#how DARE YOU END THAT THERE I AM ABSOLUTELY LIVID RN

[ravensmadreads]

there ain’t room in this Pontiac for the two of us

(Go Ahead, I Dare Ya)

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8267

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary:  1. No sex. 2. No touching yourself. 3. No orgasms. 4. No murdering your annoying DEA partner. (A Javier Peña-shaped rift on this iconic fic)

tags/warnings: smut, dubcon/noncon elements, hand jobs (f receiving), no use y/n, javi being sexually frustrating as hell, time period compliant sexism (not from Javi)

a/n: please go read the original fic. Her’s is far superior to mine and this is but a shameful hollow echo.

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Bogota

11:23PM

Back before you willingly and eagerly joined the special task force between several unruly government organizations created with sole and express purpose to hunt down and catch the cartel king Pablo Escobar – before you applied to the DEA on the highest recommendation of your law professor, your criminal psychology professor, and the dean of admission, all whom believed your talents, despite the unfortunate accident that you were a woman, would have a deep and profound impact on catching those responsible for the deaths of thousands worldwide –  hell, even before you applied to Stanford and you spent your free time oscillating between colorguard, JROTC, and retaking your practice SATs and ACTs until you got nearly a perfect score so that the realization that you didn’t have one single friend in the world to distract you from your single-minded almost obsessive focus to prove yourself, despite all your faults – 

Before all of that –

If someone had discreetly taken you by the arm, gently sat you down, and told you what a perfect and deluded idiot you would make of yourself on a seven hour stake out on a dark, rainy night in the capital of Brazil, well, you probably would have laughed them out the door.

You aren’t one really predisposed to bouts of uncontrollable, side-splitting, “I’m laughing so hard I’m afraid to take a breath out of fear of the noise that’s going to come out of my nose” moments of joy, but if someone allowed you to take a good, long, healthy look at one of your more unhealthy habits – that, of course, being your almost toxic levels of competitive behavior – you might have been prone to at least one giggle.

The thing was, you really didn’t lose. Ever. You didn’t back then and you don’t now and your tenacious, unbreakable will made you not only a formidable and dogged DEA agent, but it also (and perhaps more importantly) made you a social, professional, and absolutely mental equal to men like Javier fucking Peña. 

Javier Peña, whom women would literally melt into a puddle around, whom men would clamor over themselves just to get a drink with. He’s just so fucking cool, you overheard one of the office interns mutter to another, just look at him. That was also the day you spilled coffee down your entire blouse because you squeezed your styrofoam coffee cup too hard, but that was an entirely unrelated matter. 

Whatever sway Peña seemed to inflict over the panties of every woman in the building, you resolutely stayed immune. When you first joined, it had been easy to avoid him. So much so, you were completely flummoxed when the man with the name you’d heard whispered in the hallways, finally made his way over to your side of the building for a meeting with your boss. He walked in with a badly-fitted suit, bags under his eyes, the reeking stench of day-old cigarettes, but by the reactions of the phone girls, you’d thought Elvis himself had just emerged from his coffin and began performing “Hound Dog” topless in bedazzled pants. 

This? This is “The Guy”? The guy that women on your floor would spend their entire lunch breaks in the bathroom comparing stories over – “yes, Kathy, his dick really is that huge! I saw it myself!” “Yes, Shannon, he made me come for hours just with his tongue!”

Him? 

Really?

Was it just slim pickings between married men and wheezing senators? 

Never meet your heroes, I guess.

That was back in the late 80s. Back before the bombings and the kidnappings and the mutilated bodies of journalists.

Things had changed. Significantly. 

Once things had gotten, let’s just say, dire, the agency started moving around teams, prioritizing certain missions over others. Which meant not only were you taken off a case you had just spent the better part of a year and a half building, but you were reassigned to a new team. Co-led by the one and only Javier. Fucking. Peña. 

Now, Javier didn’t like the rain. You knew this because every time it rained, he stormed into the pen, snorting like an enraged bull, his hair wet and his shoulders damp. Why the man couldn’t just simply go out and pick up an umbrella, you didn’t feel the need to ask. But it set your teeth on edge that a grown adult would be so annoyed by something that had such a simple solution. More than once you thought about hurling your own umbrella like a javelin at him, but your fighting matches had become legendary around the office and you refused to be provoked again by Javier’s own arrogance. 

But that’s what started all of this, right? 

You, with your white-hot competitive streak, and him, with his over-inflated ego, clashed again and again – finally about the one thing both brought you a sense of pride: your sex lives. 

Annoyingly, this was proving more difficult than you anticipated. 

Thumbing the rim of your third lukewarm coffee of the night, you sigh, long and loud, not entirely regretful of the choices that led you here, but simply rather irked that someone had come along and finally proved to be a real challenge.

“Shut it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Javier, who had been sitting next to you for the better part of the past seven hours, his long legs tucked up around the bulky wheel of the black Pontiac Firefly the agency had rented for you, continues to scowl through the dark and the rain at the spot where you had tracked one of Pablo’s higher ranking enforcers. A gambling den on the first floor, and a brothel in the basement, most men you tailed here spent only a few hours betting and fucking, before wandering back home, probably a little drunk and significantly less horny. But this guy – fuck – did he have the stamina of an Olympic athlete?

What had begun as a quick follow up to some intel your team received earlier in the week had turned into one of the longest and most unbearable nights of your life. 

“I said, shut it.” 

Your mouth drops open. “I am literally just breathing, Javier.” 

“Yeah and you’re doing it too loud.” He takes a sip from the coffee between his legs then resumes his hunched, crossed arm position. “It’s annoying.”

Huffing, you sink lower in your seat, as much as the surveillance equipment and evidence boxes around your legs would allow. 

“This is so stupid,” you grumble. 

“This is basic DEA work, sweetheart. If you can’t cut it, I’m sure I can find someone, literally anyone, else to take your spot. Sarah’s always been eager to spend some extra time alone with me. Or what about Mac? You two get along right? Who am I kidding? You get along with e-e-everyone–,” 

It is infuriating he knows exactly where to poke and prod to supercharge your competitiveness as well as your jealousy.

“I’m not talking about the sting, Javier! I’m talking about your need to always be in control. I’m talking about how, just because you can’t get your fucking rocks off, you’ve been sniping at everyone in the building.” You scowl and lean as far away from him as you can in the cramped hatchback. “Making everyone’s lives hell because you haven’t gotten your dick wet in a month.” 

“Oh, sure, I’m the only one being a fucking nuisance in the office,” he sneers, scratching at his forehead with his thumbnail. “After your little meltdown at the copier machine, I think Mark from accounting would rather fist-fight God than have to ask you for a stapler again.” 

You snatch up the used napkins in the cupholder between you and shred it to pieces. You chuck the little bits at him as you snap back,

“The. Stapler. Was. Right. There! He. Was. Being. Stupid!” 

“Stop it! You’re going to get it in my coffee!” 

With a snarl, you hurl the mangled rest of the napkin at him and he swats it out of the air. It rolls over the dashboard, fluttering in the AC that was doing absolutely nothing to combat the sticky humidity. 

He did this to you. He always did this to you. Made you feel like a silly child, an overly emotional brat, for pointing out things he did time and time again. Why was he allowed to get away with it and you weren’t?

In the temporary silence, the rain patters loudly on the roof of the car. Headlights emerge from the gloom and disappear as the few unlucky caught out in this deluge run from awning to awning with magazines, newspapers, or umbrellas tucked over their heads. It had been raining for hours and it seemed to have no intention of stopping anytime soon. 

You aren’t sure which irritates you more: the humidity or the stickiness gathering on the crotch of your panties. It had been there for days, constant, a reminder, no matter how often you changed them out for some temporary escape. Your thighs tightened as close as they could, but a large storage box split your legs apart. 

“You know,” Javier began softly, almost contrite, gentle in a way you’d never heard before. “If this bothers you so much, you can just quit. Call it off. No hard feelings.” 

You snort. He really is the most ridiculous man alive. 

“Yeah? You’d get the satisfaction of finally coming, after being hard for at least – what, a month, month and a half? – and half my next paycheck? I don’t think so.” You adjust in your seat, your left hip starting to ache from the position you’ve been maintaining for seven hours. “Well, the money’s one thing. I think I’d rather be physically shot than have to listen to you parade around the office, gleefully spilling secrets about me as your latest conquest, bragging to all your little buddies around the water cooler how you finally bested that bitch in the bullpen. At that point, I’d rather we just actually fuck. At least that way I can finally understand what the fuck has the secretaries all in a goddamn hissy over.” 

After nearly a third of the day spent next to you, he finally tears his gaze away from the target and looks at you. His dark eyebrows drawn down, plush lips frowning, he’s unnervingly serious. You wonder if you actually managed to make him genuinely angry.

“I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t brag about you to anyone, even if you lost. And I especially would never if you let me fuck you.” Let me? Now that’s a turn of phrase you definitely won’t spend hours thinking about. His frown deepens as he glances down to his coffee cup. “People – women – like to talk, but I never say anything, to anyone. I don’t encourage it, but it feels like I’m the one being checked off a list. Like I’m a space on a fucking bingo card. It’s rude.”

Gobsmacked into silence, you watch as he cranks down the window for just enough space to chuck his empty coffee cup out onto the wet road beside the car. Your brain finally comes back online when the window squeaks back into place. 

Hang on a second – did you really just feel bad for the office casanova? That little shit manipulated you into actually feeling sorry for the dozens of women he willingly brings home then turns out like used toilet paper. You can feel that decades old hate and disgust crack open and boil in your stomach.

“Well, hey, Javi, here’s an idea. Just stop fucking the women you work with. If it bothers you so much, then stop fucking women entirely!”

“I did! I have done that and I am!” He gestures wildly with his hands, palms out as if in supplication. “Everyone in the office, including Noonan, I’m pretty sure, knows about this stupid fucking bet and for once, it’s been great to have an excuse to not have to hold up my expectation of being a great lay!” 

You will not allow yourself the time to fully process the idea that not only is Javier Peña grateful to not have to fuck a skirt, but it’s you he’s doing it for, so you snarl back, as you always do.

“Then what? What’s got you so fucking wound up, if your poor dick needs a break from getting sucked?”

With a groan that starts somewhere in his lower ribcage, he falls forward into the steering wheel, his forehead on the rim. 

“I’m not saying that, alright? It’s actually been nice to have my bed to myself for a bit. But Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.” 

Don’t. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the way he says it. Like it’s holy.

The warmth of the humidity in the car ratchets up as your heart starts to race, your palms sweat. You wonder vaguely if there’s condensation on the inside of the windows. He shouldn’t be allowed to get you so wet by just saying the word. You swallow, clawing back that familiar anger until you feel in control again. 

“So then go get it.” You wave your hand around the dark streets of Bogota. “Just go out there and end this thing once and for all. God knows I’m sick and tired of having to listen to you roll around, grunting and huffing, with a hard-on so big I can almost hear it throb.”

“What are you so mad at me for?” He snaps up, a much more palatable rage in his eyes. “All of this – the bet, the rules, the fact that you actually included wet dreams – you decided on!”

“You’re the one who demanded you move into my apartment for the entire duration of this hell! You’re the one who went out and bought two twin beds like a fucking maniac and made me take out my bed to put in your little torture devices to make sure neither of us cheated off the clock!” 

“And you agreed to it! I’m not the only insane one here! Sometimes I think you do it on purpose – kicking and fighting with the sheets, moaning in your sleep, rubbing yourself up on the mattress. Twice now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone blind in one eye, listening to all that and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.” 

You scoff, but now slightly uneasy. You’ve been moaning in your sleep? Fuck. Taking down your overbearing and egotistical coworker a few pegs was one thing. Becoming roommates with him was something else entirely. About two weeks in, he had come out of the bedroom without his shirt on – he’s been doing that more and more lately – and you had to sit in the bathroom with your hands clamped around the toilet seat for ten minutes straight to keep from finger-fucking yourself on the living room coffee table. 

“I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t want to install cameras in the shower just to make sure I’m not jacking off in secret. You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there, Javi. You touch yourself once and I win, Javi. Stop looking at my ass when I’m wearing less clothes than a Victoria Secret model, Javi.” 

“It’s summer in Bogota, you jackass,” you snipe, particularly ruffled by his high-pitched affectation of you. It stings more than it should because it sounds exactly like the shrill harpy all your male coworkers make you out to be. “What do you want me to wear?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, something terrifying like a smirk crawling across his perfect mouth and you feel the safety of annoyance crumble out from under you. He really was so fucking pretty.

“A puffy snowsuit would be lovely, actually. Arms, legs, all wrapped up. Cover your gorgeous hair in a hat too, if we’re at it. But if I knew you’d wear what I bought you, all you had to do was say so. Women always say I have excellent taste.”

You sigh, again, irritated and desperate to relieve that fist of tension in your shoulders, that gently knotting warmth between your legs. You wonder how much rubbing your crotch with the seam of your jeans you could get away with before he’d say something. 

No, fuck, shit – focus. You’ve got to get a grip. This is just like those long night study sessions at the academy. All you had to do was buckle down and get serious about this. Sleep deprivation and curtailing your basic instincts didn’t scare you. You had been outlasting men like Javier your entire life and you weren’t about to get weak-kneed now. 

And then something occurs to you that you hadn’t really considered before. You had been so caught up in your own denial, in fighting your own need to hump your pillow even for a bit of relief – you hadn’t stopped to think what this might be doing to him.

Jesus Christ, I miss pussy. 

There was a crack in his resolve and you had seen it. Just for a minute. But it was there. You didn’t have to win so much as to make him lose.

Javier Peña. Nowhere to go and having nothing to fuck made him a very dangerous man. One you could easily exploit. However, and as much as it physically pained you to admit, Javi was smart. Blind-sided by his own horniness, or not, if he caught wind of you purposefully stacking the odds against him, there was no telling what he’d do in retaliation. 

For a moment, your sex-deprived brain lounges in the idea of the many forms his retaliation might take. 

No – Focus. You lick your lips, wrenching your gaze to the ceiling of the car. You had to be very careful about this. 

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Go at it from the side. Around back while his attention is focused elsewhere. This was fucking guerilla warfare tactics. Placate him with submission. “I didn’t realize my outfits were bothering you. It’s just . . . it’s been so hot lately. I feel like I wake up, drenched wet in sweat, and it’s just too much still. And then, with this bet, sometimes I wake up and between my legs, I’m so –,”

A fist slams against the inside of the window so hard and so loud it makes you jump. His shoulders hunched, the fist in his lap tight and white-knuckled, he doesn’t even fully open his mouth when he snarls, “Do not . . . under any circumstances . . . finish that fucking sentence.” 

He’s breathing heavily, breath skipping between his ribs, and you know you’ve got your opening. Your bottom lip drawn in between your teeth, you’re as much transfixed by his control visibly slipping as you are secretly, darkly thrilled to hear him make those noises. He breathes for a few more times, eyes closed. The sound of rain makes another appearance.

His hands come up to wrap around the steering wheel, as if he were picturing something else flexing beneath his palms. 

“I know what you’re doing, or what you think you’re doing. But it’s not going to work. It’s just going to make me mad and I am not above hauling you over my lap and spanking you for knowingly being such a tease.” 

You aren’t sure what shorts out your brain first: the fact he caught on so quickly, or the mental image he’s painting – and how much you fucking love it. God, when did it get so hot in here? You can feel sweat pooling along the ridge of your spine, under the cups of your bra. As though reading your mind, he shucks off his notorious brown jacket and hurls it into the back seat. Your toes curl in your boots. He’s wearing that white linen shirt that expertly shows off the cut of his biceps, his forearms and is more appropriate for a beach trip in Hawaii than the mean streets of Bogota. In his movement, his infamous sunglasses clatter against his stomach – if he just buttoned his collar all the way up like any man with an ounce of decency, they wouldn’t get in the way as much. You want to tell him that, correct him yet again, but now you can see the sweat shine in his clavicle, skin slightly pink and feverish over the hollow of his throat. You had no idea you affected him this much.

“You’re right. This is ridiculous.” He huffs, tossing back his glasses too before flopping back against the seat. “This can’t be healthy, at least. Edging ourselves for weeks at a time. I keep seeing tits in the clouds.”

“So then end it already.” You don’t mean to sound breathless – it’s the opposite of what you want – but your heart rate still hasn’t settled over the idea of Javier spanking you till your ass is red. He’s so much bigger than you, broader. He’d do it rough, if you asked, you know he would. You really hate to sound like you’re begging, but maybe you are. His eyes snap open wide at your near whimper. “Javi, please. We’re not going anywhere. He’s been in there for hours and he’s not coming out any time soon. Just unbutton your pants – I can just watch you – drop your hand in your underwear and –,”

A hand that can cup you nearly from ear to ear flies across the console and claps over your mouth. Something’s changed about him. You can see it in his eyes. At this point in your partnership, you had become fairly good at identifying his emotions, given there were only a handful he ever cycled through: tired, irritated, bored, furious, frustrated, disappointed. But this . . . this was different. His shoulders still face forward, arm reached out over the console, but his thick eyebrows arch down, as if he’s considering something. His head is cocked slightly to the side. You have to stop yourself from breathing in a sigh when his tongue wets his bottom lip.

“I’ll willingly lose this godforsaken bet on one condition,” he rasps out. His hand is warm, all consuming, you can barely breath under it. You train your entire focus into the way his hair flops over his forehead to keep from whining at what his deep voice does to your lower half. Your muscles clench and your neglected pussy drools. Fuckin’ traitor. “And the condition is, that after this is done, after this fucking doomed stakeout is finally over, I drive us home and you let me rail you against our couch. How does that sound?”

You squeak, once. That’s it, but you can already feel that tell-tale hum, that warmth that almost itches, taking root below your stomach. His eyebrows arch in surprise, in victory, that smirk threatening to make an appearance. Your nails dig into the pleather seat – you want to thrash back, to get out from under the weight of his hand, to snark back a litany of responses that are not only mean but belittling – but you don’t. 

You know he can feel you swallow and his eyelids hover halfway as he licks his bottom lip. He shifts, elbow now pressing against the back of the seat, his weight leaning forward, almost pressing down on you. His other hand is dangerously close to your knee. 

“I’d make it good. I’d make it so fucking good, I swear. I’ll get down on my hands and knees and eat that wet little pussy for as long as you want. Lick and suck that attitude right out of your cunt.”

The car is too small, too cramped. Heat is washing over you in waves and the ache between your thighs is burning. With him this close, you can smell his cologne, the cologne that you rib him endlessly for because you’ve watched women inhale it like a pheromone as he passes down the hall. The scent now floods your senses, choking out everything that isn’t him, and your fingers dig up around his wrist, to pry him off you. You can feel sweat trickle down your temple onto his pinkie over your cheek. He watches it with his eyes, hungry and ready to devour. You have to wrestle back some semblance of control, or else your heart is going to beat out of your chest. 

With all the strength afforded you left over from keeping yourself from bucking your hips up into the center console, you shove him back across the car. 

“You fucking . . . stay over there,” you croak, gulping down air as if you had been deprived. He sprawls back, arms outstretched across the window ledge and the back of his seat. “Don’t ever fucking t-touch me again. Those things y-you said. I should report you–,” 

“Why?” he chuckles. “You liked it. Thought you were going to eat me there for a minute . . . and I would’ve let you.”

It’s remarkably easy how your white-knuckled, lightning-sparked anticipation for him to do exactly what he said he’d do quickly morphs into a near-blinding rage. He doesn’t get it – he still doesn’t get it – he thinks this all a fucking game, when every minute of every day, your entire self-worth was put on the line. This is how you danced – right up to the edge, barking, screaming, yelling, then when it got real, or even almost real, you backed down. And he knew it.

“You really deserve someone who knows what they’re doing,” he continues. He folds his arms across his chest, grinning wildly. “Maybe that would teach you to be nice. Is that why you’re so nasty all the time? Just need someone who cares about you to properly stuff up that sweet little pussy in just the way you need it.”

You feel fire crackle up and down your spine, plunging low to lick your insides every time he muses about the state of your cunt, then sky-rocketing back into this rage you’ve built out like walls.

It’s your turn to twist in the seat, to push against the windows as if you could expand and break out from this twisted scrap of metal that kept you chained to him.

“This is not about sex, Javier.” Your teeth ache from grounding out the words. “This is about proving to every single man out there that I deserve to be here. That I’m not just some cock-struck idiot who falls to her knees just because you snap your fingers. I don’t care what you think I need or what you want to do to me. I don’t care because until I come out of this bet the winner, all they’ll ever see is a pair of tits who negs them to do their fucking jobs.”

Shockingly, that wipes the smirk right off his face. His eyes go soft and that might be worse than when he threatened your cunt. 

“You think I don’t respect you.” It wasn’t a question but a surprised, almost hurt, statement. He sits up as best he can while still facing you. You were both irate and appreciative that you didn’t have to put it all into words. Words that would make you, again, feel like an overly emotional wimp. Someone with feelings. “You think I’m doing this – that I’m still doing this – because I want to humiliate you.”

You wait in silence for the pricking in your throat to subside before continuing on. “Is that not why? To bend that bitch as far as she’ll go before she breaks so everyone can see how much of a child she really is?”

His nostrils flare. “That’s the second time you’ve called yourself that tonight and I won’t stand for a third. Do you understand?”

His protectiveness flares so fast you aren’t quite sure what to do with it, so you nod.

“Good.”

Javi turns back around, his knees spread outright around the edge of the steering wheel, and picks the packet of cigarettes from underneath the radio. He wheels down the window again, rain spitting inside the inner ledge, and he lights up for the first time all night. His breath is shaky as he exhales through the crack he made. You can’t stop staring at the shine of sweat against his throat. What was rain and what was sweat? The golden lights from the store fronts and shops make the curls around his neck glow. 

“I’m sorry that by fighting with you, I made you feel inferior. I respect the living shit out of you and I . . .” He taps out ash before dropping his gaze to his lap. “That was never my intention, but Christ alive, you drive me crazy.” 

If anyone ever asked, with a gun to your head, what was the one thing that immediately turned you on, you would without question answer with: Javier’s voice. How deep it got when he barked orders. How stern and serious when he directed raids and stationed soldiers. How playful it could be when you stopped trying to claw his eyes out. 

He inhaled slowly, thoughtfully, before blowing out again, fully turning his shoulders away from you as if something he was ashamed to admit was crawling up his chest into his mouth. He presses back against the seat, his unoccupied fingers tapping on his thigh. 

“I think you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever met,” he confesses quietly. “Which should be the only opinion that matters. And I don’t say that to be egotistical. But this bet isn’t about them. It’s between you and me, so fuck them. They’re all idiots and you know that. They know you know that and that’s why they want to take you down. Some men can’t stand it when a woman is smarter than them.”

Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth. There is a heady mixture of pride, relief, and lust swirling lower and lower. He thought you were one of the best agents he’s ever met. Your pussy squeezes at the praise, especially coming from him. “And you? What do you think?”

Javi grins, but it doesn’t go all the way to his eyes. He flicks the butt end of the cigarette out the window and rolls it all the way up as he says,

“It’s a fucking turn on, is what I think.” His hips adjust towards you, that obnoxious belt buckle gleaming in the low light. Do not look at his crotch. He presses the backs of his two fingers against his mouth as he watches you. “But I’m not going to let you win this bet because you flutter your pretty eyes at me.” 

He knocks his temple against the headrest, gaze shamelessly sweeping up your thighs, your wrists – of course, your tits – your neck and then your lips. You had caught glimpses of this look before – when you were reporting to a room full of slobbering men with precision and direction, or when you kneed a suspect into the ground, pinning him down and cuffing him with the other hand or that one time you joined the game of volleyball at the agency picnic in nothing but a sports bra and swim trunks. But now, that Javi look reserved only for you, it barreled down on you in full force, not another agent or superior around the corner to drag his attention away. Without restraint, he let those dirty, nasty little thoughts spring into his mind and you could almost hear the moans you were making in his head. 

The desire that had been reduced to a simmer suddenly flared up in a fever pitch. Between your legs, your cunt aches at the mere hint of attention.

“Javi, don’t,” you warn. You try to back away, try to cut the argument in half like you do in the office by storming away down a hallway or into the bathroom or your car. But you can’t. You’re pinned by proximity under the weight of his stare. You’re not even fighting with him and he’s making you angry. 

Angry? God, leave it to fucking Javier Peña to prove to you that the line between rage and being outrageously turned on was a razor edge. 

“I’m not even doing anything, baby,” he croons. He rounds his shoulders as if trying to lean forward, cover himself with his body. If you couldn’t see the whites of his knuckles around his clasped hands, you would have feared you would have been making this all up. “I’m not touching you, just like you asked.” 

“Thank you, Javi,” you squeak out. “Now, please let's just get back to–,”

“I could, though, if you change your mind.” His eyes follow a very predictable path up the curve of your throat. “I could touch you. Are you going to change your mind?” 

Even now, on the knife edge, even when he has been extraordinarily honest with you, you can’t make yourself say it. Can’t ask for it.

“It’s against the rules.” Because it is a traitor to you, your cunt flutters when you meet his jet black gaze. You feel the sweat on your neck return so fast you shiver. “I will kick you if you come over here again.” 

“You’re so mean to me but, fuck, I love it so much.” He smirks. With mounting horror, you watch as he lifts his hand, the same one that flew over your mouth, up to the lip of the center console. “Here I am pouring my goddamn heart out, and you want to resort to violence.” 

Not so much cautious, but more with the slow, syrupy flow of direct and deliberate intention, he brushes the backs of his fingers against your thigh. You jolt back, a muffed gasp caught between your teeth, but you don’t move to snatch his hand away. 

He watches your face for any hint of resistance. When he doesn’t find any, he continues, casually flowing the pads of his fingers from the top of your knee, all the way up to your hip.

“Do you wanna know what I think, baby?” He purrs. “I think, somewhere along the way, someone came along and really fucked you up. Hurt you beyond comprehension.” His touch is more insistent now, more of his fingers, his palm occasionally. His thumbs sweeps your inner thigh and your cunt clenches down onto nothing and your teeth ache in your head. 

“Javier–,” 

His eyes flutter for a minute at the sound of his name tearing through your mouth. “Fuck, you’re getting me distracted . . . what was I saying? Oh, yeah . . . I think someone fucked you up and like the fucking warrior you are, you built up safeguards to never let that happen again.” His eyebrow arches lazily as he palms your waist. By the sheer grace of God, you had tucked your shirt into your pants today, never wanting to give the men in the bullpen the satisfaction of an accidental flash of skin. But Javi just tuts at the intrusion. His knuckles digging into your skin, he pinches out the edge of your shirt, bit by bit. “Problem is, you kept building until you locked yourself in and now you don’t know how to get out. You don’t know how to ask nicely at all.” 

His broad palm slides uninterrupted under your shirt, smoothing the rough pads of his fingers across your stomach, and then up to the underwire of your bra. That’s enough to jerk you out of this dizzying haze. 

“Javi, you can’t–,” you squeeze your eyes shut, as tight as your cunt, as he threatens to brush his thumb over your teased nipple. “I–I don’t wanna – I don’t wanna lose –,”

“Fuck the bet, sweetheart. You can tell them I lost for all I care. Right now, I just wanna feel you gush between my fingers.” 

He doesn’t even need to touch your tit to yank that first moan out of you, but the breeze of his thumb only elongates the noise. Your own hand claps over your mouth this time, to muffle half of that stifled sound. 

“None of that now,” he purrs, switching the direction of his hand and going lower on your body. “It’s fine when we’re in public, but I want you hoarse from screaming my name as loud as you possibly can.” 

“Javi, please–,” 

His hips twitch. Twitch so hard they jerk off the seat, the side of his crotch rubbing the steering wheel. His eyes roll back in his head.

“Juuust like that, baby. Keep saying my name just like that.” 

His fingers don’t slow down as they breach the waistband of your pants. He didn’t even unzip you so his entire warm hand is shoved right up against your coarse, damp hairs. 

“Fuck, is this sweat, baby, or is it from me? Please fucking lie if its not and tell me it’s for me.” 

The pad of his middle finger skims the top of your lips, terrifyingly close to your clit and you finally react. Your clit throbbing, your fingers clamp down on his wrist and he freezes. But he’s panting, breathing harshly across the seat. 

“Don’t ask me to stop. Not right now. Please don’t –,”

Your hips buck into his palm and your head drops back against the window. You end up pressing him harder against you and you moan. 

“It’s you, Javier, I’m dripping for you.”

“Shit,” he snarls and rubs himself against the steering wheel again, anything to relieve the pressure. His fingers slide around the edges of your puffy, swollen lips, skitters across your pulsating clit, and you nearly orgasm from the direct touch. You jerk back, the denial of your orgasm almost painful, but because your waistband binds him to you, his fingers come with you and you bump into them again. You almost cry out at the intrusion, but his hand is still. 

“Can I touch you– c-can I put them inside you, baby – please?” 

Tight-lipped, you shake your head furiously, muffling nuh uh between your teeth. He hisses darkly.

“This can’t possibly still be about this stupid fucking bet –,”

“I don’t – w-w-wanna lose – I-I-I don’t wanna lose –,” you swallow, voice breaking, and you yank his hand out from your soaking underwear. You can’t bear to look at his fingertips, assuming from the ocean between your thighs, they’ll come out pruny. But the ache doesn’t go away. It lingers, waiting and lurking for the next touch. It’s been denied too many times tonight. Your head spinning, you gasp for breath for the split second he’ll allow. 

“You know, for such a smart woman, you really don’t get what’s best for you.” His other hand finally comes around and grabs your knee, pinning you apart with his broad hand and his other elbow as his fingers dive for the buttons of your pants. You try to shut your legs, but the box at your feet is immovable. “Just fucking relax and let me take you apart.”

“W-w-wait, Javier, that’s not–,”

His gaze pinning you down as much as his weight is, his fingers deftly unzipping your pants, sliding through the opening, and pressing up against your sodden panties. You gasp. It’s relief, painful, throbbing relief, but it comes at the cost of fire licking your spine. 

“But that’s not what you need, is it, pretty baby? That’s only part of it. Touching is one thing, but you need someone inside of you. Need someone to fuck up into that pretty cunt.” Your pussy swollen, you fight to breathe as much as it to fight off your impending orgasm. “Just say thank you, Javi when we’re done, alright?” 

Unrelenting and deaf to your cries, his fingers strip back your underwear and finally, finally, finally, he sinks two fingers into your hot, pulsating core. His shoulders shudder as you arch back, letting out a wail. Your thighs quake around the box in front of you. 

“‘Is so good. So warm.” He slurs. His hand releases your knee and slides up your hip to palm as much of your ass as he can reach. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He inhales like he wants to haul you over the console into his lap, but that you resolutely cannot allow, because there would be no coming back from that. You can still see the other side of your orgasm, enough to stifle it back down, sequester it. He strokes your inner muscles, in and out, the wet sound obscene – you must be gushing – and he hums. “Listen to that, sweetheart. God, the things I could do with that. Put you over my fucking shoulder, for one.” 

Your release is roaring at you, the razor-edge of pain and pleasure digging into the meat of your pussy, as you fight again to deny what you actually really want. You plant your heels, rolling your hips against his fingers because if you were going to fucking lose, you were going to be the one to make you do it. Not him.

And then unprompted, he retreats his fingers and all but shoves them into his mouth. His hips buck up again and he’s not breathing properly. You shudder at the loss of contact but at least the edges of your vision return. God, you’re not sure how much more you can take. But there is some respite, even for a moment. Javi seems to have momentarily forgotten how close he had come to winning.

Saliva and your thready cum dripping from between his lip, Javi sucks on his fingers as if someone were threatening to cut off his hand. His hips bump lazily, distractedly, against the steering wheel as his other hand white-knuckles his knee. He licks his wrist up to the meaty side of his palm, never one to waste excess. 

“Fuck, fuck, f-f-fuck,” he murmurs, eyes closed. The sight has you flushing again. “I’m gonna eat that cunt whole if it’s the last thing I do. Gonna put you in my lap and bounce you on my cock until you beg me to let you –,”

“Come.” You command, sanity finally snapping as you use the same voice to scold rowdy students at the academy or talkative agents in a presentation. It’s forceful, direct, and you are hoping that it throws him off enough to do exactly that. Come, so you win fair and square. Because that means you can finally come too. 

It works.

Or it nearly does. 

Javi’s spine goes rigid, hips still, his soaked fingertips hovering inches from his wet lips. His eyes snap open and oh, shit, you’ve done it now, you’ve really done it now. His once-blissed out face contorts into that scowl of primal determination that only comes down for raids. For meetings with sketchy CIs. Moments when lives are at stake. 

“What did you just say to me?” The growl is more monster than human. You immediately back up as far as the car will allow, the front of your pants still undone. 

“Javi, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry –,” By his expression, you half-expect him to throw open the door, storm around to your side, yank you to your feet and start fucking you against the car window. Your cunt is throwing a fucking riot at this point. She’s so pissed at you, she’s squeezing so tightly, you think she’ll suck the air right out of you. “I wasn’t thinking – i-i-it just slipped out –,” 

He unbuttons two more of his buttons on his shirt and you think, deliriously, he’s going to take his shirt off, but no, he’s just letting more heat escape. More steam rise from his sweaty back. He seems to grow, fill out, until he takes up the entire front seat of the car. 

“Please, please, don’t make me come, Javi.” You cry, shrinking back as far as you can. You might actually die from this. From him or a lack thereof. Either way, Javier Peña is going to destroy you. 

“I should leave you alone, you know.” He growls. “I should just leave you there to fucking drool into your jeans, smart little cunt knotted up so tight, I could breath on you and make you come. The kind of shit you pulled tonight, you fucking deserve to suffer. But I’m not going to do that and you know why?”

Without warning, his hand snatches around your wrist, yanking you up against the center console. He’s right, you’re so fucking close, the movement rubs you wrong and you squeak again.

Slowly, with superhuman restraint, his nose delicately strokes the underside of your jaw by your ear, then down your neck, as if inhaling the goosebumps that burst out across your skin. You shudder. “J-J-Javi, p-p-please –,” 

His other hand slides back up under your shirt, his fingers slotting in between your ribs, your back as arched as it can go. He feels you breath shakily and he closes his eyes. His next words are so soft, spoken so close to your cheek, you can feel the hairs there vibrate with the frequency of his voice.

“I’m not going to do that because I want you to know exactly what the fuck has the secretaries in a goddamn hissy over. I want you to think of me and me only every time you try to open your legs for anyone else. I want you to cry in frustration every time you can’t make yourself come with just your fingers because they’re not mine – they’re nowhere close to mine – and I want you to scream in frustration when I don’t pick up the phone. After tonight, I’m going to ruin you for everyone else.” 

He pauses, as if expecting an answer, but he couldn’t possibly think you are capable of responding, of dredging actual human thought up out of the murk he held you under. His lips drag gently over the arc of your cheek as he leans into your ear. His voice rumbles and you whine, embarrassed, at the sound alone.

“Because that’s what you’ve done to me.” 

No, no, that can’t possibly be right – it’s a trick. It’s a trap. It’s a lie. Javier Peña can’t actually be –

And then, in that same, slow timbre of voice, Javi says,

“I’m gonna finger-fuck you now, okay?”

Any chance of fighting back, of arguing still, is obliterated when his hand shoots back down between your thighs, surges past your underwear, and hooks his fingers up inside you again. This time it’s fast, he’s not waiting for you to gather your sense, he’s going to split you open, here in this fucking Pontiac. 

The force of his thrusts make your spine turn to ooze and you drop forward onto his shoulder. 

Fine. It’s fine. You’ll fucking lose. Who cares about your precious pride?

You don’t realize you’re whimpering in time with his fingers until you try to say his name. He cups the back of your head, reverently, as he spews more filth into your ear. As if the lewd noises he’s evoking from your pussy isn’t enough. 

“I’m going to take care of you, you little sweet cunt. I’m going to take care of you the way no one else has. That’s right, that’s a good little pussy, squelching for me. Hmm, tell me, does she like this?”

His thumb merely brushes your clit, the lone survivor in all of this, and your hips jolt in his hand. He holds you steady against his shoulder. Your fingernails dig into his bicep. 

“Oh, yeah, she does. Of course, she does. I can do that for as long as you like, alright?”

That white heat curls your body inwards, tearing your mouth open, and sending your eyes to the back of your head. “JaviJaviJaviJavi – please –,”

He tsks into your ear. “You keep saying that but you never tell me what you’re begging for.” 

It’s coming. It’s staggering. It eclipses everything and it’s just out of reach. You feel it start to expand and after all this time, it’s actually a fucking relief to give yourself over. To let yourself be rent asunder by something this huge and overwhelming. 

His fingers, the ones not rocketing you towards the biggest orgasm of your life, gently wind up into your hair, sweetly caressing the soft skin behind your earlobe. His voice is quiet, coaxing, kind. His lips almost kiss the ridges of your ear. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll tell you what to say. Say, Javi, I want you to make me come.” 

“Javi, I–,”

There’s an explosion.

No, not like that. He’s not that good.

It’s a literal explosion in the street, with flashes of flames and heat that rattle the car. Alarms go off, your vision goes white – because of a pipe bomb stationed out underneath a car parked outside the part-time gambling den, part-time brothel. Javi’s arm flings out in front of you as the car is rocked from the impact. Flames lick the charred out husk of the front of the building. Only when your ears stop ringing, do you finally hear the screaming. 

And then patter of bullets. 

“Baby, get your gun and stay low!” He roars, as the windshield of the car behind you shatters, the popping of gunfire echoing the distance. He lunges back and grabs his jacket, fumbling for his gun. The panic in his voice shakes you awake and you dig into the glovebox for your own handheld. 

It’s a firefight for your lives, in the middle of the rain, in the middle of chaos and smoke. 

It’s time to go to work. 

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

what about all of the tkatb characters reacting to reader having a kid or smt like maybe reader adopted a kid from someone they knew or smt "bad" happened to reader and reader had said kid, how would they react? Srry if your not taking reqs rn or smt like that, but I luv your blog!

Stalwart (All x MC/Reader - Having a Kid HCs)

So...it has been a long fucking time since you've requested this Anon, and oh-my-God am I sorry it took this long. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it, but @deathcvltcivilofficial? Thank you for entrusting me with this.

Also, if anyone who reads this has been abused or assaulted, you've still got worth. You still matter, even if your culture or religion dictates otherwise. <3

TW: A lot of mentions of RAPE and SEXUAL ASSAULT!

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Stalwart: loyal, reliable, and hard-working.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Sol came to your home (because of the art project), you had warned him a child would be present, but he assumed you were babysitting.

Until you dropped the bombshell on him; that the adorable midget copy of you happens to be your child.

He would be livid deep inside. You have a child, a biological child?

He’ll immediately want to know who the mother/father of it is; and you bet he’s gonna find out.

If you have a child, it means someone got their disgusting hands on you, used you and was trying to trap you! He can’t have that, no no no.

Will be doing a lot more stalk- I mean *coughs* reconnaissance, y’know, to find out who this filthy pestilence was.

Emphasis on ‘was’. That person is going to poof from existence before the next morn.

Will be incredibly enthusiastic if you offer to have him meet your spawnling. He’d treat them like they’re a glass vase, he literally loves that child.

Would be intrigued as to how it was conceived, and, well, depending on your response, will make the murder way more deranged.

If you’re both dating (you will be), he will be incredibly cautious on how to push the subject forth, because he has all intent on marrying you (and painting your holes with his seed).

If said conceiving occurred on accident, say you both were drunk, he’d be annoyed. Less info on this other person, the worse.

If the sex was entirely consensual, he would be silently fuming. You had been with another. Someone who wasn’t him. And they dared to have sex with someone as hallowed as you? My guy will be itching to punch something.

If you end up having a more angry or avoidant response, or snapping at him about it; he’ll suspect something is wrong, probably won’t pry much further for now, he believes through time and trusts you’ll tell him…he hopes.

He’ll do digging afterwards, maybe even get closer to your child, and if your child spills the beans on how you never talk about their mother/father, and even get furious or upset for asking, he’ll become a lot more concerned. His mind will be thoroughly searching for a reason.

Until the day you start to crack…when you start to hint more and more towards the most horrific thing Sol could’ve ever thought of, something he would rather kill himself than even dare to think of.

If your child had been conceived under…well, if you’d been abused. Assaulted. Raped.

Sol didn’t want to believe it. Some sick, disgusting worm had…no. He knows if he thinks about it he’ll descend into a wrath-filled hysteria., and he can’t have that around you, or God forbid, the child.

All he can think of is how desperately he wants to find the (wo)man who did this and torture them in the most despicable, horrific ways imaginable.

If anything, his respect for you, for being able to cope with university and a child would be a massive toll mentally.

He doesn’t view you in a different light, or your child for that matter. It only means he’ll do the absolute best to aid you in any way possible.

Is willing to overcome his distaste of kids for your child (everything has exceptions). Would be trying to be seen as a father figure to it (although he’d much prefer if you called him daddy-).

Won’t push you into anything sexual, or anything extremely physical unless he’s:

A got explicit consent, and 

B. the knowledge that you’re not opposed to it in the first place.

He’s 110% gonna try to have a good relationship with your child, partially for…familial reasons (especially if he's gonna be their step-father and your step-ladder) and also so that your child will be okay with his existence, after all, him being with you also depends on whether your child actually likes him or not.

Man is trying his absolute best for you, no matter what occurred with you and your miniature clone. <33       

Hyugo would’ve probably heard from the Student Council that a couple students had children, so of course one day he’d find himself getting curious.

Will be pretty shocked when he sees you’re one of them, especially if he already knew you for a while.

Won’t really be opposed to it, he only detests extremely loud, spoiled kids. (You raise your kids well guys good job *insert vigorous HAND clapping*).

Will be curious when he realises you’re a single parent, won’t pry though, it’s not his business. Maybe you simply fucked around and found out. *shrug*

Depending on how closed off you are about the topic of your child, he will eventually start finding out details, either from you or just piecing information together from off hand comments.

Either way, somehow he gets into your home and there, in the corner of the living room, is a spitting image of you. Just…smaller. 

Said child side-eyes him harder than Geo could dream of. To be fair, this child does kinda remind him of a young Geo, especially in personality.

After being acquainted with you both for a while, will offer the Small One candy (with permission from you obviously and no, not in a white van).

Small One is very on the fence about him, is judging his fashion sense very harshly the whole time.

The child called him a walking aquarium when he first showed up btw.

If he finds out (either from you or said child) that you were sexually assaulted or raped? He’ll be angry, but also proud that you were able to:

A. Keep the child and raise it.

B. Actually somewhat live your life.

Doesn’t lose respect for you at all, just tries to make it clear that he’ll support you in any way possible. 

If you know the person who assaulted you, they’ll be subjected to Hyugo Sugimoto’s vigilantism. You, on the other hand, will be subject to Hyugo committing crime to try and aid you and the child in any way possible. 

Geo resents children with a vehemence, he sees them as stupid and overly sensitive; mans just avoids them like the plague.

He’s known you well enough to establish that you’re not an annoying dumpster fire, and has come to the conclusion that you’re a somewhat tolerable person to be around.

Will hear (either from Brittney or Hyugo) that there are rumours about how you have a child, and he won’t believe them at all.

Until you confirm them, that is. Then he will simply be discombobulated.

Will feel a weird sense of disgust around you. (probably from his own daddy issues lmfao, my guy will think you’re like his parents subconsciously).

Anyway, after he ‘happens’ upon you and your kid one day, and sees how oddly kind you are as a parent; he’ll start to see you in a different light.

It might be a long while (it takes about 32 decades), but eventually he’ll become more curious about your descendant.

If you’re comfortable enough with telling him, you just state how you either had a fling or just broke up with a previous partner; he will be unsurprised, but a tad irked. (he thinks he’s way better smh how dare you MC)

If your child was conceived via…unpleasant means, he will be apathetic for a few mins, until it hits him one day that some sick person willingly, consciously violated you. It ends up making his blood fucking boil.

He will be the type to drop random spouts of blunt affirmations like; “You are competent, good job.”

Will end up being very awkward with the child, has no clue how to interact with one so he just offers them money and tells them to go play in an arcade or some shit while he watches and deathstares random people.

Will teach said child Japanese insults, if your child gets bullied for being a product of nonconsensual sex, he will teach the child how to punch people.

He tries his best, because your child is the only one he will tolerate; and also he needs them to like him so he can rizz you up by forgetting you exist lmfao.

Deryl is often seen as an uncle or big brother by a lot of kids, his warm exterior tends to make a lot of them really like him, and to be fair, he doesn’t mind kids that much either.

He’s known you for a while, and in all the time he’s known you, he’d have *never* guessed that you were a parent.

Let alone a single parent. Your grades are so high, you work your ass off and you’re a parent? Simultaneously?!

He’ll be genuinely awed, impressed as well.

Will definitely be curious about this child of yours, but won’t pry except its something you initiate.

If he ever meets this child of yours, he will end up  being adored by them. This guy is actually extremely good with kids.

Will end up becoming closer with you as well due to this, and if he finds out this child of yours was a product of abuse or assault, he’ll just be…solemn.

And seeing Deryl solemn is like seeing a cat bark, shit’s fucking weird.

He will be angry that someone did such a vile thing to you, but if you’ve moved on, he’ll try to as well. Although, if you know who it was that did this…expect them to end up hospitalised.

Him and the child will bond over candy. You and him bond over knowing one another. 

Also teaches the child how to play sports. Yippee. Also gives life advice and counselling. <3

And you eventually trust him enough to accept him fully into your life (and maybe heart who knows).

Crowe is quite fond of kids, he’s not someone who avoids them.

He’s also quite fond of you, although his interest in you is more…well, romantic. 

He’s genuinely interested in you, so he wants to know more about you; and fortunately for him, he's known you for a while. You opening up to him (and vice versa) isn’t that new, although when it happens he embraces it wholeheartedly.

When you tell him you have a kid, he’s shooketh, but not upset in any way.

Would be a smidge jealous that someone had you before him, but oh well.

Would be very intrigued by this enigma that is the child, and when he eventually meets them, he tries to be nice (not over the top, just polite).

If he wants to be with you he has to get the child to like him, so he just acts naturally, which is him being a saint, and just overall serving as a source of aid for both of you, whether it be financial, educational or general. He’ll try his best.

He’s willing to help you in any way humanly possible, and I mean it. He goes all out. He also tutors the child if they need help with exams or homework.

If your child was conceived under force or against your will, he’d simply make himself an emotional backbone for you. He doesn’t pity you, but he does try to treat you a bit softer, for the sake of trying to make you feel more comfortable around him; he understands such an event is traumatic and quite detrimental psychologically.

If you’ve moved on and gotten therapy or aid, he will remain a source of support, my guy will just ensure to avoid sexual things around you, he doesn’t want to push any of your boundaries or upset you in any way, shape, or form.

He’s trying guys. <3

Brittney is actually really good with kids, which shocks a few people.

Not as shocked as when she hears you of all people are a parent, although, now that she knows, she can kinda see it.

Won’t really think much differently of you, although if she meets this kid she does become their rich single aunt eventually.

My girl will teach our spawnling about:

- Fashion, along with judging other people’s clothing styles;

- Skincare routines, depending on the age she’ll either recommend the bare minimum or just give a couple of things she uses;

- Makeup, won’t care whether it's a son or daughter, they’ll learn cosmetics;

- Boxing, girlypop can definitely fight, so she’ll teach your kid self defense and emotionally damaging insults to scare off bullies.

Will be willing to babysit for you, your child ends up becoming very fond of her and the two just tend to go to Zara or Myer and discuss what clothes are good (more based on fashion the older your kid is).

She’ll do your child’s hair (and yours as well dwdw you both have your own beauty sessions).

Also serves as a gossip generator, along with a pretty strongly morally-coded source of comfort for both of you. Tries her best when possible to be there.

If she finds out the child is a product of rape, she’ll only look at you as someone much stronger and resilient than she could’ve guessed. You stuck through something like that, and she can’t say much other than: “You’re safe now, you’re among friends.”

Will often use distractions as a way to try and ease your mind.

Is genuinely a great person to be around, and when she has the time and energy, she’s lovely to both you and the child (it’ll be her stepchild soon muahahhahahaah).

Jess honestly would gawk at the thought of anyone in her friend group being a parent. You’re all so young and just experiencing life for yourselves!

When she finds out you have a kid, she’ill be astonished, will blink a couple of times and then repeatedly confirm that you’re actually a parent and not kidding.

You looked too fresh and epic, especially for a single parent. Her ones always looked drained and half-dead, yet you were hopeful, lively, regal.

May or may not be terrified that your kid is a menace and will stab her-.

It’s okay she gets over it, she believes that if you’re as excellent as you are, your kid will be similar.

And she’s partially right, your kid is based af; although, like most kids, they are a menace.

They don’t trust her much at first, but overtime they both form a genuine camaraderie.

And it’s wonderful. They both recommend each other fanfiction (this is if your kid is a teen dwdw).

Otherwise they just watch anime and listen to K-pop.

If your kid was a product of…well, rape, Jess’d just be mortified.

Horrified, even. The fact you went through that, had your child, still chose to study and work…she’s a bit astounded that you were able to take on so much.

Would try her best to use her money to help, whether that be groceries or buying things for your kid. She’d try her very best to formulate a bond between them and you. <3

[7official7moose7]

Me losing my shit under the cut (good omens spoilers) (this is long)

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE ACTUAL FICKING FUCK GOD DAMMIT WHAT THE HELL WHAT IN THE ACTUAL NAME OF HELL. WHAT THE LITERAL COMPLETE FUCK. I'M SHAKING AND ON THE VERGE OF TEARS AND I'M GOING TO ACTUALLY PUKE. WHAT KIND OF FUCKING ENDING WAS THAT. IM. WHAT THE FRICKLE FRACKLE TICKLE TACKLE FUCK. WAS THAT. EXMCFUCKING SCUZE ME. FUCK METATRON, FUCK GABRIEL AND BEELZEBUB, FUCK EVERYONE, WHAT THE ACTUAL LITERAL FUCKING FUCK I CAN'T BREATHE. NEIL GAIMAN YOU ABSOLUTE MOTHERFUCKER. I'M IN SHAMBLES AND I'M UPSET AND I CAN'T EVEN TELL IF I MEAN ALL THIS OR NOT I'M REALLY OVERWHELMED WITH THAT WHOLE LAST EPISODE WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK. I'M SO ANGRY AND SO HAPPY BUT I'M ALSO SO FUCKING LIVID BUT I'M ALSO SMILING AS I TYPE THIS. I. FUCK. SHIT GOD DAMMIT HOLY MOTHERFUCKING HELL HEAVEN WHAT THE FUCK EVER. I CAN'T PROCESS THIS RIGHT NOW AND I DON'T K OW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE AFTER THIS SHIT. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO COPE FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS WAITING FOR THE NEXT SEASON?????? WHAT THE SHIT!!!!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FACTUAL LITERAL SHIT!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T EVEN THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE TO TYPE I'M SO UPSET AND DISTRAUGHT AND MOTHERFUCKING PHYSICALLY SICKKKK. IT'S NORMAL FOR ME TO FEEL SICK WHEN I'M EXCITED BUT GOD DAMMIT THIS IS THE WORST KIND OF EXFUCKINGCITEMENT I'VE EVER FELT. THIS WAS MORE INTENSE THAN THE FUCKING FURY RIDE AT CAROWINDS I FUCK. ING CAN'T. HOW DARE YOU BITCHASSES DO THIS SHIT TO ME YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOONS. I SWEAR TO GOD METATRON PUT SOME SHIT IN THAT COFFEE BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY AZIRAPHALE WOULD A. ASK CROWLEY TO BE AN ANGEL AGAIN AND B. PUSH HIM AWAY IN THE EVENT OF A KISS AND SAY "I FORGIVE YOU" WHAT THE FUCK. TWO YEARS!!!!!! WE HAVE TO WAIT TWO MCFUCKING YEARS FOR A NEW SEASON???!!??!??!!!! I'M NOT. I'M NOT DOING SO WELL. I'M NOT PREPARED AND I WASN'T PREPARED AND I NEVER WOULD HAVE BEEN PREPARED TO HAVE THAT FUCKING RUG RIPPED OUT FROM UNDER ME LIKE TGATTTTT. I'M HURTINGGGG. NO ONE TALK TO ME I'M SO FUCKING MESSED UP RN

/hj

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 16

in which murphy nearly cries AGAIN over this fic AGAIN

Cinder didn't say anything. She returned that searching look, like she was wanting something too, like she believed Glynda held some key for her own soul.

HELP ME PLEASE GOD HELP

STOP!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i GUESS WE HAVE THIS CHAPTER TOO. I GUESS. OH MY GOD. IM GONNA SCREAM.

we’re opening with florence + the machine lyrics and i LOVE me some florence which is the only thing helping me cope rn but HERE WE GO. WE JUST HAD PAIN. NOW IT’S TIME FOR. MORE, PROBABLY.

The room was cast in filtered blues that seemed to drown all other color, an abyss of night that stole the reds of Cinder’s dress, smothering her in wine-violet.

i once made an offal hunt bingo card that i should have been using the entire time (whoops) but add ‘colour theory’ to it somewhere. and also because i see violet i see glyndas colour am i onto smthng here,

ALSO:

She hadn't said a word beyond what was strictly necessary through the entire ride up to her little apartment.

glynda... have u been invited into a lady’s apartment,,,,,,,,, GLYN,,,,,,,,,, HAVE U PULLED,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, G L Y N D

The lights reflected in her eyes in discs, like screens, like cat’s eyes—shockingly yellow in all the somber blue.

OH

FUCK YEAH

FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S GLOWY EYES HOURS FUCK YEEEEEEEEEEEEAH

i have been WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT for like FOREVER oooooooh my god yes. YES. cinder yr PRETTY EYES. i love her. did i mention that. because i do,

Glynda had heard of Faunus taking blades to themselves, to try and hide their features and escape the ever-present eye of human oppression. To cut away ears and horns and tails, shearing parts of their own bodies in a desperate break for freedom.

i want to say something thats VERY 👈😢👈 because i. hrm. dont worry abt it. im filing it away. like glynda is. but in a sadder context.

‘whats sadder than this?’

dont ask,

That couldn’t happen. Glynda didn’t want that to happen. No matter the risk. No matter how Cinder would lash out.

OUGH,,, glynda if u start 2 care then cinder will start 2 care and thats a one way ticket on the pain train to gaytown. i, for one, am thrilled,

The response on Glynda’s tongue withered as Cinder, with little fanfare, lifted her dress over her head and laid it haphazardly across the dresser. When Cinder turned back around, the faint sliver of light found purchase in the thin chain around her neck and the jade pendant laid against her bare chest.

OH

OH SHIT

/crashing sounds

MA’AM,

im having to take a minute just give me a minute please give me a m in u te

It was impossible to tell whether Cinder noticed her sliding out to the left of her own body.

glynda, but slightly to the left,

HONESTLY ME TOO!!!!!!!!!!!! HELLO??????????????????? MA’AM

this bed sharing is the straw thats gonna break the murphy’s back. this is it. im gonna die.

Mindfully slow in the darkness, Glynda walked to the other side of the bed, folded her glasses onto the nightstand, and slid under the covers next to Cinder. A small space existed between them. Glynda’s heart thumped in her chest as she tried to discern even the slightest motion from Cinder at her back. Proximity made her dizzy with warmth.

im not even able to comment on like specific instances because im as LOST AS GLYNDA IS RN,,,, WHAT,,,, HELLO?????????????? GLYNDA. THEYRE

THE BED

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Glynda jostled her shoulder. “Are you awake? Cinder?”

“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” Cinder said, unmoving.

og offal hunt COULD never DID never WOULD never i am absolutely going fucking ape shitt crazy feral rn. holy shit. holy shit. lads. the bed. the bed. theyre in the bed. you. whats going on.

“I know,” Glynda agreed. “You’re kind of a menace.”

Cinder was silent. In hindsight, that hadn’t come out as encouragingly as Glynda meant.

hsdjgfsgdf if this is what its like when these two are. semi-enemies. can u imagine what it’ll be like when theyre dating

(i can)

“If I showed up on Sienna Khan’s doorstep with an army behind me, she’d demand to know what took me so long to come home.” Cinder’s eyes were burning coals lodged in the sockets of her shadowed, furious face. “Fuck her. Fuck all of them.” She paused only for breath. “It’s been years—decades—and they still think—”

GOD. THE LORE!!!!!!!!!!! i am SO interested in cinders backstory and this version is rly just going wild. going hoggie wild on this shit. what the hell happened. why did it happen????????? whats going on?????? CINDER... TELL US MORE...

She was furious, like a cornered and wounded Grimm; furious, and hungry for violence.

👈😔👈

“If there is, bring me with you.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

this is some poetic cinema. this is some soft and tender shit. i want to cry. why is this SO good.

Something small and charmed crawled out of the hollow of Cinder’s expression: the flicker of a smile, for just a moment. She said softly, “We weren’t all born with ancient souls, Glynda. Some of us were lucky to be born at all.”

👈👈👈😭😔😞👈👈👈

this is so soft. im absolutely dying. im going to die. take me out.

It must have been the room, or the night, or air, or—something—that made Glynda admit, “I wish—that I felt that way.” At the expectant silence that followed, Glynda swallowed and continued, “Not—not with the White Fang. Just… I wish that it felt like everything had been leading to something. That everything in my life was worth it.”

Cinder was very quiet.

I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING. DIESEL. KC. I WILL PERSONALLY BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSES OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

oh this sucks SO MUCH MORE when you KNOW THINGS(tm) ABOUT THINGS and ooooooooooooooooh my god im literally gonna fuckin die oh my GOD STOP!!!! STOP I HATE IT

It was like swallowing water and holding it in her lungs. She hated how it hurt. But she would rather that than drive Cinder away. She would rather anything than be alone right now.

the good news: this edition of offal hunt is so much more potent abt everything. EVERYTHING feels more vibrant and more real and more interesting and more... everything. and its GREAT i adore it

the bad news: im fucking sobbing

“Ten,” Glynda said. “I enrolled at Beacon when I was twelve.”

okay this is still a very sad moment but also can you fucking imagine rolling up to class at 17 and seeing a literal 12 year old look you in the eye and go ‘you know i can tutor you if you need extra help’. id be fucking livid. who is this square,

Instead, Cinder dared nearer, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind Glynda’s ear. It was an oddly comforting gesture, coming from her. Glynda’s heart stalled in her chest and Cinder, ignoring it, said, “I know it meant a lot to you. That he meant a lot to you.”

me, pointing: this is it ladies and gents and beans. this is it. cinder’s gone and done it now. i can feel it on the wind. here it is. there it goes.

“What is your destiny?” Glynda asked, feeling bolder than before.

The fingers brushing hair behind Glynda’s ear stalled. Cinder’s palm laid warm against Glynda’s high, sharp cheekbone. Something stuttered and then leapt between them, and Glynda’s face went hot when Cinder whispered, “You.”

“Me?”

“We were born in the same year. You couldn’t have known that—that we’re the same age.” Cinder paused and withdrew her hand, tucking it against her own chest. “But my mother felt it. I always knew.”

Glynda didn’t begin to know how to respond.

“We were born in the same year,” Cinder repeated, almost as if to remind herself, like swearing an oath. “We’ve always been each other’s destiny.”

“I always thought it was my destiny to die,” Glynda finally admitted. “Just like my mothers.”

“No,” Cinder said, distantly. “No, it isn’t.”

okay its bad form to grab SUCH a huge section to like bring attention to it but this is. so much. not just from a fucking offal veteran perspective but SO much more too. like this section is just IT its the CORE of the THING!!!!!! and i wish i could go into why hooooooooooooly shit this bit is just. It(tm) but thats a spoiler so i will settle for this

👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈😭😭😭😭😭😭😔😔😔😔😞😞😞😢😢😢😢😢😨😨😨😨👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈👈

cinder’s last line? has me on the FLOOR. THE FLOOR.

When Glynda asked Cinder what her destiny was, Cinder had said you.  

The echo of it was butterflies in Glynda’s stomach.

im losing it. ima bsolutely beside myself

An unfamiliar tension lined Glynda, one she couldn't name or place or recognize. It choked up her throat and clogged her lungs with some unfathomable longing, but for what, she could not place. She looked at Cinder, studying every part of her face, and knew she was studied in turn; Cinder’s lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak, but she said nothing in the end.

But even without speaking, Glynda felt like she’d found an answer to a question she hadn’t had the courage to ask.

OOF. GOD. IM. AH. SHIT. C H R I S T.

i know that this is. [redacted]. and things. and that this is gonna turn into a chapter i look back on and WINCE at when [redacted] and [spoilers] happen but ooooooooooh my goooooooooooooooooood im dying. im outtie. goodbye. rip. fuck me.

[jimlingss]

GIRL I'M SCREAMING OHMYGOD I👏AM👏FUMING WTFFFFF JIMIN'S TOTALLY CHEATING ON HER ISN'T HE!!!!! THAT FUCKING BASTARD! !!!!!!!!! OHMYGOD I CAN'T BREATHE WTFFFFFFFFFFF BRUH MC SHOULD JUST GO OFF WITH TAE!!! PLEASR!!!! GET👏SOME👏DICK👏 SHE REALLY NEEDS IT!!!! REALLY REALLY!!!!!!!!!

myjeansareonfire said:Oh my god this honestly got me so heated and felt super relatable and really made my heart ache because i was also in a relationship where i felt unattractive because my ex didn't want sex and like... Wow i really feel this. I just wanna hold oc and make her feel good 😭💖 i wanna smack jimin & ask him wtf he's doing!!!! Ugh!!!! I'm so mad lol how dare he make her feel this bad about herself

I love taehyung i love him i love him i love him

Also wtf are yoongi & seokjin hiding, those sly lil cats???? Is it related to jimin?! Also fuck what's her face! Fuck her to hell! What"s her name?!?!?!?! Ye Eun! I think! Oh my god i want her to DIE! HOW FUCKING DARE SHE BE SUCH A FUCKING BITCH AND MAKE OC FEEL BAD WHILE SHE'S TRYING TO EAT HOW DARR SHE!!!!!!!!! I am LIVID OH MY GOD AND FUCKING JIMIN HOW COULD HE JUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW COULD HE A👏PO👏LO👏GIZE👏 FOR THE WAY OC WAS ACTING?!?!?!? As IF SHE DID SOMETHING WRONG!!!!!!

I'M SO UNBELIEVABLY HEATED RN LIKE!#!!!!! YOU KNOW WHEN YOU GET SO MAD YOUR STOMACH STARTS HURTING AND YOU JUST WANNA VOMIT OUT YOUR ANGER INTO THE BITCH'S FACE?!?!?!?!?!?!?#? That's HOW I FEEL!!!!!!!! WOW i just really wanna kick some ass rn it has been SO LONG since i've felt this way after reading something skshsj

Oh my god this was so👏fucking👏good👏😩 like!!! Jimlingss!!! Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!! & dovechim!! Yall are fucking amazing!! You're queens!!! I love this shit! Ahhhhh!!!!!!!!!! You guys did such a fucking good job at capturing her mood swings & really making us feel like we're right there with her feeling the same things, her anger her sadness her disgust with herself, but also her happiness at jimin's small gestures, or the calm of being in his arms, and also the total shock when she first found out

This chapter was absolutely fucking fantastic like damn, this is the sequel i didn't know i needed 😩🙌🙌🙌 i cant fkn wait for ch 2, mean while i'm gonna reread this whole thing and seethe. Also LMAO AT YOUR TAGS AT THE END OF THE FIC!!! You are hilarious i love you

haha...well I’m glad you’re feeling particularly passionate but damn you’re really ready to put Jimin on the chopping block HAHAHA you don’t know his side of the story yet 👀👀👀 jumping to conclusions might not be the way to go. Also, Ye Eun is just being herself - she’s always been this way. LET ME DRAW BACK TO THE ORIGINAL FOR A SECOND:

Anyways, glad you’re enjoying it!! OC’s definitely having a rollarcoaster of emotions, so I’m glad you can empathize with her :D :D