#like most stuff is Mostly written and it's just a matter of figuring out when it goes and polishing it to fit

[spottedenchants]

I cannot quite put to words how pleased I am with twdyoat- and the polls specifically

I've been imagining each individual vote (in-universe) as an instance of consideration/calculation, so as the vote count goes down with each next section, it's as if essek has an easier time thinking about stuff!! and that's not a layer I could have predicted! I had no clue how this might work :0

And idk- it's neat and I'm very glad and grateful y'all have been playing along with me on this :'3

[waywardsalt]

:3

[kikyoupdates]

Infatuated ⭑˚💌⭑ 𝑗𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑦

yandere!bnha x reader

yandere, reverse harem, bnha x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Your Quirk is rather unique. It plays out almost like a game, giving you missions and goals that help you become stronger. On top of that, you also have the ability to charm those around you. It sounds innocent enough on paper, and you can’t help but revel in the attention everyone keeps showering you with. But what happens when their feelings give way to something more sinister?

prologue | story masterlist | next

After what just happened, it feels like you have to tell your parents about it.  

“Mom, dad,” you say. “I think I just got my Quirk.”  

They react by smiling brightly. “Oh, that’s lovely, sweetie. What kind of Quirk is it?”  

Now comes the hard part. Since even you barely know how your powers work, explaining it to them will be a nearly impossible feat.  

You furrow your brows. “Um... it’s kind of weird. Out of nowhere, I started seeing this screen with different stuff written all over it. Nobody else can see it, though, so that’s why I think it might be my Quirk.”  

Out of fear of getting in trouble, you decide not to tell them about the fact that Katsuki passed out after you used your ability on him. You already feel pretty guilty about it. For the time being, you just want to figure out how your Quirk actually works.

“A screen that’s invisible to everyone but you?”  

Your parents exchange confused glances. It makes sense that they don't quite understand, because under normal circumstances, Quirks are mostly hereditary. Children most often develop powers that are similar to those of their parents, or some combination of the two. But neither of your parents has a power like yours, which is why you were so perplexed when it first popped up.  

“Interesting,” your mother hums. “And you’re sure it’s your Quirk? It’s not just some game you like to play with your friends? It’s important to know the difference between real life and pretend, honey.”  

You nod vigorously. “I’m not making it up. I promise.”  

“[Name]’s a good girl,” your father insists. “If she says she isn’t lying, then we should believe her. Quirks are mutations, at the end of the day. It might be unlikely, but it’s still possible for her to have powers different from ours. All that matters is that she finally has something to call her own. I remember being awfully excited when my Quirk first manifested. It’s a big milestone, after all.”  

“Well, I suppose that’s true. Okay, then. In that case, we should celebrate,” your mother beams. “Our little girl finally has a Quirk! What would you like to do to commemorate the occasion, hm? Do you want us to order you some yummy food or take you shopping to buy something you like?”  

Your parents love to spoil you, and since you are only a little kid, you certainly can't help but capitalize on the opportunity. 

The day your Quirk manifests, your family treats you to a delicious meal and even buys you a little gift. You end up having so much fun that you briefly forget all about your initial goal, which is to try and decipher the specifics of your Quirk. You even forget about poor Katsuki, who is bedridden after suddenly fainting.  

It isn't until later that same night that it all comes back to you, thanks to a sudden notification. 

[𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞.]

You’ve just gotten into bed and are staring up at your bedroom ceiling when you see the message pop up. It showed up completely unprompted, just like last time. This has to be your Quirk. Nothing else would make any sense. Well, unless you're somehow trapped in an incredibly long dream, but that seems like a stretch. 

“Charm someone,” you mumble. You have to admit that you're a little nervous. The last time you used your ability on a person, they passed out. Will the same thing happen again? Also, why is it calling this a mission? It almost seems to imply that there's some sort of reward to be had once you complete it.  

There's really no way of knowing—other than actually trying it out, of course.  

When morning rolls around, you head straight for Katsuki’s house and knock on his front door.  

Mitsuki is the one to greet you. “Oh, hi there,” she smiles. “You’re one of Katsuki’s little friends, aren’t you? Thank you for bringing him home the other day when he wasn’t feeling well.”  

“I’m [Name],” you say, trying not to look too guilty, since you're the whole reason Katsuki fainted in the first place. “Is Katsuki feeling better today?”  

“He’s perfectly fine. I’m sure he was just tired and needed some rest. He’s eating breakfast right now, but did you want to come inside and talk to him for a bit?”

After you respond with an affirmative nod, Mitsuki ushers you into the house. It's your first time actually being here. It still hasn't been very long since you’ve moved into the neighborhood, and even though you often play with Katsuki and the rest of his friends, you have yet to visit any of their homes. 

You find Katsuki sitting at the dining table, spooning some cereal into his mouth. You're pretty much always thrilled to see him. He is one of your role models, and you can only hope that you'll one day be as confident and fearless as he is.  

So, naturally, you break out into a grin the second you spot him. 

“Katsuki!” you cry out, practically rushing over to him. “Good morning!”  

As much as you wish you could say that Katsuki responds with the same enthusiasm, that isn't at all the case.  

Instead, he visibly recoils, cheeks darkening to a deep shade of red.  

“Why are you here?” he huffs, sounding a bit annoyed. “I already told you that I was fine yesterday. You didn’t need to make such a fuss over nothing. And you even took me back to my parents? I would’ve been back to normal if you gave me a few minutes. I was just taking a little nap, that’s all.”  

Your shoulders slump. “Oh. I’m sorry. I know you’re really strong, Katsuki, but you fainted so suddenly. I was so worried I almost started crying...”

He doesn't snap at you a second time. Instead, he spoons another helping of milk and cereal into his mouth, still blushing all the way up to his ears. He appears to be avoiding eye contact, and you suspect that it has something to do with the fact that you kissed him yesterday.  

He doesn't seem to blame you for the fact that he passed out, though. No one really thinks you're responsible for that incident. They still don't even know that your Quirk has manifested.  

A part of you wants to tell him, but that would be the same thing as admitting you made him fall ill the other day. So, for the time being, you decide to keep your mouth shut. You want answers first. 

Katsuki’s glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “What do you keep staring at me for? Weirdo. You’re being kind of annoying, so here. Have this candy bar. I was saving it for later, but you can have it instead.”

“Wow, really?” you gush. “Thank you so much! You’re the best, Katsuki.”  

He can't help but crack a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”  

You hang out with Katsuki for a while longer after he finishes up his breakfast. He gives you the grand tour of his room—which is decked out in a bunch of All Might merch and looks super impressive—and then you eventually take your leave.  

Before you do, though, you want to make sure of one last thing.  

“Are you sure you're feeling alright?” you insist. “It was really scary seeing you collapse like that. I just don’t want you to be hurt. I’d be really sad if that was the case.”  

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “You’re nagging me the same way my mom does. I already told you I’m fine. I can handle that much, no sweat. Didn’t I already tell you I’m going to become the Number One hero one day?”  

“Well... alright. As long as you’re okay.”  

You have a mission to charm someone, but you have no intention of using it on Katsuki again. If you end up making him faint a second time, it would seriously weigh on your conscience.  

So, you decide to approach your other closest friend, Izuku.  

Izuku is different than Katsuki. He's a bit of a crybaby, but that's only because he's such a sweet, honest kid. He tends to be more emotional than most, which just goes to show how much he cares about things. He especially cares about other people and making sure that they always have smiles on their faces. He hates to watch someone get hurt, and when Katsuki fainted, he was easily the most frantic out of everyone. 

Given his considerate nature, you feel like it would be okay to entrust him with the truth.  

“So... your Quirk manifested yesterday?” he blinks. “And after you kissed Kacchan and used your powers on him, he fainted?”

You press your lips into a thin line, feeling quite guilty with the admission. “Yeah. Please don’t tell anyone else yet, Izuku. You’re the only one who knows, because I trust you to keep it a secret. My Quirk seems pretty confusing so far, so I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with it.”  

“I-I promise to keep it a secret!” he reassures, nodding his head so fast that his curly green locks bob in place.  

“Thank you, Izuku.” You pause, not quite sure how to breach the next topic. “Um... there was actually something else I wanted to tell you about.”  

His brows arch. “Sure. What is it?”  

“My Quirk... it gave me a mission. It said I have to charm someone again. I’m not sure what’ll happen when I actually do it, but I want to give it a try and see how it goes. I’m hoping it might help me figure things out.”  

“Oh, okay.”  

Clearly, Izuku doesn't seem to understand where you're going with this, but once the realization finally sets in, a strangled little gasp catches in the back of his throat.  

“W-Wait!” he squeaks, flailing his hands in a panic. “D-Do you mean that you want to use your Quirk... on me?”  

You smile shyly. “I was hoping to, yes. I have to kiss someone before I can charm them, though. Would that be okay? A kiss on the cheek, like what I did to Katsuki yesterday?”  

At only four years of age, even just a cheek kiss is a big deal. Someone like Katsuki is normally unfazed by most things, but even he got incredibly flustered when you kissed him. You can only imagine how Izuku—the shyest kid in the neighborhood—might react.  

He’ll probably refuse. If he does, I should just leave it. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.  

To no one’s surprise, Izuku is already burning red from embarrassment. He’s taken several steps back, most likely out of pure instinct, and is now clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles are white as paper.  

“You want to k-kiss me,” Izuku stammers nervously.  

“Only if you let me,” you promise. “I don’t want to make you upset. It’s just that it’s the only way to use my charm ability, so... yeah. But then again, I’m worried that you might end up fainting too. Ugh. I don’t really know what to do...”  

Embarrassment aside, you can understand why Izuku might be afraid to let you use your Quirk on him, especially after what he just witnessed yesterday. He has every right to refuse, purely from a self-preservation standpoint.  

But he doesn't.

“O-Okay,” Izuku swallows. “I’m happy you got your Quirk, [Name]. And... I want to help. Y-You can kiss me if you need to. Even if I pass out, it’s okay. As long as I can help you.”  

He proceeds to squeeze his eyes shut, no doubt too flustered to bear watching everything unfold. You officially have his go-ahead, and even though you don't want to end up making him feel unwell, you aren't sure how else you're supposed to get used to your Quirk.  

Please don’t make Izuku faint. Please let him be okay.  

Drawing in a sharp breath, you slowly approach him. Despite the fact that his eyes are closed, he can still hear you moving closer, and he starts shaking like a leaf in the wind. You figure it's best to just go for it as quickly as possible and spare him the nervous anticipation. 

Blushing quite a bit yourself, you peck Izuku on the cheek, then hastily pull away.  

“I-It’s done,” you say. “Izuku, you can open your eyes now.”  

He does just that, although it takes him a while to actually work up the nerve. Eyes the color of emeralds slowly drift open, and he even lets out a nervous little hiccup, clearly mortified beyond belief.

“A-A girl—hic—a girl actually k-kissed me,” Izuku stutters.  

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐈𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮?]

There it is again. You now have the option of using your ability, just like before. You can't deny that you're a little worried. A power that makes people fall over unconscious is quite daunting, but you hope that things won't always turn out that way.

“Hold my hand,” you offer. “Just in case you fall over. I’ll catch you so that you don’t get hurt.”  

Nodding shyly, Izuku wraps his little hand around yours, then you finally make your selection. 

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

It doesn't take very long for your Quirk to take effect. Much like Katsuki, he starts looking weak and unsteady. You hold his hand tightly, even loop your arm around his back to make sure he doesn't suddenly faceplant onto the ground. His breathing is getting shallower by the second, and if you thought the blush on his cheeks before was outrageous, it can't even compare to the one he has now.

“I feel... weird,” Izuku mumbles. Too weak to even remember his earlier embarrassment, he clings to your body as if he's holding on for dear life. “[Name], what’s... what’s happening? I feel... warm and fuzzy. So warm...”  

You fear that he's getting close to passing out. So far, it seems to be following the exact same pattern as before. Darn it. Is this really a mistake? Is coming to terms with your Quirk really worth doing this to the people you care about?  

Before you can ponder the moral implications of your actions, Izuku suddenly cups your cheek with his hand, then presses his lips against yours.  

Um?!  

It's a quick, chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. A real kiss, not just one on the cheek. You feel like your entire face is on fire, and it's safe to say that you’ve been momentarily stunned from embarrassment.  

And by Izuku, no less. A kid who would’ve never had the guts to do that under normal circumstances.  

“Hehe,” he giggles, appearing somewhat delirious. “I kissed [Name]… on the lips. Wow. Was I your first kiss? I sure... hope so.”  

He goes limp in your arms right after that.  

[𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧! 𝐀𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐛𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬.]

Your body is briefly enveloped by a strange, pulsing light, and you swear that something inside you just changed. It's such a subtle change that it's probably almost negligible, but you know you aren't imagining it.  

Also, Izuku has definitely fainted. You are now responsible for having made two of your friends pass out.  

You shoulder the weight of his body as best you can, then let out a heavy sigh. “I need to get him back home as soon as possible."

Your Quirk is kind of like a game. Based on what you know about it so far, at least. If you keep on completing the missions the system gives you, then you will be rewarded by having your strength increase. It's like gaining experience points and leveling up. That's the best analogy you can think of. 

You don't like making people faint, though. After charming both Katsuki and Izuku, it's clear that the effects of your powers are perhaps too strong. You really hope there's a way to control it better. Maybe you're simply too inexperienced?  

“Hey, system,” you call out. “I’m still kind of confused about this whole thing. Can you please explain it better? I don’t want to make my friends keep fainting.”

You don't receive a response, so you figure it isn't an entity you can actually communicate with. It doesn't appear sentient, at the very least. It's most likely just there to give you missions and track your progress.  

Well, that sucks. 

You still want answers. Then again, nobody ever said that mastering a Quirk would be easy, and you’ve only just gotten yours. You suppose you'll just have to be patient.  

Out of the little friend group consisting of you, Katsuki, and Izuku, you are the first to have your Quirk manifest. 

After that, it's Katsuki.  

Since he has such a strong personality, it isn't at all a surprise that his Quirk would turn out to be strong too. He has the ability to create literal explosions from the palms of his hands. It's honestly incredible, and everyone in the neighborhood—as well as the other kids in the local preschool you attend—can't help but be in awe.  

Once Katsuki’s Quirk manifests, his personality starts to change, and not for the better.  

Eager to show off his strength, he starts getting in fights with all sorts of people. Most of them are other kids his age, but he even picks a few fights with those that are several years older than him. And he never, never loses.  

“Wow, Katsuki!” you gush. “You’re so amazing! I can’t believe you beat those guys up even though they were so much bigger than you!”  

Since you're young and stupid, you don't realize that in praising Katsuki for his acts of violence, you are actually part of the problem.

Katsuki sniffles, wiping away his tears before they fall. He got quite a beating during the fight, but in spite of that, he still held out until he won. “Obviously,” he huffs. “I’m not going to let anyone talk smack about me. It doesn’t matter how much bigger or older they are.”  

You haven't received any more missions since the day you charmed Izuku, but by now everyone knows that you at least have some sort of Quirk. Katsuki was skeptical at first, but even the doctor was able to confirm that your Quirk factor—which is what allows your powers to function—is located in your brain. So long as your brain keeps working, you have the means to interact with the system and use your abilities.  

The same can't be said about Izuku, though.  

He keeps waiting for his Quirk to appear. He waits and waits, and yet it still shows no sign of manifesting. All Quirks are supposed to manifest by the age of four, with no exceptions. You do everything you can to reassure Izuku that it's going to be okay, but no one seems to understand why he hasn't gotten his Quirk yet.  

Somewhere along the way, Izuku is labeled as Quirkless, and with his newfound cruelty, Katsuki makes sure to torment Izuku at nearly every turn. 

“From now on, we’re going to call Izuku Deku,” Katsuki chuckles. “Deku means someone who’s a good-for-nothing loser. It’s perfect for him, since he’s a Quirkless weakling.”  

You frown. “That’s not nice, Katsuki. Take that back. There’s still some time left. Izuku will get his Quirk soon, you’ll see.”  

“You need to stop defending him, [Name].” Katsuki sighs out in annoyance. “Can’t you see just how lame he is? It actually makes a lot of sense that he doesn’t have a Quirk. I always thought that he was weak. This is just how the world works. Right, guys? Don’t you also think Deku’s a loser?”  

The two other neighborhood kids that often follow Katsuki around, and who have since become his underlings, hastily nod in agreement.

“Deku’s a great name for him.”  

“It’s what he gets for being Quirkless.”  

Poor Izuku is already in tears, and you can't help but ball up your little fists in frustration.  

You like Katsuki. You really do. But lately he’s started acting like a real asshole, and you're honestly getting sick of it.  

“His name is Izuku,” you insist. “Don’t give him a rude nickname to try and make fun of him. Doing that is what’s actually lame.”

“[N-Name],” Izuku whimpers, wiping away at his misty eyes. “Thank you...”  

Even though you are friends with both Izuku and Katsuki, you know well enough to understand when something is just plain wrong. Katsuki is bullying Izuku, and it needs to stop.  

In picking sides, though, you actually end up making Katsuki even angrier.  

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” he spits, then uses an explosion to swat Izuku right across the face. His explosions aren't incredibly strong—not yet, at least, since he's still just a child. But they deal enough damage to hurt plenty, and Izuku’s little whimpers soon turn into full-blown sobs. 

Alright. You’ve officially had enough.  

“Come here,” you grit out. You grab Katsuki by the arm and pull him in, then roughly kiss him on the cheek. His immediate instinct is to freak out, of course, but he's mainly embarrassed, not angry.  

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

It doesn't take him long to quiet down after that. While you don't like making people faint and overall feel unwell, desperate times call for desperate measures. It's better than letting him keep harassing and beating up Izuku, in any case. You are choosing to incapacitate one of your friends in order to protect the other one.  

“Not this shit again,” Katsuki mumbles in a daze. He seems to fend off the effects of your Quirk a lot better this time. Perhaps you're starting to get used to controlling its output? But regardless, he still ends up collapsing eventually. You’ve effectively put him to sleep. Hopefully a nap will help him clear his head a bit.  

“Aw, man!” one of the other guys whines. “[Name] just used her Quirk on him. That’s cheating! You can’t just go around doing that!"  

“Nuh-uh,” you deny. “Katsuki used his Quirk to hit Izuku first. He started it. Carry him back home, please. He needs to be put into bed.” 

They make sure to grumble the whole time, but still bring Katsuki back to his parents.  

Now, it's just you and Izuku.  

“Are you okay?” you ask, worry lacing your expression. “I’m sure it probably really hurts to get hit by one of his explosions. I promise it’ll be alright, Izuku. I’m here for you.”  

Izuku nods weakly. “I’m fine. Thank you for helping me. If only I wasn’t so weak... then I could help myself.”  

“You’re not weak at all. And your Quirk will show up soon! I have a good feeling about this.”  

It's pure unfounded confidence, but you're only an idealistic child, after all.  

Strangely enough, though, despite the fact that you’ve just saved him from getting beaten up, Izuku isn't all that happy. He knows you have to kiss someone first before being able to charm them, but he still can't stop replaying what he’s just seen. The way your lips pressed right against Katsuki’s cheek... it's impossible to get it out of his head.  

Izuku is too young to make sense of his emotions, but he is experiencing ugly jealousy for the very first time in his life.  

It’s okay, he thinks. I got to kiss [Name] on the lips before. Even Kacchan hasn’t done that. And she... stood up for me. Because I’m important to her.  

In that moment, even the pain of being Quirkless isn't quite as intense as the fear of losing your affection to someone else.

prologue | story masterlist | next

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[itsharleystuff]

*ೃ༄ 𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘜𝘚

Gif not mine!

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Javier Peña x afab!fem reader.

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.4k I’m so sorry y’all

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Javier can’t figure out his feelings for you and is constantly troubled by them.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), smoking, alcohol consumption, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), age gap (reader just graduated college, Javi is late thirties), inexperienced reader (not innocent, tho), jealousy (not too much), semi-public sex, fingering, pet names (cariño, corazón, hermosa, sweetheart), unprotected sex (don’t try at home), riding, cum eating, creampie. Some phrases in Spanish (no translations cause I’m lazy, sorry). Reader’s nationality isn’t specified, though she’s mentioned to have studied in the states. Javi is in love but won’t admit it, mostly written in his pov. No use of y/n.

— a/n: I don’t particularly like how this one turned out but I wrote it and got very carried away, so might as well just post it anyways.

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐨

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬í

𝐬é 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐞

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦í𝐚…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The things Javier Peña liked the most weren't a secret to anyone. He enjoyed a good smoke, a strong liquor and the company of a nice lady. Especially those three at the same time. Sure, there were other things that could bring genuine joy into his life, but he was a simple man after all.

Or so you thought when you first met him.

It's been five months since you first came to Colombia. It wasn't a really an intricate matter; basically, the embassy needed a translator for the DEA and they decided that your freshly graduated self would perfectly cut the part. And well, you really needed the money at the time, so the fact that there was an ongoing drug war happening down there was not going to be an impediment. You knew what you were getting yourself into, but let's just say that you truly didn't have a choice.

That's exactly what you had told him the first night he invited you to hang out with him, Steve and Connie. Javier didn't need a translator, but god knew his partner did. And after a couple of hang-outs, it became a routine to spend some time out, specially since you all practically lived together.

"So, how many languages do you speak?" The woman asks. “Besides English and Spanish, that is."

You take a sip from your beer without looking at anyone in specific, "I'm fluent in five languages: French, Korean and Portuguese are the three others."

"Damn, so you're like... Super smart," Steve comments with a surprised expression.

"I wouldn't say that," you reply with a shy smile, "I'm simply dedicated."

Javier huffed a laugh, the cigarette smoke filtering through his nostrils. "Can't say you don't look like one of those girls that spent their whole days locked up in their college dorm and that would always get straight A's."

You narrowed your eyes when glancing over at the agent, scowling at him defiantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He shrugs, shaking off the question. "Are you saying I am... Uptight?"

"Your words, not mine." He puts the cigarette out without even looking back at you.

"But you implied it." Connie taps your hand and gives his husband's partner a dirty look.

"Don't listen to Javi, sweetheart," she says softly. "He can be a complete asshole sometimes."

"And sometimes, mostly means all the time." Steve adds.

"How rude of you." Javi sits back and crosses both arms over his chest, falsely offended.

The blonde woman shakes her head with a small grin before quickly peeking at Murphy' as watch, her expression turning slightly annoyed.

"It's pretty late," she realizes, "and I have to go to the commune tomorrow."

"Right." Steve nods and takes his wallet out to pay for their stuff. "We should get going."

You motion a goodbye to them with a subtle head movement, "I'll stay here for a while," you say, raising your beer. "I'd like to finish my drink."

Javier cocks an eyebrow in your direction, "Yeah, I'm staying too. I'll take care of our girl."

His partner gives him a suspicious head tilt, almost like a small warning —men sign language that you weren't sure you understood entirely—, but Peña dismisses him with a hand gesture as you gulp down the alcohol.

"You know, our building is right across the street. And your apartment is quite literally next to mine." He calls the waitress, not even side eyeing you. "I don't need to be taken care of." Javier finally meets your gaze, feeling his chest swell and instantly regretting his actions at the sight of your confused, daring eyes. "Is anything bothering you? You've been acting strange lately."

There was, in fact, something bothering him.

You. Or more like, his feelings towards you.

At first it was nothing but a simple attraction, the kind that he'd get whenever he wanted to sleep with someone and that would go away once he did. The problem was that he couldn't do that with you. After all, he was nearly forty and you had just barely graduated college. He couldn't risk making you feel uncomfortable or pushing you away.

But shit got worse when he started growing closer to you.

It wasn't about attraction anymore. It was something else. Deeper, unknown... Bizarre. He wanted to be around you all the time, learn about you; your interests, opinions, what you liked or disliked. His heart thumped against his chest whenever you'd smile at him, or briefly touch his skin, laugh at his witticism.

He hated it.

He hated that feeling that crushed his lungs when he saw you doing all those things with other men.

Why couldn't that be him? What did they have that you could possibly find appealing?

He fucking hated it.

Javier tried ignoring you, fucking around with as many women as he could to try and get you out his mind.

Needless to say it was all useless. And that's why perhaps, he was acting strange.

"Javier, are you-" whatever you were going to say got cut off by the arrival of the waitress.

"¿Qué necesitas, corazón?" The woman asked, leaning towards your companion, giving him a better sight of her big, perky breasts while gazing down at him with doe eyes. And Peña, being the man he was, couldn't bat away from her. Which kind of bothered you, to be honest.

Why was he always looking at other women? Why were they special?

It made your stomach feel weird.

"Otra botella, cariño." His tone usually changed when talking to them, even his eyes seemed more joyful. You'd picked up on that.

"Enseguida, Javi. ¿Algo más para ti, nena?" Her eyes swiftly drift towards you, voice becoming softer all of the sudden. It irritated you, more so because of the condescending tone when addressing you. Nonetheless, you kept composure.

"Todo bien, gracias." The delivery came out slightly dry and bitchy, but not as bad as you thought. She doesn't seem to mind, or even note it as she winks at the man next to you before leaving. "Could you switch to a different table?" You spit out.

He grimaces, brows furrowing and lips sealed tight. "Why? I mean, I won't. But I'd like to know why you're asking."

"Not having to deal with flirty waitresses, for starters," you mutter, rolling your eyes and making him chuckle. "And I'm also trying to catch a fling, which will most certainly not work if you're around."

He looks back at you in confusion and displeasure, as if he had missed something. "You're trying to- What?" There's something in his voice similar to... Resentment.

"You know," he stares at you intently, a muscle feathering on his jaw, "I'm trying to leave this bar with company." You feel yourself get nervous under his wary gaze, like a fire burning through your skin.

"Yeah, and you will," he stated, his tone somewhat amused but vaguely strained. "My company should be more than enough."

You giggled, wondering if he was just messing with you or didn't actually think you'd be the type to hook up with strangers. Whichever it was, you only said it to get a reaction from him, not that you'd actually do it. At least not tonight.

It was stupid and you were aware of it. Having a crush on the Javier Peña was probably the dumbest thing you'd done ever since willingly coming to Medellin while the narcos were running around. But, let's be real, how could you not? He was a full-on womanizer, dashing and breathtaking. However, what seemed to make you want him more was the fact that he didn't appear interested in you for anything other than rattling your cages, always taking his flirting to a certain extent but never actually crossing any lines.

"Come on Javi, you know that's not what I mean." He took a deep breath and leaned back on his seat.

Of course he knew what you meant. But he'd rather believe it was something different, because the mere thought of you being with another man, allowing him to do all the things that he yearned to do to you, made him physically ill. His fingertips started fidgeting with anxiety, pushing him to take out the pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket and lighting one up.

"I can't let you do that, sweetheart," he simply said.

"Huh?" You scowl, astonished with his response. "I don't recall asking for your permission."

"Don't you think it's a little dangerous to take random men back to your apartment?" He grumbles sharply, "I'm trying to look out for you, corazón."

His comment only manages to anger you, as if he believed that you'd simply ran off with whatever men offered to buy you a drink. "I'm fairly capable of taking care of myself, Peña." And before he can say anything, you add: "I'm tired of your patronizing treatment. I'm not a kid."

Javier's fingers nervously tap the wooden surface of the table, "I know that. Trust me, I know."

"Sure," you mumble in annoyance, watching him smoke stiffly. "Besides, you're the one that said I was uptight," you taunt. "Perhaps I just need a good fuck to blow off some steam."

You can clearly see every muscle on his body tense up, the cigarette dangling loosely on the corner of his mouth. He clears his throat and puts it out, crushing it in the ashtray on the middle of the table, not even half way through it.

"And you think any of these idiots will be able to give you that, preciosa?" He murmurs hastily, "A good fuck?"

You shrug your shoulders with a grin. "Can't be worse than sleeping around with college boys," you say, "those suckers never gave me a single orgasm in my life."

Javier felt cornered. Your words made his mind wander along places he'd strictly forbid himself to go to, blood rushing into all the wrong areas and pulse starting to rise. Maybe it was the few drinks you've both had, but he became bolder, unable to bite his tongue back and letting all his thoughts overrun him.

"Poor thing is looking to be fucked by a real man," he teases. "I wonder if you'll get what you want tonight."

"Oh, don't make fun of me, Peña," you complain, laying your chin on the palm of your hand. "I deserve this after three years of dating the same asshole that my parents liked."

"Jesus," he huffs, "three years and the kid never made you cum once?" You shake your head and he raises and eyebrow in disbelief. "Why did you even keep up with him anyways?"

"This might come as a surprise, but not everything in a relationship is about sex." He doesn't reply, persuading you with a smug look. You sigh heavily, avoiding his glance. "You're gonna think I'm childish."

"Try me."

You take your time to retort, still unsure. "It's stupid, I swear." But when your eyes bore into his, they appear reassuring and it makes you crumble immediately. "Fine," you give up, "have you ever been in love, Javi? And I don't mean like silly, head-over heels in love. I mean the kind of love that you feel throughout your whole body every time you see that one person. It feels safe, but exciting at the same time... Have you felt it?"

The smile on your lips and the way your face lit up when speaking sent a thrill of joy through his nerves, automatically making him smile back.

"See? You're laughing, I told you it was stupid." He shakes his head lightly, leaning towards you in interest.

"No," he says playfully, "I just think you're adorable." Before you can process his words, he talks again: "No, I don't think I've ever felt anything similar."

"Really?" you can't hide the surprise in your voice. "I thought you were going to get married before coming to Colombia."

"I was." He recalled. "But... I don't know. It was a long time ago." Thinking about his past wasn't Javier's favorite hobby, so he tried to smoothly change the subject back to you. "So, is that how you felt about the guy?"

"I thought so." You tug a strand of hair behind your ear apprehensively. "But at the end, he... Well, he convinced me that no one else was going to love me the way he did." You explain, watching as Javi's fists clenched under the table. "And I was too damn busy arranging my future and planning how to get the hell out of my hometown that I didn't have any time left to deal with him, so I just... Kept him around. Because it was familiar and I was scared to meet someone else from scratch."

He gives you a comprehensive nod. "That boy sounds like a complete dickhead."

"Totally. But that's behind me now. Currently I'm just looking for something new. No feelings, no strings attached, just fun."

The agent couldn't help but feel like someone was messing with his head.

That's practically every man's fantasy. At least Javier knows he's wanted that for a long time, being the prime reason why he usually fucked whores or preferred casual hook ups. And you liked him, at least physically. He was no idiot, he could tell when a woman was attracted to him. He liked you too. Hell, that was an understatement.

So why couldn't he bring himself to make the first move? What was stopping him?

"Aquí tienes, Javi." The waitress's voice brought him back to reality as she gave him his drink.

"Gracias, corazón." He didn't engage with her further, his attention focused on you. That bothered her but you can't tell if he noticed. "So what? Am I supposed to just watch as you get sweet-talked by one of them?"

"Basically," you respond, avoiding his glance.

"Like hell I will," his tone is sharp and determined, taking you out completely. "You're already tipsy and that'll only make it easier to take advantage of you."

"I swear I'm fine, Javi." The man shakes his head and takes a long sip from his beer.

"We're leaving. Now." At first you thought he was playing around, but his stoic expression told otherwise.

"What? No." He grits his teeth and takes his wallet out, leaving a couple bills on the table. "Seriously, Javier?"

"Yes. Now, get your pretty ass up unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder." You can't believe his actions, looking up at him dumbfounded.

"I'll scream," you threaten, half serious, half joking.

"I have a badge," he stands up, glancing down at you with his hands on his hips, patiently waiting for your next move. "Come on, hermosa. Don't make it difficult."

"I- Fine." Reluctantly, you do as told, taking your purse and denying him of eye contact. "You didn't even finish your drink and now you've spoiled my chances of having a pleasant night," you ramble while walking out of the place.

Javier's hand settles on your lower back when he helps you cross the street. Despite the growing irritation and confusion that his behavior was causing you, his touch managed to make you feel comfortable. That was his magic, when it came to him, skin to skin contact wasn't only soothing, but also enjoyable; as brief as it might be, it always succeeded in bringing a particular warmth to your whole body.

"I don't understand," you mutter, crossing the dark, silent halls of the building. "Why are you acting so strange?" You suddenly stop in front of your apartment door, turning to lock glances with him, who stood completely still. "I asked you earlier if there was something bothering you, and I didn't mean like... The usual work luggage, I mean... Me. Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes scan your face carefully, searching for any signs that he should back out, but finding none. Should he tell you? He's never been good with words and honestly, he doesn't even know what he's supposed to say. He can hardly figure out if what he felt was attraction, desire or... Something entirely different. And if he did say anything... What if that changed everything between you? Would you push him away?

Javier Peña was brave enough to take on every single sicario in Medellin all by himself, but he couldn't muster up the bravado he needed to tell the woman he liked about his feelings. Oh, the irony.

"No, sweetheart. You're perfect," he assures, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "I just have stuff to figure out and... My head is a such mess right now."

You nod and smile at him empathetically, a short silence falling upon you. After all, it was only fair that you gave him his space. The man had been through some pretty fucked up shit that most couldn't nearly begin to understand. He looked directly in the face of death every single time he decided to step out that door behind him; so no matter what was troubling him, the most you could do was simply be there if he needed you.

"Don't worry," you say, your hand shooting up to caress the side of his face in a sweet manner. His eyes briefly shut at the contact and a shiver runs down his spine. "I know it's not easy. But I'm sure it'll be fine. I just wanted you to know that... That you can talk to me." Your thumb gently sweeps over his cheekbone, adding to the emotion that your words reflected. "I'm your friend, right? You can trust me... Rely on me, if you need it."

Shit, thaaaat word.

It was heavy, determinant and so fucking hurtful.

Yeah, of course you were friends. And he hated it. Javier didn't want to be your friend. The way he thought about you was not how friends thought about each other. He wanted more... But how much more?

The only lightning in the hallway came from the warm, public streetlights outside, dimly spilling through the windows and creating shadows that highlighted your features perfectly. You couldn't comprehend why his eyes resembled a wounded puppy when you spoke, like you had just said something that conflicted him. His skin felt feverish there were you touched him, heart heavy in his chest. And you were so close to him that your perfume fogged his senses... All he could think about was the fact that he wanted his bedsheets to smell the same way.

All this tension, he wasn't sure if you felt it too, but it was absolutely crushing, suffocating him. He was going to die if he didn't do something. Anything.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." You frown, confused by his unexpected apology.

"What for?" His hand wrapped around your wrist, swiftly guiding it to his chest, palm flat over his sternum.

He said nothing, nor did he show signs of wanting to. Actions speak louder than words, wasn't that right?

Hell, he was about to find out.

Tossing aside all his fears and doubts, he leaned in towards you, his own hand going to your waist and pulling you closer to him, both your bodies crashing delightfully against the other. It startled you, but not in alarm, though in surprise. Nonetheless, he didn't give you any time to process whatever the situation was.

He gently pressed his lips on tops of yours, just enough for you to push him away if you so desired. And in your mind, all that can be processed is: Javier Peña is kissing me.

It was so sudden that you had to grab his strong arm not to crumble under his embrace. Javier's lips are soft and new, yet somehow... Familiar. His mustache mildly tickles your skin, his cologne going straight to your head. Shit, the way he held you —like you were a fragile little thing— made your legs tremble immediately.

Was this even real? Are you daydreaming again?

No. The answer's no. He is kissing you, right outside your apartment. And of course, you don't hesitate to kiss him back.

He tastes of alcohol, cigarettes and mint.

Your lips moved slowly, letting him explore, feel the area around. All thoughts and questions vanished in thin air, whatever troubles he might've had disappearing when you seemed so responsive to him. You let your purse fall to the floor with a faint thud, your hand snaking to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, standing on your tippy toes so you could reach his height. He grips your waist tighter, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip and raising goosebumps on your skin. Javier swirls your body to pin you against the wall, mouth over yours at all times.

Your whole world spins with frenzy, overcame by all the unfamiliar sensations that shook you entirely. You had never been kissed with such passion, with a hectic need that ran all the way to your feet. No one had ever made you felt this wanted before.

Javier was over the moon, part of him still incredulous of the fact that you were kissing him back. It didn't seem real, as if this was just another one of his wild fantasies replaying more and more vividly in his head. But it was real and even better than anything he could've pictured. It was consuming.

All the sleepless nights he had spent thinking about the many different ways he could make you his, the countless times he'd imagined himself showing you all the pleasure only he could provide.

But then again, you were so good and so sweet... All the things he could easily corrupt.

Why did he allow himself to feel like this?

You make a sound of protest when he parts from your lips, laying his forehead against yours and panting from the lack of oxygen. Your finger run through his hair while trying to settle down your breathing, a cheeky smile smooshed on your face.  His hold on you softens, one of his hands traveling to your temple, his fingertips mapping every single detail on your skin with smitten eyes. Breathing heavily, you lean in to kiss him again, your lips barely brushing against each other's as he pulled back.

"Javi," you whisper, your voice coming out almost as a plea, "what-"

"I'm sorry," He says again, sounding genuinely guilty. "I'm so sorry, corazón." You swallow hard, unable to understand what he meant. He seals a soft kiss to your forehead and you can't even begin to understand what just happened. "This was a mistake."

Your heart drops with that sentence and you're abruptly stripped away from the warmth of his body as he leaves your side. You want to cry at once, all from the pent-up frustration and sudden bafflement. 

"Javi, wait-" he's already opening the door to his place when you crouch to reach for your bag. "Please." In spite of your concerned calling, he doesn't seem to care, simply closing behind him.

You're left alone in the middle of a brooding, quiet hallway, staring blankly at his door. You want to beg him for an explanation, tear all the walls down and pull an answer out of him. But you know you can't.

Space. He just needs space to sort things out.

So, with your head and feelings all messed up, you go back to your apartment, mad and overall... Hurt.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Next morning, your alarm didn't go off.

Sure, throw more wood into the fire. Whatever.

You didn't sleep much, haunted by the ghost of Javier's lips on yours. Even now, in the solitude of your  bed, you trace the corners of your mouth trying to relive the memory. Yet, that emptiness in your chest didn't seem to fade away. No matter how hard you tried, his words wouldn't stop hammering your head.

This was a mistake.

He said that kissing you was a mistake.

Why? Because he was your co-worker? No. He'd shamelessly slept with many of his co-workers before. Maybe the reason was your friendly bond. Or, perhaps- could it be your age difference? Though Peña didn't come off as someone that would care about that.

For whatever reason, his actions made your blood boil. The more you thought about it —the way he handled things and how he treated you— the angrier you got.

So, naturally, you were late to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was draw his attention to you, but it was practically impossible given the circumstances. Still, you won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how affected you were by last night's incident.

Javier's eyes glued to yours the second you walked in the building, keeping your head held high and a polite smile as you greeted everyone and made your way to your desk. You were dazzling, even more than usual, and he wondered if it was just his mind playing games with him.

Your hands were full, carrying various documents that you held close to your chest; a light, white shirt with a couple buttons undone that bared your neck and collarbones, accentuating your breasts, grazing your figure. But what really got him on edge, was that obscenely tight pencil skirt you were wearing.

"Buenos días, Steve." You nod to the blonde agent.

"Good morning to you too," he said with a wink, watching as you went ahead to your own cubicle, which was right in front of theirs. "A bit late, aren't you?"

"I overslept," was the only explanation.

You didn't even acknowledge Javier's presence. No eye contact, no salute, nothing. He merely saw as you settled all documents down and sat behind your writing desk, paying no mind to him or anyone else as you started reading all the files and folders. Either consciously or not, you left the door to your place semi-open. Murphy followed his gaze, your actions towards his partner not going unnoticed by him. He snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face, bringing his attention back.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" Steve countered, signaling imaginary quotation marks with his fingers. "What's going on between you two?"

A muscle jumped on Javier's neck, his stare wandering off. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on man!" He snorts, maintaining a low tone. "Don't play dumb. I've seen the way you look at her."

Murphy sits on his colleague's desk, grabbing his own coffee mug and settling to look down at him, deeply invested in the topic.

"Seriously?" The brunette man rubs his temples, seeing how determined his friend was. "I just think she's- you know... Attractive."

"Bullshit. Dig deeper, Javs."

The agent sighs in frustration. "The fuck do you want me to tell you, then? You seem to know everything already."

"I'm just thinking what could possibly be the reason why you haven't asked her out yet." He meditates. "Because, honestly, it's only a matter of time before someone else does." Javier's brows knit together in thought. "Just the other day Connie told me she rejected two guys in one night."

"Did she say why?" Steve shakes his head.

"It's pretty obvious, if you ask me."

"How so?" He asks, to which Murphy rubs his eyes with his thumbs, slowly counting to ten in his head.

"You two are fucking blind." He hurls, exasperated. "You like her, she clearly likes you too. What's the damn problem?"

"We don't like each other. That's high school shit, Steve." The mentioned man raised both brows at his comment. "I mean... It's different."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Peña breathes in deeply before doing so. "I don't know. We're... Complete opposites. She couldn't possibly reciprocate. Not like I would like her to, anyway."

Steve's lips pursed in a crooked smile. "So you do like her, then."

"Shit, of course I do!" He hissed. "I think."

"You think?" The blonde takes a sip from his coffee, engaged with the conversation.

"Yeah. I mean-" Javier clears his throat. "It's beyond just physical. That's what's messing with me." He plays with his blue tie when speaking. "Esta mierda me está atormentando. I can't rest well, her scent is all over me the whole damn day. Her eyes, man. I'd be doing the stupidest shit only for her to look my way. She has a contagious laugh..." He recalls, "I don't know if you've noticed."

"Uh-."

"Also, she'd just randomly start spitting the weirdest facts about literally anything. It's scary how much she knows. And I enjoy listening to her." He chuckles at his memories. "I can't get tired, really. I'm never tired of her. Anyone else... I have a limit. Joder. I could listen to her talking for hours and I'd be the happiest man ever. But, whatever this is... It's overwhelming. Cause I can't act on it."

Steve frowns. He couldn't believe that his friend, who was one of the most dedicated, gritty DEA agents he knew, was unable to act on his feelings for a girl. "So, I ask again... What's the problem?"

Before Peña could reply, another woman called their names. It was one of the secretaries with whom he also had had an affair with. Not that it mattered, though.

"Hey, is our translator here already?" She asked with a kind smile, standing in front of them.

"Yeah, she just arrived." Javier responds, "Is there anything we can help you with?" He points the folder she was holding.

"Oh, no. This isn't about that." She giggles, dismissing the question. "But now that you mention it- I'm aware that she's somewhat close to you, so... Do you happen to know if she's seeing anyone at the moment?" Steve shots him a cautious look at her inquiry, but he says nothing, remaining still as a stone.

"No. Not that we know of."

Javier's face twists with a sneer, painfully conscious of what his partner was doing with his answers. But he couldn't quite focus on them anymore, his eyes diverting to your location in hopes to catch a glimpse of your face. You were laid back on your chair, a pair of reading glasses sat on the bridge of your nose while scanning some papers. However, his attention drifted back to their conversation when the woman started explaining the reason of her doubt.

"My cousin is coming for the weekend and he asked me to show him around. It's kind of a set up, really, since my boyfriend's coming too. And well, I've gone out with her a couple of times. She's really nice and friendly... I figured she might be interested."

"I'm sure she'll say yes," Steve replied with animosity, "Where exactly do you plan on going?"

"Ah, there's this place downtown. It's not exactly a club, but a place to dance. Salsa and those sort of things."

The flashing image of you in a short dress, all sweaty while dancing closely with someone else had him feeling unsettled in seconds. Hell no. Once again his train of thought got lost as the woman went into your office, shutting the door behind her and leaving him with an awful taste of bitterness on his tongue.

"Fuck," he mutters, searching for a pack of smokes.

"Clock's ticking, Javs."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Time passes by quickly.

You come and go in between schedules, only staying in your office when you needed a break. Being Friday, most people had left already, but you still had a couple hours to fill in before going home. And since your work was pretty much done, you decide to sit back and relax, taking out a book from your purse. Although you don't get to read plenty before someone knocks on your door.

"Come in!" You shout in a calm tone, eyes still glued to the pages. Somehow, you knew exactly who it was even before he came in. "Agent Peña," you grit out, not bothering to glance in his direction, "how can I help you?"

He strode his way to the front of your desk, laying both palms down and leaning forwards. "I've been meaning to talk to you." He sounds grim, more serious than he's ever been with you before.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm a bit busy right now." Javier calls your name lowly, demanding your attention. Yet, you don't respond.

"Will you please look at me?" He barks in disheartenment. "Please."

You know deep down that if your eyes met his, all your barriers would crumble. But the man had a heavy presence, and it was one you couldn't quite ignore despite all your efforts. You put down the book, glaring up at him in defeat. And shit, you were right. The mere sight of him was all it took for your gaze to soften as he stood before you, his beige suit a bit wrinkled, hair slightly out of place and brown eyes round and big.

"What is it?" You huff, trying not to sound disturbed.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday. I-"

"What about yesterday?" He tilts his head to the side when you cut him off.

"Come on, cariño." Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. "Can we not do this?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," you retort harshly, "Can we not do what? Act dumb? You are the one that said-"

"I know what I said." He states clearly, "I didn't mean it."

"Which part, exactly? The kiss? Or when you said that it was all a mistake?" Javier's hands rest on his hips as you carry on, "Look, I don't know what kind of treatment you receive from other women, but I'm not one of your pay girls, Peña."

His eyes narrow skeptically, "I'm aware."

You stand up from your seat, but don't approach him yet. "Right. Then why did you do it?" Your eyes pierce his soul with a certain spite. "Am I not good enough for you, Javier?"

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat. "How can you say that?"

"That's how you made me feel," you remark.

For a lingering second, none of you say a thing; a tense silence floating between you as you shared an intense, absorbing stare. It was difficult to come up with a reply that wasn't an apology from his part, cause he was past asking for forgiveness over something he didn't regret. He was burdened with the words he said, but not the fact that he kissed you.

And you can't find it in yourself to step away when he moves closer to your body.

He was being unfair, you thought. Every little action he made added to his cruelty; how he'd reach his hands to cup your face, clearly aware of his power over you and the way his eyes were devotedly looking at yours... Why would he do this after the way he treated you yesterday?

What a mean, mean man.

"You have it all wrong, amor," he speaks softly. "I'm the one that's not good enough."

It is as though he just slapped you across the face. "Don't give me that crap," you sulk out, "if you're gonna reject me, better be honest about your reasons." His hands slowly loose their hold on you as he is taken aback with your response, angling his shoulders to square off with you. "Do you not want me? It's okay if I'm not your type, but-"

For a second time, the irrational part of Javier's brain takes over his body and lets it do the work.

He kisses you again, and as of now, he does it most ardently. Just as simple as that, the primal instinct inside you gives in to him. It was unimaginable to think of any other sort of outcome.

He's rough in comparison to the previous kiss you shared; all tongue and teeth, heated and reckless. His hands are never steady, going from your hips to your ass while the other one grips the nape of your neck. You weren't any less eager: fingers running through his hair and fisting his suit jacket. Javier says your name in between the kiss, desperate as he messily tosses aside all the documents on your desk to sit you on top, establishing between your legs.

"How dare you imply I don't want you?" his voice is raspy when he pulls back, cupping your face in his big hand, fingertips digging in your cheeks. His lips move to your ear; heavy, hot breathes hit your skin and ruffle your hair while sending shocks of arousal to your core. "When you've been the only thing I've desired for months. Months, sweetheart. You know the torture you've been putting me through when walking around in these outrageously tight skirts?" You gulp, feeling heat spread on your lower stomach. "Answer, corazón."

"No-" you merely whisper, "I didn't know you... Looked at me like that." He laughs dryly, lips pressed alongside your jaw. "I hoped you did, though."

"Ah, so you did wish to torture me." He pulls your hair to throw your head back and further expose the skin of your neck, ripping a whine from your mouth. "What a merciless woman you are, sweetheart."

You smile unconsciously as your thighs cage his hips. "Me? I'm the one that's had to bear with your constant flirting, watching as you seduced every single woman that you crossed paths with. Oh, and let's not forget all the gossip and rumors I heard about you in the office..."

You feel his smirk graze your skin when his wet kisses slide to your collarbones. "What do they say?"

"That you're..." it becomes hard to talk when your mind can't think straight, "Amazing." His hand sets on your lower back in order to bring your body closer to his. "And so big..."

He comes back to your lips and you welcome him with an open mouth. Javier grunts when you mildly scratch his scalp and the sound makes your legs shake. Your lips only separate when oxygen suddenly becomes a necessity, and the way he looks down at you —hungrily, eyes darkened with lust—, makes your insides burn. His hand takes your wrist and carefully slides it across his shoulder and above his abdomen, letting your palm rest over the front of his pants, allowing you to feel how hard he's gotten just from the make out.

"See for yourself," he grumbles hoarsely. With a vicious grin, you apply pressure to his bulge, relishing in the throaty groan he lets out. "Still think I don't want you?"

"M’not sure." In response, Javier hums in your ear. "I might need a little more convincing."

"Oh, you will have it, corazón," he coos. "Yesterday you said that no man has ever given you an orgasm. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Can I change that?" The heat in your core expands to every cell in your body at the proposal.

"Please," something shifts in his gaze when you verbally express your desire for him. He is finally getting what he has longed for during all this time.

At this point, none you could care any less about the place. The building was nearly empty anyways. Only now, with his head buried between your breasts and fingers caressing the flesh of your thighs, do all the thoughts and fears in Javier's mind dissipate.

He's got you were he wanted you all along.

He unbuttons your blouse, but doesn't remove your bra, his hands too busy while pulling your skirt all the way up to your hips, exposing your plain black underwear. A cocky smile spreads across his face at the sight of how soaked you are already. You start panting, growing embarrassed when he lowers himself to his knees in front on you, avoiding all eye contact.

"What are you doing?" You blurt out, suddenly a bit shy.

"What?" He holds your knees to keep your legs apart, staring solely at your face. "Don't tell me that..." his expression becomes incredulous, "Three years and that boy never tasted this pussy?"

The heat on your face grows exponentially, "No one has."

"Shit, I'm one lucky bastard," he mumbles, mouth roaming your inner thighs. Javier senses how tense you are, probably feeling self-conscious. "Don't think too much about it, sweetheart. Just allow yourself to feel good, okay? I'll make sure to give you a good time."

"But-" air catches in your lungs when he nibbles the sensitive skin, "what about you?"

"Me?" He chuckles shortly, "Trust me, corazón. I do this mainly for myself."

You babble something that he doesn't quite hear, his fingers hooking on your panties to tug them down, dazed with excitement. He discards the clothing carelessly and throws your legs over his broad shoulders. The agent's eyes bore into yours, enjoying your flustered behavior as he calls your name soothingly.

"Look at me, hermosa," it sounds like an order, despite the soft tone. "Look at me."

You oblige, breath catching in your throat when he licks his lips and finally gets the view of your slick, exposed pussy. He dives in without wasting any time, flattening his tongue against your clit, circling a couple of times before easing a finger into you, moving it in and out at a steady pace.

"Fuck, Javi-" you cry, trying to muffle your moans in case anyone's around. And you practically feel him laugh at your vain attempts of keeping them on the low.

You briefly shut your eyes when he adds a second finger, curling them to hit all the right spots, making you throw your head back. You're positively dripping down your work desk, knuckles going white while holding it to keep yourself grounded.

"Come on, preciosa," his voice forces you to glance back at him, "told you to look." He takes his fingers out and you can't help but whine at the emptiness he left behind. "None of that, corazón." He reaches for your arm, taking your hand and placing it on his soft, fluffy hair. "Use me."

You can possibly cum just from that. The single image of him kneeled before you, head between your legs, eyes dark and greedy while asking to be used by you. It seemed like an image pulled from one of your darkest fantasies.

And fucking hell, did he look like one dark fantasy himself.

Your fingers run through his curls at the time as his mouth starts working you open, his tongue parting your folds and lapping up your slick avidly, tasting from every angle. The sudden action makes you squeal in surprise and pleasure, your legs tightening around his head instinctively. Consequently, he groans involuntarily and you mumble an apology, his hands coming to keep your thighs spread.

"Don't apologize," he says breathlessly, "that was fucking hot."

As he eats you out, his tongue finds the places that made your body shake and have your hips grinding against his face. He can't help but bask in the glorious view of you, all splayed out for him, the curve of your breasts as your chest rises and falls from the ragged breathing, cheeks flushed red and plump lips parted while looking down at him, eyes now hooded beneath heavy lids. He dreamt about this before. How you'd taste like, what you'd look like, the noises you'd make. Fuck, he saw this exact moment for weeks, playing in his sleep like a loop he couldn't escape from, waking up every morning with a hard on he could rarely get rid of with a simple cold shower.

This- shit, he's mesmerized.

His right hand coasts down to palm himself through his pants, just enough to relieve some of the ache he felt. He moans and the action sends vibrations throughout your body.

"Yes- keep going, please..." you feel so close now, your whole body trembling and abdomen tightening. "Javi, that's amazing."

You're euphoric, experiencing something unlike anything you've had before, aware of sensations you didn't know you could feel. His nose nudges your clit repeatedly and everything simply explodes. You pull his hair as a warning, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from him; but Javier simply grasps your thighs harder.

It takes seconds for you to reach your high, eyes teary and vision blurry from the shocking ecstasy that this new experience brought. He licks you clean before standing up slowly, softly stroking your exposed skin and aiming to grab a tissue from your desk, helping you rearrange your skirt and underwear.

"How was that?" he asks, wiping over his mustache while looking at you mischievously.

You can't think of any way to answer that could explain what you just felt; instead, you grab his tie and drag him towards you. He laughs gleefully when you search for his lips, covering half your face with his palm, gently brushing your cheekbone with his thumb before actually kissing you.

This time it's different. Deep, but not as hungry; simply affectionate. You can't breathe and it feels like you're floating. His eyes seem out of focus when your lips set apart and you can tell just how stupidly drunk he is. Drunk on you.

"Never thought I could feel... I wouldn't even know how to describe it," you mumble, tracing the lapels of his jacket.  "I didn't even think it was possible to be so... Wet, I guess."

He cackles. "Glad to know I'm doing my job right," you give him a half smile in return. "Though I still can't believe that somewhere in this world there's a son of a bitch who was lucky enough to have you by his side for years, and never even tried to give you head." You roll your eyes, slightly embarrassed. "Seriously. If I were your man, I'd be begging for you to give me a taste. A la mierda eso, I'll beg you now."

Despite the joking note, he kind of meant it. Now that he had taken a bite from the forbidden fruit, he needed the whole damn thing.

"Gracias, Javi." You peck his lips, mind still clouded from the post-orgasm bliss. "Can I return the favor?"

He blinks a couple of times, "I- you don't have to. I didn't do it because I was expecting you to-"

"I know, Javier," you reassure. "But trust me... I want to." 

One of these days you're going to give the poor man a heart-attack. Somehow, you always manage to say the things exactly how he wants to hear them and precisely how he never expects you to say them. 

"Está bien, corazón."

You press a hand to his chest and softly push him backwards, "Take a seat." He lifts an eyebrow in surprise, but still does as told, immersed in this new dynamic. 

He sits on your chair, legs spread just enough to give you room to settle. It's now your turn to be on your knees for him, every move you made being monitored by his keen eyes. Javier's heart is beating so fast it actually hurts. He feels as if this was his first time getting blown, like he doesn't even know what to do with himself despite his experienced record. You're fairly inexperienced in this area, but he gave you enough confidence and safety to ask. Your face rests on his inner thigh as you look up at him through your lashes.

"Tell me, Javi. How do you like it?" you ask, losing coyness and slowly unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. "Would you like me to gag on it?" His eyes widen at the question, "Do you prefer it if I lick or spit? Tell me how to please you, Javier."

He inhales sharply, "fucking hell", you smile at him when pulling down the zipper delicately, "I want you to stop talking or else I might just lose it."

"Oh," you palm him through his briefs, feeling his hard, hot cock throbbing under your touch, "so you like my voice?"

He tangles his fingers in your hair, "I like everything about you, if that's where we're going." Not a second after speaking, the phone on your desk started ringing and he shot you a cagey glance.

"Answer it," you tell him, pressing light kisses to his clothed crotch.

"¿Ahora?" Your eyes sparkle with a certain naughtiness that he didn't think you were capable of having.

"Sí, Javier. Pick up the phone." Cautious, he reaches for it and takes the call reluctantly.

"Peña," he sulks out as you swirl your tongue over the damp spot that had formed on his underwear. His eyes shut for a split second and his entire body shivers. "No está aquí. ¿Le paso algún mensaje?"

To be fair, you were there, probably just a little too tongue-tied to answer. There was no shame in admitting how much you were enjoying pulling him out and rejoicing yourself in every single contented sigh, jolt, or twitch he made when you started stroking him. Whomever was calling clearly had an important matter with you, since he wasn't hanging up and was struggling to keep up with the other side of the line, simply grumbling affirmations such as 'sí, entiendo, ajá'. And you were painfully teasing the man, as if he wasn't worked up enough.

"The rumors were true, I see..." you ramble and watch him smirk at your comment.

You give a firm squeeze to the base, pumping a few times before twisting at the head, already leaking all over himself. He can't look at you and he's set on that, one hand white-knuckling the edge of your desk as the other holds the phone, mouth agape. But it was unfair. You wanted his attention; all of it. Even if that meant getting caught.

So, in order to get it, you slowly lick the tip and gather the precum that oozed there on your tongue, growing rather fond of its salty flavor. He snarls, eyeing you in a grave manner. But for god's sake, the sole look on your face when taking his cock fully into your mouth could send him into oblivion.

"Yo se lo haré saber." Was the last thing Javier said before abruptly ending the call, immediately letting out the lewdest moan you've heard of him so far. And that alone is making you wet all over again. "You truly are something else," he rumbles between heavy, shallow breaths. "Putting on a little show like that- Fuck."

His hips jump upwards when you take him farther, his fingers running through your hair as he mumbles an apology. Your jaw goes slack once you start bobbing your head up and down his length, your throat and mouth feeling so full of him, lips cradled around his length as if it was your life purpose.

He was panting, groaning and calling your name repeatedly, murmuring praises that encouraged you to take him deeper. His thighs tremble every time you hollow your cheeks around him or run your tongue on the underside of his dick. Your hand goes to massage his balls and he throws his head back in sheer pleasure, cursing under his breath.

Never had you given such a messy blowjob before, drool dripping all over him and your free hand going to rub your clit over your panties, cunt aching for him once more. But he throughly enjoyed it like this. How you moaned around him, the way you lapped at his slit and sucked him earnestly. And it goes without saying how much you loved it too.

"Shit, that's it-" you know he's close when his words become incoherent, his breath disjointed and muscles tightened.

You pull back shortly, your hand still jerking him off, "I want to swallow it," you purr, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

"Yes, god- yes."

Despite the lightheaded feeling, you take him in your mouth again, going as far as you could. His eyes lock with yours and that's all it takes for his load to spill all over your tongue and down your throat, his orgasm hitting hard. You do as you said, not giving much thought to it and purely admiring how fine he looked in this precise moment, absolutely lost in his pleasure. Once he finally rode it out, you release him, gently kissing the tip. He sighs loudly, his soft whimpers barely audible as the aftershocks of his high strike his body.

You can't help but smile as you stand in your feet, knees surely bruised. He looks up at you, shaking his head and mirroring your expression before rearranging his pants and straightening his suit. It's like he was seeing you for the first time, now in a completely different light.

"Want a ride home?" your response was obvious.

Javier had completely forgotten the reason why he came to your office in the first place.

And the lack of information gave you the wrong idea of why he really came looking for you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Saturdays were meant to be enjoyed. They were supposed to be rest days, used to spend time with friends or family, maybe go to a club or join someone for a roadtrip. They definitely weren't meant to be dull, and let them pass by with tons of shitty work.

Javier and Steve had been all day locked up in Murphy's apartment, going through some of the most recent information regarding the cartel. Connie was there too, not really participating but giving them moral support and, more importantly, beers. Peña constantly went in and out, going to his own apartment to gather some more papers, and even taking a second shower to clear his head. He was hugely stressed.

"I'm spent." He complained. "Nothing new is going to happen today, I'm dropping this for the night."

His friend nodded in agreement, suddenly distraught by his wife cursing out of nowhere. "Everything alright?"

"It's raining," she said, looking through the window. Javier wasn't paying that much attention until she mentioned your name. "She had a date tonight. I helped her pick up a dress and..."

His head turned at that, wincing. "A date?"

"Yeah, sort of. Mia invited her. You know, the secretary." Steve's eyes narrowed.

"You said you talked to her," he hushed. 

"I did..." Javier clears his throat, "I mean, no. Not exactly."

The blonde frowns, "so what happened, then?" his partner shrugs, a dim grin drawn on his lips. "Actually, I don't want to know."

"I dropped her off here," he explained, "after... Well, it doesn't matter. There just wasn't a particular talk about the subject."

Steve intends to say something, but the other man solely ignores him, gathering his stuff quickly in order to not dive in that distinct topic that could only spur him on in the wrong ways. And frankly, he didn't want to talk about it. All the choices he made were mistaken and it was entirely his own fault.

So what if you had a date? How did that concern him? The other night you were pretty clear about wanting to have something with 'no feelings, no strings attached, just fun'. He was merely helping you out, as a friend. Nothing else. Because, at the end of the day, he couldn't really be anything else besides that. And he wasn't able to figure out if he wanted anything more; much less deserve it.

Javier walked off to his apartment, mind wrapped around you.

The rain had gotten worse since he left, lightings striking across the sky and raindrops crashing violently against the closed windows. The weather did not seem to help dissipate his troubled thinking. He didn't even realize his feet had stopped moving right outside your door, nor when his hand knocked on it.

You were shocked to hear that you had visitors, and the feeling sank deeper when you saw him standing there with a stern face, arms crossed above his chest. He appeared to be upset, in a way you hadn't yet seen him. However, when his eyes roamed your body you were able to pick up on his tensing muscles.

"Am I walking in on something?" he questions lightheartedly.

You shake your head and farther open the door to invite him in. "I had plans today but we had to reschedule."

Javier decided to play dumb, "What sort of plans?" You dismissed the inquiry with a subtle hand gesture, locking behind him. "You look stunning, by the way."

It was nothing but true and it made it difficult for him to focus on whatever he came here to do. Your hair and makeup were done differently tonight and the red dress you were wearing wasn't exactly discrete, but neither revealing.

"Thanks. You yourself look very handsome too." He snorted sarcastically. "But I bet you already knew that."

In your eyes he always did look charming, but at the moment the vibe was outstanding. His hair was curlier than usual, —probably due to the humidity in the air— and he was wearing a black shirt with plenty of undone buttons that gave a nice view of his golden skin, paired with those pants that would just stick to him like a second skin. There was also that tension in his posture that gave a certain roughness to his exterior, in some way making him more alluring.

"So, what brings you here? As I said, I had plans but now that they're off the table..." He wasn't looking at you, playing around with his fingers, "Would you like to watch a movie? I still have the dvd we rented-"

"I need to talk to you." He blurted out, readjusting the watch on his wrist.

You blinked in confusion, "Sure, what is it?"

His mouth dried all of the sudden, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I- don't know how to say this..."

"Maybe sit back and- I'll pour you a drink." You don't wait around for his reply, walking straight to the kitchen. The place wasn't big, so everything was pretty much in the same space.

Javier sat down on the big, brown armchair, feeling the leather crack under his weight. Beside him there was a small reading table decorated with a vintage lamp and an ashtray that you had gotten specifically for whenever he came to visit, along with a pack of smokes. The lights in your apartment were warm and almost all of them were on due to the lack of light that the night and the rainclouds provided. But even now, the chill air from outside could somehow still be felt. Truth be told, it was actually quite cozy to you.

"It's about yesterday," you hear him say while poring some whiskey into two glasses. The mention of the subject makes your heart flutter.

Talk about deja vu.

"Yesterday?" Anxiety drifted your thoughts through the worst scenarios possible. "Oh, don't worry about it, Peña. You don't have to give me 'the talk'. We're still friends, alright? Nothing's changed."

You couldn't possibly tell how he physically flinched at your declaration, neither how much it stung. You cross the living room to sit on the couch across him, barely on the edge of it so your bare legs were still flushed to his knees. He takes the glass you offer, but instead of drinking, he sets it down on the table.

"So it meant nothing to you," the man asks in a low voice. "Right, cariño?"

Shit, of course it meant something. But you could not tell him. Not him.

Javier was the type of man that would sleep with you and then move on. He wasn't a jerk, but this heartless fame that he had didn't help. Telling him about your crush and how the events that went down yesterday simply encouraged it was like signing a death sentence to any bond that you two had at the time. And you sincerely didn't want to say goodbye to whatever it was that you both had built together.

"Yeah, we were just fooling around," you said, taking a sip from the alcohol before placing the glass next to his.

"Fooling around," he echoes your phrase, his mustache twitching prior to swallowing down the drink.

"Whoa- Is everything okay? I feel like you're keeping stuff to yourself." His behavior was starting to get you worried.

"I'm merely realizing how stupid I am." Javier's hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes and he sloppily takes one out.

"What do you mean?" You wonder, moving your feet nervously.

"It doesn't matter," he objects, a sardonic air in his voice and mannerisms. "You got a light?"

Puzzled, you take a lighter from your purse, glancing at him in bewilderment. "Did you want it to mean something?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, "I don't know."

The fag hangs loosely from his lips, but you don't hand him the flame just yet, your next movement catching him completely off-guard.

You stand to sit on his lap, forcing his focus on nothing else besides your presence, your body, on you. His chin tilts upwards, eyes fixed on your face with a perplexed spark.

"Talk to me, Javi," you plead softly, your left hand resting on his exposed chest as the other lights the end of the orange filter, the fire illuminating his dark, beautiful gaze. "For once, be honest me. O por lo menos sé honesto contigo mismo."

His heart pounds relentlessly and he's absolutely sure you can tell. Despite the cold ambience, his skin was burning hot under your touch, muscles finally starting to relax underneath you. Javier takes a long drag, his elbow propped up on the armrest as his other hand lays flat on your spine.

"You already know everything, corazón."

"I do not, Peña." You clutch his shirt in anger. "What's up with you? Ever since I came to Colombia you've been turning my life upside down. You never wanted me to go out with anyone, always using the same stupid excuses about it being 'too dangerous', as if I was just some silly kid that couldn't take care of herself." He feels your weight shift on top of him, and it's so distracting that he can barely keep up. "But you also didn't seem to want me. Every other single woman in this country was worthy of your time and recognition; everyone but me. I've been open with you, I've been vulnerable, and you... you just keep sending this mixed signals that are driving me insane! This push and pull game has to stop. What- What do you want from me?"

Screw it.

Screw all of it.

The nicotine in his system kicked in, your smell probably more intoxicating than the alcohol he just drank. Javier wanted answers, but he needed to be straightforward in order to get them.

"You, sweetheart. I want you."

A small frown forms on your face, "Me?" your voice comes out unsure, "Why me?"

His head jerks backwards, hitting the backrest of the seat, a cloud of smoke dancing in between you from the red, burning dart. "You're seriously asking me why I like you?"

"Clearly."

He laughs wryly. "Yo qué coño he de saber, hermosa. I genuinely don't know. 'Been trying to figure it out for a while now, but it's a dead end. You're naive and short tempered, but also sweet and smart. Too fucking much, I might say. Too smart to be seduced by me." You giggle and as he said before, it's contagious. "Which is why I never told you. I didn't want to... Lose you."

And then it clicks for you.

It wasn't that Javier didn't want to be with you. It was that he didn't want you to be part of his world. Yes, you are young and certainly unaware of many things. In contrast, he feels corrupted. He was part of a crude, violent world that would endanger your safety, sanity— your precious ignorance that kept your life so pure. He convinced himself you didn’t feel the same so he wouldn’t have to face the truth.

It must've been hard for him to admit, you know it. Cause it was for you as well.

"Javi, you know the first thing my coworkers told me when I started hanging out with you?" He smiles playfully and shakes his head briefly. "That they knew I was gullible and I shouldn't fall for your gentlemanly façade, cause I'd only end up with a broken heart." Javier stares back into your eyes fixedly, unfazed by your words. You wriggle on his lap, straddling him. "You wanna know the truth?"

"Enlighten me."

Your dress is hitched up, the naked skin of your legs taunts him, your knees spread around his thighs in a way that has his head spinning. You're electrifyingly close. And yet so far at the same time.

"I tried to listen. But failed miserably," you say lowly. "I- " the pads of his fingers rub soothing circles on your upper leg, "I kinda... Fell for you. Shit, I'd get so jealous when your 'informants' would ring the office's phone."

He smiles, full lips parting around the cigarette. "I fucking knew it." You snort, tracing his collarbones with your index. "Why didn't you do something?"

"I didn't want to be tossed aside," you admit in shame.

His eyebrows twinge slightly as he ashes the filter, "You really think that low of me?", he scoffs.

Up until now, you hadn't realize that those words could potentially hurt him. "No. But I was scared and had to look out for myself. After one disastrous long-term relationship, falling for someone as exciting and... outgoing, wasn't my most clever move."

His body goes limp below you, eyes meeting yours with a hint of yearning mixed with soreness. "I see. I'm an asshole that will break your heart. Anything else?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Javi, that's not what I meant..." you cry, but his gaze is dark and stern, dangerous to a certain extent. It makes your stomach turn to think that you might've offended him. "You know I-"

Nothing else comes out, phrases getting stuck in your throat. His hands are no longer on you and the silence and impassivity he exudes are unbearable.

"Show me," he coaxes, and it takes you second to comprehend what he means, until he talks again. "Show me you're not scared anymore."

In other words, Javier wanted you to prove him how much you wanted him. He blows the smoke right in front of your face and other than finding it annoying, you think it's rather hot.

You duck down, both your hands on his shoulders as you shift your weight on top of him. He still doesn't move a a muscle, solely watching as your lips inch closer to his. When they barely brush against the other's, he vaguely turns his face away, doing this a couple of times as a way to provoke you.

"¿Acaso no quieres besarme?" you grumble.

"Al contrario, corazón." Peña admits, "Pero quiero que tú también lo desees. Quiero que tengas tantas ganas de besarme que no puedas contenerte. That way you'll understand what I've felt for the last five months."

So that was the catch. You give him a smug smile, snatching the cigarette from between his fingers and taking a drag under his piercing gaze, blindly putting it out before crashing your lips against his. Your hands hold his face, thumbs running along his jawline as he eagerly kisses you back. The agent groans when you exhale into his mouth, the smoke rolling off your tongue right into his own.

His hands coast up your thighs, slowly making their way to your ass beneath the fabric of your dress as you sigh against his lips when he firmly squeezes the flesh. The kiss is sloppy and abrasive, needy and sensual. He holds the back of your neck with one hand while his lips travel south, caressing and nipping your jaw and bare shoulders.

You grind your hips against his slowly, feeling the excitement between his legs and your own arousal growing. You watch as he delicately tugs down the straps of your dress, letting them fall loosely on your arms and deepening the low-cut on the front, your breasts spilling out.

"No bra? You really had everything sorted out, didn't you?" His voice is lust-strained, eyes gazing up before burying his face between your tits.

"Christ-"

Your nails dig on his shirt when you find a steady pace that creates just the right amount of friction between your clit and the hard bulge on his pants. All the while, Javier tweaks your nipple with his fingers, flicking his tongue over the other— thus, you become noisier.

"Don't worry, hermosa," he whispers, "I'll make sure to treat you how you deserve. So you won't think of running off with another man ever again."

You hum, ruffling his hair while he worked at your sensitive bud, groping your breast with a hand as the other guided the movements of your hips. You're wet in seconds, the smell of his soap making you all fuzzy, added to the constant stimulation he was providing.

"No, Javier." You huff, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck, peppering kisses all over the exposed area.

Both his hands are now on your hips, barely holding as he lets you do as you please. The buttons of his shirt scrape your delicate nipples, increasing the ache on your cunt. He's panting, growing weak with the sound of your moans, the feeling of your lips on him, your tongue licking the hot skin, —strictly where his pulse could be felt— and Jesus- the way you moved had him throbbing painfully. You take a second to contemplate in gratification just how wild you could drive a man even without actually letting him fuck you. It made you realize exactly how much power you had over him.

"No? No, what?" He muses.

"I don't want any other man. You've ruined me for them." Wordlessly, he follows your motions as you sit back on his legs. His eyebrows jump up when he sees the mess you'd made on his pants, guessing your underwear must be drenched by now. Your fingers creep towards his belt, leisurely undoing it along with the fly. "I didn't want anyone else. And after what happened at my office... I was doomed."

The man exhales heavily, running a hand through your locks. His eyes gleam endearingly —such a rare sight on him—, something you're certain it's strictly for you.

"Kiss me again."

It doesn't sound like an order, but a plea.

And how could you say no to him?

When your lips crash together once more, it's like heaven on earth. Everything's blurry, even the storm outside disappeared. All that matters is this precise moment.

His fingers loom over your panties, gasping in your mouth at the dampness that welcomes him. He rubs his thumb over your clit, snatching a small whine from you as he impatiently pushes the fabric to the side. Instinctively, your hand slithers towards his lower abdomen, grasping the base of his already hard cock to pull it out and slowly coming to rub the wet tip. Gently, you bite his bottom lip before breaking apart from the kiss, making him groan in protest. His digits glide between your folds as he eases two fingers inside, making your knees feel weak around him.

"Fuck, Javi-" you grip his shoulder for support when he adds a third one, fascinated by how responsive your body was reacting. "Please..."

"Hm?" he kisses your temple lovingly, "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"You. Inside." How pathetic, you thought. Begging like this— well, it was certainly something a man like him would love. But you'd never experienced this sort of passion, where you desperately wanted to get dicked-down. Javier showed what it is to want, and to be wanted. "Please, I can't- wait any longer."

"Here?" a faint nod, "you want to take control?"

Timidly, you tug at his shirt and search for his eyes. "I've- I have never done this before... Been on top, I mean."

The agent snorts in disbelief. "Seriously? Can't fucking believe it." He still work at your core, ripping out silly whimpers from you. "No te preocupes por eso, corazón. I can guide you, if that's what you want."

"Yes." You reply almost immediately, "Of course, only if you'd like that too-" he takes his fingers out and guides them straight to his lips, licking them clean.

"I'll do anything you ask, hermosa. Just say the word."

For the love of god.

"You can do with me as you please, Javier." You utter, "I'm yours anyway."

His eyelashes bat twice, taking in your words. Then, his lips curl up in a smile and things happen very quick, in a way you can barely register what's going on. He holds you up with one arm, pulling his pants down just enough to give himself some mobility and manhandling you into a position were you could receive him with no trouble. This way, the head grazes your entrance and the sensation is already making your nerves buzz.

"Go on, sit on it."

You use the back of the seat for support and let the man guide you, feeling your back arch in ecstasy as you slowly adapt to his size. He stretches your walls deliciously, though it takes a lot of effort not to collapse on top of him.

"That's it, baby. You're doing so good,” Javier says, voice shaky between shallow breaths. "You look so pretty taking me like this."

"You're so big-" you manage to say, your hands digging into the leather material to keep yourself put together as you settle every last inch of him inside you. And indeed, he was fucking huge in comparison to anyone else you had before.

"Don't close your eyes," he tells you, "Look at me. Mírame a los ojos, preciosa." And so you do, his dark, ardent gaze is all you can see. "Look into my eyes when you ride."

He fills you up entirely and his words make your chest flutter, absolutely lost in everything he was giving you; his scent, his stare, his body. Simply him. Javier Peña.

You're determined to please him, to show that you can be everything he's ever wanted and more. In the midst of all, you lay a hand on his chest for stability as your hips roll to set a pace, struggling to maintain focus when his cock was hitting spots inside that continuously sent drops of liquid pleasure down your spine.

"That's my girl," he coos, pressing light-feathery kisses to your jaw. "My beautiful girl."

Oh, that was it.

His voice, filled with lust and admiration, makes your head spin and heart pound relentlessly. Even though you want to say something in return, you can't muster up the words, reckless cries being the only sound leaving your lips.

You have completely lost any sanity left in you, consumed by this new light of passion that he has managed to ignite. And Javier loves it. He loved that etching confidence in your eyes and the way your tits bounced in front of his face as you jumped up and down his cock, moaning his name. He's in fucking paradise.

His hands slither towards your ass, splaying his palms to hold you. He helps you out, thrusting his hips up deeply, harshly; filling every spot you were unable to. Your bodies move in synch, unconsciously attuned to recognize each other's desires. It amazes you just how much fulfillment you can receive from sex, when in the past it was nothing more but pain and nuisance, a simple duty to make a man happy. Now you see it: your pleasure was his pleasure too. It became crystal clear with each kiss, every touch or shared glance.

"Javi- I can't..." inevitably, you collapse on his shoulder, your legs growing weaker by the second.

You feel warm all over, the storm sounds mixed with the filthiness of his groans and sexual demeanors thickened the air. He embraces you with one arm around your waist and a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you still and taking over the situation. Your fingernails lightly scratch his scalp as he grinds his cock inside you, building an amazing heat between your thighs and making that bundle of nerves pulse each time it grazed the buttons of his shirt.

In the thick of the moment, you lick the delicate area in the underside of his ear, raising goosebumps on his skin and drawing a gruffly moan from his lips. He can tell how close you are, in fact, he can feel it; your pussy swallowing him whole and clenching tightly around his throbbing shaft, edging him further.

"I won't last," you warn, dragging your nails over his shoulders, under the shirt. "Javi, it's too much- I feel so..."

"Fuck- I know, corazón," he grumbles, his thrusts become rougher and it makes your head spin. "Say it again."

You know what he wants to hear, it's perfectly simple to figure out.

For heaven's sake, he looks divine. His lips slightly parted, head thrown back and a fire gleaming behind his brown orbs, focused merely on you. He grounds you with a grip of steel on your hip while your fingertips roam across his features, wanting to imprint this exact moment in your mind forever.

"I'm yours, Javi." It comes out as a devoted prayer as he leans forward to kiss the hollow of your throat, his teeth and mustache teasing your reddened skin.

"That's right," he grunts, the sound of his hoarse breaths and your dripping cunt suddenly being muffled by a whir in your ears and your vision going hazy. 

Javier takes great pride in your corrupted expression and the broken whines that escape your mouth when you finally reach your high. His pace quickens and he cradles you in his arms, your hands enveloping his neck as your whole body quivers from the intensity of your orgasm, still crashing into you. He can't hold back his own noises, chasing his release desperately while also fucking you through yours. This angle where his lower body is firmly pressed against your pelvis applies new pressure to your clit in a way that has you calling for god.

And the way you soak him down to his thighs, the way you squeeze around his length— has him coming with one last, deep thrust of his hips. He calls your name but you can barely hear it, too distracted by the warmth of his cum inside you.

Even after he's finished, Javier won't let go of you. Not that you want him to anyway.

He takes a second to revel in the moment, knowing he had been craving this ever since he laid eyes on you. You can feel his heart hammering under you, feel the way he —rather slowly— softens inside and both your bodies go limb.

And still, he refuses to part, swaying a palm across your bare back. You feel sore, sticky, but overall, serene. At peace. 

"Javi?" you say his name and it sounded perfectly poised despite your exhausted exterior.

"Mhm?" your hot breath hits his golden skin as you try to settle down your accelerated pulse and failing miserably at the sight of his adoring smile. "What is it, preciosa?"

"Would you stay the night?" He laughs breathlessly at your unsure tone.

"On one condition," he muses, picking your interest. "Promise you won't go out on that date."

"I don't know..." you play dumb, bucking up to get on your feet while struggling with your wobbly legs. "It's not exactly a date so, does it matter?"

You rearrange your dress and ruined underwear, settling on the couch beside him as he mirrors your action.

"Not really, no," he's very aware of your taunting and is willing to lead you on. "But you've made me greedy. Now I want you all to myself."

His words draw a smirk on your face. "Are you saying you'd be jealous?" The agent shrugs, aiming for another cigarette. "I won't go. Though, I ought to give Mia a good excuse for canceling our plans."

Javier smiles cockily, taking the unlit dart to his lips. "Just tell her you've already got a man waiting for you."

[eluxcastar]

Number 13 and 14 with Arlecchino

Arlecchino being comforted by her s/o

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: arlecchino comfort drabbles yesyes

୨୧﹑genre :: sort of fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, possibly ooc because it was written pre fontaine quest, not very proofread, arlecchino is implied to have issues with self-image/perception

୨୧﹑words :: 2.2k

"I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I've met." "I'm going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly."

IT'S HERE you guys always spoil me 13 is my favourite prompt and you are the first of two to request it. completely unrelated but this is so familiar to what Kae said a few days ago (months now omg 😭) when we were talking about One of Repetition and it fits those two so well 😭❤️

to the anon who requested furina it'll take me a minute to figure out how to write her because I haven't played the archon quest but I'll watch some cutscenes and do my best for you

I'll also be using this because I got it in the middle of writing this and thought it fit the idea I had going super well 🙏 that makes three Arlecchino requests with prompt 13 😭 also second anon you're fine dw you guys are free to do with your requests with these prompts as you like, mix them together, add extra descriptions and rambles it makes it more fun 👍 thank you btw 😭❤ feel free to give yourself a name for future requests if you want ❤️ I love having new anons

prompt list

It is not often that Arlecchino shows her doubt, maintaining that half-pleasant façade to hide it all. If all people see is a ruthless woman with no regard for loyalty, then the details don't matter. There's no need to question, no need to dwell. She is one thing and nothing more, and she much prefers for nobody to notice the hesitancy in her drastic decisions, the thin-veiled regret as she watches the children she witnessed grow up go on to become valiant children of the Tsaritsa.

If there is anything more, it is disregarded as her unpredictability. She is a roach in the eyes of others, and perhaps she's ok with that…mostly.

To hear someone say "I love you" is strange to her, though it shouldn't be by now.

It shouldn't be unusual to wake up tangled in the sheets with you by her side or the struggle it ends up being to leave that mess as you try to convince her to spend five more minutes with you. It shouldn't be odd to discover that you've gone ahead and made her tea in anticipation of the time she will wake up or to have you remind her every morning that you hung her coat up to dry after she dumped it over the back of a chair the night before or to see you wandering around going about your own job.

But those events all feel surreal to her, even though she has watched you walk your patrol path a thousand times now, and she has seen you slack off where she sits by the window of Zapolyarny when you think nobody is looking.

You are very real, there's no doubt about that.

The things you do never click with her, however.

Perhaps you are real, but she made up these fantasies after watching you loiter by that one spot in the garden a little too long.

Yet every evening, you meet her in her office after you're officially let off for the day, and you usually bring snacks. You are most definitely there, then, as she watches you struggle to get through the door without damaging whatever you found for her to try, usually only small, a pastry you managed to get that you absolutely mustn't knock from your hands.

"I tried to get something that wouldn't make a big mess all over your stuff," you usually say, sometimes hacking on a 6guilty little "But~ these just looked so good…" to try and excuse you for bringing something that would cover her desk in crumbs.

Arlecchino doesn't mind because you went to the trouble of getting her something.

She got you a special chair to pull up and everything, and anyone else who uses it can deal with the death glare they get or find a different one.

But perhaps she made that up too, conjuring the image of someone fumbling their way through her office door to greet her with a smile, sometimes with jam on your mouth from taste-testing the gifts that she'll point out to you that you hurriedly wipe on your sleeve and pretend it was never there.

Maybe she put that chair there for nothing, and it never really moves, and each time she thinks this, she is sure this fantasy will all disappear.

However, every evening, without fail, as the sun begins to set out the window and the room is dyed an orange hue, the door opens, and there you are again. Delusions can't possibly be that persistent, and you would've scowled at her when she approached you in the hallways if you weren't aware of this relationship.

So it must be real, which she's well and truly aware of. There must be a person out there who sees what she cannot, someone who, by some miracle, manages to see past the things that block out all of the good. How can a person see anything but someone unworthy of their love?

What else is there to see? 

The idea of a person who deserves to be loved beneath bloodshed has become unthinkable.

For a person who has been exposed to Arlecchino's worst sins, who has seen everything, and whose worst offence in life is a little laziness on the job, how is it possible to look at her and smile?

Arlecchino often wonders as she watches you. She how you go through your routine of placing your things down, whether on the desk or beside them, then all too happily mosey on off to get your chair and drag it over to sit across from her. She doesn't know why it's this particular day that she asks. Perhaps the fact it was weighing on her mind after a recent mission had her list of redeeming qualities shrinking further and further. It is in her job description, and there are plenty of worse people in this world.

But do you deserve to be stuck with one of them?

"Did you ever feel pressured into accepting my feelings for you?" Arlecchino asks the question so suddenly as you're halfway through walking back with your chair that she sees the exact point you register what she said, freezing in place from the shock. "Whether through status or power," she adds.

You blink a few times before all the motion in your world resumes to greet you with the image of her staring you down from the other side of her desk, patient and waiting for your response. "Sorry?" You let the chair go to return alone to her, standing in the place where you always put it. "I don't, uh…follow? I'm sorry, I just— I'm not sure what you mean?"

She hesitates, momentarily glancing down before her age returns to you and your uncharacteristic expression riddled with worry. She must've made you upset again.

"You want to be in this relationship? With me, that is…" Arlecchino struggles to think of the words, saying them as soon as they appear in her mind. "Even though you know the kind of person I am, you still want that?" 

She studies your face as carefully as she can, watching the way you react as you absorb everything you just heard and assumedly try to put a response together in your head. Arlecchino has noticed before how you take longer to speak than her sometimes, but it tends to make everything you say more thought out, though you may end it like you're unsure.

"Well, I mean…if I didn't, wouldn't I just—" you pause for only a second— "break up with you?" There's silence after you finish. She doesn't say or do anything. To Arlecchino, that strangely almost makes sense, but you must be far too bold to admit that to a Harbinger. "It's not that I want to! I'm a little--…well, I think I'm just a little bit confused where that's coming from."

"I was thinking about it." You frown when she admits that. "Some of the things you have seen of me are…" Is there even a word to encompass that? "unbecoming of a lover."

Is that the right way to phrase it?

Again, you pause, and the telltale signs of consideration cross your face. An intense focus that barely lasts, and Arlecchino waits through it all to allow you your chance to answer, intent on allowing you that much. A few seconds more, and your features relax, looking back at Arlecchino with a tender gaze. "There's not really one 'right way', is there?" Your question, though rhetorical, strikes a chord with the many impulsive responses that flood her mind, all of which she keeps to herself. "You just kind of...try your best. Things might work out, or maybe they don't— the point is that you mean well and put in the work."

"That's not enough," she argues, "you deserve better."

"I deserve what I want." Your rebuttal makes sense in theory, but what do you want? She struggles to make sense of that part, the answer muddled by all of her thoughts and lost in her doubts. 

You could ask anything of her, and she would do it. Any material possession, every feeling, more love than you know what to do with in any form you desire—physical, emotional, intimate—and yet you never do. You accept her awkward hugs, that it takes her time to relax when you lay your head on her chest, the fact she sometimes snores, that her clothes may very well be covered in bloodstains when she comes home depending on uncontrollable circumstances.

You never ask for the things she has plenty of power to give you in return for those flaws.

She shakes her head, "but surely you want more."

"I don't."

"There is a lot wrong that you deserve compensation for." 

Arlecchino clenches the pen in her hand tightly, feeling the slight distress of pressure around it. She can't articulate what, not in the way she understands it; flaws is too broad of a term to use. You would instantly know and understand what she meant in a perfect world, but the world is not so generous.

"Like what?" you question. You feel that it’s obvious that nothing Arlecchino will struggle to say will shake you. She opens her mouth, prepared to refute it, headstrong and frankly stubborn as ever, but nothing comes out.

There is silence for a moment, and no one rebuts what you say. Nobody can. The only other person in the room fights with herself to yield and give in to your unwavering loyalty. In your mind, she is everything you want. There is nothing else you can ask of her than to simply accept that you wish to remain with her if only she will allow you to through her own emotional turmoil.

"Are you listening to what I’m saying?" you ask, frown creeping back onto your face as it tugs the corner of your lips down, seemingly against your will, "I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met."

Another chord is struck, her heart beating so loud it thrums in her ears like suddenly becoming aware it’s been threatening to beat out of her chest the entire conversation. She breathes, shaky and caught up in her own surprise. Somehow, she didn’t expect you to be so sweet in your words or throw her off guard so abruptly. She finds it hard to believe them. Arlecchino’s worries haven’t disappeared, only dwindled. It helps, if not completely. There is a reprieve in listening to you.

You have seen the worst of her, every crease she hasn’t ironed out, her sometimes rotten personality, her stained clothes, the weapons she cleans in your home. You have seen her walk to greet you covered in blood and gore from a savage fight, kneel before you and hold your hand with the same hands she uses to kill vagrants and petty criminals, kiss your skin with those lips that spill the vilest of curses against her enemies.

Before she realises what she’s saying, she blurts out a question, "Do you really believe that?" 

It is quiet, reminiscent of how gently you looked at her earlier as her voice barely breaks a whisper, and she can’t bring herself to break eye contact with you once she finds the courage to make it.

"I do." 

You smile at her, hoping she will smile back. A faint smile graces Arlecchino’s lips, ever the handsome picture. Her sincerity is comforting after such a scare. You still worry, and perhaps you will never stop with the way her mind likes to trick her. How long had she thought you secretly looked at her with disgust this time? You fear you won’t have an answer again, though you desperately wish for one. As much as you notice her awkwardness, dismissing some of it and observing other parts with more scrutiny, it is hard to make her talk to you at times.

"Thank you." It is all Arlecchino can think to say in response as she forgets what else she was going to challenge you on. It will return eventually, and she will face it again, but for now, it settles. Arlecchino can reasonably bury her doubt for a time.

"Can we keep talking?" you ask. 

"About anything," she confirms with a nod.

You turn away, walking across the room in pursuit of retrieving your chair from its designated spot by the wall. You pull it along, dragging it over the floor, and set it down across from her on the other side of the desk you’ve been talking across. Your seat welcomes you as it always does as you settle into place, now comfortably at eye level with her.

"In that case," you begin, taking the pen she holds and wriggling it from her hands. She relinquishes it without much of a fight, allowing you to place it off to the side out of the way. "I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly."

"Anything for you, my love."

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Jason Dean dating someone who's transmasc

Warnings: brief mentions of transphobia, canon typical stuff such as bullying, swearing, violence, murder, etc, slight suggestive things but nothing that's full on smut (I might make another post with that later), smoking (because we all know our boy JD smokes like a chimney), mentions of dysphoria, mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, some forcemascing by JD (sorry I couldn't resist)

A/N: I did a Veronica version of this like two years ago and since I'm currently obsessed with JD (and it's pride month) I felt the urge to write one for him too (also because I've come to the conclusion that I might just be transmasc and not genderfluid so this is mostly just written for me)

I wanna start off by saying that yes JD is an asshole, but he'd never be (intentionally) transphobic. However, if he thought you were trans then he would push your buttons a little bit to see how long it would take you to admit it, especially if you met before you came out

Let's say you two started dating when you still saw yourself as a girl or something (I know that JD's supposed to be "straight" or whatever but he's bisexual to me okay fight me on it). If he saw you acting a little uncomfortable being referred to as his girlfriend or having to use the women's restroom at school he would 100% call you out on it

Not in a degrading way or anything like that, just to see how you would react to it. The second you start to get defensive or give him the silent treatment he shuts up, not only because he accomplished what he set out to do but also because he feels a little bad

Eventually you just decide to rip off the bandaid and come to terms with the fact that you're actually a trans guy, him being one of the first people you tell. His only real response to this "startling revelation" is to look at you and go "Yeah I kind of figured that one out for myself already, I was just waiting for you to"

Your worries that he'd want to break up with you after telling him disappeared almost immediately as you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at him. "Ha ha, very funny smartass"

If you decide you want to cut your hair shorter then he will absolutely offer to help you with it, insisting that there's no reason for you to go to a professional with him there (it's totally not just because he's very possessive and would never let anyone else touch your hair other than him, that's crazy)

You may have wore his clothes some before, but he practically begs you to do it after you come out. Why would you ever need to go shopping when you can just raid his closet, y'know? Plus seeing you in them really turns him on

He gets ten times more protective afterwards too, constantly following you around to make sure you're okay. You could have classes that take place at the same time on opposite sides of the school and he'll always skip his to join you. Eventually the teachers just move his class schedule around to match with yours since he never attends his anyway

Always has an arm wrapped around you no matter what, especially if he sees someone like Kurt and Ram passing by. It's best to distract him with kisses or something so he won't hear the things they call you and get mad (he hears them anyway but can't resist making out with you so he lets it slide for the time being)

Speaking of making out, he does it with you everywhere and all the time, whether it's a modern au or the 80s. He's not worried about what people say or do, usually letting his gun do all the talking. He shoots them is what I'm trying to get at here lol

Most people are much too scared to even breath too loud near you because of your attack dog boyfriend but if it ever does happen that you get bullied (whether that be verbally or physically) he will go out of his way to make sure the local morgues, cemeteries, and funeral homes have plenty of business

Feeling anxious or stressed about having to spend time with/be around someone who misgenders/deadnames you? Just let him tag along. He might not say much but what he will do is very passive-aggressively correct said person on their "mistakes". It pretty much always works as no one wants to argue with a guy who frequently carries a gun

It's not the best habit around but he probably gets you hooked on smoking at least occasionally, especially if he hears you complain about your voice being too high. Oh, you're worried that you sound too feminine and "girly"? He has the perfect way to get you that low and gravelly voice that you want! You think he's talking about voice training or something until he hands you a pack of cigarettes and with the most serious expression ever says "these will do wonders"

Even if you don't smoke religiously like he does it's kind of hard to resist it completely given how often he lights up a cigarette (and yes, he will blow smoke into your face, because while he loves you he's also an asshole and thinks it's funny when you wrinkle up your nose in disgust at him)

He's not the best at comforting you when it comes to days where you feel dysphoric. Like, he won't flat out say that he thinks you're acting ridiculous because he knows it would only make things worse, but he's also not great when dealing with emotions, so the most he might do is let you cling to him while he gives you a few awkward pats on the back

If this goes on for days borderlining on weeks, however, that's when he'll start to act less sensitive and give you a bit of tough love. "What are you talking about saying that you 'don't look like a guy'? Are you crazy? You really think life would be better if you were still living as a girl? Do you honestly think that would make you happy?"

It surprisingly works, believe it or not. Even if you know he's purposely trying to rile you up it ends up making you feel better and more confident in yourself. Anytime he notices you starting to slip back into feelings of self doubt or insecurity, he just wraps you up in his arms and whispers soft encouragements in your ear. "You were never a girl, you just need to work a little bit harder than others to grow into the man that you are. If anything, that's a testament to your strength for being able to do that"

This certainly happens whenever you're on your period and feel grouchier or less confident than usual. "You're so strong for being able to endure this every month, did you know that? You're much braver than I am, I doubt I'd be able to get through it as well as you"

Sometimes you almost start crying because of how emotional his words make you feel, and sometimes you roll your eyes with annoyance while muttering "you're a condescending asshole" under your breath. Either way it ends up making you feel better, especially when he offers to rub your lower abdomen when your cramps get too bad

If you decide to start HRT then he wants to be there to help you take the shots, even if you insist you can do it yourself (he likes being part of the process of helping you "turn into" a man). Same thing if you use T gel or whatnot, he gets really pouty if you ever apply it without him

He's not really the best person to do "guy bonding" activities with unless you like making pipe bombs or planning the murders of people you hate (hypothetically speaking, of course) but if there's anything like that you want to try out then he'll definitely be there to support you. Like I don't know, hunting/fishing? Or watching sports games while drinking beer? Or breaking out the toolbox and fixing things around the house? Sorry I don't really know things that guys do despite being one myself 😭

The only exception to that is probably car maintenance. I see him as being very protective over his motorcycle and learning how to take care of it himself so he doesn't have to worry about taking it to the shop and having them screw it up. He'd be happy to teach you about how to change your own oil and might even teach you how to ride it as long as you don't accidentally scratch up his paint job. He might not kill you for it, but he will be very upset and end up ignoring you for a few hours afterwards

Purposely introduces/refers to you as his boyfriend in front of others just to see your face light up with confidence. It's not like JD has a lot of friends or anything but anyone that he does know feels as if they've met you already because of how he much he talks about you (he's totally that one annoying person you know who never shuts up about their partner ever)

All in all, I'd say he's a relatively good boyfriend in general, but especially if you're transmasc. Solid 8/10 (one point was deducted for his slight insensitivity and another was due to his crazy streak. Sorry JD I promise I still love you </3)

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End notes: this ended up being much longer than I anticipated but I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever at all

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[pinkiemachine]

GOTHAM FILES: SEASON 4

Jason Todd is dead. Bruce Wayne will never be the same. He stops going to and hosting galas, the paparazzi haven’t seen him in months—his own company hasn’t seen him in months—and the only times his closest friends and family ever see him is when he’s Batman. He’s barely left the Cave. He’s barely eating. He’s not talking to anyone. He’s beating villains to a pulp even more than usual, and he’s obsessed with trying to track down the Joker. This time… it might not matter if he’s set himself against killing… this time… maybe he just doesn’t have the self control. He wants revenge. Everyone is worried about him, and not Dick, not Barbara, not even Alfred can get through to him.

Enter Tim Drake (13).

Tim was a rich kid who lived in the same neighbourhood as Bruce—just down the road at another fancy-pants house with wealthy parents and a lavish lifestyle. The most notable thing about him, however, is that he’s got a genius level IQ… and he’s a fanboy of Batman. He had scoured the internet for clips of him caught on tape, had written a college-level paper about him in high school (Because he got moved ahead two grades), and at the moment, he’s getting worried about his hero. If what he’s seeing is correct, Batman is… starting to go off the deep end. The last criminal found by the police was barely breathing, which is not the Caped Crusader’s style. Something is wrong. Tim wants to find some way to talk to him (1, because he wants to meet his hero, and 2, because surely these extreme take-downs have a reasonable explanation, like there’s another vigilante in town doing this, or something). The deeper Tim goes, the more the name Bruce Wayne keeps popping up. It’s mostly just coincidences, though—the two of them never crossing paths despite the fact that Batman has saved Wayne Ent. before, Bruce Wayne coming back to Gotham after vanishing for eight long years, and then just a few months later, the Batman rumour started, stuff like that. But again, Tim can’t count them as anything more than coincidences… until he hears his parents talking about their neighbour Bruce. He hasn’t been seen or heard from for a long while now, and when they tried to phone, to ask if they could invite him over for dinner like old times, the butler said that Bruce wasn’t accepting any invitations right now. And this on the heels of the recent Robin vanishing? Tim had to check it out. Maybe Bruce was funding Batman’s exploits—like they were working together?

So one day, after school, he goes and spies on Wayne Manor. The rumours are true—Bruce does only have one butler. Weird for a guy as rich as him, especially in a house as big as this. And sure enough, he never caught any glimpses of Bruce in the manor, despite the fact that the butler had made it sound like his employer was home. Tim can’t be there all the time, though, so he sets up cameras to monitor the house. The next day, he finds the cameras all broken laying on his bedroom balcony. Now he’s even more determined to figure out what’s going on. So he hides one more camera extra well and he manages to catch a glimpse of a dark car that looks a lot like the Batmobile leaving the grounds of the house, but not on the main road. He has to do some triangulating and other smart stuff to figure out where the car had come from and eventually discovers a hidden entrance. To what, he’s not sure, but he’s getting excited. So he uses his big brain to fiddle with the wires of the special door he finds behind a waterfall and then he follows a dark tunnel into—THE BATCAVE. He’s flabbergasted. This has been here all this time!? He spends way too much time down there, geeking out, then tries to get a grip. He doesn’t know when Batman will be back, he has to decide what he’s going to do now.

Batman gets an alert that one of the secret doors to the cave is malfunctioning, so he heads back. He runs into the cave, expecting a criminal, but instead finds a 13-year-old boy sitting at the Bat Computer, waiting for him. Immediately, Batman tells him to get out. Tim tries to ask a few questions—respectfully, at first—like, are you okay? What happened to Robin? What’s been going on with you lately? But he sort of answers his own questions now that everything’s been laid out in front of him… and the Robin suit is right over there, in a glass case. Batman continues to get more and more aggressive with Tim, trying to physically force him to leave and threatening him and his parents if he ever thinks about spilling his secret identity, and just like that, Tim is banned from Wayne Manor. But he’s not giving up. His hero needs saving. He needs a Robin. (Or, that’s how he views it, anyway.)

While Tim was in the cave, he thought about stealing some gadgets, but he knew Bruce would catch him. Instead, he stole their blueprints on a hard drive and makes his own *improved* versions. He also makes his own Robin costume and away he goes, sneaking out one night to find Batman in Gotham. Which he does… followed immediately by Batman getting angry at him again and telling him to go home. Tim stands his ground, though. He’s not going to leave his side until he knows that Bruce is okay. This isn’t him, this isn’t Batman, he needs a reality check. He needs to be a hero again! Over and over this happens, with Tim pressing in more and more, following him around on missions until finally Bruce breaks. Silently, he takes Tim to the cemetery where Jason is buried. Tim pays his respects. Bruce asks if Tim has ever lost someone he cared about. Tim says no. But even so… he doesn’t want to lose Batman. Bruce hasn’t realised it, but he’s been making an incredible difference in Gotham. The streets are, by and large, getting safer. The police force is starting to shape up. He’s inspired other vigilantes to rise up, like Batgirl. He’s saved the world with the Justice League! He’s a hero! Or, at least, he was… until he started going dark. Maybe he just needs to take a break from being Batman for a while—

“No!”

Bruce won’t let Tim finish. He could never stop being Batman. Batman is the only thing keeping him going right now. It was his training that kept him from tearing himself up over his parents death, it was being Batman and saving the world with Robin that helped him get to an even better place, and right now, if he stops fighting, the only thing he’ll be left with is the empty Manor and memory of Jason and how he couldn’t save him. Tim takes his arm and invites him to go on a little trip. Tim’s dad sometimes takes him out to their second house in the country where they go fishing at the lake. It’s quiet out here. The trees are nice. The water’s nice. Tim and Bruce just shoot the breeze and catch some fish together. And Bruce… doesn’t have a terrible time. Tim can be a little pushy and he might think he’s got all the answers (when he really doesn’t) but he’s a hoot to watch when he tries to be “outdoorsy.” He’s not exactly the best at setting up his rod, or casting the line, or catching the fish, or basically anything to do with fishing, so Bruce ends up having to help him out, and… it turns into a nice little day trip. Bruce isn’t healed… and he’ll probably never heal… but at least… at least now he doesn’t feel completely alone. Tim makes sure that he never feels alone. He keeps following him on missions, and Bruce eventually just accepts that he’s got a new Robin now. But he’s not going to make the same mistake twice. He’s very strict with Tim and makes sure that he never disobeys orders. If he puts one toe out of line, he’s done.

On into the season we go, meeting new villains like Cluemaster, and also new heroes, like his daughter, Spoiler. She was fed up with her abusive, criminal father, and decided to help out Batman by spoiling his elaborate schemes. Once they helped take down Cluemaster together, Spoiler began to pop up again… a lot. She’d developed something of a crush on Tim, you see. And he was about to meet his match in terms of someone who’s persistent. Bruce thought it was very satisfying karma.

Nightwing and Batgirl are both let back into Bruce’s life over time, and things begin to move forward again.

The Hush storyline takes place in this season.

THEN Tim’s parents find out about his vigilante shenanigans and force him to stop, prompting Spoiler to temporarily take up the mantle of Robin. But then she and Bruce get into trouble, and Tim sees what’s happening live on the news, and he knows that he has to do something! Tim’s struggle to remain loyal to both his parents and his duty as a crime-fighter leads him to have a big argument with his dad. Like, “if you put on that mask again, we’re cutting you out of the will” kind of big. Which then escalates to, “I’d rather be poor and save Bruce’s life than be rich and let him die!” Which then leads to Tim getting kicked out. His father secretly hopes that this method of “tough love” will snap Tim out of the stupid ideas he’s got in his head, and that sooner or later he’ll come running back, but… all this does is hurt Tim tremendously. But there’s no time to wallow just now. He’s got to get to the Batcave! He goes, he helps save the day, Batman and Spoiler are alive, she hands the title of Robin back to Tim, and Tim explains about his situation to Bruce. When Bruce tries to fix things, though, Tim and his dad refuse to speak to one another. For the moment, it looks like Tim will be staying at the Manor.

Throughout this whole season, though, something’s been brewing in the background. Ra’s is moving again. He’s been popping up a little bit here and there over the last few seasons, but it’s nothing noteworthy. No big schemes… except for when he tried working with the Joker back at the end of Season 3. Ra’s was trying to cook up a new plan that involved Jason, but it had to get scrapped when Joker went off script and blew up the building. Now Joker’s on Ra’s “I don’t like you” list. Which is an extensive list. Anyway, Ra’s does still want Bruce to marry Talia and join the family business, so before the funeral, way back when, he went and stole Jason’s body in the dead of night. Jason is then brought to the League’s secret headquarters in Nepal where it’s revealed how Ra’s has been able to master all these fighting forms to perfection: he’s hundreds of years old! And he’s been keeping himself alive using a secret “Fountain of Youth” called the Lazarus Pit. With it, he brings Jason back to life.

DUN DUN DUN!!!!

END OF SEASON JUMP SCARE!!!

Oh, and after this season comes THE NEW TEEN TITANS and YOUNG JUSTICE!!! See, Tim gets a look at how the TTs are kinda not really teens anymore… and the team hasn’t really been active for a while… shoot, one of the members is a Justice Leaguer now. So he comes up with the idea for Young Justice, the B team as it were for the Justice League. Meanwhile, he revamps the Teen Titans (the NEW Teen Titans) and sets it up as like a training thing for young superheroes who might go on to join Young Justice or The League. ✨

Stay tuned for more!

Part 5 👇

Part 3 👇

[television-overload]

What Really Happened

(an NCIS fanfic)

September 2024. Tali has some questions about her parents' trip to Paris nearly fifteen years prior, and she's determined to get the details.

Written for the September 2024 Tiva Fic Challenge! This month's prompt was "Jet Lag: What Really Happened?"

Read on AO3

For as long as Tali could remember, her father had told her a story. 

Twenty-four hours in Paris. A whirlwind trip, romantic and magical. The thing is, every time he told the story, it was different. Details changed, dialogue was exaggerated to unbelievable proportions… What it lacked in detail, it made up for in sentimentality. 

“And then I told her she was the most beautiful thing in the city, even prettier than the Eiffel Tower when it sparkles.”

“Did you kiss?” Tali would ask, eyes twinkling.

“Uh, yeah, of course. Now will you go to bed?”

Tali could see, now, he just told her whatever would get her to sleep the quickest. While she hadn’t understood back then, it couldn’t have been easy to be so suddenly thrust into fatherhood with no warning. But it never mattered to her. He was her Abba, and he was the best dad she could have asked for.

“No, tell me more!” she’d demand. “What did Ima look like?”

He would adjust the frame on her bed stand, gazing wistfully at the picture within.

“She looked like an angel, just like you.”

Only a few things stayed the same with every retelling, as far as she could figure: Her mother and father together in Paris, a quaint cafe not far from the tourist sites, and a Vespa scooter that they rode around the city together. 

That all may have suited her just fine as a bedtime story when she was little, but Tali was almost eleven years old, now. She could tell she wasn't being told the full truth, and she had a feeling some of the details he would recite were entirely fabricated. She'd done the math, compared the story with what she knew of their lives before she was born—what others who knew them then had told her. Oh yeah, she had sources.

It just didn’t match up.

Time to test out those detective skills to get to the bottom of it. Surely those were genetic?

There was a box in her parents’ closet. It had been there as long as they’d lived here, shipped over from the U.S. when they first moved. Mostly, she figured it held boring stuff like paperwork and whatever else had been in her father’s desk at NCIS before he quit. But maybe there was more. Maybe it contained all the answers to every question she’d ever wondered about her parents.

Or maybe not.

Kneeling on the floor of the closet, she surveyed the contents of the plain cardboard box. It was a mess of papers. Considering the journey it had taken across an ocean and later from their old apartment to their new one, she wasn’t surprised. There were a few other items mixed in, a colorful stapler with a cartoon mouse on it, a few dusty looking service awards…

And an envelope. Now that looked promising.

Reaching in, she pulled it out, growing more and more certain that what she held was a stack of photographs. Photographs of what, she could only guess. Had she found clues that might explain what her parents had been doing in Paris years before they would ever move here? If not, what other pictures might her father have kept in his desk at work?

She held her breath as she opened it, carefully plucking at the corner of one of the colorful prints as she pulled it from the stack.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Tali jumped, only narrowly avoiding throwing the pictures across the room in reflex.

“Ima!” she squeaked, wondering if it was too late to hide them behind her back. The box wasn’t off-limits, per se, but it did have a sort of mystical quality that made digging around in it feel like a breach of some code. It was from a time long past—a time her parents didn’t talk about much, at least when she was around.

But there her mother stood in the doorway to her room, arms crossed over her chest as she fixed a suspicious glare in her direction.

“I was just—”

Her words trailed off as her mother’s expression quickly shifted from suspicion to curiosity. “What do you have there?” she asked, her folded arms falling to her sides as she made her way across the room, glancing down at the box splayed open in the closet.

Tali held out the envelope. Well, this had been a mission failure, she thought—at least the stealthy, ninja-like aspect of it. It remained to be seen if she had in fact found what she was looking for. 

“Just some pictures, I think,” she mumbled, handing them over reluctantly.

Her ima slipped them out of the envelope and flipped through them, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a wistful smile.

“Honey, I’m home!” a voice singsonged from the entry hall, echoey and distant. 

Her dad. 

He’d started saying that when he got home from work as a joke, but now he did it unironically. It got old pretty quick, but she did find it endearing, in a way. 

“Hey, where is everybody?” he asked, his voice getting louder and clearer with proximity. Before long, he was peeking his head around the doorway. “Uh oh, am I in trouble?” he asked, taking note of the box at their feet. “I swear I threw out those old magazines before we moved.”

Tali briefly wondered what magazines he could possibly be talking about, and why he would have a physical copy of a magazine in the first place, but she was much more interested in the photos her mom was holding.

“Look what our daughter found,” her ima said, waving the glossy prints in her father’s direction.

“Not the… in California…”

Her ima laughed. “No. Not those ones.”

Her father looked somewhat relieved. “Ah, then it must be the ones from my brief stint as a travel photographer,” he mused aloud, setting his briefcase aside and approaching their huddle by the closet. He took one look at the photos in her hand and grinned. “I still think that’s my favorite picture, by the way,” he said, nodding down at the one she held separate from the others, then dipping down to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“I didn’t actually get to see them,” Tali pouted, crossing her arms with a huff. “Ima took them away before I could see what they were.”

Her mother shared a look with her father, communicating in that infuriatingly wordless way they always did. What were they smirking at?

“Why don’t we go sit down on the couch in the living room and we can look through them together, my love,” Ima said at last, flicking off the light in the closet. 

Tali supposed that was agreeable. Whatever she had found, she could at least now be certain they were photos from her parents’ past. She followed them out to the sofa, taking a seat between them on the cushions.

“You know what these are?” her mother asked, finally granting her a peek at what she had unearthed from the box.

It took all her self control not to whoop in excitement when she spotted familiar streets and buildings in just the first few photos. 

Jackpot. 

“Dad told me,” she said, smiling as she came across one of Ima looking through postcards at a shop. That must be her father’s favorite. “You guys came to Paris.”

Her mother nodded. “We were sent here for work, that’s right.”

Wait, go back a second.

“For work?” Tali asked, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “Dad never told me that.”  

“He—” Ima’s head slowly turned in her father’s direction, fixing him with a meaningful glare. “What did he tell you?” she asked, her tone light and inquisitive, but Tali could sense the undercurrent of tension her comment had sparked. Dad was in troubleee.

She glanced at him quickly before answering. “Well… It all sounded very… romantic,” she spoke. To her left, her father looked like he was trying to disappear into the cushions, an awkward grin pulling at his lips. 

Oh, Abba, surely you knew this would one day come back to bite you?

“Tony!” Ima shouted predictably, smacking him in the arm. “Why did you lie to Tali?”

“I didn’t lie to her,” he asserted, chuckling nervously.

“You told me that you kissed her on the Eiffel Tower!” Tali said, adding fuel to the flame. Ima's jaw dropped, and she shot him a look. It was funny to watch her dad squirm. Only Ima could make him do that.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I may have embellished a little,” he acknowledged.

Her mother grabbed the nearest throw pillow off the couch and used it to wallop him in the face, all the while concealing a smile. A woosh of air from the attack blew Tali’s hair back, and she giggled uncontrollably, falling back into the cushions.

“Tony, you have never kissed me on the Eiffel Tower,” she countered irritably.

“I haven’t? Well, we should go fix that,” he said, pretending to get to his feet to leave.

Tali rolled her eyes. “Daaaad.”

He sat back down. “Alright, another time,” he acquiesced. “To be fair, what happened in Paris has always been a bit of a secret between your mom and I. I distinctly remember you lying to Nora on that plane, sweetcheeks.”

“And you lied to McGee,” her mom fired back without missing a beat.

“I knew it,” Tali whispered. Okay, so she knew a little more than she was letting on. Uncle Tim will be delighted that she got a confession out of them.

“I’ll admit it,” Dad started, getting serious once more. “The bedtime story version wasn’t quite the truth.” 

Well yeah, that was obvious. 

“The truth is, we were on assignment for NCIS,” he continued. “Not very romantic, huh? I guess the way I told it is how I wish it had happened. How it should have happened, if I hadn’t been such a coward.”

This brought a fond, slightly sad smile to her mother’s face, and Tali could feel an arm drape over the back of the couch behind her.

“I wouldn’t say it was entirely unromantic,” Ima said, her fingers playing with the short hair at the back of her dad’s head. “She is old enough to hear this story, yes?” she said, her eyes imploring him to agree with her.

“Most of it,” he answered, breathing out a laugh. “I think she can live without the knitting needle incident until she’s a little older.”

“Agreed.”

Tali crossed her legs on the couch, looking back and forth between her parents. She waited with bated breath for the story to begin, but they sure were taking their sweet time.

Sometimes this happened. They'd just go silent and stare at each other with dopey smiles on their faces until someone or something snapped them out of it. It was annoying.

“Hello?” she said, hopefully reminding them of her presence. “You were saying?”

Her dad was the first to break eye contact, reaching out for the stack of photos and flipping through them.

“Right,” he started. “Do you want to start, or should I, sweetcheeks?”

“You go,” Ima said with a nod. “I want to see if you are capable of remembering this correctly.”

Dad opened his mouth as if to argue, but Tali, with the gift of foresight, distracted him with a question before he could start.

“So, what was the assignment?” she asked, blinking up at him imploringly.

“Protection detail,” he answered, shifting his attention back to her. “A witness who needed safe passage back to the U.S. for a trial. Nora was her name.”

“So you just went there to pick her up and that was it?” Tali asked, desperately hoping that wasn't the case. How boring would that be? No, she knew they had fond memories of the trip. There had to be more than that.

“Pretty much,” her dad answered. “But we flew in the day before, so we got to explore a little bit.”

“Tell me!”

Her mother chuckled, shaking her head at Tali's eagerness.

“Your father wouldn't stop making movie references the entire time we were in the city,” she said. “I think as soon as we stepped foot in the airport, he thought we were on some kind of grand adventure. I had to remind him we were there on business, and that we needed to check into the hotel before doing anything else.”

“You should have seen McGee's face when the Director picked us to go,” her dad said with a laugh. “Oh, it was priceless.”

“What happened next?” Tali implored.

Her father crossed his arms and kicked his feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Well, your mom convinced me that we needed to go drop our stuff off at the hotel first, so we caught a taxi. Secretly, I think she just wanted to freshen up, fix her hair and makeup and all that after being stuck on a plane for so long. She had a crush on me back then, you know.”

His eyes met her ima’s here, one eyebrow twitching upward teasingly.

“Oh, shut up,” Ima said, rolling her eyes.

“It's true!”

“Not a crush, that was earlier. This was something different.”

“Looove?” he singsonged, his grin infectious.

“Nooo,” Ima sang right back, matching his tone. “I do not know. Maybe. I do not think even I knew what it was at the time.”

“Well I was pretty in love with you,” he responded, practically radiating heart eyes in her direction. “Obviously.”

“You were not so obvious. I thought you were just being a goofball,” Ima spoke.

Any easy mistake, Tali thought.

“I was trying to flirt with you, but clearly I didn't succeed,” he corrected. “You know, Tali, your mom refused to go sightseeing with me.”

Tali turned to her mother, surprised. “What? Why?”

“We had a mission, I was trying to keep things professional,” she said in her defense. “It was in the best interest of our witness that we get a good night's rest and stay on task.”

Yeah, but that sounded boring.

Her father, evidently, agreed. “You're no fun,” he said with an exaggerated pout.

“I went to dinner with you, didn't I?” Ima asked.

He begrudgingly nodded. “She did go to dinner with me, I'll give her that.”

“And was the dinner not romantic?”

“Hard to find somewhere to eat that doesn't fit that description in this city,” he countered.

Ziva waved her hand in the air with finality. “There you go.”

Tali couldn’t help but feel that they’d gotten a little off track, but it was still fun to hear about their time together before she was born. She tried to picture them, younger than she’d ever seen them and probably a little wilder, too. She wanted to know more.

“So you went to dinner,” Tali summarized, nudging them to tell the rest of the story. “You didn't go anywhere else?”

Ima jumped in next. “Well, your father… He had rented a scooter—you know about the scooter,” she said, referring to the one in the picture Tali still kept on her nightstand. Tali nodded emphatically. This was one element of the story that had remained consistent throughout every retelling. Her mother continued, “He got us so lost on the way back to the hotel after dinner, that eventually I had to tell him to stop so I could ask someone for directions.”

At this, her father looked highly pleased with himself, his small smile concealing an even wider grin. 

“Can I let you in on a little secret, sweetcheeks?” he said.

“Hm?”

“I wasn't lost. I knew exactly where we were the whole time.”

Ima’s jaw dropped open, and Tali thought her dad was lucky that Ima was all out of pillows on her side of the couch that could be used as ammunition.

“Tony! We drove around for at least an hour!” she chastised. 

“Exactly! How else was I going to take you to look at the pretty lights around the city, or to all the big tourist sites?”

“I cannot believe you.”

“Come on, you loved it,” he said knowingly, tilting his head at her. “You got to put your arms around me for a whole hour.”

Ima raised an eyebrow and Tali could tell she was determinedly resisting the urge to laugh. “Are you sure that was not your motivation for it, then?”

“Oh, it absolutely was,” he answered easily. “If that was the only time I'd get to feel your arms around me, I was gonna make the most of it.”

Blegh, Tali thought. That was one thing that made her different from most kids in her class. Her parents really really loved each other. And they weren’t afraid to show it.

“I did enjoy it,” Ima admitted. “I liked that cologne you used to wear.”

“Well, that's good,” he said, smiling, “I practically drenched myself in it whenever I knew I'd be working in close quarters with you. I think maybe I hoped it would be like some kind of magic potion that would make you fall madly in love with me.”

“I guess it worked,” her mother teased with a shrug, which her father got a kick out of.

“I guess it did,” he said. “Though I hope you love me for more than just the way I smell. That cologne went out of production years ago.”

Ima’s eyes shone, equal parts charmed and amused. “I do. You know I do.” 

His lips pulled back in a smile and he leaned forward, meeting Ima’s lips with his own right in front of Tali. She was practically squished between them, forced to endure their display of affection at close range.

“Would you two like to sit next to each other?” she asked, unimpressed. “I feel like I'm not even here.”

Her parents withdrew, her father suppressing a laugh. “Sorry, where were we?”

“Dinner,” she reminded him.

“Right,” he started. “Well, before dinner, we walked around for a bit, looked at all the little shops. That's when I took this picture of your Ima,” he said, holding out the one of her at the postcard stand. “Pretty good, huh?”

“I still think it would look better in black and white,” Ima spoke, looking at it with a critical eye.

“Maybe we could get a copy made, hang it on the wall,” her father offered, which elicited a chuckle.

“Now, I would not go that far.”

“Did you buy anything?” Tali asked, wondering what someone who didn’t live in the city might want to take home with them as a memento.

“Just some souvenirs,” Dad answered. “And a postcard for McGee. ‘Wish you were here!’”

Ima smiled. “Then we sat and ate dinner.”

“You looked so beautiful that day,” her father mused, gazing fondly at the photograph in hand. “I really do wish I had kissed you. I drove you right by the Eiffel Tower.”

“Which was nowhere near our hotel,” she reminded him.

“Pretty sure we've established that I was being sneaky.”

“What happened when you got back to the hotel?” Tali asked.

Ima looked suspiciously at her. “You are being very nosy today, motek. Why the sudden questions?”

Tali shrugged, keeping her face neutral. “I've just always wondered, that's all.”

Ima narrowed her eyes, not fully accepting that as an answer, but eventually, she continued. “Well, we actually had a nice hotel to stay at, for once. Usually when we traveled, at least in the States, NCIS would book us rooms at the cheapest motels they could find.”

“But not this time?”

She shook her head. “Not this time. They wanted us somewhere close to the embassy, where we would be picking up our witness.”

“Wow.” Their jobs sounded so cool, sometimes. Of course, she knew there was a lot of un-cool stuff they hadn’t told her, but what she did know sounded fun. She still sometimes had a hard time believing her boring old parents were once gun-toting federal agents, chasing down bad guys and saving the day. It seemed even more improbable that her Grampa Gibbs had done the same.

“You're skipping over a very important part of the story, Zee-vah,” her father said smugly, bringing her attention back to the tale. “Tell her what the front desk lady said when we tried to check in!”

Ima rolled her eyes and huffed. “Tony, I can tell you want to say this part, so why don't you just do it?”

He grinned excitedly. “Fine. I will. So we walked in this huge, beautiful lobby, right? And I went up to the desk and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am. There should be two rooms under the name DiNozzo for us, please.’”

“Two rooms?” Tali asked.

“We were just friends back then, you see,” her abba explained. “Actually, we had been going through a bit of a rough patch. Friends might have been pushing it.”

Ima was quick to correct that. “You were my friend, Tony,” she said, looking at him kind of sadly.

He gave a nod. “Friends, then. But not together. And since we were there for work, it was agency policy for two agents of opposite gender to stay in separate rooms.”

That made sense, Tali supposed.

“But then…” Ima started.

“Hey, you said I could tell this part,” her father whined.

“Alright, then get to the point,” she waved him on.

“But then,” he repeated, “the woman at the desk said there was some misunderstanding with our reservation, and they only had one room for us.”

Misunderstanding? Or mischief on Uncle Tim's part as some form of payback for not getting to go to Paris, Tali wondered. She made a mental note to ask him the next time she talked to him.

“Would you have gotten in trouble?” she asked instead.

“We probably would have gotten a slap on the wrist from H.R., and a slap on the head from Gibbs. But no one ever found out,” her father answered.

From what Tali had heard from Uncle Tim, he knew something about what happened. But the specifics were out of his reach too. That’s where Tali came in.

“God, I was so in love with you,” her abba said, gazing lovingly at her ima. “It was pathetic. I don't know how you could have missed it. That mixup with the rooms was like my wildest dream coming true.”

“Tony…”

“I'm sorry if I drove you crazy that night,” he continued, ignoring her attempt to stop him. “I think I was a little drunk on the wine we'd had at dinner still.”

“You were not drunk. I know, because I let you drive us home. You were just… Tony.”

“Mm. Just me, huh?” he asked, smirking at her with a pleased look on his face. 

“I found it endearing. Even if I wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation.”

“She offered to take the couch,” he informed Tali. “I told her that she was being ridiculous, that the ginormous bed was big enough for the two of us to share, but she tried to insist. Eventually, I threatened to take the couch myself, and she came to her senses.”

“If I had given up the couch to you, you would have complained about your back the whole flight home the next day,” Ima pointed out.

“Would not!”

Tali had to agree with her mother, here. “Dad, that does sound like you,” she said.

“Now you're ganging up on me! That's not fair!”

“Your father was the perfect gentleman that night, Tali,” Ima continued. “Believe me, I was surprised too. Not even one joke about our situation.”

Her dad seemed shocked at this information as well. “Really? I didn't make any jokes at all?” he asked.

Ima shook her head. “None that I can remember.”

“Huh,” he said. “I was probably too nervous myself to say anything.”

“Why were you nervous?” Tali asked. 

“Because,” he started, draping his arm over the back of the couch and over Ima’s shoulder, “sharing a bed with someone—especially someone you're secretly pining for—is a very intimate thing. You kind of lose your sense of personal space. Whatever mask you put on during the day comes off, whether you want it to or not.”

“You guys wore masks during the day?” Tali questioned. She pictured superhero masks, or maybe the kind you wear when you’re sick.

“Not that kind of mask,” he corrected. “I mean the emotional kind, when you don't want other people to see how you're really feeling, so you pretend to feel something else. I used to do that a lot when I was younger, and not quite as wise as I am today.”

“As did I,” Ima agreed.

Tali’s face screwed up in confusion. Everything seemed so simple. Why did they make it seem so complicated? 

“Why didn't you just tell each other the truth?” she asked.

This time, her mother answered. “We did, more than we told others at least. But that was a very difficult time for your father and I. We were just learning how to trust each other again.”

“Didn't you always trust each other? You were partners!”

Dad’s knee bumped companionably against her own. “You have to understand, Tali, our jobs were very difficult. I don't think you’re ready for the full story quite yet, but your mom had just been through something horrible and scary, and part of it was my fault.”

Ima’s face fell, and she shook her head. “Tony. It was not your fault,” she said.

“At least some of the blame was mine,” he insisted.

“No. Tony, do not think that way.”

He gave her a small, placating smile. “Alright, we'll agree to disagree,” he said. “But the point is, Tali, it was a very strange time for the two of us. Being completely honest with each other wasn't something we were particularly good at.”

“But we got through it,” she said, reaching for his hand.

He smiled, eyes watering as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Yes. Yes we did. We just danced around a lot of things we probably should have discussed much sooner.”

“Like the fact that you loved each other?” Tali offered.

Her dad gave a dry chuckle. “Oh yeah. That was the biggest one of all.”

“We were not ready for that conversation yet, motek,” Ima said, running a hand through Tali’s hair.

“But that didn't stop you from getting all cozy with me that night, did it, sweetheart?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, teasing her playfully.

“I think that is probably enough for one day,” Ima said, trying her hardest not to smile at his antics. Her cheeks blossomed pink.

“No, let's keep going!” he said, spurring her on. “Look at you blushing, I can't believe you still get embarrassed talking about this!”

“I am not embarrassed, Tony,” she countered.

“You aren't? Could have fooled me. When I brought it up in the morning at that cafe, I thought you were going to strangle me for mentioning it in broad daylight.”

Tali giggled at this back-and-forth that they were so good at. It wasn’t often that her dad managed to get under Ima’s skin in this way, it was usually the other way around.

“I thought there was a mutual agreement never to speak of that night again,” Ima responded, her voice low.

“Well, I never agreed to any such thing.”

Things just got curiouser and curiouser, Tali thought, intrigued. “What? What happened?” she asked eagerly.

“Well, we started out the night happily keeping to our own sides of the bed,” her abba explained. “A nice, sensible space between us.”

“I was asleep, Tony, I cannot be held accountable for–”

“But then your ima, here, decided that I made a much better pillow than the one she was using, so I got a face full of Ziva hair.”

Tali laughed, her mother’s indignant attempts to correct him striking her as utterly hilarious.

“If you were awake, you could have very easily pushed me off you,” Ima argued.

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because, Tony, we were supposed to be keeping a respectable distance!”

“Counterpoint: Your hair smelled really good and, oh yeah, I was super in love with you.”

Ima huffed, having no comeback for such a line. “So you have mentioned.”

“Anyway, it was the best night's sleep I'd ever had,” her father finished. “Ziva?”

“What?”

“Would you agree?” he asked.

Ima blew out a breath, thinking it over. “Well, at the time, I often dealt with nightmares.”

“And?”

“And… You just want me to admit that I woke up in the middle of the night and didn't go back to my side of the bed, don't you?” Ima stared accusingly at Dad.

“Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, yes, I did. I was comfortable, and the dreams weren't as bad as usual for some reason.”

“Hmm, I wonder what that reason was,” Dad said sarcastically, tapping a finger thoughtfully on his chin. But then he looked at Ima again and smiled, his expression melting into one of adoration. “I wish you would have told me all this back then,” he said. “Could have saved both of us a lot of trouble.”

“No point in dwelling on it now,” Ima surmised, and he gently rubbed her shoulder before pulling back.

“When I woke up in the morning, she was still in my arms, conked out and snoring like a freight train,” he continued his tale.

“What a lovely sight that must have been,” Ima said sarcastically.

“It was!” he said. “I could have laid like that forever. I guess, now I get to.”

More mushy stuff. Great. “Okay, I get it. You love each other. Now is that it?” Tali asked.

Dad shrugged. “Pretty much. The next morning your mom got all awkward and tried to pretend we hadn't just spent the night cuddling in the most romantic city in the world,” he narrated.

“Meanwhile, your father woke up in an unnervingly pleasant mood and hurried off to go sightseeing, while I headed to a cafe for a late breakfast.”

Tali turned to her father. “What did you go see, dad?”

“Well, the embassy isn't too far from here, actually,” he spoke, glancing toward the window in their living room. “I drove around for a bit, past the Louvre, saw everything in that area. Took lots of pictures.”

“And then we met up at the cafe for a little while before it was time to pick up our witness,” Ima finished.

“That's when we got that picture taken. The one in your room.”

Her dad told her, sometimes, about the moment he realized she knew who he was. How that picture had been her connection to him before they met, and how it later connected her to her mother while she was away.

Their family’s story was a strange one. For a long time, she hadn't known the particulars, of course. But she was the only kid at school whose mom was off who-knows-where hiding from who-knows-who and doing who-knows-what. Not that she was allowed to talk about any of that. She only picked up bits and pieces when her dad would talk to Pop Pop after she'd gone to bed, and her memories of those conversations were pretty fuzzy.

She also never fully grasped the significance of the lack of pictures from when she was a baby, or the fact that she had been born in Israel, while her father lived in the U.S.

But now, she had begun to piece some things together, and it made her a little sad. She wondered if she would ever fully understand what had happened. Why, until she was six, they had never been a family together, all in one place.

The fact that her parents had been so close, and yet so far from their happy ending back then… Almost fifteen years ago, now…

“Is that why you wanted us to live in Paris?” she asked her father.

“I guess so,” he said, reaching for Ima's hand. “Part of me, I think, hoped we'd find her here right away. Like maybe that picture frame in your bag had been a message telling me where to meet her. But also, yes. We had nothing but good memories here. Seemed a good place for a fresh start.”

“The same cannot be said for the airplane we took back to America with our witness,” Ima joked, lightening the mood.

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” Dad agreed. “If I wanted to experience mortal peril on an airplane, I would just watch Liam Neeson in ‘Non-Stop.’ But then, that movie hadn't come out yet. Come to think of it, I feel like we should have been contacted for our expertise by the studio that made that movie. Do you think they could have given us writing credits?”

Tali sensed that the rest of the story would have to wait for another day. Most of their case stories were like that. Just a couple more years, then maybe she’d be old enough.

“Thanks for telling me,” she said, interrupting her father’s rambling about movies.

“Of course, neshama sheli,” Ima said, placing her hand on her knee.

“Anytime, kiddo. This was fun.”

“And?” Ima prompted.

“And,” he continued, “I’m sorry for making up stories when you were little. I should have told you the truth.”

Tali looked at him, smiling when his eyes met hers. She leaned into his side, and he lifted his arm, welcoming her in for an embrace.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I liked your stories. They were like fairy tales.”

He sighed. “If only it had really been like a fairy tale.”

“It is, though!” Tali said seriously, leaning back to face him. “You got your happily ever after, right?”

Dad’s eyes lifted to meet Ima’s, and they shared a smile, another one of their silent conversations.

“You are right, Tali,” Ima said, eyes shining with some deep emotion. “Maybe we had a fairy tale ending after all.”

-.-.-

Tali waited until her parents had gone to bed before sneaking out of her own room and into the kitchen. She found the phone out on the countertop where her father had left it, and quickly navigated to the right name in his contact list.

She pressed the call button and the phone rang. While she waited, she tried to mentally count backwards and estimate the time it was in D.C., but that was entirely too much math for this time of night.

Eventually, the line connected with a click.

“McGee,” the voice on the other end spoke.

“Uncle Tim!” Tali said in a whisper.

“Hey, Trouble!” he greeted jovially. “Whatcha got for me?”

Tali’s chest bubbled with giddiness, and she bit her lip to keep from shouting the answer.

“Uncle Tim, they told me everything!”

-.-.-

Tags <3 @tiva-fic-challenges @benedettabeby @butwhenthesuncameup @earanemith @hopeless-nostalgiac @indestinatus @loudlooks @mrsmungus @nicolem194 @putthekettleon @slippery-soapbox @tivafanfic @tivajunkie @tonysziva @whoa-myninja

[misscinnamonroll16]

John pulls his goggles over his face when he's embarrassed, been crying or hasn't slept in a while

Floyd sometimes draws on facial hair

John Dory is often over caffeinated. He can't sit still bc he's got way too much energy. He often paces while eating bc if he sits down, he'll shake

All the boys talk with their hands when they really get into what they're saying. They are passionately talking about something and their hands Moving ™️

John's first tattoo (I believe he would get a few more but Floyd would still be the most tatted) he doesn't remember bc he was really drunk while it happened. He got it done on Branch's birthday way before the band got back together. He was in his feelings that day

Floyd looks the youngest, he's short and baby faced.

John can also look younger when he shaves his face (which offended Bruce when it happened)

If John covers your mouth with his hand, licking wouldn't get him to pull away. He has four little brothers who have all done that at one point and isn't phased by it

The boys shared a room when they were kids

Clay puffs out his cheeks when he gets mad. When on his own at the course, he had to train himself not to do that bc people (trolls) didn't take him seriously when he did. But with his brothers back in his life, that habit resurfaces.

John Dory can not resist the puppy dog eyes, and the little brothers know this and use it to their advantage

Floyd can cry on command

John Dory and Branch mumble to themselves. They just walking around talking to themselves, no biggie.

John Dorys writing style has improved from "baby, baby, girl". He wrote his own songs while on his own. It's mostly feelings stuff, talking about going back and changing things, stuff like that

Floyd has the ability to silently communicate with any of his brothers. Whether it's queer on queer communication with John or younger sibling communication with Clay. He can speak through looks but it only works with whichever brother he's doing it with. He can rope in another if he wants to

Bruce is the self care king. He has to force the others to do self care, mainly JD and Clay.

Floyd has also written his own songs while on his own, he has his own album.

John and Spruce forced Clay and Floyd to go into a haunted house with them as kids. Floyd DID NOT wanna go, practically had to be dragged in. Needless to say, the two of them almost pissed themselves with fear and JD never forced them to do it again. Spruce however, did try it again and was told no by John.

Floyd is afraid of clowns

John is incredibly handy but it's only out of necessity.

Bruce is still a little self conscious about his body. He has some bad days but as long as he's comfortable in is own skin, he's happy

Clay likes puzzles

John also likes puzzles but he likes the 'figure it out' type puzzles not put it together puzzles

All of the boys will have at least two kids at the minimum. They loved having siblings no matter what they say and want the same for their kids

[the-somwthing]

LITTLE BIT OF UHH 3RD LIFE SCOTTISHBEANS I WROTE JUST NOW HEHEHE

Takes place in the last session (in an au where there’s like. More time between events than just an hour or so.)

This is supposed to be a later chapter of a fic I’m working on! I’m doing things out of order 😭 so there are references to scenes I haven’t yet written in it sorry it shouldn’t be THAT bad tbh. When I actually make the fic this chapter will likely be edited whenever it appears haha

SHIP: Scott/Joel

WORD COUNT: 2143

WARNINGS (mostly just things to be aware of): somewhat of neck kissing, implied sexual stuff (just thinking about it very vaguely), flower husbands is mentioned but Jimmy is dead, headcanon with 3L!red!Joel and his monochrome/red skin, once again references to scenes I have not written, it may feel rather ooc but that’s cuz this is meant to be a later chapter so they’re already fairly close, repressing/denying feelings (and some failing at that), some pessimism about the war, NO DIALOGUE (when I planned this out I was like “wait there’s no dialogue” and decided I’d take it as a challenge and really have just no dialogue)

❤️💛💚

The war had been rough for everyone. It kept all players on edge, no matter how indirect their involvement was. At this point, it was pick a side or die in the crossfire. Scott and Joel had chosen the Desert, but neither of them had much reason to be part of the conflict.

The two had spent the past few days together, constantly running, though Scott could hardly tell if they were running to survive or running to kill. Somewhat of a mix of both, he figured. No matter the reason, they were constantly running, and nice peaceful moments were hard to come by.

Then it happened. They lost their target, the enemy hadn’t seen them yet, they were alone in a remote part of the world. Scott was tired, the grass looked soft, and he flopped himself onto it. Joel was clearly still running on adrenaline despite accepting that it was break time, and so he practically jumped onto Scott, grabbed him, and rolled with him.

Scott had grown used to the annoying ways Joel would throw himself at Scott and jostle him around. He figured it was a red life thing. Jimmy had also become more physical after turning red, though never so aggressive. Through observing others, Scott knew that suppressing violent urges was harder for most reds than Jimmy made it look. Joel tackling Scott was clearly not an act of violence, rather an act of affection. He typically only did stuff like that when they had accomplished something, or at least had some fun.

This moment was the opposite of that. They lost their target, and usually Joel was frustrated at that. They weren’t having fun running, either; it was exhausting and anxiety-inducing. And yet, in what should’ve been a moment of catching their breaths and saying “better luck next time,” Joel had rolled in the grass with Scott.

It wasn’t just Joel who acted out of character in that moment, for Scott would usually tell Joel off for playing so rough with him. It was mostly in a friendly manner, as Scott didn’t mind too much, but it could be annoying when unexpected, like in this moment. But instead of doing that, Scott laughed. He held onto Joel, rolling with him, and laughed in delight.

The ground was rather flat, so they didn’t roll very far. Joel sat up next to Scott, giggling with him. Scott figured that if Joel wasn’t going to lay in the grass, he wouldn’t either, and sat up as well, feeling a little dizzy from all the movement.

Scott shook his head and briefly brushed his hair with his hands, hoping to remove any dirt or grass. It wasn’t a thorough job, so he had to hope he was lucky. He took a look at Joel’s hair, noticing that a few bits of grass had gotten tucked into his hair, enough to turn monochrome as well.

Scott managed to pull out one piece of grass before Joel swatted his hand away. Scott glared at Joel, who tried to glare back but was still smiling. Scott wasn’t sure what that was about, but rolled his eyes and pulled Joel closer to remove the grass from his hair.

He knew that touching Joel’s hair like this made Joel flustered, but it needed to be done. Besides, he couldn’t care about Joel’s expression when he was too busy observing how the grass would regain color when taken out of Joel’s hair. Sure, he had experimented with this phenomenon in the past (don’t think about the flower) but it was never not fun to witness.

Scott was finally finished (it shouldn’t have taken so long, but watching colors change can be so distracting…) and pulled away to get a full look at Joel. His face was about as red as he expected (red being the only color allowed on Joel’s body was pretty unfortunate because it made his blush very obvious… but Scott didn’t feel bad for him). The sight made Scott chuckle and ruffle Joel’s hair.

Joel had accepted this fate (it was obvious that he had, otherwise Scott wouldn’t have been able to remove the grass at all). He seemed annoyed and embarrassed, yet once Scott’s hand left his head he moved himself onto Scott’s lap.

This surprised Scott, but instead of showing it or becoming flustered and embarrassed, it just made him happy. He wrapped his arms around Joel at the same time Joel did, sighing contentedly. For some reason this made Joel laugh quietly, and laughter had felt quite contagious in this moment so Scott giggled back.

There was no reason for them to be doing this. It didn’t make sense. And yet, it felt so right. The world was falling apart around them, everyone knew it was endgame, there would be no peace. Scott and Joel had nothing left to hold onto, nothing left to fight for, but they had each other. They hadn’t had each other a week ago, in fact they were quite against each other. But in the last moments of the world, the only thing they had was each other. It should’ve been sad. It should’ve been awkward. But Scott was having a great time.

Scott cupped Joel’s face in his hands to look at him. Joel’s face showed that he was also enjoying his time with Scott. This moment felt perfect. It was the most perfect moment in the world. There was one thing his heart wanted to do. He leaned in and kissed Joel…

…on the cheek. They’re not in love! They’re not married! They were just two soldiers doing mindless battles together. A kiss on the cheek is enough for that- maybe even too much, really. They hadn’t even declared themselves friends yet (mostly that’s because there was no reason to. There would be nothing after the war worth having friends for).

But as Scott pulled away, he could feel it wasn’t enough. He knew it was enough, he thought it was maybe too much, but he felt that it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in for another kiss: planted right on Joel’s other cheek. Surely that would be enough.

Of course, it wasn’t. Scott continued like this, kissing all over Joel’s face (never too close to the mouth) and thinking each time “that’s it. I’m done. That’s enough.” but never really feeling that. He failed to stop himself from kissing Joel, but was able to stop himself from kissing him on the lips.

The only person Scott had kissed was his husband, Jimmy. He couldn’t imagine doing that to anyone else. Even though Jimmy was dead, it didn’t make sense to Scott to move on so quickly. Well, with Jimmy it didn’t take long to fall in love either… no, no, what is this train of thought?! Scott loved Jimmy, so much. He did not love Joel, not at all. They were barely acquaintances. A few nights sleeping under the stars together couldn’t have changed that, right?

Scott could not bear the thought of moving on from Jimmy, which meant he couldn’t bear the thought of loving Joel, which meant he couldn’t bear the thought of kissing him on the lips. And yet, he needed to. Every quick kiss he planted onto Joel’s face didn’t satiate his desire at all. He wanted more, so much so that the rational part of his brain was struggling to stop him.

At this point, it was almost worse than just kissing Joel. An endless stream of kisses, all over his face (minus his mouth). That’s gotta be worse at this point, right? But Scott couldn’t stop. The part of Scott that didn’t want to make Joel uncomfortable noted that Joel hadn’t made even a noise of protest, and he knew that if Joel didn’t like this he would be shoved off instantly. The rest of Scott’s brain didn’t want to think of the implications of Joel liking this. Repressing feelings is much easier when it’s not mutual. If Joel had shoved Scott away, he wouldn’t be having this dilemma at all.

Scott had found a way to rationalize what he was doing. He just missed Jimmy so much, that he was desperate to give affection like he had with Jimmy. Surely, he would be acting like this to anybody, not just Joel. He even extended this rationality to Joel, deciding that he had just been so lonely this whole season that he would take affection from anyone, it had nothing to do with Scott.

None of this was true, but Scott held onto this idea. He wasn’t in love with Joel, he just missed Jimmy so much. Joel didn’t love Scott, he was just lonely (that one, at least, was more believable. Still not true). This is what Scott would tell himself any time he would think back to this moment. He would believe it, too, no matter how much his heart proved the theory wrong.

Scott had begun doing a circle of kisses around Joel’s face, starting from one cheek and going up from there, then to Joel’s forehead, then down to the other cheek. As previously mentioned he tried to stop himself each time, but obviously, it was never enough, and he had to complete the circle.

Once he reached Joel’s other cheek, he still wasn’t satisfied, and it technically wasn’t a circle unless he crossed over to the other cheek again. He would never kiss Joel on the mouth though, so he began kissing downwards, towards Joel’s chin. This is where things went wrong (or maybe right).

After Scott kissed Joel’s chin (kind of an awkward place to kiss, honestly) Joel had tilted his head up. Exposing his neck. Scott did not hesitate to press his lips against Joel’s neck. He did, however, hesitate to go much further than that. This much more intimate position snapped Scott out of his haze of wanting to kiss Joel.

His lips rested on Joel’s neck a moment longer, the moment Scott was trying to figure out what was going on. When he finally realized, he pulled away. Joel seemed to also take a moment to figure out what had happened before lowering his head. This made their eyes meet, and they stared at each other dumbfounded; like neither of them knew what was going on. Honestly, they probably didn’t. Everything that just transpired was so spontaneous.

Joel’s face was very red, and Scott imagined his own face wasn’t too different. Scott wanted to say something, but what? Sorry for almost kissing you on the neck? That was hardly Scott’s fault, Joel was the one who exposed his neck for Scott!! Sorry for NOT kissing you on the neck?! He’s recently been widowed! He can’t just go immediately kissing another man’s neck!

Why had Joel done that anyway?! Scott could hardly believe it. A red name who had spent a decent amount of time trying to kill him just exposed his neck to Scott. To kiss. Scott was a yellow name! Joel’s supposed to want to kill him, he did want to kill him in the past, but in this moment he had silently asked Scott to kiss his neck. And Scott almost did. God, what were they doing?!

Joel must’ve been really embarrassed, but Scott couldn’t tease him for it, not when he was also acting so… intimate. Scott tried to think back to figure out who started it, but the memory almost felt hazy and he got too embarrassed thinking about it so he gave up. It didn’t matter who started it anyway; they both indulged. Indulged quite a bit… what would’ve happened if Scott didn’t stop where he had? How far would they have gone?! Now this thought was too embarrassing for Scott to dwell on. Surely Joel wouldn’t have wanted to go THAT far…

After a while of staring at each other, Joel got off Scott’s lap and looked away. Wow, he was really embarrassed. He looked so small like this. Scott felt bad; having been the one who stopped that interaction he could at least pretend he didn’t want it. He wouldn’t do that to Joel, though. The only person he’d lie to about that is himself.

Scott laid down on the grass. It was incredibly awkward between the two, and neither could seem to say anything about it. It seemed best to just rest. Slow that heart rate to normal, breathe. This is what they should’ve been doing when they stopped in the field. Resting. Without touching.

Neither of them moved to interact with each other. Eventually, they got up to continue the war. Neither of them spoke of that moment ever again.

It was just a moment of weakness on both their parts; Joel being lonely and Scott missing Jimmy. They didn’t want each other. Not at all.

[scottxlogan]

10 questions for writers

tagged by the lovely @sunnysideprincess and @mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

314 (though a couple of them are art fics)

2. what’s your total AO3 word count?

6,070,941 (and in my defense I do write fast and have written for a long time so that ties into it too)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

On AO3 I mostly write for the Marvel fandom. There are a variety of ships I write from The Avengers to the X-Men but they're all a lot of fun.

4. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I absolutely respond to every comment (unless it's a trolling one) because I appreciate each and every one of them no matter how much or how little someone has to say about it. I so appreciate everyone who takes the time to say something and even if it takes a moment for me to respond due to offline things I always reply :)

5. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Someone once told me that someone had posted one of my Scott/Logan fics on Wattpad but someone had already reported it and it was taken down.

6. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I have done a few round robins and worked on a couple of collabs with @mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea recently which have been a lot of fun and something to really get excited about.

7. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

See I have so many that I love for so many reasons. The joys of being a multi-shipper I suppose. scogan (X-Men will always be my first love in a lot of ways but I am open to other ships for them). Basically my all time favorite ship is my favorite characters and happiness lol.

8. what are your writing strengths?

I'm a big fan of world building and getting into a character's head and figuring out their motivations and what makes them tick. I feel like the psychology of the character and who they are on the inside is so important to their story and what their motivation is.

9. what are your writing weaknesses?

Probably writing lengthy stories. Not that it's a bad thing, but most fans want something short and sweet where they don't have to feel too deeply committed to the story. Also when writing smut it's hard to write just a smut shot without having some kind of purpose or reason behind the encounter. I'm that author who has to give even the raunchiest of hook ups purpose and meaning in a story lol

10. first fandom you wrote for?

When I was a kid I may have written for a tv I'd watched and posted some of that stuff, but I mostly wrote original fics that were probably terrible horror/thriller stories because I loved mysteries. X-Men was probably the first biggest fandom I dipped into out in the open I think :)

Thanks for these! They were really fun and anyone who wants to answer please feel free to do so. That said I'm going to tag a few people @scottcyclopssummers, @stormxpadme, @sgfic, @polizwrites, @purpleicedteas, @naughtyneganjdm

No one is under any obligation to participate but if they want to then please have at it! This was fun! Thanks again!

[strawbrygashez]

Henry and Ralph Teen/Young Adult hcs bc why not :)

————————————————————————

•Once henry reached a certain age and point of not caring much about keeping his parents happy at all/being punished, he began to leave the house a lot more. He’d rarely ever be there and he sneaks out if he has to :/ He spends the majority of his time at Ralphs but he also hangs out around music/cd stores, comic books stores, and other friends houses.

He just started hanging out at Ralph’s so much to the point where his stuff at home slowly keeps all making its way to Ralph’s room lol like extra clothes, comics, cds, stuff for pranks, and etc.

I feel like in the beginning of him leaving the house so much, his parents would keep nagging him about it and punishing him but he kept on doing it anyways so they eventually gave up. They probably even start locking the doors when it gets dark but it doesn’t matter bc if he needs back in, he’ll get Peter to help him or he will find his way in somehow or another.

•Henry rarely ever cuts his hair. He only does so when Ralph goes on about how tangled it’s getting. He doesn’t care about it looking great tho so he’ll just cut whatever chunks he needs to out. So his hair is long but different lengths in some spots. His hair is always sticking out.

•Henry has such an internal struggle inside once he realizes he wants piercings. He’s still extremely afraid of needles no matter what age but since all of his music idols and the people him and Ralph hang out with in the music scene have them.. he finds himself wanting some of his own more and more.

He’d try fake ones for a while but after some teasing about how ‘fake ones are lame’ from some people, he tries to put his fears to the side so everyone won’t think he’s ‘lame’.

He’s learned a few techniques to somewhat calm himself down when it comes to needles and shots as he grew up but he still has a death grip on Ralph’s hand as he waits to get pierced.

(Over time I think he’d have maybe a couple. A couple ears ones and an eyebrow one maybe.)

•Ralph on the other hand has no problem getting piercings done so he has a few too. Plus he also has a couple tattoos which Henry helped design! :)

•Once Henry officially moves out of his parents place, he goes no contact with most of his family members. He’ll talk to Peter pretty often and will chat a little with the family members who actually treated him well as he was growing up but that’s about it. Whenever holidays come around, he only goes to Ralph’s relatives with him.

•Henry works on a lot of the design aspects when it comes to his band. He designs album covers and merchandise (though Ralph takes over a lot of the stuff that has to do with fashion, like stage outfits and band t-shirts)

•Henry eventually starts seeing a therapist because he knows he needs one and Ralph helped push him a bit to seek one out. He finally gets diagnosed with a couple different things only when he’s finally an adult.. which he feels kinda odd about since he realizes he went his whole childhood dealing with all these mental issues with no support. Like he thinks pretty often about how if they’d just tried to actually figure out what was going on with him, maybe his life could had been a lot easier and more pleasant.

•Ralph has to help Henry remember to take his meds and help remind him where they are. Which he doesn’t mind at all. Even if Henry makes a bit of a show about not wanting to get up and take them.

•Henry mostly wears grungy type outfits but sometimes will toss on something more metalhead-y for concerts. Ralph wears just a whole lot of fashion styles because he loves so many.

•The more ‘darker’ songs that end up on their albums are almost always written mostly by Henry. He had so much pent up for so long it all just comes out when writing ideas for songs.

I’ve seen a few times people say Ralph would try to make Henry not make all of the songs about depressing things but that doesn’t really make sense to me. They both like rock music and music like that isnt exactly known to be all cheerful lol. They’d more than likely have some songs that are just fun and whatever but I really doubt Ralph would tell Henry no about an idea for a song. It’s their band not just his.

•Before their band gets big enough to where they can just solely rely on it as a career, Henry worked at music and instrument stores while Ralph mostly took up jobs working in clothing stores.

(Henry sketches a lot whenever he can during the slow hours at his job.)

•This one is REALLY a HC bc it kinda has nothing to do with canon at all but… I hc Henry to have heterochromia. And I think once Henry starts hanging out with musicians in the alt music scene, he hears a lot about how well it fits him and their bands visual style. It makes him stand out. (Like yknow how OCs are usually called edgy for having heterochromia??) He already thought his eyes are cool too but it makes him even more confident hearing that :)

[radioactivesweet]

Nicco is a certified bbygirl in my book LMAO

Any fun hcs you have of him? Or may I request a gender neutral reader x Nicco but it's just him starting to catch onto how often reader admries him when he's not looking? And maybe a lil bit of Ildio being like "you just noticed?"

I completely agree with you, Nicco is such a babygirl yes we're literally overlooking the fact that he is also a head of the mafia

Btw it's been a while since I've written something on here, so I might be a little rusty, hope you like it anyway ahahah

First of all, some fun headcanons, tho I'd define them more as random, I think. Since Nicco appears to be quite shy, I picture him as being the type of person who, when booking a table or even just ordering a pizza, will start stuttering and saying the most awkward stuff ever. He's probably someone who wouldn't complain if the waiter gives him the wrong order, even if it's something he doesn't like at all, he'll pretend it's fine - Ildio will end up eating his leftovers. Back from when he was an architecture student, I think he still gets really passionate about architectures in general. If you're visiting some place with him and you pass by some random building, he will start talking non-stop about it (you can clearly see how the architecture changed throughout the centuries, of course, it still contains some neoclassical elements, but it's mostly eclectic nowadays). And there's no way to make him stop. He probably cringes when seeing people putting pineapple on pizza and has at least once put salt instead of sugar in his coffe, in his defense he had just woken up.

Now, regarding the other part the request, here it is 💫💫💫

Nicco had never thought anybody would look up to him, admire him even. No way anyone would watch plain old Niccolò that way - it was just the way things were, he was unable to understand why his comrades, his family would see him as someone fitting to be a leader, he was so anonymous it hurt. That was probably the reason why he cared so little about his well-being, he was unimportant after all - yet everyone seemed to see something in him he couldn't quite figure out. And then there was you, the biggest mystery. Sometimes he would catch you staring at him and then violently look away, embarassed, then, he would too pretend nothing happened. Niccolò just couldn't understand what were you looking at him for, was there something wrong with him? Was there a problem with the clothes he was wearing? He would get paranoid over it, something must have been terribly wrong, there was no other option. From then on, sometimes, discreetly, he too would look back at you, even catching you again staring at him. Here he became even more confused - you were so interested whenever you looked at him, your eyes seemed almost shining. What was that feeling? Admiration, adoration, love? He couldn't quite grasp it. Ildio had laughed it off when Nicco frist brought up this subject, he seemed to find the matter extremely amusing. "Are you being serious? You just noticed?" Niccolò hadn't really figured out what he was supposed to have just noticed, but he finally liked that feeling of being considered. He wasn't just a wallflower anymore, he felt a little more worthy of whatever was going on. He just had to gather to courage to talk to you, but there was plenty of time for that. Patience was one of his virtues, one step at a time and he would've been able to reach out for you.

[jazzy-dreamer]

MORE THOUGHTS AND DEVELOPMENT (If ya can even call it that) FOR MY DADTRAP AU

I’ve done a lil more hyperfixating researching, and I can now officially say I know almost all the basics about the fnaf timeline and lore!!! And I seriously mean the basics. To keep William/Springtraps goals consistent for this AU, there might be sliiiiiighty less child murder than there is in canon. Just an itty bit less. But who knows.

The AU’s story hasn’t all been figured out but I’ve got Springtrap’s character pretty much down!

Springtraps personality

Extremely low empathy.

Too much pride to admit fault.

Secretly hates himself 👍

Genuinely cares about his kids but sucks at showing it or even recognising this fact for himself.

Doesn’t understand people or how in the world they think and especially feel.

Despite not understanding people he’s a surprisingly great manipulator.

He acts entirely on logic and reason rather than emotions.

Is aroace (doesn’t know) and only got married to get his abusive parents off his back.

Probably autistic. (I didn't even decide this cause I'm autistic and want more representation. It's just the way I've written him that gives him super big 'tism vibes)

Feels closer connection to his robots than humans or animals.

Has chronic pain and fatigue after getting springlocked yay!

Has always felt disconnected from other humans even when he was one himself.

Has never had hot chocolate made with milk before. Only water. That's how you know he's a psychopath.

Story changes and William’s motivations

These are all just concepts and stuff might change. Right now almost everything plays out mostly the same as it does in canon. The pizzeria, the 5 dead kids that possess the animatronics, etc etc. One problem I’m having is what I’m gonna do with Charlie/Puppet. I know she was William’s business partner’s daughter, and William killed her, and she possessed the Puppet. But I don’t think anyone really knows WHY he killed her. And it’s kinda important I know for this AU to make sense- So either I’m just gonna have to come up with a reason that fits, or she just straight up doesn’t die. Most likely Charlie will still die and possess the puppet. We shall see tho! :]

The main changes in this AU will be Williams motivations and his actions. He’s still a kid murderer. But he doesn’t go killing all the kids simply because he can, or because he’s seeking immortality for himself, or any of the supposed reasons he killed the kids. My idea right now is Elizabeth, Williams daughter, was suffering from a terminal illness with only a few months at most to live (What illness I dunno but I don’t think it matters that much)

William wanted to be a good father for even just once and began seeking ways to somehow save her. He eventually discovered that someone could essentially be made immortal by stuffing their dead body into an animatronic, and they would “live on” with their soul possessing it. I’m not sure how exactly the idea came to his head. Maybe the crying child possessed Golden Freddy after the chomp malfunction and gave William the idea to test the theory some more. And he thought if it works, he can freakin stuff Elizabeth’s dead body into an animatronic and “save” her that way. As I said these are all ✨concepts✨ so there will probably be plot holes and plenty of questions of “how this” and “why that” But it wouldn’t be Fnaf without all that would it? gjdgfkfgfjh

Elizabeth will probably still end up possessing Circus Baby, but how she does will most likely be different. Maybe Elizabeth finally succumbed to her illness, William wasn’t expecting it this soon and he didn’t build any kinda robot for her ready, so he shoves her into Circus Baby without thinking while he had the chance, and that’s pretty much all I got so far!! :D

Changing William/Springtraps motivations affected the entire story a lil bit more than I was expecting but hopefully I shouldn’t have to adapt too much more-

I haven’t done anything really beyond fnaf 2 so maybe expect something past that soonish!!

[meyerlansky]

twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @redbelles AND @inkpot-demigod 🖤💙🖤💙 took me eighteen years but i figured i ought to get it done before the emoji asks >_>

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

39!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

133,253

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now it's just masters of the air, because i really only focus on one fandom at a time but i also don't really LEAVE fandoms so much as they go dormant for a bit. in the last year i've at least TOUCHED wips for boardwalk empire and the witcher, and once bachelor route drops i will probably go back to some of my pathologic 2 fics and maybe come up with new stuff. same with HotD s2, although i don't know how much new stuff will come out of that vs finishing up things in metamorphoses.

4. top five fics by kudos

keep safe broad shoulders, warm hands keds and tube socks vestis virum facit denuo

so mostly burakhovsky smut, except for keep safe which is outsider pov nearly-gen lambden (from the witcher and specifically witcher 3) fic, and i have NO idea how it's my most-kudosed fic; and keds and tube socks, which is a long-ass (for me) steddie fic that i WILL finish at some point i am so sorry to everyone who's subbed to that fic /o\

5. do you respond to comments?

I TRY MY BEST ;___; i really like talking to people about fic, mine and others', so every comment i've left unresponded-to haunts me, but sometimes i can't get over my own anxiety enough. the only time it's deliberate is if the only content in the comment is "you have to write more of this" or anything similar and phrased EXCLUSIVELY like a demand, because It's Rude and also i have no idea how to respond to that.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

explicitly angsty is probably with my ash-stained palms or broad shoulders, warm hands because neither ryuzo or daniil get what they want in those ones, though i think bswh!daniil would get what he wants eventually. ryuzo, maybe not >_> dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek) is also probably up there, but that's more interesting because it's not angsty on the page! and i WAS planning on leaving it as is, originally! that's why it has the canon compliant tag! but now i'm 8k deep in a canon-divergent sequel so idk if it counts anymore. genuinely i was planning on answering this with "i don't write a lot of unresolved angst" but. hm.

...wait, also hot blood, deep roots. which is the dark mirror nightmare counterpart of bswh and is... definitely worse. and i have something even worse in my wips okay i guess i write more angst than i thought

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably vestis virum facit, since the final section is implied to be far-enough post-plague that they're Gonna Be Okay. but like the angst question, i don't really think of too many of my fics as the And They Lived Happily Ever After, The End type so much as like... they're happy In That Moment and that's what matters

8. do you get hate on fics?

i got put on the patho fandom blacklist for associating with Freaks And Criminals, and then i wrote hot blood, deep roots to cement my spot on it, so if that counts that's the extent of it afaik. i do worry about catching flak for stuff down the line, but honestly haters tend to be cowards, sooo

9. do you write smut?

LOVE WRITING SMUT. LOVE IT WHEN MY GUYS NAIL EACH OTHER. IT'S MY FAVORITE. i had like a year-long stint before stranger things s4 where i only posted genfic and i was SO disappointed with myself, even though the stuff i posted was GOOD genfic

10. craziest crossover:

don't really do crossovers! but entertaining daemon au thoughts is how i know i'm in a fandom deep enough that it's gonna stick for a bit, even though i've only posted daemon au fic for bwe thus far

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

also not to my knowledge!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i'm not opposed to spitballing with people, and some of my best bwe work has come out of very long headcanon exchanges with @goatsandgangsters and @therestisdetail in particular, but i am not a consistent enough writer to saddle anyone else with my habits, so that's the closest i've gotten to cowriting anything.

14. all time favorite ship?

L A N S K I A N O. they are my forever boys. nothing will topple them. ever.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

NONE OF MY WIPS ARE ABANDONED THEY ARE ALL GOING TO GET DONE EVENTUALLY DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

16. what are your writing strengths?

snappy dialogue and the internal character work involved in a tight third person pov, which is good since a tight third is the only way i like to write

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

speed. if i don't finish something inside of a week of starting it, it will drag out for an infinity and a half and i'll have to chip away at it and hate myself for being slow the whoooooooooole time. i also... i have no idea how to explain this, but i don't consider myself an especially creative person, so i have trouble if i don't have a jumping off point to start with? most of my fics have pretty solid touchpoints in the canon and tend to be one-shots, if not single-scene. coming up with new shit for my dudes to do can be a struggle. which, tbh, adds to the speed thing, especially for stuff that tilts off into canon-divergent territory

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

alright, listen, i might have an entire buryat dictionary database downloaded onto my hard drive to spice up patho fic, but i'm in agreement with previous answers on this one: it can get dicey to write in a language you don't know, and if your readers don't know it it will interrupt the flow in a way that's not usually what i'm looking to do in a fic. that said, most of my fandoms have at LEAST one non-english language involved, if not multiple, so i do end up doing a lot of research into those languages, and i'm absolutely not opposed to pulling out single-words or phrases after either a. checking with someone who speaks those languages, if it's a real one, or b. pulling them from their usage in the canon itself and/or sometimes extrapolating out a bit, like the high valyrian i peppered into chrysalis

19. first fandom you wrote in?

boardwalk empire my beloved 🖤🖤🖤 i played around with some stuff prior to that—i think i'd noodled with what would technically be alice in wonderland fic in high school, although i don't remember what happened in it—but nothing substantial enough to count as Actual Fic, and definitely not anything i have access to anymore

20. favorite fic you've written?

MAN. HOW TO CHOOSE. it's maybe a little bit of recency bias to say dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek), but i think it's a tie between that and junkyard dogs, and both for the same reason, which is that i am really proud of the character work they do with curt and eddie, respectively. i'm not SURPRISED jd is as low on the hits/kudos/etc scale as it is since it's genfic and billy is...... divisive........... but i really think i nailed eddie in it. with dctc(tc) it was fun to get to play with curt, who's... look, i'm just gonna say it, i think he gets mischaracterized in a lot of the other fandom stuff i've seen involving him, so it was fun to get how i read him down on the page. it's also interesting to not only develop curt internally but to look at the buckies from an outsider POV, because they are UNDENIABLY the love story at the center of MotA's narrative, but they're both IN IT so they can't SEE IT. i also don't usually do scene breaks? like most of my fics are single-scene but i dragged dctc(tc) out and shockingly it WORKED? so yeah idk i'm just really proud of it.

OKAY. WHOOF. TIME FOR TAGS. let's seeeeeeeeee i will tag @goatsandgangsters @hosseinis @chirpybirdy @sweaterkittensahoy @reiverreturns

@samuelroukin @stoportotouch @notgrungybitchin @adriennefrombrooklyn and anyone else who wants to, but no pressure as always!

[peaches2217]

It’s more Expectant Mareach headcanons. I’m. I’m so sorry.

(And because I feel like it never gets enough attention, it's all Very Early Lead-In stuff! C'mon, that's RIPE with fluff potential.)

✨ At the start, Peach is incredibly conflicted towards the thought of having children; she’s got so many doubts and concerns because who wouldn't with an upbringing and history of political conflict as unconventional as hers? And she spends a great deal of time kicking herself over her uncertainty, because Mario’s wanted kids pretty much his entire life. She wants to give him that, and frankly she does want to take this next step with him, and she wants so badly to just dive right in and trust that everything will work out, but she doesn’t know that, and it scares her.

✨ The thing is, no matter how badly he wants to have a kid or ten, Mario’s not about to pressure Peach into it. He loves her so much more than he loves even the idea of fatherhood. If she decides it's not something she wants or feels comfortable with? So be it! He’ll just get a side career as a babysitter or something.

✨ Sometimes Peach will bring up one of her concerns out of the blue, in the middle of the day or late at night in bed, and she and Mario spend hours talking over every possible angle for every topic she presents. She apologizes for her conflicted mind and for taking so long, but he promises he's happy to talk it through and urges her to take her time coming to a conclusion; he’d sooner she give him a definitive no than an uncertain yes.

✨ After many such conversations, counsel with friends to work through all of her thoughts, and entirely too many dreams about Mario snuggling and doting on little brunette and blonde babies that leave her heart aching long after she wakes up, Peach gives him her answer while they’re sharing a private picnic: she wants to raise a family with him, because now she can confidently say that their children will be safe and surrounded with love.

✨ Mario spends a few minutes prodding, making absolutely sure this is her own decision, she’s not just saying this for him, she 100% without a shadow of a doubt wants a baby, a family… and then he just tackles her in kisses. He would have loved and supported her no matter what she told him, but this? Hearing her laugh and repeat his many words of love back to him in the most elated tone while they roll in the grass and realizing she doesn't just want a family, she wants a family with him, and she wants it as badly as he does? It's a dream come true.

✨ Try for Baby #1 occurs about six minutes later.

✨ When Peach starts feeling under the weather round about two months later, and then wakes up at four in the morning violently ill, the possibility that they're officially parents-to-be doesn't occur to them for a few reasons: 1.) There's a Peach/Luigi is Hurt and/or Sick switch in Mario's brain that, when activated, shuts down all internal processing other than protect, comfort, secure, so babies are the last thing on his mind; 2.) Peach is too miserable to think about much other than, well, how miserable she is, and all she can suspect is that she's come down with a bug of some sort; and 3.) they figured it would take longer. Peach has literally only gotten her period once from the day they started trying to now... which, in hindsight, probably should have been a sign.

✨ Mario fills in for her so she can rest and be seen by the castle doctor, so he's not present when Peach gets the news. But rather than insist Toadette pull him out of whatever royal task he's been saddled with today so she can tell him, she instead asks her to fetch Toadsworth.

✨ I've written like two solid pages' worth of that interaction, so to summarize: Toadsworth's an emotional wreck for the next few days. All good emotions! Mostly good emotions. He's both happy and worried, okay? That's his little girl!

✨ She tells Mario that night while they have tea on the balcony. He almost shatters her favorite teapot, because he picks her up and spins her around as soon as it sinks in, laughing in joy and disbelief, and her foot just narrowly misses it. Neither of them notice.

✨ What a coincidence! Luigi arrives back in the Mushroom Kingdom for a visit the next day because he heard Peach wasn't feeling good and wanted to offer support. Mario takes him out to lunch in town, where every Toad within a quarter-mile radius is suddenly subjected to the sight and sounds of their king and his brother shouting at each other in their native tongue, shaking each other by the shoulders, embracing and whooping and jumping up and down and maybe even crying? It's one heck of a scene, but they both seem happy, so everyone assumes it's one of those weird twin moments and leaves them be.

✨ In the interest of keeping the media uninvolved and stress levels as low as possible for as long as possible, it's decided that Peach's pregnancy won't be announced until it starts becoming visibly obvious. Not that there aren't suspicions, of course. A palace worker claims to have seen the king and queen napping together in the shadows of the private garden, their hands conjoined and resting on her stomach. But hey, we all know how unreliable court gossip is, right?