#my followers and mutual have a cameo in this one! ;)

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Chapter 3: An Unwelcomed Guest?

Gem is the commander of the Wintertide royal army, Grian is the leader of a resistance hell bent on taking the crown down no matter the cost. It was only natural that they would become enemies.

Beginning -> previous -> next

Read on ao3 ❀ here ❀

CW: N/A

Words: 6,046

Pov: Gem

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“Gem!” A voice called out to her from behind. She turned just in time to step back and avoid being barreled into by a short man holding a shovel.

“Bdubs? What’s wrong?” She asked, alarmed. Her hand instantly went to the sword secured around her waist, ready to fight and protect everyone nearby.

After a quick hour-long nap at the table, her morning had been completely occupied with overseeing the safety of those carrying out clean-up efforts in wake of the previous night's activities, so she had only just returned to the castle. It was nearing noon at that point, and she was in the process of making her way back to her office to plan out several new security measures, including an increase in knights patrolling everywhere possible without alarming the civilians and a thorough check of all possible entry points around the castle walls to ensure that they were one hundred percent impenetrable by outside forces. 

Had something slipped past her in that time? Was there an immediate threat inside of the castle?

Bdubs, the royal gardener, was hunched over at the waist in front of her, one hand clutching the handle of the shovel he dug into the ground to steady himself and the other planted firmly on his knee. His wide brimmed hat partially hid his red face, but it did nothing to conceal the sweat drenched tunic clinging to his torso. His hands and forearms, revealed by rolled up sleeves, were covered in a layer of muck and grime that similarly coated the ends of his trouser legs. He was missing his iconic, green cloak, so he must have come here in a hurry. Gem reached her hand out and settled it on his shoulder, politely ignoring the way it made her hand damp.

“I forgot to tell you somethin’ important!” Bdub’s said, standing up straight so suddenly that Gem startled back, retracting her hand.

“What is it?” She prompted impatiently and nervously.

“I saw someone sneak into the castle last night,” He said, eyes wide.

“What!?” She squealed, voice going high pitched. Her hands shot out and she grabbed him by both shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles hard enough to dimple the fabric in the surrounding area. “When!?”

“It had to have been around midnight or so. I was in bed when I heard something outside of my window. I thought ‘hey that’s weird, we don’t even get very many animals out here, what could that be?’ so I peeked outside and there it was! A person walking by my window!” He exclaimed. She gripped him harder.

“Why did you not say something immediately?” She asked through gritted teeth. “What did you do after seeing them?” 

Bdub’s leveled her with a deadly serious look, “I went back to sleep.”

Gem stared at him. He stared at her. The knights behind Gem stared at both of them. There was silence.  

“You did what?” She asked slowly, unsure if she had heard him right.

“I went back to sleep,” Bdubs reiterated, “I’m not a fighter! I knew if I went out there in the dark all defenseless with nothing to fight with, whoever that was would kill me immediately! I’m not a fool!”

Gem wanted to argue otherwise, but he carried on.

“I tried waiting it out until someone came by to rescue me, but I’m not used to staying up that long. The ol' body just isn't used to it. I fell right back to sleep without even trying to. I thought the encounter was just a really bad dream I had brought on by all the drinkin' I did last night at dinner when I woke up this morning, but then I saw the footprints in the soil when I was doing the weeding, and I knew it was real!”

“Why did you not alert one of the guards stationed on the wall nearby? Logan was only a mere 20 feet away from your quarters!” She said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Then, her eyes snapped open as she fully registered his words. She cut off his loud, long-winded rant about how he couldn’t endanger himself to go alert someone, “Wait, Bdubs. Bdubs, hush up for a moment, would you? You said you found footprints?”

Bdubs paused to nod his head enthusiastically. “Yes!” 

“Show me immediately.” She said, expression firm. Bdubs nodded again and then motioned for her to follow after him as he took off towards the garden. She motioned for two soldiers to accompany them and then said to the rest, "I want you guys to remain here and keep an eye on the area. Report to me immediately if you see anything suspicious... Unlike a certain somebody."

She followed Bdubs through the expansive outside area, holding in her laughter whenever he would stumble on the loose rocks or trip over a well-groomed shrub with a colourful curse. You would be led to believe that someone who has dedicated their entire life to tending to a garden would know the area a little better, or at least well enough to avoid tripping as often as he did. They passed under the vine covered stone arch that served as the entrance to the grand royal garden, and she took a moment to admire the area, as well as scan it for anything that might be out of place. 

Meticulously cared for shrubs made the area into somewhat of a maze, forcing one to weave their way through the area and barring them from stepping on the beautiful grass. Flowering bushes with buds of a million colours mixed in with these shrubs, their vibrant colours somehow blending in perfectly despite the contrast. A few scattered fruit trees, whose spoils had already been harvested this year, stood tall and proud where they were placed in spots most convenient for providing shade throughout the garden. The same trees also lined the back wall, blocking the mossy stone from view almost entirely. 

A fountain carved in the shape of a mostly bare woman with a flowing cloth covering both her eyes and breasts stood in the center of it all, the water flowing from her outstretched, cupped palms, her face twisted into one of sorrow. Fake jewels and sparkling rocks glimmered at the bottom of the crystal clear pool, giving the water's surface the appearance of a sparkling jewel itself. 

Under her feet was a well cared for stone path free of the dirt and leaves one would expect to see but was sprouting with little flowers that crawled through the fine cracks in a way she couldn't help but find beautiful. In the very back of the garden, nestled between two of the tall fruit trees and barely noticeable among the gorgeous scenery, was a similarly well cared for shack that acted as both Bdubs’ sleeping quarters and storage for all of his gardening tools. 

Suddenly Bdubs stopped and she had to stumble to the side to avoid ramming right into his back. He pointed emphatically down at the dirt beneath a shrub he had presumably been weeding before he came to fetch her. The soft soil was slightly dug up off to the side, a few weeds laying on their sides around the shallow holes. There were a few small tools scattered about the area, as well as a pair of gloves and his mossy cloak laying abandoned on the stone path a little ways away. 

And then she saw it, a footstep in the soil just as he said there would be. It was long and slender with no discernable patterns within its print that would be easily identifiable. It could have belonged to anyone within the castle staff, anyone from town, that is how generic it was. However, it was not the only thing of intrigue that she spotted. Her eyes flickered up towards it as it caught her attention. A single red thread, right there on one of the branches of the bush, tangled around it and fluttered in the light breeze that flowed through the garden. She reached out to it and pulled it free with a firm tug. A loose cloak thread in the same shade as the garment that Grian wore. It appeared to have been ripped free when the wearer got caught on the sharp, recently trimmed branch.

She looked around the shrubbery, and just as she suspected, further inside of the foliage were branches that looked out of place, bent and unnatural in a way that indicated the bushes had been climbed through. Bdubs kept the garden immaculate, so it was very easy to spot even a single leaf out of place if you knew what to look for. And she really did have to look, her eyes intently focused on the bushes in a way that must have made her look a bit mad, because whoever had been here had done well to hide their tracks. Not well enough to hide from her though. They had left a trail that she could track, right through the garden.

“Cobble, I want you to stay here with Bdubs, Marabelle I need you to go find Kaya and tell her and her battalion on the wall to keep an eye on things outside just in case whoever was here last night tries to get back in, and that they should not rule out the idea that the intruder may still be on the premise. After that, I need you to find Scott and Impulse and inform them of the intruder. If you can, send them my way.” Gem instructed her knights. Marabelle saluted and then ran off to do as directed. Cobble shifted nervously, looking around the garden with a suspicious eye. Bdubs’ face slowly morphed into one of horror.

“Still on the premise?!” He exclaimed loudly, prompting Gem to flinch away from him with a sigh. He reached down and grabbed ahold of one of his sharper, more dangerous tools. He held it tightly to his chest as he glanced around his garden with paranoia shinning in his eyes.

“I highly doubt that whoever this was would be so stupid as to stick around, but it is not an option I can safely rule out, not after…” She trailed off, realizing Grian’s threat was not public knowledge, and it would do her well to not make it such. “Do not worry about it, just stay here with Cobble and you will be fine. I’ll handle this.”

With that she began her trek into the shrubbery, following the barely noticeable path the trespasser had unwittingly left behind for her. Bdubs momentarily broke out of his paranoid stupor to yell at her for going through them so carelessly, but one dirty look over her shoulder was enough to shut him up.

She cursed her foolishness as she followed the out of place branches. She had assumed that if Grian was planning something that night he would focus his attention on the festival, which was vulnerable and hard to protect due to the high density of people around. But the more she thought about it, it only made sense that he would advance on the castle when security was more lax and divided by the festivities. It was a fairly smart tactic, she had to admit. Keeping her on edge and busy while he snuck someone in? She would never deign herself to admit it out loud that she had been played well, but she had been.

She shuddered at the thought of what he and his people might have done inside while no one was looking. 

She looked around as she trudged through the garden, making an effort to not step on any of the flowers or ruin things too much, but not being overly careful either. Consider the work she was giving Bdubs punishment for being a fool. But as she walked, she noticed something. The trail she was walking was in one big a blind spot. None of the on duty knights would have been able to see the intruder even if they had looked down into the garden from the wall or peered in from any of the entrances. Nearly the whole path was blocked in some way, be it by tree or the fountain or something else, none of it was visible unless you knew where to look. That, coupled with the fact that there would have been little to no light, meant that it would have been alarmingly easy for them to get in entirely undetected.

It was scary to think about.

The trail led her all the way to the garden's East entrance, far right of the fountain and near the apple trees. In the mud at the base of said trees she found a second footprint similar to the last, but this one was smudged, imperfect, as if the intruder had slipped. It only made sense that she found the vines on the entrance's archway to be messed with. They had used the pillar to catch their fall.

If they had stepped in the mud then surely they had to have left more evidence behind, right?

The East Garden entrance led to stables and the couch house, which gave entrance to the ground floor of the castle. There was also the kitchen entrance further East, as well as a smaller, less noticeable entrance to the servant bathrooms, but she knew that both of them were out of the question for possible break-in points. The bathroom had no other entry points other than the one outside, and the kitchen was never not occupied so it would have been impossible for someone to sneak in through the busy area. At least one person would have noticed a face that did not fit in among them.

She made her way over to the coach house and inspected the door. There were no signs that it had been tampered with or forced open, but that didn’t mean anything. They may have simply been skilled enough, or smart enough, to not leave behind such traces. Then again, they had left her an entire trail here. She huffed and looked around. She titled her head up and caught sight of an open window on the second floor and wondered briefly if that was how they got inside, but she shook her head and scolded herself for the silly thought. Not only was that a nearly impossible climb to make, but the window also led to the servants' quarters. Someone, again, would have noticed. It was a bit hard to miss a person climbing in through their window.

She opened the door and made her way inside, giving the area a sharp once over. Nothing seemed out of place. All of the horse gear was in place and a survey of both the carriage and the trading carts told her they were not tampered with. Nothing was stolen, everything was accounted for. She looked over the room a second time and a third before she was satisfied. Well, she would not say satisfied. She was actually quite frustrated. There was nothing here.

She walked up the few stone steps that led to the inside of the castle and nothing in the halls looked out of place. There was no mud on the polished marble like she expected, no, hoped to find to tell her that this was the way they went. Everything looked as clean and pristine as she expected it to.

Her trail had gone cold. 

“What are you looking for, Commander?” A voice asked to her side, startling her. She did her best to school her reaction to not appear a fool as she turned to the person.

One of the young maids was looking at with a curious expression on their face and a bundle of linen in their arms. She raked her brain for their name but shamefully could not remember it. It started with a C, perhaps? They blinked at her, and their face turned a little worried before Gem realized she should probably give them an answer.

“Oh! Do not worry about it.” She said, giving them a reassuring smile. 

“Alright, then…” They said hesitantly. They turned to walk away but a thought occurred to Gem and she called out to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me,” She said, taking a step forward. They turned back to look at her, shock and a bit of excitement on their face.

“Me? Really? You need my help?” They asked in awe.

“Yes, I do.” She said, “You clean around this area, correct?”

“Oh, no I don’t ma’am,” They said, deflating a little. Gem did as well. “I’m stationed up on the second floor. I was simply running these down to the laundry room since the chute has been damaged and it cannot be delivered that way.”

“The chute has been damaged?” Gem asked, perking up.

“Yes! We think something too large and heavy was thrown down it sometime last night and now it won’t open or close properly. We didn’t find whatever it was that caused the damages, but it left behind a massive mess in the laundry room! It took hours this morning to clean up all of the sheets and cloth spilled about the area.” They said as they shook their head. 

“This was on the second floor, yes?” Gem asked eagerly.

“I can show you where, if you need.” They said nervously, obviously wanting to be of more help.

“No, that’s alright,” She said. They seemed disappointed, but they nodded anyway, “Thank you very much, you don’t know how helpful this has been.”

They smiled at her and stuttered out, “O-of course! It was my pleasure.”

Gem nodded her head to them respectfully before taking off down the halls, heading for the main stairs to take her to the second story of the castle. She turned out of the smaller hallway and into the expansive main hall, where the ceiling was broad, curved, and painted in shades of white and gold. Sunlight filtered in from the windows in the front. The stairs, covered in plush red carpet, were tall and would quickly wind anyone who was not used to their great climb. Gem, however, was on the second floor in no time, having long gotten used to them.

She was greeted by many of the servants as she passed, and she did her best to politely return their greetings even though she was in a hurry. She knew this castle like the back of her hand, so she easily weaved her way through the halls until she came to the end of the servant's portion of the upstairs area, where the laundry chute was located. She grimaced as it came into view.

Usually, it blended in with the decor fairly well, and one could easily mistake it for an ornate design on the wall it they did not know what to look for. The only thing that really gave it away was the weathered handle used to pull it open. It was designed specifically with discretion in mind, was what she was told when she had first moved into the castle as a teenager. The only people meant to know where or what it was were the staff. 

Now, though, the hatch was crooked and not sitting in the wall quite right, the paper around it peeling and showing the damaged walling behind. If she had to guess, there had previously been debris on the ground, which had to have been cleaned up in the aftermath, because it looked as though some of the paper and the wall were chipped away and missing entirely.  A cold breeze came in from the dark hole that peaked out from the mangled remains of the poor chute.

It looked as though someone had either pulled it open with the power of twenty men all at once, or like they had attempted to kick it open from the side. Or.... like someone had forced it to take the weight of a human body.

She pulled on the handle and cringed when it came open far too easily, sending little bits of stone dust swirling down towards the carpet. She pondered it for a moment before concluding that if the person was slight enough, they just might be able to crawl inside of the small space, even if it was with a lot of difficulty and maneuvering. She suspected that someone had done just that, and the belief was only reinforced when she noticed a bit of what looked like dried mud on the back of the hatch.

But what in the nine hells was their little intruder doing going down the laundry chute? Not to mention that both the laundry chute and the laundry room itself were located in the southwest part of the castle, which was a long ways away from the garden. The laundry room wasn’t even accessible from the outside either. Just what had been their route? And what of their intentions? This was a very peculiar situation.

Even after venturing down into the laundry room, she couldn’t wrap her head around it. The only thing that had been amiss in the room (which smelt so strongly of soap and perfumes that it made her head spin) was the broken basket that was used to catch clothing sent down the chute. None of the servants in the laundry room even had any answers for her. No one had been in the room when whatever, or whoever, it was dropped down from above. 

There were no witnesses, no other clues, nothing for her to go off of. She had no idea how they got in, nor what they had done while inside. She knew even less about the way they took to get out.

It occurred to her then that perhaps she was overreacting. It could have been someone within the staff that caused the damages to the chute, and they were too embarrassed to come clean. It could have been anyone walking around in the garden last night. Bdubs couldn’t have been sure who it was that he saw, it was late and he had just woken up. Who was to say he hadn’t dreamt of it and those prints were from the knights she had patrolling early in the morning to quell the same paranoia that was consuming her right now?

She paused her walk back to the garden with a sigh. She groaned in frustration as she ran her hands down her face, fingers gripping the stray curls of ginger hair that hung down in front of it. She was falling right into Grian’s hands, she realized in defeat. She was letting her worry get to her after she said she wouldn’t do just that, and she was losing her straight head in the process.

What was she doing chasing around ghosts and playing detective at a time like this? She had patrol routes to be signing off on and training to be overseeing. She should have asked Impulse or Scott to look into it the second she saw the footprint. No, right when she heard of the potential intruder's existence.  She had let herself get too prideful, too eager to catch Grian and his people in the act all on her own that she’d rushed in headfirst with no plan and without even properly informing her right hands.  She was better than this.

“Curse you, bird.” She muttered bitterly under her breath.

She sighed again, this one longer and more drawn out than those previous. She better get back to her knights, find Scott and Impulse, and explain the situation to them in order to get a second opinion on the matter at hand before informing the king himself of the issue. Loath as she was to admit it, she couldn’t do this alone, especially if she wasn’t overthinking and someone truly had managed to bypass the castles security while her sights were focused elsewhere.

It hadn't even been a full 24 hours and this whole ordeal was already so stressful.

Several long hours later Gem trudged her way to the training yard. The sun was setting in the sky, and she was unbearably exhausted. After locating Scott and Impulse, they discussed what to do and decided that Scott, ever the social butterfly, would be the one to interview the staff and ask them what they had seen, if anything at all.  Impulse was to oversee the implementation of the rest of the new security measures under her orders and guidance. He also took over her evening training sessions with the newbies despite her protests. Bless her longtime friends for making sure she stayed sane.

She should be in her office writing up those routes and assigning people to them, but she needed a moment to clear her head. She needed to beat up some training dummies.

Thankfully the expansive area was empty by the time she made it there, training having ended an hour or so ago. Everyone should be preparing for dinner right around now. She stepped into the marked ring, the soft dirt shifting under her boots. She pulled one of the practice swords out of the barrel and then rounded on the dummy, her movements slow and precise.

Before coming here, she had also spoken to the king and informed him of the intruder. It had gone just as well as her warning about Grian’s initial threat had; badly. He dismissed her once again. Her! His own royal commander, who he had personally selected and appointed! You would think that he would have more faith in her after all she’s done and continues to do for this kingdom! Frustration built up inside of her as his words echoed in her head.

I’ll let you do as you please for now, but I believe you are making something out of nothing, Gem. This so called intruder is nothing but your mind and the gardener's wild imagination playing tricks on you after a stressful night. There is no use getting worked up over nothing. But how could he be so sure that this was 'nothing'?  There were lives at stake, a whole kingdom on the line, and he does not believe they should be just a little bit more cautious?

Channeling her emotions into energy, she lunged at last, the sword slashing across the dummies chest and leaving behind deep grooves in the already scarred surface. It teetered to the side but was steadied by a second slash to the opposite side. She rolled to the right and around to the dummies back before launching herself up with a graceful spinning motion, cutting in a large, broad motion across the wood.

She jumped back, imagining that there was a counterattack that she must dodge away from. She sidestepped around back to the front of the dummy, holding her sword close to her body. Anger bubbled up in her chest as the dummy's wooden face seemed to morph into that of Grian’s. She pictured his cheeky grin, his void-like, black eyes, his taunting words.

Something big is coming, Gem. The end might be closer than you think. He snickered inside her mind.

She sneered as she jabbed the tip of her sword into the dummies face with as much force as she could muster, chipping the wood and sending it toppling to the ground as the weapon was ripped free from her grip, now deeply imbedded in the things head. She stood there, breathing heavily through clenched teeth as she glared down at the fallen dummy. His hands were balled into painful fists, trembling at her side.

“That was pretty violent, no?” A familiar, bubbly voice asked to her left.

She whipped her head around to the source of the voice and there she found a woman sitting on one of the nearby barrels, one leg crossed over the other with her elbows planted on her knee while she rested her chin in her cupped palms. Long, lanky limbs, messy brown curls partially covered by a red hood, crystal blue eyes, a bright smile with a crooked fang showing proudly, a crescent moon shaped birthmark covering the left side of her face; all of these were the features that made up her very dearest friend.

“Pearl!” She exclaimed, her anger dissipating immediately to be replaced with a giddy joy. She bounded up to the woman, stopping right in front of her, their knees practically touching with the proximity. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at her with a tilted head.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite menace.” She said, a painfully wide grin tugging at her cheeks. Pearl feigned offense, putting her hands up to her mouth with a dainty gasp.

“A menace? Me?” She asked, “Nonsense, you know me, I’m an angel.”

Gem belted out a hearty laugh at that, leaning back with her hands on her belly. Pearl giggled, a light blush on the tips of her ears as she unfolded her legs to kick Gem in the shin hard. Gem yelped and jumped away, wiping a tear away from her eye before straightening up. 

“What brings you here this fine night?” Gem finally asked.

She had known Pearl for nearly nine whole years now. They met in this very training yard on a warm summer day with the sun beating down on their skin. Pearl, who worked at the most popular bakery in the capital, had been delivering pastries to the kitchen when she decided to wander around the castle as her boss handled the exchange. She had gotten hopelessly lost and somehow made her way outside and to the training yard, where she found Gem doing her drills.

She was a bit embarrassed to admit that her first instinct had been to attack the other woman and restrain her when she caught her watching from behind a barrel a little ways away from the training circle. Lucky for her, Pearl had laughed it all off before introducing herself and praising Gem's form; their relationship naturally bloomed from there. They had been through a lot over the years, and she could safely say that the older woman was her very best friend.

“Bigb and I are here making a bread and pastry delivery. The festival pretty much cleared out the royal kitchen, so I’ve heard. B and the cook got to talking and it was real boring, so I decided to come and see how you are doing. But~ by the looks of that poor dummy and the sudden increase in knights pretty much everywhere, something tells me not too good, then?” Pearl asked, raising an eyebrow. Gem grimaced and scratched the back of her head.

“It’s nothing you should worry about; I’ll make sure you’re safe.” She promised.

“You’ll personally make sure I’m safe?” Pearl asked with a laugh. This time it was Gem’s turn for her ears and the tip of her nose to darken to a shade of pink.

“If I have to, yes,” She said seriously, if a little flustered, “You’re my best friend.”

“....” Pearl turned away from her with an unreadable expression. “You’re too good to me, Gem. I’ll make sure you’re safe too.”

Gem furrowed her brow. Pearl sounded almost…sad? No…that wasn’t quite it. She couldn’t tell what emotion the other woman was expressing. It didn’t matter though, because it was gone in an instant, replaced by her typical chipper self in the blink of an eye.

“Anywho, I'm too curious for my own good so you have no choice but to answer my questions. What is with the increase in security? Something happen that I don’t know about? As far as I remember the festival went just fine.” Pearl questioned once more. Gem contemplated for a moment before deciding that she could share this with her closest friend. It would not be the first time she had heard all about Grian, after all. Gem had long ago gotten into the habit of complaining about him to her, though it was never anything as serious as this.

“Grian found me at the festival yesterday and made some vague threats about ‘the end being near’. Most, including the king, don’t think it is anything to worry about, but I know his games. It is better to be safe rather than sorry should his threats come to pass, so I've been upping security.” Gem said. Pearl’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

“He said that?” She asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. It was really weird.” She sighed and dropped herself onto her butt next to the barrel that Pearl was sitting on, making sure to avoid touching her dirty boots. “He went on about how he wanted me to live and that I better prepare myself because he has something big planned.”

“How odd…” Pearl said absently. Gem glanced up at her. She was staring off into the distance, her brow furrowed as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.��� Gem said.. “Whatever it is that he has planned, I’m doing what I can to make sure that warning doesn’t go to waste. I’ll put a stop to it.”

Pearl’s eyes flickered down to her, that unreadable expression back on her face. It was quickly replaced by a shaky smile that looked like it might slip any moment.

“You shouldn’t underestimate him. You have no idea what he’s capable of. I-I mean, none of us really do, do we?” Pearl said nervously. 

“I’m not underestimating him, Pearl. I am taking his threat very seriously. Everything will be just fine, I promise.” Gem said reassuringly. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring this up to her best friend, it seemed to have put the poor thing on edge. Of course it would, anyone would be at least a little disturbed by such ominous threats.

“Y-yeah…I’m sure everything will work out just fine.” Pearl said. There was a moment of silence between them before Pearl abruptly stood up, her knee knocking against Gem’s shoulder and her frayed cloak brushing against her face in the sudden movement. “I should be getting back, it is pretty late now, isn’t it? I wouldn't want to keep Bigb waiting too long.”

“Oh…Yes, it is quite late now,” Gem said as she stood as well, internally mourning the fact that she would now have to go do paperwork and work out those blasted patrol routes, paying extra attention to those blind spots in the garden. She should have liked to have shared a beer with Pearl, but a glance at the setting sun told her it was for the best they part ways now. “Let me see you in the kitchen then."

“No!” Pearl exclaimed, causing Gem to flinch away with her hand part way reaching out for Pearl’s shoulder. She immediately looked sheepish. “I mean, um, you don’t have to. I’d like a moment to think, if that’s alright.”

“Ah, I see… That’s perfectly alright. I’m terribly sorry if I’ve frightened you with the news I’ve shared.” She said sincerely. Pearl shook her head and gave her a softer, less shaky smile.

“You’re alright. I think that was just a little…jarring to hear. I’ll be alright.” She said.

“Of course… I will be seeing you again soon?” Gem questioned. Pearl nodded her head.

“Without a doubt. You’ll be seeing more of me very soon.” Pearl said, something twinkling in her eyes. 

They hugged, quick and light, before Pearl took her leave, strolling back in the direction of the kitchen she’d presumably gained access to the castle grounds through. Gem watched her go, unease and guilt eating away at her stomach. Gods, this day was really a train wreck right from the beginning to the very end. She hoped that fate would not make a fool of her, and that her promise to her friend would not turn out to be a lie.

Somewhere not too far away, a woman in red confronts an avian, her face twisted with rage as her hand grabs a fistful of his shirt.

"We need to talk"

[ramonathinks]

THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS — gojo, geto, toji, higuruma, nanami, choso, sukuna x reader ft brief kusakabe cameo

Summary: in order to become a full fledge succubus, you must have a meeting with the seven deadly sins in the underworld. but you weren't expecting a meeting like this.

Tags: (18+ MDNI), 8some(?)/gangbang/orgy, dirty talk, breeding, squirting, mention of a lot of kinks, anal play, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs/throat fucking, daddy kink, size kink, riding, cunnilingus, overstimulation, exhibitionism, slight impact play, orgasm control, nipple play, breath play, mutual masturbation, snowballing, praise, dumbification, degradation, dominance/submissiveness, cock warming, pet names, finger sucking, dacryphilia, hair pulling, ball stimulation, doggy, slight mlm scenes between Geto and Gojo ofc, full nelson, mating press, double penetration, anal fingering (female), etc.

tagging: @omgeto @screampied (also thank you bae for making the banner 😘🤞🏾) @hoshigray (thanks for beta reading babe!) @kingkonoha @kanekisfavoritegf

A/N: please for the love of god, don’t ask for no part 2. i think a lot of people underestimate how hard smut writing is and especially since this is an eightsome. THANK UUUU FOR 1.6k followers & for waiting as long as you did for this! (5.4k words)

“Well, there’s one last test you have to complete…” Yaga told you, his face was a bit flushed. “It’s rather — er — well… Actually, I’ll just send you to them so that they can explain it to you.” He did an awkward cough and escorted you to the elevator; where he clicked the illuminating number seven. “Just tell them you’re here for your last succubus test.” He gave you a thumbs up and let the doors close behind him.

“Okay, cause that wasn’t totally weird.” You muttered to yourself, watching the elevator’s number increase. Your heart hammering in your chest. You’d been training for this for the past two years, you couldn’t believe you had one last test.

When the door opened, your eyes widened. There were dark velvet color drapes that decorated the entrance of the room as you stepped off the elevator. Every step you took, you felt a deep sense of uneasiness erupt in the pits of your belly. “Hello?” You finally mustered up some courage to speak. “I’m here for the last part of my succubus exam!” You exclaimed, noticing the dimly lit lights above you creating an ominous yet sexual atmosphere around you. Your thighs trembled. 

“Come in, little lady.” A man’s voice said as a door warped in forth of your body and pushed itself open. “Shoes off.” The man said. Hesitantly, you walked inside and slipped off your shoes. Your eyes roamed across the room as you noticed how wide it was – a velvet carpet floor that was soft between your white colored toes. Bits of fog clouded your vision; you could make out bodies but not faces.

“Oh, she’s quite a looker.” Another voice says around you – wrapping around your body like a snake. 

You heard a snicker, “You’re right, and I could smell just how wet she is; that’s the best part. Can’t wait to eat her up.” You could practically hear this person lick their lips. 

“She doesn’t even know what she’s in for… innocent little slut.” Your knees trembled at that. The way these men were speaking had you hot all over, even the air felt different as you stepped forward.

You swallowed, “I can hear you–”

“Oh, believe me… we know.” This time, when this voice spoke, he raised his hand and the fog split down the middle before completely leaving. Then, you were able to truly see the men who sat in front of you, and your body ran cold.

Seven men, who you were able to recognize from the many lessons you had drilled into your brain from your classes. You gulped as most of them chuckle upon seeing your eyes finally take in just who you were looking at. The legends themselves.

The Seven Deadly Sins: Sukuna Ryomen — Pride, Kento Nanami —  Sloth, Suguru Geto — Gluttony, Satoru Gojo — Lust, Choso Kamo — Wrath, Toji Fushiguro — Greed and Higuruma Hiromi — Envy

You swallowed, “So — um— what’s exactly the final part of my exam? Do I have to…like… pretend this is Jeopardy and answer a bunch of questions?” You heard a small scoff. 

“No. This is more the showing part of your exam.” Sukuna told you, his eyes trained on you. “We need to see you score high marks in satisfaction. Do you understand?” 

You bite your lip; it was difficult understanding what he was saying and not be dripping wet. They were all so beautiful, your nipples prodding out of the thin layer of your dress. You’ve had sex before, but that was way before your genes had kicked it. Twenty-one, inexperienced and horny. Now, you’re older and had basically been celibate for two years (excluding your times of pure masturbation). You were convincing yourself this would be a challenge, and it was one that you were intrigued to take.

So, you slipped your dress down, standing out of it completely and stood stark-naked in front of their prying eyes. 

“Yeah, this is going to be fun.” Toji smirked, walking towards you with his unbuttoned pants low on his hips. “The thing about sex is,” he pressed his palms to your shoulders and lowered you down. “It’s degrading. So, I want you to sit here on your knees and to keep your mouth open while I feed you this dick, got that?” 

You nodded and opened your mouth. He was about eight inches and it looked heavy in the palm; he could barely fit it in one hand, so you wondered if it would fit down your throat. But as he put it in, you already knew your answer. He didn’t move, just stood still. It was something about him standing there with his hardening cock in your mouth that turned you on. “Suck,” he told you, and you did just that, like a good girl. Sucking around his cock with a wet mouth, pulling him out to tap his dick right on your tongue before tonguing at his slit. He hissed and pulled back before shoving it deep into your mouth, and your eyes rolled back.

Bubbling spit drips down to his balls and you squeeze them, taking him out of your mouth for a moment before trailing your tongue up and down his entire dick. Reaching his balls, you take one in your mouth and suck one then you trail your tongue back up to his tip. Spitting on his cock, you stroke him. “Damn, girl; you've been waiting for this, huh?” He grabs your head and focuses you to take the entire thing, his hips harshly thrusting in and out of your mouth.. You barely notice that someone’s behind you until they fondle your breast, and you jump a bit before relaxing. They kiss your shoulders and move up to your neck, making you shutter and moan around Toji’s cock. He groans above and snaps his hips against you, pulling you closer to his pelvis, “Fucking, mouth is killing me.” You suck harder when you feel a hand on your clit.

“Pussy’s so damn wet.” You can hear just how wet you are, and it’s embarrassing. The squelching noises fill your head and over makes your legs open more. “You like sucking his cock that bad? That you’re gettin’ this wet over it? Want my cock buried inside of you? Right here?” He taps your cunt and you groan, nodding your head and rocking your hips against his hand. “Can’t even speak with that mouth full and I can still hear you loud and clear, pretty girl.” 

You’re still sucking Toji’s cock, putting your hands on the floor to truly get more around him, pushing your head even deeper into his hips. Pulling him out of your mouth, you press hot kisses on his tip end then place him back on your tongue, now looking him in the eyes. You could tell he was close with his eyes shut and his head pulled back. He was throbbing on your tongue and his hips were moving faster; they swirled a bit before he shook with a deep orgasm. His hot cum rushing down your throat, and he moaned loud, “Ah–fuck, fuck.. fuck***!” You kept sucking, the fingers on your clit moved in achingly slow circles. And when Toji pulled you off his cock, they finally slipped inside. 

“Now gimme a kiss.” You did, with shaking hands and closed eyes. Sloppy and wet, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth before he pulled back and licked his lips. The fingers inside of your greedy pussy rubbed your insides, and you humped against them. 

“Keep going, please.” Your eyes were closed as you rode their fingers, unsure of who it was but knowing that it felt good. A thumb on your clit and kisses on your back before colder hands lifted your breast, kissing and biting them playfully. “Oooh, please.” 

He sucked, “You like that?” You whimpered out something even you couldn’t understand. Your body is simply a toy at that moment. His tongue moves over each nipple and makes delicate swirls around them. Finally, you open your eyes and see a bundle of long black hair – Suguru Geto, who sucks on your breast with his eyes closed and rubs at your other nipple with another. Arching your back into him more but also seeking comfort in the person behind you, who’s using their fingers to scissor your gooey insides. Briefly looking up, Geto pulls away from your breast and kisses the person behind you, only a small kiss but it makes you wetter regardless. 

“Kiss me again, made her little pussy clench.” He kisses him again and your wetness soaks his hand. 

“Satoru, you sure that was for her, not for you?” Geto chuckles, and you can feel a hardness pressing against your back. Geto moves back down to your breast when someone takes your hand and moves their cock inbetween. 

“Thought you were gonna let us have all the fun, Choso.” Gojo snickers behind you, curling his finger enough to make you moan aloud. You see a good amount of precum and your mouth suddenly feels dry. Taking your hand, you jerk him once and he already looks as if he’s going to cum. 

“Her hands are so soft. I..” He’s stammering. “Wait…Need to cum…” A small whimper leaves his lips and he uncontrollably jerks his hips up; fucking your hand. Applying a small bit of pressure to the tip, his eyes shut and he’s jumping back. Sticky wetness drips to the floor and he stands on shaky legs, his eyes pleading with you. Gojo rubs his fingers between your folds; keeping you in the palm of his hands as you play with the others.

“You wanna cum inside of me, hm?” The moment you utter that sentence he bends over, almost sobbing as he nods his head. Twisting your hand around Choso’s red leaky tip, you lick a trail up his frenulum. Winking at him you pull back and kiss Geto, swirling your tongue around in his mouth before Gojo pulls your face to kiss you. Moans take over the room while you roll your hips and move into Gojo’s fingers and Geto takes the opportunity to slip a nipple in his mouth and you try to ignore the feeling to focus on kissing. But you couldn’t focus, when you heard wet noises surrounding the room and you didn’t need to look up to know what it was; everyone was jerking off and it made your body scorching hot.

“Wait,” You whisper, close to Gojo’s mouth and gently pushing Geto’s head away from your breast, standing on trembling legs and walking to Choso. “Thought you wanted me, baby…” A flip switched, no longer at the whim of men. He’s speechless, just nodding his head and swallowing. 

He mutters a quiet, “I do, please…” He kneels, rubs up and down your legs and you place your foot right on top of his sticky boxers.

“Want me to step on it, baby?” Your voice is low and condescending, a smirk tugging on your lips.

He’s gnawing at the skin on his lips and his face is flushed. “Y-yeah?” Your smirk twists into an evil smile before your foot presses down on his leaking tip and his head leans back. His hips raise but you don’t move an inch. He’s whining and sweet small whimpers leave his lips as his hips thrash against your foot.

“Beg for it.” He can only whine, no words to be spoken as he humps your foot with breathy broken moans filled the room.

“Baby—” He’s looking up at you with dark eyes, his confidence shining through, just a bit. Smiling at him you bend your knees and put his cock between your dominant hand.

“Ready?” You ask and he nods. “Need you to speak up...” Hovering your dripping pussy over his upright cock, almost close to entering, slipping the head between your hot folds is what makes him speak up.

“Ye-yeah.” He gulps and pulls his lips to yours, kissing you. Your eyes roll back a bit and you swear you can see stars, sliding the tip of his cock at your aching slit, you both shiver before you finally let his cock slip inside. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and his thighs clench under you. You pull back from him and salvia breaks apart, which he lips back up with an awkward smile. Putting weight on your knees, you bounced up and down on him, your tits on full display as they bounced with every move you made. The loud sounds of your pornographic moans filled the room along with the wetness noises of slapping skin; taking more of his cock inside of you each time you bounced down.

Turning your head, you look at Gojo and Geto and like a bee to honey they both rush over; Geto rubbing at your clit with a nipple in his mouth and Gojo kissing your lips, drinking your moans up. 

“I think im going to lose my mind, the way she’s riding me… oh fuck, im not going to last.” Choso hisses underneath you and grips your hips, trying to slow your pace. Slowly, he fucks into you, dragging his cock into your inner walls and feeling your pussy squeeze him in a tight hug. 

“You’re such a good boy Choso.” You lean down to kiss him as Gojo focuses on pressing kisses to your spine. Raising your hips and slamming back down you whisper in his ear, “Don’t you want to fill me up? Don’t you want to cum inside me all night like a good boy? Huh?” After that there was no more talking for a while as you fucked him, rolling your hips in circles and moaning in his ear. Choso’s body was wuthering trying to keep up with you; your pussy splattering out white cream as you kept a dangerous pace before his stomach caved in.

“Be gentle with me, please? Please baby or I’m—” he mouths out your name when he comes, thick ropes as his hips jerk, his eyes rolling back. He’s heaving loudly, digging his fingers into your hips as he comes down from his high as his body trembles. 

You barely get a minute to catch your breath before Geto and Gojo slaps their cock on your cheek with dark smiles. You open your mouth, knowing that both can’t fit inside but hoping that the tips can. Their cocks graze each other and you swallow around them. 

“Slutty mouth, taking both of us.” Geto whispers to himself as he shoves more inside, his hand on your head. You gag and they both groan with pleased looks on their faces, Choso’s cock twitches inside of you. 

“Choso, don’t you think you're being greedy? I wanna fuck her too…” Gojo whines, looking down at your puffy wet eyes as you choke more on their dicks; both of them throbbing on your tongue. Lifting your hips, a small pop is heard and bits of cum leak out of you. Looking down at Choso’s half hard cock you grin, he’s breathing so hard with hooded eyes.

“Can’t wait to play with that ass,” Geto tells you and your eyes widen a bit. Slipping their cocks out of your mouth, you take his balls into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks so tight around him that he pulls you off. 

Gojo is quick to turn your attention to him, he ignores Geto’s annoyed stare as he lifts you up. Turning you to the others, he holds your body for everyone to see. Your entire body was being stared at, pussy on full display — soaking wet with cum and your own slick— his cock hard and standing upright, teasing your clit. He grips your thighs and spreads them a bit wider, small strings from sticky folds breaking off as your pussy spreads. 

He enters you, fills you up and your toes curl. “Fucking tiny, aren’t you baby?” His cock angled perfectly at this position, slick running down your thighs as he fucking directly into you. He’s hitting a deep gooey spot inside of you making wetness come out of you in spurts, your moans making Gojo shiver above you. 

“Hold her still for a minute,” Geto whispers, face directly by your pussy, wetness shined on his face and you felt hot. He must’ve been there for a while. Licking up a long stripe from Gojo’s tight balls to his cock before he nuzzles his face into your cunt, pressing his tongue hard on your pulsing clit — your thighs shake when he pressed a small kiss there. He wraps his tongue against the bud and you jump a bit when Gojo does a small thrust, knocking you loose when he hits that spot again. Geto licks and swirls his tongue around before he moves back. “Just wanted a little taste…” He spits on your pussy and watches it slide down Gojo’s cock. “Looking fucking pretty with his cock inside of you, ya know that?”

You whine, barely able to talk at the sensation coming from your body. “Sloppy pussy making all that noise, hear that?” Geto urges you to listen to the plat wet noises that fill the room and once again, you feel something taking over you. 

“Are you gonna let me come inside too? Huh, my little treasure?” Gojo bites your neck playfully, thrusting deeper, a long moan leaving your mouth. You don’t remember Geto pulling himself to stand but when you feel his cock slap right to your clit, you jolt. Running your slick and his precum. 

“Let me stretch this pretty ass out, you think you can take both?” His face is flushed, his fingers circling your asshole before his thumb plays with it, you clench a bit before relaxing. “Oh? Already been played with.” He says, spitting on his hand and rubbing it in before he gently nudges his tip into your tight hole that’s stretching ready to take him. 

Almost too easily, it slips in and he huffs out a laugh, “So proud of you, I knew you could take it both of them.” He’s stretching you open and your eyes are blown wide.

“Ohhhh!” Leaves your mouth as they both thrust inside of you, both holes clenching and unclenching around them. “Ohh, god.” Messy sounds between the three of you and two bodies come to your sides, both placing your hands on their aching cocks. Your eyes are so heavy you can’t tell who they are , but your hands move up and down regardless with their hips meeting every thrust you give them. An unfamiliar hand on your clit makes your back arch and you can hear laughing above you. “Gojo.” Your voice slurs out, his cock coming close to your cervix and twitching inside of your tightness. 

Rough fingers circle your clit again and you gasp, “Please? Please?” You don’t know what you’re begging for until both Gojo and Geto do hard thrusts inside of you, making your thighs almost squeeze together.

“You like it here? Right here?” You can’t tell who’s speaking but Geto grinds his hips in circles, your bodies so close. The amount of wetness leaking out of you, makes you dizzy and now your tongue lolls out of your mouth before Geto kisses you hungrily massaging his tongue against your own, pulling back and spitting in your mouth, watching your throat swallow. 

“Oh you like being full huh? Fucking stuffed…” Your voice is lost, you can only nod with a fucked out smile on your face. “Really gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” The softness of your insides squeezes them both and you can see Geto’s eyes close and you can imagine that Gojo’s is too when Geto throws his head back and both of their cum gushes into you.

“Fuck— fuck,” They say together, both slipping out a bit, panting. Cum splatters out of both your holes as your pussy and ass flexes, you whimper when they both finally slip. Your hands are still jerking the two other cocks as Gojo holds you tightly before one of the men grip your hair and shoves his cock into your mouth, completely to the hilt and your eyes water. You look up to see Nanami’s blonde locks and his deep brown eyes looking at you, Toji’s rubbing big circles on your clit and now squeezing one nipple with his other hand and Higuruma’s cock pulsing between your other hand. 

“C'mon little love, pretty mouth needs to be soaked again, too.” You moan around him as he uses your throat, pulling you by your hair, groaning when he feels  you swallow around him. Your eyes flutter close as you suck with your, pulling him out so that his cock can sit on your face while you catch your breath. You can feel Gojo hand your body to Toji and you feel empty for a second not realizing that Toji’s leading you to a bed. 

He lays you flat on your back and Nanami moves between your thighs, bending over your body. 

“Some men like to see you touch yourself, I'm one of those men. Show me and I’ll reward you like the good little girl you are.” Nanami whispers right next to your ear. “Then I’ll help you, yeah? Would you like that?” You nod quickly and he moves back, sitting to watch. 

“Play with those pretty tits for daddy.” Your hands move faster than your brain and you reach for them, tugging at your nipples then squeezing them while you look at him. Your body is so overstimulated, you feel like you’re going to come any second. “Don’t come until I say so.” He reaches over to slap your clit and your thrash up, wanting him to touch you more. He slaps your pussy again and a wet stream follows down your ass before pulling again to just watch. 

You circle your nipples, looking at your breasts and tempted to reach down to please yourself. “Look at me… look at me while you touch yourself.” You whine and with eyes clouded with tears, you look at him. “Touch your pussy.” He looks directly at your pussy when it clenches around nothing but the air. 

You circle your clit but you ache for his fingers; they’re long and slender. Pressing deep into the bud with your middle and ring fingers, squishy gushing sounds while you work yourself up. Your fingers slipping inside briefly before you let out a frustrating sigh.

“Poor girl can’t even finger herself correctly, want daddy to show you?” You look up at him and he’s replaced your fingers with his and he’s curling them together, your legs quaking as his fingers fucks more squirt out of you. “Gotta get ‘em really deep to stretch this little cunt open.” He tells you, pushing against your g-spot a little, breathy moans leaving your mouth. Pulling his fingers out, he slips them into your mouth, twirling them around so that you can taste Gojo, Choso and yourself all on your tongue. “Your turn, put these fingers in deep.” He helps you put them in and curl them just like he did; he presses kisses to your lips and looks down at the puddle in the sheets. 

Your eyes roll back and you can’t breathe, he pulls back and looks at you. “You’re so pretty like this, you know that? Prettiest girl ever, just for me to see.” But it wasn’t just for him to see. You were putting on a show for all of them. Touching yourself and spreading your lips as their hungry eyes looked over your body.

He moves between your thighs and with a gentle tap to your clit, you both moan. You bite your lip, “Daddy, I—” He ignores you, pushing himself through your soaked and wet lips. He slides up against your slit and you shiver. He gives you a wide smile and kisses your lips; licking against your tongue, shushing you. Pushing forward, he moves your legs up so that your knees are pressed against your chest, once he enters you, cum leaks into the sheet. 

“This is what you want right? To be mine forever, to be ours forever? You don’t want to use your powers on anyone else… just me— just us?” He asks, pushing his cock deeper watching your face morn into a pleasureful expression. His cock has a curve in it and with the angle he has you in, you can feel every inch as he rams into you; fucking you while his cock fucks down and deep inside of your slutty cunt; his balls hitting the rim of your ass the harder he goes. 

Higuruma comes next to you and puts his cock in your mouth, not moving. Gathering spit in your mouth, you swirl your tongue around the head, teeth grazing him a bit and he seems to like it by the way he grips your hair. Choso stands on the other side of you and pushes your head his way, you let his hips thrust harshly and his balls slapping against your chin before Higuruma grabs your face and jerks off with your eyes on him; which Nanami doesn’t like. 

“Keep your eyes on me.” He grabs your face, his hips slamming against yours. “They can do whatever they want but when I'm inside of you, you keep your eyes on me.” That makes your eyes snap to his and even with the cocks in your face or in your mouth, your eyes are locked on his. His hips lose rhythm, stuffing you and he mutters a ‘fuck’, close to coming and you tighten your pussy to milk him dry. When he finally spills inside you get annoyed when you don’t cum. 

“Tell us you want it. Say how bad you need it.” Nanami says, a smirk engraved on his face.

“I… I want it, I need it.” His hands slide up and down your thighs.  “Please let me cum. It’s too much, I don’t think I can take it.” You needed to cum badly, pushing your hips up to his again. He slips out before slipping back inside and doing that over and over again before he slides in deeper, hitting that special spot inside of you harder than Gojo did and you cream around him. 

“Thank you, so—hah— so much, daddy.” Your pussy is flexing open and close as you stare at him, taking Choso’s cock back into your mouth then switching to Higuruma’s and suckling on the head. 

“Such good manners for a slut, don’t you think boys?” He says and you can hear the smiles on all of them as they agree and you feel giddy, almost satisfied. 

Higuruma moves from your mouth and hurries to your pussy, not saying anything as he spreads the lips before diving inside, his tongue licking up every bit of everyone before him and his nose nudging against your clit, you pushed his head deeper, grabbing his hair and grinding your hips so that he nose can hit every nerve in your clit. “Ohhh, sir, please just keep it right there.” Applying the pressure yourself and wiggling your hips, your legs stretched far and your brain turned to mush. “Gonna come, so hard.” You gasp before your legs cramp up slightly when you push him impossibly deeper. 

“How’s she taste?” Toji asks, looking at your face as you groan and squirm. 

“So fucking sweet…” he meets your eyes. “Better than anything I ever had. Don’t think anything could compare.” He nibbles on your clit. “It tastes better than heaven.” That was your breaking point and what made you break, cumming hard and squealing as you did. 

 Toji doesn’t care about you cumming as he digs his face in and sighs at the taste.

Using his fingers to spread you open. “I see what you mean Higuruma, this fucking sweet nectar on my tongue,” Toji uses more of his nose and your hips grind more, trying to feel more of his nose on your clit. 

Nanami’s cock is in your face and your head is upside down on the bed; head on the edge as you lie back and his cock fills up your throat, your eyes closed. He watches and feels you swallow around him and he mutters out a small, “Fuck, you’re killing me dollface,” when he can actually see himself, the outline of his cock inside of your pretty throat. He runs a finger up and down. He does a small squeeze to your throat as you suck, sloppily. But you wanted a bit more, the taste overwhelming your mouth making you move yourself to the edge of the bed, your nose on his pelvis and the small bush of his pelvic hair tickling your jaw. Even upside down, he could see the dazed look in your eyes, blown and bright as he slowly thrust his hips into your mouth. “There she is, there’s my girl.” 

You can hear Gojo laughing when he says, “She’s so far gone, all she knows is that she loves this. Little brain doesn’t work without a cock filling her up.” Agreements are heard all around and you feel so small, but Nanami rubs your head, scolding them with a stare. 

You can feel the presence of Sukuna before you see him; all touch around you disappearing before he bullies his cock inside of you, saying nothing. He just stares at you, your body humming as he rocks inside of you. “You like that? Gonna make a mess outta you.” He says, your mouth in a permanent ‘o’ shape, his heavy cock slamming down and filling your body up as the breath leaves your throat. “Dirty, filthy slut. Aren’t you, woman? All this cum inside of you and still want more, little pussy begging for it.” You clamp down on him and he hisses, still talking to you as he digs deeper inside of you – he probably has the thickest cock of them all, you can feel it in your throat. “You like being paraded around and fucked like a whore, like you’re nothing, you dirty little girl.” 

You’re nodding, gasping for air and nodding as he speaks down to you, getting wetter as he speaks to you. “Mhm. Yes, Oh– I do.” He has a devilish grin and he moves forward to bite your lip and then kisses you deep. 

“Just needed a real man to dig this pussy out the right way, yeah? To stretch you out. They weren’t doing it like me… c’mon, I know you’re close. So sensitive and wet for me. This fucking pussy’s crying for me,” And he was right, it was. It was weeping and with every stroke, more wetness covered his cock, dropping and splattering underneath you both. He licks the tears that fall from your face and asks you, “You like pleasing me? I can see it all over your face whenever I put my dick inside of you.” More tears fall and you can only nod your head at him, sobbing. 

His pace gets faster and more rough, bending your knees so that they touch your ears and your thighs shake move than they have today, thin milk colored cream mixed with wetness and so much overflowing cum leaks out of you but he doesn’t stop, just continues, slows down and then speeds up again. You can’t keep up with him, just lying there as he fucks you; small soft moans still leaving your lips. He coos at you, kissing your forehead. “Gonna fucking, cum inside my pussy, okay? This is my pussy.” He asserts his dominance over you and your body more than any of the others. With a strained moan, he fills you up; just another load inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and eventually they close. 

“Come back to us baby…” You hear murmurs around you, your body hot and flushed all over, your cunt and tits sore. your throat is scratchy. “I think she passed, right boys?” They chuckle and nod before Geto speaks again, “But, let’s try again to make sure she really gets it.”

Just then, the door opens and you can hear a shocked gasp, everyone looks in that direction. 

“Hey, Kusakbe, wanna train to be a sinner today?” Your legs shook and you huffed, looking up at the man who just entered. He smirked at your vulnerable form.

“Well…What the hell, yeah.” He unbuttoned his pants. “Ready for me, pretty?”

[chuluoyi]

jealousy, jealousy...

- nanami kento x reader

your husband seems to be immune to jealousy, and you've pretty much convinced yourself that he just doesn't have it in him... or does he?

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, jealous!nanami (he is in denial), implied suggestive content, mentions of pregnancy, gojo cameo (i just can't pass up the chance of him annoying the heck out of nanami ahaha)

note: based on this ask, this is a little continuation to the secret wife! and this is in the same universe as love entries so gojo is married to the love entries reader! :)

general masterlist

By all means, Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He knows his worth. And he knows you. Out of all people, you wouldn't try anything with anyone.

Even more so with Ino. He knows him too, and there is just no way.

So... he really shouldn't get riled up, especially when it was his shitty senior who tried to set him on fire—

"It's still beyond me, how you managed to bag her," Gojo remarked with a bark of snort. Both of them shared the same table in this high-end bar, an afterparty for the school's graduation, but Nanami was seriously considering to move after Yaga left earlier until this clown came. "And keep her a secret too. I mean, that's so foul! If I were your wife, I'd divorce you on the spot."

Nanami threw him a pointed look. "The feeling is mutual. I feel bad for her for putting up with you too. And please don't be gross and say things like you being my wife. It's appalling."

Gojo's wife being his close friend and former classmate was what foul, Nanami thought. Sure, he would acknowledge Gojo's relentless efforts, but still, anyone willing to be this shameless paintbrush's wife must lead a really daring life.

The strongest sorcerer rolled his eyes. "Nah, I'll have you know that my married life is full of bliss. I have a proof, look at my—"

"If you want to show me hickeys, I'll seriously report you for harassing me."

And to that, Gojo merely whined and pursed his lips, and Nanami finally had some peace. He really entertained the thought of going back, because Gojo wasn't exactly a fun company, and this was getting late, until…

"Hey, Ino—the one who always follows you around," Gojo suddenly said. "Whoa, you're letting him close to your wife too, huh?"

Nanami whipped his head to where you were, and true to what Gojo said, you were indeed there, talking animatedly to his junior.

You were all smiles, and Ino was every bit as excited as you were. There was nothing remotely wrong with how you were conversing. You two looked like a pair of really, really good friends.

Ever since word of your marriage got out and became common knowledge, you've been receiving the kind of attention that Nanami wasn't sure he preferred. While he hadn't intended to keep it a secret, he certainly felt that a more private life was preferable.

But the thing was… weren't you too close with him? If it were up to him, Ino could've had at least two steps back. What were you discussing anyway?

"You're a lax husband, Nanamin, heh," Gojo whistled, totally grinning because he won this fight. "I know you probably think it's harmless, but a puppy is still a dog, you know~"

A puppy... is what?

That night, that phrase was what going through in his mind over and over as he chugged down his drinks.

No way, no way... It must have been because he had too much to drink. He couldn't possibly!

The next time he felt that unpleasant feeling, it was on one night, at the comfort of your home.

Both of you had just finished watching a movie, still lounging on the sofa. You were blissfully humming, texting away on your phone at—Nanami looked at the clock—11 p.m.

Now, now, he wasn't one who would be checking your phone or such, but he couldn't deny the curiosity within him, because you weren't usually texting anyone this late at night.

"Hehe~" suddenly, you giggled and Nanami glanced at you in wonder. You seemed to be having fun.

Who... are you texting?

Despite telling himself he wouldn't meddle in your affairs, he gruffly cleared his throat. "Dear, it's late."

"Oh?" you whipped your head to him. "Oh, yeah..."

You were genuinely confused, your husband was folding his face as if he was sour of something. "Kento? What's wrong?"

But suddenly, his face lit up into a smile, kind of forced though. "Ah, nothing..." And suddenly he lifted you up from the sofa, making you almost yelp as you dropped your phone and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Time for bed."

However, what you didn't realize was that your phone's screen lit up just as the sender replied to your message, and Nanami caught a glimpse of it.

Ino.

A puppy is still a dog, you know~

The heck?

"Kento?" you asked again, and he immediately turned to you, unable to read the message. Still, his mind was reeling in many ways, and when he looked into your innocent, round eyes, suddenly he clicked his tongue, eyes slitting in dissatisfaction.

"Time for bed, dear."

Long story short, that night, your husband was somehow a little more aggressive than usual... even as he fondled you ever so softly at the end.

The third time, Nanami had enough.

He had just finished a mission when he got that call from Ino, informing him that you were at a clinic after nearly passing out.

Out of anyone else... how could you not call him first?!

He may be vexed, but worry was what clouded his mind the most. You were almost five months pregnant now, and to have this happening to you—

He walked in to find you lying on the small bed, your eyes lighting up when you saw him. "Kento..."

"What happened to you? Why didn't you call me?" his voice was rough, and your smile fell. You felt him gripping your hand tightly. "How can you—"

Ino, sensing his apprehension, suddenly intervened, "Uh, Nanami-san, it's not—"

Nanami turned to him sharply, causing him to gulp.

"We were... in a bakery when Y/N-san suddenly felt faint," the younger man explained. "Please don't be too hard on her."

"And why are you with my wife in broad daylight?"

"Kento, it's not what it looks like!" you squeezed his hand urgently. "We were just... trying to find a cake, you know..."

"...what?"

And that day, everything Nanami thought he knew was turned on its axis. Perhaps, if he wasn't thinking too much—if Gojo's words hadn't taken his mind, he wouldn't jump into conclusions this easily.

Your first wedding anniversary was just in a couple of weeks, and you had enlisted in Ino's help to find this one bakery that he swore sold only the best goods. Your texts to each other were solely about that—nothing more, nothing less.

"Aww, Kento~" you cooed as Nanami helped you into your shared bed once you got back home. "You got jealous, it's cute, and I'm happy~"

He huffed. "I was not jealous."

"Ehh, didn't look like that to me though~"

"Listen," he said, taking hold of your shoulders once he had seated you on the bed, looking straight into your eyes. "From now on, whatever you do... you have to contact me first, alright?"

"Oh—?"

"When you need something, when you don't feel well, when you feel like you might be in some kind of danger..." his tone was serious, emphasizing each word. "You have to reach out to me first. You don't go to Ino, Gojo, or anyone else—me. You go to me. I'm your husband, and I intend to fulfill that role well for you."

And he placed a hand on your tummy, gently caressing it. "And of course the father role for the baby too."

You clamped up, totally speechless. This unexpected development made your heart soar with a heap of giddiness.

"Yes!" Your smile was so wide and radiant that Nanami was sure he had started to blush too. Then you flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. "And you know... you're already the best husband and soon-to-be father ever! So you don't have anything to worry about, okay?"

Ah, how nice. Nanami chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of your back.

"Mhm, and from now on, I'll take charge of our anniversary. You only have to take it easy, alright?"

And when you giggled, he thought having you in his embrace like this was enough to satisfy him—after all, he was a simple man.

Epilogue

"I know even Nanami gets jealous! Heh, heh, heh~"

Gojo laughed crisply, and Shoko snorted as they listened to Ino recount the story, with the latter scratching his head uncomfortably.

"I really didn't mean anything, and now I feel kinda bad," the younger man said, his head dropping. "Nanami-san seemed upset too..."

"Not many things can get under his skin," Shoko remarked. "I really thought he'd be more rational, but having an expecting wife must've taken quite a toll on him too."

"Nah, don't find more excuses, Shoko! Now is time to pay up~!"

As Shoko grumbled and Ino was lost in his own thoughts, a loud cough suddenly echoed behind them.

"Gojo-san... Ieiri-san..." Nanami leveled his unamused gaze on them, his glasses glinting in the light, causing the two gulp. "What are you two doing?"

[ghostlyfleur]

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

eddie munson x new girl

contents: new girl referred to as angel, lovesick!eddie, strangers to friends to lovers, hellfire club, dustin henderson cameo, mutual pining, inexperienced!reader, shy!reader, maybe fairy!reader but i’m not sure yet.

word count: ~1k

summary: eddie lets his love consume him, and he’s okay with it.

eddie munson is down bad. in love. completely enamored. shot by cupid. and she’s beautiful. the fairest maiden in all the land.

she’s all flowery dresses, flowy skirts, cozy sweaters, butterfly clips in her hair, fairy wing eyeliner design and shimmery glitter on her eyelids, sparkly pink lipgloss, highlighter on her cheekbones— the prettiest angel he’s ever seen. absolutely ethereal. the thing is, she’s terribly clueless. oblivious, even. her and eddie have built a lovely friendship over the last few months, ever since he met her when he picked dustin up from the library. that’s when it happened. that’s when he got hit. an arrow straight through his heart.

his angel — because she must be an angel, with the way the sun followed her around and made her shimmer — was aiding dustin with his search, trying to find books on supernatural lore that he could take inspiration from for the campaign he was putting together. it was dustin’s first campaign in his hellfire club career, and he was taking it very seriously to eddie’s amazement and amusement. but whatever thoughts about dungeons and dragons that were swirling around his head cleared completely at the sight of her; in her white sandals, knee-length white silky skirt, and alice in wonderland graphic tank top she was a sight to behold. a mirage. a dream. sunny disposition, bright smile, fidgety hands, and the most enchanting voice— a siren call, really. and eddie was hooked. it didn’t help that dustin talked his ear off about the nice girl that was quick to provide him with an immense list of folklore and magic lore books that could help him, about fairytales and whimsical creatures.

“she talked about fairies as if she were one, dude, it was sick!” dustin gushed.

eddie noticed the kid kept going back to the same library, kept entering his van afterwards with a list of books and another cute tale revolving around the pretty angel girl of eddie’s dreams. until one day dustin looked all nervous and coy and a little scared, and yeah, usually eddie loved to invoke that same reaction from him, but this time he didn’t know the reason behind it, behind the kid’s hesitant gaze. and truly it couldn’t have been a better reason. dustin wanted the mystery angel to be able to attend hellfire, to watch his campaign.

“‘s the least i can do, man! she helped me with a lot of it and she was like- super interested in my shirt and stuff, please?” eddie’s quick reply, the resounding ‘yes’ he couldn’t hold back, caught dustin by surprise but he didn’t question it. don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, right?

angel showed up in a long skirt with a flower pattern, converse shoes, and a black queen shirt tucked in. braided hair, lipgloss, and a tupperware box filled with chocolate chip cookies for the whole club.

“my thanks for letting me crash your campaign.”

eddie was hooked. once the session was done and the boys were gone, thanking her profusely for the treats after they picked her brain for cryptid lore, she stayed behind to help eddie tidy up, and they talked about music. she was shy, incredibly so, soft spoken and giggly and socially awkward, but she laughed at eddie’s jokes and playfully teased him once or twice, and complimented his bats tattoo, so eddie offered her a ride home. she gracefully declined, claiming she drove herself, so he walked her to her car instead.

plans were made so that she attended each of dustin’s campaign sessions and through those sessions, the clean up afterwards, the talks about music and bands and movies, their time together evolved to going for milkshake afterwards, a coffee shop for some hot chocolate sometimes, and a friendship blossomed. a very strong one at that.

being alone, living alone, existing alone was kind of her thing— she preferred to be by herself, to indulge in her hobbies on her own, because she was anxious. extremely anxious. but apparently not at all reserved about it or ashamed of talking about it, which was proven by the fact that she casually let it slip pass her lips that she had an anxiety disorder the very first time she was alone with eddie after hellfire.

not a single sign of shame or guilt in admitting it, and eddie admired that.

admired that she was a loner even though she was so polite and kind, ready to send anyone she walked past a smile because she knew how much it mattered to those who needed a little kindness. a quiet soul but couldn’t shut up if you cared enough to figure out her interests, she laughed at everything, giggled without reason sometimes, talked to herself a lot, was often lost in daydreams, had a dark sense of humor surprisingly. complex but friendly. eddie couldn’t get enough, always wanting to find out more about her, to talk to her more, to understand her more.

but most importantly, in her opinion, eddie allowed her to be herself without any judgment. encouraged her even. and that was priceless. so yes, a strong friendship bloomed, but neither one of them wanted to stop at just that. the dark haired boy was quickly aware of his growing feelings, his attraction, his infatuation that turned to love, while his angel didn’t clock in on her emotions quite so fast, being entirely inexperienced and lacking any previous romantic validation. her anxiety and introverted tendencies played a part in that too, probably.

but that’s alright, eddie is more than okay with waiting for her to catch up.

♡

── harmo’s footnotes:

i love thinking about our sweet eddie falling for a soft girl. he deserves a cozy, comfy, cute love story! please remember to show your support by reblogging!

masterlist. eddie dreams.

ghostlyfleur © — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, or translate.

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

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

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

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

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

The year moves too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens when you’re finally being served.

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

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

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

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

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

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

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

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

You compartmentalise.

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

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

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

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

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

A late night.

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

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

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

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

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

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

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

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

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

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

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

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

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

You just know its absence is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

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

His grip loosens, though slightly.

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

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you open the tap.

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

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

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

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

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

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

You don’t remember.

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

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

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

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

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

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

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

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

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

None of it arrives.

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

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

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

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

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

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

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

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

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

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

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

“But I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

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

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

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

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

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

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

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

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

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

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

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

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

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

“Good,” you reply.

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

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

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

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

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

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

He keeps his word.

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

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

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

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

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

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

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

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

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

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

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

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

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

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

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

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

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, then audibly reply.

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

The drive is quiet.

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

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

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

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

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

He’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

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

The clinic is bright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A confused sound leaves Javier.

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

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

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

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

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

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

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

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

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

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

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

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

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

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

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

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

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not pregnant.

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

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

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

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

Over your empty womb.

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

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

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

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

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

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

See, you know why he’s calling.

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

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

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

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

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

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

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

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

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

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

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

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

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

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

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s on the younger side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

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

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

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

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

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

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

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

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

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

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

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

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

You both gather some decorum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then two steps, which you also match.

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

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

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

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

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

That single action changes the game, entirely.

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

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

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

The grip tightens.

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

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

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

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

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

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

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

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

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

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

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

A picture of Javi, and you.

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

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

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

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

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

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

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

He does good to bring you back into the room.

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

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

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

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

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

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

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

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

The card is plucked out your hand.

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

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

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

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

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

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

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

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

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

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

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

A few seconds pass. 

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

You feel the air tickle your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

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

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

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

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

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

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

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

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

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

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

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

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

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’d catch you, if you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both crash and burn, together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

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

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

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

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

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

Lights, baubles, action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

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

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

“Some what?”

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

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

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

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

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

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

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

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

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

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

Until tonight.

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

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

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

He’d offered to take you home.

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

He squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

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

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

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

It’s not just Christmas.

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

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

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

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

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

It’s the part you look forward to most.

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

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

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

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

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

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

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

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

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

Hinted at it, slightly.

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

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

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

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

The whole room stops.

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

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

Fades to grey.

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

He knows.

Of course he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

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

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

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

You say you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javi plays it cool.

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

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

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

Well, better than anyone but you.

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

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

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

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

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

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

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

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

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

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

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

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[pigeonxp]

ok now that bt is FINALLY bones, all i really have to say is fuck yall for real. there are some of yall that arent that bad, but the overwhelming majority of you guys are actually fucking awful. i have had twitter mutuals be harassed by yall, i have had friends harassed, ive seen people i dont even follow being called horrific things and insulting their appearances, and so so much more. one thing that really sticks out is the blatant misogyny that some of you guys present. the amount of men that have gone online and confidently called women bitches and sluts and whores and cunts and hoes is genuinely fucking deranged, and i hope you all know that. there have been bt stans in my replies and my inbox and in my business, telling me that IM in the wrong for stating my opinions on the weird ass shit theyve been doing, telling me that they "dont feel welcome" in this fandom, and that they feel like this fandom is toxic and etc etc etc etc I DONT CARE BRO. i have said it once and ill say it again and again. some of you guys are just not meant to be in fandom spaces. there are block buttons for a reason. you can block people and tags and literally everything under the sun but you continue to SEEK OUT shit that makes you mad or that you dont agree with just so you can hate on the OPs in their replies. you dont seem to understand that people can have opinions on what characters they like and what ships they enjoy, and that other people have the right to criticize them. i am NOT sorry and i will NOT apologize for how i may have reacted. i do NOT feel bad for you. we all told you that this wasnt going to last, the showeunner said it wasnt going to last. the ACTOR said it wasnt going to last. and instead of using critical thinking skills and media literacy training, you got tattoos for this ship, you spent hundreds of dollars on cameos from a nepo baby, and you spent days of your lives hating on and harassing people over a FICTIONAL TV SHOW. instead of being upset at LFJR for leading yall on, you attacked oliver stark for being "biphobic"??@?!?!??!!??!÷*×(!&×,@ for having an opinion on his own character, especially after he spent time becoming genuinely one of the biggest bisexual allies i have ever seen. after he told reporters that he was planning on playing buck as bi anyway, after he made post after post saying how excited he was for bucks storyline, and after he advocated for this character he loves so dearly. you jumped down his throat for no reason. i have absolutely no sympathy for you. i really do hope you follow lfjr back to SWAT and i truly hope he gets every single line and every single scene just to keep him off of my fucking screen. 🫶

[yongbokology]

idk if you’re taking any requests or not but if you are could you write jungkook x thick poc 🫶🏽✨

ofc lovely, idk if you meant thick in terms of like reader having a fat ass or a chubby bodied reader or both but for now let’s go with the latter

piercer!jungkook x chubby bodied! poc reader

warnings; possible grammatical errors but f it we ball. smut. ginger yoongi cameo

poc coded for my poc girls

“fuck i’m so nervous..” you mutter to yourself, knee bouncing as you wait for your piercer to get their equipment ready.

you had just finished signing what needed to be signed and now you were waiting your turn but as the seconds went by you were thinking about booking it the hell on out of there.

“relax girl, you’ll be fine. i’ve been getting pierced here for years. they’re going to treat you right, i promise.” ninging’s reassuring you with her dainty, manicured hands, clasped over yours.

you weren’t scared about a needle going through your nipples but you were starting to become a tad self conscious about if it’d look good or not. you heard that this piercing in particular was a confidence booster and it made you want to get them even more.

before you could relay the message to your best friend, a ginger haired male appears from behind the black curtain that sectioned off the next room. with a nod towards said curtain, he gestures you over to follow him and with baited breath.. you do.

your throat feels dry and give one last look to ningning who’s giving you a thumbs up with a big grin stretched across her lips.

you let out a breath and pull the curtains back, entering the next room. your eyes are instantly met with a black chair you’d see in a dentist office and a whole set up that looks expensive as fuck.

pictures of people with various body modifications, tattoos and piercings litter the walls. your eyes travel across the room, taking everything in until they land on a pair of soft brown ones and it’s then, you finally see him.

he’s standing at one of the four corners of the room, cladding his hands in black latex gloves. his dark hair frames his face beautifully, falling a little bit above his broad shoulders. a lip ring hangs onto the bottom of his lip, a silver bar to match on his brow. the rolled up sleeves to his shirt gives you a view of arms, one littered with beautiful ink.

his lips curl into a smile as he immediately notes you ogling at him. the feelings mutual though as he takes in your figure. your outfit complimenting every part of you. there’s something about your presence that’s drawing him in and it’s not just your body.

“alright, i’m gonna go on break.” the gingered male announces, turning on his heels to exit the room.

now it’s just you and who you assume to be your piercer.

“you can have a seat in that chair over there,” his voice is sweet. it doesn’t match his looks at all but hey, you’re not complaining.

“I’m jungkook by the way.”

“..y/n”

you bite your inner cheek as you make your way over to the chair, holding your purse close to your stomach, waiting for further instructions. As you sit in the chair it’s dawning on you that this hot ass fucking piercer, looking fresh out of the front page of vogue, is going to see your tits.

The thought makes your chest feel heavy, you chew on your bottom lip in an attempt to control your mind from wandering elsewhere.

With all the shuffling behind you, you presume that he’s getting his equipment ready. You're lost in your thoughts, constantly turning on your phone to check the time and for notifications even though you knew there weren’t any. Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice, slightly startled due to the fact that it’s been a while since he spoke.

He’s standing next to you now. Matter of fact, towering over you, a soft expression etched onto his face.

“You know, if you’re uncomfortable with me doing it. Our female piercer is like coming in thirty-”

“No! I’m fine honestly,” you reassure the man but he’s not so convinced.. So you hesitantly press further. “I’m not worried about that.. It’s just that i’m kind of having doubts about getting them.”

In all of jungkook’s seven years as a piercer, he’s heard it all. He was familiar with the nervous looks and anxious ticks. He’s heard all in the questions and concerns in the book. So with that being said.

“You know,” he starts, resting his tattooed arm on the chair while leaning down towards you, that fucking grin forming on his lips again. At this point he’s close enough to the point where you can smell the faint scent of thc that’s over powered by the minty gum that he’s currently chewing.

Your heart is in your throat as your eyes are basically bulging out your head. You usually weren’t one for people being in your personal space but this was okay.. More than okay.

God, you felt like such a perv for wanting him to come in closer.

“I’ve heard that i’m pretty convincing. Why are you doubting the piercing?”

You swallow thickly, blinking rapidly as you try to find your voice. “I’m kind of worried they won’t look good on me.” your voice is small.

Jungkook is slightly taken aback, a hint of confusion spreads across his features before he drops it and flashes you a warm smile. “If that’s the case, you have nothing to worry about.. But if you want a second opinion, lift up your shirt for me.”

Your insides are internally screaming at the last part. Even though you were aware he was just doing his job, the tone of his voice was taking effect on you. So much so that jungkook notices the way your thighs subconsciously push together. Oh, he likes this.

It takes you a few seconds to actually grab onto the ends of your shirt, lifting it up over your breasts.

Jungkook runs his tongue across his pierced lip, eyes glued to your chest and for a while he doesn’t say anything and you begin to feel more self conscious than before. As you begin to pull down your shirt, he grabs your wrist with his free hand, he’s looking at you with an intense stare that makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“As a piercer, you have nothing to worry about,”

You find your lips moving faster than your mind is able to comprehend.

“Personal opinion?”

Jungkook’s gaze drops down to your chest before flickering back to your face.

“I’ll show you, if you let me,” he’s dropping down to his knees, face leveled between your thighs, tilting his head while he’s looking up at you. “Please?”

You immediately find yourself nodding. You feel your core heat beneath your shorts. You’re slightly startled when he pushes the lever down, bringing your chair down so that he’s face to face with your tits.

He’s staring up at you as he’s leaning in, looking for any signs of uncomfort. He’s so close now. His breath fans onto your sensitive bud, closing his eyes as he takes it into his mouth. It warm. So warm.

Your lip is pulled between your teeth as you watch him. His tongue swipes over your nipple and it’s then that you feel something small poke against it and it dawns on you that he has a tongue piercing. The realization makes your cunt flutter, you try clenching your thighs again but is obstructed jungkook whose body you forgot was in between them.

His hands find their way to your plush thighs, smoothing his palms over them as his eyes flicker open.

You can’t control the obscenity that’s flying out your mouth. “F-fuck.” you whimper which makes jungkook’s dick twitch in his pants.

He removes his lips from your now wet nipple, kissing the top of your knee. “You have to be quiet for me, pretty girl ‘kay?”

You look up towards the fluorescent light and silently nod, cheeks heating in the process at the nickname he threw in there.

He’s smiling before going back in but this time giving your other nipple some attention. His ministrations are ten fold this time. His tongue swirls against your nipple while sliding one of his hands onto your clothed cunt. His hand slides under your pussy, rubbing his nimble fingers against it. You’re responsive with a soft gasp leaving you. This makes jungkook smile and he switches from working his tongue on you to full on sucking your tit.

You look down to see jungkook and god does submissive look so good on him. He’s got an innocent look going as if he’s not making out with your tit and totally not trying to finger fuck you in the process.

The sight makes you moan softly, your back arches off the chair and this makes jungkook’s fingers move faster. He somehow finds your clit through your shorts and rubs it, applying pressure.

Your moans are music to his ears, he’s half hard but could probably cum off this alone. Pleasure looks absolutely gorgeous on you and he’d do anything to see you like this again.. Maybe even forever.

He’s lost in you until your breathing is heavy and you’re looking down on him again. “J-jungkook,”

He’s humming against your nipple “hm?”

“I’m gonna cum.” you’re whining at this point, face twisted and ridden with euphoria.

In one swift move that leaves you utterly speechless because he’s practically handling you with ease, he unlatches himself from your nipple and tears down your panties and your shorts down to your knees. He wraps his arms around your deliciously thick thighs, pulling you down towards the end of the chair, leaving your pussy exposed to him.

He takes a moment to admire how wet you are for him, practically drooling at how pretty your pussy is. He wastes no more time and attaches his lips to your clit, sucking on it harshly. His tongue delves down your slit then back up to your clit, flicking it with the ball of his tongue piercing.

your hands fly to his hair, tugging on it which makes jungkook moan into your pussy. the vibrations adding onto the immense pleasure you were already feeling.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, lost in the midst of it all as he goes from licking at your clit to full on fucking you with his tongue. your mouth is ajar at the feeling and soon enough you’re creaming around his tongue, a broken cry falling from your pretty lips.

jungkook laps it all up like a man starved. you shudder at the feeling of being overstimulated but you taste so good he basks in it, hoping that you have more for him. when he realizes that you don’t he taps your thigh to get you to look at him.

it takes all the strength you have left and crane your neck down towards him, slowly opening your eyes. jungkook smiles at the fact how utterly fucked out you are but still manage to look so pretty.

“piercing free of charge if you can squirt for me.”

.

.

.

please this was supposed to be like a small drabble

[sgiandubh]

Yes. Toddlers are 3 and below. However this doesn't mean Sam doesn't know her as a friend nor mean he hasn't met her son, as they are friends, not dating. We all know they had lunch as friends, he cheered her at event as friend. Photos and video prove this. The park story is a story, no photos, no proof of any of it being real. Before you go there, yes video he and Caitriona had some hug/peck at a concert, but still no proof of marriage, nor romantic anything or intoxication. Believe what you want, beliefs aren't truths.

Dear Beliefs Aren't Truths Anon,

Congratulations, you have won the Weekly Audio bingo, since I am now speaking with more ease:

Excuse me, but... you accuse me of lying?

With such desperate arguments?

A question in return for you, Anon: did you, by any chance, grow up with a single/divorced parent?

I did. And while I have discussed at great length Sarah H's irresponsible ways of exposing her underage son to Internet's predatory scrutiny (and potentially worse), I can assure you:

No single/divorced mother would bring along her son for Hogmanay at some vague, single, male friend's house.

No single/divorced mother would send her son for a walk in the park, on a Sunday early (and chilly) morning with that same vague, single, male friend of hers.

Unless they date. Which we both agree they weren't.

The above are simply not done. Not ever, not in any culture on Earth.

So, if they are friends (as you say), that means you guys spent literally months in a row in empty, mendacious speculation about Nothing At All, triggered by the fanfic written by a troll. I mean, just WOW, Anon. I have no words: mature women, who have a life, peeking into a stranger's whereabouts. I hope you are proud of yourself!

And doll - I happen to believe they were mutually beneficial acquaintances, for a very clear purpose (more followers for her and a naive diversion from his real life, aka the Elephant in the Room, for him). That is all. Things have noticeably chilled since she overexposed her son on the Web, yet she might make a cameo later on the timeline, if desperation requires it. Happened before, you see.

And yes, I will always go back 'there', Anon, simply because I know what I saw with my own eyes (and I am not the only one). Also, you seem to fail making the logical difference between being intoxicated with alcohol (one of your side's most pathetic, ludicrous 'arguments' ever ) and being infatuated with someone. That is how I know your English vocabulary is as poor as your logic or common sense, Anon. And I am sorry, so fucking sorry to bother you, buttercup, but that Taylor Swift kiss was caught on video alright.

Thank you for confirming toddlers are aged 3 and below, in the meanwhile. And thank you for confirming that basically three months after I finally published that Park Anon I was sent (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/751391542332325888/i-always-read-the-comments-on-sams-posts-because), you are still as unsettled by it as on Day 1.

Now you tell me what that means, in your book, Anon. Because in mine that surely smells of slow burning despair.

[Later Edit, not on audio]: ah, yes, that friendly, ripe with innuendo London lunch. So long for that poor convenient imbecile, the Brazilian Journo, eh? She thought Sarah was his lover and here you are, Anon, bursting her post-teenage inacceptable bubble.

Wasn't she explaining with great impertinence that shippers were in need of immediate medical attention? I wonder what she would do if she'd meet me in an official capacity, really. Probably go hide and cry.

But this is great, Anon, I mean wow - you surely KNOW stuff, eh?

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

it flows and it flows and it flows

cw. selfship-coded, f!reader (no specified anatomy), pre-canon, pre-relationship, childhood friend au, reader eats a defined devil fruit, love as sacrifice, denial of feelings + mutual pining, vulture culture mention

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

synopsis. as a hydrophiliac, eating a devil fruit is a horrifying thought. as a pirate, eating a devil fruit is an incredibly dumb decision. you'll gladly embrace the horrors and stupidity to keep your loved ones safe.

notes. the way i planned on writing something else for my next childhood friend au installment but this decided it would be making a cameo first whoops. cover comes from monet's impression, sunrise (1872) it just reminds me of ace.

For its moniker of Faerie Faerie Fruit, it isn’t pretty to look at.

The name itself invokes the imagery of translucent wings, tinkling laughter and pixie dust at your fingertips. The fruit in your hands invokes anything but the aforementioned. No, this fruit seems more akin to invoking something out of your nightmares with its gray and pruny peel. All the more damning is the way the face of the fruit is caved in, like a woman in mourning.

According to the encyclopedia you’d skimmed through, once upon a time, this isn’t even the ugliest the Faerie Faerie Fruit can achieve. That has been allocated to the sickly green Goblin model. Knowing this does nothing to quell how unsettling the fruit in your hands is to look at. A fitting feeling for Model Banshee, the variant of the Faerie Faerie Fruit that had fallen in your hands on this most recent adventure across the Moss Isles.

“You should eat it!” Wallace insisted at dinner with a sharp-toothed grin, holding his keg of beer in your direction. “Then the Spades'll finally have a power holder besides the captain!”

Ace squinted at the good-natured fishman with an offended pout, leaning over as best as he could with Kotatsu on his lap. “So I’m not good enough now, Wallace?” The gray lynx mewed, disgruntled at the movement and Ace settled down. “It’s nice to know how you really feel!” In spite of his words, Ace’s lips were curled into a smile as he snickered. He blended perfectly against the Grand Line’s reddening sky, carmine and vermillion painted against the clouds.

“Won’t it be confusing to have two banshees on the ship though,” you asked with a half-smile in return, nodding in the direction of the strawberry blonde. At the mention of her name, the woman grinned at you impishly.

“Maybe you should sell it to me then,” the ginger nodded in satisfaction at the thought. “Then I really would be a banshee!”

“You want it?” You leaned over with intrigued.

As quickly as she brought it up, Banshee shot it down, “no offense to Ace, but if I’m gonna be a pirate,” she gestured beyond the borders of the Spadille, to the sea itself. “I want the security of knowing I won’t drown if I fall into the ocean.” A chorus of laughter followed as Ace whined that his eating the Flame Flame Fruit had only been an accident. A very unforeseen accident.

In one exchange, you were brought back to square one.

You sigh, unable to help a few chuckles. It’s only luck your time on Sixis Island didn’t result in you losing your ability to swim then when you unknowingly bit into the Flame Flame Fruit. Being the first to bite into it, only Ace received any abilities from it. As much as he hadn’t been prepared to eat the thing, however, you can admit it is an ability that suits him.

Ace is like a flame that draws in anyone lucky enough to notice its glow. You want more and more people to see it and relish the warmth of your friend as much as you do.

That doesn’t mean you want to necessarily join him in the ranks of being cursed to drown should you fall into a body of water. Eat, sell or toss it back into the depths for someone else to discover. Those are the only options for a person who finds a devil fruit.

“You shouldn’t eat it anyway,” Ace told you softly when the conversation moved on to a different topic. “You love swimming.”

You love water as easily as you breathe. It has been one of your best friends since your childhood on Dawn Island.

You remember jumping into crocodile infested rivers.

You can hear Luffy’s sniffles as he clung to you desperately. How Sabo sighed, “Can’t you become one with the water in a way that doesn’t look like you drowned?” How Ace, whose face donned more scowls than smiles at 10, rasped a fist against your head in agreement and ranting all the while.

You recall the cool of the returning tide as you looked for seashells on the beach. Then you’d take each one back to Dadan’s, resting them beside your growing collection of unconventional treasures of mummified paws, empty turtle shells and dissected owl pellets. Seashells and stones were the bones of the sea and earth respectively, your grandfather had told you once, so they belonged with your treasure trove as much as any of your other finds.

I wonder if Dadan’s tossed all that out by now, you wonder vaguely. Well if she does, I hope she doesn’t touch my eggs. Protect ‘em for me, Luffy. You remember the beaming haul of large anaconda eggs you’d painted over after Dadan cracked them open for breakfast. There had been four for each of you.

A yellow egg for Luffy, a red egg for Ace and blue for Sabo before you finally painted one over in your own favorite color. You think Sabo’s egg is the collective favorite of the members of your quartet that remain.

It’s only been 7 months or so since you left your life on Dawn Island but it feels like it has been years. Yet throughout it all, the ocean had been a steady companion.

You love it as an extension of your very being.

And yet…

Sloppily drawn eggs and raucous laughter filling the air when you should have been sleeping flood your mind. Your eyes rest on the creepy fruit resting in your hand once again. You don’t necessarily desire joining Ace and Luffy in the ranks of incurring the disdain of the sea, truly. But-

“Flameo, Hotman,” you say suddenly at the approaching heat and footsteps that announce Ace’s presence before his words can.

Ace grins as he rests his arms on the edge of the Spadille, “how’d you know it was me,” he asks unnecessarily, sea breeze running its invisible fingers through his wavy locks. Your eyes crinkle from how you smile at the sight. 

You nudge him carefully, fingers tightening slightly over the fruit in your hands, “I felt the furnace getting closer and closer.”

Ace snorts, signature grin on his face. It should feel stranger, seeing him smile so much when he tended to frown and furrow his brow constantly when you were children, but it doesn’t. Smiles suit Ace more than any other expression you’ve seen him have in the past. “What are you over here thinking about?” His eyes dart to the fruit in your hands. “Are you gonna throw it back?”

“It certainly crossed my mind,” you admit with a shrug. Maybe if you hadn’t stopped to think about the past, you would have. The fact you hesitated is more than enough of a sign that your heart hadn’t been into the idea. “I changed my mind, though.”

“What does it do anyway?” Ace poked the wrinkly face with a curious finger.

“Banshees are supposed to be some kind of faerie of death,” you think back to your base information you know about the beings the fruit derives its name. “When someone is gonna die soon, they scream and keen to let people know. But that’s about all that’s really known about ‘em. When you think about it, it kinda suits me, huh?” He hums thoughtfully, looking at the thing deeply and you continue on. “Remember when you gave me my first turtle shell?”

The freckled man’s face softens with a nostalgic smile, “Dadan said boys are supposed to give girls flowers not corpses.” You can hear the cranky woman’s voice even now, exasperated at how you excitedly twirled with the item in your hand. She never quite understood your interest in vulture culture but beside the odd complaint, she never discouraged it.

“I thought it was pretty cool,” you snicker in return. “But you probably should default to flowers whenever you find someone you like. I don’t know if they’d be as appreciative as me.” Whoever that person is, they’ll be lucky. You disregard the strange itch in your chest and thoughts of sky blue hair as Ace rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He may think the idea of someone loving him is ludicrous but he’s an idiot when it comes to such notions.

Portgas D. Ace is special and deserves to be loved in a special way. He will be, someday.

With a sigh, you turn so your back is facing the edge of the ship rather than your front. “Anyways,” you divert the topic back to the former. “I have to admit that it’s pretty useful, objectively thinking. There’s a lot of people out there who wanna avoid death like the plague.” Your heart clenches uncomfortably once more, albeit for a reason you can discern.

Ace nods at your words, “it’ll definitely go for a lot when we get to the next island. So try not to accidentally drop it now that you’ve decided you won’t be doing it intentionally.”

“Oh shut up,” you snort but not unkindly.

But he’s right, this would probably go for a shit ton, not that you know how many berries most devil fruit go for on the market. A devil fruit that grants its user the ability to sense death, however, certainly is above the average.

A smile missing a tooth comes to mind and you have to stop yourself from squeezing additional indents into the Faerie Faerie Fruit. The rough hands of your grandfather covering your own as he shows you how hook a worm follows.

Sabo and Grandpa are gone, there’s no bringing them back.

There are people you love who are still here though, your thumb brushes against the face of the fruit. Indented in anguish as it silently screams for the imminent loss of life. You glance at Ace who is content to stare out at the waves carrying the crew to its next destination. You feel yourself smiling again before you can stop yourself, wistful.

You love the water, it’s as easy as breathing. It’s been your best friend for as long as you could remember.

You remember listening with giddy awe to your grandfather recounting how taking you out the bath as a baby was nigh impossible unless the tub was empty first.

You can hear Makino’s panic as you groggily wake up, realizing you fell asleep in the midst of your floating. Your head hung sheepishly as she scolded you, voice uncharacteristically sharp about the dangers of falling asleep in the ocean. “Heaven forbid the sea king was around!”

You recall the shared panic of Luffy falling underneath a lake’s surface, you, Ace and Sabo diving after him in unison.

If you could become the ocean itself, you’d gladly do so and let your limbs dissolve into it and feel the pulse of every living creature residing within.

Another sigh slips from your lips as you look over your shoulder at the sunset-stained gem the Piece of Spadille sails across. I’m really going to miss being in it. You don’t necessarily want the curse eating a devil fruit will bring, but even if you can’t swim in it anymore you will find ways to still enjoy it.

With solidified determination, you bite into the ominous fruit resting in your hands without a second thought.

At your movement, Ace looks in your direction.

His eyes go from inquisitive to as wide as dinner plates in the span of seconds, calling out your name in frantic surprise. “What are you doing?!” Large, freckled hands reach for you and you side step him immediately before breaking into a run. “Spit it out!”

God this tastes awful, you nearly gag but you force yourself to swallow the piece anyway. Hearing heavy boots chasing after you, you bite into the wrinkled fruit once more. Just in case the first bite doesn’t take.

“Um, [First]?” You barely hear Deuce’s confused reaction. “Ace?”

“Can you stop Ace for me? Thanks!” You call back to the masked man.

“Stop her from being an idiot!” Ace shouts after you.

The Masked Deuce smartly decides being neutral is his only course of action. “You guys figure it out! We’ll, uh, we’ll be over here!”

You could squeal from how close he is but you manage to bite into the foul-tasting flesh a final time before warm arms wrap around your waist, preventing further escape. You swallow instinctively.

“[First]!” You pull against how he tries to grapple your possession from your hands. Try as you might, you aren’t able to get a fourth bite in. You squeeze your eyes shut, not that it does much but it does prevent you from seeing what is undoubtedly an Ace with a frown.

“Can’t spit out anything,” you cry before Ace can start that up once again. It is far too late for the man to do anything about your consuming the Faerie Faerie Fruit. “I already bit into the shit three times!”

“But why?!” Ace asks incredulously. 

“Because it’s useful! I’m not giving this sort of ability up!” You stop wriggling, knowing it is redundant when you’ve already done what you’ve set out to do. “I just,” you open your eyes, downcast. “I don’t want to lose anyone else I care about.”

If you were to ever sense Ace or Luffy’s deaths, it will break you. At least you know in those moments, you’ll be able to do something about it. There doesn’t have to be anymore Grandpas or Sabos, not for you. Not if you can stop it. You’ll gladly eat a dozen more Faerie Faerie Fruits if it gives you any ability to keep them safe.

There’s a pause then a groan of resignation as your feet touch the deck again. I guess there’s no point in eating anymore of this, you look at what remains of the fruit. You aren’t sure exactly how it will change you in ways beyond a newly acquired death ping. You resign yourself to eating the rest regardless.

The silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable but it isn’t comfortable either, it just is. There’s nothing else that can be done about your decision.

“You can’t ever take this back, you know,” his voice is soft.

“I know,” you murmur after the last of the devil fruit has been eaten. “I don’t need the ocean like that anyway.” You will find new ways to enjoy it. Finally you turn to look at the man who has been your closest friend since you were 10. You were practically family. Family, that’s right. Family looks out for each other. You are going to look out for Portgas D. Ace whether he likes it or not, you promised yourself this after you met Old Man Naguri.

Even as Ace looks at you with equal parts acceptance and sorrow on your behalf, you think the sacrifice is worth it. It’s bitter but the sweet in your chest outweighs it.

“That’s one more thing we have in common,” you try to lighten the mood. “Paramecia and Logia differences aside.”

Ace sighs but he gives you a snicker of courtesy, “I would have been fine with us not having this in common.”

“Eeeh, you’ll get over it.” I’ll get over it, you chuckle, turning back to face the horizon. The sun’s almost been swallowed entirely by the sea and there are more things dotting the sky than you remember there being a few minutes ago. Your eyes widen at the ghastly image of whales swimming through the skies as if unaware their time has passed many moons ago.

Whales, stingrays, sharks and unidentifiable fish as far as you can see.

A silent procession across the Grand Line only for your newly acquired eyes. It almost makes you want to cry.

“Is everything alright,” Ace draws you back in, eyebrows knit in concern.

You wonder if Grandpa and Sabo’s ghosts are gallivanting about Dawn Island.

“Yeah.”

[lemotmo]

I'm going to try and approach this a bit differently. We have all been in a position where we desperately wanted something from a show. We can all relate to the desire for something you love to become canon. I still fret about whether or not they'll actually give us Buddie. Yes it has been sign posted but it's been sign posted for years and we're still waiting. Anyway I say that part to say this next part. They are sign posted. The canon signs are there and there everywhere. None of it is made up from nothing. Yes there are headcanons but that's true of every ship. But most of the headcanons have canon scenes that they stem from. The BT stuff is all headcanon. I keep seeing gifs of Buck with gifs of Lou from other acting rolls and them being tagged as bucktommy. Those gifs have nothing to do with 911 and aren't Tommy. None of it is based on canon. It has all come from their cameo conversations with Lou. And that genuinely dumbfounds me. Because now I see less and less Buck and it's increasingly Tommy centered.

Buck is the character the show cares about and they know that. I don't know enough about the SWAT theory to speak to it's truth or not but the timing of its renewal and him going 911 dark does somewhat feed into the rumor. I don't know, it's bad enough so many of them have become horrible towards Eddie but now they're starting to change who Buck canonically is to fit their headcanons of Tommy (the whole damsel in distress nonsense enrages me). And while I understand the desire to push for what you love, basic knowledge of the show has to play into your expectations at some point. It will be interesting(terrifying) to see how they react when his arc finishes, and he himself stated it was an arc(hello people he said this) so I'm just forever dumbfounded as to how we got here and I'm someone who genuinely tried to see where they're coming from.

*sigh* sorry for the length of this ask. Your blog is lovely.

Yes Nonny. Yes! All of this! This has been on my mind for so long now and you managed to summarize it so beautifully.

I simply do not get how we got here. A couple of months ago, everything was great in this fandom. We had no great expectations of Buddie canon, but we were happy to be on ABC so we could maybe get some more Buddie scenes. And we did get them. Season 7 was great for Buddie.

Unfortunately it also brought along Tommy. I was and still am thrilled for Buck being revealed as being bisexual. It's wonderful! And the initial thrill of it was exciting. I immediately started tying this in to Eddie. A lot of us in the Buddie fandom have long since theorised that, as soon as one of them would come out, the other would follow because it would be the only thing to make sense. Buck and Eddie have both been queer-coded for so long now and finally we would see some movement in their story.

Imagine my surprise when suddenly some people decided that Tommy was the best thing that had ever happened to Buck. It was all Tommy this, Tommy that, Tommy with the sun shining out of his ***. I was so confused. Even some of my Buddie mutuals who I had known for years, just kind of gave up on Buddie and started worshipping at the altar of Tommy Kinard.

And the fact that Lou started spouting his headcanons in those cameos definitely didn't help either. Some people really believe in those headcanons.

And listen, nothing against headcanons. I have some of my own. But there is a reason why they are called 'head'canons. It's because they are things you see and recognise in a character, but they aren't discussed in the show, so they aren't 'canon'. They remain 'fanon'.

Now, don't get me wrong, ship and let ship. But there is a difference between normal 'shipping' and liking the pair, and the total craziness the Tommy-hype has become.

I know a lot of people that are multi-shippers and I have mutuals who like BT as a transitional relationship, but ultimately still want Buddie. I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the people who suddenly started talking down on Eddie as if he was treating Buck badly and how he was a bad father. And how, even if he were queer, Buck would never choose him over Tommy. Where did that come from? They didn't say that before. Why now?

And I ask the question: What is so special about Tommy? I keep seeing people that say Buck is in the best relationship ever. HOW? WHAT? WHERE? What do these people see that I don't see?

We have seen Tommy in a handful of scenes. In all of those scenes he has been dismissive, disrespectful and frankly not very interesting. There is no chemistry at all with Buck either. I mean, if there had been some palpable chemistry I might have liked it more, but it just seems as if Lou is going through the motions in those kisses. If they are such a great couple, where are the little couple things? Where is the handholding? The little in-jokes? Nothing! I mean, Oliver does his best to keep their scenes somewhat afloat, but Lou is clearly not even trying. So I truly do not understand this strange -almost obsessive and gatekeeping- behaviour when it comes to Lou and Tommy.

It's obvious-- and anyone with eyes can see this from miles away-- that Tommy is a narrative device to have Buck explore his bisexuality. Every single thing in the show, but also around the show, is pointing in that direction.

Think about it. There was no promotion whatsoever for BT, only for bi Buck and Buddie. They had one abysmal interview where they talked for 2 seconds about BT and Oliver looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. They have given Tommy no screentime whatsoever. He is only there when it is required for Buck's storyline. It practically screams: plot device.

Then we have Ryan giving interviews where he, once again, talks about Buck being a co-parent and how Eddie will explore himself in season 8. How he will push that refresh button and he will ultimately find the partner he needs. All gender neutral by the way.

I mean, look... I admit to having been delulu in the past over small things when it comes to Buddie. What can I say? It's been a long 6 years. But this? This is no longer about being delusional. This is full-blown 'in your face': BUDDIE IS HAPPENING! It's all right there when you look at it logically.

But yes, somehow, we are wrong because our ship isn't canon and it's apparantly homophobic to be against a canon ship?

Which... do these people know what fandom is actually about? It's about fictional people and we want to see these fictional people get interesting story arcs and we want some of them to end up together because they have such a great history and chemistry. Like Buddie.

So yes Nonny, I agree. And listen, I do too still fret sometimes that I might be seeing things that aren't there. It's in my nature as a libra to doubt everything.

But then I start putting all of the evidence in- and outside of the narrative together and... it can only lead to one thing: queer Eddie (which is about time) and eventually Buddie.

And imagine the payoff that will be. Imagine how the viewership will get a boost. So many more people would turn in. Bi Buck was big, but the fan favourite queer slow burn getting together after 7 seasons by then? The internet will explode. It will be epic.

For 6 seasons we have been rooting for these men to open their eyes and to see what is right in front of them. There were plans to go there, but FOX stopped it. Now they are on ABC and obviously ABC is okay with queer characters on their shows. I mean, look at 'Grey's anatomy'.

So yes, I proudly declare myself no longer delulu and 100% certain that Buddie is in the works. There is no more need for clown noses and clown cars. We are beyond that now. It's a matter of 'when', not 'if'.

Mind you, just my humble opinion here. But I stand with it.

[cerealxperimentslain]

i am sick to bastard fucking death of shofarsogood (tw for anti arabism and islamophobia) (& a guest appearance of a klansman for some fucking reason)

i think this post is a little funny, and i will give you the context to see why

ID: A post by @xclowniex, reblogged by @shofarsogood:

“I really need goyim to listen to the whole "if 9 people sit at a table and then one nazi sits at that table and no one tried to remove the nazi, then there are 10 nazis at the table"

I have lost my entire irl friend group due to antisemitism, and whilst correlation doesn't equal causation, so im not saying anything as 100% fact, however there is mad correlation between levels of being antisemitic and closeness with a specific person.

I can't be bothered to turn it into a physcial graph but in my head, oo babie is it a strong graph”

End ID

(first of all lol. lmao.)

ID: @xclowniex reblogged @the-catboy-minyan:

@goatfactsofficial:

A screenshot of a 4chan comment saying “I see you've fall for the old Jewish trick of using evidence to make a point”

@goatfactsofficial:

“literally the pro-pal crowd for the last 298 days”

End ID

let’s be clear, @shofarsogood is mutuals with @prismatic-bell

ID: @shofarsogood reblogged @prismatic-bell

@badjokesbyjeff:

(the post has been cut off for brevity)

End ID

(badjokesbyjeff cameo, naturally)

(I could insert screenshots of prismatic-bell reblogging from shofarsogood but that feels redundant. go scroll both their blogs for a single minute you’ll find more than enough proof)

we should all be familiar with prismatic-bell at this point, but here’s a quick reminder

ID: Post by @prismatic-bell, dated 13 may 2021:

"Free Palestine" IS an antisemitic statement.

It comes with the idea that Palestinians are the only people who have an ancient homeland here, and that Jews are to blame for "taking it over." When they destroyed our temple and put a mosque right on top of it! And then they claim we don't belong there!

"Free Palestine" is a shorthand way of saying you hate Jews. Because it ignores history and, almost without variation, is used as an excuse for antisemitic crimes.”

End ID

(google dot com what were muslims doing in the year 70CE) (also i have endless examples of prismatic bell saying the most fucked up shit. xe has never-stop-posting disease and it would be literally impossible to miss what kind of person xe is)

ID: post by @prismatic-bell:

“You know what?

Fuck Ramadan.

Sorry. We were attacked, raped, murdered, beaten, and kidnapped on a major Jewish holiday, and our Chanukkah was spent in misery. I was threatened for playing Chanukkah music IN MY OWN CAR.

So FUCK Ramadan. If this is how our holidays are treated, y'all can feel the same.”

End ID

like. there are so many “don’t call me zionist” people who follow and interact with shofarsogood. i don’t think you get to find yourself offended by people calling you a zionist if this is who you are mutuals with, & therefore mutuals-in-law with @prismatic-bell and @spot-the-antisemitism.

also second cameo of @the-catboy-minyan

ID: @shofarsogood reblogged @spot-the-antisemitism:

@the-catboy-minyan:

“dude I should have replied to every donation ask I got while having "proud Israeli Jew" on my blog to show people how these are bots that send asks randomly. you think Gazans are gonna come to a (((zionist))) for money? Imao.”

End ID

ID: @spot-the-antisemitism reblogged @shofarsogood. End ID

let me introduce @spot-the-antisemitism

ID: @spot-the-antisemitism reblogged a post by @the-garbanzo-annex-jr:

A badly cropped image. On the left is a photo of protesters protecting their identities with Palestinian keffiyeh and masks. On the right is a photo of a klansman in a hood. The text on the image reads:

“If your ideology requires that you cover your face… …maybe you need a new ideology.”

End ID

these guys’ whole entire deal is cherry picking examples of people being antisemitic and using that to try and delegitimise the whole antizionist & pro Palestine movement through some attempt of “guilt by association”. all while freely and guiltlessly associating with people like @some-israeli-guy

ID: @spot-the-antisemitism reblogged from @some-israeli-guy. End ID

this fucking guy

ID: @some-israeli-guy:

“They started a war to wipe out the Jews, they spread lies of rape and torture to demonize the Jews, and when their people ran away in fear and their militaries lost, they had the nerve to call is "the disaster" and act like innocent victims.”

#israel #palestine #no peace with nazis #palestine is a death cult #palestinian hypocrisy #antisemitism

End ID

like what do you even say to that.

a lot of this checking blog stuff i learned to do when it was much more common for cryptoterfs to be prowling around these parts. cryptoterfs won’t say transphobic slurs and they won’t openly advocate for the death of all transfems and forceful detransition of all transmascs, but they have no qualms about following people who do, while they avoid reblogging anything hateful enough that will get them easily clocked as radfems or terfs. hell, maybe they don’t even personally believe those things, maybe they’re trying to “see both sides of things”. maybe they don’t care at all and follow those blogs for entirely unrelated things and that’s why they won’t reblog any of the hate speech.

does it matter?

at the end of the day, whatever their internal motivations may be, they don’t disagree enough with the absolutely horrendous levels of transmisogyny and transphobia to see it as a dealbreaker

parallels parallels parallels

speaking of which, the way these people blog also mirrors the way that many radfems will blog. we all know the style, the “dig up some fucking joe nobody transgender person saying something stupid or lesbophobic/misogynistic & use that to paint the whole movement in a bad light”

“oh but isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” prismatic-bell hasn’t been the bane of tumblr for years just for you to call xir a joe nobody. i could pull up a joe nobody with 3 followers who says things about palestine that i wouldn’t repeat with a gun to my head, but that’s not what this is about

this is about some incredibly popular blogs on here that are either violently hateful towards palestinians, or they are mutuals with those people and don’t see that as enough of a problem to even unfollow let alone block & denounce them.

anyway i can’t link links in the original post but i have a lot of receipts reblogged to @disgustingechoes feel free to have a peruse if you are unconvinced

[madelynraemunson]

mini series

GO BACK | NEXT LEVEL 🔒 | theme song: new divide - linkin park

player zero: level one

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴛᴀQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ — ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ꜰᴀɴ — ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ (ᴠʀ) ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱ ꜱᴘʜᴇʀᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ.

I remember black skies, the lightning all around me.

disclaimers: 18+, psychological thriller, blood, violence, sexual themes, swearing, reader interacts with the st characters, eddie falls for reader who goes by “zero/000, player zero”, reader’s gender identity isn’t specified but does have a vagina, unintentional plot divergence, upside down exists, vecna/001/henry exists, everything is basically canon until reader shows up… 😳, joseph quinn cameo at the end | pairing: eddie munson x reader x joseph quinn

a/n: enjoy everyone! i’m sorry this took so long to come out but i am committed to only releasing my best work to you guys 🩶 i hope you all enjoy level 001!!

[WC: 2.0k words]

“Player Zero…do you copy?”

🎮

By the grace of your headset, you begin to scan the dark, almost void-like, aperture that’s hijacked your surroundings.

“Copy,” you report back to James.

“Excellent.”

Everything around you is black, a noisy puddle sits at your feet. The room is crisp from the AC, and the props smell like rubber tires. And soon, with a push of a button, you will come face to face with the Mind Flayer, saving everyone from this ill-fated town once and for all.

You can’t believe this. What thousands will pay to do, you get to experience for free, having been one of the few selected to try out the new Stranger Things: Virtual Reality Game at the Las Vegas Sphere. (Not to mention, you're the biggest Stranger Things fan in your hometown and quite possibly the biggest Joseph Quinn fan in the state of Nevada).

Eddie's death left you completely shattered. He just fit in so well with the older members of the party that you were almost certain the Duffers would keep him around. But to your despair, alongside many others, they did what they do best and killed off another fan favorite.

But there was something beautiful that came out of Eddie's death. Because of Stranger Things 4, Joseph Quinn has been getting booked for acting gigs left and right, getting asked to come to fan conventions, and you were able to find a community on Tumblr who shared the same love for him and Eddie Munson, and with that notion alone, means the silly metalhead lives on through you guys.

Your dream is to meet Joe one day. You’ve been frantically saving up for the day you get to hug him and thank him for everything he’s done for you and others. Whenever that may be. Until then, all you could do is support his work and contribute to all of his supporting franchises. Much like this one.

“I can’t wait to tell all my mutuals all about this game,” you think to yourself.

James permits you to walk around in order to adapt to your environment. You’re already planning what to tell your friends based on your observations so far. But since pictures aren't allowed, your phone remains in your back pocket for the time being.

“Alright Player Zero,” your guide further instructs you. “You’re going to walk through the gate. And from there the game will begin.”

“And what if I need to pee?”

The comment earns you a chuckle from James. “That’s fine. You’ll just have to take your headset off and call out to me.”

James asks you if you have any other questions. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Will I interact with any characters? Like Eddie?”

“No Eddie unfortunately, it’s primarily the Mind Flayer,” James answers honestly. “Goal of the game is to fight the monster.”

“Understood,” you pout in disappointment.

“Hey but I’ll be surprised if you run into anyone though,” James laughs. “Tell ‘em I say hi if you do.”

Just then, a neon orange projection appears from the corner of your eyes, followed by some squelching noises that gnaw uncomfortably at your ears. And as you get closer to it, you can hear the shrieks of some very familiar, unearthly creatures.

“Walk through the gate now, Zero,” James instructs you.

You take a deep breath, a little scared at how vivid the graphics are but reassuring yourself that all of this is just a game.

“Walking,” you report.

Hobbling into the gate, the synthetic warmth massages your ankle as you squeeze your way on in. You land on the bottom tier, a floor below the floor you started on... one that you weren't aware existed until you continued to walk around.

“This isn’t so bad,” you mutter to yourself.

Just then, the noise around you cuts off and your headset broadcasts to black.

Tssssss.

Unsure whether or not this was part of the game, you continue to tread around the nothingness that is around you. Holding your arms out to keep your balance doesn’t seem to help, because the more you graze onto nothing, the more panicked you become.

This is odd. Where’s the Mind Flayer?

“James?!” you call out, your heart nearly beating out of your chest now.

Nothing.

Suddenly, obnoxious TV static overpowers your headspace. It’s accompanied by lightheadedness, the brightness of it all mercilessly stinging your eyes, and the high-pitched feedback noise that soon fills your ears is probably enough to make you go deaf for the day. Great, now you know why this is a trial run.

“James!” you hiss again quietly. “Anyone?!”

No response. You were never warned about this part. Was this even supposed to happen?

Absolutely frustrated now, you reach for your headset to get out of the game yourself. But to your surprise, you’re stunned to have gotten two palms full of your hair, and part of your face. There was no headset on your head. You’re walking in a void of nothingness, with no one around to help you.

“I need to pee…” is your final attempt to connect with somebody.

The ear-piercing, scratching sounds start up once again. This time grainier, louder. It continues for a while as you run around in a panic before halting to complete radio. silence.

“Wh-” you pant. “What’s happeni-”

JOLT!

“OH SHIT!”

You’re then met with an abrupt, devastating PUSH that sends you flying across the room and down — what you could only describe as — an endless black hole. Your hand clutches at your chest as an attempt to soothe yourself. You’re almost sure your heart stopped for a minute due to absolute shock.

SMACK!

In a millisecond, your body lands on a prickly patch that you soon make up to be loose straws of hay. Blending into the scenery now is that of a remote grass field, with the smell of fresh trees and newly cut blades of grass dancing around your nose.

You can’t think of any place in Las Vegas that would have a barren field like this. Nor can you think of a town nearby with this much of a Midwestern flare, this much empty — and grassy — land, and this much Kodak green undertone to its atmosphere. Unless…

It can’t possibly be. Are you in Hawkins?

You're standing around like an idiot trying to figure out how this could've possibly happened.

You knew this experience was 'all-immersive', but judging by the description, you were supposed to be taken to the Upside Down... and the backwoods by Reefer Rick's hideout was a long commute from. Was this Mind Fight going to be after-the-fact?

Trudging towards Reefer Rick’s now, you begin to think of other ways to get James' attention. But when you hear the faint voice of someone else coming from inside the abandoned lake house, suddenly getting out of the game becomes less of a priority.

“Eddie…” the familiar voice softly commands.

Eddie?

The voice you register belongs to no one other than Gaten Matarazzo, or Dustin Henderson in this sense. But that’s impossible, you think to yourself. James said that there were no characters in the game.

“We are on... your side...”

Oh, it’s this scene. Peaking through the door that was open a mere three inches, you're stunned to see the four dimensional manifestations of the characters you've grown to love right in front of your very eyes.

IMPOSSIBLE.

It's them. You almost stumble backwards when you see Sadie Sink and Maya Hawke alongside Gaten; and despite having their backs towards you, you know it is for sure them, and not some workers hired to play the part.

Your eyes travel to the corner of the room. Very much to your surprise, evident by the butterflies in your stomach, you're met with Joe Keery as Steve Harrington, and Joseph Quinn... the love of your life... in the flesh... your Eddie. Both characters are too focused on each other to even register your presence. If they are even able to see you at all.

You continue to be the fly on the wall while taking a few collected deep breaths. There's no way that they're in front of you right now. There's no way a whole SCENE from the show is panning out in front of you right now. Almost as if it's real time.

“I swear on my mother!” Gaten Dustin continues, trying to reason with Eddie so he can drop the knife and let go of Steve. He turns to the others for help.

“Right?! Guys?!”

“Yes, yes we swear,” the party clamors together in attempts to calm Eddie down.

“On Dustin’s mother,” Maya Robin attempts.

“Yeah, Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother…”

Keery’s voice is strained as he gulps in fear. Reasonably so, because there’s a knife pointed at his throat in this scene.

You clear yours at the doorway, causing everyone to deadpan to you in shock. So they can see you. And sure enough when this happens, that’s when your gaze lands on him. And his gaze lands on you.

It’s insane. It’s like you are looking Joseph Quinn in the eyes, but at the same time, it’s not him. It is literally — Eddie Munson. He's even more beautiful than you imagined.

“On Dustin’s mother?” you speak.

“Jesus, where did YOU spawn from?!” Gaten Dustin exclaims.

“Who’s that?” Sadie Max wonders.

“I…don’t know,” Maya Robin answers.

Immediately, Dustin runs to shield Eddie from your sight. But it’s already too late. And plus, Eddie’s eyes have already met yours. Studied yours.

“I’m…” you speak. “I’m here to help.”

You figured while James figures out what the actual fuck is wrong, that you’d interact with the characters. They’re right in front of you after all, and actually responding.

"I'm Zero..." you explain to them. "I'm not... I'm not from here, but I know a hell of a lot about this place. A lot more than you guys think."

“You know about what’s going on around here?” Robin inquires.

You nod. “And I know part of who is behind it all, and what we can do to stop him.”

"H...him?"

Eddie's timid stare pierces straight into you. It's enough for your knees to buckle, but you know you have to keep yourself collected otherwise the projections of these characters would probably freak out at you.

You hear a tiny thud sound against the wooden floor. Eddie has dropped the knife. Breathing a sigh of relief now, Steve sinks to the ground to gather himself. Meanwhile, a small circle gathers around you.

“There are… greater forces at bay,” you explain. “And it goes way beyond what you know about the demogorgons, the shadow monster, the Mind Flayer… There’s this... really powerful warlock…and a shadow that looms over him to do some really horrible things. And it’s not who you’d expect.”

“You know about those too?” Steve asks.

You nod. Eddie only seems more confused.

"A lot more than you know..." you warn him. "Trust."

"What else do you know about?" Dustin questions.

"I know about Eleven, and Will," you answer. "And how they're safer in California than here, but that doesn't necessarily exempt them from danger."

They all exchange looks with one another.

You can't help but look over at Eddie again.

"I know what happened to Chrissy," you say to him. He looks back up at you. "She's that nice girl from the middle school talent show, right?"

"I left her there," is all he says. He knows you understand what he meant by it. "I'm just a coward."

"You're not a coward, Eddie. Nothing you could've done could've prevented what happened at the trailer."

“Zero…” Dustin whispers to himself. Then he looks up at you with suspicion. Pointing an accusatory finger at you, he says, "How do we know you weren't sent by Hawkins Lab to spy on us?! You're a number after all."

"I'm not a number from the lab, trust me," you roll your eyes, slightly annoyed at Curly and his superstition. But it makes sense. "I don't even know Eleven, okay? Just think of me as... a guardian. From another universe. I think I was sent here to help you guys. I know how this shit ends, after all."

“How does it end?” Eddie asks you. “F-for us? For me?”

You turn to him in anguish.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” you respond honestly. “But if you guys are open to my help, I can get us out of this mess unscathed. Build up some leeway.”

You turn to Max who only seems to be backing further away from you. It's definitely in her character to do so, Maxine has always struggled to ask for help. But you know, deep down in those fearful blue eyes, she wants your help as much as she wants to run away from it.

"And we're gonna break you out of that curse," you say to her.

You're no expert on the laws of space-time, but it doesn't take a scientist to realize that you're in a different Hawkins reality. And knowing there are countless outcomes and experiences for existence, you can make this reality your own.

Which means, if you choose to stay in this 'game', and play the cards correctly, the Eddie standing directly in front of you has a second chance at life.

Now’s your chance to fix it. And experience an altered timeline. You don't know how this is possible, but it is. And after all, the Rule of Probability states, "the probability of an impossible event is Zero."

“If you guys want to save everyone in Hawkins, including Eddie and Max, you guys have to do EXACTLY what I say do you understand?”

taglist: @winchester-angel, @arthurcerverogf, @damon-loves-pie, @breezybeesposts, @swiss-mrs,@leelei1980, @skulliecadaver-blog, @katethetank, @mexicanfolklore, @ali-r3n, @nailbatanddungeon, @hugdealer, @wtflindsay, @yourdailymemedelivery, @kellsck, @kthomps914, @daydream-believer19

cyberpunk dividers from: @k1ssyoursister @sillycircus-decoarchive

[ashenlavellan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard - Personal Thoughts from a COMPLETED Playthrough. [MAJOR SPOILERS]

[Major spoilers ahead - all I will say to those of you that are on the fence with this game? Do it. This game is so worth it and I have just finished it. Like, literally an hour ago - while it's still fresh on my mind.]

Leave this post if you don't want to be spoiled - story-wise and specifically if you want to romance Lucanis. There will be MAJOR spoilers ahead.

So, I just finished DA: The Veilguard and I was utterly blown away. I will admit that I was amongst the crowd where I would play this game, but was very hesitant to and had my reservations. I had my expectations low.

A lot of reviewers and DA enthusiasts on other platforms had me discouraged to give this game a chance and I'm glad that I spoke of this with mutuals and decided to give this game a chance.

Now, my first concern that I will address - the combat.

I was a bit concerned about this when I initially heard some people describe it as a 'hack-and-slash' and while I have no issues with that (MAJOR Devil May Cry fan here - I love that shit so much!) - it's not what I would usually associate with Dragon Age.

My experience may be different that others, but I played as a Shadow Dragon Mage - mainly followed through with the Evoker specialization, too. I mainly played with orb/mage-knife and sometimes I switched to the staves if the fight was a bit too difficult to play closer. I'm glad that this was implemented because I disliked playing as a mage in Origins and enjoyed that it was faster pace in DA2/DA:I - this felt like I could choose if I wanted to continue with the faster pace (orb/mage-knife) or a little slower, but stronger attacks at a distance (staff).

It will certainly be different if you play as a rogue/warrior, but I loved the duality as a mage and I think I'd play as one again since I grew very comfortable/adept with the controls.

Now, the concern that most people had - tactical use?

There is an ability wheel, reminiscent to the one that Mass Effect has, but it offers suggestions for what moves can be used as a combo if you select them for your companions. It's best if you try to avoid having two rogue/two warrior companions because they will have the same affects that their abilities can do. If you have a mage/warrior or mage/rogue, then it's easier to combo their moves.

To be honest, I never truly used the tactical options in the earlier games and just played as is. I know others like the earlier games because of these things, but it wasn't the biggest concern for me when it came to that... It was mainly going from three companions down to two of them, and how the combat flow would feel like.

Combat? 9.5/10

My second concern that I will address - the cameos.

Now, because of the trailers and what-not, we already figured out that Morrigan, Varric, Harding, and our Inquisitor would show up. [I'm still so happy that I had the chance to customize my Inquisitor and luckily enough, I'll just try to match her appearance as close as I can when I officially play.]

I was NOT expecting my dear friend, Dorian Pavus, to show up when he did and the fact that he had a link to the faction that I picked! I was so excited to see him once more, but...

I was even MORE excited to see my favorite, sassy pirate-lady Isabela! But, she's now one of those in charge of the Lords of Fortune!

These were the only cameos that I had not expected, but there were mentions of other characters!

Like Merrill, when talking with Isabela after a fight in the Hall of Valor! Or, a note during a loyalty quest with Taash that shows that Sten [from Origins] had joined with the Antaam. Hell, even Aveline posted up as the acting-Viscount of Kirkwall!

As well as the fact that Harding mentions members of the Inquisition, and at some point, Solas reflects on the memories he had during his time with the organization as well.

I do wish that we had more cameos, but I'm actually pleased that there were mentions of characters from earlier games that hadn't been mentioned again beforehand.

Cameos? 8/10

Now, my third and final concern - the story.

So. Much. Story.

I had been concerned about this game before its release and how it would handle the story - especially after Trespasser and when Solas first revealed himself to be Fen'Harel. Which was groundbreaking when it happened!

Some of the fandom had concerns, myself included, when we realized that only three decisions that mattered when it involved earlier games and it was all from DA: Inquisition. Nothing from Origins or DA2 - even then, however, it was not much to really tip the scales in DA: The Veilguard.

The decisions being - who did your Inquisitor romance, did they disband the Inquisition, and were they wanting to save/stop Solas?

Now after finishing the game?

The amount of thought that went into side-quests that actually had an impact on the plot/major decisions? The faction quests? The loyalty quests?? The impact from past decisions affecting the last portion of the game???

There was so much writing that went into this game, obviously, but I hadn't realized how much thought each decision you make plays a part within this story - whether small or big!

I sincerely and whole-heartedly enjoyed the writing and the companions involved in our story - I was so excited each time a loyalty or mission specific to them popped up and we delved deeper into their backgrounds, their factions, and everything else involved!

There was so much newer lore to consume, especially with Minrathous/Tevinter since we've never been this far north in Thedas, but I absolutely devoured each little piece I could get and would sit there... reading the missives and codex! However, I can understand that some may be frustrated since it doesn't delve deeper into past lore with some cases.

As one final side-note for this - even if you do all of the side-quests and content, you will have an ending just like my own... At least one person on your team will die. I did everything I could and chose, basically all of what seemed like the right decisions, and I still lost one person on my team that resulted with me sobbing like a baby with how brutal the death was in the scene...

Story? 9/10

Now, the best part of this post - the romances.

Where do I begin with Lucanis' romance?

It's like, the second I found out that there was yet again, another assassin from Antiva who was aligned with the Crows - I was immediately sold.

Before I continue - everyone? Thank his writer, Mary Kirby, from the bottom of your heart for writing such a thoughtful, protective man - whether or not your Rook romances him.

Now, continuing -

His romance is so fucking good that I have over 100 saved clips on my console of shared moments between Lucretia/Lucanis to the point where my console was like - you need to make space if you want to be a fiend for the scenes.

You bet your fucking ass I made space.

I want to completely gush over his romance and spoil things, but I'm holding all of that back because I plan on writing those scenes and then some since I AM a fanfiction writer. I'll only share one thing with all of you...

When Lucretia and Lucanis slept together, you can bet your ass that he brought out those damned wings. [Also naked/semi-naked cuddling in the scene afterwards.]

So yeah, those are my final thoughts after playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard and after finishing the game... I'm so glad that I decided to give this game a chance and I certainly feel like it was worth the price, for the amount of content there was and story-telling.

I'm also glad that I listened to some of the reviews - there were reviews from a couple of the devs from BG3 and had plenty of praise for this game! I'm glad I gave this game a chance, especially since there's so many options to choose from and replay-ability like BG3!

[celeluwhenfics]

"pHORSEuasion" made me chuckle. please tell me more 🙏

I'm so excited about pHORSEuasion, many thanks to you and @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras for asking! It is indeed a retelling of Jane Austen's Persuasion, set in Rohan around the War of the Ring. Obviously, Éomer is our dashing Captain Wentworth, and Anne is impersonated by Rowena (OC).

Rowena is the daughter of Wylfric, who has been serving as Third Marshal in Aldburg since Éomund's death. In 3014, he and his family fall out of favor at court after Gríma sows discord between him and Théoden. In the conflict, Wylfric persuades his daughter to break off her engagement with Éomer.

In 3019, Éowyn summons Rowena at Edoras to help care for an ailing king. Although she dreads meeting with Éomer again, Rowena chooses to agree to her lady's wishes, following what she holds as her duty to work and heal for the sake of the Mark.

This fic is a puzzle to write! I strive to be true at once to the spirit of Regency novels, the culture, atmosphere and lore of Middle-Earth, the detailed TIMELINE of the War of the Ring, the complex arcs of Éomer and Éowyn, but also and above all do justice to the characters and dynamic of Anne and Wentworth (insert massive side eye to the 2022 Netflix adaptation here - don't get me started on that one).

It's quite a headache (a fun one!) to make the side characters fit around all that, in a way that will hopefully be credible and feel seamless. I am putting together a cast of many female OCs, including Rowena's sisters, other healers and ladies of the court, giving some page-time to barely fleshed-out male canon characters such as Erkenbrand, Théodred, Elfhelm, Céorl, Éothain, Háma and Gárulf, and having cameos from better known characters like Faramir, Gimli, Aragorn, Meriadoc, Elrond and a few others. Oh, and horses. Lots of horses.

My overall goal is to write a story that will hold on its own as a roughly canon-compliant LotR fic even for someone who would never have heard of Persuasion, but will also appeal to Austen fans who want to read a retelling of one of the most deliciously painful and satisfying mutual pining novels ever written.

Wow, that's ambitious, I have lots of work to do still. Back to writing!

@konartiste @emmanuellececchi

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi, I was wondering if you have recs where Paul ignores and freezes John? Thanks a lot!

Thank you for asking, and sorry for being so late with my reply. I hope this is still useful to you.

This is a fascinating request. It made me realize that most fics I know focus on John freezing out Paul (with or without pining)—the reasons for that would probably be worth a separate post. So: challenging ask, thank u very much.

I also kept coming back to the way you worded it—ignores and freezes. That's highly specific, if you think about it! It includes an edge of pain and cold anger, almost something unnatural: a decision to freeze, to numb, to refuse to see the other (Look At Me...).

It also feels final—or, at the very least, final-in-the-moment. How to separate this from fics in which they're broken up, not talking™, misunderstanding each other, are mad at each other (but only as a prelude to making up)...?

Does it also rule out fics in which they're not together, or fighting, or breaking-up-but-still-obsessed...never got together...?

As you can see, I might have been overthinking this, just a tad. :-) But here are some stories that, hopefully, fit your ask to varying degrees.

The wild and windy night (@zilabee) must have been one of the first J/P stories I read, and I guess I memory-wiped just how brutal (and damn good, because: true) it is. This is about mutual attempts at freezing and severing, and brace yourself: it's going to hurt. But it lands in a hopeful place. Cathartic. (Sorry, everyone, for never including it with any of my angst recs; I honestly must have decided to tuck this one away in a specially secured room reserved for the strongest stuff.)

How do you sleep (LouisWain1939) was the first fic I thought of reading your ask. If you want freezing cold, this is it. Prompt-fill for: Paul wanks to HDYS (optional: he phones John as he does it to make John listen). I love it.

you and i have memories (@midchelle). Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind AU. John is the first to opt for the removal of Paul memories, but Paul follows suit. Unfinished, but what a premise—and it's rendered so convincingly...! Treepanning+

open heart (@revollver): Vampire AU. Paul feels ashamed of how much he needs John, and refuses to open up to him. Hot and sensual and sad in exactly right proportions—with an unexpected dark and satisfying ending.

I'm gonna haunt you (sexysadie): 1968. An ice cold conversation between John and Paul in a pub.

Coast Starlight (bookofapril) The best canon divergence of all, in which Paul is happy with Robert Fraser (and, sometimes, Linda) in the 70's, and John is a slightly annoying shadow from the past. John is frozen out in absentia, in a wonderful Paul/Elton John conversation on Fire Island.

The Death of a bachelor (wavesof_joy): Modern AU. Paul gets married in Vegas...and it's too late to elope with John.

Here are two stories centered on the 1966-1967 "Paul refuses to trip with John" era — maybe a bit of a reach for the ask, but I'm thinking: John wants to get in, and Paul appears distant...baautiful, but not quite real...either way, these are both excellent, so enjoy: Sunday Driver (@boshemians; excellent Tara Browne cameo) and Chrysalis (cloudy_blue).

And finally, your ask made me think of two (three?) stories in which Paul freezes out John temporarily for trauma/pain/misunderstanding reasons: Brother Dearest (@javelinbk) and The Cast Iron Shore and its sequel, The Reeperbahn, by @m1ssunderstanding. In the first, John and Paul are stepbrothers as well as lovers. At first, they dislike each other, and later there is a heartbreaking break-up for your ignoring-each-other needs. The second is an AU in which Paul works as a 'rent boy' to support his abusive father, and starts a messy and intense relationship with John, leading them and their band from Liverpool to Hamburg. John and Paul love each other, but do they trust the other loves them back? No. Missunderstandings indeed—deeply painful in places—off the charts pining—and plenty of great Hamburg Beatles in action scenes...!

That's all I can think of for now—perhaps others can chime in with additional recs? (@whenyourbirdisbroken, @crumblingcookies? Tagging you because you have vast fic memories!)

I hope you will enjoy these, anon!