#money money green green moneys all I need

[oc-brainstorms]

My strange addiction 18+

Perv!Dom!Voyeur!Kang Dae-ho x Sex addict!Fem!reader/Thanos x Reader(kinda)

Synopsis: SMUT! Sex addict reader finds Dae-ho jerking off to her and Thanos having sex, she makes it her mission to try him out next and Dae-ho treats her exactly how she wants to be treated wink wink

warnings: Kinda dark/swearing/mentions of death/murder/ kinda cheating?/Mentions god(in a bad way)/Voyeurism/bathroom sex/public sex/mentions of anal/smut/reader uses thanos/Dae-ho is kinda pervy/rough/non-con?dub-con?ish/unprotected sex/p in v/Oral (M receiving)/daddy kink/reader is a sex addict/horny af/reader is fucking feral/overall filth/aftercare/angst/fluff/reader has some major issues (I haven't slept so if I've forgotten anything let me know) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Words: 4.5K (it’s a long one)/

Unedited! there's gotta be a few mistakes in it but I wrote this instead of my dissertation and sleeping so take it for what it is I guess.

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I was never one to drink, do drugs or jump off tall things all for a little adrenaline rush-No, I was particular in my chosen addiction. Sex was always my vice. I tasted it one and couldn't get enough. It’s never really mattered to me what they look like or how good at it they were, if the thought pops into my head then it’s all I crave, like an itch that demands to be scratched. Sometimes I don’t even want it, like when a smoker who's trying to quit doesn't even think about lighting the cigarette in their mouth, it's basically a habbit.

Many interactions with vile, disgusting men and bad life choices led me right here, surrounded by people in green sweatsuits playing deadly children’s games for money. It’s not exactly where I thought I'd end up, I always thought I’d die in a ditch somewhere-discarded and used without a care in the world.

Salty sweat drops fall on my forehead from the purple-haired man thrusting to his hearts content in an out of me, grunting in my ear like he's on a mission. He’s not bad, a little too desperate and loud for my liking but hey, a fuck is a fuck. Plus he was pretty good-looking under the whole wannabe-bad-boy-rapper persona.

“You like that? hmph-So good-so so good.” He grumbles, his voice mere groans of hot breath in my ear.

“Feels so good daddy-please keep going please!” My voice was no higher than a pathetic whisper in return, becoming conscious of the creaks the bed was emitting, echoing in the empty space of the room. Thankfully many people this side had died in the previous game.

My hips were beginning to ache from the angle I’m spread to- My jaw clenching as I feel him wrap his hands behind my knees and shove them up until they hit my shoulders. The pain was easing from my hips but it did nothing for the lack of excitement I was feeling. It was a little mundane for me, stuck in missionary while he has the time of his life-but it will satisfy my needs nonetheless.

I can’t help but let my thoughts wander, craning my neck to glance over his shoulder as his pounding continued, just listening the the sounds of our skin slapping and the weak sounds of the bed frame holding us up.

My attention is suddenly drawn to a rusting from a bed on the other side of the room. Under the glow of the obnoxiously large piggy bank I can just make out a large figure, laid in bed with the covers just covering his hip. Squinting into the darkness I make out rapid movements under the covers.

Is this perv getting off to us?

I let my eyes linger for a while, feeling myself getting wetter from the idea of this stranger pleasuring himself to the sounds of us fucking. Trailing my eyes up I can just about make out his number, 388. Taking a mental note, I try to peak at his face through the darkness.

A gasp gets caught in my throat as I make eye contact with dark eyes that stare back at me. His whole face wasn't clear but I could sense his eyes burning into mine as he welcomed himself to the free porn he was witnessing.

‘So fucking wet for me.’ Thanos panted out, snapping me back to his attention. Thankfully his head was buried in my neck and he was too busy chasing his own high to notice my distraction.

Maybe I should give him a show.

I took my hands and placed them firmly on Thanos’ chest.

“Stop.” I manage to gasp out, pushing him back enough to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are crazy, Purple strands sticking to his forehead. His thrusts stagger a little before coming to a stop.

“What the fuck is wrong girl, why are you stopping me when I'm about to fill you up?” The tone of his voice is slightly erratic, and a little too loud-but I had new priorities than everyone else's sleep.

“I just wanna ride you Daddy, please?” Fluttering my eyelashes up at him, I knew he couldn't disagree with me, especially as I clenched myself around him.

“Fuck okay-okay.” He talks over himself, gripping at my sides to manoeuvre me on top of him.

I knock my head on the metallic grate on underneath the bunk on top of us, but don’t even stop to acknowledge the pain, I've got a new task to complete. I can’t let poor 388 go to bed unsatisfied now can I?

I reposition myself straddling him, letting my hands rest on his chest while he sinks his dick into my hole. I’m already pretty raw so it stings from the stretch, feeling him throb inside me from the sensation, a small gasp erupts from my throat.

Rocking my hips back and forth, I feel him glide in and out of me, making sure to arch my back and stick my ass out to give the best possible view to my new friend.

“Just like tha-fuck just like that.” he mutters through staggered breaths. I can feel him getting close so I need to do my best with the time I have.

In a brave move, I move my hands up from his chest and glide them up my body, stopping to grip onto my breasts and squeeze, Hard. I moan louder than necessary, but not loud enough to cause a scene.

Bouncing hard on his dick, I bring my hand to my throat and start to lightly choke myself, throwing my head back and feel my hair hit my back.

“Fuck this pussy, oh god, oh my fucking god-so good, so tight oh fuck.” I hear him groan, reaching his climax as hot spurts of cum squirt inside of me, filling me up.

I lean forward, laying my chest back down and craning my neck to glance over my shoulder. I watch how 388’s covers slowly come to a halt, a subtle shake as he finally finishes. I wish I could hear him trying to catch his breath over the snoring of the rest of the room, but ill sleep happy with the knowledge I've done my job-for now.

“You finished right, girl?” My attention is drawn back to the heavy breathing of the purple haired asshole under me, his hands still feeling up my hips and ass as I catch my breath.

“Yeah sure.” I nod, through gritted teeth, slipping him out of me and laying beside him.

“Good, gotta take care of my girl, especially when she’s being so damn good for me!” He ruffles my hair before turning over, falling asleep almost instantly.

God he has so much faith in me not to kill him in his sleep.

My mind didn't relax enough to sleep, too focused on all the ideas I had to get my way, I will seduce this man, I don’t even care if he’s ugly or horrible. Anyone that desperate to cum clearly needs my help, maybe he’ll actually make me cum.

My lord isn’t it bad I'm more focused on this than the games? well I guess it is a game of sorts… wtf is wrong with me, anyways.

I roll my eyes and try to push my thoughts away. Ignoring the sweaty body next to me, I pull my crumped clothes back onto my body and lay back down, fading off to a dreamless sleep.

----

The most irritating and mind-numbing sickly song wakes me up in the morning. That along with the bright lights is enough to make me kill someone-even outside of the game.

I’ve never been a morning person, nighttime is where all the fun happens-hell I don't even wake up till gone 2pm most days. However, this morning I have a task-find this mystery man.

I sit up in bed-taking no notice of the absence of the man next to me, and try to brush my fingers through my knotted hair, pinching my cheeks and lips to look more alive.

God did they have to give us these ugly ass outfits.

Doing the best with what I have, I tie up the top into an extreme crop and pull the joggers down lower on my hip, lazily throwing the sweatshirt on.

It'll do.

I scan my eyes around the room like a predator hunting its prey, reading everyone’s number until my eyes land on the one I'm looking for.

Bingo.

He’s tall, good looking-man bun be damned, chuckling along with something an older man is saying and a-is that bitch pregnant? Damn. He stretches, his muscles flexing as he does, almost having me salivate on myself. He doesn't even glance over here before waltzing over to to the breakfast queue.

My footsteps are fast but inconspicuous, anyone else probably would’ve thought I was just hungry- and I guess they'd be right, but not for food.

I manage to squeeze in behind him, shuffling my feet closer to his.

“You’re pretty cute for a perv.” His shoulders stiffened, glancing at me over his shoulder.

‘What?” He mutters back to me, his eyes raking over my body before returning his eyes forward.

“I thought guys who liked to watch people fuck without them knowing were balding and lived in their parents basement with food stuck to their face and a box of tissues next to them.” Ok, that was a weird thing to say- but am I wrong?

His breathing takes a sharp incline as he shuffles forward with everyone else in the line.

“I wasn't watching you.”

“It’s okay baby I'm not mad a you, was I good for you?” my voice is confident but low, closer to his ear than before because of the people joining the queue behind me. Not sure if he's really as in to public humiliation as he is into public masturbation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” he whispers, without glancing back. More of a whimper really, slut.

“I just told you I'm not mad.” Im more short in my answers-im starting to get bored from this restrictive situation. I do get bored easily.

My lips almost touch his ear as I lean in, playing dangerous.

“Should've let me know you needed it daddy, this pussy has your name all over it.” I stroke over his back as I come down, tits grazing his back.

He chuckled darkly, looking down at his shoes, before turning his body to to me, a slick smirk playing on his mouth as he leant down and met my eyes.

“Really? Because to me it looks like it has that guy’s cum all over it.”

He blinked, before turning back and continuing to follow the queue.

I don’t have an answer for that, he really got me there to be fair.

My lips form a sharp line and I feel a heat rush to my cheeks, I kept my eyes down and stayed silent. I didn't know I could still feel embarrassed by anything-but here we are. I also tried to ignore the wetness growing between my thighs at the situation, the degrading really does it for me I guess.

He grabbed breakfast from the guard before sauntering off, out of the corner of my eye I saw him silently giggling to himself as he walked away, asshole.

I picked up my pathetic little apple and grumbled, taking a harsh bite out of it. If he's playing hard to get then I guess I'm just gonna have to play harder.

----

After the games, the vibes really sucked. Thanos was loud and annoying as usual but at least he didn't let me die. That was kinda nice of him, or maybe it was the fact I promised him anal if he got me through it-but nevertheless, it good to be alive.

I spent a long time in the bathroom, making sure I looked perfect after that mess. I also scrubbed myself raw, feeling dirty after the game, and the fuck and especially after 388’s comment. The 5 minute shower I somehow convinced the guard to let me have did wonders. He did watch me the entire time-but at least I'm clean!

After we once again got voted to stay, I got bored of the repetitive conversation and laid on my bed, staring at nothing in particular.

I glanced down over my feet at the door to the bathrooms, taking notice of the tall pretty boy leaving.

I didn't think twice about it, my feet moving on their own. I had to have it out with this man- he acts like a disgusting pervert watching me fuck and suddenly he's all cocky? I don't think so.

Thankfully the guards really don't give a fuck about who goes into what bathroom. I stand outside waiting, watching for the door to open. I didn't want to enter the bathroom and catch him pooping- I may be deranged but I'm not a total freak.

He wasn't in there long, and nobody had come in or out since him. Hearing footsteps approaching the door I give a quick wink to one of the guards, Showtime.

He barely opened the door before I pushed him back inside, closing us in the empty bathroom.

“Woah.” He managed, jumping on the defence and getting ready to attack before his eyes locked on me.

“Oh its you.” he relaxed, sighing.

“You miss me?” I asked sweetly, leaning back against the door with my hand resting on the metal handle.

“It's hard to miss you when you keep showing up,” his hands moved to his hips and his face bore an amused smirk, playful.

“You upset me earlier, thought you'd wanna make it up to me.”

“By telling you the truth? if that upsets you darling then you put have a real hard time with everything else in here.”

“Listen, you-”

“No you listen,” He steps towards me, a strange dominance lurking under his voice.

“I have enough going on here without some needly little whore deciding she's important enough to start bratting out because I used her pathetic show of attention-seeking to get myself off.”

My breathing increases as he steps closer, I was not expecting that to come out of his mouth, I’m not often too stunned to speak but somehow he's done it in the two conversations I've had with him.

I stare up at him through my lashes, my mouth dropping open a little as I pant through it. God is this turning me on?

“You gonna do something about it, tough guy?” Is all I manage to conjure, coming out in a stupidly quiet voice.

“Since you seem so desperate for me I'll do you a favour and put that dirty little mouth to use shall I?” He suddenly reaches forwards and grips my hair in his hand, a sound between a moan and a sob exiting my mouth as he does.

He shoves me across the room and into a stall, pushing us both in before slamming and locking it shut behind us. His grip stayed strong in my hair.

I don't know what I thought this guy would be like, I thought he would be a sweet little perv who helps pregnant girls and laughs along with old men’s jokes and then rubs one out while watching two people fuck like animals.

“Kneel.” He demands, his grip one my hair beginning to give me a headache. I don’t move, sure I've had men be rough before but this really took me by surprise.

“You want me don't you?” He spits out, but something in his eyes seemed softer, like a shimmer of guilt washed over them.

“Yes sir.”

“Then be a good girl and show me how much you want it, down on your knees.”

My knees buckled by themselves, gripping his thigh for support I hit the dirty bathroom floor and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You know what to do slut, I'm sure you've had enough practice.” His eyes were back to being hard now, whether it was all the emotions during the games or something else had hardened him, and he desperately needed release, and Im more than happy to help with that.

I bring my hands up to his waistband, dragging down the green joggers and his boxers down together, watching as his hard cock flung free.

“Spit on it.”

I swirled my tongue around my mouth and tried to muster all the saliva I could, bringing my lips to the tip of his dick and letting my spit slowly drip onto it.

His eyes glaze over and he leans his head back, a groan slipping through his lips.

Taking my chance, I grab his throbbing cock with my hand and slowly pump my spit all over his shaft.

“I-is that good daddy?” I manage to stutter out, hand moving up and down as I slowly trail my tongue up his tip, tasting the pre cum that's already leaking out.

What the fuck is wrong with you, get your shit together.

“You know that's good slut, you're just begging for my validation aren't you?” He chuckled again, that deep chuckle he keeps doing that sounds like he's just been told a dirty joke, amused but interested.

I ignored the degrading tone and looked back down to his cock, its big and throbbing-a lot bigger than what I'm used to, or at least than what I've had in a long time.

Nervousness seeps into my brain but I push it back, taking him into my mouth and guiding him to the back of my throat.

As my nose hits his clothe stomach, my head is whipped back by his grip on my hair, a sudden flash of pain strikes my cheek and I feel tears welling up in my eyes from the sting.

“I asked you a question slut, or are you too stupid to use your words?” The look in his eyes flashed with amusement, like he was speaking to a cute puppy who just learnt a new trick.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir, I want your validation.” It hurt to spit the words out, but as soon as I did my head was thrusted back onto him.

He doesn't speak for a while, just grunting softly and leaning his head back against the cubicle wall with his eyes shut, fucking his dick right to the back of my throat like I'm nothing but a fleshlight he's using. All I can do is stifle my gags and take him, my face wet with my tears and the saliva dripping down my chin.

“So.Fucking.Good.” He chokes out between thrusts.

My mind goes black with everything else other than pleasing him, nothing but the pain in my throat and the blurry vision of his body above me.

His breathing quickens and I'm sure he's about to cum, my hair now fully being ripped out by the strength of his hands tangled in it.

“What should I do?”

I look up at him and try to muster up the most confused face I can under the circumstances, managing to furrow my eyebrows.

“Should I cum…down your throat?” His thrusts begin to slow slightly as he drags out his question.

“Or on this pretty little face?” His finger drops down and traces my jaw.

“Or should I have you lift up your shirt so I can cum on those perfect tits of yours, baby?” His questions receive no answer considering my mouth was still bing invaded by his thick cock.

“No, No, I know the perfect place.” His voice is dominant and looms over me.

With a swift movement he pulls me off of him, one arm under my armpit while the other stays in its place in my hair. They glide down to my own joggers, ripping them down to the floor along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and shaking from all the sensations of my body.

His large hands find my thighs and grips onto the backs of them.

“Jump.” He orders, and of course I follow through. Before I know it I’m pinned up against the cold wall, and being forced to bounce on his solid dick that's thrusting in and out of me at a rapid pace.

My arms find his shoulders and I cling on, hiding my whimpers in the Crook of his neck as I let him use my cunt for his pleasure.

“You want me to make you cum don't you doll?” He teases.

“Ye-Yes s-sir, please sir, yes, yes, yes!” I hate how the pathetic yelps come out of my mouth but the pleasure rocking through me takes my mind away from any embarrassment.

“That other little boy couldn't do it for you could he? You need a man to make you cum don't you huh?”

“Please make me cum Daddy, I'll do anything.” my voice sounded more like broken sobs coming through my lazily parted lips, already cock drunk from this humiliating situation.

He grips my wrist tightly and drags it between my legs.

“Rub yourself, c’mon princess I know you can do it,” His sweet words hit my ears and I immediately obey, becoming a gasping, moaning mess as I rub rapid circles around my sensitive clit.

Almost immediately after I feel myself reaching my climax, my head throwing itself back as he lunges for my throat, leaving sharp hickeys down my neck.

His breathing changes and soon after he's open-mouthed kissing my neck as I feel him pump his cum up into me, the grip he has on me weakening with every moan he produces.

As he lets go of the hold he has on me I drop to the floor, knees weak after the use he put them through. Im tired, and sore and sticky, I can feel him dripping out of me and onto the disgusting toilet floor. My eyes are heavy and my face flushed, with chapped lips and baby hairs sticking with sweat to my forehead and a tangled mess behind.

As the glow of my orgasm fades I get the same sinking feeling I always get when I finish, the feeling where Im immediately disgusted and ashamed and just want to cry and try and forget that I've just made a fool out of myself for a strange man.

I bring my hands to my face and sigh deeply, still trying to catch my breath. I forget the man*-whose name I still don't know* is there. Im sure he’ll see himself out eventually.

My unravelling show of self-pity is interrupted as I feel the man crouch down next to me, silently watching me cry into my hands.

Awkward, I bet he's regretting even meeting me now.

“Hey,hey.” He coos, his voice softer than soft. He seems afraid to touch me as his fingers ghost over my arm.

I bet he's so fucking irritated god I would be.

Imagine you've just fucked someone out of pity and they start crying on the fucking floor.

“I’m just gonna clean you up okay angel?” I sniffle and stop in confused awe. Moving my hands away from my face I wipe the tears off and pull them down until my eyes are peaking through.

He keeps eye contact for a moment before reaching over and grabbing toilet paper from behind him, ripping some off he starts to clean up the mess between my legs, uttering small apologies as I hiss from the contact.

“Shh..it's okay baby, you're okay.” His words are soft and comforting as he manoeuvres my clothes back on me. His hands stop at my waist as he tries to catch my eyes, but I'm looking everywhere but his face with my half-lidded gaze.

“Can I see that pretty face again? Please baby, let me clean you up.” I nod, eyebrows still subtly furrowed in suspicion.

With the softest touch he moves my hands away from my face, taking them in one of his and using the other to gently wipe off any moisture that remained. His touch felt like a feather grazing my skin, it was nice, I've never been treated so nicely before.

He fucking hates me doesn't he, oh well what do I care, I don't care anyways.

He places a hand on my knee, not in a way that's sexual but more of a calming gesture, probably to help stop the shaking by body has absentmindedly started doing.

Everything inside me is telling me to run, push him away and go find my bed to rock myself to sleep in, but something about the kind care in his eyes and the gentle touches he's gracing me with is making me want to stay here for as long as I can.

His other hand comes up to my hair, his fingers attempting to gently remove the knots that had built up from his harsh tugs.

‘Did I hurt you, go too far?”

I shook my head.

“Why are you doing this?” I broke my silence, voice barely audible.

“Doing what, sweetness?” He glanced down at my face, his voice soft and caring with a glance of concern.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words left my lips with a short chuckle, not an amused, joking chuckle, but more of disbelief and confusion-like when you hear something so ridiculous you can't help but let a chuckle slip out.

I sound so fucking pathetic.

“I’m taking care of you, you deserve it.” His confusion grew, his eyebrows getting more furrowed together the more he took in the disbelief on my face.

“You don't even know me, I don't even know your name, you don't know mine.”

“I would like to.” I stopped, staring blankly at him.

“My name Is Y/N.” I mustered up, I'm sure he doesn't really care-but it would be nice to be on a first name basis with this man, at least he's being helpful.

“Beautiful name, it suits you.” He spoke without moving his head away from the focus he had on my hair.

“What's your name?”

“Dae-Ho” His fingers freed themselves and he leant forwards, placing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he whispered against the skin of my forehead, the coolness of his breath causing a shiver to sneak down my spine.

“For telling me your name.”

Thank you for being nice, for holding me softly, for being so sweet and kind and affectionate to someone you don't care about.

“Angel I will tell you every single thing I know if it makes you happy.” My breath hitched and all wordings fell short in my throat. His eyes were light and kind, he didn't seem at all to mind easing me through this mini meltdown.

“Why?”

“I told you, i’d like to get to know you.’ He paused, his mind seemingly somewhere else, thinking deeply about his next words.

“Would you like to sleep in my bed with me tonight? i’d like to be able to hold you now, it feels wrong to part ways after this, unless you have plans with the crayon you were sleeping with before.” The sarcasm in his voice seeps through when he speaks about Thanos, a subtle spit of jealousy perhaps mixed in with his words.

Interesting development.

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A/N: Lit havent slept and wrote this with no editing so if its ass lmk lol- also my first piece of writing on tumblr! exciting times-many ideas ahead.

[almostfoxglove]

MALLORY!!! oh my god, what a perfect follow up to suburban sparks. this is such a lovely balance of I'm-ripping-my-hair-out-with-need smut and aaaachy yearning (the best kind) - I couldn't put it down. my god. I loved it sososo much?? and YEAH IT DID GET ME ALL CHOKED UP, WHAT ABOUT IT asdfkjhsdfkj

I'm popping some of my favorite bits below the cut, but FRICK I'm obsessed with this <3

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

SDFLKHASDLKHFAL WHAT DO YOU MEAN oh my god. mumbling pussy-drunk javi is actually going to ruin my life like I need him SO bad you don't underSTAND (except clearly you do)

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

this feels so perfectly javier?? that really small, unspoken gesture that he'll be the one to shoulder it and take care of her in this really tiny way because it's the way that he can - MY HEAART

He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

straight up mumbled 'oh my god' under my breath when I read this for the first time, then went back to read the paragraph again like twice more before continuing, because FUCK THE YEARNING IS SO FUCKING PERFECT

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

:,,,,,) do you see the oceans rising??? that's because of my tears

“Your green shirt.” His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?”

YESSSS GIRL YESSSSS THE GREEN SHIRT YESSSS THAT'S SO CORRECT

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

'another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up' is actually so fucking beautiful and so fucking sad and so fucking javi?? I just. I'm standing in that kitchen with him, watching him suffer privately, WISHING I COULD HUG HIM

It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home. He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

oh GOD there are just so many perfect little setting descriptions that just take me right into the room with him, and this is another one. like fuck. my heart is going 'squeeze' in the most delicious, angsty way - you're playing me like a fiDDLE and I LOVE YOU FOR IT

The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

SWEET STUPID JAVIER OH MY GOD SOMEONE LET ME HOLD HIM PLS

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

thinking about him being in the theatre to see her perform as I write this is actually going to make me cry all over again. it's so good. so hopeful and also so sad and UGH. MALLORY. YOU'RE A STAR.

I FUCKING LOVED THIS. I looooove how you incorporated the newspapers from the moodboard - it's such a perfect, both intimate and a little removed way for javi to connect with her, and ugh. my heart. this was so good. thank you SO much for joining the challenge and delivering us this masterpiece :,) I am forever in your debt!!

Long Distance

A followup to Suburban Sparks Pairing: Javier Peña x Steve's Little Sister Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: He knows he shouldn't fall for you, he knows he shouldn't pick up the phone, but you're all he can think about. Warnings: Javi's POV, angst, guilt, yearning, pining, heartbreak, impressionist paintings, using a Clairo lyric as a play monologue, jealousy, smut, phone sex, secret bathroom sex, dirty photos. Takes place after S3. Words: 8,320

A/N: Written for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge, who made the GORGEOUS mood board for inspo. It truly fit the vibes of exactly what I was thinking would be the next step for Steve's Little Sister and Javier. My thanks to @devineconjuring, @mothandpidgeon, and @schnarfer for filling up my draft with suggestions, reactions, and edits and always letting me yap and ... them. Masterlist

—-

His heart thuds against his chest with every descending step. He hears the clatter of plates and silverware mixed with soft conversation– hears your voice. You’re awake. His eyes immediately catch yours when he walks into the kitchen. You sit at the breakfast table in an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off a shoulder, the same shoulder he kissed before he snuck out of bed and back to his room across the hall.

You’re so beautiful, he almost falls as he takes a seat.

“Damn, Peña, still drunk?” Steve asks as he flips the last pancake.

“Just tired,” he responds. “Morning,” he casually nods towards you, trying not to let his gaze stay on you for too long.

You nod a casual “hey” as you reach for the orange juice, your fingers wrapping around the glass. He loses his breath as he remembers how those same delicate fingers felt wrapped around him.

“Coffee, Javi?” Connie asks, pulling him from his reverie.

He nods, mumbling a response as you smirk. This is going to be an interesting breakfast.

“Good breakfast, thank you,” you say as you rise. “I’m going to get a shower before I go back home. Landlord still hasn’t fixed the hot water heater.”

“Help yourself,” Steve nods. “And Jesus Christ, find a better place.”

Javier takes a sip of coffee until the thought of you under the warm running water, naked and wet, flashes through his mind. He coughs as he chokes on the hot liquid.

"You okay there, partner?" Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

Javi nods, clearing his throat. "Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe." 

As your footsteps fade upstairs, Javi focuses intently on his breakfast, avoiding Steve's gaze. He can feel Connie's eyes on him, a hint of suspicion in her expression.

He eats his breakfast, listening closely to the rumble of the water heater as Steve and Connie discuss their plans for the day. The water heater turns off, snapping Javi back to the thought of you just upstairs.

"I should get ready too," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he picks up his plate and coffee cup, dropping them off by the sink. "Thanks for breakfast."

“‘Course, you’re our guest,” Steve says.

As he climbs the stairs, his heart races. The guilt over Steve sitting just downstairs getting drowned out by the anticipation of seeing you again.

He passes the bathroom door and then retraces his steps, standing in front of the white wooden blockade. You’re right behind the door. He knocks softly.

The door cracks open, a cloud of steam escaping as you peek out. Your face glistens with moisture, drops of water clinging to your skin. You take his breath away.

Your eyebrow quirks up before you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. He slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You’re wrapped in a towel–one measly towel. A drop of water trails down your collarbone to between your breasts, and his mouth waters, thinking of how good it’d taste.

"Javier," you whisper.

He steps closer. "I know, I know. We shouldn't."

But, as the words leave his mouth, you’re already reaching for him. His mouth crashes against yours, desperate to taste you again. You instantly mold into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backs you against the cool tile wall.

The towel slips, pooling at your feet. He breaks the kiss, his eyes reverently roaming your bare skin. “Fuck,” he breathes.

You grab the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. “We don’t have much time.”

He nods, helping you pull down his boxer briefs, his cock already hard for you, weeping to feel your tight pussy around it.

He lifts you onto the countertop, spreading your legs wide and groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. Your eyes stare into his as he sheaths himself in you, both of you gasping at how good it feels. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as he begins to move. His hands grip the counter as he quietly fucks into you, the faint sound of his skin against yours and your soft moans echoing off the tile.

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

Your hips meet his as his thrusts become more urgent as he listens for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He wishes he could savor you, hear you scream his name, fuck into you for hours, but he can’t. He has to be quick. His hand travels down your smooth skin, and his finger begins circling your clit as his other hand grips the plush of your breast, kneading it in his hand. Your head falls back, your bottom lip captured between your teeth to stop yourself from making any more noise.

It’s forbidden and wrong. He knows this, but the way your body trembles underneath his touch, your hands exploring the broadness of his back, your tight pussy beginning to clench around his cock–he can’t say no to you. He circles your clit faster and harder, his fingers working in quick, tight circles as he fucks into you faster. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fight to stay quiet.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers. “I need to feel you cum.”

Your body tenses, a strangled moan escaping your lips before he presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your cries as he chases his own release. You pulse around him, and it’s too much. He buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he cums, spilling inside of you. He stays buried in your heat, even though he knows he needs to leave. He just can’t. He rests his forehead against yours, listening to your soft gasps, trying to savor the moment for as long as he can.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice lilts in awe.

He nods, trying hard to swallow the guilt. “I know.”

He pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of each other.

You hop off the counter, grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around yourself again. Javi tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"You should go," you say softly, not meeting his eyes. “You know… just in case.”

He nods, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "Hey," he says, waiting for you to look at him. When you do, he sees the conflict in your eyes, knowing it mirrors his own, but he ignores it. “What’s your number?”

—-

The phone line hums, building a bridge between Laredo and Washington, D.C. He waits all day to hear the sound of your laughter spill through the receiver–sweet and warm, like honey. Most of the time, silence settles between the two of you, content to just stay on the line with each other 1,800 miles away.

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

On some nights, after too many whiskeys or beers, he’d let some of the burden of Colombia off his shoulders. He’d tell you about the girls, the bodies, the nightmares. You’d meet every revelation with understanding and acceptance, letting him talk as little or as much as he wanted. 

It’s simple and comfortable, something he never felt like he deserved. But he can never have simple and comfortable–there’s always a complication. You are Steve’s little sister, after all.

He hates nights like this when the guilt creeps in and gnaws at him. The world is hushed, his thoughts loud. He tosses and turns, sheets tangling around his legs as he wrestles with his heart. He’s falling for you���Steve’s little sister. The same Steve who had his back in Colombia, who became more than just a partner.

He stares at the ceiling, your voice always echoing in his head.

It’s been three months since he met you at that ordinary suburban party. He replays everything in his head to calm himself–your smile, the sweet lilt of your voice, your wide eyes as you stared at him. The sound of your muffled moans escaping from behind his shirt, the warmth of your body pressed against his as you drifted to sleep.

Now, the memory of your soft skin under his fingertips haunts him, an almost bittersweet reminder of what he can never have. It could never work. Steve’s so protective of you that Javi can’t even imagine how he’d react if he knew someone like him was falling for his baby sister. He can’t do that to you… or Steve.

You’re in your twenties, still full of life and promise. While he’s forty, scarred from the long life he’s already lived. He pictures you growing resentful, feeling held back by his world-weariness, longing for someone more carefree and unburdened. He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

He turns, shuffling his cold sheets up around his shoulder as he stares out the window. One night spent together in his friend’s backyard and guest bedroom. One morning spent in a white-tiled bathroom. Countless nights on the phone.

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

—-

Javier Peña never reads the news. He doesn’t pay attention to the news. He doesn’t care about the news. He doesn’t want to hear about the news—that is, until you entered his life.

“Any news?” he asks, hearing the rustle of your newspaper crackling through the phone.

“Hmm, lemme see.”

He can imagine you scanning the headlines, your finger running down the text, brows furrowed in concentration. You love the news, love reading and learning, love being informed. Now, Javier Peña reads the news.

"Ohh! The Smithsonian's got a new exhibit opening next week. An Impressionist Sensibility. It says the paintings in the collection are linked through a shared sensibility about American cultural aspirations at the turn of the century."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah, it looks really cool, Jav.”

He loves it when you call him Jav. It’s so casual, so comfortable. Nobody ever calls him Jav besides you. He listens intently as you read, letting the sound of your voice wash over him.

"Sounds pretty interesting. Sounds like something you have to see in person."

You hum in agreement, a wistful note in your voice. "It does. Maybe someday we could…"

The sentence hangs unfinished, both of you acutely aware of the complications that keep you apart. He clears his throat, pushing away the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm him. Move on, agent.

"My turn," he says, unfolding his paper. "Let's see what thrilling news Laredo's got today."

—

“Tell me I did good, Jav. Tell me to stop obsessing over it. Tell me they didn’t notice I paused a little too long between lines.”

He chuckles. “You did amazing. I’m sure of it, cariño.”

He doesn’t know how you can be so brave, going up onstage in front of auditoriums full of people. All eyes on you. He could never do what you do.

“Really?”

“I’d surely cast you if I could.”

“Mm, I’m sure you would,” you respond. He can hear the smile in your voice.

You’ve been so nervous over the audition for the play. He remembers how you'd practiced your lines with him, how he stayed up late listening to you recite the main monologue over and over just so he could hear your voice. He could hear the emotions. You’re so talented, there’s no way you’re not going to get the part.

“You’re going to get it, cariño.” 

"You really think so?" you ask, a hint of hope in your voice.

"I do. When will you find out?"

"Rehearsals start next month, so hopefully soon," you answer.

"You've got me to keep you distracted."

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…”

—-

He’s lying in bed awake again. He’s getting to a point of no turning back with you. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is you.

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…” repeats through his head.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. It would be so easy to call, to hear your voice one more time. But he can't. He won't.

Instead, he pushes himself out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor of his apartment to the sparse but functional kitchen. He pours a glass of whiskey, hoping it’ll help drown out his thoughts.

This feeling is so foreign to him. He hasn’t felt this way about anybody since Lorraine–and even then, he fucked that up. He shouldn't have let it go this far. Shouldn't have knocked on the door of that guest room, shouldn't have kissed you like a drowning man praying for air. But he did. And now he can't forget.

You’re too young, too bright, and too adventurous. You’re so full of potential. What the hell are you doing talking to him every single night? He has to step away and let you go. But he won’t. Because underneath all of those accomplishments and pursuits, he’s still a coward.

—-

You softly moan into the phone, and he can hear the swishing of the sheets as you get comfortable on your bed. He can almost see you, feel you, remember how sweet you tasted. He thuds his head against his pillow, an ache of loneliness from his heart traveling down to his cock. 

“You can’t do that, cariño,” he lowly growls.

“Huh?”

“Moan like that,” he responds. Now, he’s the one adjusting. “I–it’s been a while.” 

You chuckle, a low, tempting sound. He’s in trouble. It’s been a month of talking to you almost every night, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly fighting the urge to touch himself while listening to your voice. But he’s resisted, not wanting to cross that line and make things even more complicated than they already are. 

“Sorry, my bed feels really good. Quite lonely, though,” you pout, your voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm. 

Fuck. He’s so needy for you, he’s already growing hard.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, feeling a little ridiculous at the question, hoping you’re just as turned on as him.

“Don’t laugh. Promise you won’t laugh.” 

“What? Why would I laugh?” he smiles, shaking his head.

“Because Javi. Just… don’t laugh or judge.”

“I won’t. Trust me. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Your green shirt.” 

His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wear it a lot?”

“Mmhmm, I sleep in it all the time.” 

“I’m sure it looks real good on you, doesn’t it?” 

“I think it looked better when it was stuffed in my mouth while you were fucking me.”

He groans, his heart racing as he reaches down and grips the heft of himself tucked away in his shorts. 

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?” he asks, softly squeezing himself. 

“It was one of the best, Javi. I think about it all the time.” 

“Me too,” he divulges, remembering the brightness of your eyes, the sweet taste of your lips, the feel of your pussy clenching him. “I also really liked the morning in the bathroom.” You laugh–a sweet sound that makes his heart beat even faster–before you sigh. “I wish you were here, Javi.” “I do, too, cariño.” 

“What would you do if you were with me?” you ask, your voice low. You’re such a temptress.

His voice drops to a sultry whisper as he closes his eyes and imagines you in his bed. "I'd start by getting you out of that shirt, real slow. I’d get to take my time and kiss every inch of skin."

You let out a soft moan. "Mmm, then what?"

"I'd push you back onto the bed, trail my fingers up your soft thighs." His own hand mimics the motion, sliding up his leg. "I’d spread your legs and kiss my way up, before giving your sweet pussy a long lick, savoring just how good you taste."

"God, Javi. Please," you whimper.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. Pretend it's me."

He can picture you perfectly–laid out on your bed, his shirt bunched up around your waist, your hand between your legs.

You let out a gasp and a long, low moan. He pulls his shorts down and gives himself a tight, slow stroke.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, rubbing the bit of precum he’s leaked out across his head.

“Mmhmm,” you moan. “I love it when you call me baby.”

“Baby,” he groans as he spits in his hand and strokes himself.

“Fuck, I’m so wet,” you breathe into the phone.

“I wish I was there with you, baby. I'd slide two fingers deep inside your tight little pussy, curl them just right to make you moan for me." He strokes himself faster, imagining the slick heat of you clenching around him.

You let out a whimper. “I need you inside me.”

“I need to be inside you too, cariño,” he replies, his hand moving faster along his length. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“I want you to fuck me hard and fast,” you moan. “God, I think about it all the time, Jav.”

He grunts in response, imagining your body writhing beneath him.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

He squeezes his cock harder, picking up the pace as you whine and moan for him.

“You sound so good. I love the way you moan for me. You’re all I ever want to hear.”

“Fuck,” you pant. “Gonna cum.”

“That’s it, cum for me, cariño.”

You let out a loud moan as your orgasm hits. It floats through the phone into his ear and down to his cock. He lets out a long, low “fuck” as he reaches his own release, grunting your name as his cock pulses in his fist, streams of cum spilling out onto his hand and stomach.

All that can now be heard is heavy breathing and soft moans as you both come down from your highs.

He feels the guilt begin to show its ugly head just as you say his name.

“Javi, that was… wow.”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

—-

He pulls an envelope out of his mailbox. Your handwriting is neat and flowy–he smiles at the bright green marker you chose.

So, this is why you wanted his address.

He’s opening the envelope before his door even shuts. He hasn’t been this excited to open something since Christmas morning thirty years ago.

He pulls out a handmade card–a dark green Christmas tree adorned with little red hearts is painted on the front, with MERRY CHRISTMAS JAV written in cursive above it–and his face lights in a wide grin.

As he opens the card,  a bundle of Polaroid photos tied together with a ribbon falls out and lands on the table.

A simple message is inside the card.

Surprise! I hope you like them. xoxo

With a quick pull on the silky ribbon, the bundle is untied. He slowly flips through each photo, his heart skipping a beat as he assesses each one like evidence.

You’re smiling in a few of them, his green shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders. You look so beautiful, so carefree and happy. He traces a finger over one, wishing he could touch you.

His breath catches in his throat as he flips to the next photo. You’re still in his shirt, but you sit, wearing only that on your bed. Your smooth legs bent to the side of you, your eyes hooded, with a coy smile playing at your lips. He swallows hard as he flips to the next photo.

His mouth goes dry. You’re completely naked, lying back on your bed. Your body is on full display for him. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly dizzy, his cock twitching at the sight of you.

It feels so forbidden, so wrong to have these photos of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he turns to the next picture. You’re kneeling on your bed, your hands resting on the back of your neck. Your tits are pushed out, your nipples hard. He can see the glistening wetness between your thighs. He wants to taste you so bad.

The following picture makes him gasp. You’re lying across your bed, one hand gripping the soft swell of your breast while the other is between your legs. Your lip is caught between your teeth. He can almost hear the breathy moans you’re letting out.

He flips to the next one, and his cock throbs painfully against his jeans. You’re on your hands and knees, your head turned, peering over your shoulder at the camera. The sight of your ass makes his mouth water. He wants nothing more than to grab your hips and pull you back onto his aching cock.

With a shaky breath, he reveals the final Polaroid. Your hand is outstretched towards the camera, a drop of your arousal glistening on your fingertip as if you’re offering him a taste of you. The image is so visceral he can almost taste you.

He sits back in his chair, the Polaroids tightly clutched in one hand while the other palms himself through his jeans. This is, without a doubt, the best gift he’s ever received, but he still feels wrong to have it.

—-

“So, any news?” you ask, your voice still a bit slow and low from the orgasm you just moaned out for him. It’s now a nightly ritual–phone sex followed by sharing local articles.

He scans the headlines. “The Laredo Little Theater is putting on a production of Our Town next month.”

“Our Town! I was Emily a few years back.”

“I-I’ve never seen it.” Frankly, he’s never heard of it. He’s never really seen a play–unless he counts the couple of productions Lorraine was in during high school. He wishes he was more cultured for you.

"I still remember my lines. Emily's monologue at the end about realizing what she missed in life. It's always stuck with me."

He leans back against his headboard, intrigued. "Tell me about it, cariño."

You clear your throat softly. "Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?"

“Wow,” he whispers after a long pause. "That's beautiful, baby.”

“Thanks, Jav. I just wish…”

Your voice trails off, and his chest tightens.

“I know,” he sighs. “Me too.”

He knows exactly what you’re thinking. If only things were different. If only there wasn’t a shadow of guilt and secrecy. He knows he’s already fallen for you.

Silence stretches. He clears his throat. “Your turn, cariño. What’s in the news?”

—-

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

The shrill ring of his phone cuts through the silence, startling him from his brooding. He glances at the clock–8:17 a.m.–an unfamiliar number with a DC area code on the screen.

"Peña," he answers gruffly, his voice rough from whiskey and lack of sleep.

"Mr. Peña, this is Agent Thompson from DEA headquarters in Washington. I wanted to inform you personally that we'd like to offer you the position."

The job. The one he'd interviewed for months ago, the reason he'd been in DC. The reason he'd met you. He should feel elated, triumphant even. Instead, dread settles in his stomach and heart.

"Mr. Peña? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you for the offer. When, uh, when would you need me to start?"

"We'd like you here in two weeks, if possible. Is that doable?"

Two weeks. Fourteen days to uproot his life, to move across the country. Fourteen days to figure out how to tell you… or if he should tell you at all.

"Mr. Peña?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll make it work," he says, his mind already racing.

After hanging up, he stands motionless in his kitchen, the half-empty whiskey glass from last night sitting on the counter. The job he'd wanted, the fresh start he'd been seeking for so long–it's all here for him. But now, it feels like a curse.

He imagines being in the same city as you, knowing you're just across town. The temptation to see you, to touch you, would be constant. And Steve–how could he look Steve in the eye, knowing what he's done with you?

The guilt gnaws at him, heavier than the weight of everything else. He should be honest, should tell you about the job offer. But the words stick in his throat every time he thinks about picking up the phone.

Days pass in a blur of packing and paperwork. You try calling, leaving a message each time. They start out sweet until the third day when you sound upset.

"Javi, hi, it’s me. I-I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me.”

Each night, he stares at the phone, his hand reaching to grab it. But he can't bring himself to dial. Can't bear to hear the excitement in your voice when he tells you he's moving to DC.

On the sixth day, you leave another message.

“Hey Javi, it’s me again, I… I hope you’re okay. I… did I do something? Please just call so I know you’re okay.”

He has to call you. Has to think of some way to let you down because he knows, deep down, that he can't have you. Not really. Not without destroying his friendship with Steve, not without ruining your relationship with your brother. Not without tainting the pure, beautiful thing that's grown between you.

By the tenth day, you’re mad.

“Hey, Javier. I ended up having to ask Connie if she had heard anything about you, so that was real fun. Listen… I don’t know what the hell is going on. If you found someone else or… got tired of me, but I just—I hope you’re happy. I… I guess I’ll… I don’t know. I hope you’re fine.”

His heart clenches as your voice cracks on the last words. He can hear the hurt, the confusion in your tone, and it tears him apart. 

He can't take it anymore–the guilt, the longing, the fear. It's all too much. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

Ring… ring… rin–

"Hello?" Your voice is hesitant, guarded.

"It's me," Javier says. "I'm… sorry."

There's a long pause on the other end. He can hear you breathing, can almost feel the tension radiating off of you through the line.

"Javi?" You sound uncertain, like you can't quite believe it's him. "Where have you been? I've been so worried."

He closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. "I know, I'm sorry. There’s been a lot going on. I… I got a job offer last week. The job in DC is mine."

Another pause. "Oh," you say softly. "Javi… that’s great news. Congrats.”

"Thanks," he says before taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows has to be said. "Listen, I-I think it’s best if we don’t keep doing this."

The silence on the other end of the line stretches. He can almost picture you, your eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

“This?” 

“Yeah, talking and… I just fear it’s gone too far.”

"What?" you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his heart break as the words get caught in his throat, but he forces them out. "It's complicated. I’m so much older than you, and you’re… you're Steve's little sister, and I’ll be working with him again. It's not right. It was never right."

He hears you take a shaky breath. "So, you ignore me for over a week and then call to let me know this? I know you’re older than me. I know I’m Steve’s sister. That’s fucked Javi. How could you? I thought we had something speci—”

"I know," he interrupts. "I know, and that's why we have to stop. Before it goes any further. Before anyone gets hurt."

You gasp, and his heart clenches at the sound. He wants to take it all back, to tell you he didn't mean any of it, but he forces himself to stay silent.

“Yes, before anyone gets hurt…”

“You deserve more than me, cariño. I’m old, and I’ve been through so much. You’re still so young and full of life… I’d only hold you back. I’m sorry.”

"I see," you say, your tone suddenly cold and distant. "Well, thank you for your honesty, Agent Peña. I hope your new job in DC is everything you've ever wanted."

The formality in your voice cuts him deeper than any anger could have. He opens his mouth to speak, but you've already hung up. 

—-

He stands at the windows of his new apartment in Arlington, gazing out at the lights of DC across the Potomac. Snow falls outside, and he reminds himself he needs to buy some warmer clothing. It’s beautiful, he thinks. His eyes search the horizon, wondering if your building is visible.

His apartment is nice–modern and spacious with sleek furniture that doesn’t suit him. It’s more than he needs, really, but the DEA had been generous with their relocation package. It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home.

He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

He imagines what you might be doing right now. Are you curled up on the couch, reading a book? The newspaper? Are you, like him, standing at a window, looking out at the city and wondering what might have been? Or are you out with your friends, trying to meet somebody else? Do you miss him like he misses you?

He tries to dislodge the thoughts with a shake of his head. It’s been two weeks since that phone call. Since he broke things off. Since your cold voice let him go. He tells himself it was the right thing to do, that he’s protecting you from the darkness that follows him.

In a perfect world, you’d be here, looking out the same window as he wrapped his arms around you. You’d lean back against his chest, fitting perfectly in his embrace. There’d be no hesitation, no guilt. Just pure happiness, waking up next to you every morning. In that world, Steve would be happy for you both. In that world, Javier would be happy. But he knows all too well this is not a perfect world.

—-

He goes to the Smithsonian alone, wandering through the halls of the art museum on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The same exhibit you read to him about. The same exhibit he dreamed of taking you to, holding your hand and kissing your cheek as you gazed at the paintings. He moves slowly, hands clasped behind his back, taking in each painting. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to describe what he’s seeing, or how to feel… he wishes you were here to help him understand. None of it makes sense to him. Are the paintings supposed to look unfinished and kind of blurry? He imagines you beside him, telling him all about the break from tradition these paintings represented. He’d nod, pretending to understand, the same way he’s nodding as he reads the guidebook.

He pauses before a painting. Vibrant flowers grow amongst the dappled sunlight–the bright colors remind him of the way your eyes light when you laugh. He can almost hear your sweet voice reading the exhibit description to him again. He wonders if you’ve been here, if you’ve stood in this very spot, admiring the same painting.

As he moves to the next painting, a flash of familiar color catches his eye. For a moment, his heart stops. A woman stands across the room, her back to him, wearing a dress in the same exact shade of green as the shirt he’d left you. She resembles you from the back, and he takes a step forward, your name on the tip of his tongue, before she turns.

It’s not you. Of course, it’s not. All that’s left now is a hollow ache in his chest.

What would he do? What would he even say? What is he doing here, a cop trying to be cultured?

He moves on, trying to focus on the art. He thinks of you again, imagines your voice in his ear. “Art is for everyone. There’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Just let yourself feel.”

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel. All he can feel is how much he misses you. How much he knows he’ll never have this with you, seeing the world through your eyes.

Each painting seems to hold a piece of you. The soft light of a Twachtman landscape captures the glow of your skin in the firelight. The bold strokes of a Sargent portrait remind him of your spirit and personality.

He pauses in front of a Renoir. A man leads a woman, her hand in his. His eyes focus on their fingers intertwined with each other’s, imagining the feel of your hand in his. He rubs his hand against the denim of his jeans, trying to warm the coldness running through his veins.

He turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer. The weight of his regret, his longing, settles heavily on his shoulders as he exits the gallery.

He'd pushed you away to protect you, but being here, surrounded by a softer, more beautiful world, he wonders if he made the right choice.

—-

He finds himself driving through the busy streets of Adams Morgan, the same neighborhood you call home. His heart pounds stronger with each turn as he navigates the unfamiliar roads. 

He parks his car and steps out onto the sidewalk, feeling out of place as he takes in the colorful row of houses and stores that line your neighborhood streets. He walks down the street, his eyes scanning the bright buildings until he finds the taco place you’d always rave about.

“I bet it’s just as good as Laredo, Javi,” he remembers you saying. “You have to try it when you’re here.”

He hesitates for a moment before pushing open the door. The small restaurant is packed.

His order is simple: two al pastor tacos and a Topo Chico, just like you’d recommended. He takes a seat at a small table by the window and waits for his order.

How many times have you walked down this very street? Have you sat at this very table?

He takes a bite of the taco. It’s good. Damn good. Almost as good as home. He can practically hear your triumphant "I told you so!"

People pass by on the sidewalk as he eats. He imagines you and him–his arm wrapped around you, your body close to his as you walk around your neighborhood. Your face lighting up as you show him all of your favorite places. He'd follow you, unable to resist your enthusiasm… or you.

The winter wind snaps against his skin as he steps out of the restaurant. He starts walking with no real destination in mind. Colorful murals, bright storefronts, and eclectic homes line the street. This is your world, he realizes. These are the sights you see and sounds you hear every day.

He wonders how close he is to your apartment. He imagines you coming home from work and stopping at one of the little bodegas on the corner for some milk or bread.

He doesn’t think he’d fit in well within this world, but he sure as hell would try, just for you. God, he misses you.

—-

Steve drops a pile of files on Javi’s desk.

“New case. Have some fun. So, how’s DC treating you?” Steve asks, casually leaning against his desk.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. Trying to hide the sadness that consumes him. “It’s different from Laredo, that’s for sure.”

Steve laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, you should come over for dinner sometime. Connie would love to see you. I’ll invite the usual group.”

Javier’s heart skips a beat as he tries to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Been busy settling in, you know how it is.”

“Well, find time, Peña.”

The guilt, a constant companion these days, gnaws at him as he watches Steve leave.

—-

The early spring evening is warm. His heart beats faster as he gets out of his car and walks up the pathway to Steve’s front porch.

He steps through the front door, breathing in the scent of a happy home, feeling so out of place among the marital bliss and designer furniture.

“Javi,” Connie breezes over, looking like the perfect hostess she always is. She pulls him in for a hug. He’s always liked her, felt comfortable around her.

"Hey, Connie," he says, returning her hug. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course! I’m so happy to see you," she beams. "Come on, everyone’s outside.”

Everyone. Does that include you? He's never been this nervous, not even when he saw Lorraine after all those years.

He follows Connie through the house, his eyes scanning for any sign of you. His heart races as they step out onto the back patio. Steve's at the grill, chatting with a few friends. There are kids running around the yard, couples mingling with drinks in hand. But no sign of you.

It’s as familiar as all those months ago. He felt like an outsider… until he met you. He still searches for you. Still no sign.

"Beer?" Connie offers, already reaching into a cooler.

"Thanks," he nods, taking the cold bottle from her. He takes a long swig, trying to calm his nerves.

"Peña!" Steve calls out, waving him over. "Get over here, man!"

He makes his way across the patio, overhearing a snippet of conversation. He hears your name and slows his pace, straining to hear more.

“She’ll be a little late. Rehearsals for the play ran long.”

The play. You got the part. In a perfect world, he’d be there on opening night, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers for you. He’d watch you, so proud and in awe of your talent. After the show, he’d wait for you backstage, hold you close, and whisper in your ear how amazing you were.

Pride swells in his chest… until the guilt creeps back in.

“Hey, man,” Steve’s voice breaks through his daydream. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. What?”

"I said, glad you could make it," Steve repeats.

“Oh, yeah, me too.”

“A couple of guys from work are here. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you. I’m tired of answering all of their questions about you.”

He lets out a tense chuckle. The last thing he thinks he can do is pretend to care about a group of rookie agents wanting to get to know the Javier Peña.

He really hates these parties.

—-

An hour passes. The sun begins to set, casting everything in Steve’s picturesque backyard in long shadows. Javi goes through the motions. He makes small talk with his new coworkers and Steve's friends, laughing at jokes he barely hears. His eyes keep darting to the gate, waiting for you to arrive.

He remembers the first time he saw you. You walked through the gate, your flannel shirt tucked haphazardly into your ripped jeans. He couldn’t look away from you. Maybe he knew he needed someone like you in his life–honest, bright, funny, and too cool for him.

He hears the click of the gate latch. His breath catches as he turns.

And there you are.

You look so beautiful. A plaid skirt sits just above your knees, paired with a simple white tank top under a soft, oversized cardigan. His heart hurts as he takes in your beauty, trying not to stare. You look happy, relaxed, glowing. He wonders if you know he’d be here tonight.

His rapidly beating heart sinks when you turn to say something to a man following you through the gate.

The man’s wavy chestnut hair falls perfectly in place, and thick-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, framing bright green eyes. He’s wearing a vintage t-shirt underneath a well-worn brown leather jacket. Everything about him screams, ‘hip theatre guy.’ The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

He envies the man with everything in his entire being. The way he gets to look at you–a wide smile, soft eyes that get to follow your every movement.

Javi’s jaw clenches as he watches you and your handsome stranger approach a group. Your eyes also scan the backyard, and for too quick of a moment, they meet with his… until you look away and laugh at something your companion just said. The sound feels like a knife twisting into his chest.

He’s hyper-aware of your presence all night, watching you from the corner of his eyes, each sight of you a blessing and a curse.

He tries to focus on his conversations, on Steve, on his coworkers–on anything but you. But his eyes keep drifting back. The man who came with you never strays from your side, his hand often resting on the small of your back or brushing against your arm.

He wants nothing more than to cross the patio, pull you aside, and explain everything. To beg for forgiveness, to tell you how much he misses you. But he stays rooted in place, trapped by his own choices and the consequences that followed.

The gathering begins to thin out as the night goes on. He watches as you say goodbye to a few guests, hugging them warmly. Your eyes sweep across the yard again, and for a moment, he thinks you might look his way. But you turn, whispering something to your companion before heading towards the house alone.

Before he can second-guess himself, he sets down his beer and follows you. He slips through the patio doors and can just make out the soft pad of your footsteps heading upstairs.

He follows you as if you’re a perp, softly ascending the stairs–just like that morning after he first met you. The light escapes under the door of the guest bathroom. He takes a breath, steeling himself as he waits for you to come out.

The knob turns, and his heart races as the door opens, revealing you in the soft light of the bathroom. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Can I... can I apologize?" Javi asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, Jav. You can't."

Jav. Fuck. Hearing you say his name makes his heart drop. His hand taps against his thigh, fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.

"You hurt me," your voice trembles. Each word feels like a dagger in his heart. "I'm... I'm trying to let time pass by. To move on."

“Please, I never meant to—”

His plea is cut short by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.

Connie appears, her keen eyes taking in the scene before her. She reaches for your hand while shooting Javi a glance. She understands without a single word spoken.

“Go on, love, go back to the party. Elliott is waiting for you,” Connie softly says to you.

He watches as you nod and quickly leave, not even sparing a glance back at him.

“Javier,” Connie says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s happy.” 

He swallows, his brown eyes rounding with the guilt he too often has to hide.

Connie's eyes soften as she looks at him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She leads him to the guest room where he spent that first night with you.

She closes the door and motions for him to sit on the bed. The same bed he held you close on.

"Javier," she begins, her voice gentle but firm. "I know what happened. I know you care about her. And I know she cares about you. She told me.”

He looks up at her, surprised by her words. "She told you? About us?"

Connie nods, a sad smile on her lips. "She was heartbroken. That first month after you told her not to call, she was a wreck. She tried to hide it, but Steve mentioned you while she was here for dinner one night, and she… she quickly got up and made an excuse. I found her crying in this room. She told me everything.”

“Steve?” he asks, feeling even more guilt wash over him, the weight of his choices crushing his chest.

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know. I promised not to tell him.”

“I had to let her go–for her, for Steve, for everyone." He hangs his head, staring at his clasped hands. He squeezes them harder, needing to let the pressure out somehow. He searches for the right words. "She’s happy now? With him?"

Connie nods. "Elliott is a good guy," she says gently. "He treats her well. But..." She pauses and then sighs. “But I don’t think he’s you.”

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know. If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her how you truly feel."

He nods slowly. “I can't stop thinking about her. About what could have been."

"If you really care for her–if you're willing to face whatever might come from being with her–then you need to let her know. But if you're going to run away again at the first sign of trouble, then you have to let her go. For good this time."

“And Steve?”

“Listen, he’s a big softy underneath it all. Might take him a bit to come around to it, but I’ll hide his gun for you. I know that, in the end, as long as she’s happy, he’ll be happy.”

He nods. He knows you’re the one. “Thanks, Connie.”

She stands, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just think about it, okay? And whatever you decide, be sure. She deserves that much."

Connie leaves him alone in the bedroom. He runs his hand along the comforter, closing his eyes, and can almost feel the warmth of your body curled against his. He wishes he could hold you again.

He takes a deep breath, his decision made.

—-

The house lights dim, the audience hushes, and the stage lights brighten. The curtain draws back, and there you are, center stage, glowing like an ethereal being.

His heart soars with pride as he watches you mesmerize the crowd with your talent. You embody your character completely, and he’s in awe of you even from his seat in the back row.

He hears the familiar lines of the end monologue–the same lines he heard you recite over and over months ago. They transport him back to those nights spent on the phone with you. The familiar ache in his chest gets tighter, squeezing his heart harder. A lone tear wells in his eye as he mouths the final line with you.

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

The crowd erupts into applause as the curtain closes. You were flawless. He knew you’d be amazing.

You return to the stage, a wide smile on your face, the stage lights glinting off unshed tears in your eyes.

Now’s his chance. He slips out the stage door, walking down a side hallway marked "Authorized Personnel Only." In this hand, he clutches a bouquet of bright flowers and the day’s newspaper.

He pauses at each door, reading the names scrawled on makeshift placards. He finally finds yours, glancing over his shoulder before gently turning the doorknob.

He’s never been in a space of yours before. He knows he has to be quick, but he takes a moment to breathe in the scent of your perfume.

He places the bouquet and newspaper on the vanity, before quickly exiting and slipping out the stage door.

—-

Javi paces in his apartment, unable to sit still. He can still hear your voice and picture how you looked under the stage lights.

It’s been hours since he left the flowers in your dressing room. Did you find them? Did you read his note? Has enough time passed?

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, hoping it might calm him.

As he raises the glass to his lips, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the quiet. He sets down his drink and reaches for the phone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself before answering. "Hello?"

"Javi." Your voice is soft and hesitant. He closes his eyes, smiling at the sound he's missed so much.

“Hey,” he says, a relieved smile lighting his face. “Congratulations. You were incredible.”

“Thank you. The flowers are beautiful… and the newspaper?"

His heart speeds in his chest. “I-I was hoping we could read the news together like old times?”

Silence hangs between the two of you as he waits for your response.

“I’d… I’d like that. What’s your address?”

[girlactionfigure]

Nicholas Winton was a young British stockbroker who rescued 669 Czech Jewish children from being sent to Nazi death camps. He never told anybody of his heroism, and the story only came out 50 years later after his wife found an old briefcase in the attic containing lists of children he’d saved.

Nicholas was a 29 year old clerk at the London stock exchange getting ready for a ski trip to Switzerland when he received an urgent call from his friend Martin Blake. Known to be passionately opposed to Nazism, Martin urged Nicholas to cancel his vacation and come to Prague immediately. He told Nicolas, “I have a most interesting assignment and I need your help. Don’t bother bringing your skis.”

It is a testament to Nicolas’ sterling character and strong moral compass that he didn’t waver for a moment. It was an easy decision to sacrifice his fun and relaxing ski trip and instead travel to a dangerous place on a mysterious mission.

Two months earlier, in October 1938, Nazi Germany had annexed the Sudetenland It was clear that the Nazis would soon occupy all of Czechoslovakia. When he reached Prague, Nicholas was shocked by the huge influx of refugees fleeing from the Nazis. In early November, the Kristallnacht pogrom occurred in Germany and Austria. Jews were killed in the street and hundreds of synagogues burned down, as well as Jewish-owned businesses. This horrifying event shocked the Jewish community in eastern Europe, and thousands were now desperate to flee.

Born to Jewish parents, Nicholas was actually Jewish himself. However, his parents changed their name from Wertheim and converted to Christianity before he was born. Nicholas was baptized and raised as a Christian, and he didn’t consider himself Jewish (although was doubtless aware that Hitler would.)

In Prague, organizations were springing up to help sick and elderly refugees, but Nicholas noticed that nobody was trying to help the children. In his words, “I found out that the children of refugees and other groups of people who were enemies of Hitler weren’t being looked after. I decided to try to get permits to Britain for them. I found out that the conditions which were laid down for bringing in a child were chiefly that you had a family that was willing and able to look after the child, and fifty pounds, which was quite a large sum of money in those days, that was to be deposited at the Home Office. The situation was heartbreaking. Many of the refugees hadn’t the price of a meal. Some of the mothers tried desperately to get money to buy food for themselves and their children. The parents desperately wanted at least to get their children to safety when they couldn’t manage to get visas for the whole family. I began to realize what suffering there is when armies start to march.”

Nicholas knew something had to be done, and he decided to be the one to do it. He later remembered, “Everybody in Prague said, ‘Look, there is no organization in Prague to deal with refugee children, nobody will let the children go on their own, but if you want to have a go, have a go.’ And I think there is nothing that can’t be done if it is fundamentally reasonable.”

Nicholas decided to find homes for the children in the UK, where they would be safe. He set up a command center in his hotel room in Wenceslas Square and his first step was to contact the refugee offices of different national governments and see how many children they could accept. Only two countries agreed to take any Jewish children: Sweden and Great Britain, which pledged to accept all children under age 18 as long as they had homes and fifty pounds to pay for their trip home.

With this green light from Great Britain, Nicholas did everything possible to find homes for the children. He returned to London and did much of the planning from there, which enabled him to continue working at the Stock Exchange and soliciting funds from other bankers to pay for his work with the refugees. Winton needed a large amount of money to pay for transportation costs, foster homes, and many other necessities such as food and medicine.

Nicholas placed ads in newspapers large and small all over Great Britain, as well as in hundreds of church and synagogue newsletters. Knowing he had to play on people’s emotions to convince them to open their home to young strangers who didn’t even speak English, Nicholas printed flyers with pictures of children seeking refuge. He was tireless in his efforts and persuaded an incredible number of heroic Brits to welcome the traumatized young refugees into their homes and hearts.

The office in Wenceslas Square was manned by fellow Brit Trevor Chadwick. Every day terrified parents came in and begged him to find temporary homes for their children. Despite Nicholas’ success in finding places for the kids to stay, British and German government bureaucrats made things difficult, demanding multiple forms and documents. Nicholas said, “Officials at the Home Office worked very slowly with the entry visas. We went to them urgently asking for permits, only to be told languidly, ‘Why rush, old boy? Nothing will happen in Europe.’ This was a few months before the war broke out. So we forged the Home Office entry permits.”

The first transport of children boarded airplanes in Prague which took them to Britain. Nicholas organized an amazing seven more transports, all of them by train, and then boat across the English Channel. The children met their foster families at the train station and Winton took great care in making the matches between children and foster parents.

The children’s transport organized by Nicholas Winton was similar to the later, larger Kindertransport operation, but specifically for Czech Jewish children. Nicholas saved an astounding 669 children on eight transports. Tragically, the largest transport of all was scheduled for September 1, 1939 – but on that day, Hitler invaded Poland and all borders were closed by Germany. Winton was haunted for decades by the remembrance of the 250 children he last saw boarding the train. “Within hours of the announcement, the train disappeared. None of the 250 children aboard was seen again. We had 250 families waiting at Liverpool Street that day in vain. If the train had been a day earlier, it would have come through. Not a single one of those children was heard of again, which is an awful feeling.”

Nicholas joined the British military and spent the rest of the war serving as a pilot in the Royal Air Force, attaining the rank of Flight Lieutenant. After the war, Nicholas worked for the International Refugee Organization in Paris, where he met and married Grete Gjelstrup, a Danish secretary. They moved to Maidenhead, in Great Britain, and had three children. Their youngest child, Robin, had Down Syndrome, and at that time children with the condition were usually sent to institutions. However Nicholas and Grete wouldn’t consider it and instead kept their son at home with the family. Tragically, Robin died of meningitis the day before his sixth birthday. Nicholas was devastated by the loss, and became an active volunteer with Mencap, a charity to help people with Down Syndrome and other developmental delays. He remained involved in Mencap for over fifty years.

Humble – and perhaps traumatized by the children on the train he wasn’t able to save – Nicholas rarely talked about his wartime heroism and his own family didn’t know the details. It was only in 1988 that Nicholas Winton became widely known. His wife found an old notebook of his containing lists of the children he saved. Working with a Holocaust researcher, she tracked down some of the children and located eighty of them still living in Britain. These grown children, some with grandchildren, found out for the first time who had saved them.

The BBC television show called That’s Life! invited Nicholas to the filming an episode that became one of the most emotional clips in TV history. With Nicholas in the audience, the host told his story, including photos and details about some of the children he’d saved. Then the told Nicholas that one of those children was the woman in the seat next to him! They embraced, teary eyed, and the host announced there were more grown children in the audience as well. She asked everybody who owed their life to Nicholas Winton to stand up. The entire audience stood up, as Nicholas sat stunned, wiping away the tears.

After that, Nicholas was showered with honors, including a knighthood for services to humanity. Known as the British Schindler, he met the Queen multiple times and received the Pride of Britain Award for Lifetime Achievement, both for saving refugee children and working with Mencap to improve the lives of people with cognitive differences. There are multiple statues of him in Prague and the UK, and his story was the subject of three films.

Nicholas Winton died in Britain in July 2015, at age 106. Today there are tens of thousands of people who owe their lives to Nicholas Winton.

Accidental Talmudist

[respectthepetty]

I crawled through sixteen episodes of Fourever You, so I could drag myself into the finale for THIS color coding! I had my doubts in some of these episodes, but here I am, living my best color-coded life because North is a Green Guy and Johan IS a Red Rascal.

And now that they are together, they perfectly complement each other as two chile peppers would!

Hill and Ter are also two great color-coded boys in love since bright and happy Yellow Yal Ter brought reserved and quiet Blue Boy Hill out of his shell.

EVERYONE IS COLOR CODED AND IN LOVE!

Well, expect for Typhoon, but his sad story is coming in Part Two, which I better be getting this year like Director New said. Or else!

Because I also want to know about his little friend Dao's spicy story with Arthit!

Oh, and apparently the continuation of Tiger and Duennao's story too.

Since they still aren't a couple; they just act like it six days a week.

But back to the couples who are official couples being cute.

Well, and Johan being so possessive that he won't even let his mom hug North. Peak Red Rascal behavior. Love to see it in fictional men.

Johan keeps up the behavior when they go home to visit their families. He hides his Green Guy behind him as he tries to not act his red color.

But that doesn't last long since he argues with his father at the slightest hint of his man's name on his dad's lips.

So even though The Alamo shirt looks blue, it feels green to me since North is truly the only thing keeping his man calm at any given moment.

All Johan needs is to look at North, and the entire world ceases to exist. Look at Johan. He ain't listening. He hasn't heard one word from North's pretty little mouth.

All he heard was North would leave him, and he jumped into sugar daddy mode. He said, "take all my money because I already gave you my heart." North, buy a bouncy house. No! A bouncy CASTLE! Use that man's money for good.

And invite your bestie Ter since he is going through it as he visits not only his family which includes the dad who yelled at him for being gay, but also Hill's family which includes the grandpa who separated them for being gay. It's a homophobe hoedown.

I know it's a lot, but they have each other!

And Ter has a sister and a mom rooting for them as the mom wears Hill's blue, and the sister is basically a Pride flag.

Plus Hill's grandma is not only supportive, but she kept the blue birthday jar Ter gave Hill in his room, so the women in these families are getting a spring wedding from these two even if Hill and Ter don't know it yet.

But I think these color-coded boys in love know it.

Well, at least Hill does.

Because his grandmother gave him the same necklace that his dad gave his mom when he knew she was the one.

And Hill has always known this pretty boy is the only one for him.

Sidenote: I actually gasped at how beautiful and young Cooheart looks here. That twenty-eight year old does not look a day over seventeen.

Kudos, Yellow Yal, for being the sun in Hill's blue sky, the star guiding him at all times, and the moon in his dark night. Way to be that man's everything, so now he can give you everything (like a bouncy castle!).

And even if Johan and North never get married, I'm sure they will be together forever too.

Since North probably already unknowingly signed no less than sixteen documents that Johan had his lawyers draw up which makes it legal for Johan to own North in at least twenty-three countries regardless of martial status and escape is punishable by death so . . . 'til death do you part, North. Congratulations, buddy!

Basically, every color-coded boy in love got his happy ending, and I was thrilled to witness it.

NOW BRING ME PART TWO!

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | It Means Fuck Off

I wasn't planning on posting this yet but I need some feel good chemicals going in my brain before I give my professor the award for being the single most unhelpful teacher I have ever had in my entire life. Mans is actively making my life harder and not easier.

CW: Mommy issues, lots of negative self talk, general staring at women's bodies even though they just want to be left alone.

Trading shifts, what a simple way to alter the course of one’s life. Something akin to missing a train or a flight delay causing you to miss a connection, some exterior force course correcting you to where you need to be.

Leaning on one elbow on the stainless steel counter studying your text book you can feel your brain melting in your skull. Being a fourth-year medical student had taught you that while one could get a fever hot enough to “cook” the brain in the skull it wouldn’t occur from studying for too long. The voice of your mother itched in the back of your mind, telling you to give up and move on, you’ll never be more than a whore.

That had always been her favorite insult to hurl at you. Puberty hit you like a truck from a number of your favorite animes, transporting you into a woman-like body over the course of one summer. You still had the stretch marks.

Your mother hated it and hated you. She would never say that though. The high-powered pick-me lawyer could never let it be known that the only love she had in her soul had to be provided by the attention of a man. Psych 101 had been an enlightening class. You had nearly decided to go for a psychiatric residency before the chemistry classes debased that idea in your head.

When residency was over and you were settled somewhere you had decided to find a therapist to help you unpack all the shit that your mother had endowed you with. Her snide comments, wool-encased bricks lobbed at you from her high tower where she held both the power and the autonomy to keep you a prisoner, pelted you even now despite the years and distance between you.

The only escape you had found had been concurrent and AP classes in high school and a scholarship to finish your bachelor’s degree in one year directly out of high school and across the country. You worked your ass off for a few years to be old enough to never need her money again and passed the MCAT on the first try. The local medical school had accepted you at twenty-six, an old maid in that first class filled with nineteen and twenty-year-olds. That is how you had landed at a late-night cafe as a barista. You took as little student loans as possible and that meant working late and rising early for classes.

Coming full circle, you had traded shifts with the owner. Lucky bitch had five of the hottest boyfriends who were also boyfriends you had everseen and the bitch was ace. All that luck wasted on someone who didn’t ride their boyfriends until they whimpered night after night after night. God, you needed to get laid.

She had told you when you agreed to switch though that a group would be coming in to use the private room around midnight. She had warned you not to be alarmed but they would all be covered head to toe and would pay with cash. What she had failed to mention is that all four men who would appear at midnight, like wraiths wrapped in darkness, is that they were fucking jacked. They were ripped. To be frank you weren’t sure how any of them put shirts on or how the fabric didn’t rip like they were Bruce Banner turning green. Every one of them wore a surgical mask.

They all stepped to the counter, menacing vibes a miasma that eddied around them. Several patrons were scattered about the space, in quiet conversation or the clacking of keyboard keys, offering the illusion of safety. Aiming a well-trained smile any customer-facing worker would recognize at the men you greeted them.

“Hi welcome in, what can I get started for you?”

The tallest, broadest one, scanned the menu before glancing down. The demons in your mind began howling when instead of landing on your face his gaze landed firmly on the shadows of your cleavage peaking above the edge of your shirt. You had forgotten you had agreed to this shift until it was too late to change into the high-necked band tees you normally wore. The soundtrack of self-hate had always been easier to ignore if you could avoid drawing attention to your body.

“Four large black coffees, sugar and cream on the side.”

No please, no thank you. Fine, whatever wouldn’t be the last person tonight even that wouldn’t treat you with the same respect a wandering cat would receive.

“And you want all of those hot?” You tap away at the screen as you wait for his answer.

“Yes.” His voice should be much lower than it is, but it is still pleasant on the ear. The curl of his tongue around the words tells you English was not learned at his mother’s breast.

“Okay, your price is pulling up, this system slows down after midnight.” You roll your eyes at it, “If you give me a moment I can get that ready for you and let you into the room you have reserved.” You catch sight of the one with blue eyes that burn trailing those selfsame irises down one collarbone, to the bunching of skin, and then trailing back up to the other side.

The sniping words, whore, bitch, no good wench, nothing more than pussy, tits, and a mouth, fly through your mind, debris in the storm picking up speed. Grown and a world away her words still cut at you like glass.

Four hot coffees are settled on the counter as you count out change and return it to a leather-gloved hand. Did he have to buy specialty gloves to ensure that they fit?

The third man shifted his head toward you from behind his sunglasses before turning back to observe the room. A smudge of black hair peeked from below his hat.

Carrying the key along with several packets of sugar in your apron pocket and the carafe of creamer you can feel the fourth man’s eyes digging into your spine directly above your bra strap. No skin had been visible on him since the moment they entered the shop. That level of dedication impressed something in you.

You would have stayed impressed except the man couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Unlocking the door you stepped aside and let the men trail in, careful to keep your back to the wall by the premise of holding the door open with your foot. Once everyone found a seat you set the creamer on the table and turned to leave.

The completely covered one caught your wrist, fiddling with the ties of your bracelet. A friend had given it to you last Christmas when your mother had tried to reach out to ‘mend fences’. Turns out she was getting married again and her fiance wanted to meet the prodigal daughter.

The dainty silver beads pressed into your flesh as he dragged a thumb over them.

“What’s all this about? From a lover?”

The accent on his words tickles your senses. Then the understanding of his question settles home.

Customer service mode leaves your face and body, the bitch your mother always claimed you to be coming out.

“It reads fuck off,” you wrench your hand from his grip and slam the door shut behind you. When you settle back in the kitchen you fire off a text to your boss.

<Heads up, ended up snapping at one of your special customers.

Next, you fire off a message to Quinn, seeing if he could come in a half hour early so you didn’t have to close alone if the layered lechers stayed until closing.

Quinn confirmed he could be in early.

The parade from the conference room occurred as Quinn was arriving, leaving him to hold the door open for them as they passed. Closing duties went faster with Quinn collecting all the dishes for cleaning and you were home and in bed, books prepped for class in the morning on the table.

You woke a few hours later to a reply from your boss.

>Whatever you did they probably deserved it. You know I will back you 100%. But John says they seemed to like you better for snapping.

If you didn’t have to rush to avoid being late for your eleven am class you would have rolled your eyes. They liked being snapped at, that you were mean to them? Yeah, right.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog @beloveds-embrace (boo I hope you like your surprise.)

[kultklassickiller]

Prada You Chapter 19

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains age gap relationships, underage drinking, violence.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 19: Bonded

August 1st 1998

The early morning quiet was broken by the sharp ring of the cell phone Jey had given me weeks ago. I groggily reached over to grab it from my nightstand, my heart racing at the unexpected call. The small screen lit up with an unknown number. I answered believing it could be important.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"Nyeya, it’s Solo," his voice came through low and serious. "Listen, the laws picked up Jey and Jimmy yesterday for questioning."

I sat up quickly, the grogginess vanishing. "Oh my God! What? Are they okay? What happened?"

"They good. Lawyer’s got ‘em out. They getting released in a few hours, and Jey wants you there," Solo said, his tone softening. "I’m picking up Nataya for Jimmy. I can swing by and get you too."

My stomach churned. The thought of seeing Jey after everything from the past few days made my chest tighten, but this wasn’t about me right now. He needed me. The only problem was Michael. Mama was working the night shift, and I was responsible for him. Leaving him alone wasn’t an option. His ass would never let it go if he woke up and I wasn’t there.

"Alright," I said after a moment. "Come get me."

"Bet. I’ll be there soon," Solo said before hanging up.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet touching the cool floor as I hurried to get dressed. I threw on a simple outfit: jeans and a cropped hoodie. There was no time for makeup, just some lip gloss and putting my braids in a bun. Once ready, I padded over to Michael’s room and knocked softly before pushing the door open.

I stood over him, shaking him awake. "Girl, what?" Michael groaned; his face buried in his pillow.

"Get up. I need you to get dressed. We gotta go somewhere," I said, flipping on the light.

He turned his head to glare at me, squinting against the brightness. "Go where? It’s too damn early for this, Nye."

I hesitated. "We… we’re going to the police station. Now can you please just get dressed."

That got his attention. Michael sat up, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "And what that got to do with me? Why the hell we need to go to the jail house? If ya dude in jail, that’s on you.”

"Chill out on me. You know I can’t leave you here," I said quickly. "Jey and Jimmy got picked up by the laws yesterday. They’re getting released soon, and I gotta be there."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "And you think I care why? He’ll be aight without you. See his ass later."

Michael was blowing me right now. He could never just go with the flow. Always a damn fight with him. But I knew how to get him to agree even if his ass didn’t deserve it.

I sighed, crossing my arms. "I’ll give you $100 to come with me."

He snorted, flopping back onto his pillow. "$200. Nothing less.”

I threw my arms up. Jey money wasn't mines. I mean it was but he didn’t need to know that. I had no other options though. "Fine," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "But hurry up. Solo’s on his way."

Michael grinned, clearly satisfied with his deal, and dragged himself out of bed. By the time he was ready, Solo was pulling up outside. I grabbed my bag and followed Michael out the door.

---

Solo was behind the wheel of his SUV, with Jacob riding shotgun. Nataya sat in the backseat, her face red and wet. As Michael and I climbed in, I quickly explained why Michael was with me.

"He’s cool," Solo said, nodding at Michael. "We know how it is."

Michael dapped up Solo and Jacob, already acquainted from past run-ins. I was no longer surprised he knew certain people. I could feel some of the tension ease as I settled in, but it was still thick in the air. As we drove, Nataya leaned closer to me, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why would the police be questioning them, Nye?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with worry.

I hesitated. I couldn’t tell her what I knew, not without revealing too much. "It’s just how they do," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "The laws don’t have anything, or they wouldn’t be letting them go."

She nodded, but the worry didn’t leave her face. "You sure?"

"I’m sure," I said firmly. "Just stay cool. Everything gon’ be alright."

I didn’t believe what I had just said but it was enough to calm Nataya. Damian was right. Something was coming and I don’t think none of us would be prepared for it.

We fell into silence for the rest of the drive. When we arrived at the station, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Solo parked, and Nataya and I climbed out to wait by the entrance. The minutes felt like hours, each second stretching endlessly. My nerves were on edge, and I could tell Nataya was feeling the same.

Finally, around 6 a.m., the doors opened, and Jey and Jimmy walked out, their lawyer trailing behind them. My heart leapt, and I broke into a run, throwing myself into Jey’s arms. His hold was strong and grounding, his face tired but relieved.

"Baby, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I’m good, mama," he said, his voice low and soothing. "They didn’t touch me. I’m okay."

Behind us, Nataya burst into tears as Jimmy pulled her into his arms, whispering something I couldn’t hear. For a moment, everything else faded, and it was just us— reunited, if only for now.

We all piled back into Solo’s SUV, the atmosphere lighter now but still tinged with unease. Jey’s eyes landed on Michael, who was sitting quietly on the other side of me.

"What lil’ man doing up?" Jey asked, his tone more curious than anything.

I explained quickly, and Jey chuckled, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out $300 and handed it to Michael. "There. Now she don’t owe you nothing. We good?”

Michael grinned, pocketing the money. "Good lookin’ out, Jey. We good. More than good."

I rolled my eyes knowing his ass was about to ball out with all that money. I needed to get some as well for all my troubles. I made a mental note to ask him once things cool down.

---

Solo drove us back to the lounge where Jey and Jimmy had been picked up. The guy’s got out to talk for a few minutes while Nataya and I hugged goodbye. She climbed into Jimmy’s car, and I got into Jey’s with Michael.

The ride home was quiet, Michael leaning back with his eyes closed in the back seat while Jey reached over to hold my hand. He kissed my knuckles occasionally, his thumb brushing over my skin. The simple gesture made my heart ache, a mix of love and fear swirling inside me. Jey could be sweet at times, but he could change up so quick.

When we pulled up to my building, Jey told Michael to give us a minute. Michael shrugged, thanking Jey for his money again and heading inside.

"Are you sure you okay, babe?" I asked, cupping Jey’s face as soon as we were alone. His eyes softened, and he leaned into my touch.

"Baby, I’m good," he said, his voice steady. "You don’t need to worry about nothing. I got it handled. Everything gon’ work out in the end."

He seemed so sure of his ability to stop what I believe we all knew was coming. I liked that about him. So strong, so fearless. I had to be strong to at least for his sake.

Jey kissed me gently, and I felt my fears crumble. Whatever doubts I had melted away in that moment. His kisses always seem like an antidote.

"I’m sorry for how I acted last time," he said, his forehead resting against mine. "I told you I’d be better for you, and I mean that. Let me make it up to you. We’ll go out tonight. Somewhere nice."

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. Sure.”

"Dress up for me," he said, his lips brushing mine one last time before pulling away. "I’ll pick you up later."

I stepped out of the car, watching him drive away. For the first time in days, I felt lighter, like maybe things could finally go back to how they used to be. Damian’s warnings were a faint echo in the back of my mind, but I shoved them aside. Jey was who I wanted. And Jey was who I’d stay with through it all.

---

The sun had barely set when I was standing in front of my mirror, smoothing down the red strapless romper I’d picked out. The soft fabric hugged my curves, leaving just enough to the imagination, and I couldn’t help but admire how good I looked. The scented shea butter made my brown skin glisten under the light. I grabbed my phone, dialing Kiyah while brushing a bit of gloss over my lips. I’m sure Nataya had already filled her in, but she was waiting to hear it from me. Nosey ass.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Heifa, it’s about time you called," Kiyah said, her voice teasing. "I was starting to think you was gon’ hold out on me. Now spill. What happened this morning?"

I sighed, leaning against my dresser. "Not much to tell, honestly. Solo called me early this morning to let me know Jey and Jimmy were being released from questioning. They picked them up from the lounge they was at yesterday. Kept them overnight. We waited outside the station, and then Jey took me home. That’s it.”

"Mmm," Kiyah hummed, her tone skeptical. "You don’t find it weird that the cops picked them up out of nowhere? You know what that’s probably about, right?"

I knew exactly what she was insinuating but wasn’t about to entertain it. Like I said, taking it to my grave. "It could’ve been about anything," I said, feigning nonchalance. "The police are always messing with folks especially them. You know what they do for money. I don’t believe they had anything to do with what happened to Carmelo."

"You really believe that?" she asked.

I hesitated, biting my lip. "I don’t think the Prada Bois had anything to do with that," I lied, my voice firm. "It was probably something else entirely. Like the drugs or trap houses they got."

Kiyah let out a small laugh. "Yea, but I saw the news, girl. They out for blood. So, they could’ve just picked them up to see if they can pin it on them anyway. Hope not though especially if the real killers still free."

My stomach knotted. I hate lying to Kiyah, but some things just didn’t need to be said …ever.

"Probably. But I agree with you," I said. "I’ll call you when I get home… if I come home."

"You better. I want to hear all the details," Kiyah said, her voice playful. "But something tells me you’ll be shacked up with your man tonight. He got some making up to do."

I laughed, hanging up just as Mama’s voice called from the living room.

"Nye, you heading out?"

"Yeah, Mama," I said, stepping out of my room. She was standing in the middle of the living room, braiding one of her client’s hair with a focused expression. "My guy friend taking me out."

She glanced up, her hands pausing briefly. "Be safe, and if you stay at Kiyah’s let me know. Love you."

"I will," I promised, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. “I love you more.”

Just as I made it down the stairs, Jey pulled up in a car I hadn’t seen before. An all black 1990 Chevy Caprice. He hopped out, a rare grin lighting up his face as he opened the passenger side door for me. My heart fluttered at the gesture— this was new.

"Damn, you look good as hell," he said, his eyes raking over me. Before I could respond, he scooped me up, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss. My giggle was muffled against his mouth as I playfully pushed at his chest.

"Don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish," I teased, my cheeks warm.

He let me go with a wink, his hand grazing my behind as he helped me into the car. "Oh, you know I always finish. Believe that."

I stuck my tongue out at him as he closed the door, jogging to the driver's side.

---

The drive was easy, Jey’s hand laced with mine as the radio played softly in the background. Tamia’s "So Into You" came on, and I couldn’t help but sing along, the lyrics slipping from my lips effortlessly.

"I really like what you've done to me… I can't really explain it, I'm so into you…"

Jey glanced over, a grin spreading across his face. "That’s how I met yo' ass, you know," he said. "Yo’ ass was singing at that rec party that night like you didn’t care who was listening. I knew right then you were special."

My cheeks heated, his words warming me in a way I couldn’t describe. "You remember that?"

"How could I forget?" he said, squeezing my hand. "Best night of my life."

The sincerity in his voice made my heart ache in the best way. Moments like this reminded me why I fell for him in the first place. He knew how to make my heart smile.

When we pulled up to the arcade, I couldn’t help the little happy dance I did in my seat. "I haven’t been to an arcade since Michael’s birthday last year!"

Jey’s grin widened as he watched me. "Glad I could make you happy."

We walked inside hand in hand, the hum of games and laughter surrounding us. The arcade was bustling, neon lights flashing against the black carpeted floors. Jey held me close, his presence a protective shield as we navigated the crowd.

"Let’s eat first," he said, leading me to the small food court tucked in the corner. We grabbed a booth, and I couldn’t help but steal bites from his plate, earning teasing looks from him.

"You got your own food, girl" he said, shaking his head with a laugh.

"And? I’ma eat yours and mines. Now move your hand," I replied, popping a fry of his into my mouth.

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

“But you love me,” I teased, doing a little shimmy. He rolled his eyes, but I could see the smile on his lips.

---

After a couple of drinks at the bar—Jey had paid the bartender to overlook my lack of ID—we hit the games. From skee-ball to air hockey, we played like kids, laughing and teasing each other the whole time. Jey was competitive, but so was I, and I made sure he knew it.

"You cheat!" he accused, pointing at the scoreboard after I beat him at basketball.

"I’m just better, baby," I shot back, sticking my tongue out.

But as we moved to another game, I noticed something—a group of three women sitting by the bar, their eyes locked on us. My stomach twisted uncomfortably, but before I could say anything, I spotted a familiar face entering the arcade.

"Jey," I said, tugging at his shirt. "Look at this shit here."

He followed my gaze, his face breaking into a grin. "Jacob and Kiyah," he said, calling out loudly. "Yo’, Jacob!"

I groaned, slapping his arm. "Why you gotta be so loud? She on probation.”

Jacob and Kiyah looked over, surprised to see us. As they made their way over, I crossed my arms, giving Kiyah a pointed look.

"How the hell was I supposed to call you if you’re out here running around with Jacob?" I asked, my tone playful but accusing.

Kiyah laughed, holding up her hands. "It was a last-minute thing, I swear. Take it easy on me. You know I’m tryna secure Big Daddy."

We snickered knowing what that meant. She was about run his pockets dry, a bunch of kids or not. Kiyah was gon’ get her cut.

The four of us fell into an easy rhythm, talking and playing games as the night went on. It felt good to relax, to laugh like everything was normal. But as the clock approached 11, my attention was drawn back to the three women. They hadn’t moved, and their eyes were still on us—or more specifically, on Jey.

I didn’t like it. Something felt off about it. "Girl, they starting to irk me. They been watching hard as hell all night. Do we know them?" I asked Kiyah, nodding toward the group.

She followed my gaze, her brow furrowing. "Oh, damn. That’s Tasha," she said after a moment. "Jey’s ex… or at least I think that’s what she was. They probably just messing around."

My stomach dropped. I couldn’t stop the hostility bubbling up. "Huh? Really?"

Kiyah grabbed my arm. "Don’t start. She was probably nothing to his ass. It’s not worth it, Nye. Let her ass look."

She knew how I could get especially if I had been drinking. I was heated and the tension was already brewing.  Kiyah must’ve sensed I was about to start some shit. So, she pulled me toward the bathroom.

"Where y’all going?" Jey called out, his tone crisp and light.

"We’ll be back," I replied, my voice tight as we disappeared into the bathroom.

Once inside, Kiyah turned to me, her face a mix of concern and exasperation. "Aye, Nye. You gotta chill. If they don’t buck, we won’t. Cool? "

I exhaled, pacing the small space as my emotions churned. "It’s just funny how Jey and I get back on good terms, and suddenly his ex shows up."

Kiyah crossed her arms. "Look, Tasha ditzy ass ain’t on that. She’d be a damn fool to start some shit knowing she can’t fight worth a damn."

Her attempt to lighten the mood brought a small smile to my face. "You wild but are you sure?"

"Positive," she said firmly. "Now, freshen up, and let’s go back out there."

I was gon’ be cool ..for now. As long as she stayed in her place. But as we returned to the main area, my heart sank when I saw Tasha and her friends now surrounding the pool table. Tasha was up in Jey’s face, smiling and talking like she had every right to be there. My blood boiled all over again, and this time, I wasn’t about to let it slide.

Without thinking, I stalked toward them, Kiyah right behind me. I wasn’t about to allow no disrespect especially after all the shit I done been through with this man.  

"Jey," I said loudly, cutting off whatever Tasha was saying. "I see you real popular especially when I’m not around. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friend?"

I sized up Tasha now that I could. She appeared to be 5’6, a tiny thing covered in tattoos. The red cherry on her shoulder stood out. She was cute with her red pixie cut and button nose. That was cool but she wasn’t me.

Jey’s eyes flicked to me, sensing the tension. "Tasha ain’t nobody special," he said quickly.

Tasha’s dark brown eyes narrowed. "Nobody special? I didn’t know you slept with nobodies without protection for months. Telling them you love them and can’t live without ‘em."

Jey sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. Tasha shifted from one leg to the other ignoring me altogether.

I saw red. "Girl, that’s dead now" I said sharply. "You old news. I’m his girl."

Tasha looked me up and down before smirking. "Jey I didn’t know you liked little girls now. Especially after dealing with a woman like me.”

I stepped forward, but Jey held me back. Jey tried to intervene, but before he could say anything I raised a hand to stop him. She had really pushed me too far.

"You can meet me outside if you’ve got a problem we need to solve," I said, my voice cutting through the friction like a blade. My chest rose and fell with the adrenaline coursing through me, but my expression stayed sharp. Tasha’s two friends exchanged glances, shifting closer like they were ready to jump in.

The air crackled with the kind of unease that could explode at any second. People were starting to pay attention to scene unfolding. Before I could take a step forward, Kiyah was suddenly beside me, her presence grounding me.

"Y’all really don’t want this," Kiyah said, her smirk dripping with confidence. Her gaze flicked from Tasha to her friends, her tone as casual as it was direct. "And Tasha, please. Be serious right now. Yo’ ass can’t fight worth a damn. Gon’ head and scram before you embarrass yourself in front of all these people."

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from my chest. Jacob, standing off to the side, laughed too, the sound only adding to Tasha’s humiliation. Her cheeks flushed crimson as her jaw tightened. For a second, I thought she was going to back down. She turned slightly, as if retreating, but then she spun back around and threw a wild swing at me.

Her fist sailed past my face, and instinct took over. My hand shot up, landing a clean hit to her cheek that sent her stumbling back. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the arcade erupted into chaos. Tasha’s friends lunged toward me, but Kiyah was quicker, stepping in to intercept them. She took on both of the women pushing one down and swinging at the other.

"Get off me!" Tasha screeched, clawing at my arms as I grabbed a fistful of her short hair, yanking her backward. My heart pounded in my ears as we hit the ground, her nails scratching at my face. The sound of shoes scuffling against the floor and shouts filled the air, but all I could focus on was her.

Jey’s voice boomed above the noise. "Yo, Nyeya! Stop! Stop!"

I felt his arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off the ground as I struggled to get free. My blood was still boiling, and I kicked at the air, my adrenaline refusing to let me calm down. She needed to feel me.

"Baby! Enough!" Jey shouted; his voice hard as he held me tight. His strength overpowered my resistance, and I finally went limp, my chest heaving with anger. I pulled my romper back up over my strapless bra as it had been pulled down during the fight.

Nearby, Jacob had Kiyah in a similar hold, pulling her away from one of Tasha’s friends. "Come on, Kiyah, let it go!" he said, his voice strained but tinged with amusement. Kiyah relented; her hands still balled into fists as she glared at the two women.

The manager stormed through the crowd of onlookers, his face red with fury. "That’s it! Y’all need to get out—now! I’m not calling the cops, but if you don’t leave, I’ll change my mind real quick."

Jey carried me toward the door, his grip firm but gentle as I struggled to catch my breath. Jacob followed with Kiyah, the two of us girls still fuming.

"She’s lucky I didn’t do worse! I would’ve beat her ass some more," I shouted, my voice echoing in the parking lot. My hand went to the scratch on my upper jaw, the sting only fueling my anger. The blood staining my hands had me ready to go back in there and finish what she started.

"Lucky? Girl, hell nah! They blessed I didn’t do more damage to the both of ‘em!" Kiyah added, brushing her hair out of her face. Her tone was indignant, but the smirk on her lips betrayed her satisfaction. “You know my ass been fighting since kindergarten. I take bitches down!”

She was right. We had been double teaming hoes for years. She always had my back and I always had hers.

Jey finally set me down on the hood of his car, his expression a mix of frustration and pride. "Damn, baby. I didn’t know you had it in you."

Jacob laughed, slapping Jey on the back. "Man, your girl’s got hands. And Kiyah? She’s a beast."

"I could’ve told you that," Jey said, his lips curving into a grin as he pulled me close. “I done heard stories about Kiyah crazy ass. So, it's only right if my baby had hands too.”

With his attention back on me, his hands cupped my face gently, tilting my head to examine the scratch on my jaw. "You too pretty to be fighting, baby. Can’t be out here messing up ya face."

I tried to look away, embarrassed by his attention, but his fingers held me steady. "She deserved it," I muttered, my voice still tight with residual anger. “I should’ve done worse.”

Jey chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. "She’s old news, baby. I’m only focused on you. Don’t let her or nobody else get under your skin."

His words were a balm to my frayed nerves, and I found myself relaxing in his arms. "You sure? Ain’t no mo’ exes I gotta fight?"

"Positive," he said, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, reassuring kiss. "Now, what you say we cool off? How about Waffle House?"

A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "Waffle House sounds perfect."

We turned toward Jacob and Kiyah, who were leaning against Jacob’s car across the way. Or rather, Kiyah was pinned against it, Jacob’s lips trailing along her neck. I guess that was his way of calming her down. A small giggle left my mouth.

Jey let out a loud whistle, making them jump apart.

"Y’all wanna hit Waffle House or what?" Jey called out, his grin wide.

Jacob nodded, wrapping an arm around Kiyah. "Yeah, we’ll follow y’all there."

---

The Waffle House was alive with late-night energy, the hum of conversations and clinking plates filling the air. We slid into a booth, Jey sitting close beside me with his arm draped over my shoulders. Across from us, Jacob and Kiyah sat hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the din around us.

Once our food arrived, the conversation turned to the fight. Jacob leaned back in his seat, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man, I’ve seen some wild stuff, but y’all… y’all took it to another level tonight."

"She came for me," I said defensively, stabbing a fork into my hash browns. "I wasn’t just gonna let her talk slick and get away with it. Plus, she swung and missed. Nah, she set herself up."

"And her ugly ass friends?" Kiyah added, rolling her eyes. "This wasn’t about them, but they jumped in anyway. So, guess what? I beat both of they asses like they stole something."

Jey laughed, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "You held your own, baby. I’m proud of you."

The disharmony from earlier began to melt away as Jey and Jacob launched into stories about past Prada Boi fights. They painted vivid pictures of brawls at clubs, parking lots, and even house parties. Kiyah and I hung on their every word, our laughter filling the small space as we imagined the chaos. It seemed like me and Kiyah fit right in. Perhaps, we needed a Prada Girl division.

By the time we finished eating, the mood was light and easy, the events of the night feeling like a distant memory. Kiyah leaned into Jacob, her voice soft but playful. "I’m trying to head back to your place tonight."

Jacob smirked, glancing at Jey. "Looks like we’re calling it a night."

Jey chuckled, pulling out his wallet to pay for everyone. "I got it," he said, waving off Jacob’s attempt to chip in.

Outside, we said our goodbyes. Kiyah gave me a quick hug before climbing into Jacob’s car. "Call me tomorrow," she said with a wink.

I knew what her ass was about to get into. It was Jacob I was worried about. His whole life was about to change after she put it on him.

Jey opened the passenger door of his car for me, his hand resting on my lower back as I slid in. The ride back to his place was quiet but comfortable, the soft drone of the radio filling the silence. Jey reached over, lacing his fingers with mine.

"You showed me a whole other side of you tonight," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. I like that shit, baby."

I glanced at him, my heart swelling at his words. "Thank you," I said softly. "I just… I want to be the kind of girl who’s got your back. Ride for you like you ride for me."

His grip on my hand tightened, and he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my skin. "You already are baby. We for life."

As we pulled up to his place, I couldn’t help but feel like we were finally moving in the right direction. Despite everything, I wanted to believe we could make this work. We had to.

---

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[silvercoloredskiess]

Brother In-Ho/Front Man x Sister squid game guard reader (Platonic)

Requested by this lovely person: @maryberry2711

Synopsis: You reluctantly became a guard for the squid games, but are completely unaware your brother is the front man.

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Squid game so there is shooting. And death. Mention of sibling estrangement. Some mild cursing. Sad ending. Let me know if I forgot any!

Word count: 1,239

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been countless years since your brother In-Ho and you have been estranged. It's very complicated as to why, but you mainly decided to cut ties with him because of his very unusual behavior. You saw him way less often than you used to. It's almost as if something changed him. Every time you two were in the same room it was like the atmosphere changed instantly.

Which is why you decided to stop texting him, or having plans together. No more birthday celebrations or weekly calls you two used to do often. And in return, he stopped doing anything either. You realized your efforts to do anything with him were never reciprocated, so why keep trying?

Some days ago, you received a business card from a weird person who approached you as you were resting by the sidewalk. It was for a job, and after reading the description, you spent an entire night in your car deciding whether you should pursue this unknown job. You ultimately decided to go to where this job was.

And that's how you became a guard for the squid game, as the front man called them as he was telling every other unknown person dressed in the hot pink costume and the mask covering their face. You had a triangle mask, which meant you had to kill any player who fails a game. Your eyes widened as you were given the weapon.

It was evident almost all these guards had seen enough things to not care about the dangerous things they were about to do, so you were in the minority. The mysterious recruiter must have thought you were going through something tough, which was partially correct; you had to live in your vehicle due to being evicted recently.

You were all sent to your rooms, and nobody was allowed to talk with one another. Not like it mattered anyway since everyone had to stay in their room. Taking off the uniform, you immediately tried to go to sleep, but the sight of the gun and uniform hanging on the wall across your bed was already haunting.

The next morning, everyone was instructed to wake up very early to prepare for the new players. The square guards mobilized to the lobby to tell the players why they were there, explaining the rules of the game and the grand prize money. You were fixing up your uniform in the mirror; looking at yourself once again, before moving to the area the Officer wanted the triangle guards to be in; the compact rooms behind the walls of the first game room.

Some hours later all the players entered the room to play red light green light. Your instructions were to shoot any players detected by the system as moving during the red light. You took a big sigh and tears rolled down your face. You didn't want to do this anymore. Was the money really worth it?

When the robotic girl doll at the finish line turned around shouting "red light!", some players did stand still but trembled immensely. They were caught by the robot's sensors and the guards were ordered to shoot them. But you refused to pull the trigger on one very shaky player. The other guards thought you were going to get to them, so they ignored it.

This went on for the rest of the game. Unfortunately, for the Six-Legged Pentathlon, you had to shoot the losers of the game because you were being watched by the other guards. The other guards were overjoyed since you didn't shoot the players too much. They needed the bodies for selling their organs. You weren't aware of this operation though.

In the game of Mingle, you were assigned to shoot any room full of players if the number of players didn't match the number announced. The good news was, you got away with ignoring those rooms, looking inside the rooms to make it look like you were going to do something. However, the square guards monitoring the games had a suspicious feeling about you.

You went straight to your room after the game ended, hiding under the covers of your bed. There were a few sudden knocks on your door, but you ignored them in fear you would be punished. That night would be the supposed Lights-Out game, which didn't need to be moderated by the guards unless necessary. So you just slept.

For an hour at least..

Apparently there was a rebellion, started by player 456. All guards were ordered to report to this immediately, and so you rushed out of bed and put your uniform on, heading down with the other guards. Opening the big lobby doors, you and the guards quickly discovered the players were armed, so the guards in front shot at the players as you quivered in the back.

Lots of gunshots between the players and guards could be heard. You loaded your gun in case a player tried to shoot you as well. If only these players knew you were the reason half of them were alive at the moment... sigh.

You got way too scared and tried to make a retreat when every guard was shot by the players. But the doors closed on you, making you a shaking whimpering mess. Player 456 and 001 walked up to you, holding you at gunpoint. You took the mask off at their command and agreed to take them to the control room.

The other players who could shoot fought back against the other guards that were mobilized to the other room. 456 and 001 ran with you to the entrance of the control room, giving them the mask you were wearing to see if they could sneak in. The men thanked you as they ran into the control area.

(This is also the period of time where Young-il disappears and wears the Front Man outfit.)

Suddenly, you felt a huge pain in your head, and dropped to the floor with unconsciousness. You were shot. When the Front Man noticed all this activity and ordered the Officer to take your body away, you were brought to the crematorium.

"Pathetic..." The Front Man said, looking at your unconscious body. But, the realization came into his head. He realized you looked very familiar. Were you.... his sister!?

The Officer looked at him in confusion. But the front man was already having a breakdown.

"F*CK... (Y/n)? Is that you!? Answer me! Please!"

He shook your body. Since you were shot in the head, and looked very unconscious, it might've already been too late. He took his mask off, revealing himself to be Hwang In-Ho.

"God damn it! Is my sister really dead!? No... no!"

He felt your cold face and started to cry. But he wanted to take revenge. He ordered the Officer to pull up the camera footage, since there was still one camera left. The officer identified the guard, and immediately shot him as according to In-Ho's wishes. It was surprising that guard was still alive..

Unfortunately, you would never get to know the truth behind why your brother was distant toward you. But he regretted it deeply. He didn't even care about the rebellion anymore. If only he had spent more time with you when you tried to see him. What a foolish man he was.

As desensitized to death as he was, he will never let you go.

[idciminlove]

FIGHTER.

Part Two - O

Kang Dae Ho x f!reader

Cinnamonacid on AO3

Warnings- death, blood, gore, shooting, (red light green light game) murder, slight PTSD reactions, mentions of past OD, etc.

You play the first game.

There’s something off about this place. You didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust how easy it was to win that money from the salesman, over nothing but a simple kid’s game, didn’t trust the fact that you were basically drugged when you were brought here, and you didn’t trust the masked men that gave you the instructions. It was far too secretive, far too easy. But it wasn’t like any scheme you’ve seen before, and you needed the money.

The salesman had given you the money for winning ddakji, making good on his promise, while you only had to pay for your losses in slaps. (They hurt, but you were used to being hit much harder.) He gave you a business card with shapes and numbers on it, which inevitably led you to here, where you were promised even more money.

45.6 Billion. With that kind of money, you could pay off your debts and pay for your mother’s treatments. You could take care of her and maybe even buy a nice place for her to stay after her treatments.

So you did as told, signed the contract and followed the other players as they went to play the first game. Classical music echoed from the speakers, bouncing off the all brightly painted walls and staircases. You stared at the player in front of you, a woman wearing a matching green tracksuit to yours. You were all matching, except for the varying numbers that set each of you apart. There were so many people here, the total amount probably somewhere in the hundreds. It made everything so crowded.

“Ah, my good luck charm. I’ll be winning these games for sure.” A voice called from behind you. You looked over your shoulder, spotting an older man, which you recognized. He bet on your fights, and went to almost all of them. He was one of your favorites to see amongst the crowd.

“What are you doing here, old man?” You remarked, happy to see at least one familiar face in the sea of strangers, making you feel much less alone.

“I’m here to win and make some money, just like everyone else, and now that you’re here, I definitely will.” He was a gambling addict. You knew that with how often he was betting at your club, but there was something about him being there that made you feel good. Even when you were on a losing streak he would bet on you, time and time again, never losing faith.

You had a drink with him once, after a win. Let him tell you about his wife and kids and his old job, before he got fired and imprisoned for fraud. You never thought of him differently. He had been struggling, just like you.

That’s why he’s here, after all.

–

It’s strange, being two places at once. Both outside and inside, with the walls around you painted the matching background of a farm, but the ceiling was gone, and you could see the sun and the sky, and feel the breeze against your skin. A large doll shaped like a young girl stood on the wall opposite to you, facing straight ahead, with two guards standing next to both sides.

You listened to the instructions, which were quickly interrupted by one of the players, number 456. He walked ahead of all of you, shouting something about how you all had your lives at risk, with guns in the walls, and moving sensors in the doll’s eyes. You couldn’t fully comprehend what he was saying, the skeptical remarks from the other players overpowering his words. The others talked about how he was crazy, how he was trying to scare them into losing, how he was probably drunk off his ass. You didn’t know what to believe.

The doll turned towards the tree and moved her hands over her eyes. The timer started to count down. 456 didn’t stop shouting. Everyone was skeptical. You took a deep breath, centering yourself. You felt calm and confident. It’s easy, just a kid’s game. You could win this.

You heard the gunshot before you saw it happen. 196. The bullet flying through her forehead, blood and brain matter scattering, some of the blood splattering right onto 230’s face.

You’ve seen dead bodies before. You saw your father's. You found him when he overdosed. But that was different. You never saw anyone die in real time, never saw the light fade from their eyes, or the bullet go through their head. It almost didn’t feel real.

Panic broke out, people were screaming and trying to run away. There were more and more gunshots. 456 shouted over the screams, and you tried to breathe, tried to focus and listen to his voice. Breathe, just breathe.

The timer was running out, you were going to have to move. On the next green light, you ran ahead, doing as 456 said, to get behind someone. You stood behind a taller man, studying the number on his back, trying to focus and stay calm, despite the adrenaline and fear running through your veins.

388. He looked tall and strong, but he was shaking like a leaf, his hands trembling as he tried his hardest to stand still. He was terrified, just like you.

You gazed at a woman beside you, noticing her hands shaking as well, but much more visibly, no one standing in front of her to protect her. She got shot.

It was still a red light, but you found yourself moving, reaching over and grabbing 388’s hand and holding it, hiding it behind his back. He almost jumped, startled from the contact, but he stopped himself.

You don’t know why you did it. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t want to see another person shot right in front of you. Maybe it was the adrenaline making you move before you could think. Or maybe it was something else. You didn’t know. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to die.

“Don’t let your hands shake. They’ll catch you.” You whispered, squeezing his hand softly. He didn’t respond, just squeezed your hand back, his bigger hand trembling around yours.

Green light!

You moved in front of him, not letting go of his hand, leading him ahead. It felt nice, to have something to hold on to. To have someone there with you, knowing that you’re not going through this alone, even if they were a complete stranger. It gave you a brief feeling of safety in this death trap of a game.

Red light!

A group of people beside you got shoved, all toppling over like dominoes. You recognized one of the players that were pushed, as the old man you knew from before. Your heart dropped. The group shouted in surprise or anger, but it was already too late, with all of them getting shot in the head or chest killing them instantly, including that man. You couldn’t help but let out a small gasp.

It was 230. He had done it with a smile on his face. Smiling. The fucker was smiling. Smiling like this was a joke. He had just killed a man, one who was kind, one with a family, one who had believed in you, and he thought it was funny?

Rage and sadness brewed inside you, the emotions desperate to break free. Your hands began to shake. You wanted to make him pay.

388 squeezed your hand, grounding you, making you remember where you were and what you were doing. You calmed down slightly. 230 was a problem for later. Right now, you have to survive. Not only for yourself, but for your mother as well.

So you kept going. Once you got close enough to the finish line, you ran. You ran for your life, ran so fast you felt your lungs burning and your legs shaking. 388 followed close behind, holding on tight to your hand, the both of you interlocked, refusing to let go of one another.

Just before the last red light, you dragged him across the line, doubling over and panting softly. You made it. You survived..for now, at least.

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th!! This month is so long how is it still not over???? Here are some amazing fics that got me through January

Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top)  by angelichl/@angelichl | [113k]

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

I like the way you say my name (when you soak it in grace) by louisismycat (tiflamomet)/@liminalkittyfics | [73k]

“It’s like I’m fucking orbiting around you, you know? Like you’re some huge, beautiful planet, and I’m a piece of space junk lucky enough to be pulled in by you somehow, and now I can’t leave, even if I wanted to. And I really fucking don’t want to leave.” OR Louis is transferred to a new city to temporarily cover for his counterpart while he is on maternity leave for the next six months. His new co-workers talk endlessly about Harry, the omega who he’s covering for. And Louis finds himself jealous of whatever alpha as snatched him up. Until he learns Harry is actually an unmated omega three months out from becoming a single parent. Title from “Say My Name” by Prince of Eden

2024 Advent Calendar by larryftnoctrl/@the-larry-way | [47k]

25 independent one-shots with wintery/Christmas themes centering Larry Stylinson

I am adding the whole calendar since I've read most of the fics in it, strongly encouraging you to do the same

A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer/@all-these-larrythings | [44k]

Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. He loves the money, and the peace and quiet of the empty mansions he looks after. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird | [40k]

Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps. Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

If I had no love to give (I wouldn't give it to you) by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [30k]

Small town restaurateur Louis Tomlinson needs someone competent to work in his kitchen. Chef Harry Styles needs a job.

Want It Flowing Through My Streams by screwstyles | [30k]

Wimbledon ABO AU: Harry has just qualified for his first Grand Slam, and he’s prepared to make the most of it – that is, until his heat unexpectedly hits him only a few days before his first match. And it’s just his luck that Louis Tomlinson, the resident bad boy of British tennis, is the only person around to help him.

Cold Calls by xunorthodox/@ltwritten | [17k]

Harry tilted his head, his green eyes scanning Louis' face in a way that made his skin crawl. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Against his better judgment, the cracks in his composure widen as he says, "What do you want me to say, Harry? You've got a job to do. I'm not going to sit here and guilt you into staying." OR Louis is nearing the severe stages of touch depri and alpha drop. Harry just can’t stay away.

No Bunny But You by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)/@crinkle-eyed-boo | [13k]

“So you saw the bunnies then?” Harry clarifies, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, those were a bit of a surprise,” Liam huffs. “I mean, they definitely weren’t part of what we commissioned from him, but they’re kind of cute, right?” Harry sputters a laugh. “What?” Liam asks, the furrow in his brow deepening. “They are cute little bunnies!” “Cute little bunnies that are fucking,” Harry snickers. “What?” Liam gasps. “Liam,” Harry says, trying to school his face into a serious expression. “Those bunnies are fucking.” A slow Monday night behind the bar turns into something else entirely thanks to a new mural and a new customer.

sip it slowly and pay attention  by vintagehistories/@adoredontour | [12k]

“So I’ve got a guy I think you might like,” Louis says. He’s standing in the doorway of Harry’s office, drinking from what is most definitely Harry’s mug. “You’re going to set me up?” Harry asks, rightfully wary. He can’t imagine that this could end well. “Don’t look so afraid.” Louis takes a sip from his mug, wincing as it burns him. Harry rolls his eyes. He’s always warning Louis to be more patient before he loses all his taste buds. “I know you better than anyone else. Who better to set you up on dates than me?” “I guess you’re right,” Harry says, still slightly hesitant. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Louis, but. He doesn’t trust Louis’ taste. Louis has about the same track record with men that Harry does, if not quite as extensive. or, harry is a guidance counselor, louis is an english teacher, and harry just wants to go on one successful date

Tease You, Please You by homosociallyyours/@homosociallyyours | [12k]

Marcy is the best assistant Louis could ever imagine having, and it’s not just because she’s good at her job, though she is. No, what really makes her the perfect fit for Louis is just how easy it is to make her blush and squirm and fall all over herself, and Louis rarely misses an opportunity to get a rise out of her. It’s not until a new drummer joins the band at the last minute, taking away some of Marcy’s time and attention, that Louis starts to wonder if there might be more to it than she’s realized. But has she already messed things up with Marcy with her teasing? There’s only one way to find out.

Fix Me Up by heartbreakwthr | [10k]

Prompt 96: omega harry is in love with the sexy alpha maintenance man named louis who is no doubt a little older than him with the sexiest beard and tattooed hands he has the peaky blinder haircut!!! for the love of god pls and at first harry is so content with his dreams and fingers because stuff in his flat breaks a LOT, harry is quite clumsy you see? so louis has to come fix stuff allllllllll the time so harry gets plenty of wank material when he’s around, can’t help slicking up at just the sight of him (louis tries very hard to ignore this the first 10 times because he was raised to be a respectful alpha but harry just smells so good and he’s so goofy and sexy, so hard to eventually resist) but then harry gets the real thing from louis and they fuck so hard and amazing that they break something and louis is like lmao i can fix that and harry is like swoon

I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus/ @larry-hiatus | [8k]

Dating is hard enough when you're gay. When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated. Too bad the guys on dating apps aren't as sweet and understanding as his best friend Harry...

i met a superhero. by Anonymous | [7k]

Harry has fibromyalgia and Niall is an idiot, leaving Louis to bump into Harry at 6am in a hospital corridor. It ends up as something much more wonderful than Harry ever could have expected, stood with a walker in his ratty PJs after a nasty flare-up, and he finally finds someone who can love him just the way he is.

You're Music To My Eyes by FallingLikeThis & RecycledStardust/ @fallinglikethis & @evilovesyou | [5k]

Louis' life is made so much easier when he finally starts using the amazing app for the visually impaired that Niall had him download months ago. Harry discovers a new way to treat people with kindness when his mother introduces him to the app as a sighted volunteer. Is it inevitable that their paths will cross?

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird | [5k]

Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Now, all of a sudden, big channels are asking him to cover their red carpets and premieres. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

a little bit stressed out by orphan_account | [1.8k]

Shawn takes a deep breath. “He’s scaring me.” “Harry’s scaring you?” Niall frowns. “Listen, he might be a global pop phenomenon and have been part of an Oscar-winning film, but he’s just a regular guy. You saw that in rehearsals. What’s changed? Oh, I know. Does he keep telling you the story about how he used to be a baker?” Shawn shakes his head. “No, I’m not talking about Harry. Harry’s great. I’m talking about his boyfriend.” “Louis? Louis is 5’8.” “And what about it?” ~ Or, Harry is starring in a romcom, and Louis keeps terrorizing his poor co-star.

Please don't forget to always leave comments and kudos!!!

[brownibai]

Current affirmations 💴💴💰💶💵

$ $ $

Have currently have 💲5000 in my possession

Money just flows to me so easy

I get money

I got money

I got 💲5000 in August 2024 and I didn’t even have to do shit to get it

Even w money im getting discounts left and right

Money just loves me so much

I have so much money I could bathe in it

[ganondoodle]

(idk if anyone wants to keep hearing my opinions on totk book stuff but-)

apparently it says that rauru DID have kids, multiple even, which yeah... is kinda necessary for zelda to even be connected to them so much so that sonia can SENSE a blood connection (which, even with all the excuses with magic, is just a little too far for me to suspend my disbelief bc its over, OVER, ten thousand years worth of generations that seperate her from them that one lil touch of the hand can sense that (feels more like an attempt to make you care about them or .. see them as zeldas "better" parents just bc they exchange a few nice words, i never got the feeling they were 'better' parents and its also kinda disrespectful to her actual parents, like sure rhoam wasnt the best but i wouldnt call rauru better just bc he was polite)- i could see maybe the light power of hylia or sth but since its the coolest dude that ever lived rauru now that had it which still doesnt make sense and makes me unreasonably annoyed and she can sense BOTH of their powers in her? nah) the fact theres NOTHING about them in the game itself is just so ... no way they planned any of this

i dont think theres anything they can do or say that wont make be believe they either

are making it up alla 'fix it in post' mentality trying to hastily explain stuff the game never bothers to do to try and appease fans or let it appear as if they thought about it at all

something went really REALLY wrong during development, which kinda seems likely given how the game turned out (im sorry i cannot let go, its not just the writing, the game design too and how little was changed in the map while being so damn expensive, i dont know how people dont feel scammed q_q)

given that they (allegedly) spent the last entire year of development on polish (where??? where????? huh??? like it would make it more understandable (EXCEPT for the price) if there was alot of trouble, which was also bc it got delayed and ... turned out like this, but they dont want to say it, especially given their reputation, with that quote i have heard way too many times 'a delayed game blah blah') i just??

are they just gonna go and do it like they did with kashiwa (kass)? "they uuuh where flying around the whole time ony cool sonau tech maschines, you just dont see or hear from them ooooorrr they were uuuuh out of the country at the time" (sending invitations to other continents to join their glorious kingdom ;) )

(bet they are also gonna say they did all the stuff like ... moving the shrines around (lol?) and lifting the islands up into the sky- which is still weird bc ... didnt they also say they were living in the sky before coming to the surface?? so where?? did they park all their islands on the surface and the mystery kids had the keys so they had to repark them back into the sky after they returned off camera?? xD also why are the islands so different as an environment if they where from the surface? like even the STONE up there is different- and if they were first in the sky then on the surface and the nback in the sky .. why is there not a single yellow tree or grass in the past- you cant really argue that it changed bc they were up there so long bc .. nothing else changed, the suddendly and totally always there sonau buildings are largely in prime condition, only some slightly moldy, and what we see of the glorious past looks barely any different from the present, aside from like ... some standard trees shuffled, no castle yet and that glowy uwu filter DESPITE that stupidly long time frame between it)

[dailyrickastley]

Once upon time in 1987...

[slankyyy-revs-the-world]

me trying to become academia brained about my blorbo and compiling any and all of voice-acted lines, dialogue and misc. lore into a dedicated obsidian folder

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

ong when the day comes when i stop brainrotting on jaime lannister i will be SO productive ill draw robb and sansa and bran and jon too ill be such a productive member of society. what i would say if i was a fucking liar

[icewindandboringhorror]

Found a very cool pastel cat sweater at the bins but I have literally nothing that matches it well, so I always struggle to make outfits with it lol

[a-lil-strawberry]

Please pray that a complicated billing situation will be sorted out and covered by my insurance. It's for an ambulance ride I had in June for a panic attack. Some of you might remember me panicking about it a few months ago when I got the statement.