajin smiles in exasperation. "What are you even tasting?"

Marito leans his chin on his hand; he has a much more subdued expression and the abrupt change on his demeanor isn't lost on Arajin. Marito is being serious.

"Filling warmth."

"Filling...warmth?"

"It's kinda like," Marito drawls. "There's heat in my belly; I already ate so much, I know I shouldn't eat more, but I can't get enough. Don't ya taste it?"

"Yeah, well," Arajin scratches his cheek. "I'd say it's comforting? Something like that."

“So, you do have a crush."

"Marito, lower your voice please!"

"Says the one squealing like a little girl; gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Ara-teen. All this time and you never tried to claim her? Normally you woulda been kissin' her ass and the ground she walks on, but you're holding back?” Marito asks, almost as if he’s genuinely curious. “You’re so odd: fiery and bold one minute and all shy and timid the next.”

“I mean, we’re…together now, so what does it matter? Come on, it's not funny, Marito. We're on a date but you keep trying to-to goad me into flirting or something.” Arajin glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. “You act like you want me to make a move on her.”

“Maybe I do.”

Arajin watches, gaping as Marito sinks his teeth into the last dumpling; he’s staring towards where you’re speaking with his mother behind the bar counter. You’re nodding, looking fairly serious now, at the ready and eager to help. Arajin can feel his heart fluttering again and he jumps when Marito’s foot slides to tap his own under the table; Arajin looks up but Marito’s eyes are still on you, a strained smile playing on his lips, as if he's trying to not laugh. 

Although everything on the table has been devoured already, Arajin wouldn't know it from the hungry way Marito scans your face, the way his tongue darts out as if to savor any trace left of the meal you had brought them. He looks ready to lick the empty plate clean: except, his eyes are still on you.

Arajin squirms in his seat and at the same moment, you seem to have noticed them staring. You wave sweetly, smiling at them; Arajin could dissolve into a puddle as Marito reaches under the table to grasp at his knee.

"Hey, ya know what we oughta do? Let's adopt a kitten."

"What?!" Arajin gasps, words cut off as Marito slides his wandering hand further to his thigh. "Stop teasing, this really, really, isn't funny..."

“I thought you liked when I teased you?" Marito giggles maniacally. "Anyway, she did say with lots and lots of love for us. Or are you so worked up you can't remember?"

"I don't think she meant..I-I couldn't-"

"Please, Ara-teen? Pretty, pretty please?" Marito coos and simpers; there's a hint of pink rising in his pale cheeks. “I wanna play with that kitten.”

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5851

Notes; thank you to everyone who has shown their support so far and taken the time to read my work, you are the ones who truly keep me motivated to write. much much love <33

(Not Beta Read)

You woke the next morning in the same t-shirt you had worn the day before, clinging to your skin from cold sweat. Your pants had been kicked off at some unknown point during the restless night of sleep you had. It was hard to recall the exact time you had eventually passed out on top of your bed.

Your phone was ringing somewhere underneath your pillow, causing your entire head to buzz. You groaned, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Irina’s name flashed on the screen as the caller on the other line. You answered the call, pressing the speaker button before dropping your phone on your chest.

“Hi honey, just wanted to let you know my flight made it into Sacramento.” Irina spoke. The passersby’s in the busy airport nearly muffled her voice. 

You picked up your phone again, looking at the time. How late had you slept in? The digital clock read 11:03 am. 

“Okay, I’m glad you made it safely.” You were certain your aunt could hear the rasp of your morning voice.

Irina hummed on the other line. “Just give me a call if you need anything while I’m away.” 

“Will do, love you.” You replied, clearing your throat before responding. 

“I love you too.” Irina replied before ending the call. 

You stared up at your ceiling for a moment, thinking over the events of last night. 

You couldn’t help but feel horrible for Charlie. Were he and his father close? Was his mother around? Did he have any siblings, relatives he was close with? So many questions seemed to fill your thoughts. Though, you knew they were questions that would more than likely go unanswered. It would be an awful choice, you decided, to bring up this suspected trauma unprompted. 

Maybe you could try to divulge more information from your aunt. Based upon her reaction, she must have been relatively close to his father at some point in time. Remembering back to the somber expression your aunt wore last night, you decided against that idea as well. 

You thought back on the relationship you had with your own father. He was an objectively miserable man. How would you have reacted, though, if you had lost him under the same circumstances? It would have surely still been devastating to some degree. 

You’d keep your newfound information to yourself for the time being. It was the only reasonable option you could think of. You were certain Charlie wouldn’t want you to treat him any differently after finding out about what had happened.

The familiar buzz of your phone’s ringer pulled you momentarily from your running thoughts. You grabbed your phone, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your bed, your legs crossed closely in front of you. 

A message from an unsaved number appeared on the screen. You recognized it almost immediately as being Charlie’s from the group chat the night before. Only he hadn’t messaged both you and Robbie. It was only sent to you. 

You sucked in a sharp breath as you unlocked your phone. The message read, “Hey, Robbie wanted me to let you know he woke up feeling sick and won’t be able to make it tonight.” 

Your face fell into a frown as you read over the message again, your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought up a response. 

Another message from Charlie arrived moments later. “He said he’d take over any revisions if you and I would still be willing to finish the presentation tonight.”

The corner of your lips twitched up into a half smile. Now that you and Charlie were on seemingly good terms again, there shouldn’t be any issue with just the two of you working on this together. 

Your fingers unknowingly found themselves twisted through your hair as you typed your response. “Works for me. Same time and place?” 

Charlie sent his response almost instantly. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

You had quite a bit of time to spare until 7pm rolled around. You went through your weekend routine as usual, cleaning up as you went throughout the home. By 6pm you had showered and pulled yourself mostly together. As you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, running your fingers through your drying hair, a new thought crept into your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through Charlie’s mess of hair. 

Your skin burned hot as you dropped your hands at your sides. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back up at your own reflection. 

You couldn’t shake the thought as you made your way into the kitchen downstairs. You stared blankly into the pantry, your thoughts elsewhere. 

Of course, you had always believed there was something charming about Charlie’s character. He was objectively good looking, at least you had thought so. But, thinking back on those few moments you shared alone with him on the porch the night before, there was just something- something about him was strikingly beautiful. 

You bit at your lip, squinting your eyes as you pulled your thoughts together. You reminded yourself that the last thing you wanted to do at the moment was become wrapped up in unrequited crushes and feelings similar to the sort. It was just easier on your own. You had come to this conclusion years ago. It was understandably difficult to trust others, impossible to let anybody in. 

Just as you were about to shut the pantry door, your eyes caught a glint in the back of the pantry, just behind a bag of sugar. You reached forward, grabbing the bottle in your hands. 

You turned over a bottle of red wine, scanning the label quickly. 

You hummed to yourself, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter. You stared it down for a moment, tapping your foot against the hardwood flooring. 

You had no clue how long it had been stuffed away back there. Surely your aunt wouldn’t miss it too terribly. You glanced up at the clock above the stove which read 6:44pm. A small glass wouldn’t hurt anything, just something to dispel your faltering nerve. 

You dug through the kitchen drawers, searching for a bottle opener. Just as you popped the cork, a knock at the front door rang through the home. ‘Shit.’ You steadied yourself, nearly knocking the bottle off the counter. 

You thought you would have had at least a few more minutes to yourself. You quickly made your way to the front door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle. 

Charlie stood in front of you. One hand buried in his front pocket, the other holding the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. You held the frame of the door, following his line of sight to your bare legs. You felt your face grow hot. You hadn’t realized just how much of your oversized t-shirt covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

You quickly pulled your t-shirt up, holding it against your stomach. “Shorts, promise.” God, why were you acting like this? 

Charlie swallowed, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, right.” There was a moment of quiet passed between the two of you. Charlie’s eyes drifted just past you into the entryway.

“Oh, right. Come in.” You pushed the door open further for him. He followed you inside, stepping beside you as you locked the door behind him. 

He turned to head towards the living room. Without giving it much thought, you interjected. “We can go up to my room.” You motioned up the stairs, watching as Charlie stopped in his tracks.

“Your room? Your aunt won’t mind?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he kicked his shoes off.

“Oh no, she wouldn’t mind. She’s out of town this weekend, anyway.” You replied.

Charlie froze for a moment, looking up the stairs past you. He met your eyes again before responding. “Cool, yeah. Your room sounds great.”  

You smile down at him, leading him up the staircase. 

“Well, this is it,” you shrugged. “Just put your stuff anywhere you’d like.” You finished, motioning around the room. 

You picked your bag off the ground and climbed into your bed, moving close to the wall. Charlie placed his stuff on the desk beside your bed before dropping himself into the adjoining chair. You began pulling out your things, watching as he intently did the same. He seemed so incredibly focused on the things in front of him. Neither of you spoke. 

As you opened your laptop to access the shared group presentation, Charlie spoke up.

“Okay, I actually went ahead and got everything finished up earlier today.” Your breath got stuck in your chest as you met his eyes. “I figured we could just work on any revisions together.” You could tell from just below your line of sight that he was nervously messing with the corner of a piece of his notebook paper. 

“Oh,” you weren’t sure what to say. “Well, thank you. You totally didn’t have to-”

“No, I know. I wanted to.” Charlie interrupted. 

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip. You scanned through the presentation. It really had been finished. It must have taken him hours. 

There was an uncomfortable silence, making the air thick and heavy around you. You wished you could think of something else to say. An image of the opened bottle of red wine in the kitchen flashed in your mind. 

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked so softly, you couldn’t have been certain you had actually asked it aloud. 

Charlie’s eyes snapped up to meet you. Relief almost played itself across his expression. “Yes, please. If it’s not any trouble.” He rubbed his palms flat against the denim against his thighs. 

You shot up, crawling out of bed. “Not at all.” You gave him your most reassuring smile. 

You rushed downstairs, throwing open the cabinet where you knew Irina kept her best glasses. You grabbed two by the stem and held the bottle in the other hand. 

You made your way carefully up the stairs, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. 

Charlie peered behind himself, eyes falling to the bottle in your hand. 

“Oh,” he began, “I didn’t realize…” 

You suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Did he even drink? 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified. I can go and grab some water or something-” You began turning on your heel. 

Charlie was quick to rise to his feet. “No, no, this is great.” He carefully took the glasses and bottle from your hands. You inhaled sharply and nodded as his fingers brushed against your own. 

You climbed back into bed, watching him fill each glass, respectively. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hand slightly shook as he passed you your glass. 

You took a long drink, watching him do the same. It felt so warm in your throat. You sighed, sinking further into the bed. Charlie seemed to relax a bit in his spot as well. 

A few minutes passed by in a much more comfortable quietness. 

You couldn’t help but become distracted by the man sitting beside you. He just felt so far away. You wished he’d have sat on the bed next to you instead. Every once in a while, you’d feel him glance over at you as you reread the same passage over and over again, still for some reason, unable to comprehend what it said. 

You peered up from your notes, watching Charlie slide a scribbled over sticky note that sat stuck to the base of your lamp. 

You recognized it immediately, feeling yourself shift awkwardly. It was one of the lists you kept from film club, filled almost entirely with movies that Charlie had mentioned in passing. 

“Are these…?” Charlie asked, eyes widening as he made his way down the list. 

You rolled over onto your stomach, reaching over to pull the list from Charlie’s hands. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’ve almost gotten myself caught up.” You tried your best to conceal the shyness you felt at being found out. 

Your heart picked up quickly as he looked you over. There was something about his expression that felt so heavy, it was an unfamiliar sight. 

“What’s next on your list?” He asked, picking up the glass you had set down and refilling it alongside his own. 

You read over the scratched out mess of your handwriting. “Dawn of the Dead, but the 1978 version. Not the remake, of course.” 

A smirk spread across Charlie’s lip, as if he’d taught you well. He held up your glass to take from him. You took it from him slowly, feigning to be worried about spilling a single drop. By this point, your head was already beginning to feel fuzzy. It was a comfortable warmth. 

You slipped the note into your backpack, trying to focus once again on the presentation in front of you. It was useless. 

Before giving it much thought, you spoke up, “You know, I’ve already rented it.” 

Robbie could manage the revisions on his own, right?

“Oh yeah?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to face you. 

“Yeah,” you began, trying to convince yourself that this next question would actually be a good idea. “Would you want to watch it with me?” 

“Tonight?” Charlie’s hands were back against the top of his thighs. His eyes flashed between you and the T.V. that was mounted above your dresser on the opposite side of your bedroom. 

“If that would be okay with you, I’m honestly not getting much work done over here.” You replied, getting up from the bed. 

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds cool.”

You smiled over your shoulder at him as you made your way over the DVD player that sat on top of your dresser. 

You messed with the CD case, popping it open and inserting the disk. You picked up the remote, waiting until the title screen flashed on the T.V. above you. You noticed the top drawer of the dresser was pulled halfway open; you slid it closed, scolding yourself. It contained the clothing you’d dread any guest seeing. You swore you were always so careful about keeping these things in order.

You flipped your bedroom lights off, dimming the lamp that sat on the desk beside Charlie before finding your place back in bed. 

You pressed play, finishing the last of the wine in your glass, before setting the remote and glass on the desk beside you. 

A few moments passed by uninterrupted. You looked over at Charlie. He was sitting so unbelievably stiff in the chair, it just seemed so uncomfortable. 

“Charlie,” you called out to him. He snapped his eyes to meet your own. “You don’t have to watch the entire movie from my desk.” You half laughed.

He stood quickly, nearly knocking things about your desk. You tried your best to hide your smile as he laid down on top of the mattress; the bed dipped under his weight. 

You both kept a fair amount of distance between each other. The movie was well underway. However, you found yourself becoming increasingly more interested in the uneven way Charlie’s chest rose and fell with each breath than what was happening on the screen.

You wished you could just reach over and touch him, move the hair out of his eyes, trace your finger over the arch of his nose. 

You could barely take notice of the way your vision had fixated on him as your head grew blurred and warm. 

You wished he’d turn and face you, say something. He seemed to be frozen in place, legs and arms held in a way that’d rival a statue. His face was fixated on the T.V., as if he were too nervous to move even an inch. It was so warm. The room felt so warm.

You could barely catch the small glimpses he’d spare towards you from his peripherals. You wish he’d just reach over- your eyes trailed down to his hands resting on his stomach, watching the veins in them roll as his finger flexed and twitched. 

You reached up, placing a hand against your face. Your skin was cold to the touch. Why did everything feel so warm?

Your clothing suddenly felt increasingly more suffocating. You were growing desperate for some form of relief. You pulled at the collar of your shirt. Your shorts felt so tight, nearly restricting. You couldn’t explain why you felt so hot. The t-shirt you had on could almost be a dress, anyway, right? 

You climbed over Charlie, one hand on either side of his chest. You steadied yourself on the ground, your head thoroughly swimming. You tried your very best to focus forward on the movie. You unbuttoned the waist of your shorts, carefully stepping out of them.

You heard a heavy sigh from behind you; the sound made the hair on your skin raise. 

“I’m sorry, moving out of the way. Promise.” You laughed, turning back to face Charlie. 

You slid into the bed, finding your spot in the small space between Charlie and the edge of the mattress. Opting not to try to climb over him again in your current state.

Charlie froze in place beside you as you shifted on to your side, trying to find the most comfortable spot between him and the screen. He was warm, so warm. You had just felt as though you were burning up moments ago, but the thought of him moving any further away made your body ache. His warmth was soothing. 

You could feel Charlie’s uncertainty as he began to shift away from you in the bed, providing you with more space presumably. 

You couldn’t explain why you did what you did next. You reacted without giving it much thought at all. You reached behind you, pulling Charlie’s furthest hand towards you until it rested on top of your hair. 

The new position forced him to shift in bed beside you until he was lying on his side as well. His hand flexed under your touch. You wished you could pull him closer. 

His fingers stretched throughout your hair and you sighed, feeling your back sink closer to his chest. You could nearly feel his heart pounding against you. Your hand fell to rest on your side. 

His other hand shifted, moving into a more comfortable position below your neck. “Is this okay?” He whispered right behind your ear. The feeling of his cool breath sent chills up your spine. You nodded, the words lost from you.

You reached up, tracing the veins wove through his forearm. His fist closed and flexed at your touch. The film, just as the presentation, was now lost on you. 

It was just him beside you. The way he smelt, his fingers carefully sliding through your hair and across your cheek, the unsteady beat of his heart against your back. You found yourself sinking further and further into his arms. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as he pulled through the mess of your hair. 

At the sound of your voice, Charlie shifted his weight, wrapping his arm under your neck further to pull you around to face him. 

You both seemed surprised at his sudden movement. You were now face to face, just inches apart. The movie murmured faintly off somewhere in the distance. 

Even in the dark, his blue eyes were so incredibly clear. You reached up, brushing the hair that had fallen in front of his face away. His eyes flitted between your own eyes and lips. You had never noticed before just how full his own lips were. His lips were tinted a deep red from the cherry wine you had shared. You couldn’t help but imagine how sweet he’d taste. 

If you’d just move a bit closer- 

Both of his large hands wrapped throughout your hair again in near desperation. 

You returned the gesture, pushing your thigh through the middle of his own. Lips crashed against one another. 

It was unlike anything you had experienced before. This brash kiss fell into a soft rhythm, gentle exploration as you rocked into one another. 

It didn’t take long until the slow movements devolved into a harsh quick pace as you both grew more comfortable in each other’s arms. There was an air of near violence as your tongues wrapped around each other.

You needed more of him, needed to be impossibly closer in any way you could. Sensing this, Charlie wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top to straddle his waist. 

You sat back, smiling down at him as he unintentionally bucked his hips up closer to you. It was wonderful seeing the state he was in. You knew you were in just about the same shape. 

You were quick to meet his lips again. He held you steadily against himself, continuing to rock himself against you.

Your hands hazily fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. You needed to feel more of his skin against you. The barrier of clothing that separated you from him made you miserable. 

Once the last button was popped, he sat up in bed. Pulling you up with him, his arm clung around your waist. He shrugged the shirt off of himself, throwing it on the ground. You were quick to bring your lips to his again, running your hands up his now bare stomach. He was impossibly toned, felt hard to the touch. 

“Fuck.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled against him. You could feel him getting hard below you. A blush crept up your skin. The sound of his voice like this built up an indiscernible feeling inside of you. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. 

His hands were quick to find themselves under your t-shirt, his thumb brushed against the outer lace of your bra. He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp. You leaned your head against his, smiling softly as he gazed at you in wonder. 

You reached behind yourself, helping him with his work uncertain work. You slid the bra off yourself, throwing it next to Charlie’s discarded shirt. You grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it swiftly over your head. 

You could hear Charlie’s breath audibly stuck in his throat as his eyes darted wildly across your body. The full weight of this situation nearly hit you at once. You brought your arms shyly across your chest. You had never been in front of a man this way. 

You could barely meet his eyes. He was quick to pull you back in to kiss him. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered against you as he kissed your forehead. Your arms melted down to your side as his hands traced the curve of your waist. 

You could feel his hands shake as he cupped your breasts, his fingers softly grazed against your nipples. You sighed, pulling him closer to you. That frenzied feeling returned in full force. 

You needed impossibly more of him. He was quick to act, laying you back down on the bed. He hovered over you, eyes burning into your nearly naked body in front of him. 

His right hand reached down, fumbling with his buckle. You watched intently as his hand slipped underneath the waistband of his boxers to adjust himself. Your eyes fluttered back as you traced your fingers mindlessly over the defined v-line that led further down his hips. He shook at your touch. 

His lips found themselves trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He was so gentle with you. Painfully gentle. Your hands wove through his hair, arching up into him as his pace quickened. He slid further down the bed, wrapping his arms around both of your legs, holding them open to kiss down your thighs. 

You were practically already coming undone below him. He’d come so close to the spot you wanted him to be. Every time he’d pull back away, you’d whine in frustration. He’d hum back against you in response. 

You couldn’t handle the pressure building up inside you anymore. Your right hand traced slowly underneath the lace of your panties. You stopped just before slipping through your folds, looking up to meet Charlie’s eyes. His expression seemed nearly pained, completely desperate. 

“I don’t know- I’ve never…” Charlie could barely get the words out from between his lips. Even in the dim lighting, you could tell he was flustered, embarrassed at his own lack of experience. It was reassuring to you though, you had practically no experience with all of this either. It was sweet, how shy he seemed at that moment. 

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.” You gave him a reassuring smile before carefully intertwining your fingers with his own. He followed suit, hooking his free hand around your panties before sliding them off you. Your desperation for him drowned out any insecurity you could have possibly felt with him above you in that state you were in. 

You brought his fingers against you, sighing into him as he carefully let you guide him in slow circles against your clit. The knot deep inside you only grew as he became increasingly comfortable. Your hands dropped to his shoulders as he became familiar with the pace and direction you wanted. 

His free arm wrapped around your back, gripping your sides with bruising force as you started to writhe below him. His head dipped beside your ear, “Please, please let me taste you.” He practically begged. 

You could only nod, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers moved faster, losing their rhythm. 

He was quick to shift his weight as he sat up for a moment, pulling off his constricting jeans and socks, leaving him nearly entirely exposed. You groaned at the sight of him in front of you. He was so damningly beautiful. Your vision flitted down to the large impression in his boxers, your eyes widened at the size of him. 

Before you could process this discovery, he was kneeling on the bed in front of you again. One arm snaked around your thigh as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him make his way through his. 

He kissed just above your clit, eyes looking up at you for approval. 

“Please Charlie,” you urged him on. 

His lips were against your most sensitive spot immediately. You cried out, screwing your eyes shut. Nothing had ever been so perfect as this. He kissed against you a few more times before deciding to explore you with his tongue, “Fuck, it’s so good.” He groaned against you, speaking more to himself than you. 

The vibration of his deepening voice sent shockwaves throughout your body. Your eyes and legs involuntarily worked to screw shut. Charlie acted quick, pushing your thighs back apart with a painful grip. You were sure you’d have his finger prints bruised into your skin the next morning. ‘Good’ you thought to yourself. 

You could tell he was trying his best to emulate the motion you had shown him with your fingers with his tongue. It was maddening, completely perfect. 

“Fuck baby, you’re doing so well.” The words spilled mindlessly out of you. He groaned as you rolled your hips against him. Your eyes trailed down his chest. His right hand found its way inside his boxers. He was palming at himself as if he were in pain. You wanted to be the one to relieve him. 

The sight of him pleasing himself as he worked you over was enough to nearly send you crashing blindly over the edge. You could barely get the next words out of you, “Don’t, don’t touch yourself.” You were trying to keep it all together as he whined against you, following your demands. 

“Fuck Charlie, I’m going to…” you said between broken moans. 

He pulled away for a moment, his entire expression darkened. It could’ve easily been terrifying in any other context, you noted to yourself. The fingers that had just been wrapped around your thigh found themselves quickly against your entrance. Your eyes widened as you connected with his gaze, realizing his intentions. You’d do anything to have him inside of you. 

He kissed your lips. You sucked the taste of yourself off of him, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. His middle and ring dove forward inside of you. His other hand came up quickly to muffle your screams. 

“Shit, you’re so tight.” His chest shuddered at his own words. A tear rolled down your face as he talked you through it. “So wet for me.” 

His free hand pressed down against your lower stomach. The additional pressure was the last push you needed. Your whole nervous system seemed to snap as his fingers fucked you through your high. You could barely hear his praise as your ears rang out with incredulous force. You were sobbing out his name, vision white and spotted at the blinding pleasure. 

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly letting you come back to yourself for a moment before diving his tongue back against you. 

You writhed up against the footboard. It was too much, too overstimulating. Your hands pulled at his hair to push him away. He grabbed both your wrists with one hand, holding you in place below him. You were babbling, stuck between ‘It’s too much’ and ‘please don’t stop.’ 

Within a matter of moments, you were coming undone again against his face. Your mind was shattered, your body a wreck under his touch. 

He fell back against the headboard, catching his breath as he watched you ride out your high. 

As soon as you could partially catch your breath again, you sat up, watching him shift uncomfortably from his pressing erection. 

It was his turn to be taken care of. You crawled your way up to rest between his thighs. His eyes darted across your face, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

You couldn’t hide your smile as you leaned into him. You kissed him slowly, licking across his lips. Your lips slowly made their way down his chest as your fingers grazed across the fabric against his cock. He whimpered above you at the pressure. The sound made your stomach clench. You’d give anything to hear it again. 

He slid further down the bed as your lips trailed kisses and shallow bites marks further down his stomach. 

Once you could tell he was in a more comfortable position, you hooked your fingers into the waistline of boxers. He lifted his hips, helping you pull them down his thighs before discarding them on the ground below. 

You sat back on your heels, mouth agape at the sight in front of you. You could do little to hide your shock at the uncovered size of him. 

You glanced up at him, willing yourself to put on a face that feigned at least a hint of experience. He smirked down at you, as if he could tell exactly what thoughts were passing through your mind. 

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, eyes still full of adoration for you. 

Before giving him the opportunity to finish his sentence, you wrapped your fingers against the base of his cock. You could feel him pulse under your touch. His next words were stuck and gone in his chest. 

You held his gaze as your hand carefully twisted its way up to the tip of his cock. You gathered his precum on your fingers and circled it around the length of him. His mouth fell open as his stomach flexed under you. 

“Does that feel good?” You asked softly. 

He bit his lip, nodding his head yes. You were quick to pick up your pace at his approval.  

His hands were desperate, switching between grabbing at the bedsheets and headboard and any of your skin he could get ahold of. Stunning whimpers and pleas spilled out of him as you found the motion and speed he needed. 

You pulled away for a moment, moving yourself further down the bed. You held him still in one hand again as you kissed a trail down from his navel. Your eyes met with his as your lips hovered above the tip of his cock. You gathered spit on the tip of your tongue and let it fall slowly onto him. He cursed a string of expletives, his eyes rolling back into his head as you took him into your mouth. 

You thought carefully over each motion, keeping your teeth back, hollowing out your cheeks. The sensation was entirely new, but the way he began to convulse below you let you know you were doing something right. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel the same way he had made you. 

His hands wrapped almost painfully through your hair as he bucked further and further down your throat. You tried your best to relax, allowing him to take the space he wanted. 

Your throat burned, tears and spit covered your face and chest. You wouldn’t have possibly wanted it any other way. 

You were both becoming increasingly sloppy and starved in your movements. His right hand grabbed at your throat, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. You stilled, letting him fuck your throat as he pleased. It didn’t take long before his movements stilled and stuttered. 

You felt him pulse in your mouth; you were flooded with his release, warmth coated your throat and tongue. The taste and sight above you made your entire body shudder. It was heavenly. You felt truly blessed to be the cause of it all. You could vaguely make out your name being spilled from between his lips.

His chest heaved as you carefully pulled away from him, his cock falling against his stomach. 

You caught his eyes again, making a show to swallow what he had given to you. He pulled you into himself, kissing all over your face until you were laughing in his arms. 

You dropped into the bed beside him, watching him shift his weight and stand. He scanned the room before spotting the bath towel that hung beside your bedroom door. He made quick work of cleaning the two of you up, tracing kisses across you as he did so. 

Your nerves were all shot. Your entire being was exhausted and heavy. 

He dropped the towel next to the discarded pile of clothing that had accumulated on your bedroom floor. Charlie slid back in bed beside you, lifting the disheveled duvet over you both. He pulled you up onto his chest. You sighed as he swept the hair out of your face. 

You were in a complete haze, halfway into a deep sleep. 

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered above you. 

You hummed, reaching up to kiss under his jaw. “Thank you.” You replied, pulling a sore a leg over his thighs, resting your head back down against him.

The movie’s title screen music played on repeat in the background; you couldn’t be the least bit bothered to turn it off. 

[zmediaoutlet]

spn20rewatch, 1.06: "So you lie to them."

A lot is made of the way that the Winchester boys grew up isolated. Raised to be soldiers, moved from town to town. That should lead to a particular kind of raw-edged unsocialized set of feral outsiders -- but Sam and Dean are thoroughly not that. A large part of why, I think, is that they were always enrolled in school (until Dean aged out). They actually had lots of opportunity to engage with normal people, even if the relationships they formed weren't necessarily deep. To borrow from Fight Club, they had plenty of 'single serving friends' -- good for a short time, but not for a long time. This practice is how they're both so good with people -- they don't come off as all that strange in normal interactions when they're not working, because they're just... not that strange, at least on the surface. They're good with people. They're just not good long-term.

When Sam goes to college, part of the stated goal is for there to be a normal life -- or a life at all, because he doesn't seem to include the rambling hunting existence as a valid option. A big part of that normalcy included finding a girlfriend and making friends. Makes sense, especially since he must have passed through dozens of schools with pre-established friend groups that he could see he'd never really be part of. After a while he'd know there was no point in trying to integrate, if they were only going to be in that school for a few months. Stanford gave him the opportunity to put down some roots, to really engage, and it seems from what little we see that he made a good effort. ...But.

DEAN: You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies? SAM: Why not? DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell them? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing? SAM: I tell them I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell them I needed some time off after Jess. DEAN: Oh, so you lie to them. SAM: No. I just don’t tell them… everything. DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, telling the truth is far worse. SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious? DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period. SAM: You’re kind of anti-social, you know that? [...] DEAN: Dude, what kind of people are you hanging out with? SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer. DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

We'll learn in a later episode how well it went for Dean when he shared the family secrets with someone, so his attitude here is understandable. That said, when Rebecca finds out that something monstrous is happening with Sam, she doesn't completely flip out -- the evidence is in front of her, and she appreciates Sam's help. So, maybe Dean's wrong about this. ...But we never see Rebecca again, and there's no indication that Sam actually kept up with her or Zack after this hunt.

Sam also never told Jessica the truth about his life, and he doubles down on that choice when he tells Dean in episode one that Jessica was never going to know. He thinks there can be a partition between the hunting life (that doesn't even count as life, and is dangerous and bad and must be kept secret) and the "real" life in the daylight, and sees no issue in closing his entire past and large parts of himself away. It's safer, and better, and he'll be able to get through it and have that normal life he always said he wanted.

It doesn't work that way, though, and not only because the plot intervened. We've already had the moral structure of this universe established and it is not acceptable to ignore those things you could have done something about, with your knowledge and skills. Sam's a hunter, got trained that way for ten years, and the pretense that he can be wholly in these friendships (or romantic relationships) while partitioning away a massive part of his history and personality is a farce that was doomed to end. His friends didn't know him because he couldn't let them know him. He says himself, he never really fit in. The 'normal life' he was after wasn't ever going to be an option. He understands that, by the end of the episode; accepting it will take a little longer. At least he and Dean are freaks together.

[fae-renjun]

OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE CAMERA — h.sh

ep. 2 — audition day! [𖦹 wc: 730+]

previous | masterlist | next

— leehan coughed lightly to get your attention, “huh? oh. sorry, i’m just zoned out.”

“yeah i could tell,” he replied with a laugh

you smiled and looked back down at the scripts on the desk in front of you, overwhelmed by the fact that it was finally happening, you were finally making a film. the idea of watching people act out the scenes you wrote was daunting.

“i think a couple of people are already here, should i let them in?” you looked at the digital clock above the door, the red lights on it flashed 11:49. 

"tell them to wait a bit longer, i need to um-"

"it’s ok if you’re nervous. just because it’s a college short film doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter to you."

“thanks. and thanks for helping out again, i know the other three are busy for another hour but sungchan said him and his friends should be coming to help.”

“it’s no problem y/n, we’re all doing this together.” “honestly i don’t know what i would do without you guys.”

“you’d probably suffer,” he said, trying to alleviate your stress before going out to tell the people auditioning to wait longer. 

you took a deep breath. you can do this y/n. it’s just auditions. 

leehan walked back into the studio with sungchan, wonbin, eunseok and anton in tow. you greeted each other, and you thanked them for taking the time to help. “i just want to watch seunghan embarrass himself honestly,” said anton, which was met with eunseok hitting his chest so he followed up with, “-and to help. obviously.”

you laughed, “it’s ok, there’s not that much for you to do anyway, just take these scripts,” you picked up the stack from the desk and walked over to them, “and pass them around when the auditionees come in.”

before you knew it, 10 minutes had passed by, so when the clock showed 11:59, you got the boys to call the auditionees in. it was only about 10 people, some you recognised, some you didn’t. you’d made a lot of time for auditions, knowing there were people that had classes and could only show up later. what you didn’t expect was how many people would show up.

in total, 34 people auditioned for the 4 available roles. you were in for a lot of difficult decision making that night. your frontrunners for the female lead were ahn yujin from your year and kim minjeong, a senior. you definitely knew minjeong better, having hung out with her before since her and karina went to high school together. but while both played the part better than anyone in that room, yujin brought such a realistic edge to the character, it was fascinating to watch her audition because you could really feel your character come to life. 

the male lead front runners were sung hanbin and hong seunghan. you knew seunghan from a few classes you’d taken together in the past, and because he was friends with sungchan, a highschool classmate of yours. he was on the basketball team, and you’d seen a couple of games of his. you knew he was good at basketball, but you’d never expected him to be so good at acting. in many ways he felt like your character had been lifted off the page and become a real person. you were trying desperately to ignore the tiny bias in your head towards him, courtesy of the crush you’d had last semester. 

hanbin on the other hand, was vice-captain of the dance team, and was expected to take over once shotaro (the current captain) graduated. he had a natural talent for performance of all kinds, as was evident from his audition. 

needless to say, you were exhausted once the auditions were done, letting out a huge breath once everyone but your friends had left. 

“god that was fucking tiring,” said yizhuo. taesan nodded, “too many good options, but at least the bad ones were fun to watch.” you all hummed in agreement, and packed up your things in silence. 

“so, back to the apartment for decisions? i wanna get it done by tomorrow afternoon,” you said when everyone looked ready to go. “can we pick up snacks on the way?” asked leehan. you nodded in response and the 5 of you set off to you, yizhuo and karina’s shared apartment.

a/n: sorry for the delay, the main reason this chapter took so long was me procrastinating the written section lols. also! lmk if you guys want a teaser for my next smau (a wonbin one) set in the same universe 👀

tags: @billiondollarworth @nujeskz @secretiny @soobsthings @talk420 @renjuneoo @flaminghotyourmom @academiq @luffysgfforevaa1 @hwadejectedyoung @starwonb1n @onebnis @calumsfringe

© 2024 FAE-RENJUN. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or steal any of my posts.

[embersofhope-if]

"On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes that who would represent it."

Twenty-five years have passed since the rebellion, yet the price is still being paid by the Districts. Even though most people alive today had no part in the fight, they suffer the consequences of the Capitol's anger. The harsh reality of the Capitol's cruelty is revealed every year on July 4th, Reaping Day. On this day, two children from each of the 12 districts are randomly chosen to fight to the death in an arena until only a lone victor remains. Parents hold their children close and hope it isn't their child who will be ripped away from them, knowing that there is nothing they can do to stop it.

However, this year is different. This year marks the very first Quarter Quell, and parents don't have to worry about whether their children might be taken away because, for this once-in-a-lifetime event, they get to choose who goes into the arena. But there's no doubt in anyone's mind who's going in when the mayor has a child of his own - me.

Now it's my turn to play a true game of life or death. May the odds be ever in my favor

Demo ☆ Playlist ☆ Pinterest

Customize your appearance (hair type and color, complexion, height, build, clothing)

Choose how you interact with the Capitol and those of your District

Form new relationships and change the ones you already have

Train in the weapon of your choice yes including a bow

Try not to die<3

17+. Content warnings for graphic violence, child death, child abuse/neglect, starvation, murder

Creon Levesque ♤ The Mentor ♤ RO ♤ 19

A special friend in very special places. I met Creon when you were 12 years old at a dinner party my Uncle Keyon had brought me to in the Capitol. Maybe it was the fact that I was very obviously District or maybe it was something else entirely, but from that night forward, Creon and I have had an intense and strange relationship. And now they stand before me assuring me that with them as a mentor, everything will be alright. How they managed to get themselves as a mentor they won't tell me, but honestly, in the end, does it matter?

♤Creon is gender selectable by the player♤

Romance Route: Red flag of all red flags, forbidden love, different worlds, insta love (at least on Creons part)

Aurelius/Aurelia Weaver ♧ The District Partner ♧ RO ♧ 18

My district partner. I don't know them that well, especially after they dropped out of school at 16 to work full-time in the factories. I'm not entirely sure what I did to them to warrant the looks of pure disgust and anger they throw my way after that, but now things have changed. They asked to be the other tribute for District 8, and now standing in front of them and looking into their eyes, all I can see is a predator looking at its prey. They are going to kill me, and they're going to enjoy it.

♧ Aurel is always the opposite gender of Mc ♧

Romance Route: Enemies to Lovers, Doomed Love, potential unrequited love, perhaps unrequited but actually requited love😏

Asher "Ash" Fairchild ♡ The Childhood Bestfriend ♡ 16

Ash was the first and only real friend I've had my entire life. They were practically the embodiment of everything good in the world. Everyone loved Ash, and when they had their name called for the 23rd reaping the shock and sorrow was felt throughout the entire District. Even walking up to the stage, they moved like a petal dancing through the wind. Their memory has haunted me every day for the past two years, and now I get to experience the same terror they felt in their final moments.

♡ There will be an option to be in a relationship with Ash before their games. Ash is also gender selectable by the player ♡

Romance Route: First love, childhood friends to lovers, soulmates

Soren Vesper ◇ The Mayor ◇ 46

The mayor of District 8, and my Father. A very stern man who prefers things to be done his way. I've never seen his mask of the harsh mayor who does everything the Capitol request ever break, that is until the announcement of the Quarter Quell. The change happened so fast that it scared me. A once mighty man who didn't care about the people of his district now begging them to choose anyone but his child to go into the games. At least I get to know my Father does care for me before I die.

Tribute and Other Profiles TBA

☆This is my second IF my main one is @shadowsofthegun-if if anyone is interested in being a goofy little cowboy and i have another IF @dustandshadows-if set in the world of the shadowhunter chronicles if anyone is interested in that as well. @konosadmaru is also my main if anyone wants to follow me on there☆

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 10 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, smoking, references to the drug war and colombia, Narcos season 3 spoilers

Notes: Thank you @janaispunk for always beta reading for me. I love you!

Words: 3956

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry September 4th, 1994 Dear Javi,

So it’s been a month since you left. I’m trying not to be hurt by the lack of communication. Dad said you’re alive. The reports out of Colombia sound like you’re doing well even. I know you called your dad. He mentioned it at Ale’s riding lesson. 

School is kicking my ass. Passing the GED and actually going to class is a huge fucking difference. For the most part, I’ve managed the social situations fine. Classes are small, I can sit in the back. People don’t notice the old lady in the back. I’m pretty sure I’m only retaining a quarter of what I need to. I’m on too high of alert. I knew it would be hard, but it feels like my anxiety has gotten worse again. I feel like I’m moving backward. 

Standing outside the Embassy, Javier lit a cigarette. The habit had returned in full as he fought to manage the stress of the day and ghosts of the night. He’d managed to keep his bed empty and his ashtray full. It felt like the better option of the two. 

He still hadn’t called home. His voicemail still held last week’s message from Alejandra. He fought with himself every night. The push and the pull to talk to Emily, but every night ended the same, drowning in smoke and whiskey. He wasn’t clean enough to have her or the kids. It was better this way. 

He felt useless down here. What good was the DEA if they weren’t going to actually do any enforcing. He and the whole agency were just expensive window dressing here to make it look like everything was above board, to get the DEA stamp of approval on this surrender deal. Javier hated it all.  

“Can I get one of those?” A woman appeared next to him, her dirty blond curls threaded with the soft grays and white of aging. Javier offered one up in a silence. “I quit four months ago.” She smiled before bringing it to her lips.

Javier cocked his head to the side, still assessing her motives. He hadn’t seen her around before. She wanted something, Javier just couldn’t decide what. He lit the cigarette for her as they both took a drag, sizing one another up as they did. 

He briefly wondered if her hair style was what Emily had in mind when she mentioned cutting it shorter. He still preferred the idea of her long curls. His chest tightened. Not that he had any right to a say in that. 

The woman squared up to him. “Carolina Alvarez, El Tiempo.” She held out her hand.

Just what he needed, the press. He let her hand hang in the air just long enough to make her feel uneasy before taking it with an admittedly poor handshake. As he suspected, it didn’t take long for her to launch into whatever introduction she had planned, pulling up his history with Los Pepes and the current politics happening with Cali’s plea deal. 

It was a power play. Javier refused to let her win. “You can call the press office if you want a comment, Miss Alvarez.”

“Carolina, please,” she said.

In another life, Javier wouldn’t give her the time of day. Of course, he didn’t have to deal with the press last time. That had been above his pay grade. He tossed the cigarette butt to the ground, stomping it out with his foot. Of course, he didn’t have to deal with her now. That was what the press office was for. “Have a nice day.” He turned, started to walk away. 

“Have you heard much about the Cali accident?” she asked. His steps slowed down. He turned back around. “Four more people dead. Children. Dozens more sick.” She stepped toward him. “An empty chlorine gas canister was found nearby.”

Javier kept his face straight. His shoulders tensed. He’d seen the initial report, but hadn’t thought too much about it. 

Caroline continued, taking his silence for permission. “There’s a rumor its manufacturer is linked to a front company operated by the Cali Cartel.”

“It’s like you said, it was an accident,” Javier said, expression etched in stone, not giving anything away. 

Carolina let out a humorless chuckle. “By the end of the day it will be. No matter what the truth is.” She met his eye, giving it a second for emphasis before lapsing into Spanish. “Thank you for the cigarette.” 

She walked away, leaving Javier in the same place, same expression on his face. He fought against his surging emotions. He wasn’t going to let some journalist use him to do her research. Even so, it nagged on him throughout the day. He found himself taking extra smoke breaks.  

When he found himself watching the evening news, the investigator calling it an accident, caused by a natural gas leak, Javier felt anger surge through him. How many families had to be torn apart to protect these men? Innocent children had died. Mothers had children to bury. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t justice. 

Pictures flashed across the screen, the children killed by the exposure. He’d seen children die before. He’d watched a man he respected shoot a teenager in the head as a warning. He’d held a gun to a kid. Those incidents had messed with his head enough, but these kids were in their homes, tucked into their beds. They were supposed to be safe. How many times had Javier watched as Emily ushered her children to bed, kissed their heads, and trusted that they'd be safe in their bed. That they would wake up. 

Javier was never good at guessing the ages of kids, but each face that flashes across the screen seems to remind him of them. Miguelito. Alejandra. Mateo. Children he’d grown to know, to love even…

This wasn’t right. Cali didn’t get to get away with it. Not this time. He shut the TV off, walking over to Chris Feistl’s desk. He leaned against the wall. “You got a partner, right?”

Chris looked up at him, confused and a little shocked. “Uh, yeah. Kinda.”

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he could still bring justice. 

“Good, you’re going to Cali.” He walked away before Feistl could respond. 

This time would be different.

Journal Entry September 18th, 1994 Dear Javi,

It hurts not to hear from you. Dad said all reports from Colombia have been good. I’m sure you’re getting restless. 

I had a panic attack in class this week. I had to leave ten minutes into the class. I hadn’t had one since Escobar was killed. That’s the longest I’d been without one since I came home. I was starting to think maybe I’d never have one again. 

I feel… disappointed. 

Javier met Carolina at a cafe. She gave him information about Cali's money launderer, Franklin Jurado. She pushed him in a way he needed just as she had in their first meeting. It seemed weird that perhaps his moral compass would come in the form of a nosy journalist. 

“Are you going to take these men on or what?” she asked.

Javier let out a quick breath, formulating his answer very carefully. “I’m going to do my job.”

“And your bosses?” Her gaze was piercing, like she was trying to see his soul or haunt his dreams until the job was done. “Do they know what you’re doing?”

His eyes drifted to his coffee. “No comment,” he said, putting the cup to his lips, pinning her with a soft glare he was sure she saw right through. 

She called him with the address an hour after he left.

Javier didn’t have to sit long before Franklin appeared on the steps, bags in tow. He was going somewhere, but where was the question. A driver appeared, helping the man with his bags and once they were packed, a woman walked toward him. Javier watched from his SUV as Franklin took her hand. She didn’t look happy to be saying goodbye, and then he held her tight. 

A pang shot through Javier’s chest as the blonde woman folded into her husband’s arms. She didn’t want him to go, but she was there to say goodbye anyway. An image of Emily flashed through his mind. The night before he left, she hadn’t cried, but he saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she hugged him. He wondered if his coldness had made her cry since that night. This was better for her. She would be better off without him. He let out a sigh as he turned the ignition to follow Franklin’s, cutting off the thought before it wracked his body with guilt. 

After following Jurado to the airport, Javier headed for his own flight to follow him. Stechner blocked it, pulling him into the jungle with a couple of senators to rub elbows, to take him out like a show pony, the man who brought down Escobar, except he wasn’t even in the country when that happened. Everyone seems to ignore that part. 

He seethed on the helicopter ride in, feigning a broken headset to avoid talking. There were plenty of other places Javier would rather be, anywhere else really. He was supposed to be taking down Cali, despite what his orders were. Hell, he’d rather run for his life through the communas again than take a couple of stuffy senators on a stroll through the jungle. 

Humidity hung heavy in the air as sweat soaked his shirt. He was used to the weather, but in dress shoes and slacks it was hell. To make it all worse, it was apparent from the get go that it was a set up, a fancy, high tailed lie to raise support for whatever the CIA was gunning for, fighting communists or whatever. Javier found the whole pursuit to be a gigantic waste of time. He’d smuggled a communist out of the country once, he’d do it again without a second thought, but one thing became abundantly clear. Cali’s surrender had nothing to do with the war on drugs and everything to do with fundraising. 

Javier’s blood boiled the entire ride home, replaying his conversation with Stechner. The way the CIA agent had laughed about the drug war as if it was a joke. Maybe it was, but Javier wasn’t ready to let this one go. 

“The drug war? We lost it. You were there!”

It echoed on a fucking loop, driving him crazy as he made his way back home. There weren’t enough cigarettes in the world to numb the blows and they kept coming. 

“Did you ever stop to think that someone who takes this as personally as you do, is doing it wrong?”

He stubbed out the bud against his truck door as he got out, marching up the steps as he knocked on the door. 

This was personal. He couldn’t go home empty handed. He couldn’t face her without knowing he’d made an impact on this fight, brought down men like the one who’d inflicted such scars on her.  

Colonel Martinez opened the door, breaking Javier from his thoughts. He looked surprised to see him. 

Javier cut to the chase. “Want to go after Gilberto Rodriguez?”

Journal Entry October 2nd, 1994 Javi,

Where the fuck are you? It feels like my best friend abandoned me. You abandoned me. 

The day they arrested Gilberto Rodriguez, Javier went through the wringer, the emotional ups and downs. The DEA was excited. The bullpen had given him a round of applause, wanted to toast him. He didn’t like that. The ambassador had torn him a new one. Javier wasn’t a fan of that either. A meeting of high ranking Colombian officials with the American representatives showed the scope. Some felt this gave them more leverage while others feared it would make things worse, but the president ordered that Gilberto go through the same process as any other citizen. Javier considered that a win. He didn’t take pleasure in the press conference. 

By the time he made it back to the office, he had a killer headache, but it was thankfully empty by then. Javier pulled out the whiskey and the cigarettes. He didn’t necessarily feel happy, but he felt as if he’d done something finally.

Javier didn’t stop to celebrate or rest. He turned focus right back to Franklin Jurado, refocusing his attention on the launderer, but not before stopping to put a big, red X through Gilberto’s picture. That brought him a moment of happiness, but he paused to wonder.

He wondered if she had heard the news, seen the press conference. Did Emily know how much of a driving force she was to him? How much he wanted to clear the earth of every single cartel and drug boss, to make her feel safe again. For a second, he contemplated calling her. Could he know? Had he atoned enough? He shook his head at the thought, gripping the marker tightly in his hand. He would never atone enough. 

“This is Peña. Leave a message.” BEEP

“Mr. Javi. It’s me. Alejandrina.”

“I’m here too!” Mateo’s voice called out, sounding more distant than his sister’s. 

“Miguelito is here too. Mom is working in the yard.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this!” Miguelito said. “Grandpa is going to see it on the phone bill.”

“You never called me back.” Alejandra continued. “I saw you on the news in grandpa’s office. He didn’t know I saw. It sounded like you caught the bad guys. Can you come home now?”

“There’s more than one bad guy.” Miguelito reminded her. 

Alejandra sighed frustratedly as she went off in Spanish at her older brother. There was static on the receiver and then Mateo started talking as his older siblings fought in the background. 

“Mr. Javi. Stay safe. We love you. Bye.” The machine clicked off. 

Javier spent the next week in meetings getting berated or praised for the DEA’s actions, but mostly the berated. The doubt crept in at times. Maybe he should have left well enough alone, but it never stayed for long. He’d done the right thing. He was certain of that. 

Neil spent most of his time listening to the Jurado tapes in search of a location of Franklin. Nothing was turning up yet, but he still held out hope. Each conversation Franklin and his wife had tugged on something in Javier’s heart. Maybe it was the way she begged him to turn himself in, her worry, the anxiety. 

Even as he sat at the end of the bar, eyes pinned to Christina Jurado, Javier felt the guilt ebbing at him. Last year, he wouldn’t have thought twice about using Christina’s situation to get the information. It was easy enough, buy her a drink, pull out the charm, trick her into telling him where Franklin was. So why did he feel so damn bad about it? Why could he only picture Emily in the same position? 

Her situation had been nothing like this. They were two separate people in two separate realities. So why was he struggling with this? Why couldn’t he separate the two women? He should call her. 

Javier shook his head, waving the bartender over. He ordered a drink for Christina, clearing his head and dusting off the charm as he waited for the drink to be delivered. 

She looked annoyed at first, but the moment his English caught her ears, he watched her entire demeanor change. Javier knew he had it in the bag, but it didn’t feel as good as it used to. And then the words slipped out, almost like his mouth had a mind of its own. 

“You reminded me of someone. Someone from home.”

She liked that line, but he wanted to shower the moment he said it. What right did he have to utter even her existence in this place? None, but he’d done it anyway. Further evidence that he’d done the right thing by not calling her. 

Even through the guilt gnawing at him, Javier played the dutiful flirt. Almost lost himself in it, almost dared to enjoy it.

“So what could pull him away from-” He looked her up and down. “From all this.”

The words repeated in his mind. What could pull him away from her? In both cases the answer was the same. The Drug War. This all powerful thing that had left him battered and bruised yet kept drawing him back in. 

Christina paused, gave him another once over and then slid from her seat. “Say hi to Texas for me.”

Javi gave her credit, she was committed to her husband, or maybe his flirting skills weren’t as good as they used to be, either way, it was plan B. He called out the name she’d never told him, told her who he was, and she all but spit in his face. 

When Javier showed up at her front door later that day, she didn’t turn him away. He may not have learned where Franklin was, but she gave him the time of day. She listened. She all but told him she would try to convince her husband to turn himself in. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t look at him as he set his card on the coffee table, a far away look in her eyes, no doubt replaying the past, just like Emily when- Javier cut the thought off. This wasn’t her. This was different. 

He reasoned that he was doing this to help Christina, to keep her safe, but he knew that wasn’t true, his own selfish motives landing in the forefront of his mind. It was for the greater good, but how many people had he harmed for the greater good? 

Before he left, Javier vowed to keep Christina out of harm’s way. It was the least he could do. This time would be different.

It worked. Christina called Franklin almost as soon as he left. By the grace of god, the tap caught the man thanking someone in the language, specific enough to track him down to Curaçao. 

Before the night was over, Javier sat at the airport bar tapping his fingers against the smooth surface. He still couldn’t shake the feeling, the deceit of it all. He was caught off guard when his SAT phone rang. He answered, keeping an eye out at the bar around him. 

“Peña,” He answered, taking a sip of his whiskey. 

“Uh, it’s me… Christina Jurado.”

“I’m glad you called… You okay?”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Christina said. She sounded nervous, worried. “If I do this- if I get my husband to- you can protect us? We can go home?”

Javier’s chest tightened. He finished off his drink. “You have my word.” But he didn’t know how much his word carried these days.

She hesitated before answering. “I talked to him.”

“You did? That’s good.”

“He’s gonna cooperate.”

“He said that?” Javier picked up his duffel bag.

“No, not yet- but he will. I just… I need a little time.”

“That’s fine.” Javier walked down the terminal. “You take all the time you need.” 

He hung up without another exchange, just before his flight was announced over the intercom. Internally, he repeated his early promise. He’d keep her safe. 

Journal Entry October 15th, 1994

I dropped my classes today. I haven’t been able to make it to class. I thought I could do it. You thought I could do it…

Javier had almost forgotten the adrenaline rush of chasing down the bad guys. The hunt for Gilberto had been one thing, but the thrill of actually chasing someone down, weaving through the crowds, finally getting him. It felt good. It felt like a win when even his wins felt like losses these days. 

In all of Javier’s days in law enforcement, he’d never had someone ask about their wife. Never had anyone worried for anyone’s safety but their own, and he assured Franklin that she would meet them in Miami. 

Javier couldn’t help but admire the Jurado’s commitment to one another. For one, it made it a lot easier to get his witness, yet there was something about them. Tangled up in this mess, but still committed, still loving each other. 

As they landed, his phone rang again. Christina called him, freaking out about the men at her apartment. He had to tell her they’d arrested him. She reacted as he expected, upset and anxious, and surprisingly, his guilt had subsided. Maybe it was because they had Franklin. Maybe it was because he knew if she could get herself to the embassy, she would be safe. He’d done it. He’d brought Franklin in, and he hadn’t destroyed a family in the process. She just needed to get herself a couple miles before they found out Franklin was in custody.

“Christina, you want it, this is it.” He cut off her rambling firmly. “As soon as we hang up the phone, you get yourself to the American embassy. You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t call anyone. You get yourself there.”

He caught the whispers of her agreement before the line went dead. 

He paused a second after the call ended, staring at the keypad. Maybe it was the American soil. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually starting to feel good about this. He thought about calling for real, so close to punching the numbers he had memorized. Then he was reminded that he was on the tarmac. The job wasn’t done, but afterward, maybe he would call her. Except, Christina never made it to the embassy. 

An envelope with Emily’s handwriting greeted Javier when he got back to his apartment in Colombia. The return address confirmed it as he stared at it in the dim light of his apartment, rereading the address like he might catch a clue to its contents in the ink strokes. He debated opening it. The kids’ secret phone call to him from a couple weeks ago, the only message that accompanied Emily’s on his answering machine, ran through his mind. 

It was too late for this. It had been a long couple of days. The guilt that had returned tenfold since he left Miami without calling Emily, with Christina’s whereabouts unknown, but he ripped the seal open anyway. 

It was likely Emily ripping him apart, angry with him for abandoning her. Even the kids’ voicemail hadn’t been enough to make him call. He didn’t deserve them. Any of them. He was better off out of their lives.

He rubbed his forehead as he unfolded the paper, but it wasn’t words that greeted him, but bright colors and advanced stick figures drawn in crayon, five people. He furrowed his brow, looking back at the envelope. In the corner was Alejandra’s name atop the return address. In the picture, two adults, three kids, and a couple of horses all smiled back at him. He couldn’t help his own smile that ghosted his lips. Paz and Hurricane. His heart clenched. He hoped that Ale was still taking lessons at the ranch, and the boys practicing with the lasso. Alejandra had written their names above each person. 

He’d been a dick. Hadn’t returned calls like he said he would, promised he would, but Ale still wanted him to have this, Emily still sent it. She didn’t have to. She could have lied and thrown it in the trash instead. 

Javier cleared his throat as the page began to blur a little bit. He needed to go to sleep. He grabbed the maintenance magnet, using it to pin the drawing to his fridge. 

This time would be different. 

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