#my count of fics read just goes to show that i have too much damn time hsjdkfhks

[intrepidacious]

almost believing

summary: You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: fake dating, baby 😌 title and initial inspiration for this fic were taken from "so close" from enchanted. yes. that scene.

a/n: this was written for my wonderful tiff's sweet as sugar writing challenge!! @traitorjoelite i'm so proud of you and i hope you enjoy this fic. i really thought this one would be short i swear. big shoutout and thank you to @sweetascanbee for listening to me rant about this for weeks, i appreciate you so much!!

masterlist | read on ao3

Here’s the thing: It’s supposed to be a simple mission. Just gathering intel at the hotel for one single night, the two of you pretending that everything is fine for a couple of hours more.

After all, it’s Bucky’s last mission with you before his reassignment goes through.

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to how much you’re seeing him, to be honest.

You’re not sure when he started making himself rare or why, but once you noticed it, it was impossible not to.

"Sorry, I’m heading out," when you ask him to grab lunch together seems inconspicuous enough, as does, "Ah, I’m already supposed to meet Sam," when you try asking him about that trip to IKEA you’d been talking about for ages.

But it doesn’t stop there. One excuse follows the next, and suddenly there’s always something more important than the two of you hanging out.

Of course, you try to rationalize it at first. Swallow down your hurt feelings, because Bucky is your friend, and sometimes people just need space. You’re fine. The two of you are fine.

Once he starts scheduling dates for Friday night, though—which has always been movie night, always, every week since you met him—you know that something’s wrong.

"Is he angry with me?" you keep asking Steve, who looks very uncomfortable and definitely knows what's going on.

"Just give him a little space," he suggests timidly. So you do. You let the whole thing go.

For like a week.

"I just don’t know what I did," you tell Sam over drinks, your head held in your hands.

"Nope," he answers, downing his dregs. "I’m not doing this. Nuh-uh."

"You know, too?" you cry, accusingly pointing at him.

"I don’t know anything," Sam deadpans. And then he puts his scarf on and leaves.

"Maybe try talking to Bucky about it?" Natasha suggests, either incapable of hiding her amused smile or unwilling to try.

"I would if I ever saw him for longer than a 'hi, how are you' at the gym," you mumble. Fact is, you’re getting pissed about him giving you the silent treatment without even knowing what you did wrong.

Because before this, whatever this is, things were fine. Great, even. Free afternoons were spent on each other’s couches, introducing him to your favorite tv shows and letting him teach you that stupid card game he loves so damn much. You’d even been starting to imagine that there might be something …

Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, you can’t even look at him without your throat closing up. It’s like you woke up a few weeks ago and he’s become an entirely different person around you, much more like he was at the beginning of your friendship, distant and cold.

He didn’t even tell you that he’d signed up for a transfer.

The mission call feels like your last chance.

A whole evening of teamwork and espionage, of him basically having no other choice than talking to you and finally telling you why the fuck he would get himself reassigned without even telling you beforehand. You could’ve hugged Fury for the opportunity.

That is, until you’re handed the file containing your fake identities for the op a few hours before you’re supposed to leave.

"You’re joking," you say as soon as you open the door.

"Great, you’re here as well," Steve says dryly. "Again, a) you both gotta learn how to knock, b) the whole thing wasn’t my idea or my decision, but I also think it’s the best directive for what you’re trying to do, and c) no, there’s no one else available for the mission. Anything I missed?"

Bucky deliberately doesn’t meet your eye, his arms still crossed as he stares Steve down with a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t even acknowledge you standing in the door, but his foot is doing the tapping thing again.

You purse your lips and join the staring.

Steve sighs, rubbing his temples with the palms of his hands. "Listen, you two work well together and I know these past few weeks have been … strained"—you almost laugh at that—"but it’s just one night."

"We need to pretend we’re married," you say. "How’re we going to pull that off if he can’t stand being in the same room as me?"

"I trust that there won’t be any issues." Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky as he says that, but of course he doesn’t get a reply. That would necessitate talking in your presence.

"One night," Bucky repeats through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, there seems to be some sort of silent conversation between the two of them that you’re not privy to. You roll your eyes.

"I’ll see you later."

You leave with your back straight and without a glance over your shoulder, the door slamming shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to barge into Natasha’s office next, but you have a feeling like she’d just give you another one of her looks again, which really won’t better your mood. So instead, you slam another door and flop onto your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling for a while.

Surely, there’s some twisted sort of irony in this whole situation, but you’re not laughing.

Usually, before a mission, you’d get bagels together from the bakery around the corner. You haven’t done that in a while, but you’re still quietly begging your phone to show a new unread message when you look at the time however long later.

Instead, there’s just your lockscreen picture of Bucky’s grinning face that you can’t bear to get rid off, no matter how many times it stings you. It’s almost a year old, now, back when you’d taken him to go do your holiday shopping with you, insisting that "no one’s gonna recognize you, look at that great cap you’re wearing".

It’d started snowing halfway through the afternoon, and he’d kept reaching for your hand in order not to lose you in the crowd. You both gave up halfway through your list and just went to get coffee instead, strolling through Central Park and talking about nothing and everything.

That’s when you’d realized you'd been falling in love with him, laughing and fingers freezing around your paper cup, a strange new warmth spreading throughout your body.

You need to change your lockscreen.

***

Half an hour before pick-up, you leave your room with a duffle bag slung over your shoulder and almost run into Bucky. He’s leaning against the opposite wall like he’s been waiting for you, and it stings because that’s what he always used to do, back when you were still talking. When you could still pretend that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t quite so hopeless.

Now, though, his easy smile is missing. Instead, an ever-present frown is furrowing his brows again, his mouth opened just a little, but nothing comes out.

"Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do," you sigh. "But it’s a two-person job."

He nods, his tongue poking his cheek. "I know."

"Do you think you’re gonna be alright with us pretending we’re madly in love for a whole evening?"

Bucky’s jaw tightens. "I’ll be fine."

Of course he’s going to be fine.

You grab the strap of your bag more tightly. "I wish you would just tell me what I did."

"You didn’t do anything." If he’s telling the truth, though, why does he look so numb?

For a moment, you want to shout at him, cry, beg, make him tell you when and how this went wrong, but you don’t. You just stare at him in silence, hoping he’ll get it anyway, and he refuses to notice it.

"So," Bucky finally says. "You ready to get hitched?"

There’s the ghost of a grin in his eyes, and even though it’s not enough to mask the uncomfortable tilt of his shoulders, you sigh. At least he’s trying, you suppose.

"Let’s just get fake-married so we can fake-divorce and go our separate ways," you say, walking past him.

"I’ve got something for you."

You turn around again, raising your eyebrows as he holds up a ring between the fingers of his left hand. There’s a giant stone set in its center, striking and sparkling and not subtle in the slightest. Tony really went all out for appearance’s sake. Your fingers involuntarily tighten around the strap of your bag.

Bucky drops the ring in the palm of your hand.

"Quite the present," you chuckle nervously. You don’t even want to know how much this thing costs, and you feel like they're going to chop off your head if something happens to it.

"Try it on, then."

It’s a bit too large on your finger, and it feels foreign. It’s not you at all. Then again, it’s not supposed to be you.

Before you can say anything, though, Bucky shakes his head. "What?" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"That couldn’t look more fake if you tried. Wait a sec."

He turns his back towards you and rummages through his bag for a while, his jaw still set as he holds out his hand once more. With a sigh, you pull the ring off again and return it, but before you can pull your hand back, he catches it in his own.

This one slides onto your finger perfectly, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s a lot subtler, with only a small emerald for decoration, but it’s so delicate and beautiful it takes your breath away.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, but he swallows whatever came to his mind. "That’s better," he says instead, and his voice sounds oddly rough.

"They gave you a backup?" you say, angling your hand this way and that to see how the gem catches the light.

"Mhm."

Something is off about this whole situation, but then you feel like you don’t really know Bucky anymore. Not like you used to, anyway. It used to be so easy to get a read on him.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and it’s only then that both of you realize he’s still holding your hand. He drops it immediately, and you pretend it doesn’t sting.

"How come you don’t get a ring?" you ask.

"Says who?" Bucky says, clearing his throat and activating the camouflage sleeve Tony had installed for his arm. Sure enough, there’s a ring on his hand as well.

You grab his hand curiously. When you touch it, there’s no difference between his fingers and the pseudo-platinum band, all of it just cool vibranium in disguise.

"It’s fake," you say. "It’s not the same."

"No," he agrees and pulls his hand away. "Looks real enough, though."

You notice the red splotches on his neck and wonder what it is that you’ve said this time, but it’s pointless anyway. He’s not going to tell you even if you asked.

Maybe you should be used to him icing you out by now, but it still hurts.

***

"Yes, Steve, I know," you sigh. "We’re just gathering intel, nothing else."

"I just wanted to have you say it again so we’re all clear. You both love taking risks when it’s not necessary."

"Alright, punk, we got it," Bucky says, tugging at his tie again.

You can’t even blame him for the nervous habit; you’ve been twisting your fake wedding ring around your finger for the entire drive.

This isn’t the first time the two of you had to go undercover as a couple; hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve pretended to be married. Usually, though, you could have a laugh about the whole thing together.

Now you barely know how to act around Bucky as yourself, let alone as some made up woman.

"I think we’re going to attract a lot of attention if we don’t get out soon," you say, readjusting the collar of your blouse underneath your coat.

You notice Steve staring at your hand for a moment, a frown between his brows, but his lips curve upwards a split second later. "Ready to do this?" he asks and you smile a little in confirmation.

Bucky takes another breath and then he nods curtly. "Let’s go."

The change that goes through him as soon as the two of you climb out of the car is so stark you almost turn on your heels again and beg Steve to let you off the hook, after all. His hand sneaks around your waist and pulls you closely into his side as you walk towards the hotel, all soft smiles and charm.

"Sorry for the holdup," he tells the bellman waiting next to your bags with a wink. "The missus and I just needed another minute."

You lightly slap Bucky’s chest in fake indignation. It’s quick thinking on his part, really.

When you’re checking in under your assumed names for the evening, he keeps his arm around you, and the content look stays in his eyes. A subtle glance at your surroundings tells you some of your persons of interest have already arrived early for the event tonight, looking around the sparkling lobby with the same feigned boredom.

Bucky nudges your cheek with his nose and then smiles again when you look at him. It makes your brain shut off for a moment.

When he looks at you like this, it’s so easy to forget the past couple of months and just pretend for a moment. What if there was no mission at all, and it could simply be the two of you?

But of course, that’s not possible. All of it is fake, including the way he looks at you. You know that.

So how come it doesn’t feel fake to you at all?

***

You hate this dress, you hate these people, you hate this dinner, and most of all, you hate how much you enjoy spending this much time so physically close to Bucky.

It feels so natural when he links your hand with yours, so fucking meant to be, even though he’s just putting on a show for the band of creeps you’re tasked to keep an eye on.

But damn if he’s not good at it.

It’s amazing, really, how his eyes immediately soften when you turn your head towards him, like you’re the only person in the whole room. He looks at you during this charade like you wish he’d look at you daily, even far from prying eyes around you; especially then. It makes your breath shorten, your heart pounding erratically because it thinks it’s getting everything it’s ever hoped for.

Hearts are often stupid like that.

A full night of glances and touches and the pretence of secret whispers will do all kinds of twisted things to your feelings.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and when Bucky squeezes your hand you realize he’s no longer the only one who’s looking at you.

You chuckle nervously. "I’m sorry, I got … distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Ah, newlyweds," one of the investor goons laughs. He’s a particularly vile looking man whose suit is way too big on his spindly limbs.

Bucky, academy award winning actor in another lifetime, chuckles politely while the fondness in his eyes seems to increase tenfold. "We’ve been married three years, actually," he says, sticking to your official cover story.

It’d been Tony’s idea to keep your fake timeline as close to the truth as possible to avoid any slip-ups. It’s a great move on paper, really, but in reality it just adds another nail to the coffin.

Three years ago, you were on a mission in Brussels, only the second one ever where it was just the two of you. It was mostly surveillance, so one of you usually had downtime while the other kept lookout. It became customary that you’d entertain each other during those long hours, getting to know each other intimately for the first time, taking the first tentative steps towards the friendship you now share.

That mission was the groundwork of your falling in love with him in the first place.

"You seem to be doing something right if you’re both still so enamoured with each other," Spindly Arms says.

"I’m the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky responds, still looking into your eyes. "It’s hard not to do the right thing, then."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you smile timidly. His lips linger for just a moment, and then he moves to whisper into your ear, something you’re sure looks like sweet nothings to everybody else but is actually a, "Don’t fall asleep on me."

You tilt your head, shove him teasingly as if he’d said something inappropriate, and because he’s always been quick to catch on he winks, obvious enough so that the other people that are part of this conversation can clearly see it.

It’s not long after this that you excuse yourselves, walking around the room with apparent aimlessness. Everything is sparkling with pure gold decorations and countless little twinkling lights that have been scattered around the room like millions of fireflies. You spot an actual orchestra right underneath the massive Christmas tree.

"Kind of tacky, don’t you think?" Bucky murmurs with a sideway glance at you.

"Maybe a little," you say.

The truth is, though, the room looks oversaturated and expensive and magnificent. Something straight out of a Hallmark movie, more like a movie set than a real place.

It’s the one thing that keeps this whole thing from being completely unbearable.

He must have seen the truth in your eyes, because he ducks his head and says quietly, "I’m gonna go check out the terrace."

You just nod and smile as he kisses your cheek again and then vanishes through the crowd with a few long strides. Sighing, you take another drink from the tray a waiter offers you, absent-mindedly rubbing your cheek.

"What a lovely surprise," a voice says next to you and you freeze for a moment before forcing yourself to calmly take a sip. "Miss … Winter, was it?"

"Mrs," you say with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Director."

"Right, of course." Director de Fontaine eyes her martini warily. "I don’t suppose these olives are fresh, do you?"

Your mind is racing. If she’s here on official business, then your entire operation might be compromised.

"So," she continues, looking rather bored. "Met any interesting people yet, Mrs Winter?"

"Oh, yes," you say lightly, clinging to your role of unassuming young wife. "It’s all rather exciting."

"I’m sure. These kinds of events are all very … shiny." She looks into your eyes and there’s an almost explicit warning written in hers. "It’s surprisingly easy to get blinded."

You swallow heavily even as she smiles. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone …"

You quickly walk over to the buffet table where some of the wives have formed a semi circle of gossip, trying your best to hide your sigh of relief when the director doesn’t follow you.

For a few minutes, you lose yourself in pointless gossip, until one of the women takes hold of your forearm.

"You must tell us, what’s your secret?"

"Excuse me?" you chuckle nervously.

"Your husband!" she exclaims, earning a few nods from some of the others. "He clearly adores you," she goes on. "I don’t think he’s looked away from you once since you joined us."

You steal a look around your shoulder. She’s right. Bucky’s gaze immediately locks with yours, an almost bashful grin on his lips. You caught me, his eyes seem to say, and you feel a rush of heat go through you.

He should be nominated for an Oscar with this performance.

Quickly, you turn around again to meet several expectant pairs of eyes.

"I don’t know what to tell you," you say. "He’s just … always been like this. I mean, he’s my best friend. I really don’t know what I would do without him."

There’s not a word of a lie in what you’re saying, and it elicits a round of coos and murmurs even as your heart gives a sharp pang.

"Dance with me?"

You flinch, turning to look at Bucky’s outstretched hand, at the sad, hopeful look in his eyes, and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you onto the dance floor, some cheery Christmas song ramping up to its big finale. Then, the band switches to a slower song. To you, it sounds mournful.

"That was nice," Bucky mutters into your ear. "What you said."

"I meant it, you know," you whisper, but he turns, and you don’t think he’s heard you.

Bucky places his hand on your hip and you hide a shudder. His gloved fingers wrap around yours, and then you start moving again.

You barely know the steps, but he’s a great leader, and he doesn’t say anything when you step on his toes. In fact, his gaze softens even more when he looks at you after the third time, the hand around your waist pulling you a little closer.

"How are you doing this?" you say without stopping to smile.

"Easy," Bucky says, and the way he says it almost makes you believe it’s true.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from breathing him in. "I didn’t mean the dancing."

With the last note of the song, you stumble over his foot again and he snorts. "Me neither."

The melody changes and neither of you lets go. His steps are getting slower, smaller, like he’s just trying to keep both of you in motion. Your head is spinning. The twinkling lights are starting to blur into a great mass of stars in the background, like you’re at the center of a music box and everything else is just background noise.

You wrap both hands around his neck as you’re swaying, then, your foreheads only inches apart. You could stay in this moment forever, you think, as it stretches into blissful infinity. Somewhere, a clock strikes ten.

Bucky leans in a little closer and your breath hitches again.

"It’s time," he whispers, and your eyes fly open.

You’d almost forgotten about the mission.

"Val is here," you say quietly.

His expression hardens for just a second. "What?"

"She came to talk to me earlier. She knows we’re here."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I … There wasn’t time."

"We’re just gonna have to be quick and discrete."

You open your mouth, but then you see the distance close in again between you two, and so you just nod.

The plan is almost laughably simple, but it’s probably going to work out just as you’ve laid out beforehand. Everyone in the room has watched the two of you staring at each other for the past couple of hours, so no one bats an eye when Bucky nudges you gently and you make your way up the stairs to the fancy elevator that’s going to take you up to a bedroom.

Or, more specifically, to a bedroom that’s being used to store all kinds of evidence, but no one else needs to know that little detail.

You notice the director talking to Spindly Arms and a couple of other people, but you force your gaze not to linger on her. Instead, you grab Bucky’s hand more tightly.

He lets go of you as soon as the elevator doors close behind the two of you, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up. There aren’t any cameras in the elevator, but you’re both pretty sure there will be on the floor you’re going. "CIA exposure, that’s exactly what we needed."

"There was nothing I could’ve done," you say, tugging your sleeves down your shoulders.

"I’m not blaming you, sweetheart," Bucky says distractedly, loosening his tie. Your heart makes a very heavy thud. "But if Walker shows up tonight as well, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"No, you won’t," you say with a grin, mostly because you know he didn’t bring his gun because the male attendees were all frisked at the entrance.

"Maybe I’ll throw a knife. I could say it was an accident."

The conversation lasts barely a moment, but it reminds you so much of what the two of you used to be, it hurts.

You follow him stumbling out of the elevator onto the right floor with a breathless laugh. There’s no one in sight as you subtly check the room numbers before making him follow you with a coquettish smile for the security camera.

You find the right door without much trubble, pulling the keycard out of your inconvenient little handbag. "Come on now," you murmur as the lock rejects it at the first try.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hand is on your waist again, and you gasp as he spins around. The keycard drops to the floor.

He presses you against the wall, effectively trapping you in his embrace. Your hands are laid flat against his chest, his heart thundering madly underneath your fingertips. Bucky’s eyes flit around madly, like he’s trying to come up with something on the spot and, for the first time since you’ve known him, is left without ideas.

You gasp as his nose brushes against yours.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. And then he kisses you.

Your body responds immediately, lighting a fire in your core as his lips press against yours, hungry, gentle, almost apologetic. You can taste the champagne on his tongue.

You arch your back against him on instinct as his hands travel down your arms, brushing your hips, your tighs, slowly parting your dress at the slit. Your eyes fly open the moment you realize what he’s doing, even though he swallows your gasp.

In one smooth motion, he pulls the I.C.E.R. out of the garter on your thigh and fires a single, silenced shot. The guy with the earpiece barely has the time to grunt before he sacks against the opposite wall, unconscious, his hand still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing Bucky away from you. He stumbles slightly, the gun loose in his fingers. His eyes are almost black as he blinks at you. "You could have told me we’re being shadowed."

Bucky’s mouth is stained from your lipstick, and the sight of that alone makes your head swim. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on your leg.

"It’d have blown our cover," he replies, infuriatingly calm. "Hate me later, our window has just narrowed by a bit."

You swallow, blinking to try and gain control over your breath again, grabbing your gun back with a short nod. "Let’s finish this, then."

***

Back at the Compound, you both give an exhausted report about the events of the night, leaving out nothing but your improvised kiss on floor fifteen.

Your lips are still tingling with it.

Finally, you and Bucky are left alone in the briefing room, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t just get up and leave as soon as the silence takes hold. Instead, you both sit next to each other, staring straight ahead.

"I guess we should talk," he says slowly, reluctantly, and you can’t help it.

Your defenses shoot up again.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, squinting.

"Yes, you do." He’s lost the tie hours ago, but he keeps tugging at the fabric in his hands as if it could give him the words he’s looking for. "I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with … Not like that."

"Like you said, the guy would’ve blown our cover," you say, crossing your arms.

"Doesn’t make it right."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" you say sharply. "That you should’ve talked to me before? Well, I’m kind of used to you not doing that anymore, so just forget it."

"Y/N—"

"No, really, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re leaving, anyway, so what does it matter. Didn’t tell me you were planning to do that, either. You just did it."

"You know why I’m leaving."

"No, I fucking don’t!" There are tears in your eyes now. "I have been trying really hard, Bucky, but you’ve just shut me out. I thought you needed space, which is fine, by the way, but you just—one day you decided you were done with me and that was it."

He stares at you incredulously. "You seriously don’t remember."

"Don’t remember what?!"

"That you were talking about me. To Natasha."

The memory rushes through you so violently it’s almost ridiculous you hadn’t thought about it in months.

You’d just come back from another undercover op, and you’d called her right as the door to your room had closed behind you because not for the first time, your feelings had threatened to spill over again.

"You should talk to him. Be honest."

"No, Nat, come on, I can’t—I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk … you know, he’s my best friend. And that’s all it can ever be. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I just wish he’d make it easier."

"You’re making excuses, you know. Both of you deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you think?"

"I tried," Bucky says now, barely looking at you. "I tried making it easier. But you’re so …"

"So what?" you ask hollowly, ignoring the fact that you can feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks now. "So pathetic? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you asked for the transfer, so you can be rid of me."

"Rid of you?" Bucky starts, but you ignore him.

"You know what, Bucky, fuck you if you think my feelings for you are so much of an inconvenience that you need to leave the state. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this."

"You’re the one who wouldn’t just tell me."

"Well, now you know anyway and I’m sure once you’re off to Cairo or wherever the fuck they’re going to send you, you can have a big old laugh about the stupid girl who fell in love with you despite the fact that—"

"Love?"

"I mean, obviously?!"

"You … you’re in love … with me?" There’s something very soft and vulnerable in Bucky’s eyes.

"Are we talking about two different phone calls?"

"I thought you hated me."

You huff incredulously. "Why would I hate you?"

"That’s why I gave you space, I thought … but then …" He grabs your hands. "Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for years."

It punches the air out of your lungs. "What?"

Bucky’s eyes are devastating as he looks at you, then. "I’m so sorry, I—I got it all wrong, I was just—I thought you know and you didn’t see me like that and that’s why I …"

"You …?" you say, still not quite comprehending what’s going on.

His thumb caresses your knuckles, halting when it makes contact with the ring you’re still wearing. "I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

"I don’t understand," you whisper.

"Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up completely."

This time, you’re the one to lean in.

Where your first kiss in the hallway had been feverish, this one is soft, almost unbelievably sweet, both of you still breathless with the fact that you’re allowed to do this. Finally, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place and you’re home again.

You press closer into him and Bucky smiles against your lips, pulling you in with his hands on your hips just like he did when you were dancing earlier.

The loudspeakers overhead crackle. "Alright, kids, we’re gonna break this up until you’re back in your own quarters, I don’t want to expose FRIDAY to the creation of your sex tape."

You break up with a snort.

"Fuck you, Tony," Bucky shouts, but he’s still smiling as wide as you’ve ever seen him do.

You giggle as you nudge your nose against his, curling your fingers into his hair. "That reminds me, you know."

"Of what?"

"Quick and discrete," you mumble, repeating his words from the hotel. "Title of your sex tape."

Bucky groans and shuts you up again.

(A few years later, you get the ring back.)

happy holidays, y'all 💛 thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[blackhairedjjun]

flying home to you - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst -> fluff, non-idol au, friends to lovers | word count: 889 | warnings: profanity (just one "shit")

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - CHOOSE: sender, realizing the receiver is about to make a huge life-changing decision (literally anything, accepting a job offer, accepting a marriage proposal, leaving the country, ANYTHING!) tells the receiver that they’re in love with them, leaving them to choose between the sender and their original path. (requested by @forevrglow - “Can you do the [CHOOSE] prompt with Yeonjun and make it kinda like the ending of Friends? Y/N got an amazing job offer in another country and just as she's about to get on the plane, yeonjun arrives to tell her he loves her and then she gets off the plane”)

author's notes: hi bri, thank you so much for the request! i had to watch clips of the friends ending on youtube for this, i couldn't make it exactly like it just because airport security has changed so much since the show aired 😭 but i tried to keep the gist of your request, i hope you enjoy!

(also to anyone else reading this, please do not take this fic as career or relationship advice!! lmao)

neither the rumbling sound of your luggage wheels nor the roars of the airplanes overhead could drown out your nervous heartbeat. you approached the entrance of the airport terminal, bags in tow, and your nerves seemed to quake more and more with each step. as you found yourself in front of the glass sliding doors, you paused, inhaled deeply, and checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time.

the electronic copy of your plane ticket was there, as were the email exchanges from your new employer. paris was at your fingertips and in a few hours it would be right in front of you, surrounding you, and even beneath your feet.

yet you still found yourself switching over to your text app and checking your messages with yeonjun. it had been a few hours since you sent a cordial “i’ll text you when the plane lands!” to him, and there was still no reply; he was typically the kind of person who replies as soon as he can, usually late at night before he goes to bed. he had read your text, but not responded.

this fact rattled your nerves more than the plane ticket, the email exchanges, or the flight. sighing, you pocketed your phone again and pushed thoughts of yeonjun out of your mind. maybe it got buried in his inbox...

you gripped the handle of your luggage again to wheel it over to the entrance, but your steps felt slower than ever. other passengers had to walk around you to enter the terminal. why were you so damn nervous? you knew that a new job in a new country was scary, but more than ever you felt rooted to the ground. at the back of your mind were images of your home, of downing beers with yeonjun in your kitchen, of his downcast expression when you told him about moving to paris...

“y/n! wait!”

you whipped around at the sound of a voice that made your heart beat faster. yeonjun stood in front of you as if conjured by your thoughts, out of breath, jacket hastily thrown on and hair tousled. 

“yeonjun, what are you...?”

“y/n, please,” he panted, “hear me out before you go...”

you were both in the way, and passengers shot glares at you as they headed to the terminal entrance. you moved aside, and yeonjun took the opportunity to move closer to you and take both your hands in his.

“i have to be at the gate by一”

“i love you.”

you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

yeonjun’s grip on your hands grew firm. “i’m sorry i never told you earlier,” he continued, voice cracking, “but i... i didn’t want to stop your dreams. i’m sure you’ll do amazing. but now that you’re leaving, and it’s real, and i don’t know when一 shit, i love you, y/n... i love you.”

you were trembling and yeonjun could feel it in your hands. he, too, was shaking, and it took every ounce of effort for him to keep steady.

your mind swam in a haze of thoughts, feelings, images. you remembered the way yeonjun held you when your ex broke your heart, the way his hands nearly brushed yours when he walked you home. you thought of home, of that tiny apartment where you’d stayed up with him talking about your dreams.

then you thought of paris. you thought of your dream job in your dream city. you imagined your new apartment overlooking the seine, and of the picturesque walkways lined with charming houses and old-fashioned streetlamps. your mind instantly created an image of you walking along them towards your new home, surrounded by fashionable locals in elegant coats... but you walked all alone.

where is your home? what is your dream?

then it all snapped together in high clarity.

you had been silent for a while, the thoughts too overwhelming for you to respond. yeonjun was still standing in front of you, and at your silence he dropped your hands. tears formed at the corners of his eyes and you swore you felt your heart break.

“sorry, i... i shouldn’t have said that. you should go...”

he turned to head back to his car. at first you couldn’t process it, and he moved slowly as if in a dream. then your senses caught up with you and you realized 一 yeonjun was walking away. your home, your dream was walking away.

“yeonjun!”

you ran towards him, nearly bumping into several passengers heading to the terminal. he caught you in his arms and his lips met yours; you melted into his embrace, kissing him back. he felt warm and his lips were soft, and you felt the warmth spread to your chest and set your whole body alight.

when you broke apart, you could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears. your eyes met yeonjun’s, shining with adoration,  and the thoughts and emotions swirling around you finally came to a still. 

“i love you too, jjun,” you whispered. “i can’t leave you.”

he pulled you in for a hug and you breathed him in, your face resting against his chest. his heartbeat fell in sync with yours.

“y/n, stay...”

you gripped him even more tightly and nodded. there was no way you could leave your home.

[whywhaatt]

"hey i'm bored" (isaacwhy x reader)

-

word count: 2.028

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, hand kink(kinda), degrading, light choking

a/n: this is my first fic😜 i didnt proof read it yet so hopefully i didn't misspell anything too badly

-

10 hours. 10 hours of sitting at this desk and playing on my computer. I've gone through almost every app or game that I have downloaded. I've checked every social media, watched the newest uploads of my friends, and I even read a random wikipedia article. It's around 2am now. I need to go to sleep. After turning off my computer, and taking my headset off and hanging it on the monitor, I walk towards my bed and grab my phone from my nightstand.

1:59 AM... god damn. I gotta fix my sleep schedule. Nahhh I know I won't. The lack of sleep is kicking in, it feels like 5 minutes go by of me just staring at my lock screen. Turns out it was just 30 seconds cus my phone automatically turned off. It takes me a minute to realize it, but the only reason I do is cus a notification pops up.

"wassup" - isaac💀

tf... it's 2am?!? Why is he texting me?

~

isaac: wassup

me: heyy

isaac: sorry it's late. im bored

me: bro i just laid down💀💀

isaac: can i come over? larry and tanner and annoying tf outa me rn

me: telling them you said that🗣️🗣️

isaac: bro pls. ion know if it's cus im tired but y'know how it is. i just need to get out of the house

me: yeah ion care, just let me know when you're here

isaac: bet

~

That was random, I guess Isaac's coming over now. He's been over before, but not like this. What if something happens? I'm probably just over thinking this. Am I shaved? Yeah, I'll be fine.

~

isaac: i'm here😜

isaac: weird emoji sorry

~

"Thanks for letting me come over, I needed to get out of the house" Isaac said, sitting down on my couch.

"Honestly, if I with all of those people I would have to leave all the time. So glad I live alone".

"Yeah well, I love them. It would be weird being away from them after this long of dealing with their shit." Isaac said, "So, what are we going to do"? I didn't think about that. I kinda just panicked for 10 minutes while he was driving here.

"I don't know, we could watch a movie or something?" I ask while tossing him the remote, "Move over, this isn't your apartment. I wanna sit". I sat down not too far away, but Isaac scutched closer and wrapped his free arm around me. His other hand had the remote in it, just scrolling through shit on Hulu.

"YO YOU'VE BEEN WATCHING CHAINSAW MAN"

"GOD ISAAC I HAVE NEIGHBORS"

"Oh shit sorry, I love Chainsaw Man. Have you seen me wearing that mask. I look so good in it man, look here I'll show you-". I had to cut him off.

"Isaac, I've seen the photo like 20 times. As much as I love how you look in it, I'm not looking at it again."

"Shut up and look at it" He holds my chin, forcing me to look at the picture on his phone. Damn. He is hot. I'm speechless. The fact his hand can easily grab my face like this, I wonder what else they can do. Looking up at him, my cheeks start to get hot a little bit. This eye contact is painful. I need this to go to more. My hand goes to the back of his neck, our faces slowly inching towards eachother. There's a pause, almost like we realized what is happening.

I close the distance. Just a light kiss, short and simple, but we both need more. Immediately, Isaac's hand pulls me in.

"God.. I-I need... you" I moan in between kisses. Isaac pulls back, and I whine at the loss of contact.

"What?"

"I can't tell if I'm just tired, but I need you so badly. Please Isaac." I am begging. BEGGING. For this man.

"You're so pathetic." He says right before kissing me again, this time more passionately, and his hand moving towards my neck. He squeezes softly, making sure it wasn't too much for me. I'm a moaning mess.

"Do you want to move to your bed?" Isaac questions before picking me up bridal style and carrying me towards my bedroom. My arms are wrapped around his neck while I'm looking up at him. I'm just looking at his eyes, he's so beautiful. He sets me down by the foot of me bed, so I'm standing with my arms around his neck. I always knew he was taller than me, but the height different is crazy. He looks twice my height, and he's still bending over to kiss me.

"Baby, go lay down. I'll take care of you". I almost moaned when I heard that. The things I would let this man do to me is insane, ever since I've met him the list has been getting longer and longer.

I'm laying down my bed, when suddenly my feet are pulled and my legs are dangling off the side. Isaac takes his sweet time pulling down my Nike shorts, teasing me slightly over my panties. I need him to hurry up and get straight to the point cus this is unbearable. Again, he slowly takes off my panties and just barely touches my pussy. The tiniest bit of contact makes me shiver and whine for more.

And like that, Isaac's eyes look up at me as he starts eating me out. He keeps looking and studying my every reaction until he gets the one he wants out of me. Remember when I asked what his hands could do? Well, I found out. As his tongue is focused on my clit, he slowly puts two fingers into my hole. I have to cover my mouth with my hand so I don't scream.

With his fingers thrusting in and out of me and his tongue working wonders on my clit, I know I won't last long like this. My eyes are stuck shut, with one hand over my mouth and the other holding his hair back. My thighs are practically crushing Isaac's head at this point.

"Isaac, I cant" I'm panting in between moans, "I'm so close". As I finish my sentence, everything stops. I whine and whimper, needing more stimulation.

Isaac moves from below my torso to standing at the foot of my bed. He slips his shirt over his head, leans down and puts me back into the spot I was before. Then continues to undress himself right before me. His body is gorgeous. I cant stop staring at him as he gets on top of me, kissing me softly. I can taste myself on his lips.

He breaks the kiss and slides my shirt over my head, exposing my chest. The cold air hit me all of a sudden, making me shiver for a little bit. It feels weird to be fully exposed to Isaac. The closest we've ever gotten to this is almost kissing on New Year's, but we both realized we've just had a little too much to drink and we backed off. I guess Isaac notices me thinking, cus he stops everything and looks down at me.

"Babe, you okay? You can tell me to stop at anytime, I want you to be comfortable" he says, it was the most serious he's sounded all night (well I guess morning). "We can stop if you'd like, I'm sorry I rushed all of this-"

"No keep going, I just got lost in my thought. Thank you for caring for me, Isaac." I pause my sentence to kiss his lips softly, "I'm having a good time". Isaac nodded and continued kissing my neck, leaving little marks every now and again. His hand creeped up, massaging my left breast, and his mouth making his way towards my right. When his tongue made contact with my nipple, I let out a slight moan and let my eyes close softly. My brain feels fuzzy, probably from the lack of sleep, but I love it. It feels like I'm high, but in the cringy "high on life" way.

"I have a condom in my nightstand" I blurt out, "but I'm on the pill so if you don't have anything you can go without it". His head perks up from my chest, looking almost as excited as a kid in a candy store.

"Really?" he asks excitedly. Yup, exactly like a kid. I nod my head yes and Isaac immediately moves to get himself into position. He lines himself up, looking up at me in my eyes, and slowly inserts himself into me. Both of our mouths fly open, releasing a string of moans and whines. Isaac was bigger than I expected, but he feels so good inside of me.

After a couple of second of staying still so I can get used to his size, Isaac starts to move. My hands move to hold on to Isaac's shoulders as he slowly moves in and out of me. I push his head down to kiss me to try and muffle my moans, but it barely does anything.

"Faster, please, please go faster" I beg, with our faces so close we're practically sharing breathes. His pace speeds up and my head relaxes back into the pillow. I can feel myself getting closer and closer by the second.

The room is filled with random moans or praises from either one of us, not being able to hear anything else. If Isaac didn't wake my neighbors earlier, then they're definitely awake now. Honestly, I could care less if I get a noise complaint.

"Isaac- Oh my- I'm- I'm getting close" I moan out between breathes. His hand moves from behind me to my neck, lightly choking me. My mouth flies open from the new pressure on my neck. Isaac, seeing the opportunity, takes over my mouth. Inserting his tongue and immediately dominates my mouth. I'm being so loud right now, and I don't care.

"Isaac, I'm about to- I'm 'bout to cum. Please Isaac. Oh my god please." I gasp out with the air I have.

"Do it. Cum for me, baby. You're so amazing" Isaac moans into my ear, loosening his grip on my neck a little. My nails digging so far into his back, they could leave scars. My head flies back, eyes rolling to the back of my head, and toes curl. A wave of pleasure rolls over my body as I cum with Isaac still going inside of me.

"Just a little bit more, baby, hold on for me. Please baby, you're doing so good for me." Isaac lets out as his hand lets go to steady himself on the bed, getting the pace back to how he needs it. While overstimulated, I try my best to hold tight for Isaac.

He's close. I can tell. Not too much longer, Isaac comes inside of me. All of his body weight crushed on top of me, feeling like a weighted blanket. A wave of praises came out of Isaac as he caught his breathe.

"Let's get you cleaned up"

-

After we took a very, very long and slow shower together, we laid down in bed together just cuddling.

"The house is asking where I'm at, Imma tell them I'm staying here for the night if thats okay with you" Isaac asks.

"Yeah, it's perfectly fine." I reply, "Random question, well two actually."

"Hit me."

"Okay so one: did you mean for this to end up like this? And was this technically a booty call or whatever?"

"Okay, first off I'm not liked that. But I realize it looks like it. Nah, I just wanted to hang out with you. It was just one of those late night and I'm bored situations"

"Okay, great, umm and two: what does this make us now?"

"Wow, umm.. hard question. I don't know. What do you want to be?"

"Maybe more than friends, I really like you Isaac." I confess, just staring into his eyes through the dark. He leans in and kisses me.

"Will you be with me?"

a/n: i hope you liked this:P my requests are currently open so make sure to leave some if you have any!!

[piratesfromspace]

Plaything (141xReader)

Pairing: (implied) Reader x Ghost x Soap x Price x Gaz Rated: Mature Word count: 2.7k Summary: Rain and Soap have been kidnapped. Note: In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic, I recommend you read part 3 to understand this chapter. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself).

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, implied torture, threat of sexual assault, overall canon typical violence, but with a happy ending (kinda)

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // <> // PART 5

Soap hears her before he can see her - Don’t touch me she screams, and the fury in her tone has his heart racing. They drag her into the room where he is detained. His hands tightly bound behind his back and to the metal chair he sits on. The zip ties are cutting into his skin, the metal too hard and cold under his thighs. No chance to rip them off discreetly with all those men watching him. But he stops caring about his own discomfort the second she appears. 

Despite the heavy tac gear on her body, she looks cruelly small against the giant holding her. Her hair is in her face, and there is a smear of blood on her cheek, but she’s trashing and screaming with so much vigor John is somewhat relieved. She’s alive and kicking . 

“My oh my, what do we have here, mmh? That’s an interesting new addition to your squad MacTavish.” The man next to the giant croons. “She wasn’t there the last time we met. Or maybe you’ve been hiding her all along?” He walks slowly, towering over Rain. “Wouldn’t blame you, such a pretty thing, you have to be careful who you show it to...” he taunts.

Soap knows him - codename Zeus, what a pretentious asshole - he’s the head of this mercenary unit they had to team up with once. But since they sell their fire power to the highest bidder, don’t really have any allegiance, it was only a matter of time before they met again in a less friendly situation. They had rat him out of the safehouse he was sharing with Rain. No clue how they got the intel. Or why they captured him. He had prayed Rain would be able to escape, but it appears she was caught as well. Soap just really hopes the rest of the squad will figure something out, and quickly. 

“So what is she?” Zeus goes on, evil mirth in his voice. 

“Sniper?” one of the other rogue soldiers tries. Zeus laughs.

“Nah. She had fucking glasses on when we caught her.” He looks at Johnny with a smirk, then at her. “Maybe you’re their nurse? Oh wait I know, you’re their cook, right?” he asks, feigning honesty, and his men chuckle. Soap wants to kill them all, break their teeth and stop them from laughing ever again. 

Zeus extends his hand, catches Rain’s chin between his gloved fingers, forces her head up. “Or maybe you’re their plaything? The squad little whore?”  Rain’s eyes widen in anger and shock, she snaps her head to the side trying to escape her captor’s grip. 

The words of Zeus awaken Soap’s memory. Invoke flashes of what happened in Siberia. Unexpected guilt settles in his guts with an icy feeling. “Plaything” - she wasn’t their plaything , she was the one initiating whatever it was , she was more than willing. They only wanted to make her feel good.

Johnny doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels guilty because of this. The implications of what Zeus is suggesting - he hates them, they’re nonsensical, but still he feels attacked even if it's ridiculous. He can only imagine what it does to Rain’s spirit. 

“Or maybe you’re their plaything? The squad little whore?”The words of their captor echoes in her head. How does he know? It’s not rational but for a split second she panics. She panics because maybe - maybe - there is the tiniest chance someone knows? Someone else beside the 141? It makes absolutely no sense, and she should not care at all, but since the second she’s been captured, she feels her mind unraveling.

She tries her best to keep it together - damn it , she followed the freaking training, she’s supposed to know what to do, she’s supposed to have her emotions in check. Truth is no training can prepare you for the feeling of helplessness slithering along every inch of her body, seizing her lungs, filling her throat full with a cloying fear.

Zeus and his men are hitting low, she’s easy target. Pointing at her womanhood and making it demeaning, citing all the adjacent prejudices they can think of. No better than stupid mean boys from high school. It should not dig at her confidence like this. She knows her skills, out of and on the battlefield. She knows her team respects that - respects her . Loves her, even. But still, she doesn’t feel so well, it’s too much happening too fast. Bile rises behind her teeth.

“Am I hitting a sore spot, sweetheart ?” Zeus laughs at her, forcefully cups her check, in a mockery of care. He turns to Soap “I guess we’ll find a way to have fun with her, me and my men, one way or another…”, He clicks his tongue, rests his hand on the handle of the knife attached to his belt, the threat blatant, “Don’t worry, you’ll watch before it’s your turn.” he snarls. Johnny grits his teeth, holds his tongue because he’s afraid anything he would say would be faced with some sort of retaliation on Rain. 

Zeus is not done. “Oh, one last thing. I just want to make it very clear for the both of you - I already got the intel I need. But my client wants you dead, so why not have a little fun while we’re at it? Well, I mean they want MacTavish dead.” Zeus goes back in front of Rain, “Sorry darling, you’re not quite famous enough for people to actually care about you.”

She spits in his face and he laughs it off. 

---

Ghost is the first to go in. He had rushed through the stairs of the decrepit building, stopping only a couple of seconds at every floor to make sure the way was clear before climbing up again. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s going to find. He only focuses on taking down any hostile as discreetly as possible. He doesn’t even want them to suffer, he has no will to torture - he just want them to be gone . Bones turned to ashes. Cleaned from the surface of this earth. He looks at their faces just long enough to forget them after. 

Since the news of their capture, he feels numb. Immune to any kind of emotions - dissociated - mind split into so many shards he wonders if it will ever heal. It’s not the first time one of them - of the 141 - has been captured. Not the first time he has to lead a rescue mission. But it’s her. And Johnny. And he knew this would happen - he knew it. 

The scars on his back are itchy, like the wounds were about to open again, as if time just decided to go backwards. The trauma of his own capture had been kept locked away very efficiently, Simon had tucked it into some layers at the root of his mind, pressed there between his will to live and his dedication to duty, a prison of steel where it was supposed to be forgotten forever.

Until Soap’s frantic voice had crackled through the comm - We been hit… is compromised… - and then the silence. Price had looked at him, surprise and something that must have been akin to fear in his eyes. Since then, Simon can feel it, the anxiety feeding on the ugly things he has repressed for years, gnawing at the base of his skull, ready to burst free. And along with it, blooms the guilt of failing to protect them from the worst that can happen to a soldier - to anyone . 

When he kills the first guard, he doesn’t bother to look at his face, but as he goes through the long corridors, sniping down each enemy, something clicks. He knows most of them. They’re mercenaries. When his knife slices the throat of another one, he can read in his eyes the terrible recognition and he’s pretty sure he can hear him croak “Ghost?” against his gloved palm before life leaves him.

Price, Gaz and him clear the rooms with brutal efficiency, and by the point they reach the end of the floor, they don’t bother with discretion anymore. They find a pile of discarded boots (two big ones, and two smaller) and belts and gears. Soap and Rain’s stuff. They are kept here, it’s a certainty now. So they kill and kill - sink bullets in old allies - terminating even the injured despite their begging. Ghost is bashing open every door he can see, leaving the last mercenaries to his teammates, until he finds it - the cell. 

He fires at the lock, kicks the door and goes in, handgun first. He scans the room in a second. Clear . And it’s like everything explodes inside him. The air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and fresh blood and revenge. Here they are, Soap and Rain. Soap is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, head lolling against his chest. His face is a mess of red, blood covering dark bruises, like stones at the bottom of a crimson pond. His clothes look soaked, his bare feet are also bloodied.

Rain is sitting on the floor, hands bound behind her back, curled against the leg of McTavish. She might be comforting herself as much as she’s trying to comfort her Sergeant. She’s down to the tight black shorts she wears underneath her cargo pants, her T-shirt is half-torned at the collar, hanging loosely on her shoulders. Blue and black patches are dotted on her upper arms, on her naked legs, but she looks in way better shape than Soap. 

“Simon” she whispers. And he realizes he’s been standing there in shock for a couple seconds. She turns her face to him, and there is a smear of vermilion on her cheek, where it was pressed against Soap’s thigh. Her eyes are a little wild, the white veined in reddish streaks - she must have cried. “Simon” she says again, like she can’t quite believe he’s real. 

Ghost snaps open the zip ties, and as soon as she’s free, she turns to Soap, holds his face in her small hands. “Johnny, Johnny, they’re here - you’ll be ok - Fuck, Johnny, please look at me…” she begs, while Simon frees him as well. Price and Gaz are at the doorstep, taking in the scene before them. Ghost is holding Rain with one arm, trying to prevent Soap from falling on the ground with the other - and she’s frantic, she repeats his name, tries to wake him up from his lethargic state. Simon tries to reassure her - Rain, let me take care of him. Rain. Rain, stop. 

But she can’t, she’s spiraling and she starts crying again. It feeds Simon’s own anxiety, he’s been helpless in protecting them, and even now he doesn’t know what to do. He presses her against him, hopes it will calm her down but it’s useless. Until her name - her true name - echoes in the room. Price’s voice is firm, devoid of any blame but commanding nonetheless. Ghost feels Rain stiffen immediately in his arms, her body reacting on instinct to her Captain’s order. 

Price gets her out of Simon’s grip, gently pulling her out of the way so he can take care of Soap. Are you hurt? Can you walk? She doesn’t answer, she’s shaking, from the cold and the shock of it all. Price scans her body, cataloging every bruise, the blood on her face, on her palms - not hers though. Soap’s…

“It’s bad Captain” Gaz whispers, eyes to the side, looking at Simon’s hauling Johnny in his arms. “We need to go. Now.” Price nods, gaze locked on Rain.

“Requesting evac. 6 minutes. They’re alive but … keep the medic on board.” Gaz’s radio crackled with a stern copy . They climbed on the roof to rendez-vous with the chopper. Rain insisted on retrieving some of her gear, she had put on her boots and holster, and had proceeded to unsheath her knife. Price had tried to argue she didn’t need to, she was safe now - but she wouldn’t listen. She made her way with the rest of them, in her shorts and torn shirt, holding her blade so tight her knuckles were white under the crimson of Soap’s blood clinging to her skin. She looked straight out of those dumb horror movies Soap likes to watch on leave. Bloodied and beaten and with tears on her cheeks, and yet still holding a knife ready to do whatever it takes to stay alive. 

Her head was too light and too heavy at the same time, her legs felt like cotton, she could barely hear anything above the deafening sound of her thumping heart. The last of her adrenaline was keeping her standing, but the second she got up into the chopper, she crashed. Price had to carefully pry the knife from her hands, strap her down to her seat, fix the headset on her ears, because her fingers were shaking too much.

On the other side of the heli, the medic was bunched over Johnny’s form, Ghost by his side. He turned back suddenly, back to her. The skull mask is streaked red, the white paint on his chin also. With the lack of light in the hull, she can’t see his eyes, just two holes of dark void. Anyone else would be terrified of him when he looks like this. Like some deranged creature that’s barely human, all bones and no flesh. But she spots the slight way his shoulders just drop, like he’s releasing a breath at her sight. Unconsciously, she mimics him, tries to even her breathing, tries to slow the angry roar of her blood. 

“‘Am fine” she states, voice flat, when Price clicks his mic open, before he even asks anything. “Just bruises. No internal bleeding. No concussion.” 

“Just let the medic check on you after.” Her captain insists.

“I have none of the symptoms.” She concludes and Price knows not to argue, because she started learning military medicine a few months ago and the new medic on base genuinely thought she was a colleague when she efficiently treated the open fracture of some rookie. Her ability to pick up new knowledge frightens him a bit sometimes. 

“I am fine.” she repeats mechanically. “I’m not the one injured.” she adds so low Price wouldn’t have heard it if it wasn’t for her mic. He picks up the underlying guilt in her statement immediately. 

“You stop this right now - Rain - Rain, listen to me. I’m fucking serious. It wasn’t your fault.” There is a tinge of despair behind the controlled anger in his voice. First time he sounds like this. It unsettles her. 

“You don’t understand, Johnny, he- he said stupid things so they would stop what they were- they tried to attack me-but…he…” She’s getting breathless, words stuck in her throat, hurting like she had been fed burning coal. Her voice not as monotonous as before, wavy and unsure. “He sacrificed himself.” and with that she starts to cry again. 

---

She’s asleep when Ghost joins her. The only reason she was able to close her eyes was the couple of sleeping pills and painkillers the medic slipped in Price’s hand before gesturing at her in a silent order. Her head had been spinning the whole time she shed her clothes and sat under the shower spray. From the medication and the exhaustion - Price had stayed to make sure she was alright. But at least she fell on her mattress and went unconscious the minute after.

Simon curls around her, squeezes her body against his, the warmth of her skin a blessing he wasn’t sure he would be able to know again. She moves in her sleep, sinks against his chest even further. Fuck . His heart misses a beat when he thinks about the fact she might have been gone. Forever. Her and Johnny, they both might have. He had spent the last hours mulling over his fear in the back of the room where the medic was trying his best to patch up Soap. 

Now all he wanted was for her to forget, for her to not have to go through what he had lived after his own capture. He stays there, strong arms around her waist, his discarded mask still covered in blood on the nightstand - an artifact powerful enough to repel the demons in her nightmares.

NEXT PART

[niki-phoria]

HELLOO AHH sorry I'm so excited about this request. Niki x Male reader and you know how Niki is the youngest one in the Enyphen group? It would be so cute if Niki had a small-Big crush on m/reader and the group teases him about it. Also, M/R is part of a group ( can't think of any names for his group:() Niki’s members push him to ask out and talk to m/r but goes absolutely downhill, but m/r already knows and teases him by the end. Again hope this wasn't to long lol🤞🏽

Have a great rest of your day and remember drink plenty of water and rest!!!🧸

i hate how tumblr like shrinks gifs but i am obsessed with his highlights so i'm choosing to just ignore it bc LOOK AT HIM HE'S SO OIENKSNFLKS

pairing: niki x idol!male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff word count: 1.9k

includes: supportive but teasing enha, niki cannot catch a break, he blushes the entire fic lmao, mention of txt's kai bc i love him, mainly set in niki's pov

a/n: thank you so much for requesting !! this idea is adorable, i love it sm. i also couldn't think of a group name so reader is implied to be a soloist (but you could read this with a group in mind) i hope you like it &lt;;33 also i am desperate for more txt requests pls

additional note: i intentionally set this up for a part 02 bc i am obsessed with this idea someone pls request it and give me the motivation to actually write it (i was thinking of relationship milestones, so first date, first kiss, first i love you, meeting the rest of enha, etc)

PART 01 / PART 02

requests open !! read my rules first

l/n y/n. since his bestselling debut only one year ago, everybody knew his name - including enhypen’s own nishimura riki. 

he doesn’t notice the smirk on sunghoon’s face as he watches your showcase. you effortlessly glide across the stage as you continue your routine. from his position backstage he was able to charm his way into having your raw vocals played clearly over the metronome for him to hear. 

your stage finishes all too quickly. though niki may be biased, he would listen to your voice for the rest of the night, even as the hours continue on and the stars give way to the sun - everyone else be damned.

there’s a glint of sweat on your jawline as you pant. the cameraman stalling in front of your face signals the end of your performance. the shot lingers for a few seconds before the broadcast cuts away to an ad break. the cameras stay rolling on the monitor backstage, letting niki watch as you smile, patting one of your dancer’s on the shoulder before rushing off stage. 

he’s broken out of his trance by jay placing his hand on his shoulder. he jumps, face flushing as he notices he’s been in public - in front of his members - this entire time and not in the safety of hiding underneath his blankets when he usually admires you and your stages. 

“enjoying the show?” jay asks. 

“he has literal heart eyes,” sunghoon laughs. 

“i have to admit, y/n is an incredible performer,” sunoo comments. niki swats his hyungs away, face still burning as he walks over to sit next to the other boy. 

“at least someone here agrees with me,” he mumbles. 

jungwon chuckles under his breath, reaching across the couch to pat his knee. “we might run into him later. you should talk to him.” 

“you want him to talk to y/n?” jake leans over the edge behind sunoo. “he can’t even look at the guy without blushing!” 

“especially not if you keep teasing him for it.” heeseung looks up from over his phone. “y/n’s a nice guy. he’s close with kai. i’ve only heard good things.” 

“i agree with heeseung-hyung,” niki sighs, leaning back against the couch. 

“you know we’re just teasing,” jake says, reaching over to pat his back. “we want the best for you. besides, you never know what could happen.” 

niki rolls his eyes, turning away in a poor attempt to hide the still-growing blush spreading across his face. though he’s sure the others notice it they don’t say anything, giving him a short reprieve from their incessant teasing since the first time he saw you.

with their attention elsewhere, niki’s thoughts wander. he knows so much about you - at least about what you’ve told the public. he could list your favorite movies and coffee order by heart. he knows the lyrics to each of your songs, fanchants included. he knows about each “imperfection” on your face, your favorite color to dye your hair, the childhood scars on your knees and elbows. 

even with his everlasting knowledge about you, niki still doesn’t know if you’re aware of him. if you know his name or would recognize his face. would he fade into the crowd, just another idol you bowed to at an award show? what if he asked for your number? would you say no? even if you did say yes, what if you don’t click as friends? 

but… what if you do? what if it leads to something more? what if-

his stream of consciousness is cut off by jungwon patting his shoulder. “hey, we’re being called to sit down in the audience.” 

niki nods, following behind the rest of the group to their seats. he settles between heeseung and jay as they prepare for a long night of sitting perfectly still surrounded by a million cameras on all sides. at least he wasn't being filmed when he blushed through your entire performance.

finally, after what feels like hours of waiting, the award show ends. people drift around, rushing through various different hallways and dressing rooms around him. 

niki wanders through the building, searching for enhypen's dressing room. in hindsight, trying to find the bathroom alone during an award show filled with hundreds of different people probably wasn’t the best idea.

he gasps as his shoulder hits someone, arm reaching around to grab their waist before you both tumble to the ground together. you wince as you hit the unforgiving floor below. niki hovers over you, wide eyes staring into your own. “y/n?” he scrambles to his feet, holding out a hand for you. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you there.” 

“it’s okay, it was also my fault.” you chuckle. “niki, right?” 

“i- yeah.” 

“i’ve seen you perform a few times, your dancing is incredible! and i love your voice.” niki’s blush deepens as he nervously laughs. 

“thank you. um, i hope this isn’t too weird, but i was hoping… i could get your number? you know, so we can be friends? if you want to, i mean-” 

“of course you can.” niki pulls his phone out of his pocket, quickly unlocking it before handing it over to you. you're nonchalant as you lean back against the wall, typing a special string of numbers into the device. “you know, honestly, i was hoping you were gonna ask me out on a date.” 

niki freezes, looking up at you. “really?” 

you nod. “i like you. i have for a while. i was hoping i could take you out sometime. there’s a cat cafe nearby that i go to on my day off, if you’re up for it.” 

“yeah!" niki pauses. he feels like he's on fire, though he's not sure how much of that is because of you or because he just embarrassed himself in a busy hallway. "yeah, that… that sounds great." his voice drops, nearly to a whisper you finish typing,. he takes his phone back, albeit with shakier hands. "i’ve really liked you for a while now too.” 

you smile brightly at him. he can feel his ears burning. he’s grateful when you don’t say anything about it. “does tomorrow work for you? we can meet at the cafe.” 

“tomorrow works perfectly.” 

you step a little closer to niki. now he can see you in more detail. how the small black eyeliner and light brown makeup around your eyes accentuates your features. how the corners of your pink-tinted lips remain quirked upwards in a small smile. how alluring your eyes are as he looks into them. 

you lean in to press a quick kiss against his cheek before pulling away. wide brown eyes blink back at you. niki can hear someone calling for you from down the hallway, cutting the moment short. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” you call, rushing over to a man who he presumes is your manager. 

niki remains where he’s standing for a few seconds, processing everything. in the span of a few minutes he had met you, gotten your number, and been kissed by you.

he shoves his phone back into his pocket, smiling to himself as he finally makes his way back to enhypen’s dressing room. his hyungs are spread throughout the room, patiently awaiting for their car to be prepared so they can head back to their dorm. 

“what’s with the blush?” jay asks, looking up at him from his position on the couch. 

“did you see him again, loverboy?” sunghoon teases. 

“he kissed me.” 

heeseung’s head almost whips in his direction, staring at him. “what? when?” 

“i ran into him in the hallway and he asked me out. and then he kissed my cheek.” 

jay smiles, patting his back. “that’s my boy!” 

“congratulations,” jungwon smiles. 

niki nods, still giddy from the kiss. “thank you.” 

“if he’s this flustered from a cheek kiss imagine how he’ll be when y/n kisses him for real,” sunghoon chuckles. 

“lay off of him for a while,” jake nudges the other boy. “he just scored a date! at least let him be excited.” 

“i’m just saying,” sunghoon defends, reaching forwards to ruffle niki’s hair. he flinches, whining as he pushes sunghoon’s hand away. “in all seriousness, we’re proud of you. i hope the date goes well.” 

niki smiles. “i hope so too.” 

it's nearly midnight by the time they finally arrive back at their dorm. niki sighs, finally back in the comfort of his bed. he leans back against the sheets, the tension in his body relaxing slightly.

his phone vibrating on the table next to him pulls him out of his tired haze. slightly irritated, he rolls onto his side to grab the device. what could be so important that he needs to be contacted at this hour?

his annoyance immediately fades as he turns his phone on. there are two messages from an unknown number.

unknown

hey it's y/n :)

i know it's late, so i'm hoping you'll see this before you fall asleep

does 10:00 tomorrow work for you?

niki sits up, clutching his phone in his hand. he stares at the screen before it turns black from inactivity. excitement courses through him as he switches it back on, quickly typing out a message of his own.

you

10:00 works perfectly!

your response comes immediately in the form of a typing speech bubble. niki watches it intently until another message sends through.

unknown

great :))

i'm really looking forward to seeing you

he types out his reply quickly, sending it before he has time to overthink anything.

you

i'm looking forward to seeing you too <3

niki can feel his phone vibrating against his blankets. another text from you. he bites his lip, internally bracing himself for your reply. even though you asked him out first, he wonders if he's moving too quickly. like you'll suddenly come to your senses any minute and realize you could do so much better than him.

unknown

my manager will yell at me if i stay up any longer lol

goodnight niki <3

relief replaces the previous dread almost immediately. he lets out a small sigh before typing out another reply.

you

goodnight y/n <3

with the security that he has a date scheduled with his crush for the next day, niki rolls onto his side, still holding his phone in his hands. your conversation was short, but he finds himself replaying each moment of the interaction in his head.

his mind drifts back to when he literally ran into you backstage. you look so handsome in person. so much prettier than he ever imagined. your voice is different, too. it drips with honey, luring him in like a siren. niki knows so much about you, but he yearns to know more.

he plugs his phone in to charge, setting an alarm to make sure he doesn't sleep in too late before finally drifting off to sleep with a small smile on his lips.

[keiththecat]

Trading Hurts

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)

Summary: You're a lifelong hunter, and you help out the Winchester brothers, saving Sam's life and risking your own. Your fast feelings for Sam scare you and you run away. What will happen when you run into the brothers again?

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, hurt/comfort, medical procedures, cursing

Author's Note: Hello friends! Second ever fic here. Had to show some love for the other Winchester brother too! As always, Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.

AO3 link here

“Sam! Look out!” Dean yells as he sinks his silver blade into the heart of the werewolf he’s been wrestling.

Sam is standing over a werewolf he just killed. He turns around to see why Dean yelled, feeling claws tear the flesh on his left side as he turns. His right hand goes to the wound, his knife falls from his left hand, and he makes eye contact with the wolf as it roars. The roar quickly turns into a look of confusion and hurt before the wolf collapses in front of Sam. Behind the wolf, you are left standing in front of Sam, smirk on your face and blood-covered knife in hand, “Hi, I’m Y/N. Looked like you could use some help.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m Sam.” Sam says, still holding his side. Damn, she’s gorgeous, he thinks to himself.

“Not a probl-“ you’re cut off by a werewolf suddenly behind you, grabbing you by the neck and throwing you into a nearby tree. Everything goes black. 

The next thing you know, your eyes snap open in the back of a car. Your head is propped up by something warm and you feel like you can’t breathe. Your body is in so much pain, it feels like you’re on fire. You start to panic, willing your body to move to find a way out.

“Hey, no, you’re okay,” Sam’s face comes into view above you. You realize your head is propped up on his lap and he’s trying to hold your arms down so you don’t flail around. “I need you to look at me and take a second, Y/N.”

You try to calm down. You look into his hazel eyes and your mind tries to catch up. Well, you think, if this is how I go, at least I get to look into a touch of Heaven first. 

You try to remember how you got here. “Right,” you start, voice raspy, “werewolves. Winchesters.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow, “You know who we are?”

You nod and then wince when it causes a jolt of pain like lightning through you. 

“Sorry, right, not important right now,” his voice continues, “you’re injured pretty badly. We’re on our way to the hospital to get-”

“No!” You cut him off. “Please, no hospitals.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam takes your hand in his, then makes eye contact with his brother who’s driving. “No hospital.” He looks back at you, “Can we at least take you to our bunker to-“

“Sammy,” Dean warns. “We don’t even know her, you want to take her to the bunker?”

“What other option do we have, Dean? Cas is busy and not answering. She’s injured because she saved me!”

“Uh, hello? I’m right here.” You interject awkwardly. “You can just drop me at my motel room, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse alone before.”

“No, we’re taking you to our bunker and doing what we can to fix you up. It’s the least we can do.” Sam leaves no room for argument. Dean grumbles under his breath in the front seat but keeps driving.

You try to mentally take stock of your injuries. Hm, you think, definitely a few broken or at least bruised ribs. Probably a concussion. I feel wet and sticky so I’m sure I’m bleeding somewhere but must not be too bad since I’m still alive. For now, at least, I guess.

Sam continues holding your hand and mindlessly running his fingers through your hair until the car eventually stops and is shut off. Dean gets out of the car first, “I’ll get stuff set up in the infirmary.”

Sam eases himself out from under your head, then turns back toward you. “Can I, um-“ he reaches his arms toward you.

“Carry me? I can probably walk.” You start to sit up, but you’re hit with a tidal wave of nausea and fall back to the seat. You take as deep a breath as you can manage, pushing the nausea away as best you can, “Okay, maybe not. Would you mind?”

“No, no, not at all,” he insists. Suddenly you’re in his arms, he’s walking, and you’re wondering what kind of muscles he has hidden under all that plaid. He laughs under his breath a little, cheeks and ears turning red. You realize you must have wondered out loud. “Sorry,” you say, turning to hide your face against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Probably the best compliment I’ve had in a while.”

He makes his way to what you assume is the infirmary. Dean is setting out supplies for bandages, stitches, and wound cleaning next to an old cot. Sam gently places you down on the cot. “Are you okay with me checking out your wounds and cleaning you up some?”

You respond in the affirmative. Dean is standing a few feet away, leaning against another cot, staring at you. “So how long have you been a hunter? What’s your deal?”

“Dean,” Sam says, and fixes him with a look. “Can’t this wait?”

“It’s fine, Sam,” you touch his arm. You lean forward, reach over, grab shears and hand them to Sam. “Start with my back, it hurts the worst.”

Sam looks at you for a moment, then gets to work cutting your shirt open from behind. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “How’s the damage back there, Sam?” You ask.

“Well, you’re definitely gonna hurt for a while. I’ll have to stitch a few wounds back here, and you’re already bruising.” He prods his way down your back on each side, “Feels like a few broken ribs, too.”

You realize you’ve had your eyes closed, relaxing to his voice even as he delivers the news. “I figured. Just do what you can please.”

Sam starts cleaning and stitching what he can. You explain that you’ve been a hunter since birth, your mother dying in childbirth and your now deceased father raising you in the hunting life until he died when you were barely a teen. Then you tell them how Bobby Singer has treated you like his own. 

“How come we’ve never ran into you before then? We’re at Bobby’s all the time.” Dean asks, still seeming skeptical.

“I haven’t been back there in years. Even when I was there, I stayed for a few hours max. I keep busy,” you explain, “I didn’t grow up in one place, so it always felt weird to stay stagnant. Felt dangerous.”

“Like things could catch up to you if you stopped moving,” Sam says quietly from behind you, his large but gentle hands continuing to sew a large gash down your back from the tree. You nod as best you can without making the pain worse.

“Alright,” Dean says, “you can stay as long as you want. At least stay until you’re healed. The place is warded, you’ll be safe here. You got this, Sammy?”

“Yeah, we’ll be good.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go clean the blood out of Baby and hit the hay.” Dean leaves, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

“Baby? I assume that’s his car?” You ask.

Sam laughs lightly, “yeah.”

Silence passes between you two, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Sam finishes with your back, and then you feel him gently place something over your back, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment. You’re hit with a wave of his smell, and you realize he placed his plaid shirt on you. He comes around in front of you, now in a short sleeve black V neck that lets you see exactly how ripped he is. Holy muscles, you think, so that’s how he carried me so easily.

“I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. You seem to be okay mentally so far, but let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

You laugh a little, looking away shyly to break your stare, “yeah, sounds good to me. Thanks, Sam.”

“No, thank you for saving me.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need stitched up too? He scratched you before I got him, didn’t he?” You reach for his side, mentally smacking yourself for forgetting.

“No, no, I’m okay. Not deep enough to need stitches, I don’t think.” He brushes you off, glancing down at his side where the shirt is torn, long but thin scratches peeking out underneath. 

“If you say so. But seriously, thank you. You definitely saved me back there.” You say, slowly getting yourself up. He reaches out to place a hand under your elbow, helping to steady you once you’re on your feet. Your hand falls to his bicep, and you bring your other hand to rest on his chest. “Damn, you’re built like a tree. Is that a Winchester thing?”

Sam bursts into laughter, his adorable dimples bracketing the most gorgeous smile you think you’ve ever seen. His cheeks and ears are turning red again. “Aw, is Samuel blushing?” You tease.

This was the start of your crush. Except you couldn’t even call it a crush, you were instantly head over heels in love with the taller Winchester. It hit you like a hurricane. So sweet, attentive, selfless, and that’s not even mentioning his smoking hot body. Silky chestnut hair, deep hazel eyes full of emotion. But instead of giving in to the temptation and telling him how you feel, you left just two days later. You couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by him, or of being so close to him but so distant at the same time. So you asked Dean to drive you while Sam was out on a run, not wanting to have to say goodbye to him. Dean took you back to your motel and your belongings, leaving you with nothing more than a “call if you need anything” and his number. You’ve kept in contact with Dean, mostly sending memes and jokes to each other, and doing your best to not ask about his brother. Turns out Dean has a knack for dad jokes, sending you at least one a day, more if he thought you were having a bad day. You’d consider him your best friend, even though he’s really the only person you talk to anymore besides Bobby on occasion. Dean has come a long way from his skepticism when you burst into their lives, considering you like the sister he never had.

Now, four months later, you have run into the brothers again. You’re in a small town in Missouri hunting some vampires, when you spot the Winchesters walking into a diner.

“Hey, tall and taller, got room at your table for one more?” You call out.

The brothers turn around, confused. Dean’s eyes lock onto you first, and he opens his arms for a hug. “Hey, loser, what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You jog a few steps, falling into his arms for a few seconds. “Hunting some suckers. Guessing you’re here for the same?”

“Actually yeah, wanna save little Sammy’s ass again like last time?” Dean jokes, his eyes lit up in mirth.

Sam shakes his head, lips pressed together, rolling his eyes. “That was one time, it won’t happen again. And since when are you guys close? You disappeared months ago, Y/N. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Yeah, sorry, I, uh, got called away for something,” you lie, hoping Sam won’t notice and Dean won’t call you out. “Dean and I have kept in touch though.” You playfully hit Dean on the shoulder.

Sam tries not to feel hurt that you have talked to his brother all this time but not him. And you’ve clearly talked enough to get close, Dean doesn’t hug just anyone.

“Well, come on,” Dean says, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “I’m starved.”

You all make your way inside, sitting at a booth. The boys sit on opposite sides, and you debate who to sit next to for a moment too long, then you slide in next to Dean. Sam notices your hesitation, but buries his face in the menu.

You all order and eat your meal, sharing stories about all the hunts you’ve had in the last few months. 

“No wonder we’ve had it easier recently, Dean. You didn’t tell me Y/N was taking care of so much,” Sam says.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Dean says, mouth full of pie. “Asshats got ganked, people got saved.”

“Yeah but we could have helped out more.”

“I was fine, Sam. I like keeping busy, remember?” You say, then turn to Dean, “Speaking of, do you know yet where we’re looking here?”

Sam speaks up before Dean can, “actually yeah. We’ve narrowed it down to two warehouses on the outskirts. We’re planning to go check them out after we get a room.”

“Perfect,” you state, looking at Sam. “You boys wanna ride together from the motel since we’re all going to the same place?”

“Sounds good,” Dean says.

You all get up and leave, piling into your cars and going down the street to a motel. The boys get a double room to share like always, you get a neighboring single. You go into your respective rooms to gear up for the hunt.

“What the hell, dude?” Sam says as soon as the door is closed behind Dean. 

“What?”

“Y/N is who you’ve been texting all the time? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks, clearly hurt.

Dean looks at Sam for a moment before understanding crosses his face. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Here, you want her number?” He pulls out his phone to pull up her contact and passes it to Sam.

“No, that’s- well, yes, but-“ Sam stumbles over his words.

“Look, it’s not like that with us, Sammy. We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Sam lets that sink in and runs his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. So relax, she’s all yours. At least, she hasn’t mentioned being with anyone. I’d doubt she had time for it with the constant hunts she’s had. She’s worse than either of us have ever been with needing to keep moving.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sam says, saving her number in his phone and giving Dean’s back to him. 

“Well?” Dean asks.

“What?”

“Text her. Say it’s in case we get split up or something. Make up an excuse. Give her your number or I will.” Dean insists.

“Okay, okay, get off my back about it then, yeah?” Sam says. Dean throws his hands up in surrender, turning away to rummage through his duffel.

[Sam 5:55PM : Hey, it’s Sam. Dean gave me your number. Wanted you to have mine just in case]

A full minute passes, and Sam wonders if she will even respond. Then his phone dings with a notification.

[Y/N 5:56PM : Got it. Good thinking. You boys ready?]

[Sam 5:56PM : Yup, meet you at the Impala?]

[Y/N 5:57PM : Sure thing, Sammy Boy ;)]

Well, Sam thinks, I guess the winky face is a good sign? Maybe she does like me?

“You ready, Dean?” Sam asks, heading for the door.

“Let’s do this,” Dean says, grabbing Baby’s keys.

*

Half an hour later, you’re all sitting in the Impala outside the second warehouse. The first was empty except for rats and dust, no signs of bloodsuckers ever having been there. 

“Safe to assume this is it then, huh?” You ask, leaning forward between the boys and looking out the windshield. 

“Yeah. We all ready?” Sam asks.

You and Dean respond “yeah.” You all get out of the car, grabbing your machetes and forming a plan. There are three entrances to the building, you will all split up and take one. You’ll meet in the middle, and then go to the upper floors together. You nod at each of the brothers, and you all go your separate ways to enter.

The front door creaks open, and you slowly make your way inside. The day’s last light is filtering in through the windows. You have a flashlight in your back pocket but you’re trying to draw as little attention as possible. You make your way down the hallway, which opens into a large center room. As you come through the doorway, you hear grunts and sounds of fighting from the hallway to your right. That’s the door Sam came in, you think and your heart drops into your stomach when the noises stop but Sam doesn’t emerge. You start toward that hallway, and you’re met with five vamps carrying Sam’s unconscious body. They notice you, drop him, and advance on you before you can move any further.

“Dean!” You yell, starting to fight them off. You can’t keep track of where they all are, you just know that they are surrounding you and landing more hits than you are. Your back, arms, sides, and stomach are all taking hits and you struggle to get the upper hand. You manage to block a few hits and decapitate two of the vamps in quick succession, as you hear Dean’s footsteps thundering closer. That’s when you notice a large vampire standing over Sam. 

You fight even harder now, desperate to help the brothers and save Sam. You manage to shove one against a metal pole before cutting its head off in one swing. You kick one in the abdomen, surprising it and knocking it over. You drop to your knees, straddling the vampire’s chest, and swing your machete down on its neck. An arm from the other vamp you’re fighting snakes around your neck, choking you and pulling up into the air. With your body weightless and hanging in the air, you swing an elbow into its sternum and a heel into its knee. It lets go long enough for you to drop, turning as you go to swing out and cut its head off.

With these five dead, you can turn to help the Winchesters. As you run over, the vamp throws Dean a few feet, with Dean landing on his back and sliding across the floor. Jesus, you think, he looks even taller than Sam. You run and launch yourself at the vamp, knocking it back a few steps but not knocking it down. Glancing around the vamp, you can see Sam starting to come back around to consciousness. The vamp manages to grab you by your throat, lifting you into the air. You try slashing into its arm with your machete, but the grip it has on your throat doesn’t let up and you’re starting to see spots.

“Dean,” you manage to rasp out, your machete falling from your hand as you grow weaker,” get Sam and get out of here.”

Suddenly the vamp’s hand goes slack, its head rolling down and onto the floor. You fall to the floor, gasping and coughing for air, your hand on your neck. Sam is standing over the dead vamp, machete in hand.

“You okay, Y/N?” Dean comes up behind you.

You nod, still coughing.

“Sam?” Dean asks.

“I’ll be fine, it was just a good hit on the head.” He kneels in front of you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod again, “Guess we’re even now, huh, Sammy Boy?” 

The boys help you up and out to the car. You all ride back to the motel in silence. Dean is first out of the car and heading toward the rooms, leaving you and Sam behind in the Impala.

“You’ve got some blood on the back of your head,” you say.

Sam’s hand goes to the back of his head, coming back red. “Oh. Huh.”

Another moment passes, then you get out of the car and head to your door. As you’re unlocking it, you realize Sam is standing behind you. You glance over your shoulder at him. “You okay?”

“Would you mind helping me clean it? The blood on my head, I mean. I’m sure you’ll be more gentle than Dean would.”

“Sure, Sam. Come on in.” You open the door and head in. He follows and closes and locks the door behind him, checking the salt lines.

“Have a seat wherever, I’ll grab some supplies,” you say, heading into the bathroom for some warm water and a washcloth.

When you re-enter the bedroom, Sam is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking out of place. You crawl onto the bed behind him on your knees and start cleaning the blood from his hair as gently as you can.

“So, um,” Sam starts, “why did you stay in touch with Dean?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. I just texted him one day and we hit it off. He’s pretty funny.”

Sam’s hums in response. You furrow your brow, “should I not have?"

"No, it's fine, I mean-," Sam stutters, "I just- um, maybe we can keep in touch this time?"

You’re taken aback, and you’re glad you're still behind Sam because you’re opening and closing your mouth like a fish for a moment. “Uh, yeah, Sam. I’d like that.”

“Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

“Of course, Sam.”

“Did I do something to upset you last time? At the bunker?” When you don’t immediately answer, he continues, “Because I thought we were getting along and hitting it off and then I came back one morning and you were just gone.”

“No, Sam,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving around so you’re in front of him. “You did nothing wrong. I got called away for something.”

“Okay,” he say, but he looks like he doesn’t believe you. Really, he looks like a kicked puppy and you can’t stand it. Fuck it, you think, I can’t have him thinking he did something wrong and looking at me like this. “Okay, I wasn’t called away. I, um,” you sigh. “Ilikeyouanditscaresme,” you rush out, avoiding eye contact.

A moment passes where nothing is said. You’re still looking away and you bring your thumb to your mouth to chew on the nail. He brings one hand up to pull your hand away from your face, and his other hand rests on your cheek. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You follow his command, meeting those hazel eyes, your heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of your chest. “I like you too,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

You put your hand on top of his on your cheek. “Really?”

He nods, smiling and giving you a glimpse at those adorable dimples. He brings his other hand to your cheek, his large hands now framing your face, and he’s looking into your eyes for permission. You nod, and then his lips are on yours. You feel like your brain has short-circuited, and it takes a moment for your lips to move to match his. His tongue licks your lower lip, again asking for permission, and you gladly open up to let him inside. Wow, you think, this is earthshattering. 

You both pull away, keeping your foreheads together.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do this,” you say.

He opens his eyes, confused.

“This ‘feelings’ thing,” you explain, “I’ve never really done this before.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll always have your back.”

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Chapter Nine of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Ten

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Wednesday brings a date and Friday brings an unwelcome fate

TW: Oral (f&m receiving), Fingering

Notes: hey everyone !! sorry for the delay to my unofficial posting schedule ! i was battling writers block and life threw a bunch of bullshit at me this week. in better news...i got a kitten today ! my friends were fostering four kittens and I fell in love with one and now we are basically soulmates. ANYWAY... there has been a small resurgence for my One Condition (reader x Din Djarin) fic recently which has made me smile ((: i updated the tag list so let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Frankie’s house hasn’t been this clean since he first bought it. He isn’t a dirty man, he is probably one of the cleanest he knows if he's being honest, but suddenly everything looked dull compared to your sparkle. The chemical fumes from all of the products he is using have made him light headed. He just cracks open some of his kitchen windows and keeps on working. He has been deep in soap and suds since he got off work today at 7:30 P.M.. So far he has managed to vacuum off of the carpets and rugs, wipe down all the sinks and scrubbed the toilet (he even made sure to put the seat down), cloroxed the stove and the countertops, fluffed the couches pillows, and put fresh sheets on his bed.

Last night after his ‘work meeting’, he ran to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for your date this Wednesday. You both decided on a quiet night in since your weeks have been surprisingly busy. Neither one of y’all had the energy to battle the busy crowds of a restaurant. He left the store with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and some extra spices he didn’t already have. As soon as he got home that evening, he began making a marinade for the chicken so it could soak overnight. He spent his entire lunch break today sifting through dozens of different recipes on how to best prepare asparagus and calculating how much time he would have to put all the food together before you arrived tonight. When you texted him to confirm that 9:30 was still a good time for you to come over, he answered quickly saying ‘yes, but take your time closing with Benny’. He was filled with a combination of happiness and stress when you told him that Benny graciously told you that you didn’t need to help close tonight because you had a date. Damn, there goes the extra padding of time he thought he might have. He wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted to be finished before you arrived so he wouldn't be distracted by cooking. You were the only thing that he wanted to give his undivided attention to. 

***

You’re practically vibrating in the front seat as you pull up to Frankie’s house. Much to your dismay, he refused to tell you what he was preparing for dinner. If you didn’t know what the two of you were eating, the option of buying a wine to pair with it was obviously out of the question. Well, when in doubt, make a chocolate chip bundt cake. Your only worry now is that he had already made something sweet. You park in his driveway like he told you and you take the cake’s carrying case from the passenger seat out of the car with you. After setting the dessert on the roof of the car, you look down at the casual dress you decided to wear. It’s comfortable and flowy which fits the warm Florida weather perfectly and the color of the fabric compliments your skin effortlessly. You didn’t want to over dress since the date is only at his house, but you still wanted to look nice for him to show that you care. Figuring that there isn’t any point in dwelling on your clothing choice since there is no time to go home and change, you pop your trunk to grab the overnight bag that you packed. Frankie not so subtly mentioned that by the time dinner was over it would be ‘too late to drive home’ and that it would be ‘much safer’ for you to spend the night. Who were you to argue with his bulletproof logic? You swing the bag over your shoulder, collect the cake, and walk yourself up to his front door. The mouth watering smells coming from inside have managed to leak their way past the door and tease you and your empty stomach. You knock with your foot as your hands are a bit occupied by what you’re currently carrying.

When he opens the door the two of you are quiet for a split second as you take each other in. His hair is on full display now with the absence of his cap. You suspect that it might have something to do with the shower he took. The ends of his curls are still damp from the water. He’s wearing jeans that you don’t think you have seen him in before and a crisp looking white henley. 

“Wow.” Frankie feels exactly the way he did when he first saw your photo on Benny’s phone. “You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t clean up too badly yourself.” You blush.

He leans down and kisses you, but as he pulls away you notice that he slipped the cake carrier out of your hand.

“Hey! You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. Remember?” He gives you a playful wink before waving you inside.

If you thought it smelled good on his front stoop, there are hardly words to describe how it smells inside. The whole house is warm with the scent of cooking chicken. It’s the kind of smell that feels like it's wrapping your whole body in a hug. While restaurants are wonderful, nothing compares to homemade cooking. The two of you walk into the kitchen and you spot an electric grill on the counter with four thick chicken breasts cooking on it. As you walk further in, you see that he has two trays of food heating in the oven. 

“You did all of this yourself? It looks amazing!” You say walking over to set both your purse and your overnight bag down by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“Uhhh,” An alarm goes off on the oven as he starts to flip the meat on the grill. “Actually, help would be great. Would you mind taking the potatoes and asparagus out of the oven for me while I handle this? I have mitts that you can use to grab them in that drawer right there.”

You locate the drawer and take out a set of oven mitts and two pot holders. The pot holders you place on the counter beside the oven so the trays will have a place to be set so they can cool. You open the oven and take each tray out carefully and set them down in their respective spots.

“Okay, what next?” You ask.

“I printed out the recipe I’m using for the asparagus. It should be over there by you.”

“You printed out the recipe?” You laugh, turning to look at the man next to you.

“What? I like to have a physical copy of things. The text on my phone is just too small to read sometimes and it's annoying that it turns off when I’m in the middle of looking at it.”

“Those aren’t bad reasons.” You confess as you pick up the paper. “Have you thought about getting glasses? You know, so you can see your phone better?”

“I don’t want to get glasses.” You have to stifle another laugh because he sounds like a grumpy child right now.

“And why is that?” You walk around him to grab the lemon in his fruit basket that the recipe calls for.

“They are going to make me look…” He mumbles the last word in the sentence so you can't hear it clearly.

“They are going to make you look what?” You press while slicing the lemon in half so you can squeeze its juice over the vegetables.

“Old.”

“Frankie!” You stop what you’re doing and face him directly. “You are not going to look ‘old’ with glasses! You aren’t even old to begin with.”

“I’m almost 45.” He counters. “Hold that plate for me, please.”

You do as he asks, but you aren’t done with this discussion. “I’m a few years shy of 30. Do you think I’m old?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then what’s your point? You only have a couple years on me.”

“A couple?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up and finish plating the chicken will you? The bottom line is that you won’t look old. If anything you’re going to look even more handsome. I like the way glasses look on men.” You smirk.

“I’ll think about it.” He blushes. “For you.”

“Do it because you want to see, Frankie! Now help me over here.”

The two of you talk back and forth while you finish the asparagus and he prepares the baked potatoes. This is a different kind of intimacy than you are used to. The intimacy that you had come to associate with partners was skin on skin contact and hands tangled in hair, but this is seemingly more personal. You could have sex with anyone you wanted at any time you wanted, but fucking someone doesn’t make you compatible with them. You don’t have to talk during sex, like really talk. Standing shoulder to shoulder with someone while you cook and casually talk about summer vacations you each went on as children or pets you had growing up was intimacy that you didn’t know you were lacking, that you were craving. This was the kind of intimacy that you only thought lived in between the pages of a book. 

“Oh my God! This is so good! I haven't eaten like this in forever!” 

Dinner finally found its way to each of your plates along with a cold beer to wash it down. 

“It’s just a hobby, but I’m glad you like it.” He smiles, cutting another bite of food for himself. “The guys and I sometimes take turns cooking dinner when we go over to each other's places when we watch the game or before beach trips.” 

“Benny was telling me about those a few weeks ago actually! He said that y’all haven’t had one in a while because life has gotten in the way. What would you say if we went during a weekend in March? My friend Robbie, the one I told you about last weekend, is coming down to visit me then and what better way is there to introduce her to Florida?”

“That sounds really nice. It will be great to go with you, Robbie, and the guys. God knows we could all use a break.”

Speaking of the guys,” Questions that have been plaguing you since you first looked at the contents of his room swim to the tip of your tongue. “What did all of y’all do when you were in the service? Like your jobs?”

“What a question.” He reclines back in his chair. “Let’s see…Pope was the man with the plan. He was always plotting the best entry and exit point for us on missions. He was usually the one that found us the job in the first place too. Will was the one who kept us all on task and on time. I've never met another person alive who keeps track of things the way he does. He has actually kept count of every single speech he has given at the VA.” He chuckles.

“Why am I not surprised?” You love how he looks when he is discussing his friends. He’s so full of love and pride.

“Benny was the guns. We can all shoot really well, I mean that's what we were trained to do, but Benny can shoot ridiculously well.” He stops to take a sip of his beer. “We had a captain as well. His name was Tom, but he was Redfly to us. He was the one who led all of the missions we went on.”

“Is that the man in the group photo that you have in your bedroom?”

“You saw that, huh? Yeah, that’s him. He,” Frankie clears his throat. “He moved away about a year ago and unfortunately we fell out of touch. But, that's what all our jobs were.”

“And you?” You’re resting your head in the palms of your hands with the look of curiosity painted across your face. ‘What did you do?”

“I was- I was the pilot. Whatever needed to be driven or flown on a mission, I was the man to do it. Vehicles are nice, don't get me wrong, but flying? God, there isn’t anything else like it in the world.”

“What does it feel like?” Your dinner grows colder, but your heart grows warmer as he talks. 

“I don’t think I can do it justice, but I’ll try. When I’m in the cockpit of a helicopter, I feel so at peace. It sounds weird to say that operating a machine that weighs tons of pounds can give me that feeling, but it's the truth. Nothing can take it away either. Not the guys yelling over the headsets that we have to wear inside, not the chaos of whatever mission we are currently on, not even the millions of beeping sounds coming from the controls. It's just me and the open sky.”

“What’s been your favorite view?” You could listen to him talk about this for hours.

“Apart from the one I currently have right now? That's going to be hard to pick.” You have to temporarily look away from him to hide how hard you’re blushing at his comment. “I would have to say it was when I was piloting a helicopter over some mountains. The mountains themselves were beautiful, but as soon as we got close enough, the sun peaked out from behind them. It made the mountains look like they had halos.”

“I would give anything to see something like that.” You say wistfully.

“I could, if you wanted, show you sometime.”

“Oh my God! Really? Frankie, are you serious? You would do that?”

“Of course I’m serious! I want you to experience it first hand.” His million dollar smile slips for a fraction of a second. “It might take me a while to get my hands on a helicopter though.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” You rest your hand over his on the table. “At the risk of sounding corny, the best things in life are always worth the wait.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turns his hand over so that your palms are touching. “Do you want to cut some slices of cake and curl up on the couch to watch some TV?”

He takes your squeal of excitement as a ‘yes’. You work together to pack up all of the leftovers and load the dishwasher. He tries to cut the cake himself, but you shoo him away.

“You have done enough work for one day. Let me take care of the cake at least. Why don’t you go relax on the couch and find something for us to watch?”

You cut two hearty pieces and set them on plates for the both of you. It's shocking how natural it feels to exist with him like this. There isn’t a label on what y’all have, but you don’t mind right now. All that matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and you wouldn’t want to spend your Wednesday night any other way.

“Alrighty.” You set down the plates along with two forks on the coffee table. “What did you find?”

“How do you feel about Narcos Mexico?

“I’ve been meaning to start that one actually!” You plop yourself down on the couch next to him. “Robbie and I binged Narcos when it first came out. We finished it in a matter of days. It was probably a little unhealthy now that I think about it. She had the biggest crush on Murphy, but I was partial to Peña.”

“Should I be worried?” He hits play and adjusts his arm so that it drapes over the back of the couch. His fingers are able to brush over your collarbone rhythmically. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” You look up at him. “Lucky for you, I prefer the real thing over something fictional any day.”

“Lucky for me indeed.”

He takes the hand that is toying with your collarbone and uses it to gently tilt your chin up towards him. Your lips are captured by his in a kiss. Without warning a low moan comes from your throat. It had only been two days since he had touched you last, but why did it feel like a lifetime? His free hand slides up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress with it. He can feel your pulse quicken and your breath hitch when he moves your underwear to the side and starts to rub circles on you. His voice is strained and raspy when he speaks to you.

“I missed the way you felt around my fingers, mi estrella.” One of his fingers finds its way inside of you. “So tight I can barely move.”

His words have you clenching around him and gasping for air when you feel yourself stretching to allow another finger in. Your back arches off the couch as he makes contact with the spongy spot inside you. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me? I could hardly get any work done these past few days because you’re all I can think about.”

Your head falls back against the plush pillows of the couch. He presses sloppy kisses along your jawline as your mouth parts to allow shallow breaths and quiet moans to escape. 

“Look at this beautiful neck.” His tongue charts a warm, slick path up it. “God, I wonder what it would look like with my hand wrapped around it?”

You stretch your neck out for him as if to silently say ‘come and find out for yourself’. 

The hand that he initially used to tilt your head up comes to snuggly wrap around your throat. With each squeeze, pump of his fingers, and rub of your clit you can feel yourself start to gradually lose control. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want you to soak my fingers.”

Even with his hand restricting your airway, your moans have gone from quiet to boisterously loud. You can hear him groaning in your ear as he watches his fingers disappear inside your wet pussy over and over again. 

“That feels so fucking good.” You gasp out.

You can feel your legs starting to shake and the fire in your lower belly aching to be put out.

“Let go for me.” He whispers.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through your body. He guides you through your bliss with honeyed words.

“So fucking pretty coming all over my fingers. Such a good girl for me.”

When he reluctantly takes his fingers out of you, you grab his wrist with your hand and bring his drenched fingers to your waiting lips. You can see him watching you with lust clouded eyes from your peripheral vision as you take them in your mouth. You allow your tongue to glide across and lick them clean of the mess that you just made. After you are content with your work, you pull them from your mouth with a satisfying pop and lazily roll your head so you can face Frankie. 

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh?” He’s breathing almost as hard as you are.

“I want you in my mouth next.”

“Oh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself onto your knees and situate your body in between his legs. He scoots down deeper into the couch and opens his legs wider. His lids hang low on his eyes as he undoes his belt for you. When he’s done, you take over by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Your mouth starts watering when you pull him free from his boxers. As you take him in your hand a guttural moan comes from the man in front of you. You tap the tip on your tongue a few times before wrapping your lips around it. Beads of pre come dissolve in your mouth as you begin to suck.

You take your time with him. Only taking him deeper into your hot mouth every once and a while. His hand comes up to pull your hair out of your way. His words go from slurred to unable to understand when you attach your lips to his balls. Your hand continues to pump him while you kiss and suck below the shaft. His thighs twitch and jerk with every touch you grant him. Licking a long stripe up his length, you connect your mouth to him again while your hands work in tandem. You dare to take a peek at the man coming undone above you. God, he’s breathtaking. Once perfect hair, now going every which way, sweat making his forehead shine, and plump lips being pushed out by his ragged breathing. You can feel yourself grow wet for him all over again. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth.” He fumbles out. “It feels like your mouth was made for me.”

Even with your hollowed out cheeks beginning to burn, you keep pushing yourself. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel. When his stomach starts to heave, you know he’s close. You take him all the way down your throat. The coarse hair at his base brushes against your nose and you can feel tears trickling their way down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come.” He speaks frantically.

You place your hands on his thighs and keep him deep inside your mouth. Immoral sounds erupt from him as he spills down your throat. You hum as you feel it going down. You pull off of him, but softly lick him clean as he lays disheveled against the cushions. He watches with intense infatuation as you use your finger to gather some of him that is left on your lower lip and push it to your tongue. You smile contently at him as he reaches down to pull you into his lap. He wastes no time tasting himself on you. In some possessive corner of his brain, he can’t help but feel like you are his now. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes you can feel the genuine care he has for you in the way he kisses you. He hopes you can feel it in the way that he touches you. 

“Let’s go to bed.” You breathe into him.

“Something tells me we won’t be getting much sleep.” He says standing with you in his arms. “I don’t mind one bit.”

***

The majority of your Friday shift is spent selling tickets for the fights this evening. You were excited to attend this week's match on Frankie’s arm. Honestly, you were excited to see Will and Santi as well. Between juggling your dad and trying to see Frankie as much as possible, you hadn’t had any quality time with your other two friends. 

“I have a problem.” Benny pokes his head around the brick wall that separates you from the rest of the gym. “But I think you can solve it. If you don’t kill me first that is.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but,” You spin your chair around to face him. “What can I do for you, Benny?”

“So you know my regular ring girl? The one that has those cool purple streaks in her hair?” You nod in confirmation. “Well, she just texted me sayin’ that she has the flu.” 

“You’re kidding.” You know exactly where he is going with this.

“I wish I was.” He’s now standing awkwardly in front of you. “However, like I said before, I think you can help me.” 

“Are you asking me to be your ring girl for the night?” 

“Please!” He has his hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “It would only be for one night! I know that you were plannin’ to hang out with the other guys, but I really need you!” 

“Benny, I- I don’t even have clothes to wear.” You gesture down to your current attire. “I don’t think this would suffice.” 

“That’s where I come in.” He says proudly. “My other ring girl is about the same size as you and the new outfit that I ordered for her just so happened to be delivered to my house last night.”

“You’re the one that orders the outfits?” 

“Well, she technically picked it out, but I just ordered it so I could put it on the company card. So, what do you say?”

“Let me see the outfit first.”

Much to your chagrin, he heads back into his office and comes back with the package and a pair of black thigh high boots. “Go change! I’ll be waitin’ right outside for you!” 

You snatch the items out of his hands and head back into the locker room. As much as you hated that so few women came to the gym, it was nice to have the whole room to yourself. You set the boots on the ground and tear open the package. The top is an extremely high cropped white collared shirt that ties in the front and the skirt is pleated with a red and black checkered pattern. You can’t do anything else but laugh when you finally pull the fishnets out. The things you do for friends.

“Okay! I’m coming out!”

Benny can hear you before he sees you. Your new heeled boots echo throughout the locker room as you exit.

“God damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “Fish is one lucky man.” 

“I feel like Britney Spears in her ‘...Baby One More Time’ music video.” You rest your hands on your hips.

The skirt's short length is accentuated by the fishnets and how tall the boots go up on your thighs. The shirt’s tie sits above your belly button. This whole look leaves very little to the imagination.

“Well, I think you look great!”

“It’s not too much?” You twirl to give him a 360 view. “It’s kinda fun to wear.”

“See?! I promise it’s just for tonight, unless you want to give it another go?” 

“Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?”

“I can live with that.” 

He starts to head to the front desk when the doorbell chimes out, but you call after him.

“Benny?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you- I don’t really know how to ask this- can you watch me tonight? Like make sure no one tries to bother me?” 

His face softens at your request. You know that he understands who you’re talking about. “I promise that the guys and I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. You’re our girl and we’ll watch you like a hawk.”

“That means a lot to me.” 

You hurry yourself back into the sanctuary of the women's side of the locker room before you give the guest waiting at the front desk a preview. Before you take your new outfit off you take a picture of yourself and send it to Robbie. She responds by firing off multiple messages that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Robbie always had a unique way of making your ego flair up. Armed with your newly gassed up confidence, you send the picture to Frankie. He responds almost instantly.

Frankie: What are you wearing?

You: What? You don’t like it?

Frankie: I never said that.

You: Benny’s usual ring girl is sick. You’re looking at Brass Knuckles ring girl for the evening.

Frankie: I’m looking alright. I hope Benny knows that he’s not getting that outfit back after tonight. 

You: And why is that?

Frankie: Because I’m going to tear it off of you piece by piece. There won’t be an outfit to give back.

You rub your thighs together anxiously as you see another text bubble pop up.

Frankie: How am I supposed to focus for the next few hours with this photo of you living in my head?

You: You better figure it out because if you don’t, you will be to busy playing catch up to fuck me after the fights.

Frankie: You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?

You: I know (:

Giggling to yourself, you change quickly so you can resume desk duty. Hopefully you can stay focused for the rest of the day despite Frankie’s words swimming around in your mind. 

***

You and Benny see the guys pull into the parking lot in their respective cars 15 minutes after closing. 

“Would you look at that? They actually got here on time to help.” Benny hums as he throws the last of the dirty towels into the basket.

“I’m gonna go say ‘hi’!” You shout over your shoulder, already darting towards the front.

You bust out the door right as the group of three are walking across the middle of the parking lot. 

“Hey Will! Hey Pope!” You rush out as you make a beeline for the man in the center. 

You leap into his arms and wrap your legs around him while snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. His exuberant laugh reverberates through your whole body as he clutches onto you. If it were anyone else, you would feel foolish for greeting them like this. But it just feels so right to be held in his arms. It doesn’t matter where you are. You feel him let out a heavy sigh into your hair as he cups the back of your head with his hand.

“What the fuck are we? Chopped liver?” Pope jokes. 

“I totally greeted you, you whiny baby.” You laugh, face still hidden from the world.

“Who are you calling a ‘whiny baby’?” 

You turn to face him, already knowing that he has his hands on his hips. “You!”

“You hearing this shit?” He turns to Will who has been silently snickering.

“Every word of it, Pope.” Will comes up and pats you on the back. “Good to see you, hon.”

“You’re going to let her talk to your best friend like that, Catfish?” Pope pouts. 

Frankie carefully sets you down and readjusts his cap. “I couldn’t control her even if I tried.” He shrugs. 

“Come on, Pope.” You lightly push him in the shoulder. “You know I love ya’.” 

Before he gets a chance to respond, a car pulls into the lot extremely fast. Frankie quickly scoops you up and moves over to the side of the parking lot that is closest to Brass Knuckles. You didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, yet the rest of them reacted just as quickly as Frankie did. 

“What kind of idiot drives like that?” You say, trying to get your bearings as you feel your feet touch asphalt again. 

“The kind of idiot with a bone to pick.” Pope mutters. 

When you look around, all three of them are watching the car park in a spot that's a few spaces down from theirs. Nervousness starts to rear its ugly head when you see them all exchange quick glances, followed by nods of their heads. Will is the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we go inside?” His eyes look like they are pleading with you. “You can show me what still needs to be set up before people start arrivin’ tonight, huh?”

“Wait, what?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Frankie confirms, his gaze still fixed on the now unmoving car. He doesn’t sound like himself. “Take her inside.”

“Frankie? What’s going on?” 

He must have heard the quiver in your voice because he turns his attention to you. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I just need to take care of something first, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Let's go, hermosa.” You feel Pope's hand come to rest softly on your shoulder. “Please.” He whispers in your ear. 

You have never seen any of them act like this. It’s causing your stomach to turn violently. Three of the toughest men you have ever met getting skittish doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Al-alright.” Pope pushes your body towards the door, but your eyes stay on Frankie. “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” 

“I know, estrella.” A car door slams hard somewhere in front of y’all and his face hardens. “Get her the fuck inside the gym.” 

For the third time in a matter of a few minutes you’re being carried. This time it is compliments of Will. Before you know it, you’re being ushered inside and taken back into the gym. Neither Will nor Pope stop until they approach Benny who is in the middle of cleaning the heavy bags. 

***

The only thing that matters to Frankie is that you’re away from the catastrophe that he knew was about to ensue. He steels his emotions as he watches her round her car from the driver's side. With how quickly she is marching there should have been flames kicking up behind her.

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson @megcads @myloveistoolittle @casa-boiardi @jitterbugs927 @partyofone3413 @pedrit0-pascalit0 @golden-library @pati-et-vivere @mashomasho @lilmizmoz @angstylittlepascal @sofiparallel @selflcontrol @adriennemichelle98 @painitemoondust @pedritosgirl2000 @tpwkmera @romanarose }

[pullhisteeth]

Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

-

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

-

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

-

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

-

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics. 

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

-

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

-

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence. 

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

-

[julcia404]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

(feel free to ignore it though :))

Heya, my fabulous one ♡

Alright, five scenes...let's see how many I can actually find that I'm willing to share 🤭 please keep in mind that they all still need different amounts of (heavy) editing and probably rearrangements, and that I don’t know if or when I'll ever find the courage to actually finish and post them...yadda yadda...here goes nothing 😅

Those first two are from the same WIP that originally was an idea I had for a Duskwood-fanfic (and initially inspired by songs - many of my ideas are 🤭), but I was thinking about turning it into something original...maybe...in 500 years...

Sister Sun Brother Moon / You Only Want Me 'Cause You Want My Sister - Part 1

She is the sun, the center of our little solar system. Everything revolves around her, everyone here builds their lives around her. Like planets, dwarf planets, asteroids, meteoroids, comets, dust clouds...they all orbit the sun. But when she's there, nothing else can be seen anymore: everyone looks at her and she leaves them blind for other things. People hurt themselves for the sun, to be able to get a ray of her all-encompassing light and to feel a little warmth. But it’s a hazardous, harsh warmth - and her blinding and glaring light, it outshines everything else.

They're not able to grasp that though - we humans really are a dumb race. Like Icarus, they burn their wings while trying to get close to her. They feel drawn to her like a moth to the light and once they reach their goal, they realize that it isn’t as great as suspected. But it’s too late then.

She outshines everything and everyone, leaving no room for anyone else's light, and burning them alive. When the sun comes up, the planets and stars fade away and she's the only visible thing...

She has to go.

I don’t want to be a distant star anymore.

Sister Sun Brother Moon / You Only Want Me 'Cause You Want My Sister - Part 2

However, I was never one of them. I was an outsider, an outcast, someone who watched but never took part. Lilly the observer, the cute little wallflower, hiding in the shadows of others. Oh, if only they knew what worlds exist in my mind! It’s time for me to finally get involved, it's time for some chaos. I don’t want to be invisible anymore - I want to be seen. Noticed. Acknowledged. Accepted and valued even, if I'm lucky. But being seen and respected would be enough, even if it means that I have to throw their worlds into chaos.

Whether they like it or not - they will notice me. I'll make sure they do.

This one is a Duskwood-fanfic, and it’s...angsty and depressing 🙈 it’s a looong scene, so let's count it as two, alright? or maybe as a one-shot that never got finished?

Imposter

The moon painted beautiful shadows on the wall as I watched you silently sleeping on my bed. My tears started falling, and my heart was breaking. Again. This is not how I imagined love. This is not what I imagined for me and the man that I have deeply fallen in love with. I know that you feel the same, but I don't have the courage to talk with you about it. How can I ever tell you how much it hurts without collapsing right in front of you? Without dragging you down with me? Every day, I pretend that everything is alright. That I am alright. That you are alright. That we are alright, goddammit! That everything is going to be fine in the end. But it's killing me every time I see you, especially when you say how much you love me and that you would do anything for me. It shatters me into pieces every single damn time you touch me. I don't know how long I can bear this anymore, but I wish you knew how much I'm willing to go with you. To just be with you. And how much it hurts me that I'm not able to do so.

I try to suck you in, to burn your picture into my soul, in a desperate attempt to not forget what we shared. What we felt. What we admitted to each other, in silent whispers and giggles. The love that we gave to each other.

So I'm sitting here in the middle of the night, not able to sleep, fearing the first light of the sun...because you'll be gone in the morning. You're always gone in the morning. And I'll still be here, alone and isolated, mourning the loss of your presence once again. Again...again and again. When will we see each other again? Will you be back tomorrow? Next week? Next month?

...never?

Will we see each other again? I'm tired of the constant grief, but it is how it is. If that’s the price I have to pay to be with you, I'll gladly go broke.

I know you feel the same, I saw it in your eyes every time we had to say goodbye. I know, that’s why you prefer to leave while I'm still asleep now. It breaks your heart just as much as it breaks mine. Will it ever end? How long will we manage to go on like this before our hearts finally break for the last time? How much will be left of us then? Will you ever be free, truly free? Free from me? Or is this our life now:

You on the run - I'm not able to run. Because my body is broken and I'm a burden for everyone to be around. Why do you love me? Why are you still here with me, why are you doing this to yourself? You could do so much better without me...I wish you would just leave me and try to find happiness somewhere else, far away from my burdening love and your twisted sense of duty that’s holding you captive. Because I'm not enough, that’s for certain.

But I don’t want you to go. If I could, I would keep you for the rest of my life in this little room. It's not a long life anyway, so maybe, just a few years from now, you'll be free. Free from me. Free from that nuisance, from my miserable existence. I feel guilty that you love me. I don’t deserve it. I can’t stop thinking that I somehow manipulated you into this whole thing, that you love a picture of me I created for the outside, for the world to see. But deep inside, I'm miserable and empty and barely holding on. My ugly and broken shards are all over the place and here, in my little room, I can’t hide them. I'm deathly afraid that you'll one day wake up and finally see the truth, the ugly and monstruous reality of my pointless life, and then you'll run - finally run away from me - I'm sure of that.

And I dread that day just as much as I want it to finally come.

Alright, let's end with something lighter...this is the beginning of a possible short story that demanded to be put into words, and started as random rambling in my most favorite discord-server 🤭💙

Spunky

It was late at night when I heard a distant 'meow'. Weird, considering that I live in a building where no pets are allowed...but yet here I was, listening to these feline sounds. Where did it come from, and most importantly - how? How was that possible? I live on the fifth floor and a cat in the hallway would've been noticed by my neighbors. Especially Mr. Wilkinson, who was always on the lookout for possible rule breakers to report them to the landlord.

I groaned and decided that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep now anyway, so I got up and searched for the source of these unusual sounds in my apartment.

But when I entered the kitchen, something changed: it was quiet - absolutely quiet. I wasn’t able to hear anything, not even my own movements, and that was quite an unpleasant feeling. I'm not a person that's easy to impress, or scare, but this situation made me feel a bit…uncomfortable. The wind at my windows, the noise of the city, the creaking old walls of this house, the snores of the kind lady next door, my other neighbor's TV, the buzzing of my fridge, my breath, my heartbeat, any sign of the world - gone. As if everything stopped existing altogether. As if I was living in a thick, deafening vacuum with no way out. Ironically, I was holding my breath while I tried to find out which otherworldly thing caused this unsettling situation, when suddenly…‘meow’.

I jumped higher than humanly possible, frightened and with a high-pitched shriek. What the fuck was happening here? What did I walk into? I should have listened to my mother when she told me not to live alone…or at least not in this apartment, where the previous tenant passed away and wasn’t found for almost two weeks. Mr. Wilkinson, that nosy neighbor with no sense of privacy, felt the need to tell me everything about my predecessor on my first day in my new home, and that she definitely had a pet, against every rule, but always denied it. Well, a pet was never found, the suspected pet owner on the other hand…what a warm welcome.

‘Meooooow…’ Again! Where did that come from? I turned around, trying to locate the direction of those laments, but it was quiet again.

That's it for now 🤭 I hope you liked some of them...

thank you for the ask ♡

[seeingivy]

method acting asks!

first of all, you guys ate the style chapter so bad EEK im so glad you guys loved it. more where that's coming from! been having the worst week but watching people react as they read has been super fun and I thank you all for that :')

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMM2wqGJV/ oh bestie...oh you're SO RIGHT. like y/n's nickname is princess but I definitely think as time goes on historia fits more of the princess vibe and y/n as the popstar. also some part of their friendship is loosely based on olivia rodrigo and sabrina carpenter, just like solely as vibes so

https://x.com/erjgrs/status/1765732630643851685?s=46&t=Uk-oZnZapecdEA4wRzncKw real. a picture lana would post and the quote tweet would be y/n.

(this isn't a method acting ask but it's eren and legit the only eren thing i've written since july so it counts)

hi!!!! thank you so much for the love :') i'm so excited to share it with everyone!

the opening and ending songs are the same! I make a shinzo sasageyo joke in the next set of tweets....I agree with you, I do think that they would write all the music that was included in the actual show and that certain songs are for ceertain characters

table scenes twitter reactions coming...your wish is my command...

vampire by olivia rodrigo, ding ding! one of my fav songs that I get to include i'm so excited eek. I def think lana would cover the song but I think the main like song she would write about ricky would be something like would've could've should've by taylor swift/goddess by laufey/ or history of man by maisie peters

I hope you have a lovely day too!!!! thank you so much for supporting me :')

I actually considered going with heavenly bodies as the theme for this met gala in the fic (just bc that was litearlly the best met gala) but I ended up deciding against it. but I totally get what you mean,,, they would serve....

also a slight hint, but I did end up giving lana marilyn monroe kim kardashian controversy dress because that is something that lana would do. also in general, lana/clarkson's are based off of kardashians (if you couldn't tell) so....it fit

HARD AGREE. I think whatever they bond over is something that eren just...can't do. like if they're watching a reality tv show and really invested, he'd sit there being like....it's fake just to get mad glares fro zeke/carla/and i'm adding colt to the mix. eren's cool with the kiddos (falco and gabi) but y/ns cool with the big brothers (zeke and colt)

@najaemism omg I'VE ACTUALLY NEVER HEARD THSI SONG BEFORE but actually you're so right. also very mikasa during jeankasa meltdown.....also historia (more on that later)

@leave-rae-alone HI POOKIE! don't worry...I disappear off the face of my blog like every other week. I hope you're doing well and take time to rest!

am I allowed to say megan thee stallion bc I am in love with megan thee stallion? but actually though, I think her style fits the character, she likes anime and this is an anime fanfic, and her using like stuff from tokyo ghoul as references during the nicki drama is actually something that I think y/n would do. also I just love this outfit i would include it as a red carpet outfit or something

hm. there are a few that @/bsenpai and I mention bc we actually talk about method acting everyday like its an illness. I think y/n and eren would do she's the man (that's the movie they've promised ethan cole btw), eren and y/n also do pride and prejudice 2005, I also think she would act as the daughter as interstellar. those are the ones that come to mind rn!

no comment. you did ask this before I posted the chapter tho but you like manifested that one hard so.

LMFAOOOO. wait can I tell you the funniest thing....is that I actually think young gojo in method acting would be like young justin bieber. like i had this thought the other day when i was listening to somebody to love and i was like....ok chill out gojo damn. like I naturally think he would have that charisma and be one of the first people to pop off on youtube....but he would not flop like current justin bieber.

that's all for today. here are the songs + some hints for the next chapter:

see you again by tyler the creator ft. kali uchis, end game by taylor swift, and vampire by olivia rodrigo

an award wrapped in a ribbon

a red lipstick mark

smashing a crown

sukuna splashing a glass of wine in someone's face...soulmateism if you ask me

there are some of these i think you could technically figure out. but oh well, I will see you then!

[eerie-night]

i always like stumbling across fic rec lists so i thought about compiling a list of some of my favorites and linking the tumblrs of the authors (but if i cant find them ill link twitter or ao3) bc theyre all fucking awesome

BSD

and all i loved, i loved alone- @featherxs

“An ability?”

— on the past, present, and future of one Edgar Allan Poe.

SOOOO GOOD!! its what originally got me so into bsd and its such a good reread too

(don’t) stop the rain- miniekooki

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke finds himself taking care of the Twain family after an unfortunate turn of events.

And he also finds himself considering Mark Twain as more than just an annoying prick.

(ALTERNATIVE TITLE: the domestication of akutagawa ryuunosuke)

i loveeeeeeeeee this and how it goes about describing the family its sooooooooo good

Haikyuu

as bright as a blackhole; and twice as dense- cereal_whore

“Kageyama’s being bullied,” Yamaguchi grits, expression steeled.

Tsukishima lowers his book quietly, and stares, eyes wide.

“As if he has enough social competence to realise he’s being bullied.”

“Tsukki, please.”

Meant to be 5 times Tsukishima accidentally and very reluctantly saved Kageyama from his own social ineptness, and one time Kageyama does the same for him, but we ran into problems bc OP can't count.

(or: everyone is srsly stressed over kageyamas existence, but kageyama, despite having the common sense of a Five Minute Crafts video, is like those buff himbos within the tsundere category. so he somehow ends up wholly unscathed throughout this shit, while everyone else doesnt)

tldr: kageyama lacks forethought, and everyone but him suffers the consequences of it.

i eat this shit up omg omg its great its funny and it makes my day better read it

but not for spring to well up- tookumade

Miya Brothers

Sellers & Buyers of Antiques & Curiosities

Suna Rintarou squints at the small sign attached to the front door of the brick shopfront.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Something flashier? More brass? The Miya brothers could do with a pot plant out the front. The shopfront has one single large window that’s covered by a plain white curtain, so maybe they could open that up and have some of their antiques and such on display so people get an idea of what they buy and sell. Maybe a paint job for the door, which is the most boring brown Suna has ever seen. There is nothing he can say about it—it’s not nice nor ugly, it’s just boring.

Or, maybe Suna could stop giving any more of a damn about this shopfront and just get his appointment over and done with.

After ending a relationship with a fiancé, Suna returns home and tries to heal from heartbreak. Here, he finds friends in the form of the Miya brothers, and learns patience, forgiveness, and what happiness means to him.

this sounds repetitive but…..SOOOOOOOO GOOOOOD i love the emotion and how it deals with sunas ex and like everything about this fic is gold

JJK

“To Chase”- @diggingupgrave

Megumi has never thanked the man who raised him.

god…no words except read it you will not regret it

FE3H

A Fair Day’s Work- featherhearted

“I may have some coffee in the place for you,” said Prime Minister Aegir. “Let me show you how much better I have become at brewing it to your taste.”

“If you insist,” said Minister Vestra but he sounded pleased. To Delarivier, who had literally made it her profession to attune herself to his tone (usually ranging from sort-of-murder-y to extremely-murder-y), Minister Vestra sounded very pleased indeed.

Ferdinand and Hubert's long-suffering aides figure out a way to work fewer hours.

im a whore for outsider povs and this one takes the cake and does laps around my brain when i try and sleep

TMA

a glass essay- fairbanks

Right out of university Jon's run out of time to run from the Web. The only way he knows to escape one domain is to give yourself to another, and he's always been good at being alone.

He really wasn't imagining the Lukas family would take him in at all, let alone arrange him to marry some smarmy ass named Peter Lukas.

yet again something to reread till you memorize every word and still cant get enough

now for authors that i recommend HIGHLY and a fic or two from them:

@blackkatmagic

i recommend everything shes written but my top favorites currently are:

Cor Cordium

Fox dies. He wakes up. And then things start getting weird.

its so so good and kats soooo good at characterization and descriptions and could prob make paint drying interesting

out of night (out of nothing)

It's the duty of the Temple Guard to keep the Sacred Spire, the Force nexus at the heart of the Temple. Feemor's always done his duty gladly, kept it safe, kept the light burning. Order 66 changes everything. Changes him. Changes the Spire, too.

Hevy, Cutup, and Droidbait are just caught in the currents and trying to make the most of their second chances, but an unstable Jedi and new powers don't make anything easier.

the concept is so cool and the execution is even better she could probably sell me air and id go crazy for it

trade your heart for bones to know

A week after an attack that nearly killed him and his son, Jaster Mereel finds Mostross dead on a battlefield. His killer is a Jedi, grievously wounded, who Jaster takes into his care. By Mandalorian tradition, Jon Antilles owes him a life-debt, and Jaster is cunning enough not to let such a thing slip away.

It's meant to be an entirely political arrangement. It doesn't stay that way for long.

not to sound like broken record but god this is fucking fabulous

i totally recommend checking out ALL her works but these were the first ones i thought of out of the ones that are currently updating

@x-authorship-x

she has written sooo many good fics im just going to recommend my favorite series and you can go from there

Eyes

Shisui is way too strong to have his eye taken by Danzo

He's the only one smart enough to master the simplest of techniques to legendary proportions

He was sweet and kind and, despite everything he'd seen and all the things he'd done, he wasn't afraid to hope. To dream for something better.

A series for Shisui

the characters, the plots, the descriptions all add up to something amazing

llamallamaduck

do yourself a favor and check her out, you will not regret it. unfortunately, i will restrain myself to only recommending one fic but DO check the rest out

With no root in the land —(To keep my branches green)

He is not a human and he is not a beast and he is not a creature, but he is. He is a being, then. A being that changes and learns and lives. He thinks his name is Ani.

this is the fic that i first read by llamallamaduck and its a really good introduction to how fucking amazing she is at doing crossovers and writing in general

i hope you enjoy these as much as i have :)

[popcornforone]

The Cabin

A Dave York Fan Fic

Happy Dave York Saturday my besties. We good? Well you won’t be… I’ve written this & I know it’s good it’s too good. I’ve had moments writing this at points. But I am my main audience so that’s surely a good thing right. So I hope you adore this pure smut like I do. Also this is part of my autumnal vibe.

Synopsis:- Dave has a cabin where he takes the family for trips, but this weekend it’s all about you & how he is going to enjoy every single second of you.

Word count: 5400

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! DAVE YORK AS ALWAYS COMES WOTH HIS OWN WARNING! Unprotected PIV&A Sex, oral & fingering, cum play, tasing, drinking, swearing, affair & adultery, established pleasure relationships, fuck buddys, talk of masterbating, tie & choking, Dom & controlling vibes for Dave, recording your exploits but just for the two of you. It’s full on smut. Daddy is used but I only ever write about Dave as Daddy no other Pedro character gets that treatment.

Thanks as always for the read peoples. If this is too much my bad but I had fun writing it. All feed back is welcome. I hope you enjoy it.

As the taxi pulls up the drive, the leaves fall, the rain pours & you slowly realise what you are doing & who the person is that you’ve become, as the driver gets your two weekend bags into the cabin. Your own week has been crazy. What you actually could do with is a weekend at home with no distractions. But after the last few weeks of carnage at work you do need 3 days of complete nothing because even at home there’s still adulting stuff to do. Just loving yourself & your man. His flights already been delayed due to the weather, but you know when he arrives you’ll be inseparable & the way he will take you in every room, will be incredible. That’s what he promised on Wednesday after an impromptu visit.

The bath is large & so inviting so once you’ve unpacked everything into the master bedroom, you throw your bath bomb in & soak. You instant feel it soothe your soul. A large glass of red wine in hand you sip away & slowly feel a little more normal. The bath is you time though, a more personal experience. Time to endulge. He won’t like that you have seen to yourself without him, he likes to watch. He likes it when you put on a show for him, be it your fingers or any toy you have, the way he eyes dilate as he watches you touch yourself, how he licks his lips. That turns you on even more, seeing him beg for you.

That’s kind of how Wednesday happened. He FaceTimed you to check your flight details for the weekend & you were getting ready for bed as he called. His “late shift” over. He watched on his phone as you took off your dress & bra & put on your nightdress. How the silk made your nipples hard & the gasp he made when you bent over to take your knickers off afterwards had him begging. He was around in 10minutes. Into your apartment without hesitation. Clothes discarded across the floor, slamming hard into you, he movements relentless as he fucked you like a whore. Your body quivering watching your man be desperate to touch you. The way he took your knickers you’d taken off on the face time & stuffed them in your mouth to keep you quiet so you didn’t scream his name.

“You did that on purpose baby” he panted. He’s gripping your wrist hard above your head. “You knew I couldn’t resist, you know I’d have to scratch my itch. You’re a brat, but damn you wear it well” he growls. His penis thrusting inside you, & the way he nips at your bottom lip.

Buzz Buzz. Your phone goes as you remember wednesday & almost go to touch yourself in the Bath. The noise stops you. There it is in black & white on the phone.

*landed, be with you in 30mins, D is on route

You smile & slowly get out of the bath & dry off. The D could stand for Dick, Desire, Desperation, Daddy, or a Dominant. He knows you’ve at least thought about him once with one of those names. But it’s also for Dave & damn that man gets what he wants.

Once dry & in the master bedroom you wonder what to wear for the perfect first impression for the weekend. Should you just be naked laying in bed for him, holding your new vibrator asking him if he wants a show? No that’s too slutty even for you. You never meant to get into a relationship with a married man, not that he’s happily married, but there’s just something about Dave & his job that makes it seem alright. You know you’re not the first dalliance, or his last but this has been going on for 6 months now & this is the first time you’ve been to the cabin. The one where, he in his office, has picture of his family at thanks givings gone by. But for this 3 day weekend, the kids are at home, his wife’s not here. He’s got you & he’s going to enjoy being Dave who gets sex on tap when he wants.

You are in your towel & go to find blankets when you open a draw & realise Dave already has some clothes here. The perfect idea fills your mind, what a fantastic cozy idea you have for your lover. One you hope will turn him on. Provide the desire he needs & take you to the height of pleasure. No one makes you cum like Dave does, not that you’d ever tell him that. It’s bad enough that you are sleeping with a married man.

Dave arrives. He’s brought a small backpack. He has a few essentials in there. He told Carol he was On a special job this weekend. One where he wouldn’t be able to contact anyone, & he’d be so preoccupied he wouldn’t get a time to FaceTime the girls good night, for his own safety. He’s good at lying it’s his job. He’s eaten earlier, which you’d both agreed to do. So when he’s arrived at the cabin, & the front door is locked, the bag drops to the floor. He can hear that fire crackle & the soft music coming from the lounge. He doesn’t just want to charge in like he did on Wednesday. He enjoyed it on Wednesday, but he knew that was going further than he should do with his affair. It’s just sex. That’s what he always tells himself. Be it hes doing it on a mission or it’s a one night stand to let off steam if carols not around or it’s a fuck buddy like you. He keeps the wedding ring on, to remind you both this isn’t forever. He always does that. He hopes that when he sees it, as he fingers or chokes you that it will make him stop, but it’s actually a turn on for him because Dave York always gets exactly what he wants. He takes his shoes off & jacket & then checks himself out in the mirror. He took the tie off on the plane but he knows you like to wear it when you intimate with each other. It’s even Moss green today, the colour that goes best with your hazel eyes. He then heads into the living room. He stops in the door frame, & leans, & trys not to moan at the sight in front of him.

You’re on the large family sofa. Feet bare overhanging the edge furthest away from him. Your legs look cleanly shaven, your long luscious pins. He can just about see the grey from his boxers on your thighs, but it’s covered up from his Boston university hoodie which is which is navy. He’s pretty sure you have no underwear on. Your hair is frizzy & still slightly damp from your bath, your lips pouting as you sip your red wine & read your book. A bowl of m & ms sit on the side, which you lean in to pick up & lick the outer coating off first before sucking the chocolate. Two blankets are in the arm chair which is about a foot away from you, along with the bottle of wine & an empty glass in the table.

You heard a soft gasp but haven’t looked up. You want him to suffer to start with because the more Dave is pent up, the more passionate he will be when he fucks you. You rub your knees together & let out a shallow giggle at the book you are reading. It’s not actually a funny book but you know that always makes his groin twitch. Makes him want to be in between your thighs. Dave stares for a bit too long at the view of you completely in a trance. Your relationship is all about sex & lust it really is an affair for the two of you & if your going to sleep with a married man it may as well be the best sex you ever are going to have in your life.

Eventually Dave slips properly into the room. Already hot & flustered & not just from the fire roaring.

“Evening” he says & you finally look at him & acknowledge him.

“Mr York you made it” you only call him Dave when you have sex. He kisses your forehead as he leans over the sofa & then picks up the wine & glass from the table & pours himself a large glass but only after he tops yours up. You lick your lips as you watch over the top of your book as he gulps it down. Those crimson lips now a deeper shade & now will taste even more delicious than they already do.

“Every room?” He asks based on your previous messages.

“Depends how many rooms you have?” You still try to read the book even though you’ve been on page 38 for the last 4mins. You push your reading glasses up your nose slightly. The smirk is undeniable from him. He wants you.

“Are we counting the boat house?”

“You have a boat house?”

“Yes”

“What?” You actually give him attention now. “Well let’s start with a more standard room & then work up to more.” You finish your sentence & see Dave undoing the top button of his shirt. “When would you like to start?”

“About 3mins ago” Daves firm in’s his answer as he sits down at the other end of the sofa & pulls your feet into his lap.

“Ooooh” the feel of those large deadly hands massaging your feet, getting the knots out the balls of your feet, pushing your pressure spots. Ooh it feels good. Those hands were made for more than killing. They can be tender too. You put the book down on the side & take your wine. “What a way to start the weekend” you say admiring his side profile. He’s freshly shaven for you. He’s even had a hair cut. Who even is this man?

“Enjoying this?” He asks his eyes dart at you, undressing you in his mind instantly, wondering how wet you already are. If he saw the state of his boxer already at this stage, he’d discover they were a little sticky & moist.

“Yes”

“Enjoying the wine”

“Yes”

“& the hoodie?” He raises a bratty eyebrow at you knowing that you’re about to do that to him. You giggle.

“It smelt of you after my bath, & you weren’t here yet” you reply put your wine down on the table & suck on your thumb. You’re doing that to not cum at just him touching your feet. You’re completely at peace & so relaxed, but also feral, stupidly feral.

“Well let’s make sure your whole body smells of me, not just some hoodie” he winks & you rub your legs together again. He holds you by your feet & drags you nearer to him on the sofa now lying down. His boxers go up your arse & give you a wedgie. It feels good.

“This was what you wanted?” He asks just to make sure.

“Dave…” you whimper as your hand rubs his cheek”why would I be here if I didn’t want this” you bite your bottom lip & see the seductive smirk on his face.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl”He leans down & takes your glasses off, putting them on the side. “Now do as I say” before you can agree his lips find yours. Your head rises to keep the kiss going. It’s full of life. Maybe all assassins have to go to a make out school because the way in which Daves kisses make the world stop everytime, is a remarkable feet. His hand has made its way under the hoodie & is already fumbling your breasts. “Does the bottom match the top?” He asks to make sure you have no underwear on at all. You nod. Your hands are dealing with his buttons on his pale blue shirt. “Oooh baby then let’s not waste anymore time” his hands reach the bottom of the hoodie. “I have to see”.

Dave tuts at the state of you. He can see a dampening patch on his Hugo boss boxers from your arousal. He always coos when he sees you topless. You do wonder if he does this with his wife & other partners too. But the way he licks his lips before he latches on to your right nipple is a sight.

“Fuck Dave” you groan. You’re not sure how you’ve not cum yet. You’re so turned on & aroused. Maybe removing his shirt is what’s keeping you sane as his mouth moves onto your left breast. “So good oh fuck”

“& I’ve not even got going, we’ve got 3 days of this” his head poped up to say. Your hand is now trailing down his bare back, going inside his trousers & boxers to try & squeeze his arse. He moans at that sensation & then lifts his head up. “You’ve got far too many clothes on” he whispers before he then does his usually kisses treck.

Forehead, nose, lips, chin, neck, shoulders, both breasts, ribs, belly button, lower tummy. Each kiss a simple peck but you’re squirming at them & when they mean will follow. He doesn’t ask permission. His teeth sink into the waist band of his boxers that you are wearing & he drags them off your body. You lock your legs together when you’re free of them, you know what he will want. Your eyes also light up when Dave turns the boxers inside out & he sucks the damp patch, which was very white a sticky.

“This tastes better than that wine” he says before he throws them behind him & sits next to your face as you’re still lying down he’s on the floor. He kisses you & then spits what he just licked off into your mouth. The tang instantly recognisable as your own. The number of times you’ve cum & sucked Dave off straight afterwards & licked a toy clean, you know what you taste like & the spit, well it just adds to the whole dirty nature of the man. Dave then moves after seeing your swallow stands up & removes his trousers. This is also usually the point where he gets a condom out but you can’t see one anywhere. He moves back to the other end of the sofa, palming himself inside his own boxers as he sits down.

“I want you, I want to see you” you giggle as he says this menacingly. “All of you” that’s your key words. You lower your knees & spread your legs. You use your fingers & he blushes as little but you can see the want in his eyes. Dave York wants you in this state all weekend. A small amount already oozing from your cunt, he also sees that you are trying so hard not to start touching yourself.

“This is all for you Dave”

“So it bloody should be” He then grabs his phone that he put on the table earlier. “We’re going to try something this weekend okay” you nod & coo. “I can’t hear you” his hand is then around your throat.

“Yes Dave” you love it when he chokes you. That’s also the exact moment he lets go & slips his tie around your neck, it’s loose to start with.

“You see…” Dave says inquisitively”I know you can take my three fingers, but your pussy is so tight, I’m intrigued how.” Dave click the record button” can I record this, I can delete it before we leave but I want to watch it back with you in the morning, I want you to see how feral you make me & how much you gush, & how much of a cum hungry slut you are.” You jaw drops your mouth dry.

“David” you never say his name like that. His eyebrow raises & you try to look shocked but those brown eyes as having you clamping at nothing. “I thought you’d never ask”

“There she is, my special spoilt brat” & he moves the phone near your face along with his other hand. “Suck” your mouth deals with bigger than his fingers so you sloppily suck them. Saliva escaping, you throw in a gagging noise. “Look at you so desperate to make me happy.” The pop the fingers leaving your mouth make is loud. But the squelch as he records them going inside you is louder. Not that you can hear it as you moan Daves name. He’s starting with 2 while he strokes your clit.

“Fuck”

“Fuck in deed girl, you have no idea, How beautiful this looks.” Daves not taken his eyes off his fingers. “Tell me, does it feel as good as it looks? What’s it like feeling my fat long fingers inside you? Does it make you feral, plead for more? You Want my leaking cock?” Dave loves to get you wound up but you’re sure this is more on purpose that normal for just wearing his clothes & being so seductive without even trying.

“Yyyyeee…yeaaaa” it’s drawn out. You’re growling slightly. You feel so full as his fingers curl inside you. “I want you, so bad”

“Time babygirl, all in good time” the fingers almost draw out of you entirely. The video will show them already damp. He sighs “perfect.”

The third finger has your body convulsing a few minutes later, desperate to let go. To drench your lover, you know he likes it but Daves up to his usual tricks.

“Not until I say so sweetheart”

“But…” you lift your head & then pause before you really get the sentence out. He’s no longer using his thumb on your clit. Daves tongue is masterful & his mouth is now taking that ever so sensitive spot & it’s making you go all unnecessary. Wet long stokes flicking away at it. Your quivers & gasp. He is the best lover & his fingers are pumping you like you’ve never felt before. Over stimulation is an understatement. & this is only the beginning of the weekend.

“Cum baby, let me taste….” Dave then feels the change in your body. It tenses so much that every muscle contracts before releasing in pleasure. The added wetness. the new sensation on his mouth. You’ve cum hard, almost feeling your soul leave your cunt.”that’s my girl, my naughty girl” he laps away at the slick escaping & starts to suck. Slowly withdrawing his fingers as you come down. He grabs the tie around your neck & pulls it so you jolt up & gasp. “No rest for the wicked” he says. He slowly sticks his fingers into your mouth & you suck & lick away as he talks to you. “Look at you, licking my fingers, sucking them clean, wanting more, do you want more, do you want my cock?” Your eyes are wide & you nod. Desperate to be filled. His fingers are good but nothing beats his penis pulsing away, making you flutter.

He pulls the tie a little more your almost sat up. Still panting from your exquisite high you just had. The way he rubs your lips with his thumb once his fingers are freed from your mouth has you wanting to suck that. He looks frenzied.

“You want to suck more.”

“Yes Dave” he jolts you again with the tie.

“Come” he says & he takes the 5 or so paces to the fire place. You sit on your knees & look up at him towering over you. God the man is broad buff & handsome. He’s leaking you can see the stain on his boxers.

“May I?” Your reach up to his waist band.

“Am I gonna say no?” You shuffle onto the fluffy blue rug & see Dave put his phone which is still recoding on the table. It’s in line with his groin. His length springs free & you lick your lips.

“It’s always a pleasure Dave…” you say as your hands grip his length & start to stroke it. He kicks away his own boxers. “…to suck any part of you.” You don’t want him to cum while you give him head, but you want him to no longer cope & fling his penis inside you. Your spit & his precum will be the perfect lube. You gobble him up & you look up at him as you bob on your knees taking him past your reflex point & suck him.

“Fuck. Oh fuck fuck” Daves eyes roll in the back of his head. His hips already finding their own rhythm. “God girl, you know how to do this” looking down at you as you look up at him makes you both go faster. It’s more than the fire place heat that’s making you both red. After only a few minutes, he has his hand on your head, pushing himself further into your mouth. You are gagging, saliva trickles out of your mouth. It has no where else to go as he keeps pushing you down on to him. “Fuck, balls deep girl, take all me” he’s almost using the same pace as when he fingered you. Your eyes stream with tears. This is vigorous but damn your aroused. He is using you as an outlet, for everything.

“Jesus fucking Christ” he says knowing he likely to cum soon & quickly with draws his cock. You splutter everywhere looking a complete mess. “All 4s” he screeches & you turn around drop down as he instructs. He licks his hand to add extra lube to you & then scream yourself.

“Fuck Dave” you were not expecting him to go for your arse, but here you were. You’re rocking back onto his cock on all fours as he slaps your arse.

“Pucker oh fuck oh fucking hell. It’s tight heaven” & he withdraws after only about a minute & cums across your arse cheeks. “Fuckkkk yessssss” it’s deep & low as his lashings of cum cover your bum. It doesn’t make you cum but damn you feel sexy that your mouth & a few thrusts inside your arse can have such a controlled & meticulous man cumming in seconds. Imagine how good he’s gonna feel inside your pussy.

“Wow” He mumbles as he gets his breath back. “& that… that” as he reaches for the phone to turn off the recording he’s already got more than he expected. “… was just the warm up, now we can have a real private show”

“You sure Dave?” You go to turn around but a large hand grabs your shoulder, keeping you facing away.

“Oooh im sure, I’m more than sure. Do you trust me?” He says & you raise a bratty eyebrow over your shoulder. “Take it that’s a yes” he leans over your shoulder & kisses you fierily on the lips. Your face a glow form your exploits & the heat from the flames. He trails a hand around your face as his kisses continue. But with Dave there is always an alternative motive. You gasp as he pulls the tie around your neck. “Face the fire, on your knees, spread.” He admires you as you get In this position. Looking at how peachy your naked bum is. How smooth your skin is, how your hair slightly moves. You have a tattoo of a line of stars just above your bum. He can see the base of your feet & he can also see his cum splattered over you. “The best sight ever is you like this” he gulps his words before another tug in the tie.

“Dave” you moan. You can feel how aroused you are. Your thighs & flaps are sticky & moist desperate for Dave to fully take you. Your hand starts to trail down your body. Your skin already shiny from the exploits so far.

“Yea I know baby” he sees where you hand is moving. “Did you have pleasure in the Bath earlier” you shake your head but there’s no auditable answer as your breath is already shallow. A quick jolt of the tie again has you whimpering & replying.

“No”

“You sure?”

“I thought about it & then you told me you were on your way”

“Wow such self restraint” Dave says. “ if I had as soft a pleasure, I’d be rubbing that clit furiously all the time. I’d have naughty panties that would increase pleasure. It’s almost a shame that you can’t do that all the time” his hand grabs yours & moves it to your clit. “Play baby, get all worked up, drip & then I’ll see to you” & so he takes your hand & looks down as he makes you touch yourself. Friction quickly starts to build & you whines echo more.

“Dave… fuck oh yes yes yesssss” your head rolls into his that’s resting on your shoulder as he looks down & removes his hand from yours. You continue stroking.

“That’s it baby, my girl, being all slutty, happy to touch herself just for me” his damp hand that’s not clutching the tie leisurely strokes his length, before he slides it through your slick. “Oooh this is gonna be good… ahhhhh” his sigh & your gasp combine as he fills you in a slow thrust. Opening you up. Filling you as always. You feel exquisite.

“Dave”

“Baby”

He sees you lean forward a bit so takes the length of the tie & pulls it behind you to make sure you stay up right.”let’s get this moving baby”

Every kiss as he thrusts deeper inside you has you wishing for more than this. Yes it’s an affair but when it feels this good, as you furiously rub your clit, & his hand grips your hip, you can’t help but wonder. Does his wife get this or are you his outlet of passion? Is he a different man at home? Maybe domestic Dave isn’t a man you’d like. Maybe keeping him as sex on tap is exactly what you both need. But as you grind around his cock, clamping, each movement having you feel so full you don’t care that you’re a home wrecker. He is large, he might show well but he’s also a grower & the girth is always a pinch as it rubs against you. It amazes you how he fits inside you every time. & he is always so complimentary of your body especially your cunt.

“Keep going girl, look at you taking me all” he’s purring.” You like the feel don’t you, you’re so tight yet Damn, you take me so well” he’s into dirty mode now he’s going to get all derogatory as he pulls the tie. “What would your parents say huh?” He’s tugging on the tie every few thrusts what has you m gasping as it gets tighter “imagine you going home, your parents knowing exactly what you spend your spare time doing. Fucking a married man. Letting him fuck your arse. The gagging noises you make. Yea imagine If your father knew how his sweet & innocent little girl turned out. He’d be so disappointed.” He’s ramped up the pace as you whimper no longer in control of your hips they rock & roll around him. “Well I’m your daddy now girl, you answer to me.”

“Dave…” he tugs hard, it’s almost completely tight now the tie”Daddy”

“Say it again” he growls & thrusts & pulls harder.

“Daddy”

“Louder”

“Daddy oooh daddy”

“God it sounds erotic as you moan it” you look Dave straight in the eye as you turn your head.

“Oooh fuck me Daddy oooh fuckkkkk” You really moan it & your lips engulf each others. Tongues exploring where they want. Your hand in his hair keeping him in place as your body’s move in sync. Your sweet spot is being pummelled & it won’t be soon before this rug is covered in your slick. The sweat from the vigorous sex & the warmth of the fire is oozing from your naked bodies which are fucking away at each other. If anyone walked in on you, it would be the most sensual sexual erotic sight. Two people full of lust & desire, fucking each other to oblivion. A sexy sweaty mess which is so perfect. Your freshly washed hair sticking to your face. You don’t care. You’re in paradise & Dave knows he’s gonna cum as well soon.

“No need to wait baby, let go if you have to, all permission is out of the window.” He whispers before he once again finds your tonsils with his tongue. He slowly let his grip on the tie slide, one hand now flicking your nipple, the other is attending your clit as you grasp his thigh behind you & hold his mouth in place.

“Mmmmmmm”

“Don’t be shy baby”

“Dave”

“Yes”

“Oooh fuck Dave fuck fuck oh fuck” it’s like a grenade has just gone off. You experience such an intense high as you clamp & gush around his penis. You bite his bottom lip & pur & he needs no more encouragement.

“Fucking fuck oh shit” always amazed with the size of him there’s enough room for his cum to spill inside you. He licks the side of your face as he pants desperate for air in this hot & sticky room. His eyes close in euphoria, as yours flutter open. You love looking at Dave’s blissed our face when he cums. His neck always so long. That little dimple appears. How his lips pout. It’s enough to get you ready for another round. Looking at your lover, seeing him experience such a high which you helped happen. It’s the perfect come down for you.

The tie slides off your neck as you turn to face Dave, slowly removing his still hard cock from inside you. He throws his arms around you before you do with him.

“Incredible” he whispers in your ear.

“Phenomenal” you reply & smile. That little cute smile he adores. He kisses your nose & you rest your foreheads together as you hold each other close & smile. Small pecks helping you calm down.

“So…”

“So…”

“Every room huh?” Daves still asking you from earlier.

“Have you got the stamina baby” you ask Dave as your hand caresses his chest.

“Well not to do it all tonight…” he’s smirking “but considering what we just did we can definitely do each room in the cabin” he winks.

You lie in bed the next morning. Your body aches but it’s one you enjoy. Dave had continued to fuck you in front of the fire last night until you were both exhausted. You are guessing one of you extinguished it before making your way to bed. As you stretch your arms up with a big yawn you hear Dave.

“Ouch” he says rubbing his face from where you caught him. He’s sat in the bed straight looking at his phone.”morning beautiful”a small kiss finds your lips. “Well rested?”

“Yes Mr York” your sit up & wrap your arms around him & sigh. Your eyes then widen. Dave is watching you back from last night. He’s at the point where you’re just about to cum on his fingers & mouth. You turn bright red & go to look away & then you hear the noise you make & that turns you on. Dave can see the glint in your eyes. His hand is under the sheets pumping away at your exploits.

“See you look good, baby, so sexy” he kisses your forehead.

“I guess I do”

“& we’re not even upto the point where I fuck your arse.” You then hit pause on the video & look up at Dave.

“I don’t need to watch that, I want to experience that again…” you bite your bottom lip”… right now”

“You sure?” You nod in reply

“yes daddy”

“Well who am I to deny such a pretty innocent girl” he smiles & put his phone down. “Especially when you pucker & moan so well”

“Oooh Daddy” it’s a deep moan you make as your lips collide before he slowly turns you over for the next round of passion. This Cabin weekend will be one you both always remember.

[canpandaspvp]

KEEP TALKING ABOUT THE SBI FIC THING IM REALLY INTERESTED!! I've always wanted to study that side of the fandom under a microscope but it's scary.

buddy that place is WILDDDD. ok so things you need to know abt sbi side

1. they're damn good writers

2. i don't think they know how to write fanfiction

3. in another universe they create some very well known, published authors

because essentially everything they write is so fucking detached the second it enters an au. with dnf and the general dt side of things, there are differences. sure often times it's a bit more identifiable as fanfiction but that's not a BAD thing. it literally just means people know how to write fanfiction which is what they were intending to do anyways so like hooray

with sbi, i've read SEVERAL (as in i can go into my bookmarks right now and count out at least 10) fics that have just changed and deviated so far from the original source material that it's hard to even understand what they're talking about. in that regard, 100% dnfers get caught out before sbiers, but that's only in the circumstance that they get published at all. sbiers are really creative -- TOO creative, obviously to the point of creation ocs with names and descriptions that often times only vaguely resemble phil, tommy, wilbur, and techno -- which gives them the upper hand publication wise.

that leads into dark sbi which, let it be known, i have NEVER EVER liked. i personally thought it was harsh and unenjoyable but also goddamn did they make some good stories. obviously i read them bc even though i hated the vampires and the kidnapping and shit, it was good. the upper hand of writing fanfiction is that shit is more fast paced and attention grabbing, due to the lack of exposition and shit. so sbiers likely get published first, get discovered on booktube (not booktok cause they only read romance that's packed with tropes to the point of dysfunction), and they at least semi-spread from there until someone is who can't handle any difficult topics in fiction gets upset. but that's a different kind of controversy entirely

sbiers are good authors but they're stuck in this weird limbo of "it's not fanfiction it's just inspired original content" which sort of creates a new genre entirely. they pull some good fanfiction elements into its own realm entirely and it's really frustrating when you want to read fanfiction of something but if you're looking for something fast paced and good to read that aligns with the weird fanon universe they've created, they're your subfandom.

a lot of fics also appeal to personal issues that people are able to project onto easily (i speak from experience) so, while dnf is typically shorter, more accurate, and lighthearted, sbi has dynamics that people often crave in their real life and more people that they can insert themselves into. um that sounds weird but ykwim

they also have The AU's which dnf has but it's just not to the extent that sbi has it. the trifecta:

1. superhero aus

2. royalty aus

3. foster care aus

ran that tag for a good 2 years minimum. those are the sort of Peter Parker Goes On A Field Trip To Stark Industries type of aus where you have a good baseline that people get attached to, so you can sort of rewrite the same story different enough that people feel like they're reading smth new each time. and it works!! if people were to publish an sbi fic (which would likely fall into one of those 3 categories), it'd be realllyyyyyy recognizable just bc it was such a staple in the community. ifl im missing some other big categories but those are just the aus that i remembered off the top of my head that showed up a fuckton

don't get me wrong, i ❤️ dnf fanfiction and you def could publish it if you tried hard enough, but those authors do shit right. the characterization is so niche and specific, the dynamics are so unique, and often times, there just isn't enough in one fic to build and create a story. so much of dnf fanfiction relies on the fact that you already know those two, you know who they are, how they behave, their stakes regarding each other, etc etc. with sbi, the authors end up essentially writing their own stories so much so that they have to tell the story like it's a novel rather than fanfiction. it's very interesting imo esp bc fanon tommy for example is so extremely, incomprehensibly different from c!tommy or cc!tommy, with only enough hits of similarity to keep you hooked into the story with the illusion that you're actually reading the same character, when more often then not, it's like 1/4 tommy, 1/4 fandom misinterpretation interpretation, 1/4 author projection, and 1/4 recycled oc. again, speaking from experience.

also, sbi authors are pretty cocky about their writing, and it's really noticeable when they write a fic with the intention of changing the names and couple minor details to submit to an editing company for a few rounds of revision before they publish their nyt bestseller a few years down the line. they didn't need to leave the fandom to abandon their shit. lorehead analysts have a decent grasp of their content (but i'm biased), but lorehead writers?? different monster entirely. the second dsmp stands for something like "delicious small mtown pforsuperherovillanvigilanteshenanigans" then you know they're too far gone. they're attached to THEIR characters, not the dsmp's; if it means sacrificing the original source material for real life recognition, they'd do it in a heartbeat. i don't blame them but the point still stands.

this is all over the place i'm so sorry idek if i said anything you wanted to know but

tl;dr sbi fanfiction sort of became its own medium between fanfiction and original work so they're more likely to get published, but they fall into the same dynamics in the same type of universes that would easily get them figured out. dnf writers just seem to mind their damn business more. anyway, most dnf writers that left the fandom seem to want to completely forget that they ever did That. usually they just orphan/delete and move on cause they're embarrassed.

sorry again i'm so not good at explaining my thoughts but i did NOT spend 2 1/2 years reading sbi fanfiction 24/7 for nothing. i need to put my experience to use somehow so thanks for letting me do that 😭😭😭

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter II.

gif credit / @azertyrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Javier is slowly beginning to realize that monotony isn't as bad as he initially thought…

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mutual pining, mentions of masturbation, they really wanna fuck each other, that good slowburn angst, lots of smoking, southern gothic vibes are strong with this one, if you love worldbuilding then this is the fic for you, mentions of a religion, mentions of sex workers, dbf!Javier Peña because I have no self control.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lexi, my beloved, who has been a BIG help in helping me figure out this crazy ass story. Love you bestie, I don't know where I'd be without you < 3 I am… so obsessed with these two and the little universe they live in… *muffled screaming* I hope everyone reading so far is having a good time because I know I am! I've got a lot in store for this pairing, and if you're a fan of the horror/thriller aspect of this plot there's a lot comin' your way ;) Anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback on this blog < 3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

It’s an extraordinarily warm day, which isn’t uncommon for the area, however it’s the type of warm that reminds her that summer is just around the corner. 

It’s Paloma’s favorite season. While the Seminary heat is unforgiving as all hell; she loves the way the sun feels against her skin, the thin layer of sweat that clings to her gives her the perfect glow and nothing beats cooling down by the creek. The town is also much more lively during the season, too, since tourists heading west often take a rest stop in in town.

It’s how she gathers most of her summer weekend crowd. People who do not expect this drive through town to be as charming as it is. While small, it has a community actively keeping it thriving. The businesses that line the streets of their downtown all owned by families who have been here for decades. A lot of love has been poured into their settlement, and while most of the time Paloma feels suffocated by the repetitiveness of her days, she’ll always have a soft spot in her heart for her hometown.

She’s become the performer that she is by staying here. Her shows at The Whiskey Fox have been the perfect training grounds for her to get a comfortable grasp on her stage presence, which aside from singing, is the most important thing about being a musician. An aspiration that she keeps to herself, mostly, just telling those who ask that she’s doing this ‘singing thing’ as a hobby. That her ‘real job’ would be going full time at the library.

That is her plan, the future she damns herself with. As quick-witted and rambunctious as Paloma can be; she’s still not valiant enough to take control of her own life.

Instead, she’s at the beck and call of her father’s.

It is much easier this way, she justifies it to herself like that all the time. If she goes out into the world, pursues her want to be a musician; there’s a chance that she fails and has to return home with her tail tucked between her legs like a shameful dog. At least staying here in Seminary provides her with a stability to keep her content for the rest of her life.

But would she really be content? Would she regret not trying and potentially not even failing?

Paloma bikes the familiar path from her house down into town, woven bag with her belongings in the basket that’s zip tied to the front of the bicycle she’s had since she was in high school. There’s a small grocery list and an even smaller to-do list accompanying her things; a brown paper bag with her father’s lunch also tossed in there.

When Darla, her 1970 Buick Electra, officially died on her; she hated having to bike everywhere. Her father was able to take her places whenever he could, but most of the time it was just Paloma and her bike against the world. 

The sheriff even made the suggestion of sending one of the deputies to escort her wherever she pleased, but she despised the idea of having an officer always following her around. So after a few awkward car rides to and from town; she decided it’d be more convenient for her to bike it until further notice. The only time she requests an escort is after a closing shift at the library or a show at the bar. 

The most peaceful part of the trek is riding over the abandoned railroad tracks near the old train station. Something about the scenery; being surrounded by the lush forest with nothing but her and her thoughts for miles and miles is very comforting to Paloma, so whenever she arrives at this little landmark of hers, she makes a point to stop and soak it all in. 

On days like this, where she doesn’t have much to do; she stays for a while.

Paloma approaches the familiar tracks, stopping entirely and propping her bicycle against a nearby tree. She pops a Linda Ronstadt CD into her portable player, the headphones slipping over her ears as she approaches the tracks. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath her boots is muffled out by the soft country tunes that begin to play. Paloma sits right on the track, a little unorthodox but she doesn’t care. Using her bag as a makeshift pillow, she lays flat and looks up at the sky until her eyes shut close; sighing wistfully as she slips away into another world entirely.

She has been struggling to finish any of her music lately, inspiration lackluster to the point where she’s had to revert to covering songs instead of performing original material at the bar. It is frustrating, to say the least, especially when she knows she is more than capable of writing a good song.

There just hasn’t been much happening that warrants a spark in her passion. No romantic love to pour her heart over, no life-altering event to process with instruments and lyrics. Nothing exciting.

She was in a rut…

That was until a few days ago.

Mind seemingly wanders over to the handsome man that had been in her family home.

Those dark brown, intense eyes that had her flustered any time they made eye contact, the strong cut of his jaw and how it flexed when he spoke, lips that looked so inviting underneath the mustache that she hates she’s so attracted to.

This is the first time any man has left such an impression on Paloma. She sighs softly, remembering how she was harping on her own father for bringing out the fancy scotch in order to impress Javier.

“Man must’ve left quite an impression for ya to be bustin’ out the crown jewel.”

Now she understands why. Aside from being nice to look at— she found herself completely engaged in any conversation he partook in. While he was not a man of many words, the few that he did have had her feeling like a freshman schoolgirl crushing on a senior athlete.

She is particularly interested in the fact that he had lived in Colombia for a better part of however many years; curiosity bubbling anytime he mentioned anything about his time there. She is envious that he has been able to experience a country filled with such culture and ecological beauty, even though she understands that the nature of his job probably didn’t entail to him sightseeing much. 

That’s another thing; he was very vague about what his role was down there. All Paloma knows is that he was a DEA agent, responsible for cornering one of the most notorious drug traffickers to exist in the modern world. One thing led to another and now he’s back in the United States as a Deputy Sheriff for a small town in the middle of fuck-knows-where Texas. 

It intrigued her to know his backstory and how that led him here. What all he’d done and witnessed, even if it wasn’t any of her business.

She finds it fascinating and it adds a layer of mystique to his persona.

Then her thoughts begin to turn into something more… naughty as she imagines the way his mouth wrapped around the colored end of the cigarette, his fingers flexing around the drinking glass before downing its contents in one swift movement, tongue peering out to lick at his lips. Fuck, her eyes flutter open and she squints slightly as the sun beams down on her. Her skin is warm, just how she likes it, buzzing with excitement at the image of the older man nuzzled in between her thighs, teasing her until she was at his mercy. 

She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers slowly trailing down her torso then drumming along the exposed skin of her lower stomach. The thought of moving her digits beneath the fabric of her panties crosses her mind for a split second before she remembers where she is. Not that she would be interrupted at this time of day but she has to have some shame, right? It’s already bad enough that she’s fantasizing about him, no need to fuel that fire by touching herself in plain daylight.

Paloma sits up, removing the headphones from over her ears and twisting her body to reach into her bag as she pulls out her notebook and pencil, a sudden stroke of inspiration striking her.

Javier lazily leans back against the leather chair he’s sat in, typical cigarette dangling from his lips as he scans the report in front of him, brows pulled in to a frown as he half ass reads it. He’s only been in Seminary for a week and it hadn’t taken him long to fall into routine. 

He gets up early to exercise, finding the time in his day to be able to do that again, eats what he considers a ‘healthy’ breakfast (it’s just toast and eggs… maybe some fruit if he’s really feeling it) then heads to the sheriff’s department. The day drags by until he’s at home again. He spends the evenings glued to his couch, takeout remnants on the table, nursing a beer and watching reruns until he goes to bed.

That is the part he dreads the most. The night time. Javi has always had trouble sleeping, but his time in Colombia only made the insomnia worse. He’ll stare at the ceiling, replaying all his fuck ups over and over until day breaks and soft sunlight seeps into his room. 

On the nights where he does manage to fall asleep, it’s restless and doesn’t last very long as he jerks awake from whichever nightmare decides to plague him that night. He has a few that revisit him often, involving Helena and how things ended with her. Others about Carillo and his untimely death.

It is quite a vicious cycle that he has not been able to break himself free from. It was much more easier to get ahold of it back in Colombia where he could go pay for a distraction at a brothel or bury himself in the demanding job.

Here, there isn’t a damn thing he can bury himself in.

Well, there’s one person he’d love to find a distraction in but fucking the sheriff’s daughter just to get some sleep is not the best move for him to make considering he’s trying to be a better person nowadays.

There is barely anything happening at the station. The few deputies employed are constantly out on patrol, which Javi had recently revamped by giving new routes for them to follow. A task he’d conjured out of pure boredom yet left Sheriff Leighton impressed by his proactiveness.

Furthermore, the department is left partially empty with just himself, Romeo and Lorraine holding down the fort. 

With no further updates in the ongoing homicide cases; there isn’t much to do. He isn't in the mood to go make small talk with the locals, and he’s already driven and familiarized himself with most of the roads within town limits, so he’s stuck in this building for the time being. 

The sheriff had reiterated many times not to expect the same hustling and bustling he experienced back in Bogotá or Medellín. A fact that he knew when coming in, but experiencing it is just so damn grueling.

Instead of going home and bullshitting there, Javier decides to be responsible and help Lorraine reorganize their filing system. It is outdated to all hell and messier than anything he and Murphy could have ever conjured up at the embassy, but in attempts to be a more… responsible person, he tells the front desk clerk to not worry about a thing and that he’d handle it all himself.

He might have gone in over his head, but they’re just files. The tedious task something he is very familiar with. Javi had done his fair share of mindless tasks during his DEA days.

He’s at his desk, an unused one he plucked from the center of the room and moved over into a corner that gave him just a pinch of privacy. Romeo apologized about the lack of space for a private office, but Javi didn’t mind it. Being in an office is stifling; and he enjoys, for the most part, being out in the open. 

Also, Lorraine is great company. Very unfortunate that she shares the name with his ex-fiancée.

Javier sets the sheet of paper he’s reread a dozen times down, ashing his cigarette and scratching at his nose with his thumb when he hears the sound of the front door opening. 

His eyes lazily trail over to the entrance and an immediate smirk tugs at his lips, crease between his brows disappearing.

Paloma Leighton.

Oh, how he’s been thinking about her since that night he had dinner over at their house. How wrong it is of him to be pining after a woman like her.

It is not that difficult to capture Javier’s attention, he is very self aware in that regard. As long as you were interested; you were pretty much on his radar.

Javier loves women. He loves the way they look, the way they smell. Their soft moans and pants in response to his coaxing, how their nails feel digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as they come down from an intense orgasm. 

Can anyone blame him for being so attracted to them all the time? Women are a godsend.

He watches her carefully as she saunters over to his desk that’s on the opposite side to where her father’s office is. 

“Now, Miss Leighton— to what do I owe this pleasure?” He asks, taking another drag of his cigarette as he keeps his position leaned back in his chair.

With an air of curiosity, he casts a lingering gaze over her figure, his lips moistening involuntarily as he drinks her in.

She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts that hug her in all the right places and a halter top with an exposed back. She isn’t wearing a bra so her stiff nipples are prominent against the fabric. The sight gets him stirring below his belt, and he has to keep smoking in order to keep his antsy hands off of her. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She throws the typical line at him with a smirk.

“I forgot my camera at home. Mind comin’ back to mine, cariño? I’ll make sure to take the prettiest pictures.” He ashes the cigarette, flirtatious as ever despite telling himself he was not going to go down this route.

But there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting, right? Especially not when she’s playing into it.

“Clever, charming and cocky. I’m startin’ to sense a pattern here, cowboy.”

“And what would that pattern be?” 

“M’still figurin’ that out, unfortunately.” There’s a brief pause, “Those things’ll kill you.” Paloma changes the subject, nodding her head towards his nicotine stick.

“I’m going to die eventually.” Javier rebuttals and she just hums, honey colored eyes watching as he takes another long drag.

Javi is thankful that Lorraine had left early today. He's certain that this little conversation of there's would have played out differently had there been a third person in the room.

Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all and he would have been stuck thinking about her like a perverted fool.

“S’that why you’re here? To criticize me smoking?” His toned biceps flex as he brings his hands behind his neck, fingers interlocking and cigarette hanging from in between his lips.

“No, just stopped by to drop off daddy’s lunch before I ran some errands. That man wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for me.” Now it’s her turn to do the ogling, her gaze traveling from the cigarette to his arms, eyes sparkling down at him.

“Sheriff isn’t in right now.” He informs her but something tells him she already knew this. Her brows raise at the news and she shrugs. 

“‘Course he ain’t. Probably already went down to Carl’s for lunch. I keep tellin’ him his arteries are gonna get all clogged up if all he eats is greasy burgers and beer.” Javier can sense a hint of irritation in her voice.

“So just let him. He’s a grown man, M’sure he doesn’t need nor want his daughter looking out for him every second of the day.” He interjects, watching her carefully as she rolls her eyes. 

Her hair is in two neat braids, bangs framing her beautiful face leaving the entirety of her back exposed to him. A few droplets of sweat slowly roll down her spine and he imagines himself licking them right up; preferably while he has her bent over his desk. 

“Well if I don’t do it then who will? He’d barely last a week on his own.” Despite being irritated, Javier catches how she genuinely seems to care for her father so with that, he decides to not meddle in their family business and instead moves on swiftly.

“You know him better than I do.” He leaves it at that, finishing his cigarette, “Heard you got a show comin’ up” And when he says ‘heard’ what he really means is listening to everyone else rave about the sheriff's daughter's incredible talent and how he simply must attend one of her performances.

That sparkle in her eye glistens brighter at the mention of her show and she nods, “Yup,” pops the ‘p’, fiddling with the pens he’s stuffed into his faded DEA mug, her body turned slightly to face him. “Every Friday and Saturday. Will we be blessed by your presence, Mr. Peña or are you going to hide out in your trailer home all weekend?” Hearing his last name coming from her has his jaw ticking ever so slightly and he watches her eyes take notice of it.

Paloma likes it.

“Dunno. Gotta check my schedule, querida. Things tend to get crazy ‘round here. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Well… if you do decide to find some time in that busy schedule of yours; the show starts at six both nights.” And who was he to deny her? Especially as she bats her eyelashes at him, an unspoken way of letting him know she wants to see him there.

The front door bell dings, announcing the arrival of someone new, interrupting the comfortable pause of silence they were sharing. 

That someone new is the sheriff, and Paloma immediately rises from her spot on the edge of his desk, making her way to her father. Javier straightens up, picking up the previously discarded sheet and feigning interest in it; but Romeo doesn’t seem to notice a thing. He looks deep in thought.

“There ya are. I brought you lunch.” Paloma calls after him but he’s already in his office. She lets out a sigh, looking over her shoulder at Javier whom she catches getting an even better view of her ass.

“See you around, Mr. Peña. Maybe you should start carrying around that camera of yours. Y’know… to get all them pretty pictures.” She makes a point to sway her hips as she walks away and he runs his tongue over his front teeth slowly.

This girl is going to get him into trouble.

At least he won’t be so fucking bored anymore.

Paloma leaves the building twenty minutes after getting her father to agree to eat the lunch she brought and not go down the street to the local diner. He seemed pretty distant so she didn’t press him like she usually would, instead giving him a peck on the cheek before leaving his office.

Her gaze wandered over to the opposite corner, hoping to find Javier sitting in his seat already watching her but he was nowhere to be found.

She felt a slight pang of disappointment in her gut at his absence but she pushed it down, a budding smile on her lips at the thought of seeing him at her show. 

She doesn't even care that the man is older than her, she’s down bad for him. 

Paloma swings her leg over her bicycle, kicking the kickstand inwards and riding down the street towards the farmer’s market until she’s stopped by a familiar voice calling her name.

“Paloma!” It’s Sloane, who’s jogging to catch up with her. 

Sloane McCarthy is the only best friend that Paloma has ever had. Like, ever.

Growing up, she was a very shy child and only had the typical schoolyard friends, but not any that she would willingly swap secrets with or any of that other stuff girls usually do within their social circles.

After her mother’s death, Paloma became more of an introvert. She didn't maintain a friendship outside of school, instead all her focus and energy was put into her artistry. To her, instruments were her best friends. They would always be there to listen, to help her navigate through her grief alongside coming into her own without a mother to guide her through the trials and tribulations of girlhood. 

As lonely as it sounds, it was probably for the best that she chose her musical hobbies to be what got her through the hard times. It allowed her to navigate the creation process at her own pace, figure out her strengths and work on her weaknesses.

She is grateful, however, for the guidance she received from Tammy, Kristy and Lola: the sisters that owned The Whiskey Fox.

They helped fill the void left barren by her mother, Abilene, and were the ones who convinced her to start performing at their bar when she was only fourteen.

Paloma met Sloane a few months ago at the library. She had come in with two other guys whom she can barely remember now, asking her about Seminary’s selection on books about the occult. There are hardly any, she had replied, since this town is too obstinate to allow many books on those matters on their library shelves.

Ever since that afternoon, they hit it off and began to hang out together more regularly. Paloma had even hooked her new friend up with a job as a bartender.

She stops, steadying herself as the girl hugs her from the side then rounds the bike to stand in front of her.

“Hey Slo, whatcha up to today?” Paloma asks, eyeing the book in her friend’s possession before meeting her gaze.

Sloane possesses a striking beauty. Waves of rich brown hair cascade down to her collarbone, framing her face like a halo. Her button nose, perfectly proportioned, adds a charming innocence to her features.

But it’s the freckles that truly distinguish Sloane’s features, far more pronounced than Paloma's. They form constellations upon her round face, like tiny stars scattered across a canvas of porcelain skin. And above them, her signature touch: baby blue eyeshadow delicately applied across both eyelids, enhancing the color of her brown eyes.

Paloma found herself being envious of Slo and comparing her beauty to that of her best friend’s; especially when she was the main one being approached whenever they went out.

Not that Paloma cared about male attention, however, she still felt that pang of rejection deep in her belly each time Slo was being hit on while she was left making small talk with the bartender or waitress, depending on where they were.

It wasn’t because she wasn’t attractive, anyone could tell you that Paloma is one of the most beautiful women in town; but more so because of who her father is. Sometimes, men don’t approach her in fear of being shot at by the sheriff. It can be very frustrating, but it does help keep the creeps away.

“Well… ”  She drags out, “I went to the library to look for ya, but Olsen said you didn’t work today so I’ve just kinda been roamin’ town… hopin’ to run into ya before poppin’ up to your place unannounced. What are you so smiley for?” Her bubbly and chirpy southern accent reminds Paloma of the bright smile she’s still sporting.

“Just havin’ a good day, s’all. Why are you lookin’ for me?” She questions, deciding not to tell Sloane about her infatuation with newly appointed Deputy Sheriff Javier Peña just yet, gaze once more flickering down to the thick book in her grasp.

“‘Cause, babygirl, I got the answers to all those existential questions you think up in that pretty little head of yours,” she shows off the printed work, “Right here. Got a sec?” with the look Sloane gives her, Paloma knows she can’t say no.

So they situate themselves on a nearby bench, her bicycle propped up against the backside of it. Sloane turns to her, their knees knocking against each other as she begins to explain.

“Ya know my friend August? He wrote that poem I showed you a few weeks ago… the one that had your face as red as a ripe tomato.” She pokes fun at her, pinching her thigh which Paloma swats away playfully.

“It was more explicit than anticipated, but yes I know who you’re talkin’ about. Didn’t he come in with you that one day? In the library?” She just barely remembers him, since he hadn’t said much; just browsed the shelves with the other guy as Slo did all the talking.

“Sure did! Well, he’s written a few books, none of them published…. they’re more so for record keepin’. However, I told him you were… a fan of his work—”

“Fan is a bit of a stretch, don’t ya think?” She snorts, stare flickering over to Slo. 

“— So he asked me to share this with you. It’s his prized possession.” She continues, eyes twinkling as she slides the book over to Paloma.

Paragons of the Sacrificed

By Augustus Rutherford Dixon

“Augustus? What a name.” Is the first thing Paloma notices, thumbing through the book and scanning some of its contents. “This reads like a manifesto, I’m not sure I’m all that interested.” She tells her, closing the item shut and attempting to give it back.

Sloane blocks her from doing so, shaking her head. “No ma’am, you’re gonna read through it. I promise you’ll enjoy it. I know how you like to get lost in your books and music… this is right up your alley.”

She seems almost desperate as she makes her case, so Paloma reluctantly keeps the book in her lap.

“Right up my alley. What exactly does that mean?”

“You know… the adventurous fantasy stuff. He’s really into religion and history but not in a weird, bible thumpin’ way how the people ‘round here tend to be. Eye openin’ stuff… real, tangible things that make you want to pack up all your shit and get the hell outta dodge.”

Slo doesn’t have to say much after that, it’s as if she knew exactly what words to say to get Paloma to be more open minded about reading the book. She chews on the inside of her cheek, eyes falling to her lap and she sighs, giving in.

“Sure, why the hell not. If it’s crappy, though, and you waste my time I swear I’m gonna get it back in blood.” She teases, nudging Sloane with her elbow. 

“Oh please, I wouldn’t be bringin’ this to ya if I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Sloane was right. This book is right up her alley.

After getting over the initial wariness of the man’s introduction, she is fully immersed in the historical events he writes about as well as the practices of an unorthodox religion that’s been on the rise, according to him, since the birth of Christianity.

Her relationship with religion in general is pretty unadorned. Paloma is a practicing Catholic, just like the majority in Seminary, and she attends mass every Sunday with her father.

It’s enervating, in a way, but she knows just how much it means to Romeo for her to accompany him every week so she does it just to pacify him. Now whether she’s as devoted as she makes herself out to be is a completely different story.

She’s not. Paloma believes in a greater being; but not in the same manner that organized religion does.

It would quite literally break her father’s heart if he heard her say that out loud.

August is a talented writer, his words transporting her entirely while also making his message concise and informative. Paloma’s been tucked away in her room, obsessively reading the book for about three hours when the landline in her room suddenly rings and it makes her jolt out of surprise.

The clock on her nightstand indicates that it’s nine p.m. and she blinks away the sudden tiredness at the realization. Inserting her bookmark on the page she’s currently reading, she closes the book and reaches over to pick up the receiver and wedges it between her ear and shoulder.

“Paloma speakin’.”

“Hola, hermosa.” Javier’s voice cuts right through her and she’s instantly smitten, the book she was so engrossed in not even a minute ago now forgotten.

“You sweet talk every girl you meet with Spanish endearments?” She can't help but ask, feeling the flutter of the butterflies in her stomach at how he flirts. Between his sultry southern accent and alluring dash of Spanish; Paloma can’t decide which one she likes to hear more.

She hears him shuffling on his end of the phone, “Why? You don’t like it, cariño?”

The Spanish. She definitely prefers the Spanish.

“I do. It’s different.” She twirls the telephone cord around her index finger,  “You call just to shower me in pet names?”

He chuckles, the deepness of it having her bite down on her lower lip.

“No, I was hoping I could speak to your father.” This makes her frown slightly, but also what other reason would he have to call their house at this time of night?

Call for her? Talk her through an orgasm through the phone, telling her to imagine his fingers instead of hers and whispering those goddamn pet names until she’s panting; wailing out for him? Or even better: offer to come by to get her out of the dry spell she’s been under before her father made it back home?

Both so appealing. Both so ridiculously out of this world.

She realizes she’s been quiet longer than intended, so she snaps out of her sudden wet daydream, speaking up.

“He’s out with some friends from the bar. Don’t anticipate him comin’ back home till way later so you’re just goin’ to have to catch him at his office tomorrow, Mr. Peña.”  She had taken notice of the way he was so bothered by her calling him by his last name earlier that she does it again, just to fuck with him.

“You make me feel so old callin’ me that.” He scoffs and her smile doesn’t budge.

“Well aren’t you?” She fuels the teasing, wondering how far she could push it before the fire she’s been harboring burns her.

“You really want to play this game, corazón?”  

“Maybe…”

There’s a swift pause, all that’s heard is both of their breaths on either side of the line. Paloma braces herself for whatever racy event decides unfold but he breaks the silence first.

“Just be a sweetheart and tell your dad I called. Have a good night, nena.” He doesn't even give her the opportunity to give a closing remark, the dial tone ringing in her ears before she pulls the phone away and sets it back into place.

She hadn't realized how tightly her thighs had been clenched throughout that whole exchange. It’s embarrassing how her body reacts to him. Whether it just be his voice or his presence itself. 

Paloma groans, standing from her bed and deciding to shower to calm herself down, August’s book being placed on her nightstand next to the landline.

Javier walks in to the crowded bar much later than he intended to, stuck at the station with some chatty citizen who called to complain about her neighbors dog.

This is the life he lives now. Went from tracking down dangerous sicarios to listening to elderly women bitch about pets.

He hears the rumbling music spilling out into the street upon arrival. The decently sized bar is filled with so many patrons, that it took him a second to recognize it. Honest to God. 

Javier has definitely underestimated Seminary. It becomes clearer the longer he's here. While he does find himself complaining about the monotony most of the time, he’s slowly but surely easing into it.

He finally makes it to the bar and orders himself his drink. Dark eyes scan the crowd until they land on the stage where the first person he notices is Paloma; dressed to the nines with a bright smile. A smile he mimics as he watches her strum her guitar, the three other woman sing along with instruments of their own adhered to their bodies.

She isn’t currently singing, just adding in to the instrumental of a song that he doesn’t recognize. After paying for his drink, he maneuvers the crowd until he finds Romeo sitting front and center, swaying along to the music with nothing but adoration in his eyes for his daughter. 

When he sees Javier approaching, his entire face lights up.

“Javi, my man! You made it.” The two share a friendly handshake as Javier sits down in the empty seat besides him, digging in his leather jacket for a smoke. 

“Woulda been here earlier but had a Margaret Lipton call complainin’ about how her neighbors dog won’t stay on its side of the fence.” He grumbles, lighting the cigarette and taking a lengthy drag as the song finishes.

“Sounds just like her. Expect a lot more’a those. Poor woman is just lonely; her husband of fifty years died not too long ago. Ever since then she’s been callin’ nonstop over petty shit. She’ll complain if a fly buzzes by, I tell ya.” Romeo adds on, taking a sip from his drink and this gets a brief chuckle from Javier, making a mental note to limit his calls with one Margaret Lipton.

The next song begins, a very lively country tune that immediately shifts the atmosphere of the already buzzing bar. People begin to flood the dancefloor in front of the stage, but it doesn’t obstruct his view from the person that he’s here to see. He watches as she strums her instrument before approaching the microphone.

♫

Her voice is so rich and smooth, ears perk up at the angelic singing and he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes not leaving her for a second.

She shoots a wink towards their table, and while Javier knows it’s directed to the man besides him, he can’t help but be selfish enough to think that’s it’s meant for him. 

That her attention is all for him.

The music picks up, he can feel it embedding itself in his bones and he’s so entranced by watching her perform that he just barely notices when Romeo leans over to talk to him.

“Swear I’ve never been more proud of her.” Javi peels his gaze away from her before the man notices how he’s basically eye fucking his daughter.

“Does she usually write her own songs?” He can't help but ask, her voice ringing out passionately as the song continues.

“Majority of ‘em. Always got her nose stuffed in one’a her journals. When she’s not writin’, she’s at the piano or on the porch with her guitar. Melts my heart every time I see it.” 

Javier doesn’t say much in response, intrigued to hear how her voice sounds when it’s just her singing.

Paloma reproaches the microphone after the long instrumental that had the crowd dancing along to the upbeat country track concludes.

“My daddy warned me about men like you He said, "Baby girl, he's playing you! He's playing you!”

She sings with a vigor he was not expecting, making eye contact with him and he catches the way her red-stained lips pull into a smirk.

Just like that, she has captivated him all over again. 

Under the stage lights, Paloma radiates with an otherworldly glow. Clad entirely in black, she stands out against the band’s more colorful attire. A leather miniskirt, paired with sleek black stockings, hugs her form, the oversized silver buckle of her belt gleaming beneath the spotlight pointed at the stage.

Her leather jacket, mirroring the skirt, features intricate silver detailing that catches and reflects the light with every movement. Beneath it, she wears nothing but a black bra, veiled by a sheer mesh top that adds a layer of sexiness to her ensemble.

Atop her head sits a black cowgirl hat and it wouldn’t be Texas if she wasn't wearing her cowgirl boots, tying everything together.

They drag the last lyric out with the rattle of the drum’s percussion before the song officially ends and bar erupts into a boisterous applause. The women take turns hugging and congratulating each other, though his focus is solely on Paloma. He doesn’t even acknowledge when Romeo gets up to get them all another round of drinks.

“Well, folks, I reckon y’all just witnessed a taste of the good ol’ honky-tonk spirit tonight. Ain’t nothin’ like harmonizin’ with the talented Lone Star Sisters. Let’s raise a toast to good music, good company, and good times at The Whiskey Fox — where the spirits are high and the music’s just right!” The bar laughs and this gets a bemused chuckle out of Javier, who stubs out the cigarette he’d been puffing on throughout the performance.

After a few more formalities and some announcements, she disappears for a brief moment before he spots her again, this time heading in his direction.

She’s stopped a few times along the way by some patrons who simply cannot get over her and her performance.

All Javier does is admire and be amused at how they treat her like she’s a celebrity. Even watches as she signs a slip of paper and crouches down to give it to a little girl. The interaction has his heart racing so he downs the drink in front of him to slow it down.

The adrenaline that Paloma feels after a show is indescribable. It’s like she transforms when she’s up there, giving it her all and making sure that the crowd is being entertained to the fullest extent. It’s why she absolutely loves it when she sees everyone dancing, she's even spotted a few people singing along to some of the original songs she performs regularly.

It’s an even better feeling when she gets off stage and is being praised left and right; it makes her feel like the art she puts out is important as it’s being appreciated by everyone and not just those in her immediate circle. What really melts her heart, though, is when she sees the gleam in the eyes of the younger girls who come see her play. As if they’re looking up to her, seeing their own aspirations performing out on the stage. Knowing that she’s somewhat of a role model to them is all she needs to stay content in her passion for creating music.

After finally getting through the crowd of… admirers (she doesn’t like calling them fans; it feels odd), Paloma reaches the table her father always sits in but is pleasantly surprised to see just Javier there.

“You came.” She doesn't even try to hide the large smile on her face, heart still beating wildly in her chest due to the high energy performance.

“Found a small window of opportunity in my very busy schedule to be able to make it. You’re lucky, hermosa.” He teases and she laughs with a shake of her head, shaking off the leather jacket on her shoulders and removing the hat that sits on her head.

It is entirely too hot for her to sport it for the rest of the evening, so she drapes the jacket over the back of the chair and lets her hat hang over the corner of it.

“You’re a damn good singer.”

The compliment has those butterflies stirring in her stomach again. Paloma won’t admit that she made sure to be on her game tonight in anticipation of his attendance. She doesn’t want to come off as desperate, despite how flirtatious their interactions have been since they met.

“You sayin’ that ‘cause you mean it or are you just tryin’ to become my groupie?” She cocks her head to the side slightly, sliding into the seat across from him and crossing her legs. She bites her lip as she watches his eyes divert down to her thighs; the top of her stockings showing and a soft slither of her skin teasing him to reach out and touch.

“I genuinely mean it, but being your groupie doesn’t sound half bad.” Paloma giggles, scrunching her nose and he smiles at her.

Why does she feel like she’s drunk off him? What the hell does he lace his attention with?

Romeo returns right on time, setting down three glasses on the small, round table.

“Alright, a bourbon for me, whiskey for Javier and a root beer with muddled cherries for my beautiful daughter.” She reaches for her drink, ignoring the look Javier gives her and she takes a lengthy sip from the straw; the carbonation feeling so refreshing as it travels down her throat.

“No post-performance drink?” He asks her, fingers once more fishing out his cigarettes and lighter.

“I only drink on occasion. Try not to do it when I sing unless I need to loosen up the good ‘ol pipes.” Two fingers tap against her throat to emphasize her point, his dark eyes trailing the area and she knows his soft lips would feel divine against her warm skin.

The trio fall into small talk for all but five minutes when Javier’s pager buzzes in his jacket pocket. He excuses himself from the table and he saunters away to the pay phone outside of the bar. Paloma’s gaze follows him all the way out, sound of her father talking muffled as he overtakes her thoughts.

Javier digs into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a few coins to insert into the public telephone then punching in the familiar number of his former partner. The line rings three times before Murphy picks up.

“We got him.”

The words knock the wind out of him and he stabilizes himself by sticking his hand out to lean against the payphone stand.

“Alive or dead?”

“Trujillo shot the fucker right between the eyes.”

He presses the phone against his forehead at the news, eyes closing as he allows it to fully sink in. He knows he should be relieved… that the weight on his shoulders should dissipate now that Pablo Escobar is dead.

Not in custody or cornered. No, dead.

Yet he isn’t relieved. Not as much as he would have wanted to be. It’s a bittersweet feeling, really. They can rejoice now that they got one dirty narc over and done with but if Javier has learned anything in the past years— it’s that this war on drugs is far from over. The rest of the Medellín cartel has yet to fall and Cali just reached its peak. 

You know what they say: cut off one head and two more take its place.

But that’s no longer his problem. He had been reassigned, sent somewhere where he could chill the fuck out and start making amends for his fuckups in Colombia. His only focus now, as long as he’s concerned, is dealing with what happens in Seminary and Seminary only.

He and Steve finish their conversation, reminiscing on all the crazy ass shit they had to do and endure in order to get to this point. Steve ends the call by telling him that he should have been here to see it all the way through and that, in a strange turn of events, he was proud of everything they accomplished together despite the bullshit that ensued.

Javier doesn’t say much, as per usual, but he doesn’t have to. Steve knows he’s appreciative. 

Fingers itch to pluck out another cigarette but he goes against the urge, instead collecting himself before reentering the bar.

Paloma was left alone shortly after Javier left to take his phone call, her father pulled away by his buddies while she finished up the rest of her drink.

When Javier does return, she immediately notices the change in his demeanor but doesn’t know how to ask him what’s wrong without coming off as bothersome.

“Everythin’ good?” Is what she decides on, leaning in to rest her chin on the palm of her hand as her elbow sits on the perpetually sticky top of their table.

“Everything’s alright, muñeca.” He takes his seat again, still being flirtatious but there’s an edge to it. He grabs his drink and swishes its contents around the glass before downing it all in one swift shot.

Paloma doesn’t say anything else, and she doesn’t get the chance to when her father returns to them.

“I gotta go handle some shit that’s poppin’ off with the Sullivan’s. Go get your things, baby, we’re leavin’.” This pulls a groan from the back of her throat.

“I do not want to tag along while you deal with whatever the fuck they got goin’ on. Not after last time.” Very rarely does she tag along with her father when he’s on the job; and last time they had been called to the Sullivan farm— she didn’t expect to be there for almost three hours trying to help calm down Mrs. Sullivan, who was threatening to shoot her husband with their shotgun.

The conversation seems to intrigue Javier, eyes darting between the both of them as he begins to smoke again.

“Well, you’re gonna have to hitch a different ride, then.”

“That’s no problem, Mr. Peña will take me.” They both look over to Javi as she’s just volunteered him to drive her home.

“Paloma—”

“It’s fine, Romeo. Go handle it, I’ll make sure she makes it home safely.” His thumb drags against his bottom lip as he stares right back at her and his intense gaze has her shifting in her seat, the familiar feeling of arousal shooting heat up core.

It doesn’t take much convincing to send the sheriff on his merry way, her body tingling at the idea of being alone with Javier in his truck as he takes her home.

“You gonna make sure m’fine? That I make it home safe and sound?” Paloma asks with a bat of her eyelashes, leaning close enough to where their knees brush up against each other beneath the table.

He follows her lead, leaning forward and taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from her face. “S’what I’m here to do, princesa. Make sure beautiful girls like you stay safe.”

There’s still some bite to his words but it’s hot the way he flirts with her. She catches the scent of his musky cologne mixed with the liquor and cigarettes he's consumed and it’s intoxicating.

“I thought I told you these things’ll kill you.” She plucks the nicotine stick from between his middle and index fingers, putting the thing out against the ashtray.

“And I thought I told you I’m gonna die eventually.”

“Try not to make it anytime soon.”

“Why? Would you miss me, cariño?” His brows raise inquisitively as he asks her, brown eyes twinkling beneath the dim lighting. 

Paloma shrugs, sliding out of her seat. “Probably not. I’ve just met you.” She replies nonchalantly, despite her head spinning from how badly she wants him. She grabs ahold of her jacket and hat, “I’m going to go pack up my things. Meet me in the back alleyway in ten.”

After getting her stuff into the back of his truck and watching her say goodbye to everyone, Paloma is sat in the passenger seat as Javier drives along the familiar road towards her house.

It’s quiet at first, the radio playing some song softly to fill the void from the absence of conversation.

“So… you got a girlfriend?” Her question catches him off guard and he actually laughs in her face. “Or boyfriend— I don’t judge.” She raises her hands defensively.

“Why, you tryin’ to apply for the spot?” Javier briefly takes his eyes off the road to look over at her, biting his tongue once he sees how she’s staring at him.

Her back is against the door, the soft hue of the radio's blue light casting a shadow across her face as she draws one knee up to her chest. She looks irresistible. Javier contemplates pulling over just to grab her by the neck and press his lips against hers.

She just rolls her eyes playfully, fidgeting with the ends of her skirt.

“Not really, just curious.” He can hear the sincerity coating her words and while he usually wouldn’t divulge in his personal life, let alone his romantic relationships, he decides to answer her truthfully.

“No girlfriend. M’not really the settle down type of guy.”

“Ah, so he’s got commitment issues…” She trails off, messing with him.

“Somethin’ like that.” He isn't offended by her assumption, since it is the truth.

“So no girlfriend back home? Or in Colombia?” 

“Why the sudden interest, princesa?”

“Just tryin’ to get to know you, cowboy.” There she goes with that nickname again and he just shakes his head softly.

“The honest truth...? No girlfriends anywhere. Lots of hookups in Colombia, though. The women there are very beautiful.”

She’s silent, which has him looking over at her again yet this time she isn’t staring back, instead looking ahead at the road in front of them.

“So you’re a slut.”

He laughs again, much more lively this time, “Most people would agree with you, yeah. But I had my reasons for sleepin’ around.”

“Aside from pleasure, what were the reasons?” Her brows raise, her arms crossing against her chest, pushing her breasts together beneath the mesh material and the sight is like something straight out of a Playboy magazine.

“Most of ‘em were informants. Prostitutes who had vital information on the criminals we were after.” 

“So in return for intel, they got to spend a night with you?”

“That was part of it.”

She hums and he flips the question on her before she starts asking about other aspects of his life in Colombia.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend— or girlfriend. I don’t judge.” He repeats her own playful words back to her, making a turn then flipping on the brights as the street lights have decreased to none; leaving them traveling down the dark back roads.

“No, not at the moment. I’ve only ever had one real boyfriend.” Paloma leans her head back against the window, eyes still trained on the emptiness of the night. “And that ended terribly so I didn’t bother trying again after that.”

Curious to know this terrible ending she speaks of, Javier proceeds to stay on topic. “Must’ve been real bad if it got you to give up entirely.”

“Yeah. His name was George. We dated in high school... can you keep a secret?” She suddenly asks, ripping her gaze from the windshield over to him. He can see her from his peripheral.

“For you, nena, of course.”

“We were supposed to get married and run off the night before graduation. Had planned the whole thing out, even bribed an officiant to wed us in the middle of the night down by the cemetery. It didn’t take him much convincin’; told us he had a soft spot for young love.” Javier doesn’t say anything in response, instead letting his silence speak for itself and allowing her to continue on with her story.

“The big night came. I was so nervous I coulda puked. Me and the officiant waited for what felt like an eternity until eventually he apologized to me and left. I cried there all night, a stupid and naive part of me hoping George would eventually show… he didn’t.” She sighs heavily and Javier wants to reach his hand out to rub comforting circles with his thumb against her thigh but he doesn’t, instead driving down the driveway.

“Found out the next day that he had left for the army. Which was so heartbreaking since that’s why he wanted to leave Seminary. He didn’t want to enlist like his brother and father had. Guess somethin’ changed his mind… haven’t heard from him since. I never told anyone about it, and the officiant passed away shortly after so…” She trails off and Javier genuinely feels for her.

However, he can relate to an extent. Not to her but to her ex. His relationship with Lorraine back in Laredo a haunting reminder of the type of man he was slowly turning into. Instead of leaving for the army, though, he’d left her at the altar to run off to Colombia.

“That’s… tough, querida.” He's never been the best at comforting and it doesn’t seem like she minds his scarce sympathy.

“It is what it is. I got over him eventually.” They roll to a stop once they’re at the house, he puts the truck in park and cuts the engine; letting a comfortable silence fall over them.

“Thank you—”

“Do you need—”

They both speak at the same time, interrupting the other and they share a laugh about it. “Ladies first.” He beckons her to continue, shifting his body slightly to face her.

“Thank you for bringin’ me home. I know I didn’t give you much of a choice.” The soft click of her seatbelt being undone brings a sense of reluctance over him, knowing that her departure is imminent and he's already dreading the moment she’s gone.

“Anytime, hermosa.” Javi's dark eyes soften, “Do you need help getting your things inside?” Paloma nods and he’s quick to hop out of the truck, rounding it to open the door for her before she even gets the chance to reach over for the handle.

“What a gentleman.” She purrs, her hand brushing against his shoulder as she walks past him to help unload her equipment.

The desire to push her up against his truck and passionately kiss her, have his hands explore every inch of her body is tempting as all hell but he shows some self restraint.

They get everything into the living room and she walks him over to the front door.

“I appreciate your help, Mr. Peña.” Paloma leans against the doorframe with a teasing simper. They’re close enough to where he can see all the small imperfections that litter her skin. His eyes taking in how beautiful she looks up close, their bodies slowly gravitating towards each other.

“You ever gonna stop callin’ me that?” He asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands landing on either sides of his hips.

The girl shrugs, blinking slowly. “Not ‘til you’re not bothered by it.” They exchange a lustful stare until he decides it’s time for him to leave before things escalate and he crosses a boundary he’s helplessly trying not to overstep.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Leighton.”  Very reminiscent to their last goodbye on this porch, her smirk softens into a smile.

“Goodnight, Javier.” One, two seconds pass before she’s leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his cheek, the feeling has his heart racing and she pulls back slowly before taking a few steps back and closing the door. 

Javier is left in a stunned silence, the small act of affection impacting him more than he would like to admit.

[crazybutgood]

20 fic writer questions~

I'm procrastinating and feverish and in pain, so I figured I'd distract myself and finally do this,, thanks for the tag lovelies @the-francakes (x) @lumosatnight (x) and @orange-peony (x)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

44 including origami, fics, a mixture of those (all mine and also collabs), and podfics

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Noo this would be a bitch to calculate

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I used to write for the HP fandom

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

You Light Me Up

I Just Want You to Know (collab with @sugareey-makes-stuff)

Language of Love

[FIC & ART] Heart on Your Sleeve

Kuch Meetha Ho Jaaye

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try!! But I often fail. Reasons: Partially sometimes I get overwhelmed and/or am too shy and dk what to say, but mostly it's because I am so so incredibly burned out

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Damn,, idt I have one. I do HEAs! At least in fics, and so far

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All are happy I think,, and omg how does one quantify and compare happiness?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope! Like reading it, actually incapable of writing it

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't! Idk if I will! There is one published novel one that I want to read tho omg ;-; ok sorry going off track

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I sure hope not :') But to my knowledge no

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah with Krissy! Linked in question 4. We didn't even know it was each other haha cos it was an anonymous epistolary exchange but ye it was fun

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Don't ask me that!! There's lots of ships to love, and idh the same ride or die (or any, tbh) feeling for my previously main one anymore. Goes to show that it just changes with time (maybe this current answer will too!)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

SIKE I don't start things I know I won't finish (involves an elaborate planning procedure, ask @getawayfox ) and once I start them I push through it even if I have to drag myself crying (I'm insane I know)

16. What are your writing strengths?

I love writing dialogue, and some people have told me it's nice, so I shall go with that!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Ohh loads I reckon,, I'm going to stick to sharing run on sentences and can't write long plots. Cos I have to do lots of academic writing and copywriting, and that's going pretty steady, so idw to break that and spiral by thinking too much about this :') esp cos idh much time and energy to write fiction rn

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Yes if done right! Like you do things to make sure you don't throw off those who don't know that language and like make it part of the flow. And/Or footnotes! I've done dialogue in Hindi in my fics, and I've written an entire one in a script play format in Hindi too for @curlyy-hair-dont-care

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Listen :') I have mixed feelings about my writing, so I genuinely can't answer this

Tagging @andithiel @curlyy-hair-dont-care if you wanna do this, and anyone else who hasn't and wants to as well!!

[captainsweet]

I know people have talked about this already, but what is it about you guys that makes you love bashing a TMNT group in your crossovers?

Like, there are so many fanfics I've read where people just, show that they probably don't even like the certain show.

The one that has gotten the most of this behavior is the 2012 version. And it's.. honestly ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.

2012 isn't my favorite, and some of the characters annoy me and there are even some I despise, but, and excuse my language, this is complete and utter bullshit.

You guys need to get your shit together, because this is plain childish. You're writing a whole damn story just to praise how good and wonderful your fav is while leaving the other to rot.

And if you do genuinely like the content of 2012, and you have written one of the stories I'm mentioning, you also need to set yourself straight, because you should know better.

The 'Rise adopts 2012 Mikey', and '2012 goes to 2018' stories seem to be what usually holds the bashing. But there are so many I can't keep count for long.

Though that may be because of my bad memory.

Rise isn't better, and as much as I love it, doesn't deserve to be put on a pedestal built off of hate for their previous versions.

That doesn't mean '12 is better either, so don't get it twisted. '12 has it's own issues that people dislike for their own reasons, they aren't better than Rise and Rise isn't better than them.

And this bashing thing is absolutely insane.

A few, a light few, of the most popular stories are just, Rise being better than '12 because, 'they're a REAL family' and 'they don't @büs3 each other', and it pains me to see it.

You can like Rise without bashing another version on the TMNT. I personally HATED '12 for a while, and even THEN I wasn't writing shit like this.

And now? The story I'm writing doesn't even include any negative points until later. It's just, pure fluff that has like, no drama until the second chapter.

I don't like '12 April, and besides me making a few jokes at her, I still don't bash her. I don't like '12 Splinter all that much either, but what do you know, he's still a good father in the story.

I don't even like Karai because I find her annoying, but woop-de-fucking-doo, she's going to be herself in the story.

It's so easy to just write them as themselves that none of you have an excuse. If me, a previous '12 hater and now a person who watches it, can pull my shit together enough to write a crossover that tries it's best to put bias away to be fair to other characters and make a non bash fic, you can too.

Now please don't make me have to make a part two of this post, I'm tired and just want to see the Rise boys have fun with their counterparts, is that so much to ask?

I made this post because I saw yet another bash fic pass my dash, and I'm just.. tired. So tired. I don't care if it ends up being that five people made these, because these stories are popular, and that's a problem.