#how. i was not taking this not serious at all bc my whole party was eliminated round 1

[aethercurrent]

who am i. where am i. what the fuck.

[nomairuins]

its so embarassing likee. going to talk abt a feeling you have but you already know ppl will be like Oh that sounds like depression lol and its like. well yes . i know . trust me i am so aware i am depressed . but its still like a thing ive been thinking abt and wanting to talk abt but ik itll just be like Ok hun 👍. idk idk what response i would want tho ig FNFNFNF

[itneverendshere]

I love bartender!reader!!!!!! She seems so sweet and collected...but I was wondering if she's got a little fire in her? Maybe they're at a party together and she gets jealous......which is new because she's usually the calm one out of her and rafe. Hope you're doing great <3

loved writing this bc you're so right!!! it's just so not like her to lose her temper over trivial things but oh🫣 hope you're doing just a great as well💖

i'm usually so unproblematic - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: allusions to smut but no actual smut.

You’re sitting in Rafe’s truck, staring out at the huge house in front of you, stomach in knots. It’s a mansion, more like.

Kook house. Kook party. Rich people everywhere. You can already hear the distant thrum of music, even from inside the car, bass-heavy, vibrating through the seats.

You chew your bottom lip and glance over at Rafe. He’s calm, casually messing with the radio, probably about to put on those trashy songs he loves that you absolutely hate but pretend to like because you love him.

It's insane how easy it is for him to just... be cool about this. But you?

You’re not so sure.

"This was a bad idea," you mumble, half-joking but also half-serious.

Rafe turns to you, one eyebrow raised, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Nervous?”

You give him a look. “Obviously. I’m not...I don’t do these things. I don’t know these people.”

You’ve been with Rafe for almost a year now, give or take. Said your I love yous, met each other’s families. Hell, you’ve spent more time at Tannyhill than at your own place lately, and you’ve grown used to Rafe’s kook side. His friends, though? These parties? A whole other beast.

“I already met Topper. Isn’t that enough?”

He laughs under his breath, reaching over to take your hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s Kelce, and a few other people. No big deal.”

No big deal, you think. Easy for him to say when he’s been around these people his whole life. For you, being a pogue, working extra shifts at the country club just to pay rent… yeah, this is a little different.

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine. It’s just— I’m out of my element.”

He squeezes your hand. “Hey. You’re with me. That’s all that matters.” 

You’re with Rafe. The Rafe who loves you, who can’t keep his hands off you even when you’re just watching movies. The Rafe who gets jealous over dumb things, like if you laugh too hard at one of JJ’s jokes, even though he’s just your seventeen-year-old neighbor. The Rafe who texts you goodnight, even when you’re in the same room, because he’s a sap and you secretly love it.

“Alright, let’s go,” you agree, trying to hype yourself up.

Rafe smiles, and then he’s out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, like a perfect gentleman. You roll your eyes but step out, the night air brushing your bare shoulders. You weren’t sure how to dress for this party, so you chose to wear something…safe. A pretty red top you only used on special occasions and your best demim skirt. It wasn’t exactly kook material but at least you weren’t in your worn-out shorts and usual crop top or in your work uniform.

The moment you walk inside, though, it’s like stepping into a different world. The house is packed. People everywhere, laughing, drinking, hanging by the pool. Everything’s pristine and polished, and you feel their eyes on you the second you walk in.

Rafe wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Want a drink?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the music.

You nod, trying not to let the fact that people are definitely staring at you freak you out. You’re not a Kook. You’re his girl, though, and you know how much that pisses some of them off.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a drink in hand, and Kelce’s talking your ear off about something you don’t really understand. Golf. You smile and nod along, doing your best to keep up, but the truth is, you’re not listening. You’re too busy watching the crowd, still feeling like you don’t fit in. Like you never really will.

That’s when you notice her. Tall. Pretty, in that rich, polished way that’s almost too perfect. And she’s glaring. Right. At. You.

Your stomach drops, and you tear your eyes away, sipping your drink to cover the dread that suddenly hits you. You don’t know who she is, but she’s been staring at you since you walked in, and it’s starting to mess with your head. Was there something on your face? Had you met before at the club? Maybe she didn't like your drinks.

“Baby, you okay?” Rafe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Yeah, fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. He frowns slightly but doesn’t push it. Kelce’s still talking, oblivious.

You try to ignore it, but as the night goes on, she keeps popping up. Always staring. Always with that look crazied in her eyes. Like she could kill you. You’ve had a couple drinks by now, and your nerves are turning into a kind of irritation.

Finally, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a break from the overwhelming feeling of being watched. You lock the door behind you, exhaling slowly as you stare at your reflection. Were you seeing things? Overreacting? Surely, Rafe or Kelce would’ve noticed as well, right? Or maybe they were used to this. 

I’m just overthinking it, you tell yourself. I’m fine. She’s just..

But when you open the door to leave, she’s there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you with that same stupid look, like you personally offended her by daring to exist. 

“Can I help you?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts her head, giving you the most disgusted once-over you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re Rafe’s new thing, huh?”

What? You’ve had just enough to drink that your filter is basically nonexistent now. You blink, confusion killing the buzz in your head. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I know you.”

You laugh awkwardly, nothing about this is funny. “Okay? So what’s your problem?”

Her eyes narrow, lips tinted pink curling. Oh, she’s mad now. She steps up closer to you, practically chest-to-chest. “My problem is that I don’t get why someone like you is with Rafe. He used to have a certain standard.”

Oh.

You almost laugh again because...wow. Really? That’s what this is about? “Okay, Regina George,” you mutter under your breath. You’re not in the mood for this. You tilt your head, giving her your best innocent smile.  “And who are you?”

“Sophie. I dated Rafe for two years, before you, obviously,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something. You didn’t know him back then, you hadn’t even spoken a word to him. "Guess he didn’t mention me."

His ex. Of course. Of course she’s his ex. 

You snort before you can stop yourself. "Nope, pretty sure he forgot to bring you up.”

You feel a little sting of jealousy in your chest, but you try to swallow it down. You’re not about to let this girl get under your skin. You’re better than that. You didn’t know him, it’s fine.

 “I’m not really interested in whatever this is.” You move to step around her, but she blocks your path.

“Just a word of advice,” she grits out, like you’ve personally offended her, “He’s not the kind of guy who sticks around for long. Especially not with girls like you.”

That does it. The alcohol, the nerves, the whole night—you’re seconds away from losing it. “What the hell is your problem?” you snap, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

“Dirty pogues who think—”

"Okay. I’m not gonna play whatever this is with you," you interrupt her, gesturing between the two of you, stepping forward so you’re toe-to-toe with her now. "If he wanted to be with a walking Vineyard Vines ad, he would be. But he’s not. He’s with me."

“You really think you’re different?” she spits, voice laced with venom. "Like you're special?"

Your laugh comes out sharp, more of a bark. “If you were so special, you wouldn’t be here, playing guard dog outside the bathroom. Move."

“Or what?” she challenges, her lips curling in that same superior smirk that makes your blood boil. “What are you gonna do, pogue?”

That’s it. You feel the fire flare up in your chest. Screw this girl. Your hands ball into fists, and you’re half a second from knocking that smug look right off her face when Topper steps in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not turn this into Jerry Springer, alright?" He holds up his hands like he’s breaking up a fight at a middle school dance. You’re staring daggers at Sophie, and she’s glaring right back, but his hands are still up, a peacekeeper grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of you. “Let’s not do this,” his eyes landing on Sophie. “C’mon, Soph, no need for the drama, yeah?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and stepping back with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever, Topper.

He watches her go before turning back to you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

You nod, still fuming, but grateful he stepped in when he did. "Yeah. Thanks."

You let him take you away because if he doesn’t, you're going to follow her and throw a drink in her face or do something worse. You feel like you could punch her right in her perfect, stuck-up face. 

He leads you back to where Rafe is, and you’re too upset to even look at him. His hands are on you the second you’re close, pulling you to him like he can tell something’s off. "Baby," his lips brush against your temple. "What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to kill someone."

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not without completely blowing up.

Rafe’s brow furrows, his eyes darting between you and Topper. “What the hell happened?” he asks again, more forceful this time.

Topper gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just some girl drama. Don’t worry about it.”

Girl drama your ass.

He turns to you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, his hands on your waist, the other settling on the back of your head, “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You pull away, shaking your head, still too mad to speak.

He follows, his hands reaching for yours. “Hey, c’mon.”

Finally, you look at him. Really look at him. And the second you see his face, that stupid, worried puppy-dog expression, the anger starts to melt away.

“I’m mad,” you admit, “I got jealous. Your ex’s a bitch.”

Rafe blinks, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. A real, genuine laugh. You glare at him. “It’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not,” he says, quickly sobering, though there’s still a stupid smirk at his lips. “I just, I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “I’m serious, Rafe. She was awful.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I don’t care about her. At all. I care about you.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is softening. “She said you wouldn’t stick around.”

Rafe’s smile fades, and he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

"She’s a psycho.”

Rafe’s expression changes, his frown deepening. "Sophie?"

"Yeah," you snap, because you hate the sound of her name coming out of his lips, "Sophie. Called me a dirty pogue, which—real original.”

“She what?” Rafe’s jaw tightens, and for a second, you see a flash of that old Rafe—the one who’d get into fights at the drop of a hat. "I’ll handle it.”

You’ve seen it before—his protective streak, the one that could turn dangerous if he wasn’t careful. Part of you loves it, the way he’d go to war for you without even blinking. But another part of you hates that you have so much power over him.

But right now, you’re still too mad to care about him handling anything. You push past him, heading for the exit, needing air, needing space. Everything inside you is on fire, and all you can think is that you need to get out. Anything but this house full of people who make you feel like you’re just dirt. People like her. You can’t stop hearing her nasal voice in your head, those snide comments digging into you like little needles, bringing up that same old insecurity.

“Baby, hold on,” His voice is behind you, and his hand is instantly catching yours, tugging you back before you can make it to the door.

You spin around, already ready to snap, but then you see his face—eyes wide, brow furrowed like he’s genuinely freaked out that you’re upset. “Don’t listen to her, she’s full of shit.”

You stare at him, your chest tight and aching, because yeah, you know she’s full of it, but it still got to you. It still hurt. “It just…” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words, even though everything feels like a mess. “It got in my head, Rafe. Like, I hate that she said that. I’m so sick of people looking at me like I don’t belong just because I’m not—”

He cuts you off, stepping closer, and before you can even finish the thought, he's dragging you into him. “You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a breath, but you’re still worked up, “But it’s like—I don’t need some stuck-up kook girl who thinks she’s better than me telling me I don’t fit in. I know I’m not like them, but she said it like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like I’m just some—”

Rafe’s lips are on yours before you can finish. He only pecks you, but it’s enough to shut you up, to make your brain go silent for a second. “Stop,” his voice is almost pleading. “Stop thinking like that. I love you, okay? I don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blink up at him, you want to stay mad, but also want to let it go because he’s right here, so close, and he’s got that look on his face that makes your heart flip. “You don’t get it.”

He pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips like he can’t stand to have any space between you. “Then tell me,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Tell me why you’re letting her get in your head.”

You huff, but the fight in you is starting to die out. “Because she made me feel like I’m less.”

He tilts your head back just enough to look at you, “That’s bullshit,” his fingers are gentle as they trail up your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel a little stupid for letting that girl get to you in the first place. But damn it, you’ve heard it before—from other people, from yourself—that nagging voice that says you’re not enough.

“I know.” you mumble though you’re still a little embarrassed.

Rafe smiles then, that sweet smile he only ever gives you, and he presses his lips to your forehead. “Good,” he says, tugging you even closer, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you. “Because I’m obsessed with you, and I don’t care what her or anyone else says.”

You let out a shaky laugh, finally letting yourself relax in his arms. “You’re obsessed with me?” you tease, tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“Hell yeah,” he grins, his hands sliding up your back, one hand slipping down to squeeze your ass, his thumb sliding just under the hem of your skirt. “I can’t keep my hands off you. You know that. It’s becoming a real problem.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but you don’t stop the giggle from bubbling out. The way he’s looking at you right now, like he can’t even think straight because you’re standing in front of him—it drives you up the walls. Then he leans down and kisses you again, and this time it’s not...casual. His lips move against yours like he’s trying to take every thought in your head, and it’s working. Your hands slide up, wrapping around his neck as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. 

He grips you harder, lips moving to brush against your ear, “You’re mine, baby and I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

That hits you, hard, like a truth he always reassures you off but still feels brand new when he does say it. Everything that pissed you off, all the crap Sophie said, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“Stop making me horny,” You whine out, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer. You can feel his grin against your skin as he leans in, biting your lip playfully before kissing you again, you know he’s enjoying teasing you. His hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass again, making you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him smirk.

“I like you horny.”

You’re in the middle of this stupid party, surrounded by people who probably hate you for breathing, but all you can think about is how much you want him right now. His lips move over yours like he’s trying to claim you, and you’re more than happy to let him. It’s messy, all tongues and spit, but you don’t care. You love how rough and needy he is, how he groans into your mouth like he’s been dying to kiss you all night. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy, the room spinning, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or him—or both.

You tug at his shirt, frustrated with how much fabric is in the way, and he chuckles against your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp. His hands slide down up to your neck, tightening just enough around your throat, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, making him grin.

“You're just so—” his lips brush over your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, kissing and biting just hard enough to make you squirm, "Beautiful, aren't you?"

You’re normally not one for pda, not at all. The idea of people watching, of eyes on you while you're with someone, always made your skin crawl. But when Rafe kisses you like this? When he’s got his hands on you? God, your brain just goes dumb, and every ounce of self-consciousness fizzes out. It's embarrassing, almost. All you can think about is the way he’s making you feel, the way he’s holding you against him, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You’re so not this person, not the girl who makes out with her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded room.

But with Rafe? You can’t even think straight. 

His hands slide under your skirt for the millionth time, blunt fingernails gripping your plushy thighs, and you nearly whine, “Rafe,” you breathe, trying to pull away long enough to think properly, but he just kisses you harder, more insistent. “Baby, stop,” you manage to whisper, though you don’t mean it at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes all dark, his breath hot against your lips. “You want me to stop?” he teases, his hands still tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that makes your knees go weak.

You shake your head, biting your lip, and his grin widens. “Didn’t think so,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself, and honestly? Neither can you. You’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous. 

“I—fuck,” you pant, trying to get the words out between kisses, but he’s relentless, pressing you back against a wall, his lips latching on to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin “Baby, please—”

He groans against your neck, one hand sliding up under your top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, and you swear you’re about to lose it. “Please what, hmm?”

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed, but you’re way past that now. All you can think about is how much you need him. Right now. Anywhere but here.

“Take me to the truck,” you nearly beg him, just loud enough for him to hear, but you know he catches it because he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

He smirks, running his thumb over your bottom lip, teasing. “Yeah? You need me that bad?”

You nod, not even caring how desperate you sound. “Please.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, but you don’t care anymore.

You need him, and you need him now.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

Forty minute later, the air inside the truck reeks of sex.

You’re breathless, flushed all over, and your legs feel like jelly. Rafe’s next to you, grinning like an idiot already fixing his jeans like he’s not still catching his breath. It’s written all over you—the tousled hair, the smudged lipstick, the way your top is barely hanging on properly as you try to straighten it out, the stickiness you can still feel between your legs, on your panties.

You feel filthy.

You bite back a smile as you adjust your skirt, your body still recovering from the way he had your face pressed against the seat.  

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to get it together, your fingers fumbling to fix your bra strap, “I feel like my makeup’s a mess.”

He just chuckles, leaning back in his seat with that cocky look that made you want to jump him in the first place, “You look perfect,” he says, eyeing you up and down like he’s ready to go another round.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “Yeah, well, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

He laughs, reaching over to pull you close, his lips pecking your hair, “Worth it.”

You’re just about to leave the truck when the door opens, and as you both step out, you catch sight of Sophie and her friends walking past. Perfect timing. Of course.

She’s glaring—hard—and her friends are snickering, whispering to each other like they’ve just seen something they shouldn't. Sophie’s nose wrinkles as her gaze flicks between you and Rafe, her expression twisting into disgust like you’re both some kind of wild animals who just rolled around in the mud.

But you? You feel smug.

You meet her stare for a second too long, the corner of your mouth lifting in the tiniest, most satisfied smirk. You know she knows exactly what just happened in that truck, and it’s killing her. She’s practically seething, her friends muttering furiously under their breath as they walk by, noses in the air.

Rafe doesn’t even glances their way—his fingers hook into one of the belt loops of your skirt, tugging you back to him with just enough force to make you stumble slightly into his built chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is.

“Thirty more minutes,” he murmurs against your cheek, planting a kiss there, casual but so possessive, his lips lingering just long enough to make your stomach shake with butterflies again, "And I'm taking you home."

And that’s what makes it even sweeter.

[nisuna]

Currently trying to recreate tipsy big!brother Suguru x reader x Satoru bcs I don't know what happened to it. Did I delete it did it get deleted idkkkk I'm so sad

But I did it!! I added some stuff and refined it a bit soooo.. noice

The ask was: tipsy Suguru shares his pretty little sister with Satoru<3

<3masterlist<3

18+ MDNI

TW: stepcest, riding, dick sucking, throat fucking, anal play (not putting anything in), mentions of foursome; use of baby, princess, good girl; dry humping, groping, tit sucking, teasing, a fuck ton of dirty talk, breeding kink, hickeys, oral (m receiving)

They've been teasing you all evening. But because they always were touchy when showing affection, you didn't think much of it. So you didn't mind that your Brother Suguru was hugging you from behind, head on your shoulder while swaying both of you to the music at one of their shitty house parties. And you didn't mind when Satoru ran his hands up and down your waist to greet you. But what you did start minding, was when you felt your brother rub his hard crotch against your ass. And you did mind when Satoru's fingers danced along the hem of your low-cut dress, occasionally slipping in to give your tits a squeeze. At one point they were just shamelessly dry humping you on the dance floor. Nobody seemed to care, because the other guests were about past tipsy at this point. But whenever you tried to speak up they both shushed you saying it's not that serious and that it's just for fun. You just couldn't say no to either of them.

When you ended up staddling Satoru you realized that they were lying to your face the whole time. Because you think it is rather serious when you're straddling your brother's best friend, dress bunched at your tummy exposing your tits and ass, while your brother is pulling down his pants. "We really shouldn't be doing this", you whined, trying more to convince yourself than the two guys. Satoru just hummed while sucking deep purple marks on your neck, occasionally licking over them as he squeezed you tight. "Don't worry, princess. This is just for fun, we'll take good care of ya.", he whispered against your lips, giving your hip a reassuring squeeze.

"Which hole do you want, Satoru? Dibs on her mouth", your brother grinned, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol he's had so far.

"Hmm, I was thinking pussy. But if you say it like that..." he bit your neck while gliding his slicked finger over the rim of your asshole. The attention made you gasp and clutch on to his shoulders. He kissed your temple still playing with your other hole. "But why don't we leave this for a special occasion, shall we?" he winked at you and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Fine by me", Suguru huffed, already stroking his cock in your direction.

And that's how you ended up in the predicament you're currently in. You tried your best to take Suguru as deep as possible, but not choke too much. Your mind felt fuzzy from Satoru whispering in your ear while also paying attention to your asshole. "Baby", he moaned, "look at it, it's literally begging for attention. Bet you could take three guys at once. Should we get a third one to fill up your mouth while me and your brother fuck your ass and pussy? Hmm? You'd like that huh. Don't lie to me, I can feel you dripping all over my leg. You're gushing, pretty.", he kissed your cheek, while you were moaning around your brother's dick. You tried to shake your head no (you were in complete denial), but your brother kept your head in place fucking his cock deeper down your throat.

"Satoru, you better keep talkin' to her like that, her moans do wonders 'round my cock ah"

"You don't have to tell me that, she's squeezing me so hard whenever I say anything. Say, want us to breed you? Want three big men to manhandle and breed you so all of your holes are full of cum? Hmm want to feel it drip out while we push it right back in?", he mused while groping one of your tits with his hand and sucking on the nipple of the other one.

You momentarily unlatched yourself from Suguru's cock but continued to stroke it with your hand while you mewled, "Yeees want it bad, want to feel so full, wanna feel you drip out, oh god please fill me up!!"

"Hehe, you heard her," your brother hummed, you could only yelp when you felt him yank you by the hair, lips back on his cock, "now get back to work."

"Mhmm~" you hummed around his dick.

"Alright, we're gonna fill you up, make ya nice and plump. But you gotta cum first okay? Can you do that for me, cream round my cock, yeah?"

You moaned in agreement and felt your eyes roll back as Satoru's thick fingers went to work on your neglected clit.

They were fucking you between them as you tried to pleasure both of them, while Satoru was rubbing thick circles on your clit. Your mind was going fuzzy from getting filled on both ends and from the aftermath of Satoru's dirty talking.

He was right on time when you felt yourself get close, "Gonna fuck you airtight next time, if you cum right now. Can you do that? Oh yeah that's it." You came with a muffled scream as they kept fucking you through your high. Satoru finished right after from your pussy convulsing around him. And when you looked up to Suguru with teary, fucked out eyes, that was when he too hit his limit, stuffing his cock in your mouth and spilling down your throat. You eagerly swallowed all of it and when he pulled out you showed him your empty mouth, proudly sticking out your tongue. He kissed your forehead while patting your hair. "Good girl, you did so well for us."

"Yeah good job", Satoru nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. "Also", he kissed from your neck to your ear, slightly nibbling on it, "I wasn't joking about someone joining. We really want to try a lot of things with you, right, Suguru?"

"Right", your brother smiled gently, coming closer to cage you between the two of them.

This experience will definitely leave a dent in your relationship, but you felt safe between the two guys you trusted most in the world. How could that possibly be wrong?

----

Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

[s6lars]

happy bday bb!!!! i missed you so much i’m so happy i found your account! do you think you could just do a headcanon of how pedri is as a bf! it’s up to you if you want to include smut

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 📂 pedri as a boyfriend …

contains smut, minors dni.

— the meeting.

he was back home in the canaries and met you a house party one of his mates had hosted

it honestly was just an instant connection

he had gone around talking to different ppl throughout the night but the second he started talking to you …

you were the last person he spoke to. bcs he would not speak w anyone else

but after that it was mostly silence, and he was sad bcs he rlly wanted to get closer

when he was back in barcelona, he found out you lived there too

and after some time and a million encouragements from fer

he had the courage to formally ask you out and you two hit it off not long after that

basically, a he fell first & he fell harder moment 🫶🏼

— dating life.

this man is so gentle with you. just so soft spoken, so attentive, so caring

and let’s not forget how clingy he is

you could be doing anything — chores, just scrolling through your phone and he’ll sneak up behind you and bury his face in the crook of your neck

and he wouldn’t say a single word. just dead silent

but that means all he wants is cuddles and you’re more than happy to oblige !

lets you go in his closet and steals whatever you want. genuinely half your closet is just his hoodies and t-shirts now

speaking of his closet, when you first got your hands on it, you were appalled to say the least. but you’ve since gotten it under control and no more ripped skinny jeans it is

in my eyes, pedri’s love language is quality times.

so when he has the time, it’s date night almost every single week ! renting out literally the whole restaurant so it’s more intimate and romantic

when he’s a bit busier, he does it in other ways

he’ll hire a private chef fer to his house, decorate the dining room with flowers

speaking of …

gifts. always. constantly. and spontaneously!

he’ll ask you what you want for your birthday, or christmas, etc — and you always say you don’t want anything. but then a few days later, you’ll get texts like: “gold or silver?” “what size shoe are you?” “do you like clutches or purses more?”

he’s a simple guy, he’s not flashy, and unless it’s for a new phone or a new car he hates splurging. but when it’s with you, then it’s a whole other story.

loveeees showing you off to his family and friends

he’ll run late to lunch with his friends and say something like, “sorry, my girl was too clingy this morning.”

and they’ll all be fake disgusted but he loves it

oh and about pet names

mi mujer — my woman, when addressing you, it’s his go-to.

and bebé for when he’s speaking to you directly

— the launch.

pedri is famous, which means one way or another, the public will have to know about you guys.

pedri is generally a private guy so i think he’ll let it out slowly

which means … soft launch !

it starts with a goal dedication, he makes your initial with his hands and blows a kiss to the camera

and ppl are instantly like whoa. who was that for

and then it picks up

he posts holiday pics and there’s little bits and pieces of you in them

your hair creeping in a mirror selfie, your manicured hands on a steering wheel, your reflection off of a mirror in a restaurant

and now it gets real serious

fans catch him with a girl as his wallpaper but your face is covered by his hand holding the phone

the bomb drops when he posts a pic on his story. it’s a mirror selfie, you’re both dressed up, and you’re the one taking it. he’s standing behind you, one hand across your abdomen.

both your faces are cropped out. still, ppl are like yeah, he has a girl it’s confirmed

finally, he post a whole dump for you, probably for something special like your birthday and he lets the world know he’s yours !

— the spice.

remember when i said pedri was very gentle earlier?

well he can definitely pull a 180 in bed

i see him as more of a switch, and it depends on his mood

at the start of the relationship, when you were navigating what you both enjoyed in bed, you had to guide him a lot

and that’s when you found out he loves being praised, and asking you to praise him

“does that feel good?” “fuck, right there, yeah?” “like this?”

and when he’s not in control he doesn’t shy away from letting you know how good you’re making him feel, always in your ear

ok but let’s get into how he is when he’s in control

generally at first your sex was pretty vanilla, but you were so tired from work one day and just needed to let it all out

and pedri delivered — he had you bent over the couch, and when you thought you were done, he carried you to his room and made you watch in the mirror as you took him

it was unexpected. but not unwelcome

has a thing for when you tug his hair or leaves scratches on his back. it hurts, but it eggs him on further

and if he's really feeling confident, like if he just won a final or scored an important goal, his stamina is quadrupled. you're not stopping until your legs physically give out

always, always makes sure you get aftercare, even if he can barely stay awake himself

even if it's as simple as just getting you something to drink or standing next to you while you're in the bathroom afterwards, he just wants to let you know that he cares about you

gets super cocky the morning after. especially if he sees you limp a bit

you'll tell him off because you'll have to be at work or smth and he'd sit there with a grin and say, "you were the one who kept begging, harder, please—" (you'd throw a pillow in his face before he could continue)

but it's fine, the morning sex makes up for it ♡

[lunarlando]

Hi I just saw ur girl dad lando requests r open and ran over bc I'm obsessed with dad lando too and there's simply not enough fics on it unfortunately.

Anyway my fic/blurb idea is fluffy and slightly angsty? so lando and fem!wife!reader's daughters r in their teens and and they're used to reader (their mum) typically being the "bad cop" and lando being the "fun parent" who will spoil them and can never say no to them when reader does. One day readers tired of her teens hating her for being the mean one so they decide to switch roles and the girls r rlly confused and angry at lando and start being nice to reader who's enjoying watching lando take her place for once. Maybe the girls ask to go out to a party or ask for new phones or smth u can decide. Ignore my request if it doesn't seem interesting 😭 and have a grt day byee xx

thank you for the request! a few other grid kids make an appearance, hope that's okay! and lando is such a fun dad type guy you're so right x

feel free to request more :)

Having teenage girls was not an easy feat.

You were warned of the terrible twos and gotten through them twice with your sanity intact, but nobody had ever warned you about teenagers. You suspect it should’ve been a given, but when you thought about having teenagers you always saw yourself as the type of mum who your daughters would feel close to.

Now that you’re the mum of a sixteen and seventeen year old, you find yourself becoming the opposite. You’ve turned into the bad cop between Lando and yourself. He’s the fun parent, you’re the party pooper. He spoils Estelle and Delilah because he can, because he loves his girls more than life itself, and you’re stuck reining in his gift giving because you don’t want them to become accustomed to always getting what they want when they want no matter the cost.

Even when you put your foot down on some of their more extravagant requests, Lando finds a way around it. 

Part of the reason Lando spoils them so much is because he was still racing in Formula One when both of them were born and while they were growing up, so he’d miss things sometimes. He tried his hardest not to miss bigger events like their birthdays and holidays, but other stuff like their school recitals, sports games—he did the best he could, but a lot of the time it just never aligned with his busy schedule. 

Now that he’d taken a step back from being in the seat of a car for the past three years, he was trying to make up for lost time. 

“I feel like the girls think I’m a hardass,” you sigh as you’re getting ready for bed one night. Lando is brushing his teeth, but he sticks his head out of the bathroom at your words, frowning at you with the brush still in his mouth. “Do you think they hate me?” 

“You’re their mum, they don’t hate you,” he replies through toothpaste bubbles, wrinkling his nose at you. “All you’ve done their whole lives is take care of them. How could they hate you?” 

“Because I’m their mum,” you say pointedly. Lando cocks his head, like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Mums and daughters are different from mums and sons. Trust me.” 

“Okay, fair. But I don’t think you’re a hardass. You’re just…firm with them, is all.” 

You snort unattractively, looking at him pointedly. “Yeah, I have to be, mister take my credit card, buy whatever you want.” Lando hums thoughtfully, disappearing back into the bathroom to finish washing up before reappearing and padding over to his side of the bed. “I love that you want them to have everything they could ever dream of, and I say this with nothing but even more love, but you’re not the best when it comes to saying no to the girls.” 

“I know. I just…I hate it when they look so disappointed and sad.” 

“And you think I do? I don’t want to be the bad cop, but someone has to,” you grumble, setting aside your book. Lando snuggles up close to you, propping his chin on your shoulder. “You should try it.” 

“Ha, that’s funny.” 

“No, I’m serious, Lan. Tomorrow, we switch roles. You’ll be me and I’ll be you, and then you’ll understand,” you propose, smiling at him in that way you know he won’t be able to resist. All these years and you’ve still got your husband wrapped around your finger. 

“That doesn’t sound like a good time.” 

“Oh, it won’t be. Not for you, at least. But we’re a team, aren’t we?” 

“I hate it when you’re right.” 

—

Fortunately for Lando, things at the Norris household don’t get interesting until nighttime the following day. 

“Hey Mum, we’re going out tonight. Just wanted to let you know since we might be out after curfew,” Estelle says absentmindedly, not looking up from her phone. Beside her, Delilah giggles quietly, ever her older sister’s follower. You want to tell them no—their curfew is late enough as it is and they’ve got school tomorrow—but you refrain. It’s Lando’s turn to be the bad cop. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Ask your father first though,” you reply instead. From the couch where he’s watching some rerun of an old grand prix, Lando straightens at the mention of his name, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. You raise a brow, tilting your head at the two girls who’ve turned their attention on their dad. “Go on, he’s listening.” 

They share a confused look with each other, but you can see the gears turning in their quick teenage brains. If mum said yes, dad would definitely say yes. Easy.

Or so they think. 

Delilah bounces over to sit on the couch next to Lando, smiling at him widely. “Hi daddy! Can we go to a party tonight?” 

Now Estelle’s sitting on his other side, bringing out the same patented charming Norris grin. “Well, it’s not really a party. More like a few friends hanging out. Super laid back.” 

“Uh huh. Gonna need some more details, lovebugs,” Lando hums, flashing their same smile right back at them. There’s no use in trying to play the guy who invented the game. “Who’s gonna be there, where it is. You wouldn’t want your mum and I to worry, would you?” 

“Um…” Delilah balks. She probably wasn’t expecting him to ask so many questions. He usually doesn’t, just says yes because he can’t bring himself to say no to them. 

Estelle cuts in before her sister can potentially dig them into an inescapable hole. “Adrien’s going, Clara and Maeve will be there too, and Teo.” 

Adrien and Teo—Charles’ and Carlos’ sons, respectively, and Clara and Maeve—Oscar’s twin daughters. You know that she knows the two of you trust your friends, so name dropping their kids would give them a fighting chance. She’s smart like that. You’d admire it more if her intellect wasn’t aimed at sweet talking her parents. 

Lando sneaks another panicked glance back at you, and you shake your head slightly. That solidifies his resolve, because as much as he doesn’t want to disappoint them, you have an agreement, and a deal’s a deal. “Sorry girls, it’s gonna be a no. We’re all staying in tonight.”

“What?” 

“Let’s do something as a family, yeah? Game night? Or you can do some laps on the sim, I know how much you like that,” Lando offers up, as if enticing them with sim racing would soften the blow of their dad’s first no. 

“Seriously? But dad, it’s not a party! We’re just gonna watch a movie or something!” Estelle exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest.

The girls share another look with each other, this one more irritated than confused. Lando just tries his best to stay firm looking. You, on the other hand, watch the whole thing play out from where you are, fighting to hide a smile, because now he knows how you feel all the damn time. It shouldn’t please you, but as someone who’s been taking the brunt of their teenage-ness for a while now, it brings you just a smidge of joy. 

“That doesn’t change things, unfortunately. You two will be staying here with your dear old parents, and that’s it.” 

“That’s so unfair though!” Estelle huffs, rolling her eyes. 

Lando cocks his head at her, brows raised in challenge. “I’d watch the attitude if I were you, Stell.” 

Delilah switches her tactic to try and salvage things, coming over to where you’re still chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter. Out of the two of them, your youngest knows exactly where her mum’s soft spot lies. “Mum? We just want to hang out with our friends. Please?” 

“You heard your dad, girls,” you say, shrugging. “If he says no, it’s no. Sorry.” 

They disappear down the corridor grumbling to each other rather quickly after that, no doubt already texting their friends about how awful their dad is. It almost makes you laugh, because for once, you’re not the one they’re mad at. Lando trudges over to you, pressing himself against your back in a rather dejected hug. 

“Doesn’t feel great, does it?” 

“Is this what it feels like to be you?” he groans. You can feel him frowning against your neck and you chuckle, running your fingers through his curls affectionately. “We’re setting some more ground rules, effectively immediately.” 

“Like what, don’t be mean to your mum? They’re teenagers, Lan. It’s what they do.” 

“I was never like this.” That draws quite a laugh from you. “What?” 

“So if I call your parents and ask them if you were ever a little shit when you were younger, they’d say no?” 

“...Don’t call them.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You kiss his cheek gratefully still. “We balance each other out well, I’d say. I don’t mind being the bad cop sometimes, but you can’t just be a fun dad all the time.” 

“But it’s so fun being a fun dad,” he whines, but you know he understands. “I don’t have to feel like this.” 

“You’ll get over it, darling. They will too, and we’ll be back to the same old thing tomorrow.” 

“I love you, bad cop.” 

“Love you more, fun dad.”

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he���s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

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

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[azulsluver]

I just want to ramble a little bit but- My personal scenario/headcanon for Bully au (which by the way, I love your writing) is that maybe one day reader decides to disappear, even if for a little while, maybe they just hide in some place for a long period of time (or hilariously and sneakily find a way to avoid their bullies throughout an entire day, or even crazier a whole week!!). They're so emotionally destroyed that they start to actually believe their insults and awful treatment they endured, and so they decide to just isolate themselves further somewhere no one can "be burdened by me"- Which in turn causes everyone else to at first get pissed off and then more and more (slightly, very slightly) worried that their punching bag is missing.... Perhaps, even have escaped them? 👀 I would love to see who loses their composure first, even if they don't admit their obsession at all lmao

Anon you don’t know what you’re doing to me //0//

tw. Bully!characters, no one takes you seriously kinda, yandere, stalking, baby tantrums.

This was more crack than anything serious…idk what happened but rants bellow!

They genuinely start tweakin:

Riddle, Deuce, Kalim, Malleus, Jack, Silver, Ruggie, Idia, Vil

They’re the ones that usually have their eyes on you, to find out that you’re missing and not at a place they SPECIFICALLY told you to be/stay flares their attention. Sure they can last a couple of days without you but a week? Nuh uh, they think they’re responsible for whatever you do, once they find you you’re getting a whole lecture. Telling you they’d get in trouble if they hadn’t found you sooner but let’s be real here.

But if you hid in a place far far away from them (which is impressive and impossible tbh) they’re already having a meltdown. Biting fingernails, aggressively running their fingers through their hair. All of that, and the ones who usually stay composed in situations like these (Ruggie/Riddle/Malleus) start to overthink so bad that they look beyond stress. It’s the thought that maybe you ran away from them or worse got kidnapped or lost. Which makes them have more of a reason to keep a tighter leash on you.

Ok but Kalim, Idia and Deuce cry like babies and throw tantrums.

Let the imagination work so think of Vil sitting on the kitchen table with his hair tied up and a face mask on while wearing a robe, a cup of coffee in his hands as he stares off into the distance that looks like he’s about to stab someone. He deadass thinks he’s growing grey hairs and has eyebags because his favorite punching bag is missing after two weeks. Who is he gonna step on now..

Gets pissed off:

Leona, Ace, Azul, Sebek, Epel, Jamil

“But why?” Is what they said when they perfectly understand the problem. Do they feel bad? No. In fact people like Leona and Azul can go through days without you because they’re always busy with something rather than terrorizing you. BUT you have to understand that as much as they pretend to not care they aren’t willing to clean up the mess after your pity party.

Jamil and Sebek are only mad about you disappearing is because of Malleus and Kalim’s whining. Please save them.

Ace and Epel are the ones who are mega mad as in a corny way. “How dare my punching bag run away from me and disappear for days!!” Typa stuff. Unbeknownst to them they double the insults and it makes you even more depressed lmaoo.

Ehhh Jamil may actually panic as well, because when Kalim isn’t happy no one is. And he does misses you personally, worries when he finds you (which is really scary to [Name’s] pov bc why is he so caring??) he’s all over you to make sure you aren’t injured or anything. Still pissed so he might slap the back of your head a couple of times and lecture you + same thing goes when Sebek finds you except he doesn’t comfort you.

Thinks it’s amusing:

Rook, Jade, Floyd, Trey, Cater, Lilia,

“Ohoho did I go overboard?” Yea you did. Anyways little shits don’t feel bad in fact they think it’s funny and cute that you disappeared because you couldn’t handle the insults and took it for granted. Lilia and Jade giving you false comfort just to do it all over again when you make a mistake. They probably already know your hiding spots and camp there to experiment how long it’ll take for you to come crawling back.

Maybe, just a little bit that Trey feels bad. He coddles you for a while then goes right back to gaslighting because he’s always right and when he says these things to you it’s because you’re wrong!! The type to restrict his affections if you decide to go into another episode of running away and crying. Cater knows where ya at bc you have location on.

At first Floyd was pissed because his resting place is missing, like bae where you go? But eventually he understands where you went because for some reason he’s bullying everyone around him and stalking your location to see where ya at. Mocks you once he finds you, really mean but it wasn’t “entirely” intentional. Like he knows he’s at fault and is trying to cheer you up by mocking your “problems”. Ok but don’t do that again or he’s going on the genuinely tweakin box.

We all saw Rook being in this section no surprise. Knows every little place you could be right now, has his eyes on you 24/7. “My love I didn’t mean to say your lips are chapped and you can use some Vaseline but the whole thing would be gone isa joke :(“ it’s not. Purposely picks out your insecurities so you can do another runaway.

[babybluebex]

imagine being in a movie with dom, and you have to film a *special* scene… like the aftermath???? the chemistry???? dying 😩😩😩

oh ok. walk with me for a second here. (the good stuff's under the cut, so if you don't care ab my little schpiel about how these scenes are filmed, just go straight to under the cut)

so here's a Film Industry Tidbit: before love/sex/whatever-you-wanna-call-it-scenes, there's a rehearsal process that involves an intimacy coordinator, and like their WHOLE JOB is choreographing and rehearsing and blocking scenes like this, it's becoming more and more prevalent on film sets to ensure all parties in these sorts of scenes are being treated fairly and with consent and there's also certain garments that are required of actors to wear in filming these scenes, little like strapless thongs and pouches and shit, like NEVER on a film set will you just be expected to be completely naked and left to your own devices to simulate sex

anyway. off my soapbox. you and dom have to film one of those scenes, and you know this before you sign onto the movie, and you two meet at the table read and he's warm and friendly, you instantly feel like great friends

and you rehearse for the movie and everything, costume fittings and screen tests and things, and even though you're smiling and laughing with dom, The Scene is starting to weigh on your mind bc like, aw hell you're starting to actually like him a lot and you don't know if you can be normal about this scene

and it comes time to specifically rehearse The Scene, and the intimacy coordinator is very nice, understanding that you're both young actors who haven't filmed something like this before and don't know what to expect, and she starts with some "easy" icebreaker questions "what are your boundaries during sex?" and dom is a little red in the face but takes it serious "i guess i don't love when a girl pulls my hair... not my favorite" and then it comes time for you to answer and you're like crap and sigh "i, um, i've never had sex, so i don't really know..." and you feel dom's eyes on you but you can't dare to look at him

the scene is supposed to be very passionate and gentle and romantic, but you don't have a CLUE what that looks like, but dom sure seems like he does, because he's figuring out where to hold you and how to naturally do the scene, and you're doing what you can with what you know, touching his face and cupping the back of his neck, and dom throws out a suggestion "maybe you can, like, drag your nails down my back? would that look good on camera?" and you're Confused "why would i do that?" and he's not cocky, it's a very genuine answer, but his words still make you run hot all the same: "because it's gonna feel good"

you leave the rehearsal and dom's his usual self "wanna grab a drink? there's a little bar close to here i've heard about" and you have to be like "i, um, have— my-my call time is really early tomorrow, i gotta—"

"nah, i got you, don't sweat it, it's fine" he chuckles "maybe we can grab that drink friday night... i'll probably fuckin' need it"

"what's on friday?" and you immediately regret asking because you already know the answer, you remember the schedule

"we film the sex scene on friday" dom tells you and you're like right, right, but pretty quickly flee the scene and go home

and then friday rolls around. it's a closed set, as you requested, and your director was more than happy to work that out for you, and you're in the makeup trailer, kinda halfheartedly chatting with your makeup girl as she gets you ready, a very naturally pretty no-makeup look for what's supposed to be an early-morning-just-woke-up sorta sex scene, and you're about to divulge to her how nervous you are to film, and then the door opens and in he strolls wearing a robe, biting into a peach as he settles into his chair

and you don't really talk to each other, both obviously nervous as hell, and he finally mumbles "this fucking thing..." and shifts in his seat and you're like "you good?" and he goes pink and chuckles "yeah, they've got me strapped in here and it doesn't hurt but it's not comfy" and you're like ??? strapped in?? and he's uncharacteristically bashful "they've got me wearing a pouch... it covers everything... i feel so exposed and yet totally covered at the same time" "yeah, like when you're naked with only socks on, suddenly you feel way more naked than if you just weren't wearing socks" you tell him and he nods enthusiastically "exactly! nobody's gonna see my dick, but it feels like everyone's gonna be looking, and that's somehow worse than if my dick was actually out" and you laugh and like whew ice broken thank god

you get on set and take off the robe and quickly slip into the bed, and you hope he can't see your heartbeat through your chest as he does the same, and your mouth goes a little dry at his body, pale freckled skin, tattoo on his belly, bony hips and bandy chest (and that god-awful flesh-colored sack around his dick) but fuck his arms feel so strong as he hugs you into his body to start the scene, and you know that you won't survive if you have to do it multiple times so you resolve to nail every line and movement so that it's a one and done sorta thing

your director calls action, and you and dom "sleep" for a few moments before you start, shifting your legs under the sheets as you "wake up", and you hear him make a soft noise from behind you as he too wakes up, and his strong arm tightens around your waist, and when he speaks, his voice is low and scratchy, the sexiest morning voice you've ever heard "you awake, honey?"

"mhm" you hum, and your skin prickles as he starts to set kisses on your back and shoulder

"good" he says, and all of your rehearsal for the scene has prepared you for this, but doing it on camera, for real this time, is no match for being fully clothed and sorta miming through it, and when he moves you onto your back and smooths his rough hands up your thighs, it's suddenly so hard to breathe, especially when he hits his blocking and starts to kiss down your body and looks up at you with those dark eyes through his eyelashes, and you manage to get out your line "baby? will you make love to me?" and he laughs "anything you want, honey"

a camera shift for a different angle, an awkward few moments of waiting, and then the part you're SERIOUSLY nervous for comes, and your director calls action, and dom doesn't waste a second to kiss you like his life depends on it and to start moving his body between your thighs, acting his little heart out, and you're doing what you rehearsed, the wrinkled eyebrows and stuttered breathing, and pulling your nails down his shoulderblade, and then he deviates??? like motherfucker this is NOT part of the plan!!! when he whines a little "harder" and you're like "huh??" "nails, in my skin, harder... mark me up, make me yours, baby" and you instantly roll with the punches "you're already mine"

and you swear you see god as you film that scene, it's the most sensual thing you've ever experienced in your life, best sex ever and it wasn't even real sex, and you finish filming earlier than scheduled ("what can i say, i'm a pro" dom jokes) and you start to go to your trailer after getting out of costume because what the fuck just happened to you, and dom's like "hey! you promised me a drink tonight" "i promised no such thing" "well, indulge me?" and it's those SAME doe eyes from earlier and you sigh "one drink, dom, then i'm going home"

three rounds of shots and half a jack and coke later, and you're divulging to him what was going through your head during his little improvisation that day, "no, because you saying to do it harder? i was like 'what the fuck is he doing'??" and he laughs and rolls his eyes, but leans into you all the same "eh, whatever, that's how i like it" "you like getting hurt? that doesn't sound sexy at all" "not 'getting hurt' exactly" and he's tracing his pinkie on your knee as he thinks "but like... being marked, showing people that you're owned by someone... not in like a weird way, but... i don't know how to explain it..." and maybe it's the jack in your drink plus the three green tea shots you had, or maybe you're just sick and tired of being nervous, because you say "show me" and now it's HIS turn to be confused and go "huh?" "show me what you mean. you don't have to use words if you can't find them" and he breathlessly laughs "honey, please" and he's never called you that off camera before "you can't just say that to me" "well why not?" "we're both drunk" he starts and hits you with those eyes again "and if anyone on set knew that we came out to a bar, and then spotted us going into the same trailer together... people'll talk" "oh c'mon, i know you don't give a shit about if people talk" you said "what's the real problem?" and his pinkie goes under your skirt and sorta curls in the hem for a moment, and he bites his lip and slowly releases it "well... for one... i'd like for you to be able to walk normally tomorrow, because if i get you in my bed... honey, you got me so worked up earlier, it's a miracle i didn't get hard, and i don't think i could stop myself from doing some very bad things to you tonight" "oh?" and you're trying to be cool and calm but youre FREAKING OUT inside "like what?" "jesus christ" dom whispers "i also don't want your first time to be like this, a drunken mistake with a coworker, you deserve better than m-that" and you hear what he stopped himself from saying, you deserve better than me, and you put down your drink and cup his jaw and make him look up from your lap "it won't be a mistake" you tell him and he swallows hard and his eyes are locked on your lips, silently begging for you "dominic..." and that gets him to look you in the eyes "i think you should take me home"

and he gets you in his trailer, and the bed's not huge but it's good enough for the two of you, and suddenly his kisses and touches feel more natural than if you had rehearsed it a thousand times, the way he kisses your tits and travels down and helps undress you, down to your socks, and you start to go for them but he's like "no, no... keep em on" and once again you're confused by him but he's like "you said you feel more naked like this than if you're actually naked... i want you to be exposed for me, vulnerable... spread out... begging for it..." and he's steady kissing your inner thigh, waiting for your okay to go further and you think you just might burst into flames, and your legs open for him and he doesn't waste a second to put his mouth on you

the night lasts until it's nearly dawn, laying together, talking in hushed tones, fucking, unable to keep your hands off each other, and he looks like a god, his skin all golden and supple with sweat, messy hair, red puffy lips, and his gaze is so soft and gentle at you, holding you and playing with your fingers, and he says "do you regret this?" "no" and you get a little scared "do you?" "no" he tells you "i was just worried that... i don't know, i somehow failed you or something, being the one to..." "you didn't fail me, dommy," you tell him, and his cheeks twitch with a smile "i couldn't have asked for better" "i just feel like—" dom starts but you kiss him to shut him up, and his hands go to your face, holding you close as his tongue claims your mouth for the millionth time that night "dom" you break the kiss "did i cum?" "did you—" and he furrows his eyebrows "yeah. a few times. i mean, right? you did, right?" "i did" you tell him "you made me cum, a couple of times, on our first night together, and i don't know a lot about sex, but that seems indicative of a pretty good night together, right?" "i just feel like i could've done more to show you how i feel about you" dom mumbles, and you shake your head "i don't need all that" you say "big romantic gestures or whatever, that's not me... i'm telling you, this was perfect" "ok" dom whispers and you can tell he's not exactly satisfied, but whatever "as long as you let me make it up to you someday" "how would you do that?" you ask, and he leans in and kisses your neck, slowly moving between your thighs again "i'd get you a nice outfit" he whispers "something that really makes you look just gorgeous, something that makes every guy in the room look at you and wish you were theirs... take you to dinner, wherever you want... fly you to paris if you'd like..." "oh yeah?" and you wanna be playful and flirty, but god you're so turned on you can't think straight, and it takes very little maneuvering for him to slip inside you again, and he sorta trails off his thoughts as he fucks you, touching his forehead to yours, and you do what he asked of you and dig your nails into the skin of his back and make long claw marks down his back "dommy?" and he grunts in response as he works "i think i wanna be your girl" "god, please" he whispers "i wanna be your guy so fucking bad"

and when a PA comes to dom's trailer for his wake up call once the sun's up, you have to untangle yourself from him, and you bid him goodbye with a big kiss, and he says "don't think we're done here, okay? more's coming tonight. remember those bad things i said i wanna do to you? still want that" and he winks and god yeah you're a lucky gal <3

[kevinsdsy]

THE TROJANS SOCIAL MEDIA AU HEADCANONS pt. 1

laila dermott

laila dermott is muslim!! i've had this headcanon since i read the king's men for the first time in 2019 hehe and now is my time to push it.

nabil & laila are besties. they're both muslim and both in same-sex relationships which leads to them having an understanding of each other like no one else on the team could have with them.

ntm laila fr was his standing pillar when he was figuring out his sexuality

nabil mahmoud

nabil is gay!! which is something he really had to deal with and accept due to him being muslim too (bc what am i without the religious trauma due to sexuality lore)

nabil and tony are dating each other in the socmed au!! even without the au i would like to believe and headcanon there's something happening there :))

i've written a bit more about them in another headcanon post tho.

antonio "tony" jones

tony is what like a year or two older than the rest? he's an assistant and i'm not sure how old they're supposed to be in the book tbh so i would like to think it's possible or he's an intern (i love him being an intern either way tho so i'm very much leaning into that one)

jeremy knox

JEREMY KNOX USED TO PLAY FOOTBALL (soccer), but due to him playing so aggressively and due to him always being guilty of too many fouls he switched to exy :))

cody winter

cody doesn't know what sleep is and they don't care to find out. they're living on like 2 to 4 hours a sleep a night and surprisingly enough it works for them too.

cody is also SUPER competitive which is why they have managed to be part of the captain gc. their competiteviness has led to them pushing the backliners as much as cody can and the backliners actually listen to them too.

shawn anderson

oh shawn. shawn shawn shawn.

you were supposed to be no one. a random guy on the team.

you exist to me now. i feel like i could make a whole post about just him atp.

shawn was supposed to be comedic relief for the posts i felt were too out of character for the rest of the team LMAOO, but now he actually has a personality (to me)

shawn works a part time shop at a café. even though he's surrounded by coffee at all times and drinks so much of it he's the sleepiest guy to ever exist.

like that man gets about 8 hours a sleep every day and still takes nap, but still ends up with bags under his eyes.

he's always tired for some reason and everyone is so used to it atp. like he will ALWAYS sleep on the bus/airplane, no matter how long the drive/flight is.

but when he's finally awake he's so hyper. he says the silliest things. repeats the same phrases over and over again and has about zero filter.

most of the time the zero filter has to do with the fact he speaks before he thinks. it even catches himself off guard sometimes.

i feel like this is too long and we haven't even gotten into jean and shawn dynamic so i'm just gonna cut it off here and they’ll get another part i think

derrick allen

bro we don't even know who derrick is, but apparently he's someone to me now too.

this man has crazy attachment issues, but is also the biggest simp for shawn too.

he likes going around kissing shawn and making out with shawn, but whenever shawn mentions something serious derrick acts like it's just a joke. which i guess is easy to do, because shawn is always treating everything as a joke anyways. except he's really not trying to when it comes to derrick.

jean falls victim to shawn ranting and crying about derrick. so jean respectfully ignores derrick til he gets his shit together.

and i just realised i have SO MUCH to say about derrick and shawn too so let me cut myself off.

derek thompson

same as shawn and derrick. derek is supposed to be a no one, but here i am and suddenly derek is being perceived by me too

SOOO derek was supposed to be like the third party with derrick and shawn. it was supposed to be the three of them flirting and making out and being little shits but then y'all were asking about derrick & shawn and i decided yk what let's do it. then later the short oneshot was written by oomf and derek got mentioned as the one shawn is in love with and i was like oh... i fucked up the dynamic. but in another universe it would've been the three of them ig

ANYWAYYSS derek takes medication. i haven't really decided on what kind of medications, but while thinking about him i always imagined either depression or adhd or both idk

and i have so many more headcanons for the au, but this is too long so i´ll post part 2 another time :))

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

HELP IM SO SKRRY BUT I NEED TO REQUEST ANOTHER KAI AZER X PAEDYN GRAY WITH THEIR DAUGHGER BC OH MY LORF THAT WAS ADORABLE

title: princess kai

pairing: kai azer x paedyn gray x (oc) daughter

synopsis: kai and his daughter avena, are having a tea party when paedyn comes home

warnings:

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @whatsamongus @zaraaaabear @tornqdowarnings @emelia07 @xoxo-vee @userxs-blog

Kai Azer was a man who was known to be respected, worshipped and feared throughout all of Ilya. His talent with any weapon was impeccable, his ability to wield any power was undeniable. He was incredibly skilled with a blade, so much so if you were in a fight and he had one, you were as good as dead. But right now the brave, the dangerous, the daring Kai Azer was sat on the floor, cross-legged, holding a plastic pink teacup with his pinky finger stuck out.

“Daddy!” Avena groans, “you’re doing it all wrong!”

She exaggerates the word all so much, she rolls her head all the way back and flops down into the purple play table. They were currently deep within a tea party that Kai was apparently not too good at.

He bites back his laugh, “what am I doing wrong baby?”

“You’re supposed to wait and pick up your teacup after I’ve poured the tea!” she tells him, clearly exasperated at her dad’s horrible pretend tea party etiquette, “Obviously!”

“Oh sorry,” he says quickly, placing the cup back on the saucer, “we’ll pretend that didn’t happen,”

“I’ll have to forgive you for that mistake but one more and I will get very mad at you!” Avena warns him with a pointed stare that makes Kai’s heart just melt.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, grinning.

He loved his daughter’s feisty side. It reminded him so much of Paedyn. Avena was bold and daring and not afraid to tell someone that they were doing it wrong. She had that fierce look in her bright eyes.

“Yep!” she nods, folding her arms, “I will get so mad that I’ll get mommy to team up with me and then we’ll get… revenge!”

He tries to look serious, “okay Ave, I won’t make any more mistakes.”

“Good!” she smiles as she gets up and grabs the teapot. She walks beside him and begins to pour imaginary tea into his cup and then continues around the whole table until all of her stuffed animals, Kai and herself had something to ‘drink’.

“Can I drink my tea now?” he asks her.

“Not until I take the first sip,” she explains, “because I’m the one hosting this tea party after all.”

She slowly lifts her cup and takes a sip of invisible tea, grinning widely as she places the cup back down.

“Tasty?” Kai asks her, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s delicious,” Avena beams, taking a second sip.

“Better than Gail’s?” he challenges.

“No one’s is better than Gail’s!” she exclaims, with her little mouth in an ‘o’ shape, looking offended he even asked.

“I agree with you there Ave,” he winks.

“Taste the tea now daddy,” she urges him.

Kai takes the cup to his lips, pinky extended of course, and acts out drinkingthe non-existent liquid.

“This is too strong!” he announces, pretending to spit it out.

Avena laughs, the sweet sound melodic to her father’s ears. Not that she was aware of course. She was still in that child state of obliviousness but he loved it.

She rushes up excitedly, “Oooo let me get you the milk!”

She takes a plastic blue jug and carries it over carefully, as if it actually contained some substance. Then she tips some nothingness into his cup. Kai slowly lifts the cup to his lips for a second time and pretends to taste it. He looks into the air, with a finger on his chin, exaggerating being deep in thought.

“Hmmmm better,” he tells her, “but it’s a little bitter.”

“Do you want honey or sugar to sweeten it?” she asks, eyeing both plastics on the table.

“How about both?” he suggests.

“No!” she giggles, “don’t be silly daddy, you can’t have both! All your teeth are gonna fall out then.”

“Uh-huh and who told you that baby?” he asks her.

“Mommy did,” she explains, “and mommy is always right.”

Kai smiles softly and tucks a chunk of silver hair behind her ear. She was growing up so fast. Every single day she was getting that little bit older, that little bit more independent. It reminded Kai that one day she wasn’t going to be this small anymore, she wouldn’t stay his little Avena forever.

“Okay then, I’ll just take the sugar,” he says, glossy eyed suddenly.

Avena grabs the fake sugar pot and scoops emptiness into his cup. Blinking back the water in his eyes and reeling himself back to the present Kai takes the deciding sip.

“How’s that?” Avena asks him.

“Mmmmm much better,” he nods, “this is a lovely cup of tea.”

“Why thank you!” she grins.

He pulls her onto his lap, “you make the best tea in all the land, you know that?”

“Thank you daddy,” she murmurs, reaching up to take some of his curls into her hand to play with. She softly teases them rhythmically.

“Do you like my hair?” Kai asks gently, curious.

“Hmmmm,” she hums in reply, “it’s so soft and curly.”

He smiles silently, in these past few years he seemed to be doing that a lot more often, “you’ve got some of my curls, you know.”

“I know and I love them sooooo much,” she grins, now taking her hands and running them through her loose silver ringlets.

Kai looks down at his daughter, his world is in his arms. How could one small person mean so much? He wanted to just keep her like this forever, his tiny little girl who loved to play dress up. He didn’t want her to see what the real world could be like, the horror of mankind. When she’s been born, Kai had been petrified he’d end up like his father. Each and every day he strived to be the opposite, he wanted Avena to always feel loved, wanted, safe, cared for. Never the hopeless, inferior pressurised mess of emotions that he grew up with.

“You know I love you for always and forever Ave?” Kai murmurs.

“You always say that to me,” she notes, her pretty blue eyes connecting with his dark grey ones.

“It’s because it’s true,” he shrugs.

“Well I love you even more than that,” Avena decides.

Kai chuckles a little and shake his head, “it’s not possible baby.”

“How do you know?” she asks, eyebrows pinched in confusion. For a split second, in a minuscule flash of a moment, the way her face was contorted made her look just like Kitt. Kai’s heart twists an an awkward angle and thick knot forming.

“Because I just know,” he murmurs, his brothers face etched into his mind, “should we get back to our tea party then?”

He needs a distraction, he needs to focus on his daughter, he needs the knot in his chest to loosen.

Avena is quick to compose herself back into ‘tea party’ mode, she brushes her dress off and walks around the table, “now before we have anything to eat there is something very important we have to do,”

“What?” Kai asks her.

“We have to get dressed!” she announces, cupping her hands together.

He looks down at his clothes, “I am dressed baby.”

“No you’re not,” she exclaims, “you need your princess dress!”

He nearly chokes on his imaginary tea, “My princess dress? But I’m not a princess.”

“Yes you are,” she says, stubbornly.

“No I’m not,” he insists.

“Well then pretend,” she tells him, with a delicate shrug.

“But I don’t want to be a princess,” Kai says. Sometimes he wondered who the five year old was of the two of them.

“No dad,” she snaps, “you have to be a princess too.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s two princesses at a tea party, that’s the story,” Avena explains, with a tone to make it clear that her decision would not change.

“Can’t I be a prince or a dragon,” Kai asks, not liking the idea of wearing a dress.

“No, you’re being a princess,” she shakes her head stubbornly, staring at him wide eyed, like she was waiting for him to crack under the pressure.

He did. “Fine I’ll be a princess,” he grumbles.

“Yay!” She smiles, jumping up and down as she claps her hand together, “I have a dress especially picked out for you,”

“Honey, if it’s one of yours I don’t think it’s going to fit me,” he sighs, biting back a small laugh.

“No silly!” Avena giggles, shaking her head, “it’s one of the ones mommy never ever wears.”

“I don’t think that will fit me either,” Kai says, recalling that his wife is a lot shorter, slimmer and smaller than him.

“I think it will, so you have to try it on,” she decides, channelling her sassy side, “or I’ll get mad! And do you remember what I said about when I get mad?”

“Yes baby, I do,” he chuckles.

“So you’ll try it on?” she asks, her big round ocean eyes sparkling.

Kai sighs, how could he say no, “yes I’ll try it.”

Five minutes later Kai found himself in a velvety pink dress that barely reached his ankles. The neckline had to be severely stretched to fit across his chest and his arm muscles bulged from the fabric that clung over them desperately, like a second skin. He looked ridiculous and he was very aware, but he would hate to see that disappointed look on Avena’s sweet face. It was a workout to get it on. Obviously, Kai didn’t have the physique of a woman, hence all the proportions of the dress were off. But he was just going to have to grin and bear it. As long as his baby was happy, that’s all that mattered.

“Are you ready yet Daddy?” she calls out.

“Yes,” he grits through his teeth, trying to sound cheerful.

“Come out and show me then!”

Kai steps back into the room, draped in the pink ill-fitting fabric. Avena’s eyes light up with joy, a dazzling azure. Immediately any reluctance towards the dress was forgotten and it became all worth it.

“Can you do a twirl please?” she asks, practically buzzing with excitement.

He obliges, spinning around, the skirt flowing up a little.

“Oh you look so beautiful,” Avena squeals, clasping her hands to her heart.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he says, approaching her.

“But I’m not even dressed up yet,” she laughs gently.

“You don’t need to be,” he tells her, lifting Avena up into his arms, “you are beautiful all on your own.”

“Thank you,” she giggles, kissing the tip of his nose.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, setting her down again. She picks up a princess dress of her own and holds it up to him.

“Daddy can you help me?” she asks him, as she takes off her top and disguards it on the floor.

“Arms up baby,” Kai says, bunching up the dress in his hands so it would perfectly slip on.

She stretches her little arms over her head as high as she can and he tentatively puts the dress on her, pulling it down so it met the floor. He then smoothes down the skirt carefully for her.

“Hang on Avena, let me untwist your straps,” he says gently, as she tries to get back to the tea party.

She holds still and turns around as he carefully readjusts her straps so they’re no longer twisted around each other.

“There you go,” he says.

“Thank you daddy,” she smiles, standing on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

“You’re welcome baby,” he replies.

She spins around, admiring her dress. The pink silk bright and bold, “we’re matching!”

“We are!” he exclaims, mirroring her energy.

“I love it,” she tells him, over annunciating every letter of the word ‘love’.

He nods in agreement, “me too.”

“Okay back to the party now,” she says, with a serious look on her

Kai nods again and follows her back to the table, resuming his seat between a stuffed unicorn and some sort of multicoloured fox.

“Sorry everyone,” Avena says, looking around at her stuffed animals, “we just needed an outfit change before dessert.”

“What is dessert?” he asks her.

“It’s a surprise,” she tells him, a finger to her lips.

Kai had a feeling her knew what that surprise was. Just like himself and Pae, Avena was addicted to Sticky Buns. It must run in the genes. He was pretty sure she loved them more than him sometimes, not that he’d blame her. Sticky Buns were heavenly.

“Okay then,” he replies.

“I’m going to go and get our surprise dessert,” she tells him, “you wait here.”

Avena rushes off before Kai can even reply, too overcome by excitement to wait for a response. He awkwardly sits there, the plastic eyes of various stuffed animals staring at him in judgment.

“You think you could wear this better?” he mutters bitterly at the dog plushie opposite him.

It doesn’t respond. Obviously. It just continues to stare into Kai’s soul. He doesn’t break eye contact until soft laugh cuts him out of his intense staring contest.

“Now I know why I married you,” Paedyn smirks, walking in, “I am so turned on right now.”

She saunters in, looking him up and down, amusement carved into her every feature.

“Oh shut up,” he snaps, cheeks heated and flushed.

“No seriously,” she laughs, “did I ever tell you that pink is so your colour?”

Kai stares at her from the corner of his eye, a stormy expression on his face in a refusal to speak.

“Oh don’t go all moody,” she pouts, crouching beside him.

“I am not moody,” he grumbles, not meeting her eyes.

“Moody is part of your personality, you can’t help it,” she says with a graceful shrug.

He sighs, running hand through his hair, “did you come home just to attack me?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” she replies, “but finding you like this made it even better.”

“You’re never going to let me forget this are you?” he groans, slumping down onto the table.

“I haven’t got the camera out yet,” she flashes a grin.

He’s suddenly up and alarmed, staring her dead in the eye with panic swimming across his face, “you better not.”

“Oh I definitely am,” she says, throwing her head back with a cruel giggle.

“Pae, I swear to-“

She cuts him off quickly, softly pressing her lips onto his. He kisses back, begging her for more but she breaks away ensuring they wouldn’t get too carried away.

“She has you wrapped her little finger and it’s adorable,” Paedyn smiles, cupping her husbands face in her palms.

“She really does,” he sighs, “I physically can’t say no to that cute face, I mean have you seen her eyes?”

“They’re gorgeous,” she hums in reply.

“They’re yours,” Kai murmurs, staring into Paedyn’s perfect oceans of blue. Sometimes he really thinks he drowns in her eyes, if he stares for too long he finds it hard to catch his breath.

She blushes a deep scarlet, the red bold against her pale skin and silver hair.

“Oooo mommy you’re home!” Avena exclaims, as she reappears back in the room with an empty tray in her hands.

She runs through the doorway, disguarding the tray and immediately throws her arms around her mom, squeezing her as tight as she could.

“Hey baby,” Paedyn beams, scooping Avena up into her arms and twirling her around, “how’s your day with daddy been?”

“Good,” she says enthusiastically, full of life, full of light and full of energy, “we had lots of fun.”

“I like his dress,” she mentions, earning her a glare from her husband.

“I picked it out,” Avena tells her, pride in her voice, “especially for him!”

“You have good taste sweetie,” she praises her, kissing her cheek.

“Now you can play too mommy,” she beams.

“Me?” Paedyn asks.

“Yes! We can be three princesses now!” Avena grins excitedly, “mommy go put on one of those dresses you never wear because you think they’re too fancy.”

She looks at her daughter and narrows her eyes slightly, hands on her hips, “how do you know I think they’re too fancy?”

“I heard you say it to daddy,” she shrugs, the innocence rolling from her like a waterfall.

“Ave that’s called eavesdropping,” Kai says.

“Huh?”

“When you listen to other people’s conversations,” he explains, “that’s called eavesdropping.”

“Is that bad?” she asks, concerned.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs.

Paedyn shoots him a dark look and he quickly fixes his answer.

“It is not very polite to do that and you shouldn’t,” he adds on, satisfying his wife.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Avena says, her guilt displayed on her face.

“You didn’t know Ave,” Kai tells her softly, “it’s okay. But now you do know for next time.”

“Right,” she nods determinedly.

“I’ll get into my dress and meet you two in a moment,” Paedyn says.

“Good! That gives me a chance to start on daddy’s make up,” Avena giggles, a spring in her step as she glides towards her dad.

“Daddy doesn’t want makeup!” Kai says urgently, holding his hands in front of his face.

“You’re right,” she nods, sending a wave of relief over him as he lowers his hands, “daddy doesn’t want any make up, but the second princess does and you’re the second princess!”

“I don’t think she does,” he shakes his head.

“Have fun,” Paedyn winks at him, her face angled towards his, her voice low enough so only he could hear her.

“More like good luck,” he mutters, leaning forwards and planting a sweet kiss on her lips.

“Daddy!” Avena scolds, “No kissing mommy, you’re a princess remember!”

“And a princess can’t kiss mommy?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No. Mommy is only allowed to kiss me and daddy,” she says, her face scrunched up. It was hard to take someone seriously when they were so unintentionally adorable, “and right now you’re not daddy, so no kisses!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he laughs.

“She’s so bossy,” Paedyn murmurs.

“Wonder where she gets it from,” he says, under his breath.

She glares at him slaps his arm. He bites back a complaint.

“Mommy why did you just slap daddy?” Avena exclaims, shock rippling across her features, “that’s not nice!”

“Yeah mommy!” Kai sneers, arm folded, looking at Paedyn, “that’s not nice,”

“Daddy was being very annoying, sweetie,” she explains.

“But you told me I should never slap anyone,” her daughter reminds her.

“I did, didn’t I?” she sighs, “I’ll apologise to daddy later.”

“Okay but you have to say you’re sorry,” she says.

“I will,” Paedyn tells her.

“Okay,” she nods, walking over to the stray that had been strewn across the room as she had noticed her mom.

“Are you going to say sorry mommy?” Kai mocks, out of his daughter’s earshot, in an attempt to piss his wife of further.

Paedyn death stares him and waits until Avena’s back is tuned, then she sharply elbows her husband’s rib. Hard. He takes a sharp breath in and suppresses a groan. That might bruise tomorrow.

“That stopped smirking,” she rolls her eyes.

“Used and abused,” he shakes his head.

“Cry about it,” Paedyn shrugs delicately as she walks out.

“I love you too!” he calls out after her.

a/n: thanks for your request!! It was so much fun to write 🤍🤍 I hope you enjoyed

powerless masterlist

[longtallglasses]

okay now more byler headcanons slightly older - the miwi ones

mike is a huuuuge physics nerd. he studies it on his own before taking it in hs, going to the library to get books on it and textbooks to figure out equations. when he learns a new concept he excitedly tells the party, who all share in his joy to varying degrees. in hs him and dustin compete to be the star student of the class both becoming quite the teacher’s pet. will loves hearing mike explain different phenomena with all the big terms. he doesn’t really struggle that much with it in class but he pretends to be stuck more often than not just to watch mike explain a concept with enthusiasm. will asks “can you explain this?” and mike’s eyes light up so excited to get into it. and will also loves that when he does finally “get it” mike praises the shit out of him.

every time will’s over and changes in front of him mike immediately averts his eyes, and he doesn’t understand at first what makes him so uncomfortable bc he doesn’t react that way w anyone else

when will’s starting to realize his feelings for mike are becoming very serious he tries to train his brain to think of something else whenever mike pops into his head. although most of his distraction topics tend to remind him of mike anyway.

they both could notice something shift between them when hs started but they pretended like everything was normal.

when mike visited in lenora will noticed how mike’s smile seemed forced and he thought it was bc maybe mike wasn’t that excited to see him - that maybe mike really was “out growing” him

when the party get drunk together for the first time mike and will gravitate towards each other like magnets. becoming very hushed and giggly together, and the whole party thinks “okay figures”

the small sober part of both their brains is quietly thinking “wait why can’t it be like this all the time?”

mike finds himself grabbing will’s arm with everything he says, subconsciously trying to pull him closer, thinking crazy stuff like “i wanna be all over him�� not even knowing in what way or why really, “whoa being drunk is weird, it makes me even more obsessed with my best friend…”

meanwhile will is like why is mike so touchy now, i don’t hate it, i really like it but what’s going on? why is he looking at me like that? am i crazy or is something happening right now?

they probably end the night drunkenly telling each other how much they love each other, how they’re each others best friend, like Best Friend™ thinking that will help the gnawing feeling in their gut subside when they look at each other

they used to hug much more when they were younger, in greetings and goodbyes, but they noticed that most boys didn’t do that as they got older, even lucas and dustin didn’t, so then it became a secret thing, only when they were completely alone. but after a particularly brutal dressing down from lonnie and harsh words from bullies it seemed to stop completely. only when it was truly warranted, if they had some real justification for it. like getting hurt, skinning a knee, crying, then it was okay.

when they get drunk that first time they hug each other very intensely, mike says “i wish we could do this all the time” will says they can if they want, and then starts them trying to let themselves be more familiar w each other again

when they first get together mike is overwhelmed at random moments looking over at will that all of it is real, will loves him and he loves will too, attacking will with kisses all over his face bc “oh my god oh my god i like you so much what the fuck!” will has to beg him to stop but of course he loves it and feels similar feelings take over him too

sitting and admiring mike while he’s doing whatever, maybe he’s talking or just walking around, temporarily forgetting where he is and mike looks over at him smiling and will is just a puddle of emotion that he gets to be with mike.

also during their early relationship will has to constantly remind himself that he doesn’t have to hide what he feels for mike. he doesn’t have to look away or hold his tongue. mike calls him out on it thinking maybe something is upsetting him but will is just worried that he’ll be too much. he’ll say too much or seem too clingy and it will scare mike off with just how much will likes him. (part of him knows it’s silly when mike’s confessed so much to him at this point but it’s still scary!) once he’s reassured he can express whatever he wants will slowly discovers a whole side of himself that was lying dormant. feeling more open with his feelings than he ever has <3

[aisclosed]

Missed the Mark ➶- y. jungwon x reader (TEASER)

SYNOPSIS: Everyone has a mark, of which the color and design is unique to only you and your soulmate. In the age of global connection where everyone employs every method possible to show off their mark in hopes of finding their soulmate, no one can understand why you keep yours under wraps. Jungwon doesn't need to see your mark to be convinced that you're meant to be his, but you're certain he's missed the mark.

GENRE: Soulmate! AU, ANGST plsplspls don't be fooled by the banner + some fluff bc it's me, how can I resist

PAIRING: non idol! Yang Jungwon x college student! reader

WARNINGS: mentions of death, mild cursing and suggestive language, guys i'm so serious this is angst pls don't be blindsided by the banner and expect only fluff

TEASER WORD COUNT: 1.3k EST. WORD COUNT: 10k? maybe shorter...

RELEASE DATE: to be announced!

TAGLIST: open! form here or send an ask to be added <3

a/n: surprise! I know everyone was expecting Slice of You but this has not been able to leave my mind so we shifted the schedule around a bit hehe hope no one's too disappointed <3.

Jungwon’s not sure if the pounding in his head is from the echo of the bass that reverberates in the crowded room or from the strain of his eyes as he scans the sea of students through the dusky haze. Each glimpse of what he thinks is your smile or the familiar movement of your hair sparks a flicker of anticipation which is snuffed as quickly as it’s lit. It’s easier to hide his frustration behind the rim of his plastic cup, the bitter aroma of beer flooding his senses.

This time Jungwon tips back his cup to find it emptied, a teasing two drops landing on his tongue, doing little to wash down the disappointment that lingers in his throat. “Gonna get another drink,” Jungwon mumbles to no one in particular, receiving a few murmurs of assent and curious glances thrown his way.

It’s unusual for him to even drink, much less at his own discretion without any pressure from his friends, but today Jungwon had nursed several drinks in his quest to locate you amongst the hordes of people. It shows in the way that he stumbles slightly, a warm buzzing under his skin that is definitely from more than just his headache.

The relentless booming of the music and the masses of bodies that press and brush against him is beginning to feel like too much. Jungwon decides to put a momentary pause in his search for you, weaving through the crowd until the backyard is in view.

Pushing through the patio door, the night greets him with a cool wind that nips at his cheeks, soothing Jungwon’s frayed nerves. The sounds of music and laughter fade into a muffled hum and he finally feels as if there’s enough air to fill his lungs.

Jungwon takes a precursory scan of the backyard, surveying the quiet groups and couples scattered across the lawn. His eyes are drawn to a solitary figure, widening as he realizes the very person he had been searching for had simply been sitting atop the grass the whole time.

Feeling the weight of someone’s gaze, you look up from your phone, locking eyes with Jungwon. You take in his stiff demeanor, stifling a laugh at his blown out expression, and Jungwon waves, meekly offering up an awkward smile.

You wave back teasingly, tilting your head in silent invitation and Jungwon finds himself already crossing the distance to sit down gingerly by your side. “Hey,” you greet him warmly, “how’s the party, you having fun? Certainly looks like it.”

For once, Jungwon’s grateful for the drinks that Jake presses into his hands at the start of every party. The alcohol can take the blame for his flushed cheeks, the way his tongue feels entirely too thick in his mouth and the way he stumbles slightly as he takes his seat. After all, he can’t exactly admit the reason for his flustered state is you.

“Party’s nice, just needed a little breather. It was getting to be a bit stuffy. What about you? What are you doing out here all alone?” Jungwon peers at you, trying his best not to come off as too invested.

“Wasn’t really feeling the whole dancing and socializing today, I really only came to appease Yizhou,” you chuckle, drawing your legs up to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. “I’m not exactly doing anything particularly interesting so don’t feel like you have to stay, but I definitely wouldn’t mind the company.”

You turn to look at Jungwon, the moonlight casting a soft halo on your head and his breath catches in his throat. “No, yeah I’ll stay. I like the company out here much better than inside anyways,” he replies breathily and you chuckle in response, shooting him a grateful smile.

A comfortable silence descends between the two of you, you watch your surroundings quietly and Jungwon watches you. He watches the way your eyes crinkle and dilate at the antics of your friends, the way your hair is blown gently by the wind, free strands dancing with the breeze to caress the contours of your face. Jungwon watches you in a daze, wondering if you also feel the same magnetic pull that tugs at his core whenever he’s in your vicinity.

The thought has his gaze automatically flickering down to your arm, the same familiar tan bandage affixed to your wrist. It’s almost torturous to know that a thin layer of fabric is all that prevents the confirmation that Jungwon wasn’t insane for the way his heart jumped at the thought of you, that you were his other half.

“You can ask, you know. I don’t bite.”

Jungwon jolts, looking up from where he was transfixed onto your skin and meeting your amused glance. “Oh- I wasn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to stare.” Jungwon babbles, his cheeks heating at being caught in the act.

You merely laugh, bumping shoulders with him, “Seriously Jungwon it’s okay. We’ve been friends for a bit and you’ve never been nosy or pushy. If anything I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner.”

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jungwon rubs at his neck sheepishly but you roll your eyes, nodding at him encouragingly to ask. “Why do you cover your soulmate mark?”

You hum in satisfaction, “When you first meet someone, especially someone around your age, what do you do?”

Jungwon pauses, tilting his head in contemplation,” I usually check for their soulmate mark,” he responds slowly.

“Exactly, before anyone even thinks to ask for my name, what they check for first is my mark. That’s enough for them to make their judgment on whether or not I’m worth their time. And trust me I don’t fault them, I get it, everyone wants to find their soulmate, but I just want people to look at me and see me, not my mark.” You give a sharp laugh, hands raking through your hair, “I guess it’s kind of back firing, because everyone cares too much about me covering it, but at least it's a talking point.”

“No, that makes a lot of sense, but I get why people are curious too, people are usually dying to get their mark out there, it’s odd to have someone be doing the opposite. Just last week I had someone in my econ class pay hundreds of dollars to promote his instagram post to find his soulmate.”

“People are ridiculous,” you snort with a shake of your head. Jungwon nods in agreement but internally he thinks he would gladly empty his bank account if it meant he could guarantee he found his soulmate.

“Y/N?” Jungwon starts hesitantly and you look at him expectantly, urging him to continue. “Are you not worried about missing your soulmate? What if you meet them one day and they don't realize it's you because your mark’s covered?”

The bright grin on your face falters for a split second and Jungwon curses his big fat mouth; maybe he had crossed the line, he should’ve stopped while he was ahead.

It's like you can detect the regret rolling off of Jungwon in waves, so your expression forcibly lightens, but your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes the way they did before.

“Well if that ever were to happen, I’d hope that my soulmate would still get a feeling about me,” you say softly, before shifting to a playful tone. “After all, if they’re truly meant to be my other half, they wouldn't be one hundred percent reliant on a mark, yeah? Surely there's a little bit more to like.”

“Yeah of course, there’s tons to like,” Jungwon says quietly, looking away with flushed cheeks when you look at him in amusement. You were right, if your soulmate really was the one person in the world who was meant to be perfect for you, there would undoubtedly be more of a sign than just the mark on their wrist.

With your knees knocking gently into his own, and the subtle heat of your body radiating into his side, Jungwon can’t help but think that maybe the feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach is evidence enough.

a/n: this teaser is from the middle of the story which is a bit odd but hopefully not too confusing dsjahdj . lmk what u think!!

taglist: open! form here or send an ask to be added <3

perm tl: @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki

[freelancearsonist]

✨ wip wednesday ✨

thank you to my love @covetyou for the tag <3 this is actually perfect bc i've been stumped on what to work on so i need y'all to decide for me

free falling love addict [dieter bravo]

this was supposed to be a porn w/o plot one-shot and is now a 5-part series full of feelings 💀 basically dieter falls hard and fast for a non-binary co-star who just so happens to be playing his daughter. there's a lot of drama and uncertainty and angst and it's a whole roller coaster ride (thank u to @beskarandblasters for the title and an absolutely STUNNING graphic that y'all will see later)

You wake up from your four hours of sleep with a little clearer mind, surprisingly. Dieter’s hot and he’d be a once-in-a-lifetime lay, but you’re playing his daughter in this show. How seriously do you want to be taken in this industry? Because banging the actor who plays your father in your first serious project is decidedly not the route to being taken seriously as a moviestar; in fact, it’s the kind of scandal that could end your career before it even starts. You shower, do your basic morning skincare routine, get dressed, and head to set. All the while, you chant your new mantra: Dieter Bravo is off limits no matter how badly you want to play right into his hands. His big hands. His big meaty hands that you want all over your–

(untitled) dad's best friend wedding joel [no outbreak joel miller]

BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. this is bill x frank's world and we are just living in it. but anyway it's 2013, no outbreak, we're fixing the timeline, reader is frank's adopted daughter and maid of honor, joel is bill's best friend and best man. there's an age gap and a lot of trying to deny attraction until it all comes to a head and they work out their frustrations in the coat room after the wedding

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more miserable for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a friendly competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

(untitled) blind date [dieter bravo]

basically dieter goes on a blind date with someone who has no clue who he is (you) and falls in love so hard

He never should’ve agreed to this—and really, it’s not even his fault that he did. His assistant should know better than to ask him questions when he’s a joint and a half in.  Maybe it’s a sense of obligation after he pushed her into the pool last week—in his defense, she really needed to loosen up—or maybe he’s just plain lonely. Whatever it is, he’s here, the champagne is good, and there’s no point backing out now. He takes another peek at his watch and lets out a slightly-too-loud groan. You aren’t supposed to be here for another ten minutes, and he’s already been seated and drinking for fifteen. How Jennifer—the aforementioned assistant—managed to get him here early, he’ll never know. But he does know it’s the first and last time he’ll ever be early for an engagement; the anxiety of anticipation is far too stressful. Plus, he’s worried it makes him look desperate—too eager to meet a complete and utter stranger.

(untitled) dieter crashing your graduation party (consensually) [dieter bravo]

this is my baby 🥹 probably the most self-insert thing i will ever write tbh. yet another series that was supposed to just be a one-shot, i haven't actually planned how many chapters this is going to be yet but i know what i'm doing with the story line lol. basically your family throws you a graduation party when you finish cosmetology school, and because you're antisocial and don't want a huge crowd you tag people that won't/can't come on your invite post--but the one person you thought for sure wouldn't come actually shows up and it sets off the craziest series of events

The crowd has lulled a bit, and you’re just about to go find that bar you’ve been so excited about when someone you do recognize walks up the brick path to the gate. And god help you, your jaw actually visibly, physically drops. You blink once, twice, and then once again for good measure. But he’s still there–not wishful thinking, not a mirage. He’s real and solid and here. Dieter Bravo stands on your garden path with all the air of a god amongst men. He’s dressed in black from head to toe–perfectly tailored black suit pants and an open suit jacket over a silk button-up shirt. If it was anyone else, he would be overdressed; but he manages to make it look like the perfect mix of messy and put together.  There’s a part of you that still thinks maybe it’s not him, that the dark sunglasses he wears hide the eyes of someone who has an uncanny resemblance to your favorite actor. But the other, larger part of you knows. You’re face to face with Dieter fucking Bravo.

(untitled) joel x hairdresser [jackson era joel miller]

i think this is going to be a 2-3 parter bc god forbid i write anything short. basically you're the resident hair stylist in jackson, and joel has hair that needs to be cut. he does you little favors in turn bc that's how jackson runs, but he ends up falling for you in the process

He starts to see traces of you everywhere, and he’d be bothered by it if thoughts of you weren’t so soothing.  He sees wildflowers while he’s out on patrol and thinks they would be perfect to replenish the vase on your counter. He finds hair gel in a nearby drugstore and wonders if it’s something you could use. He pulls anatomy textbooks from a shelf in an abandoned library because he remembers you mentioning that you’d like to expand your services to include massage. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t be thinking so much about someone who’s half his age–that it’s borderline creepy to see so many things and want to bring them to you as offerings. But then again, that’s how Jackson operates. If he wants a service, he has to be able to give something in return. And he wants your services most of all.

(untitled) shotgunning filth [lucien flores]

the doc title pretty much says it with this one 😂 i've only just started this one but here's what i have:

You see his car in your driveway when you get home and it makes you shiver.  That stupid mint-condition hot-rod red 2003 Ford Thunderbird activates the most ridiculous Pavlovian response–your heart rate quickens, your stomach tightens with anticipation, your pussy starts preparing itself for the inevitable delicious torture you’re about to endure.

and if you want to hear more about any of these options, pls send me an ask i love talking about my stories :)

[wavebiders]

what do you think about campaign 2? is there anything it does better than campaign 3, and vice versa is there anything campaign 3 does better than it?

Interesting question! Gonna put the answer under a readmore since it'll probably get long and also bc my feelings on cr2 aren't all that positive so superfans of that campaign have a heads up to keep scrolling

So, I'm just gonna be completely honest up front and say I never finished cr2 so my judgement is gonna be very flawed. At the time I was younger and very caught up with the toxic positivity aspect of this fandom, so I stamped down basically every issue I had until it all spilled over and I was left feeling so negative about it I had to go complete cr cold turkey until tlovm aired.

I know that's oversharing, but I just don't feel right commenting on cr2 without being upfront about how my personal feelings on it come from a weird place. I try to be more objective about it these days, but I'm afraid I'm not entirely objective.

Anyway cr2 and cr3 are really two entirely different kinds of stories. The former I consider to be most like an open-world video game, while the latter is more like an ongoing comic book. It's hard to tell which one does things better because they're not really doing the same thing at all

In terms of pacing they both struggle in opposite directions. Cr3 has had too much going on for a long time with very little breathing room while cr2 was 90% filler. We haven't had balanced pacing since cr1 so for these two it's more about what you personally prefer. For me the difference would be determined by my connection to the characters.

Which brings me to the characters. This is of course the most subjective thing of them all. I'm not going to pretend I don't prefer the Bells Hells by a mile, but there is also a reason the Mighty Nein are so popular on social media. It's the party of NPC's vs the Be Gay Do Crimes party. The latter may has well have been built in a lab for tumblr queers. Hell it's what drew me to the show in the first place.

I think cr2 was more experimental for most cast members, with them really going outside their comfort zone(Travis playing a more serious character, Liam going more morally questionable, Travis and Ashley dipping into romance) and the results really resonated with a lot of people. Personally I struggled with most of the party for a few reasons. What they were trying didn't suit me, Ashley being gone for most of the early days, a party member dying before they could really get started, etc.

With cr3, I think it's clear they took the lessons they learned from the past 2 campaigns and really played into their strenghts while still exploring new ground. The fact that the players have lived in Exandria for so long now also allows them to craft backstories more tailored to the world around them which gives them a very unique feel. I also personally just find myself resonating more with the themes they chose to explore.

Honestly I could do a whole breakdown of each character and which ones I think work best for their campaigns but this is getting long enough so I won't.

Cr2 did spend more time digging into characters backstories but for me that had the massive downside of the gap between which characters got focus being incredibly blatant. I know people like to complain about main character Imogen, but that's nothing compared to how badly cr2 sucked at balancing narrative focus amongst the party.

That's not say I'm not bothered by cr3 not taking more time to explore things specific to the pc's backstories, but with the way most of them are tied to the main plot it still works. I do think it does a much better job at balancing focus, even if Imogen obviously has the strongest plot connection.

And finally, I think cr2 is best at being a more typical found family fantasy experience(cr1 is too but a very different flavor) in that you have a bunch of assholes slowly learning how to trust each other and help each other face their demons. The bond between the Hells is just as believable and more compelling to me personally, but it is not gonna scratch the itch a lot of people are looking to scratch with an actual play show.

What cr3 excells at is deconstructing tropes, posing ethical dillemas, really making you think about the world the story takes place in and considering different point of views. This is why so many long-term fans struggle with it so much. It's also why I think, especially if all 3 campaigns get adapted, cr3 will be the most memorable one with the biggest impact.

[stackslip]

Always embarrassing to like smth people are saying sucks (and scary in case you watch it and end up agreeing with them) so that's why I'm on anon but I strongly disagree with the people saying Code Geass is fun but not good (paraphrased badly). It IS a fantastic show actually. Here's my very long essay about why you should watch it.

I got my brother interested in rgu by comparing it to Code Geass bc it's his favorite show. You'll be disappointed if you're expecting them to be actually similar, bc they're not really, but they have a similar tone in that it switches rapidly between Serious Plot and Touga Punches a Kangaroo. There's an episode where they have to chase a cat and that's what they do that day. The plot isn't all that similar and the comedy isn't all that similar but it's similarly inconsistent in swapping between the two. And I would argue that it doing this is thematically relevant, bc it's a double life show. Lelouch has his alter ego as Zero and when he's Zero everything feels different to when he's Lelouch. School life is just stupid in comparison, and he's constantly frustrated by it. His school life is pretty much just a humiliating liability, but he can't easily abandon it, so he just has to live with the fact that in between fighting in giant robots he has go to pizza parties (sponsored by Pizza Hut tee em) and whoops! It's Valentine's Day so everyone in the school has to wear heart hats and if a girl knocks off his hat they get to kiss him!!! And he's forced to take that seriously even though he knows how dumb it is and would much rather be commanding robots.

Now look. I do have to warn you. There is a part where he says if he wins the revolution he's gonna make the United States of Japan. That part isn't good. I want you to know I know that part is bad. The politics of this show are Not Always Great. HOWEVER. When I was watching, the main thing that compelled me politically about it was the contrast between Suzaku as the person who wants to Change Things From the Inside vs Lelouch who wants to actually just shoot the people who are oppressing you. Suzaku sucks and the show knows it and I like the show knowing it.

I'm not gonna argue this is a show with generally good politics, but it's not a show that actually cares a whole lot about, like, how a country should be run. The bad guys say fascist shit about like the strong ruling over the weak and the natural order, and they're racist against Japanese people, and the good guys want. I dunno, Freedom. Democracy. United States of Japan. They're bad guys and good guys. That's not what the show is about. The show is about the specific motivations of our important characters. Lelouch talks about wanting Japan to be free or whatever but he makes it very clear from the beginning that the Only thing he Actually cares about is creating a world where his little sister can be happy. And later on you find out what the evil emperor guy is trying to do too (although it's kinda more abstract and weird. Arguably another point of comparison between this and rgu, when it cares more about themes than about telling you What's Actually Happening). I guess I shouldn't act like the political positions of the two sides are irrelevant, but I really don't think it's the focus. Lelouch's politics are My Sister and secondarily I suppose Free Japan if I have time. Suzaku's politics are Free Japan but also you have to be niceys to the government and do what they say bc they're in charge :). The freedom fighters' politics are Free Japan. The Brittanian's politics are We Do What We Want. It's not gonna be a realistic depiction of a good revolution bc the writers didn't know anything about those.

And here I suppose I have to say that I last watched it probably years ago when my politics were worse, so maybe the politics are generally worse than I remember. But my point is you should treat the specific politics stuff like you treat the chess stuff. No one in the writers' room knew how to play chess. They probably didn't bother to watch someone play chess before writing it. When Lelouch says you should move your king first bc "how can a king expect his subjects to lead if he stays back and does nothing" laugh at it and take it as a thematic statement about Lelouch's beliefs. When he says United States of Japan laugh at it and. Well I suppose that one isn't even thematic. You see what I mean though.

Another warning is that there's a specific Very Important plot point that doesn't really make sense and feels really dumb and cheap. That specific thing genuinely does undermine a lot of the show, because it happens kinda suddenly and is very serious and the whole rest of the show is majorly impacted by it and it's very difficult to ignore that that Doesn't Make Sense At All. And you're supposed to be really upset and like. It just doesn't make sense. The second time I watched it it didn't feel as egregious as the first time but the first time I think I almost stopped watching. My advice is to do your best to pretend it makes sense bc I think the results of that thing are actually interesting.

Generally, I think that's the important thing to remember actually. Maybe that's my thesis. Of the essay. Yeah, that sounds smart. Code Geass is a show that doesn't always make total sense, and even when it mostly makes sense it's frequently Really Dumb, so like I can see why people might come away with the impression that it's just a silly nothing show where robots fight and he says United States of Japan. But genuinely I think there's a lot to get from it thematically if you can take it just seriously enough to see what it's trying to do.

There's more I kinda wanna say but I think I need to text my mom back and I can't save asks as drafts. Um um last two points, first, how much you like the show probably depends at least a little on your tolerance for Anime Geniuses knowing everything and pulling bullshit, I don't think Lelouch is as bad in that department as Light Yagami but smth to consider. And second don't watch the movies. The movies suck.

honestly anon i'm genuinely charmed by your sheer passion for this. it feels like it's mirroring me when i defend my fave flawed media including me with fma 03 tbh. like YES it sucks the politics suck but IT IS compelling. that's the kind of shit i enjoy most, ngl. you've made your case convincingly. i think what i really hate is when people claim something is The Most Perfect Thing Ever and then you watch it and it's dogshit in a number of ways that people absolutely refuse to acknowledge and definitely some code geass fans are Like That but also your talking about it kinda echoes how some friends i trust have been talking about it too. i think i'm still gonna go in with low expectations if/when i do watch it, mostly bc that allows me to be pleasantly surprised by something the series DOES do well.

also i grew up on 2000s shounen and seinen. my tolerance for anime bullshit is extremely high as long as i'm into what it's doing thematically or character wise tbh