#that’ll probably last all night with how big/thick it is

[jewishbarbies]

had to put the quilt made by my great aunt before i was born in the wash please send a prayer for the very old fabric

[gothcsz]

Motive | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 3 of Unscripted Desire | ~10k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Another chaotic shoot... but at least it's in Malibu?

Tags: more plot keeps sneaking into the porn, angst, frankie has entered the villa, jealous!javi, reader stands on business, it's a porn set other people are also fucking, masturbation on camera (m), dirty talk, lots of cursing (f bombs my beloved), an attempt at a blowjob, javier can't get it up, a dash of misogyny, author projects her ooc thoughts about problematic age gaps in the porn industry, no use of y/n, reader has a degree in film production, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: me nervous that part 3 isn't going to live up to the hype? more likely than you think! 🙂‍↕️ this fic is taking on a brain of its own and i'm just along for the ride, baby! for my just the tip stans— i'm sorry but i'm going to have to edge you until part 4 *crowd boos and i'm dragged off stage* i was going to wait to post this, but i really wanted to get it out because i'm so damn proud of it lowkey, lol, so i hope you all like it 🖤 let a bitch know what ya think! also, shoutout to my pookie @persephone-girl for reading over this 💋 love u mamas

Your phone’s shrill ring pierces through the haze of sleep, and you groan in frustration, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

The comforter is pulled tight over your head, shielding you from the annoyingly bright sunlight filtering through your window. Your hand shoots out, fumbling blindly across the bedside table until your fingers finally close around the receiver. 

“What?” you grumble, voice thick with sleep and muffled beneath your sheets.

“There she is! My beautiful, talented camerawoman. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do?” Robbie’s overly cheerful voice blares through the phone, so you pull it back from your ear slightly, wincing.

“Why are you calling me this early in the morning?” you snap, already regretting picking up.

“Early? It’s almost noon—”

“What do you want, Robbie?” You cut him off, not in the mood for small talk, especially since last night’s bar shift ran past four in the morning. You were hoping to sleep through most of the day, recovering in your bed with no interruptions. Clearly, that plan has gone out the window.

“Look, I’ve got a big shoot happening in Malibu today and I’m short-staffed. I could really use your magic touch behind the camera.”

“No.”

 “C’mon,” he drags the word out, “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for working on your day off.”

You rub your eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. “How much?”

He tosses out a number, and despite your best effort to remain indifferent, your eyes widen. Damn. That’s more than decent money.

“Malibu’s all the way across town,” you point out, “I won’t make it there in time if I take the bus. And a taxi? That’ll cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your ride’s outside waiting for you.”

You blink, confused, and get out of bed, dragging the corded phone with you as you move toward the bay window. You pull the curtain back just enough to peer down at the busy street below.

Sure enough, Steve is there, leaning casually against his Jeep with sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips. The second he spots you looking down, he grins like the cheshire cat and waves.

“Seriously?” you mutter to Robbie, flipping Steve off with a half-hearted smile. “And what if I’d said no?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have.”

After a few more quick exchanges, you hang up, glancing once more at your ride through the window before turning to rush and get yourself ready for the day ahead.

Truth be told, you’re still not fully awake, your body moving on autopilot as you shuffle through your morning (midday) routine.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the beach— especially one as nice as Malibu’s. The thought of it softens the blow of losing your rest day. You tell yourself you’ll make the best of it, turning this unexpected workday into something that benefits you, too.

After shooting wraps, you’ll indulge in a quiet evening by the shore, sinking your toes into the warm sand with a good book in hand. No rush to head back. This time, you’ll gladly take a taxi if it means getting some peace seaside.

With that plan in mind, you dress for the day accordingly. Your halter-style bathing suit doubles as a cute top, the color complimenting your skin, while your favorite denim shorts sit comfortably over your bikini bottoms.

You pack a few essentials into your beach bag and make sure to grab your camera bag as well. Once you’ve double-checked that everything’s packed, you make your way downstairs, feeling a bit more awake now.

Steve catches sight of you approaching and flashes a dramatic grin, straightening up like he’s about to chauffeur royalty.

“Your chariot awaits,” he announces with an exaggerated flourish, swinging the passenger door open.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the bemused laugh that escapes your lips. “God, you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head as you climb into the seat, tossing your beach bag onto the floor.

He shuts the door behind you with a smirk. “Ridiculous? I prefer charmingly dedicated to my craft.” He hops into the driver’s side, flicking the cigarette away before starting the car.

You snort at his self-satisfaction, leaning back against the seat and putting on the seatbelt. 

“Malibu, huh? How the fuck did he manage to swing that?”

He chuckles, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “He didn’t tell me much either— just asked me to stop by and pick you up on my way.”

That makes sense. Robbie’s always been a bit scatterbrained, occasionally running around like he’s managing a multi-million-dollar empire when, in reality, he’s holding it together with duct tape and half-assed enthusiasm.

The drive is surprisingly fun, Steve’s constant jokes keeping your spirits high. He always manages to make you laugh, which is why you tolerate his quirks. 

“I’m pretty sure Javi’s going to be there,” he says, almost too nonchalantly, meaning he’s in the mood to be messy.

You keep your gaze focused on the coastline, watching as palm trees blur past. The wind from the open windows has you squinting momentarily, but it can’t cool the sudden heat spreading through your body. 

“It’s not going to be weird seeing him, right?” He presses and you finally turn to face him, moving your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“Why would it be weird?” you ask, the challenge clear in your voice.

He shoots you a look, brows raised and lips quirked in that irritating way of his. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause of the whole flirtin’ with you during the middle of a scene thing? Or, y’know, the elevator incident… which, by the way, what the fuck even happened there?” He glances at you, curiosity practically oozing out of him.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, but you can’t stop the way your thighs rub together at the memory. 

Javier’s mouth... God. “None of your damn business.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked him.”

You laugh, loudly, the sound bordering on forced. “Absolutely not.”

He shoots you that okay, sure look, and you groan internally.

Steve’s like a dog with a bone when he gets curious, and you know he’s not going to let this go until you give him something. You sigh, deciding to indulge him— partially. 

“He was being an asshole,” you start, and he immediately interjects with, “Nothing new there,” causing both of you to share a laugh at Javier’s expense.

You shake your head, returning your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose. “No, seriously. He was pushing my buttons, being his usual peacock self. I don’t even know how it escalated, but one moment we’re arguing, and the next... he’s got his tongue in my pussy.”

Steve chokes on his own spit at your bluntness. He’s heard and seen much worse on set, yet your confession has him all tripped up. 

“So, you did fuck him?”

You roll your eyes again, shifting in your seat as the horny flashbacks hit you all at once— Javier’s lips wrapped around your clit, the perfect rhythm of his tongue, his fingers.

You shove those thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead, annoyed at both Javier and Steve now. “Getting head isn’t fucking. It’s, like, third base. And anyway, I made it clear— that’s all he was getting from me. I’m not about to waste my time rolling around in bed with him.”

He gives you a look— a knowing look— and you scoff, shaking your head. “What now?” 

“Nothing. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say that about him.”

“Someone’s gotta humble his ass,” you mutter, though the words feel heavier than they should. You try to act like you’ve put Javier out of your mind, like that moment was nothing but a blip in your life, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

You’ve never met anyone like him, and the fact that he can elicit such reactions from you pisses you off so bad.

As the coastline stretches out in front of you, Malibu drawing closer with every mile, you can’t help but wonder if seeing Javier today will be as easy as you’re pretending it will be.

The mansion is far more extravagant than anything you could have imagined. Its grand facade, with towering columns and ivy crawling up the sides, feels like something out of a movie set, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

But then, as soon as you step past the threshold, you hear it— echoing from deep within the house are the unmistakable sounds of exaggerated moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thump of bodies meeting.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag on your shoulder, your beach bag abandoned in Steve’s car. As you step further into the foyer, Robbie appears, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy?” he jokes, taking in your wide-eyed amusement as you scan the expensive decor— the towering glass chandelier overhead, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can’t help but be a little impressed. 

But of course, he’s there to give you shit about it. You turn your wide-eyed gaze into a glare, bringing your attention to him. “So funny. You should quit your current sleazy day job and take up another sleazy one— stand up,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just grins, unbothered by your sharp tone. “You’re always a joy to work with. No wonder Javi asked for you specifically.”

Your entire demeanor shifts viscerally and you curse yourself for it mentally, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? Javier asked for me?”

He shrugs, indifferent to your confusion. “Yeah. He’s set for a solo shoot upstairs in one of the bathrooms before he’s on with...” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “...Mariella. Real pretty girl, it’s her first on-camera gig today.”

The world blurs a little as your mind zeroes in on that one bit of information: Javier asked for you. And not just for any shoot— a solo one. You blink, shaking your head to clear the fog. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where I was summoned here by someone who isn’t my boss?”

“Oh yeah, he made a real fuss about it. Sent away the other guy we had lined up for the shoot. Told me he wouldn’t do it unless you were behind the camera. Even offered to pay out of his own pocket just to get you here. It’s the only reason we’re paying you as much as I promised over the phone.”

Your stomach twists and you can feel your face settling into a deep frown, the kind that pulls some of your mood down with it. So that’s why he dangled such a big paycheck in front of you this morning.

After the elevator incident (as Steve has so eloquently named it), after the intense heat of his mouth on you, the way he had you— he said he’d leave you alone. He was supposed to respect the boundaries you set, but here he is, yanking you back into his orbit. 

You can already picture him upstairs, lounging in one of those stupidly lavish bathrooms, probably smirking that damn smirk of his, waiting for you.

You try to squash down the way your pulse quickens at the thought, the lingering memory of his fingers digging into your hips, his tongue working between your thighs, is beckoning you into temptation again.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, more to yourself than your boss. You have half a mind to storm up those stairs, find the pornstar, and give him a piece of your mind before marching right back out to spend your day on the beach— free of drama and distractions and him.

But the reality is, you’re being paid nearly three times what you’d normally make on a gig like this. It’s enough to drown out the temptation to walk away, however satisfying that would be.

You’re an adult. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Robbie gives you a sidelong glance, clearly sensing your hesitation. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

With a sigh, you force a smile and shake your head. “As good as it’d feel to leave, no, I’m not. I’ll be up in a sec.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he gives you a few pointers before rushing off into this maze of a house.

You linger for a second longer, taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves. Come on. Get it together. After a final mental pep talk, you head toward the grand staircase that winds up to the second floor. 

The sight that greets you at the top of the stairs stops you in your tracks: Lexxie is splayed out on her back atop some console table, currently getting the life fucked out of her. The visual is chaotic but nothing new. You’ve seen it a hundred times before. 

A guy with a scruffy beard and a beat-up baseball cap stands behind the camera, looking more bored than impressed, barely watching as the two stars go at it.

You lean against the nearby railing, your voice cutting through their heavy breaths and grunts. “Guess your marriage to Javier didn’t last very long,” you tease from off camera, referencing the honeymoon shoot.

The star’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice, and she flashes you a playful, almost sweet smile in between heavy breaths. “Kinda regretting stepping out on him—oh, fuck.” Her snappy comeback dissolves into a breathy moan as the guy currently rearranging her on the table pushes her legs up to her chest, hitting just the right spot. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your shot,” you say, throwing a glance at the cameraman, knowing how annoying it can be when someone messes with your focus.

He waves it off with a lazy shrug. “It’s not ruined. Honestly, I would’ve quit filming ten minutes ago. It’s starting to drag. I’m impressed they’re still going.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve got stamina like you wouldn���t believe. Makes me feel lazy in bed sometimes, but then I remember how unrealistic this shit actually is.”

He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Should make it an Olympic sport. Bet we’d bring home gold.”

“Pretty sure that already exists and it happens in the Olympic Village.” You smirk, finally peeling your eyes away from the couple to look at him properly.

He’s cute in that disheveled, stray-dog kind of way. His curls poke out from under a worn baseball cap, his beard patchy, and his clothes rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. He fits in perfectly with the kind of guys you’d expect on a porn crew.

Earning a genuine laugh from him, he extends a hand. “I’m Frankie.”

You shake it, offering your name in return. “I’m also part of the crew. About to go shoot a scene in the master bathroom.” You explain, noticing how his grip lingers just a little, his smile playful and easy. You feel a bit of warmth rush to your cheeks, and he’s about to say something when—

“Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Lexxie’s voice is piercing, loud and breathless, pulling your attention back to the scene.

You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue,” you mutter, stepping out before you get too caught up flirting with him.

“Nice meeting you,” he says before dismounting the camera, moving in closer to capture the so-called money shot.

Cute. Too cute. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man you’re about to see.

You push open the door to the room Javier’s in, and the sight of him has you doing a double take.

He’s standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his defined Adonis belt drawing your eyes in a way you hate to admit.

His toned, brown torso glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat, the sunlight pouring into the room making him look like he’s glowing.

You need to toughen up, and in order to do so, you have to bitch at him. It’s the only way to keep that lustful cavewoman instinct away.

“You’re a piece of work,” is what you settle on, making sure to let your tone really punctuate how annoyed you are by the stunt he pulled today.

The second his eyes lock onto yours, amusement flickers behind them, as if he’s been waiting for this confrontation.

He quirks a brow, lips curving into a lazy smile. “¿De que hablas nena—?”

“What happened to ‘if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone’? Was that something you said just to lower my guard? To get me to give you what you want?” You cut him off, keeping your distance even as you notice him inching closer.

Your eyes are daggers as they bore into him, and for a brief second, you hope he feels at least some of the fire burning in your chest. But if he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. He is frustratingly calm, like he’s above it all.

“You gave me no indication that you didn’t want me anymore.” His voice is casual, almost patronizing.

You groan as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “I literally said, ‘Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again.’ What the fuck else do I have to say or do to get you off my back?”

Silence settles between you two as you stand there staring each other down. He’s unreadable, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

“Well?” you demand, impatient.

“In my defense— it didn’t sound very convincing.” You stare at him incredulously before turning on your heel. Hell no. He can keep his money and his bullshit. You’re not doing this.

But just as your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice sharpens with a hint of panic, calling your name.

“Wait, look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to start anything. I just thought—” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I’d feel more comfortable if you were behind the camera during this shoot. Not the other guy Robbie brought in.”

Frankie? He seems so harmless, and besides, Javier’s never had an issue with whoever’s in the room when he’s filming, so why is it a problem now?

However, his tone does sound sincere. You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes and refusing to let your guard down. “This better not be another one of your tricks, Javier. If you’re doing this to try and get into my pants—”

He almost grins, but catches himself just in time, clearly biting back a remark. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Already have, his brown eyes seem to say. But he holds his tongue, offering a faint nod instead. 

“I promise. No tricks. Just a professional shoot. That’s it.”

You give him one last warning glance before sighing. “Fine. But I’m telling you, Javier—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “I get it and please stop calling me Javier.”

You arch a brow. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Javi.”

Ugh, whatever. “Okay, fine, Javi. Just show me where I’m supposed to set up.” 

He bites back another grin and motions you with a flick of his head, and with the weird tension simmering, you follow him toward the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks open, revealing an elaborate setup, and you pause in the doorway, eyes widening.

It’s surprisingly... beautiful.

In front of a massive window that overlooks the sprawling blue ocean outside, there’s a porcelain clawfoot bathtub filled with what looks like a milk bath. Various colored flower petals float delicately on the surface, scattered in an almost artful arrangement.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Well, damn. This actually looks nice.” This bathroom is bigger than your entire apartment.

Javier notices your reaction and leans against the doorframe to the connecting walk in closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Catering to the female gaze,” he says with a cocky shrug, “At least, that’s what my agent told me. Seems like I’m very popular among the ladies.”

The way he says it makes you want to smack him upside the head. He’s pushing your buttons again in the most subtle way, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Cute,” you reply dryly, walking past him to set your camera bag down on the large counter.

As you begin to unpack and set up, you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, lingering on the exposed skin of your back then dripping down to your legs.

It kind of feels good to have him ogling you like this. The whole look but don’t touch thing is really doing it for you, more than you’d care to admit. There’s a certain power in keeping him wanting, yet also forcing the distance.

“It’s not just about the ladies, you know. I actually want this to be good. I trust you to make it look that way.”

You glance over at him. His playful arrogance has slightly faded, shaded in by the genuine want to make this feel more than just some raunchy scene.

“I’m not a director, I just film it,” you remind him, adjusting the camera lens as you try to play it off. “So just do whatever you think is right. Robbie gave me some pointers, but it wasn’t much.”

“Still,” he presses, “there’s some finesse to what you do.”

At least he’s aware of that. “Let’s just get this over with,” you say, deflecting the compliment.

You finish setting up the camera, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. It’s important to capture the full picturesque scene to begin with— the soft light spilling in through the window, the sparkling blue ocean in the background.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I’m all set for whenever you’re ready.”

Javier moves casually as he unwraps the white towel from around his waist. His cock, already half-hard, demands your attention, but you force yourself to look away. You rub your lips together then lick at them unconsciously, trying to focus on anything other than his naked body.

“Got plans after this?” he asks as though he’s asking you about the weather.

You blink at the normalcy of the question “Just going to hang out by the beach,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your focus on the camera and not on his crotch.

It almost feels strange talking to him like this, without the usual teasing or sexual tension-laden bickering.

“Sounds fun,” he says as he steps into the tub, the water sloshing around him. “Real nice out here. The weather is perfect for it today.”

You watch as he settles in, the milky water rising around his body, and for a moment, you’re completely mesmerized.

The scene in front of you looks like something out of a romantic painting, and it hits you how undeniably beautiful he looks. His skin, a warm golden brown, contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of the bath, and the colorful flower petals floating on the surface make the whole thing look like a dream.

He leans back, the water just kissing his chest, and you catch yourself imagining what a soft, hazy vignette filter would do to the shot, how it would add an enchanting glow to an already intimate scene.

You shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the reverie. You’re supposed to be filming him jerking off, not admiring the aesthetics like this is some fine art shoot. But fuck, it’s hard to separate the two when the visuals are this damn good.

Javier, of course, senses your brief distraction. He watches you, eyes thoughtful as he stretches out, letting the water ripple around him. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “Is there a clear direction for this scene, or are you just improvising?”

“I’m just winging it,” his voice is a rich, velvet drawl, a little rough from all the smoking he does. “No dirty talk. They want my natural noises to be the main focus… amongst other things.” He cocks his head to the side, one arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Heat blooms low in your belly, shooting straight to your cunt at the sight. The way his bicep flexes, the muscles shifting smoothly beneath that taut, sun-kissed skin, showcasing just how defined he is while still looking so maddeningly soft. 

Calm down, girl, you silently reprimand your pussy. She’s fucking purring right now.

You clear your throat and give him a nod, signaling him to begin. Stepping behind the camera, you focus through the lens, grateful for the distance.

Javier moves slowly. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, eyes falling closed, the soft curve of his lashes fanning out like shadows against his skin. One hand trails down, lingering at the hollow of his collarbones. The movements are unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savoring the feel of his own skin.

The intimate build-up draws you in, despite your best efforts to remain detached.

You unmount the camera from its tripod after a few moments, stepping closer to him, framing the shot tight around his chest, the slow glide of his hand along his torso. You can’t help but notice the pounding of your heart, each beat mirroring the steady, throbbing pulse at your clit. 

The sight of him— relaxed, fully in his element, bathed in the soft glow of light— stirs that fucking feeling deep within you.

It’s not just desire, though that’s certainly there. It’s the maddening awareness of how sensual, how magnetic this man is. And even though you try to tell yourself you’d feel the same about any other attractive man in his place, you know that’d be a damn lie.

Javier’s hand moves lower, ghosting over the ridges of his soft stomach. His other hand trails slowly through the water, sending gentle ripples through the milky bath. You swallow hard and focus the lens on his face— the slight parting of his pouty pink lips beneath his trimmed mustache that you just now realize has a small patch right above his cupid’s bow.

Even his imperfections are attractive.

The flushed skin of his cock makes an appearance, his thick, swollen head breaking the surface of the water with each subtle movement, teasing you and the camera. The way it peeks through, the slick tip glistening in the milky bath, almost feels like a taunt— winking at you.

Doing as you’re supposed to, you adjust the lens to zoom in on the way his cock flirts with the surface.

If you were anyone else, one of his usual co-stars maybe, you’d lean down and give it a few kitten licks. You’d tease the sensitive crown with your tongue, circling the tip before letting it slide past your lips— just enough to drive him wild.

Your tongue twitches at the thought.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he gets closer to where he’s aching to touch. It’s as if he can read your mind, as if he knows you’re imagining the feel of his cock in your mouth, the taste of his salty skin, the way he’d twitch against your tongue as you tease him until he begs for more.

Maybe he’s picturing your lips wrapped around him, too.

You bite down on your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, to stay focused, even though your body is betraying you. The mess in your panties, the way your nipples stiffen beneath your bathing suit top— everything about this moment is dangerous.

Then finally, his fist wraps around his cock, a soft slosh of water accompanying the motion. The eroticism of the scene— paired with the proximity, the memory of those hands on you— ignites that annoying need deep inside.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes still closed as though lost in the pleasure of it all. You focus the camera on his hand, on the way it moves with purpose, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, slick with precum.

His groans start to fill the air, and your own body reacts, hips shifting slightly as you try to ignore pressure at your cunt.

“Still with me?” His voice cuts through the silence, raspy and knowing, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

Oh. Have they always been this golden?

“Yeah,” you’re proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady.

Javier’s body is pure, unfiltered sin in motion. As you move around the bathtub to capture every angle, you can’t help but admire him. His muscles shift with every slow pump of his hand, the sinewy lines of his arms and torso rippling just beneath the milky water.

His stomach contracts with each exhale, drawing your gaze lower to the faint trail of hair leading down to his cock, which you catch glimpses of when his hips buck up inadvertently.

His breathing grows heavier, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowing in concentration as his pleasure builds. It’s mesmerizing, the way his face contorts, his expressions almost too intimate, too personal for the lens. But you can’t tear your eyes— or the camera— away.

His fist moves with such confidence, touching himself with an unhurried rhythm that only a man used to his own pleasure can manage. Every time his thumb glides over the tip of his cock, a heavier grunt rumbles in his throat and it’s so hot.

You’re too focused on capturing every inch of him that it almost catches you off guard when he begins to speak.

“Wish it was your pretty hand around me right now, baby.” His voice is husky, laced with want, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You blink rapidly, heart stalling in your chest as the camera wavers slightly in your hands. “Javier,” you sigh, his name slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, I know, but shit—” His words are more ragged now, spoken between heavy breaths. “You’re all I can think about still. You stay in my mind, muñeca. Can’t get you out.”

Even though every rational part of you knows you should stop him, should leave or at least say something to shut him up, you don’t.

You don’t run, you don’t protest. You just... let it happen.

“Talk to me, please.”

“I-I—” The words get stuck in your throat, “I can’t. I’ll ruin the shoot.” Why is that your priority right now?

“You won’t.”

The way he says it chips at the walls you've built around yourself.

“What do I even say?”

“Anything,” there he goes again, using that tone that makes him sound like he’s begging.

So, you say what you’ve been thinking of since he got into this damn tub. “Your cock is so pretty, Javi.” You purr, throwing all caution to the wind, lying to yourself that this means nothing.

The effect is immediate. He groans, a deep sound from his chest, and his hand moves faster over his shaft, the slickness of the water amplifying the movement. “Fuck,” he says, his breathing now erratic, “say it again.”

Your gaze flicks down and it’s mesmerizing watching the way his body responds to his own touch, but it’s the fact that he’s unraveling in front of you that leaves your mouth dry.

“Such a pretty cock, Javi,” you repeat, voice steadier this time, growing bolder with each passing second. Every flex and contraction of his body feeds the arousal pulsing in you. “I bet it would feel perfect sliding down my throat, hitting the back of it until I’m choking on you.”

All those hours spent listening to cheesy porn dialogue are finally paying off.

His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A guttural groan escapes him as the image of what you just said sets in. His other hand moves down to cup his heavy, swollen balls, the water around him rocking more violently now as he starts to lose himself in the fantasy.

“Shit… I’m close,” he growls, voice breaking with need, the words barely coherent. “Keep talking to me, fuck…”

You lean in slightly, the camera momentarily forgotten. “You want to come for me?” Your whisper is dripping with lust, the idea of him falling apart because of you making your pussy ache. “You want to make a mess? Pretend I’m kneeling right here, my mouth open and waiting for you to fill it, warm and wet just for you?”

You’ve seen him come so many times, watched him fill too many cunts with his spend and paint different parts of their pretty bodies— but none of it compares to the sight before you.

The way his body jerks in response tells you everything you need to know. His grip tightens on the edge of the tub, knuckles going white as he pumps faster, rougher, pushing himself toward the brink. His hips start lifting out of the water with every thrust into his own hand, chasing that final release.

“Fuck, yes…,” he groans, voice strangled, barely holding it together. His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing, going rigid as he falls over the edge.

His bilingual expletives cut off into a long, drawn-out moan as his cock twitches, thick ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts, splattering against his fist, swirling into the milky bathwater. The petals float lazily across the surface, some clinging to his skin, as the evidence of his release drifts around him.

You stand there, heart pounding, frozen as your brain tries to catch up with your pussy.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, fumbling with the camera as you stop the recording. You quickly move to pack everything up and try your damndest not to look at him.

“Wait, don’t—” Javier’s voice is still hoarse, but there’s a touch of urgency to it now, breaking through the post-orgasm haze. You hear the water sloshing violently behind you as he moves, and you know he’s getting out of the tub. “Just… hang on.”

“No. I-I gotta go,” you stammer, your hands frantically packing up the camera, the lens cap slipping through your fingers. You try to grab it, but your nerves are shot and it fumbles. Thankfully, it doesn’t take damage. You’d hate to hear Robbie bitch at you for breaking the brand-new camera.

Just get out of here is the only thought running through your mind. Every time you’re around him lately, you end up a confused, horny, exasperated mess, and you can’t handle it anymore.

“Hey—wait!” Javier slips as he tries to step out of the tub, nearly falling as he reaches for you, his wet feet squeaking against the floor. You turn just in time to see him catch himself, water dripping from his body, his skin still flushed from what just happened.

“What the hell?” You shoot him a look, “You’re gonna break your neck trying to stop me from leaving—”

“I wasn’t—fuck, just let me talk for a second.” He runs a hand through his soaked hair, water dripping down his neck, over the curve of his shoulders, and you hate how even now, you’re distracted by how good he looks. He reaches for the towel and loosely wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you snap, stuffing your gear into your bag, not caring how haphazardly it’s packed. “This— this isn’t what I signed up for. I’m here to work, remember? Not… whatever the fuck that was.”

He steps closer, reaching for your arm, but you yank it away before he can touch you. The last thing you need is his hands on you right now, reminding you of everything you shouldn’t want.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, but there’s a frustration beneath it, like he’s grappling with the same confusion you are. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you, okay? I just… I don’t know what the hell is happening between us either.”

You stop, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that pulls at the part of you that’s freakishly tethered to him, but you can’t let that get to you now. Not when everything feels so damn complicated.

“Javier, this—” You struggle for words, shaking your head. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t—” You pause, your breath catching. I can’t have you. “I don’t want you,” you correct yourself.

His jaw clenches, muscles ticking under the strain. “Stop bullshitting me,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, but it comes out too quickly, too rehearsed.

“You’re lying through your fuckin’ teeth, and it’s pathetic. What is so wrong with giving me a chance?” He keeps circling back to this— chances.

One thing about him, he knows how to trigger a fucking migraine. 

“Everything!” The word bursts out of you like a confession. “Everything about this is wrong. It’s why I’ve been trying to stay away since day one, but you’re so— ugh!” You throw your hands up, exasperated, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small and claustrophobic. He’s got you spinning in circles, tying you up in knots, and you can’t think straight around him.

Without a second thought, you turn to leave, your feet moving as if you’re fucking levitating. So what if you’ve made a habit of running away from him? You don’t owe him shit.

“Nena—” Desperation laces his voice and that stupid nickname makes your skin curl. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“Well, too bad,” you snap over your shoulder. “I’m leaving so you can’t sweet-talk me into anything.” The slam of the door echoes behind you, a final punctuation to your statement.

As you step out into the hallway, the distant sounds of people fucking filter through the air, kind of grounding you back to the real world.

You can’t keep working with him, not if every interaction is going to end like this. You make a mental note to talk to Robbie after today’s shoot. No more Peña.

The day drags on, the tension from earlier still lingering, but now, sitting outside on the shaded patio, you feel a small reprieve.

A half-eaten sandwich rests before you on the table, your eyes lazily tracing the lines of the zero-edge pool that blends into the horizon. The soft rustle of palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze lulls you into a sense of temporary peace. You glance around, taking in the pristine luxury surrounding you. Rich people really have it made, you think, marveling at the extravagance of someone else’s life.

The spat with Javier lingers but you’ve done your best to ignore it by keeping busy. The other shoots happening in the house have kept you distracted, but you know what’s coming: the last scene of the day— with him— and the new girl, Mariella. A small sigh escapes your lips as you sink deeper into the patio chair, absolutely dreading it.

Your tranquility is shattered when you feel a presence nearby. Already anticipating another confrontation with Javier, you steel yourself and don’t even bother looking up before snapping, “Oh my god, can you just leave me alone—”

The words get jammed in your throat as your eyes land on Frankie, not Javier. He stands there, looking taken aback, a paper bag in one hand and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. You instantly feel like a bitch.

“Shit— sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”

Frankie lets out a small chuckle, brown eyes softening as he rubs the back of his neck. “No worries, I can leave if you want—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

He hesitates for a moment before motioning to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head, and he lowers himself into the seat, setting his lunch down. The small talk starts easily, flowing naturally as you both munch on your food. He tells you about his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he recounts how she’s the light of his life. Then he goes on about how his friends call him Catfish because of some dumb inside joke, and also the fact that he’s a retired pilot. It somehow doesn’t surprise you— the career fits him.

“How do you go from flying helicopters to shooting porn?” you ask, the question half serious, half teasing as you lean back in your chair, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. “Shit happens,” he says with a shrug. “How do you go from having a film production degree to spending your days staring at tits and ass?”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. You tilt your head, pausing for effect. “... Shit happens,” you echo, the irony not lost on either of you.

He snorts, taking a slow sip of his water, the sound of his laughter rolling into the lazy afternoon air. You can’t help but steal a glance from behind your shades, your gaze wandering over his rugged features.

There’s something about the way the sun hits him just right, casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. You swallow, feeling a subtle pull in your chest, an unexpected attraction. He’s not flashy, not like the other guys you’re used to working with— there’s an unspoken confidence in his ease, a solidness that makes you want to keep looking.

“So… who’d you think I was? Just then?” He asks, adjusting his cap.

You try not to let your small smile falter. “Oh, just an annoying coworker.”

“Ah, the kind who shows up at the worst times, huh?”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh, “You know the type.”

Frankie leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m glad I’m not that guy.” There’s a flicker of flirtation in his tone, his eyes lingering a beat too long. “But if you ever need someone to… keep him under control, you just let me know. Got the remedy for that right here.” 

He exaggeratedly flexes his biceps, and the snug t-shirt he’s wearing pulls taut around his arms, highlighting their impressive size.

You can’t help but admire the view— he’s really fun to look at, all charming smiles and playful confidence.

“I might just take you up on that, actually,” you reply, matching his energy with a teasing smile of your own. “I could definitely use someone who knows how to handle things.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips. “I’m more than equipped for that, trust me.”

For a second, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world— until, of course, it comes crashing down.

A voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “We’re ready for the last scene.”

You turn to see Javier standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between you and Frankie. His entire posture screams annoyance.

“And who are you?” Frankie retorts, squinting one eye against the harsh sunlight, playful defiance dancing in his tone.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that response at all. “I’m ready to get this shit done with,” he snaps, and you narrow your eyes, practically shooting daggers at him.

Frankie clears his throat, sizing up Javier’s bristling energy. “Right.”

You catch the word presumido slip from his lips— the Spanish insult that has you exhaling a light laugh through your nose, because he’s so spot on and he doesn’t even know it.

Both of you stand, Frankie gathering the remnants of your lunch. “If you’d like some company down by the beach later, I’ll still be around,” he adds smoothly, sliding the proposition in there as casually as if he were just suggesting grabbing coffee. You almost don’t mind him crashing your solo date.

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, pushing your chair in. “It would be great to not have to take the taxi back, but I was willing to do it for a nice afternoon by the water.” You can feel Javier’s possessive stare burning into you from across the way.

Frankie, absolutely unbothered, leans in closer, a charming grin on his face. “Here’s my number if you need that ride.” A pen appears out of nowhere, and he scribbles down his digits on a clean corner of his napkin, tearing it off with an effortless confidence before handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you say with a flirty smile, tucking the napkin into your pocket, feeling a thrill against the scowling presence of the spectator watching from the sliding glass door 

Frankie branches off to use the restroom and you push past Javier, no intention of speaking to him until—

“If you spent less time flirting with the crew and more time focusing on your job, we’d be finished by now.”

You can practically taste his jealousy.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him, your patience running thin. “Really, Javi? You’re jealous of Frankie? That’s what this is about? Did our last conversation not put shit in perspective for you?”

He steps closer, eyes hard, voice low. “Jealous? Of him?” He scoffs, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. “I just don’t appreciate having to wait because you’re too busy cozying up to someone else. Especially someone who looks like they just got picked up off the side of the road.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.” Is all you can say, brushing past him yet again, his presence looming heavy as you head toward the living room where the last scene is set to be shot.

The moment Robbie goes on with his usual pre-shoot rundown, your attention shifts to the newbie Mariella immediately, drowning out his usual spiel.

The girl— and she is a girl, no matter what the paperwork says— looks painfully young. Her cropped tee hugging her braless chest, barely keeping her breasts from spilling out, and those flimsy pajama shorts riding high on her thighs. It’s the kind of outfit that makes you uneasy— one you’ve seen too many times in this industry, designed to play into the fantasies of men who want their women to look barely legal.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sour taste of frustration building in the back of your throat. This is the part of the job that gnaws at you— the undercurrent of exploitation that no one acknowledges.

You’re not naive, you know exactly what sells in porn. You know what these people want to watch, what they get off on. The younger, the better. 

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach when you’re standing on set, watching it play out in real time.

Just as Mariella positions herself, preparing for the camera to roll, you can’t stop yourself. The words come out before you can think to censor them. “How old are you?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention shifts to you. Robbie. Steve. Frankie. Even Javier, who’s lounging in the corner, waiting for his moment to shine. They all freeze, the casual banter dying off as your question lingers in the air. Mariella blinks, looking around as if unsure who you’re even talking to.

“I—I turned twenty last week.”

Your expression hardens, and the disapproval is written all over your face. “She’s not even old enough to drink, and you’re having her fuck Javier?” Your eyes cut to Robbie, who’s staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’re being ridiculous. “I don’t pay you to hear your opinions on shit,” he snaps, clearly irritated. “Just sit there and record the damn thing.”

Your eyes roll hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re all a bunch of perverts.”

Poor Frankie catches a stray with that one. It’s like everything is grating on you in ways it usually doesn’t. Normally, you can shove it down and keep your head low because, at the end of the day, you’re just here for the paycheck.

“Perverts pay your bills, sweetheart,” Robbie throws back, all nonchalant. What’s worse is that he’s right.

Moments like this make you wonder how long you can keep doing this without losing a part of yourself in the process.

You look around at the other three men, none of them stepping up to say anything in your defense. Useless.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but it stings. Even Javier, usually quick with a sarcastic quip or biting comment, says nothing. He just sits there, stuffing out a cigarette that’s magically appeared between his lips.

It feels like a betrayal, even though you know better than to expect any different.

And Mariella? She’s clearly distracted, caught up in the magnetic pull Javier has over people. The way she’s looking at him with that starstruck, wide-eyed awe only makes it worse. You can see it in her expression, the way her gaze flickers over him like she’s already imagining how it’s going to feel when he fucks her. Thinking with her pussy instead of having common sense.

You recognize it because you were just in her exact position, drawn into that same orbit. You find empathy for her, but not the other motherfuckers.

The room descends into awkward silence, as if everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you’re not in the mood for a full-blown argument, so you shut down, slumping into the chair behind your camera with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

You know it’s only a matter of time before all these feelings you’ve been aggressively pushing down come back up and make you snap, but for now, you continue to force it all away.

You’re assigned to shoot the stoic, wide shots while Frankie’s in charge of the close-ups, and honestly? You’re relieved. The last thing you need is to be up close, watching this trash unfold.

The scene starts with the typical, raunchy premise: Dad pays babysitter with his cock! It explains Mariella’s barely-there outfit and the cluttered coffee table with school notebooks, setting the scene.

Then there’s Javier who looks the part too; dressed in dark blue slacks, a typical white collared shirt with a few buttons popped open to give that I’m stressed, come take care of me vibe.

He’s the picture of temptation, and it’s obvious Mariella’s already in the clouds.

The filming begins and they share that cheesy, erotic dialogue and lustful touches. You feel yourself sink further into the chair, silently counting down the minutes until you’re decompressing by the beach.

She sinks to her knees before him, her doe eyes looking up at him with that practiced innocence they all seem to perfect so quickly. She reaches for the buttons on his slacks, her delicate fingers fumbling just a little before she pulls down the zipper and tugs at the waistband. She nuzzles her face against his thigh, brushing her lips against his skin, and finally pulls out his cock. Even soft, it’s still an impressive size— but it’s definitely not how this was supposed to go.

“Well, are you going to suck it or just stare at it?” Javier snaps, his tone cutting through the air with an edge that feels too sharp, too real. It doesn’t sound like the crudeness that’s meant to spice up the scene.

His hand shoots out and tangles in her hair, yanking her closer. He’s rougher than usual, harsher, as he forces her mouth onto him.

She wraps her lips around his head, suckling softly at first, then taking him deeper into her mouth. She’s trying to do her job, playing the part of the eager babysitter, but something’s off.

Javier’s head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut, but it’s not the usual look of pleasure that crosses his face. It’s more like he’s concentrating, forcing himself to feel something that isn’t there.

You can’t help it— your eyes flick around the room, looking at the rest of the crew. No one seems to be noticing what you’re seeing, their eyes all honed in on the action in front of them.

But you’re catching the small details like you always do.

After a few more moments, it’s clear that it’s not happening. Javier lets out a frustrated curse, pulling out of her mouth with an audible, wet pop. “Fuck—just, give me a second,” he grumbles, stepping back. Mariella wipes the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and hesitation.

You take that as your cue. Reaching over, you stop the recording, your finger hesitating on the button for only a moment before pressing it. Frankie does the same, Steve lowers his mic and pulls his headset off.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the floor, like he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. “I just need a minute,” he says again, but it’s more to himself than to anyone else.

Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer than you intend, and your mind flashes back to earlier, to the way he was with you. The memory is sharp and clear, the contrast striking. He’d come undone for you without hesitation, without needing any coaxing or forcing. Just words. But now, with Mariella kneeling in front of him, offering herself up like a gift, he’s struggling. 

“How long will this minute take? We gotta be outta here soon so get it up before I get one of these two to take your place.”

Javier scoffs, dismissive, “Tape wouldn’t fucking sell.”

“Well one featuring a soft dick won’t either,” comes the retort, and the two of them start their back-and-forth bickering.

You rub at your temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind your eyes. This has to be some weird-ass dream; it sure as hell feels like it. Maybe you’re still in bed, blissfully sleeping until three in the afternoon.

Javier storms off and Steve puts his equipment down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Robbie just waves him away. “Take five,” he mutters to the rest of you, going in the opposite direction. This is such a mess, and poor Mariella remains on her knees, picking at her cuticles. 

“Please get up and sit on the couch. You look pathetic,” you say to her, not cruelly but bluntly. It’s not her fault, but the sight of her there is making you itch. She complies like a chastised child. 

Frankie drops down beside you, letting out a breath that mirrors your own. “These things usually go like this?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“No,” shit has just been weird amongst this group for weeks now. “Burnout is inevitable, I guess.” You’re not about to sit there and shit-talk Javier, despite everything. You might have a mountain of complicated feelings when it comes to him, but you won’t kick him while he’s down.

Before Frankie can respond, Robbie comes barreling back into the room, his face flushed with anger. His eyes lock onto you, and you can see the accusation in them before he even opens his mouth.

“This is your fault,” he spits out, voice sharp, acidic. “All that shit you were talking earlier— now he’s fucking broken.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground. “Excuse me?” you snap, incredulous. “I was making a valid point. How the hell is it my fault that he grew a conscience?”

“Y’know,” he starts, his words dripping with the kind of vile, misogynistic shit that makes your blood boil. “You’d do me more good in front of the camera. Have somethin’ shoved up in there to keep you fucking quiet.”

The reaction is immediate. You shoot up from your seat so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and angry, mirroring how you feel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Frankie stands too, his face hardening as he takes a step in front of you, finally coming to your defense. “Watch it,”  he warns, and it feels like the whole situation could explode into something much worse.

Robbie, of course, just sneers “What? You gonna defend her? She’s been a pain in my ass for weeks—”

“I’m done.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think them through, but they feel right. 

You’re tired— so damn tired— of this whole mess. Of dealing with assholes like Robbie and Javier who think they can get away with saying whatever they want. “I quit.” 

Your boss’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something else, but you cut him off with a cutting glare. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you treat me like shit because your precious Javier can’t get his dick hard. Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’ll double up on shifts at the bar or go back to waiting tables like you did throughout college. Whatever keeps you away from this bullshit. 

As you stride down the hallway toward the entrance, you pass Javier and Steve. Javier’s face is stormy, brows knitted together as if he’s still reeling from whatever heated discussion they just had. 

The moment he spots you, his expression shifts. There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even concern.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

You yank the heavy, probably expensive for no reason, front door open, the sound echoing through the hallway. “I just quit,” you snap, voice sharp as glass. “See you never.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @libre-sol . @cherrysugarx . @goodvibesonly421 .

finally started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out. muchas gracias mis putitas (gn) (endearingly) 🖤

[reciperesolutions]

Feast of the Seven Fishes!

I think from now on, each year, I’ll just copy notes from the year before’s post and add to/edit accordingly. That’ll make it much easier to track and then look up for reference in the next year to come! :)

Most of the courses were good enough that I just carried them over from last year. I did my big shop the Wednesday before and was going to plan out my day-of strategy ahead of time...but just ended up using the same guide I scribbled out last year. (It was so effective - no need to reinvent the wheel!) I started prepping/cooking at 9 am morning of…and basically didn’t stop until nearly 7 pm. It was a long - but stress-free - day, as I mostly had enough time to get everything done. We added arranged seating with name cards, which took a few minutes to work out - luckily, though, almost everyone was late, haha, so it all ended up working out fine. For a 6 pm dinner, though, better to start closer to 8:30 and limit breaks!

All of my notes from last year’s recipes + a few updates are included below, including how many multiples I recommend for each recipe based on number of guests (keeping in mind these portions are in the context of a 7-course dinner). General notes follow!!

COURSE 1: Drinks and appetizers - guest supplied! I considered trying a new recipe - like bite-sized crab cakes - but ultimately decided to just leave this to the guests. It turned out great! All apps were fish themed in one way or another, and asking for white wine worked out perfectly, too, to kick off the night (with extra bonus points for fish-theme-labeled wine)!

COURSE 2: Seafood Chowder. Based on recipe comments, I modified the original recipe by substituting the evaporated milk for 1 can of creamed corn + 1 cup of heavy cream, seasoned heavily with S&P (like, probably 1 tbsp of each - taste to confirm!), and 3 tbsp of Old Bay.

I didn’t peel the potatoes (totally fine!) and chopped rather than diced them - they and the fish will break up once you start mixing/transferring things. After it was basically done cooking, I transferred from the stove to the crockpot and kept on warm - this was great to free up my big pot, as well as get it at perfect serving temp. Ultimately transferred it to my soup serving bowl and had my sous chef walk around the table with me for serving: people served themselves from the bowl, then I topped with crumbled thick cut bacon (prepped the morning of) and a dash of Old Bay.

15 people or fewer = x1 recipe is plenty

https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/12732/fish-chowder/?internalSource=hub%20recipe&referringContentType=Search&clickId=cardslot%203

COURSE 3: Caesar Kale Salad. This year I made the dressing in the morning and didn’t add it to the kale until right before serving. Julienning the kale was a great task for early party arrivers :) I also accidentally doubled the amount of garlic year 1 (half was supposed to be for the croutons) but it was just as fantastic as you’d expect - this is the only way to do it.

I just did a sheet pan of large-chopped sourdough bread to make fresh croutons. Right out of the oven, I tossed them with some XVOO, S&P, and a lot of parm. Might be better to toss them with XVOO before they go in the oven? But they were good, and one large loaf of bread from Wegman’s was the perfect amount to match 15 people.

Also, don’t bother trying to use tongs to mix the dressing with the kale and croutons. Just dig right in with your hands. Sooo much faster and more effective. I also used 100% of the dressing to dress the salad, not a spec leftover. This was perfect. If you change the proportions, just go generous on the dressing side of things and store anything that’s leftover for another meal. (#worthit - though it starts tasting a little weird after 1-2 days.)

15 people = x3 recipe for dressing (use all garlic and parm called for); 2 large bunches of kale; 6-8 cups of oven-baked croutons

6 people = x2 recipe for dressing; 1 large bunch of kale; 3-4 cups of croutons

https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/14172/caesar-salad-supreme/?internalSource=hub%20recipe&referringContentType=Search&clickId=cardslot%2010

COURSE 3: Mediterranean stuffed, roasted red peppers with homemade ricotta. Always a win! I cooked these in the afternoon, then warmed the oven to 300 as we were nearing guest arrival time. That kept them good and warm (which is excellent), also out of the way. Tenting them with foil is also handy once they’re out if they aren’t served right away!

15 people = x2 recipe (genuinely only x1 recipe for ricotta, though)

https://reciperesolutions.tumblr.com/post/186616160460/roasted-red-peppers-and-cherry-tomatoes-with

COURSE 4: Charred asparagus with citrus bagna cauda sauce. This is a fantastic dish - but I HAVE to pay attention to making the sauce right! It’s sooo simple yet I keep misstepping (messed it up year 1 by adding the juice too early; messed it up this year by only doing one portion of juices or zest for an otherwise quadrupled recipe!).

Best way is to make the sauce a few hours ahead of time (up to the point of removing from heat THEN mixing in ALL the citrus juices) then just reheated it all right from the pan right before serving.

Don’t bother trying to broil the asparagus - it’s not worth it if you’re making more than one batch. Just do it all on the grill! Then throw the asparagus into the oven at 300 with the roasted red peppers to keep them warm prior to serving. Used my mini food processor to chop the almonds, and this worked really well for the right texture: a lot of little crumbles and just a few medium chunks. This is an AWESOME dish!

15 people = x4 recipe

6 people = x2 recipe

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/char-broiled-asparagus-with-citrus-bagna-cauda

COURSE 5: Girelle and shrimp with sundried tomato cream sauce. Consistently a showstopper, no question!! For a double batch, I used the beer boil kettle (giant pot) on top of a stepstool with the giant beer brewing spoon we have in order to mix it all...this probably could have been managed in my regular pasta pot, though it would have been close.

Key is to remove the shrimp when they are about half cooked (and no more), as to really get the sauce to the right glistening consistency before serving, it requires ample time and patience stirring with the shrimp and pasta all together. I think next year, I might try sundried tomatoes in XVOO rather than from an airtight bag - maybe also throw in a little Romano to give the sauce some extra body. ¾# pasta to 1# medium shrimp is also the correct portion (I’ve done large shrimp in the past but I think med would be a little better), so this does require a little math given the unusual pasta bag sizes.

I used the wok for the shrimp, which worked perfectly, and basically cooked the shrimp as people were coming in (then tented the big beer pot I was mixing things into with foil). When I served the asparagus and peppers, I put the water on for the pasta and also started working on the sauce. All of this becomes super easy and pretty fast if you have the ingredients portioned out and ready to go before everyone sits down at the beginning of the feast!

15 people = x2 recipe

12 people or fewer = x1 recipe (by the time this course comes around, there’s not a lot of room left!)

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/pasta-with-shrimp-in-tomato-cream

COURSE 6: Salmon with red pepper-walnut sauce. Definite crowd pleaser (even to the non-salmon-lovers)! For 11 fillets this year, I bought FRESH salmon from Wegman’s (never been frozen!) and I think it was worth it. We cut the fillets in half so they were square (a non-traditional cut from the traditional fillet shape) and this was great, both for cooking and serving (sauce on top). Came to 4-6 oz fillets per person. And you can definitely cook to the minimum times recommended for the fillets.

I prepped the fillets ahead of time (as people were arriving), and the sauce was whipped up in the blender, ready to be cooked down once the fillets were finished. This turned out great, as it meant minimal time away from the table for the final course prep. (Just tent the fillets as the sauce is cooking down.)

15 people = x4 recipe (just math it to max 1 piece of salmon per person - by the time we get to salmon, no one has room for anything more than that lol)

https://reciperesolutions.tumblr.com/post/613784150286237696/pan-seared-salmon-with-red-chili-walnut-sauce

General notes:

1) Prepping it all in advance is gold. Reusing my general schedule (reviewed the night before) of when I’m prepping/cooking what day-of is gold. Having salad stuff for people to help with upon arrival is gold. Having all cooking ingredients portioned out for the final two courses to just throw on the stove while everyone’s eating is gold.

3) When people ask what they can bring: “White wine or a fish-themed dessert! Or if you’re feeling really ambitious, an appetizer (but it’s gotta have fish in it)!” We also bought an extra box of white wine in advance, and that rounded us out perfectly.

4) Drinks at 5:30. Dinner at 6. Make sure this is included in the initial invitation so everyone knows when to show up!

5) I served the courses in waves again this year: app as people arrived, then soup + salad, then peppers + asparagus, then pasta + salmon. (I like the waves concept rather than just everything on the table at one time.) This year, thanks to good advanced prepping (/extra time since people almost all arrived late, haha) and things warming in the oven, I got lots of table time - and the break before the main entrees was barely noticeable! (Though we had a party game planned just in case.)

6) I used 46 cloves of garlic. Bought it peeled and ready to go. Worth it, lol.

7) Best to do the big shop Wednesday the week-of, at the earliest (Thursday is probably better). Gives you enough time in case they’re out of anything, yet ensures the integrity of some of the produce; if you do it Thursday, it also means you can buy the fish fresh instead of frozen (salmon and cod). The cod can probably be frozen no problem, but the fresh salmon was really excellent if a reasonable option. (If high quality frozen’s the only option - good option still! - just keep in mind it’s super annoying to tear apart individual wrappers.)

8) Expect leftovers. Reserve leftovers for us FIRST, then give away at will! :)

9) 15 is a big number to cook for. Double check all ‘staples’ being used: we had to do a last minute run/neighbor call for Old Bay and Vermouth, since my regular on-hand stash was only half of what was needed for so many portions. Also, I slept in an extra five hours the next day: Plan for nothing the next morning and a generally low-key Sunday.

10) We did seat arrangements this year with little handwritten nameplates. Took a few minutes to work it out; it turned out great to balance the table! With 11 people, people on opposite ends didn’t interact much with each other (good place for the introverts!) but basically everyone else had a larger interaction-radius than I expected (2 people L&R, 3-4 people across).

11) After all the main courses, I did a cute little trivia (‘guess how many pounds of fish,’ ‘guess how many anchovies,’ ‘guess how many cloves of garlic’), then had the people with the closest guesses reach under their chairs - for a little trinket prize! (Spoiler: all the seats had trinkets under them :) For people new to the table, there were cute little pop-open mini-cards. For veteran Feasters, I printed out little photos (~2″x3″) of them+us from sometime over the last year. Everyone got a little candy cane wrapped up, too. It was great! I was originally trying to find crackers to put on everyone’s place setting this year (since I’d done the pop-up cards last year - didn’t want to repeat) but couldn’t find any. Not a big deal, though - I really liked how the photos turned out! I liked this little layer added in, and the nameplates worked well to personalize everyone’s.

I’ve hosted a LOT of potlucks in my time but really liked the sit-down-dining style of this dinner party with the multi-courses. Definitely a lot of work to do regularly but worth it once a year! Also one of the most interesting observations for me was being very full by the end of the night but not totally overstuffed and feeling grossly overeaten. I like to think that’s a testament to the well designed menu and dishes that - save one or two with some cream - were really pretty healthy. We also had a GREAT turnout for appetizers (goldfish snack!) and dessert (two parties brought tiyaki)! All in all, a WILD success and I can’t wait until Christmas next year!!

[haikyuu-simp-station]

Silver & Gold - K. Bokuto

WC: 1.3k (I shocked myself honestly-)

TW: none I believe, just pure fluff— and typos probably, Not proofread

DO NOT REPOST MY WORKS. REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE MUCH APPRECIATED!!

((a/n: I just had a lot of thoughts about rings lately and 😩😩 I imagine so many of the Haikyuu babes with rings and other kinds of jewelry, and well,, I landed on Bo cause I HAD TOO.

Also I have a thing for Omi-Omi that I’m trying to write out but college is taking up most of my time rn,, that’ll be my first true nsfw piece for Haikyuu,, anyway, ENJOY-))

You’ve heard that best friends usually have different colors when it came to jewelry. One prefers silver, the other gold. You never thought much of it, seeing as it was many just an observation that people posted on social media.

Silver adorned your own fingers. A few rings on either hand, some sentimental and others just for show. You started your collection years ago, enjoying the shimmer most pieces brought. Whether big with a jewel perfectly sitting on top of the ring, or a thin band coupled with another similar to it. Plain or not, it didn’t matter. The pieces complimented you, and had stayed that way since then.

To you, the collection itself amazed you, but your sweet, dual-color haired friend had one just like yours.

But instead, the metal reflected from his was a much warmer glow compared to yours.

It made him stand out, more than he usually did. It made certain things about him pop out, especially his eyes. The pleasing glow of his golden eyes enhanced the accessories that adorned his hands and neck. Or maybe it was the other way around, the gold on his hands and neck brightening his features.

The simple chain that laid around his neck was one of the pieces you adored seeing him wear. It was one you gave him a few years back for his birthday. His reaction was more than what you ever thought it would be. It only sealed the feeling you felt for the man.

Seeing Koutarou tear up that day had sent your heart into a frenzy, one that had occurred numerous times before. Not long after drying a few of his tears, he pulled you into him, wrapping his thick arms around you while whispering many uncharacteristically soft ‘Thank You’s to you.

You smiled fondly at the memory. And seeing him wear it everyday, it continues to make your heart flutter in your chest.

Of course, he gifted you some of you favorite rings and bracelets that now live in your collection and on your hands everyday

One of the many gifts that had made your last few months at Fukurodani the most memorable of all your time in school. It was a few months before graduation. Both of you were spending more and more time together, often talking about the future and where you may head.

You both decided to go out to spend some quality time together and enjoy the city that laid outside the large campus. Eventually, after walking around and looking through some of the small shops, you took a break and sat yourselves down in a nearby park.

Koutarou always talked about his future in volleyball, about how he’s been scouted by some major colleges and how he planned to go pro afterwards. His enthusiasm for his future career never ceased to make you feel the same.

You had your own plans and often thought over how far your relationship had come, only for you to have to go separate paths in your college and career pathways. It was hard to push away those thoughts at times, while other times, they remained and kept you up at night.

You continued to ramble on about your future and hopes from it, zoning out as you looked to the grassy area in front of you, seeing the many people passing through. You hadn’t even noticed what Koutarou was doing, hadn’t noticed his hands move to reach into his pocket to grab whatever was in it.

It was only when you felt his free hand on your forearm that you looked to him, pulling yourself out of your little trance. Your eyes then dropped to your hands.

You watched as he gently picked up your hand, and gently brought it up to his mouth. Your cheeks brightened as you felt his lips against your knuckles, your reaction causing him to chuckle before brought your hand closer to his other hand.

It was only then your eyes caught the silver band with shining stones lining it, a few rays of light reflected back onto you. Your eyes widened as you returned your gaze to his bright gold eyes.

You saw the absolute admiration and love he held for you, at that moment, you knew for sure that he wouldn’t drift away like you once feared. You should have known that seeing Koutarou’s personality.

Once he was stuck on something, he won’t stop until he’s reached the end of the task at hand. No matter how many times his emotions or other obstacles got in the way.

His lips parted ever so slightly before closing then again as he figured out what to say. He had it all there, but it was difficult to form in that moment. His head turned to the side, a few rays of light hit his skin, showing off the soft red glow that painted his cheeks.

“Look baby, I… It’s hard to put things into words at times,” he then sheepishly laughed, “Now being one of those times, obviously.”

“But I want you to know that I’ll always be there… even if we aren’t going to the same school after graduation, even if we’re on completely different career paths. I just…” he paused, his gaze finally returning to your curious eyes.

“I want you to have this, a reminder that I’ll be with you every step of the way, even if it’s not physically. And a reminder that you’re the only one for me… I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”

His hand still remains on yours, gently rubbing over the ring that’s now around your finger.

‘Right where it belongs’, he thinks to himself.

“You’ve made me feel so happy and lucky to have found you… and at this point, I’m sure I’m THE luckiest man in the world.” His free hand then slowly trailed up your body, until it landed on your cheek, before he began caressing your cheek.

You hadn’t even noticed to tears that gently flowed down your cheek, dripping down to your lap. You let out a hitched breath as Koutarou wiped away your tears. He began to tear up slightly as well.

He then carefully tilted your head down and leaned in as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, eyes never leaving you.

“Forever and always, sweetheart…” he whispered as he retracted his free hand to meet your already covered hand. Taking his right away, he slipped his fingers in between yours.

The coolness of metal hit your hand as he held yours, causing a smile to form and widen as you examined his own band.

A bit thicker, but similar style. Equals to its mate.

Taking a moment for your heart to calm down, you took in a few breaths before trusting your voice not to crack,

“Forever and always.” You nearly whispered to him.

That moment in time was one you had and will always cherish. One that continues to make your heart flutter even years after your time at Fukurodani.

You had always made sure to wear it, always having your reminder that it’ll always be alright and that your sweet Koutarou was there for you.

It had been your favorite… but as times changed so did your life and its status.

There was only one that truly topped even the first biggest and most upheld promise in your life, one that replaced your symbol of love and sealed your future to nothing but happiness. A smile always present on your face when you take the time to gaze upon it.

The thick gold band that’s wrapped around his ring finger will always mean everything to you. Its mate wrapped around your finger. Thinner, with a lovely diamond sitting on top.

The one accessory that clashed with the rest of your collection. The one that started a fondness to similar bands of gold. One that started the mix in your collection. A symbol of loving your best friend. One that truly sealed the promise he made long ago. And finally, one that will be with you forever and always in your collection and proudly adorning your finger.

[actuallysaiyan]

Yamcha NSFW alphabet, please? 😁

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Yamcha is super sweet with his aftercare. He loves to hold you in his arms for a little while after, his cock still deep inside of you. He’ll praise you as you can feel his seed leaking out of you. He then gets you all cleaned up and will get you water or something to eat if you are feeling it. He’s a big fan of pillow talk and cuddling and will not leave your side or fall asleep afterwards.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yamcha would probably have to say his arms or legs are his favorite. He has a wonderful physique and he is very strong, despite what others may say. Yamcha also would probably say his smile is his favorite body part. The man is kind of vain but he is a good man.

On his lover, he is a sucker for beautiful eyes. They are the window to the soul. He sees how you are feeling just through your eyes and he knows when you are sad or unhappy. He wants to see your eyes shine when you are smiling and so happy. He also loves thighs. He just wants to be buried between your thighs for hours as they squeeze his face while you cum.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s so dirty with this. He loves cumming all over you and gets really aroused when you are all painted up with his seed. If you give him a blow job, you can expect him to give you the ultimate facial. Yamcha cums a lot and he will literally just unload his balls all over your pretty face. Then he scoops some of it up on his finger and feeds it to you. He’s also not opposed to cumming deep inside of you if you let him.

Yamcha is a big fan of teasing and edging you. He’ll keep you on the edge for hours just to hear you beg him to let you cum. He loves the pathetic mewls and whimpers you make whenever he’s got you so close to cumming. You better be ready for this.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He definitely has stolen a pair of your panties and uses it to masturbate. Whether or not you know it exists, he doesn’t care. He loves the silky feeling of it wrapped around his cock while he pumps his hand up and down and thinks of you. He’ll sniff them too and just imagine your pussy on his face. He loves it when you ride his face, so that’s definitely something that gets him off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He had a few one night stands, so he wasn’t completely clueless. Yamcha learns fairly quickly, and while he isn’t the master of every technique, you know he is doing everything to make you feel loved and wanted and definitely keeps you satisfied. He will never let you go unsatisfied.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Yamcha loves 69. It’s his favorite position and it gets the job done correctly. He loves it when you sit on his face and wrap your gorgeous lips around his hard cock. Whenever you aren’t doing 69, Yamcha also loves having you in the missionary position but with your legs spread wide or up on his shoulders so that he can fuck you nice and deep. Anything to be able to fuck you deeply or to have you both cumming quickly.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s definitely goofy and loves to tell dirty jokes while he’s fucking you. Yamcha loves having fun sex and he wants you to moan and laugh. He wants you to have a good time, so expect lots of cheesy and sleazy dirty talk as he fucks you hard. Sometimes, he can be serious and loving especially when he’s feeling needy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s got a small patch of pubic hair that is very dark and coarse. He keeps it nice and clean and will trim it. He’s not a huge fan of shaving and actually enjoys it when you don’t shave either(unless you aren’t into that, then Yamcha is happy with whatever you like). He’s got a slight trail of dark hair that leads down into his pants as well.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This depends on how Yamcha is feeling, but most of the time he loves to treat sex and intimacy like a good time or a game. That’s not to say that Yamcha is playing head games or anything like that. He just enjoys having a good time with you and he loves to make sure that you are happy and feeling good. Sometimes, he gets very romantic and buys you stuff and plans special nights out at the fancy love hotel. It all depends on how he’s feeling.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates a healthy amount. Even if he fucks you that day, that doesn’t mean he’s going to not masturbate. He loves playing with toys and watching porn and he will absolutely lose his mind if you join him. Nothing better than for the both of you to watch some porn and masturbate together. Yamcha won’t be able to resist for long and he’ll just fuck you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Yamcha is kind of a vanilla guy, so his kinks are limited. He’s open to trying new things but he loves things that are tried and true. Some of his kinks involve lingerie, toys, spanking, squirting, tongue fucking and titty fucking. You could probably open his eyes to new things if you are both interested in it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

This one is really simple. Yamcha wants to fuck you somewhere privately. He doesn’t really wanna get caught. He loves just being able to take his time with you without getting interrupted or distracted by something else. He loves fucking you on the bed, but he’s not opposed to fucking on the couch or in the shower. Anything to get you alone and somewhere private...

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yamcha is a sucker for revealing clothing. He finds you so damn sexy and he just wants you to flaunt that gorgeous body of yours. Anytime you wear something revealing, it gets his blood pumping. Yamcha is so turned on by this. He also loves when you give him that look, where you bite your lower lip and raise one eyebrow. Rub his thigh and tell him how you wanna be alone, and he’s there.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not be okay with anything that either hurts you seriously or embarrasses you. He’s not into anything involving feces or urine, but if you were up for it, he’d probably consider it honestly. It’s just not really his kind of thing. He’s also not super into sharing you or having semi-public sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ohhh Yamcha loves going down on you. It’s one of his favorite things in the world. The way you look down at him with that fucked out look and the taste of your arousal and he’s just immediately rock hard. The sounds you make and the wet sounds coming from your pussy. It’s just all so damn sexy. He’ll edge you for hours and then when he thinks you should cum, he makes you squirt.

But if you want to reciprocate and go down on him, Yamcha is so weak for that. He loves it when you both lie on the bed and you just worship his cock for hours. He’ll edge himself as best as he can when you do this. Play with his balls though, and he’s cumming quick. It’s one of his ultimate weaknesses.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This all depends on you. If you are feeling like you wanna get pounded, you better believe Yamcha will fuck you rough and fast. He’ll slap your ass and push your head down on the pillow while his cock slams into you over and over again. But, if you are feeling more needy and wanting love, he’s sensual. He’ll hold you close and shower you with praise and give you all the kisses while he slowly rocks his hips.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

There are times for these, and Yamcha is definitely grateful when he can fuck you over not being able to fuck you, but he’s not a huge fan of quickies. He wants to fuck you for hours if he can, and if he doesn’t get the time for that, then he’ll definitely settle for a good quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This depends. He loves to experiment with you, but he doesn’t want to risk anything where it could result in death or harm. He also isn’t into doing anything in public, so you can expect him to keep the experimentation in the bedroom.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yamcha can last a long time, and he’s good at edging himself if he needs to. Sometimes he gets very excited and cums quickly, but that’s usually only when you’ve been apart for a long time. He can go for a few rounds, but his refractory period is fairly normal. It takes him a little while to get hard.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He loves toys and generally uses them during sex. He loves going to the sex store with you and buying you all kinds of things that’ll help make you cum easier. He’s not afraid of having you use them on him either and actually loves it if you initiate with this.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be a tease a lot of the time, but it takes him everything not to just give in when you start begging. He loves listening to your pathetic little sounds when you plead to him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on completely.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s loud and he loves grunting and groaning. Yamcha wants you to know he’s enjoying his time with you as well. He’ll be so loud when he cums and it’s honestly so damn sexy to hear him moan like this. He loves to talk dirty too and make some jokes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Yamcha is definitely into roleplay. If you wanna get into costume and character, he’s going to be so turned on by this. Your favorite roleplay is definitely sensei and student, but you both also enjoy playing doctor.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Yamcha is very muscular and very well built. His cock is long and thick, boasting a good 8 inches. It’s got lots of veins that drag against your walls and drive you crazy. He’s uncut and the base is definitely thicker than the head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s so damn horny for you all of the time and he’s going to fuck you at least once a day, but sometimes he understands that he can’t always fuck you. He thinks about you a lot and he’s often fantasizing about when he’s going to fuck you next.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes he is out like a light just right after sex, so he does tend to expend a lot of energy and tire himself out. He’ll always make sure you are comfortable before he falls asleep.

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - When Lovely meets Angel

Summary: When the boyfriends are away, their partners try their best to be functioning members of society. Spoiler alert: they failed. 

Tw: [Mentions of Adam], [Profanity] and [Very, very brief mention of drugs. Like, half a sentence]

I shared this oneshot in the Discord server and I thought to share it here too before uploading it on AO3 later this weekend. 

-

You smile as your eyes do their best to track Vincent’s every move. Your head spins as your boyfriend flits from one room to another, never pausing for even a second. His duffel bag is lying beside you on the couch, gradually full of clothes, toiletries and other travelling necessities as he chucks them in Mach speed. 

You pick up the clothes that didn’t make it into the bag. You fold them nicely before placing them in with the rest. 

“Alright, I’ve stocked up the pantry to last at least for a few weeks, b-but I’ll be back by Sunday so don’t worry.” The blur that was Vincent said as he ran from their shared bedroom to the kitchen. With a fond shake of your head, you observe the Vampire made one last round. 

Letting Vincent fuss is your way of helping him calm down. And sure enough, it only takes a few minutes until your boyfriend is satisfied with the apartment - from the wards that he erected to the well-stocked kitchen and rows of laundry detergents. With the way he prepared for his departure, you couldn’t help but want to remind Vincent that he’ll only be leaving for three days; not three months. 

“Do you have Alexis’ number, Lovely? Sam’s?” Vincent asks - again - in concern as he pad towards you and the duffel bag. “Hang on, I’ll forward them to you now -” 

You grab his hand before he could reach for his phone and force him to sit beside you on the couch. You peck him on the cheek to startle him. No matter how many times you’ve done this; Vincent always reacts the same. Startled with a tinge of red dusting his pale cheeks. A simple kiss is enough to leave him speechless and it never fails to make your heart skip a beat at how precious he is. 

“Yes, you gave them to me this morning. I have their numbers on speed dial for any emergency of the Adam kind.” You easily assure him, only to backtrack quickly when you see how wide his eyes went. Oh yikes, bad move! Bad move! “N-Not that there will be any problem! Haha! I mean, you’re only going away with Will for three days, right? I can hold the fort, don’t worry!” 

Vincent bit his lower lip, still hesitant. “I wish I didn’t have to go, Lovely. It hurts to be away from you…” His head tilts down and holds your hand tight, yet always mindful of his Supernatural strength. “Sometimes… sometimes I could still see you in Adam’s arms, so pale and sick… your blood on his mouth - ”

“Hey, hey, Vince? Look at me please.” You gently tilt his chin using your hand that wasn’t captured by your worrisome boyfriend. You made sure to properly look him in the eyes before smiling softly. “You got me in time and for that? I’m forever grateful, but that’s in the past, OK? I’m here now with you! We both have been making good progress at D.A.M.N so that has to count for something, yeah? We’re both stronger than we were before.” 

That earns a tiny smile from Vincent and you mentally cheer in victory. “You always know what to say, huh, Lovely? And yeah, we’re pretty badass now, huh? A Vampire and an Electro Energetic? We’ll conquer this city in less than a month.” He joked. 

You try to picture it: you and Vincent - the King and Queen of Dahlia. The first thing you would do is declare PJ Friday - where everyone must wear PJs every Friday and those that wear the silliest PJs get brownie points. Collect enough of them and they’ll get a free meal in the most expensive restaurant Dahlia has to offer. Vincent can handle the boring stuff like, governing and health care. 

...Now that’s a thought; Vincent as a politician. 

Ah wait - Will would probably be disappointed in them if they tried to do a hostile takeover of this city and you couldn’t bear to disappoint him. After all, no one can pull off the perfect sad dad look other than Vincent’s Sire. Not even your own dad! 

“ - Lovely? Uh, Earth to Lovely? You there?” 

Vincent’s warm voice broke you off from your mad train of thoughts. You flash a sheepish grin when he realised that you haven’t paid a single word he said. Vincent wants to appear annoyed but his lips are twitching, as if he’s holding back from laughing at the dumbfounded expression on your face. 

“Sorry, babe. I spaced out because Will was disappointed in us.”  

“...What? Will? Lovely, what the - ”

“Anyway, don’t worry about me.” You quickly interject before you have to explain yourself. “You got me food, Alexis’ and Sam’s numbers are on my speed dial and my powers have been growing nicely over the last few classes. I got this; you got this.” To seal the deal you added, “And I promise to call you twice a day; in the morning and before I go to bed. Sounds good?” 

That finally assured Vincent. The tension melts away from his taunt shoulders and when he kisses you, it’s slow and sweet. You would’ve loved to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him on top of you and turn this into something more, but Will would surely call him if Vincent is late. 

Vincent moans when you pull away; disappointed and slightly frustrated. “Easy there, Vince. I’ll make sure to give you a very warm welcome when you get back.” You purr, loving how his eyes lid at your promise. 

But alas, as much as you love to drag Vincent to the bedroom, work comes first. So you allow Vincent to fuss around a little more before he slings the duffel bag over one shoulder, kisses you goodbye and leaves. 

Now, you planned this. You have a whole itinerary in your head for the days that Vincent is on a business trip with the King of the Solaire Clan. Assignments that need to be done, Despacito to learn on the piano (neither of them knew why Alexis dropped off an upright piano in their apartment on a random ass Wednesday night and when asked, she just cackled before pulling off a Batman and vanished into the night. So Vincent gave up trying to pester the answer out of her. You still think it’s some sort of an elaborate prank), boba pizza to cook for dinner tomorrow and a list of video games to pre-order so really, you would be so busy for the upcoming days that you wouldn’t even have the time to miss Vincent. 

If you repeat that long enough, you hope that’ll become true. 

Glancing at the clock hanging on the living room wall, you sigh at the time.10.30 PM. A little early to get ready for bed but hey, it’s not like there’s anything else that you want to do now. 

With little fanfare, you make sure that the apartment is locked and secure, switch off the lights before heading to the bedroom for your nightly ablutions.

-

Ok, that part about the itinerary? Yeah, that’s completely out of the window the moment you wake up missing Vincent’s arms around you. 

The gentle and warm sun rays pierce through the sheer curtains, promising a bright day ahead of you, but all you could think about is the space in this bedroom. Was the bed always this big? Was the bedroom always this quiet? Those questions rattled in your brain and it really doesn’t help that you can smell Vincent’s faint cologne lingered on the pillows. Soothing vanilla that never fails to clear your mind as opposed to sandalwood and bergamot. Vincent once claimed that the scent is too fancy for someone like him. 

Right now though? His cologne sends a pang of longing in your heart in his absence, and it’s only the first day! 

“I can’t stay here.” You decided out loud when the tangle of sleepiness ebbed away. Kicking the thick duvet off your body, you stomp to the bathroom to shower, dress up and quickly leave the apartment with nothing but your phone and backpack. 

You didn’t want to return to an empty apartment, so what better than walking around the city to distract yourself? Grab some breakfast at a new cafe, maybe do some window shopping afterwards… yeah, that sounds way better than anything you’ve planned before. 

Joggers pass you by as you walk through the park and the city slowly comes back to life. People are out and about, going through their monotonous day. Some are catching the bus, others are like her, eager to find something to eat. 

You recall that your classmate mentioned that they and someone named Damien found a Taiwanese bakery/cafe that recently opened up near the city’s library; a quaint little shop, squeezed between a hardware shop and a health & beauty care chain store. You can still remember how their eyes lit up as they excitedly described the brioche and the strawberry tiramisu they ate with vivid details. 

So that’s where you’re headed off to now. 

Apparently, the bakery is closer than you thought when you cut corners and jump through the shortcuts. Being born and raised here in Dahlia like so many others, you knew this city like the back of your hand. Though the existence of Shifters, Vampires, Daemons and more were a slap in the face to you.

Oh, that reminds you, be sure to ask Vincent if the Vampires have anything similar to Fangtasia here in this city. 

The bell above the door chimes when you enter the bakery. The sign outside says ‘OPEN’ but since it’s still quite early in the morning, you and a couple sitting at a table near the corner are the only customers currently. Manning behind the cashier is a young woman and her co-worker setting up freshly baked goods behind the display glass. 

You made a beeline to the counter. 

“Good morning. Uh, can I please have one sea salt coffee - regular size - one red bean mooncake and, umm…” You paused to scan the menu laid before you. “And a marble taro.” 

There. That's sort of a healthy breakfast, right? 

The young woman hardly bats an eye at your order. She drawl out the total amount of your food and drink to which you hand her some cash before choosing a table beside the large window so you could see the city and her people go about their lives. The scent of freshly baked pastries, hot chocolates and brewed coffees wash over you pleasantly. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Vincent would love this place as much as you do… 

The cashier came over with a tray of your order before your musing could spiral down further. You thank her, snap a picture of your food and coffee for Vincent before enjoying your breakfast. It’s a perfect morning, well, almost a perfect morning… 

Halfway through your coffee, your phone vibrates. Vincent had texted back: 

‘Looks delish, Lovely! Make sure to finish your meal, OK? My flight was a nightmare - I’ll spare you the details - but Will and I reached the airport safely. I’ll call you soon, Lovely. I love you, always.’ 

Vincent’s text helps to fill his absence, somewhat. You polish off the last bit of your coffee and exhale loudly; there’s no use moping around. Adventure awaits! After all, there’s never a dull day here in Dahlia. For all you know, something is right around the corner just for you! 

Tummy warm and full, you bask in the morning light for a few more minutes before exiting the bakery. 

...And promptly collide with a walking furnace. Because seriously, the moment your chest hits them, it feels as if their body heat lunges at you.

“Ow!” You fell and landed hard on your ass. Whoever had the misfortune to collide against you, they were a tad taller and seemed to be in a rush to be able to hit you with an impact. 

“Oh fuck! I’m so so sorry! Are you alright!? I ran too fast because I always missed out on their marble taros! Oh gosh, oh gosh; can you hear me? Shit, I really hope I didn’t hurt you too badly…” The stranger rambled worriedly. 

“I-I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You assured them and gladly grabbed the offered hand. They gently pull you up from the pavement. 

“You sure? I can take you to the hospital right now if you want!” They pressed on, eyes checking for any sign of injuries on your body. “Just after I buy my pastries though.” 

You didn’t expect the blatant honesty; the idea that some loaves of bread are this person's top priorities crack you up. You couldn’t help it, so you burst out a giggle. 

“I’m good, I’m good; don’t worry.” You hiccup and wipe a stray tear from the corner of your right eye. You can’t believe this. “Go get your bread and oh, for the record? I totally get why you rush here. Their marble taro is really something else. You better hurry up; I heard the cashier said they’ll be making the last batch for the day.”

You smirk when the walking furnace’s eyes widen in horror. They darted into the bakery without a single word. The bell chimes loudly when they rush to yank the door and scramble towards the counter.

Just for the fuck of it, you lean against the window and decide to wait. Snippets of frantic conversation can be heard inside and it wasn’t long before the bell tinkle once more. 

The stranger that bumped into you pout, clutching a huge paper bag of pastries close to their chest as if they feared you would snatch it. “You lied.” 

“Shocker, I know.” You tease and then you feel your blood froze despite the warm morning. You suddenly recalled where and from whom you heard those words before and quickly stomped the image out of your head. 

“Uh, dude? Are you sure you’re alright? You look super pale.” The stranger narrowed their eyes on you. Despite the blatant concern on their face and how genuinely friendly and cheerful their voice is, you get the feeling that they’re trying to pull you apart by the seams to see if you would lie or not. 

So you opt for the honest option. “I will be.” You assured them. “Just some… bad memories pop up.” 

“Huh, well that sucks.” They glance at the bag of pastries for a moment, silent and contemplating. They then thrust it practically in your face before you could do so much as flinch. “You want some? Food always helps me feel good when I’m sad.” 

The loaves of bread smelled really good but for the second time, you giggled. “No, no, I’m full. Thank you though; that’s very kind of you to offer.” 

“It’s only the right thing to do.” They reply with an easy shrug. You get the feeling that the stranger’s kindness is something remarkable. “The name is -” 

Across the street, a truck driver pressed the horn when the car in front of him refused to budge despite the traffic lights having switched from red to green for ten minutes now.

“ - but you can call me Angel; all my friends do. Now that we’ve bumped into one another, your destiny just altered. Our fates will forever be intertwined once you give me your name.” 

Oh, you like where this is going.

“I’m - ” The driver in front of the truck kicked open his door and proceeded to shout at the truck driver. A line of cars gradually formed behind the vehicle and horns began to blare as a brawl broke out in the middle of the road. “ - nice to meet you!” 

“A lovely name…” Here your new friend - Angel - trailed off, their eyes appraising your body. “For a lovely soul. Lovely. Huh. Can I call you that?” 

Gorgeous, brimming with moxie mix with a spoonful of friendly flirting? Oh, you like them more and more by the second. 

Also, you idly wondered if there’s some weird magic attached to your name or else this is going to be a pattern every time you introduce yourself. 

“Sure.” You answered, and the two of you shook hands. 

“Say… who do you think would win? Godzilla or King Kong?” 

“Psh, is that even a question? Godzilla, obviously. He’s the king of monsters for a reason! And grandpa got his Atomic Breath; what does Kong even have?” 

“You. I like you. I have a feeling that this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.” 

When there’s no escaping from Angel’s octopus arm of love and friendship around your shoulders, you let yourself be swept away. 

-

“So you’re an Electro Energetic?” 

“Yup.” 

“Got any plans on what you’re going to be in the future?” 

“To shed my mortal body and transform into King Ghidorah.”

“...Can I be the left head?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that. We need the right head, though.” 

“I’ll give my friend a call; they’re a Freelancer studying at D.A.M.N too. Maybe you’ve seen them around?”

-

“Wait - you said your boyfriend is a Vampire?”

“He’s more of a dork than a Vampire, but yeah.”

“Cool, cool. Hey, my boyfriend is a Werewolf. Do you know what this means?” 

“...Twilight marathon?” 

“Twilight marathon! We have to do it. Let’s go, Lovely; you’re going to crash at my place for the best movie night of your life!” 

“I’ll grab some food and drinks from my place. Will be there in twenty minutes.” 

-

“This is the third time I’ve watched these movies and I think they just got worse over the years.” You complained, chugging down your fourth can of Red Bull. You don’t drink, so you wondered if this is how it feels like to slowly go drunk. Or high. 

You’re in your sleep wear - a simple black shorts and one of Vincent’s t-shirts. Exhausted, stomach bloated with snacks; you feel like shit. Your body is seconds away from saying fuck it and crash down. 

And yet you’ve never felt so alive before. 

The time on your phone says it's 3.23 AM; you and Angel slough through the first two movies and now finally, the end credits for Eclipse roll down on the TV screen. Angel lives with their boyfriend - who was on a business trip, coincidentally - in a very homely apartment. When you first entered, you could tell just what sort of couple they are. 

The place looks as if a small tornado tried to turn the apartment upside down but was fended off just barely - little knick knacks such as rainbow beaded bracelets were carelessly thrown on the kitchen counter behind a microwave, a crop top with printed bongo cats floating within a glittered galaxy is drape over a dining chair, three heart-shaped balloons knock against one another from the living room’s ceiling and for some reason, the USB stereo is on the floor playing Black Pink’s Pretty Savage. 

The other half of the apartment - the more organised side - are filled with neatly shelved books of all genres, an untouched bowl of fruits are on the coffee table and most of the expensive-looking dishes and silverwares are displayed behind a glass cabinet. Those were probably gifts from family and friends. 

You spend an entire day here, engaging in stupid but fun conversations with Angel, painted each others’ nails and even shop online for the sluttiest outfit that you two could find just for the hell of it before binge-watching the entire Twilight series. 

Unlike you, however, Angel is buzzing around like a hyperactive bunny on crackhead energy. Halfway through New Moon, she busted out stacks of colourful sticky notes, some thumbtacks and a huge yarn ball. You watch with utter fascination as they begin to furiously write down every little thing about the Vampires and Werewolves representations from the movies to your and their boyfriend. 

It’s 3.25 AM now. The entire living room wall looks like an abstract form of an art piece, made of common stationeries. 

Hair in a messy bun, a stick of strawberry pocky dangling from their lips like a lit cigarette, a black sharpie in one hand and dressed in black cat onesie, Angel tapped on the piece of red sticky note that wrote ‘culture appropriation or nah?’

“So what have we learned so far?” 

“Vampires don't sparkle.” You immediately piped up and this time, cracked open a can of black coffee. A brand name from Japan, but the bitter tang immediately zolt your already fried nerves to maximum level. You love it. “Period.” 

“Noted! Now, does this make Stephenie Meyer racist!?” 

You actually had to pause and consider that. “Will need to get you back on that one.” 

Angel hurried to scribble ‘remind Lovely for feedback’ inside the same note. “Very well. We shall move on to the Werewolves.” They start to list down the characteristics of the Werewolves portrayed in the movies and then compare them to their boyfriend; but the thing is, they didn’t realise that they verbally list down the quirks of their Shifter lover instead. 

You find it cute that Angel rambled on and on about someone named Davey, so you didn’t interrupt them. Hell, you’d be the same with Vincent. 

It wasn’t long before the two of you got sidetracked from comparing your lovers to spilling the tea about your relationships. 

“After we first slept together, I said to Davey, “Thanks for the sex, bro” complete with a peace sign and a wink. He got so mad that he refused to let me off the bed until I promised to stay.” Angel laughs fondly. They tear open a bag of Cheetos Puffs and throw one into your open mouth. The two of you celebrate with a high-five. 

“Vince freaked out when I told him he was my first.” You chewed, swallowed and washed the after taste of the junk food with even more coffee. Who needs sleep when you could reach divinity with cans of Red Bulls, Kirin Fire coffees and junk foods. “He was extra sweet to me the next day as if he was trying to make up for how rough he was. You could totally see how precious he is from Pluto.” 

“That’s so cute!” Angel cooed. “You’ve landed the golden D, dude. Congrats.” 

“Sounds like you’re the same. To us!” 

You clink your can of coffee with Angel’s bottle of Mountain Dew. 

Eventually, the night made way to the rising sun and the final scene of Breaking Dawn came to a close. The living room is a total mess - blankets and pillows are strewn all over the floor, empty bags of chips, cans and bottles are underneath the coffee table and you swore that one rolled underneath the couch and the wall is still a sad, modern version of cubism with strings. 

“So…” You tilt your head to stare at a wide-eyed Angel, still buzzing with energy. “Want to play Mario Kart? Loser has to let the winner dress them for the day.” 

“You’re on! I hope you like crop tops” 

-

Vincent couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. The airport is bustling with people rushing for their early morning flights despite dawn barely peeking from the horizon. Like most of the humans around them, Vincent and Will are waiting for their boarding gate to open. 

Speaking of Will, he had wandered off to inquire about their time of arrival to one of the help counters somewhere near the vending machines that they passed. 

These past three days felt like three years without Lovely at his side. Vincent was an idiot to think that a few simple phone calls were enough to chase the yearning of his undead heart for his lover. His sweet and strong, Lovely. 

How are they right now? Judging from the different time zones, Vincent reckoned that it’s nearly midnight where the city of Dahlia is right now. Is Lovely getting ready for bed? What did they have for dinner? How was their day? 

An amused chuckle startled Vincent from his musing. “Oh Vincent, did your phone somehow insult you? You’ve been glaring at it for at least five minutes since I’ve returned.” 

“G-Geez! Don’t sneak up on me like that, old man.” Vincent mumbled, he nearly dropped his phone from his Sire’s sudden and silent appearance. 

“Apologies. Perhaps you should give them a call?” Will suggested as he took a seat beside him. He offers a warm, knowing smile at Vincent’s confused expression. “You wore a lovelorn expression when you stared at your phone. Do us both a favour and call your Lovely, hmm?” 

“...I shouldn’t. They’re probably sleeping - ”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. For all you know, they might still be up, waiting for you to call them.” 

Vincent gave in. He desperately needed to hear Lovely's voice. Besides, their sleepy whines are so adorable and he misses them terribly. 

Will occupied himself with a John Grisham book while Vincent pressed familiar numbers and held his phone up to his ear. Lovely answered in less than a minute. 

“Hey, Lovely.” Vincent greets, feeling the uneasiness and longing untangled themselves from his chest. He can’t wait to return home and have them in his arms again. The next time he has to go on a business trip again, he’ll bring Lovely along. If Will has a problem with it, he could take Alexis. “Sorry for calling you again so late at night. I… I just need to hear your voice again. Anyway, are you on the bed - ”

“Oh my god, did you just throw your underwear at me!?” 

“Uh, Lovely?” 

Vincent immediately pull the phone away when his ear is assaulted by a cacophony of K-pop music blaring in the background, accompanied by an obnoxious laugh of glee and Lovely’s mutterings of “That slut is going to get it now”, “300% sugar in your boba tea? Dude, just do cocaine instead!” and “Oh, Dilf alert! He has a French accent too? A solid 8/10 from me, definitely.” 

Beside him, Will snorts. He happily ignores the glare Vincent threw at him and flips a page. 

But for a brief, crazy moment, Vincent was struck with fear at the thought of his lover harbouring a secret crush on his Sire. He still remembers how freely Lovely blush and giggle whenever Will was around.

“Lovely? Is everything alright?” Vincent tries again, straining to hear through the music and someone’s chattering. Who is with his Lovely past midnight? He starts to worry and feel… a little uncomfortable. 

“Vincent? What’s up, baby? You don’t usually call me so late.” Lovely reply, sounding a bit distracted. Suddenly, Vincent heard a crash, followed by a, “It’s not broken! It’s all good!” 

“Where are you? What’s going on? Are you at a party?” Vincent didn’t demand, he inquired as firmly as possible. Flashes of his Lovely dancing at a club or hanging out with some faceless man and woman keep popping in his mind. It stirs his bloodlust. 

Will idly pat his hand to calm Vincent down, eyes still glued to his book. 

“I’m at home; had a friend over for the night. The apartment is just… too quiet without you.” 

Lovely’s easy and genuine admittance settled something feral inside of Vincent. He guessed that his lover and their friend must be having a sleepover. 

“I’m sorry that I had to leave, Lovely.” Vincent murmurs. “Will and I are at the airport right now. We should be boarding in thirty minutes.” Here, he paused and continued in a quieter tone, “I’ve missed you so much, Lovely. I’ve left my heart with you and… well, it’s just not the same without you.”

“See!? Prime example of a golden D there, Lovely!” Someone - Vincent assumed is his lover’s friend - shriek in the background. 

Their sudden shriek didn’t surprise him. What did, however, was another, stranger’s voice joining in their conversation. 

From a couple of seats, right in front of Vincent. Right here in the airport. 

“Don’t shriek into the phone, Angel! Are you trying to make me go deaf in one ear!?” 

The man - no, Shifter, grumbled. Vincent could smell the scent of lush forest and dirt around him; a Werewolf, then. But his nature wasn’t the reason why Vincent’s jaw is hanging open. 

Will, who had given up the pretence of reading his book, couldn’t hold himself back from grinning widely. He already connected the dots, unlike Vincent. “Oh my, isn’t that Alpha Shaw? He must be on a business trip as well! What a small world.” 

Luckily Vincent was clutching his phone tightly or not he would’ve dropped it in shock. Alpha Shaw? No way… David Shaw!? The Alpha of the Werewolf’s pack in Dahlia!? What the fuck - 

“Turn down the volume, Angel, before the neighbours call the police!” Lovely shouted back. 

In front of him, Vincent and Will watch the impressive scowl on David Shaw’s - the Werewolf King of Dahlia, himself - face. “Uh, excuse me? The fuck? It’s way past midnight, Angel. Where are you; who are you with?” 

“Looks like your lover made a new friend.” Will said in mock-whisper. Even though both of them knew full well that the Shifter wouldn’t be able to hear them from where they are in his human form. “I have a feeling that the Shaw pack and the Solaire clan will be closely in touch in the coming days.” 

Vincent shakes his head; truly, his Lovely is something else. Without hesitation, the Vampire Prince got up to introduce himself to the annoyed Werewolf. He didn’t take it personally when the Shifter shot him a glare for interrupting his phone call. If looks could kill, well, let’s just say that Vincent is thankful that being a Vampire means that he’s not about to be a Werewolf’s chew toy anytime soon. 

“Hi. I’m Vincent Solaire - yes, you heard that right - and before you ask, I’m pretty sure our lovers are currently hanging out at my place right now.” 

That got the Alpha to do a wonderful imitation of a statue. He wouldn’t look out of place at the Louvre, Vincent thought.

David exhales loudly - as if he damn close to being done with everything that this world has to offer - before addressing his lover on the other side of the phone. “The things you got yourself into, you damn troublemaker.” No doubt that David probably isn’t too keen to know that his mate is friends with a Vampire’s lover, but Will has a knack for turning enemies to allies; he’ll let his Sire deal with the politics once they get back to Dahlia. 

“You love me!” Angel smugly replied. “Oh and guess what? We binge watched the entire Twilight movie series and we got some questions!” 

“And uh, just a heads up.” Lovely’s voice hesitantly chimes through Vincent’s phone. “We haven’t slept since you guys left. I mean, I slept the day you left Vince, but, uh...” 

Vincent winces and politely ignores David’s flow of cursing under his breath. 

They left home for only three days, surely their apartments are still standing and their lovers aren’t drunk, high or planning to commit anarchy!

...Right? 

[astralpenguin]

@transnaturalweek day 2: coming out

1.4k, ao3 link

Kaia knew about Claire, but Claire had never needed to tell her.

Kaia had been there with them while they figured it out. Kaia had listened while they tried putting into words what they’d been feeling for a long time. Kaia had encouraged them to research these feelings, and had been there when they’d found out that there were a lot of people out there who felt exactly the same way. Telling Kaia that, hey, it turned out they’re not a girl after all, was easy, because Kaia had been sitting right next to them when they realised and accepted this about themself in the first place.

But if they wanted the other people in their life to ever stop calling them she, then they had to tell people about it.

Claire wasn’t interested in changing up how they looked. They liked having their hair long, and they liked the tinted lip balms they wore every day, and they didn’t want to bind. But they knew what this meant. They knew what people would assume when they saw them. Frustrating as it was, most people weren’t psychic, and they weren’t going to know that Claire wasn’t a girl unless they told them. Claire would be free to get as angry as they liked at anybody who continued to call them the wrong thing after they’d been told about it, and that anger would be fully deserved, but getting angry at people for using the wrong words to describe them when they literally didn’t know any better wouldn’t help anyone or solve anything. The world sucked, and the assumptions that people would make sucked, but it wasn’t any individual person’s fault.

They knew that if they’d figured this whole gender thing out while Kaia had been gone then they absolutely would’ve followed it up by getting angry at everybody they’d ever interacted with for not knowing. Kaia’s presence in their life calmed them, made them feel more able to face the world and all of its unfairness. They were okay so long as Kaia was in their corner.

And Kaia was in their corner about this. But Kaia couldn’t tell people for them. Claire didn’t want Kaia to tell people for them. This was something that Claire had to do themself.

They already knew how the conversations would go. Castiel and Sam would be supportive for sure. They’d probably be painfully earnest about it. Dean wouldn’t lay it on as thick as the other two, but he’d be supportive as well. Donna would grin like she always does and give them a hug. Jody would thank them for telling her and tell them that she was proud of them. Alex and Patience would actually know how to be chill, and Jack would definitely get excited and be overenthusiastic and very unchill. Claire knew that nobody that they wanted to know would react badly, and they knew that none of the people that loved them would love them any less once they knew.

It was still daunting.

Claire watched the coffee machine do its thing and considered the pros and cons of putting everyone in a group chat, making the announcement, and immediately leaving the chat. It was sounding more and more appealing every second.

“Oh, hey.”

Claire turned towards the kitchen doorway, and the source of the voice.

“I didn’t realise anyone would be in here,” said Patience.

Claire glanced towards the clock. “It’s three in the morning,” they said. “What are you doing up?”

Patience stepped into the room. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Claire flashed a grin. “I haven’t gone to bed yet. You’re the one with a normal sleep schedule.”

Patience eyed the coffee machine. “Are you planning on sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re making coffee?”

Claire shrugged. “Want some?”

Patience nodded. “Please.”

The coffee machine beeped and Claire poured out two mugs. They stirred in milk and sugar, and handed one of the mugs to Patience.

Most people weren’t psychic, and wouldn’t know Claire’s pronouns if they didn’t tell them. But Patience was actually psychic. Her specific brand of psychic ability allowed her to see into the future, not read minds, so Patience likely still didn’t know. There was a possibility that she’d already had a vision of Claire telling people, but there was a bigger possibility that she hadn’t had a vision about that, especially since Claire hadn’t made a concrete decision yet about when and how they’d be telling people.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Claire, leaning back against the counter and cradling their mug. “Why are you awake right now?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Patience turned towards the window and looked out into the night. “It happens sometimes. Usually nobody else is around.”

“Sorry to disturb your insomnia routine.”

Patience caught Claire’s eye through their reflections in the mirror and smiled gently. “It’s okay. You’re not disturbing me. The company is nice.”

“Does Jody know? Or-”

Patience shook her head. “I don’t want to worry her.”

Claire sipped their coffee. “I get that,” they said. “But if it gets any worse then you should tell her. She might seem overprotective but she’s only like that because she cares.”

Patience raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and you take it so well when Jody’s overprotective with you. Are you really trying to play the wise older sister thing with me right now?”

Claire stifled a laugh, aware that other people in the house were trying to sleep. “That depends,” they said. “Is it working?”

“Nope. You’re too much of a hypocrite.”

“Damn.”

Patience laughed softly and sipped her coffee.

And she didn’t know, she didn’t, so Claire couldn’t be upset with her when what exactly she’d said sunk in a little deeper. Claire wasn’t anyone’s sister, but Patience didn’t know not to call them that. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The only person that Claire could get upset with over this situation was themself, but they weren’t about to do that.

But there was a way to make sure that it didn’t happen again.

For all that it had seemed daunting earlier, in this moment it was easy.

“Speaking of things that Jody doesn’t know about, I’m not a girl.”

The smile on Patience’s face dimmed. She turned to face Claire properly. “You’re not?”

Claire shook their head. “I’m gonna tell everyone soon, but. Yeah. I’m not.”

“So you’re a guy?”

“No,” said Claire. “Well, it’s complicated. I’m kinda somewhere in between.”

Patience nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Should I use they and them when talking about you, then?”

Relief flooded Claire that Patience already knew about this stuff, and that they weren’t about to have to give a big explanation about things that they didn’t even understand themself until a few weeks ago. “Yes, that’s exactly what you should use.”

“Got it,” said Patience. “Do you want me to hold off on using those pronouns in front of people who you haven’t told yet? People might not notice either way, but I wouldn’t want to out you.”

“Uh...” Claire drank more of their coffee as they considered this. “I guess you can judge it for yourself? I’m hoping to tell people soon anyway, so I don’t know if that’ll be an issue. Kaia already knows.”

Patience placed her mug on the counter. “I figured you’d have told Kaia already if you’re telling me.”

“Kaia helped me figure it out.” Claire traced their finger over the rim of their mug. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Oh.” She looked touched. “Thank you.”

Claire pushed themself off the counter and put their empty mug in the sink. “Yeah, well. I mostly just wanted to correct you that I’m your wise older sibling, not sister.”

Patience laughed softly. “Older sibling? Yes. Wise? I’m not convinced.”

“Hey, screw you,” said Claire, a bubble of laughter escaping as they spoke. “I’m wise!”

“Didn’t you nearly get yourself killed last month because you tried fighting a pack of Rawheads by yourself?”

“I successfully fought a pack of Rawheads by myself, and obviously I was fine.”

“Jody was so angry when you told her about it.”

Claire grinned. “She was.”

Patience picked her mug up and placed it in the sink. “I’m gonna head back to my room,” she said.

“Gonna try and sleep?”

She shook her head. “Not much point. I’ll spend a few hours reading and go to bed early tomorrow to make up for it.”

Claire nodded. “Enjoy.”

Patience smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I will.”

She left the kitchen, leaving Claire alone.

Okay.

So that went well.

They took a deep breath.

Maybe tomorrow they could tell Alex. After that, they weren’t so sure. The group chat announcement was still looking like a good idea.

They didn’t need to worry about it now.

They hit the kitchen light and made their way up to their and Kaia’s room.

It was time for them to sleep.

[butchdanvrs]

Today I... Pictured I Was Driving Home To You

rating: Teen & Up

pairings: Carol Danvers/Reader

word count: 1.8k

content/info: alcohol usage, drunkenness, mutual pining, possible unrequited love, fluff, nb friendly <3

Every time you thought you had it. Every time you thought you were good. Every time you thought you could move on and that feelings would fade.

Every thought, every time-you were wrong.

Carol Danvers had you. And she didn’t even fucking know it.

Every time you shared a kiss with someone you wished it was her.

Every time hands landed on your hips or waist; you wished it was her.

Just the sight of her made your heart race and blood pound in your ears.

You had it bad for her-but you already knew that. Really it was more than that.

For what felt like forever, this unknown feeling would twist in your stomach along with stealing your breath away and you didn’t know what the fuck it was... until you did.

You were in love with Carol Danvers.

Hopelessly, stupidly, deeply in love with her.

Your eyes are on her long enough that you’re grabbing another drink-some unassuming and pretty looking cocktail that’ll get you on the way to being fucked up if you have more than one.

After an hour of dancing your clothes are sticking to your skin, and heat washes over every inch of you as you down the cocktail-too consumed in your own mind with thoughts of Carol.

If it wasn’t her eyes, it was her smile; if it wasn’t her smile, it was her voice; if it wasn’t her voice, it was the way she moved and the energy she exuded.

You were so past whipped it was almost fucking pathetic.

And it was-is pathetic. Because Carol Danvers had no interest in you.

You were only ever spared a close-lipped smile, a wave, a polite and friendly hand on your shoulder… nothing else, nothing more.

You ached for more.

You wanted her to look at you. To smile at you-one of those big, bright, wide and cheerful smiles that fucking melted your heart.

You wanted her to touch you, in more than a friendly or polite way. The touch of a lover, filled with intimacy and cherished thoughts and intent.

And you needed her to see you-to see you out on the dance floor, to look at you as being more than a friend.

But for now, you’ll settle with agreeing to dance with a cute stranger-the music flowing through your every movement and keeping you occupied.

So no, you don’t care really, when someone pulls you into them, wordlessly asking for a dance. You just smile and start dancing-not minding much when they get a little too handsy and participate in a little bit of mouth on mouth.

You’re feeling warm and like you’re floating, so yeah, you let a few people kiss your neck-too needful of the person you want the most, but are scared you can’t have in the back of your mind.

The night rolls on quickly and slowly all at once, and as it gets later and later the crowd dissipates.

Then it’s nearly 2 am and she’s still here, and you’ve pathetically counted each time her eyes fall on you-which is easier to see now than in the middle of dancing bodies high on alcohol or pure adrenaline.

By the fourth look you head over to her, head still floating and stumbling a teeny bit.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” She smiles-and you swear it’s different from the ones she usually gives you. Whipped.

As you try to sit on the barstool next to her, your thigh slips and you grip the edge of the bar-your body feels like it’s on fire when Carol touches you; a hand soft and strong on the middle of your back, anchoring you.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Her eyes crinkle a little bit, the corners of her lips twitching upwards like she’s trying not to laugh at you.

The realization of how drunk you’ve gotten sinks deep into you and makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I… I gotta go home.”

“Where’s your ride?” You shrug absentmindedly, and then scoff once you realize-your ride is gone.

“...I forgot I made a dumb choice and wanted to stay when they said they were leaving.” You groan a bit, cursing the decision.

Even though your body feels loose and light while your mind grows heavy, you’re hyper aware of how close Carol is to you.

You can almost still feel the warmth from her hand when it was on your back.

God, you had it so fucking bad for her.

You’re both silent for a short moment, watching each other, and time feels like it’s stuck, or maybe you feel like you’re stuck-stuck in her reach, stuck in her gaze.

But you break the moment, blinking a few times and looking away as you unnecessarily narrate your actions. “I’mma call a cab or somethin’...”

Her hand falls on your arm as you start reaching for your phone, and it stops you right in your tracks.

“No, come on. It’s 2 am in the city, let me take you home.”

The skin of her hand touches the skin of your arm and you can’t help but shake your head “yes”, watching her with-no doubt-wide eyes as she steps down off the stool.

Time freezes again, and you linger in a moment that you wish could last forever.

Stepping outside is easy, the smell of colognes and perfumes mixed with sticky liquor and sweat is replaced with smells of the city-exhaust fumes and aromas from a Chinese takeout place two blocks down.

The ride to your place is mostly quiet but not uncomfortable, soft tunes playing from the speakers on a low volume along with a comfortable silence was a big relief-after such a loud night with the bass so deep and heavy you could feel it bumping in your chest.

It’s like a cool breeze of air against your skin when your body temperature is rising. Or when you have a drink and it fizzes in your mouth, filling an unsatisfied craving.

Again, time plays a game with you as it seems to skip over itself, because one minute your head is lolling back onto the headrest and next thing you know, you’re walking to your front door-with Carol right beside you.

Your heart flutters at the consideration she shows, helping you get inside because she can tell you’re struggling with the lock on the door… and with taking off your shoes.

A groan of relief as soon as you hit your bed-the small part of your brain that’s not intoxicated cringing at the fact that you’re in your bed… in sweaty and boozy clothes random people grinded up against.

You don’t even realize you’d closed your eyes until you hear footsteps, panic rising quickly in your throat until you remember that Carol was there.

Carol Danvers was in your apartment with you.

Carol. Freaking. Danvers.

Carol Danvers was bringing you a glass of water to drink.

You hate to admit that you grumbled a bit like a child when you were given it, but drank most of the glass anyway because it was refreshing and most definitely needed.

She helps you put the glass on your nightstand to prevent it from falling and the feeling of her fingers against yours makes you feel a little jittery with nerves.

Now you’re wide awake, toes fidgeting under the sheets at the end of your bed as you watch her.

”Carol… can I tell you something?”

She’s listening, you can tell, brown eyes looking into you as if she can read your thoughts like an open book. It almost makes you backtrack-the words never mind it’s not important sitting on the back of your tongue.

“I-… Thank you for taking me home.”

She smiles and your heart aches as you sit up, willing yourself to summon a little confidence, a little bit of bravery.

But Carol’s still looking at you, eyes still searching you while you fidget with your fingers, heart beating a million times a minute when she asks, “Was there something else?”

You nod jerkily, your throat tightening, “I...I love you. I’m in love with you. A-And I have been for a while now.”

Your eyes blink back nervous tears, and there’s only a few milliseconds of silence before you’re talking again-feeling a weight come off of you that pushes you to keep talking until it’s all gone and no longer suffocating you.

“I should’ve told you a long time ago, I know, and ‘m sorry that I’m dumping this on you now but… I just- I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

Your eyes are flitting all around her face, nervously trying to read it and gauge her reaction. It’s only ten seconds later but feels like forever, the anticipation and anxiety of the moment of waiting for her response sat in your throat like a thick ball of regret about to manifest itself in tears.

“I’m sorry… I’m drunk, I shouldn’t have said anything, sorry. Just forget I said anything, okay.”

A hand on your shoulder stops you from turning your back to her, making you flinch as you look up at her. You’re still so terribly embarrassed and are dreading her reaction-expecting a negative one.

Instead, she steps closer to you, her head nears yours and your heart leaps a little in your chest at what she does next-her lips planting softly on your cheek in a small and sweet kiss.

You think for a second that you probably hallucinated it, wanting so badly for something to happen that your alcohol-induced brain conjured it up just to trick you.

But you know it was real when you realize her lips linger, and then she leans back, her hand slowly leaving your shoulder to rest on your cheek, her thumb rubbing it almost affectionately as her lips twitch upward, her eyes shining in the dark.

“Hey, tell me again… when you’re sober in the morning.” Her hand slyly moved from your cheek, fingers grabbing your chin softly and letting go of it as you nod somberly.

“Can… Can you stay with me? Please?”

She smiles warmly, an almost tender look on her face that makes your heartbeat a little faster-not able to help the feeling of hope coursing through your veins. Hope blossomed and bloomed in your heart so quickly you felt like you could burst.

“I’m not gonna leave you by yourself, princess. Get some sleep... I’ll still be here when you wake up. Okay?”

You nod softly, whispering a small “okay” in response. On the outside you’re silent and sitting still, but on the inside-the weight on your shoulders is gone and the tension in your muscles loosened in relief.

For the first time, with Carol, you allow yourself to feel hope as you fall down into your pillows, squirming until your sheets are tucked over your shoulders and under your chin-falling asleep comfortably but delighted about what’s to come.

[a-dorin]

"it's not a big deal"

pairing: professor!maul x fem!reader

word count: 2.022k

warnings: alcohol use, drinking, swearing, flirting, sexual harassment, slight age gap (no romance yet), sexual tension, mentions of student/professor relationship, 18+

a/n: i do not own the gif below! this takes place between ardor and tempestuous, which are chapters one and two. also i hope y'all enjoy how hot maul is in this like i did ;)

“how many times do i have to tell you this? professor kenobi is banging that hot political science professor. that blonde one.”

“nice word choice hardcase,” a platinum blonde snorts, bringing a cup to his lips, “i think you mean professor kenobi might be having sexual relations with professor satine.”

“isn’t she the pacifist or something?” another voice chirps, “a few of my friends have taken her classes. they’ve all said the same thing about her.”

“and that is?” the blonde arches a brow, his voice raised to a shout over the music.

“do we really have to talk about professors and class right now? shouldn’t we be celebrating our survival of the first week of classes?”

“and so she speaks!” hardcase bursts into a fit of laughter, taking another swig of his bottle, “sorry, you just hadn’t spoken in a while. i thought you went out to the dance floor or something.”

swiveling your head, your eyes dart over to the corner of the car, nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of the mass of students, bodies pressed together, sweat plastering their bodies and clothes. why were some of them wearing jeans in august? surely they were overheated, the air muggy and thick. summer in coruscant was awful, even if the sun was well set.

the scent of alcohol and sweat hung in the air, almost clouding over your booth. shaking your head, your gaze falls on hardcase, his eyes glinting with the promise of more teasing, “i would rather not be included in the student body orgy.”

“everyone must be took drunk to care that they’re getting showered in sweat,” rex mutters, “tup, do you know what time coach buir said we had practice?”

“i think he mentioned something about weights at five,” a new voice remarks, flicking a water drop at hardcase, “that means if we leave now, we’ll all be getting about four and a half hours of sleep.”

“here we go,” hardcase lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes, “typical wolffe. always gotta ruin the fun.”

“i’m just trying to look out for your dumbass because i know you’re going to bitch about it tomorrow morning. i’d rather not run laps in the morning either for any tardiness. you know how much coach hates when we’re late,” wolffe growls, before taking a glance at his phone, “i don’t know about you guys, but i’m going to be responsible and head out now.”

beside you, rex mumbles a strand of curses under his breath, leaning his head against your shoulder, “sorry but i should probably head out too. the last thing i want is wolffe bitching and shit tomorrow. you know how he is, bein’ captain and all.”

closing your eyes, you exhale, gritting your teeth, “so you’re just going to leave me here?”

“i’ll leave my ringer on if you need me,” lips graze your temple, “hey, maybe you’ll run into that hot professor of yours. he can pick up a couple drinks for ya on his tab. i got the ones from earlier on mine. don’t worry about paying me back either.”

sliding out of the booth, you allow rex to make his way past you, “is this your ‘i’m sorry for leaving you behind on a packed night’?”

“perhaps,” the blonde shoots you a wink, patting his pocket, “again, if you need me, please don’t hesitate to call. i can come get you or pay for your uber. love you.’

“love you,” shifting your head upwards, you place a gentle kiss on rex’s cheek, “make it back safe. drink some water and take some tylenol. don’t want you feeling hungover in the morning.”

“i’m more worried about the ass-beating that’ll ensue when hardcase doesn’t show up on time,” a warm chuckle fills your ear, “see ya, bestie. make it home safe.”

“i will,” you take rex’s hand, squeezing it gently, “bye.”

“bye,” rex takes a step forward, waving a hasty goodbye before catching up with the rest of the boys, loud laughter rumbling amongst the group as they make their way towards the exit.

swallowing thickly, you slide back into the booth, fingers gripping the half-empty cup. of course they all had to leave, abandoning you on one of the busiest nights of the year. students of all ages, undergrad to grad, linger in groups, chatter filling the space as the song ended, leaving a pause before the next one started.

“you look lonely,” a voice, smooth and brassy, sounds to your right.

next to your table, stood a nautolan, drinks in hand. squeezing your cup, you blink, registering he was speaking to you, “oh -- um, uh, hi.”

“mind if i join you?”

“not at all,” you shake your head, “feel free to take a seat.”

“i’ve never seen you here before,” he states, flashing you a dazzling grin, “i’m nigel, a junior in bio. how about you?”

“oh,” you pause, biting your lower lip, “i’m just in health sciences. i’m a junior too.”

“a gorgeous girl like you doesn’t have a name?” carefully, nigel slides a cup towards you, “i talked to one bartender but another brought me my drink. somehow i ended up with two.”

cautiously, you accepted the drink, but didn’t take a sip, “thank you, but i’ve had my fair share tonight.”

which, you weren’t wrong. as you sat in the booth, you couldn’t help but feel this tingly feeling, as it rippled from your head to your toes. it was almost as if you weighed nothing, as if you were bouncy and light. a blissful sensation, really.

yet, there was this other feeling in your stomach, gnawing at you, threatening to consume you whole. the leather on the seat clung to your thighs, the temperature of the air elevating a few degrees as nigel’s eyes narrow into slits, his lips falling.

“come on, you don’t want a free drink?”

“like i said,” you clear your throat, “i’ve had my fair share tonight. i don’t want to feel it in the morning, ya know?”

“hm,” nigel hums, a hand darting across the table, finding yours, “could i interest you in something else, maybe? something like you come home with me instead, and i can offer you something other than drinks? we could have some fun, and then i could eat you for brea--”

“hey love,” suddenly, a hand falls on your shoulder, “i asked for what you wanted but they were out for the night.”

glancing upwards, your heart skips a beat at the person beside you.

warm amber eyes lock with yours, nearly glowing in the dim light, “i didn’t frighten you, did i?”

“hey,” nigel’s voice cuts in, “we’re having a conversation here, bud.”

his attention shifts, eyes hardening at the sight of the nautolan, “i was not aware that they hadn’t taken the trash out for the evening.”

“m-maul--” you begin, but you’re swiftly interrupted by his lips connecting with yours.

the kiss was brief, only a mere peck. yet, you couldn’t help but melt. his lips were soft, and gods were they so tantalizing as he pulls away, glowering over to nigel.

if only a moment could have lasted just a second longer.

“i believe you should have left the moment she expressed her disinterest in you. she can hold her own but gods you must be a fly or something. some sort of pest. leave her alone.”

nigel did not utter another word, exiting the booth promptly while you remained seated, cheeks burning hot, a fiery feeling in your chest. maul cleared his throat, lingering at your side.

“do you need someone to walk you home?”

“do you always kiss your students?”

there’s a brief exhale, the zabrak’s fingers finding your chin. he was more dressed than the last time you saw him, a light cotton tee clinging to his torso, the color complementing his tattoos. a pair of heather grey shorts hung on his hips, the cotton leaving nothing to the imagination. it helped him blend in, giving him a facade that he was just like you. a student stopping by the bar for some fun.

tilting your head upwards, you meet his gaze once more, finding it increasingly more difficult to maintain your composure as he leans in, chain nearly dangling in your face.

“i only kiss the ones who have my utmost attention.”

“how did you manage to slip in without people noticing? you’re pretty popular on campus, you know.”

“kallus lets me slip in through the back,” in the corner of your eye, there’s this shiny object.

quickly, you realize it’s a six-pack of bottles. beer bottles.

maul continues, his voice gravelly as his fingers remain on your chin, “this is the only bar in town who carries this kind of beer i like. now, is that a satisfactory explanation?”

“it’s good enough,” you’re surprised that he could hear the words your voice was so low, “you should leave.”

“not without getting you an uber first,” maul sets the six-pack on the table, pulling his phone out, “what’s your address?”

“i can make it home just fine,” you scoff, “just go already before we draw in any more unwanted attention.”

“i know you can make it home just fine,” you tense at the firm tone in his voice, “i just need to know you’ll get there safe. it’ll bring me some peace of mind. also, why are you here by yourself?”

“rex had to leave,” you mutter, fidgeting with your own phone, “just go, all right? it’s not a big deal.”

“all right,” the zabrak gives in, huffing, “i’ll see you in class on monday.”

“what if nigel recognizes you and reports you?” bringing a hand to your mouth, you feel horrible for even asking the question.

but, it needed to be said.

after all, your psychology professor conducted some very unprofessional behavior. not only in front of one student, but an entire bar full of them, no less.

“don’t worry about it,” maul places a tender hand on your shoulder, “if i do, it was worth it. i’m sure that prick was too intoxicated to even establish who i was. don’t worry about it too much, okay? i don’t want you losing sleep over your professor.”

“i lose sleep over your class anyways,” taking your cup, you finish off your drink from earlier, recoiling at the lukewarm taste.

grabbing his six-pack maul shoves his phone in his pocket, clearing his throat.

“be prepared to lose some more, love. you won’t sleep much when it comes to me. see you in class.”

“s-see you in class.”

as the zabrak slips into the crowd, weaving between all sorts of species and humans, the ambiance seems to crumble away, leaving you in the booth, mind reeling, wondering what the hell just happened.

maul, the professor from your psychology class, the one you saw at the gym, nearly half-naked, clobbering away at a punching bag, also happened to run into you at the bar, stepping in to prevent any more harassment from a very drunk nautolan. he kissed you. his lips were on yours, leaving you dazed and entranced, somehow craving more.

fingers brush your lips, and for a moment you forget that they’re your own, ghosting over the plush skin where his mouth once touched.

gods, this was only fuel to the fire, this attraction that left you yearning more and more.

yearning for him.

this wasn’t a big deal, was it? surely he would’ve done this for any other student? surely he wasn’t giving you some sort of special treatment. this was just some sort of fucked up incident. a fever dream, of sorts. gods, it sure fucking felt like one.

surely this wasn’t going to make things awkward in class. after all, you were going to see him bright and early within a matter of days. maybe he’d forget about it. maybe it was nothing.

this wasn’t a big deal. he said it wasn’t.

you were sure of one thing, though.

monday morning was going to be an interesting one, that was without a doubt.

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taglist: @maulieber @galacticdream @anakinswhore @zabrak-show @justalittlecloud @hounding-around @meshlamando @fandom-gal44 @xcertaindarkthingsx @maximumninjavoid @alwayshappysith @doobiwankenooku @javierpenaspinkshirt

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [2]

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 2,139

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you.

Chapter Summary: You’re injured and Sam is overprotective. Dean gets caught in the middle.

Warnings: protective moose, badass!reader, exasperated squirrel, mutual pining, idiots in love, slow burn, fluff

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on part 1! here's part 2 of a mini series that is essentially an amalgamation of all the jealous/protective tropes lol

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The second time was an accident, although that did nothing to lessen Sam’s resulting ire. It was the middle of November and the three of you had been hit with one case after another, giving you no time to recover from injuries and keeping everyone rather keyed up.

A stupid misstep during a wendigo chase had left you with a sprained ankle on the last hunt. Sam, being the modern Prince Charming kinda guy that he was, had carried you back to the car while you protested futilely within his solid arms, eventually giving up in favor of hiding your embarrassment in the crook of his neck, though that only made your foolish heart beat faster.

“Sam, I’m fine, seriously. It’s nothing! A bit of ice and I’ll be good to go. You don’t have to do this,” you had nearly begged after he set you down on your motel room bed. His proximity always made you nervous, but when it was just the two of you and he was taking care of you like this? It set your heart racing and left a bittersweet aftertaste in your soul.

“Y/N, would you just let me look at it?” Sam hadn’t meant to sound so snappy, but he was growing tired of you always pushing him away whenever he got too close. He figured you wanted to keep your distance, keep things platonic, and he could never blame you for protecting yourself, especially given his history with women, but he genuinely wanted to help you. Sam needed to make sure you were all right.

His irritable tone had shut you right up, so you simply nodded in consent. ‘Great, now I’m annoying him,’ you thought with a quiet sigh.

Sam tried to send you an apologetic smile, to show that he was simply worried, but you wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Great, now she hates me,’ he thought with a defeated sigh.

Choosing not to dwell on the lump in his throat, Sam quickly got to work, ever so gently removing your boot and then sock before rolling up your pant leg just enough to get a clear look. His capable hands and eyes meticulously examined your swollen ankle, turning it this way and that as you leaned back on your hands and shifted uncomfortably on your bum.

“Well, you were right, I don’t think it’s broken. Probably just a bad sprain. You should stay off it for a while though,” his magical kaleidoscope eyes peered up at you through thick lashes as rays of setting sunlight pierced through the only small window in the room and bounced off his cheekbones in ways that left you speechless once again.

You gulped, finding it impossible not to hold his gaze. “Right, thanks doc,” you whispered awkwardly after a beat, swiftly removing your leg from his hold, and rolling your pants back down.

And that had been that.

Now here you were a week later, discussing your plan for a possible witch hunt.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Dean started, “Sammy can go through the back door, and I’ll go in from the front, while Y/N keeps watch on the outside and-”

“Dude, what the hell?!” Sam’s sudden outburst surprised both you and Dean, as he slammed his laptop shut and raised both hands in question.

“What? What do you mean ‘what the hell’?” Dean shot back, completely perplexed.

“Dean! She has a bad ankle!” Sam’s voice was filled with an unrecognizable anger and his darkened eyes bored fiercely into Dean’s.

“Okayyy, and I put her on lookout duty…” the older Winchester repeated slowly, trying to suss out his brother’s mystical problem.

“Which means she’s gonna have to walk back and forth around the place, and if she sees something, she’s gonna have to run!” Sam accused his brother incredulously, gesturing wildly with his big hands.

Dean couldn’t hold back the dramatic eye roll that accompanied his sigh of disbelief. ‘Here we go again,’ he thought, wishing his baby brother would just man up and tell you how he felt instead of throwing these little tantrums.

Your jaw had been slack as you watched the entire exchange in bewilderment. Feeling a little bad for Dean, however, you decided to finally speak up, adjusting your voice to take on a soothing tone, “Sammy, I’m fine. Honestly, it’s feeling a lot better!” While that wasn’t exactly true, you weren’t sure you could handle another round of his huge yet gentle hands caressing your bare skin. “Besides, it’s not exactly unheard of to be on a job while you’re still a little battered and bruised; that’s just part of the life. I mean, you guys do it all the time!”

Sam turned to look at you for the first time since he’d started speaking, trying to ignore the whirl of butterflies that erupted in his stomach when you used the nickname that had been reserved for Dean only up until you came along (it always sounded so sweet coming out of your mouth, he could never find it in himself to correct you), so he could focus on his train of thought. “Yeah, but we don’t do things that’ll make our injuries worse. Y/N, you need to stay off that foot or it’s not gonna heal properly!”

“Look, Sam, I appreciate the concern. I really do, but I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse and we need all hands on deck for this case.”

“Well, she ain’t wrong about that. This bitch has been tricky since the start,” Dean chimed in.

Sam flashed his brother a dangerous glare, the muscles in his jaw popping, before he turned back to you, “No. I’m sorry, but I think you’d be more help to us if you just stayed in the car.”

“No?” you questioned him with narrowed eyes. Sure, he was the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on, but that didn’t mean he could tell you what to do – especially not when it came to hunting, the one thing in which you were fully confident of your abilities.

Dean looked on with an amused smirk, glad he wasn’t the one about to get chewed out anymore.

“Sam, I know you mean well, but you don’t get to make that decision for me. That’s not how this works. I joined you two ‘cause we work well as a team. But that only holds if we all get equal say, if we all respect each other as hunters. I’m telling you that I can do this, and you need trust me.”

Sighing as he rubbed his temples, Sam stayed quiet for a moment while he pondered his response. He knew you were right. You were a total badass and he was painfully aware of it (there were times when a stand-alone part of his body was painfully aware of it as well), but still, he couldn’t resist the urge to protect you. Lately, it was becoming harder.

“I trust you, Y/N/N,” Dean cut in, breaking the silence, and then raising a brow at his brother.

Sam ran a large hand over the lower part of his face, nodding his head without looking at either of you, before rising to his feet and walking out abruptly.

Turning your head to stare after him with furrowed brows, you began uncertainly, “Should I…?” You sent Dean an inquiring glance in lieu of finishing your sentence.

“Nah, I got this. Kid’s probably just cranky after all these hunts. You just stay off that foot for as long as you can, make sure you’re good to go for later.”

You nodded as you watched Dean leave to find Sam. It was only a matter of minutes before you heard their loud voices travelling through the thin walls.

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” You recognized Sam’s low and enraged voice immediately.

“Well maybe if you just told her!”

“Told her what, Dean?!”

That’s when things got quiet again.

After a moment of pause, you shook it off and went back to reviewing your research for the case in silence. As confused and curious as you were, you weren’t about to let your mood distract you from the perils that laid ahead. Like Dean said, this witch was tricky, and you needed to have the brothers’ backs.

It was two in the morning when the three of you finally managed to kill the bitch. The hunt turned out to be a team effort after all, with you saving the boys’ asses at the last minute. Your chest was heaving and your ankle throbbing, but you were satisfied with the job well done.

Sam watched as you slowly hobbled back to the car. He could tell that your limp had worsened, but he kept his mouth shut since he knew there was no way they could have done it without you. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he and Dean would still be here without you, but seeing you in pain tore at his heart and made him wish things were somehow different, despite the overall positive outcome.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, interrupting Sam’s thoughts and urging him forward with a tired grunt.

“I don’t know about you kids, but I am beat,” Dean looked over at you and Sam as he cut the engine twenty minutes later, “We good with staying another night and heading back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me,” you agreed, climbing out the car and retreating to your room after bidding the brothers good night.

“Dude,” Dean’s head rolled heavily to the right when only he and Sam were left in the Impala, “Just go talk to her, will ya? You’re driving me nuts here.” He sent his brother an imploring look, a bit of Winchester telepathy.

There was a light knock on your door moments later. You swiped your gun but lowered it when you saw Sam’s hulking form through the peephole.

“Hey,” you greeted quietly after opening the door, keeping one hand on it to help steady yourself.

“Hey,” he echoed, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m fine,” you lied easily, trying not to make it obvious that you were resting all your weight on your good leg.

But of course, Sam was much too shrewd for that, perceptive gaze flickering down to your feet right away, “Can I look at your ankle please?” the words rushed out of his mouth, and he was quick to add more before you had a chance to protest, “I swear, I’m not here to tell you off; I just want to help you. Please.”

It always amazed you how Sam could go from towering, ferocious hunter to bashful, adorable, man-boy so seamlessly. He was really stinking cute when he begged, and you could never say no to those puppy dog eyes, “Yeah, OK,” you muttered while backing up to let him all the way in, too exhausted to offer any form of resistance anyway.

You sat on the edge of your bed obediently, bending over to remove your shoes, but Sam was there kneeling beside you in an instant, waving your hands away. He unzipped your boot and slowly slipped it off your foot, careful not to rattle your ankle in the process, with one hand holding on firmly to your calf.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said as he repeated the process with your sock.

“What for?”

“For making you feel like I don’t respect you as a hunter, for making you believe I don’t trust you.” He was down to the compression wrap he’d picked up for you at a drugstore, with which he took extra care removing, keeping his movements slow and cautious. “None of that’s true; I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself more.”

You studied Sam in the pale light, drunk on the feeling of his hands on your skin, “I saved your ass though, didn’t I?”

That brought a chuckle to Sam’s lips, his hands still supporting the full weight of your lower leg as he prodded lightly at the bloated skin around your foot, “Well, the swelling’s definitely worse, but yeah, you did.”

“Then it was worth it. Your ass will always be worth it.”

Sam looked up at you and found himself getting lost in the truth within your eyes. There was a buzz of raw emotion vibrating through the air between you, and so many words came to his mind, but in the end, he settled on, “Come on, we gotta keep this foot elevated.” He then grabbed your waist and managed to move you up the bed in one smooth motion, “I’ll go get you some ice.”

You immediately missed his fingers and the way they had absentmindedly stroked your calf, staring wantonly at his back as he walked out the door.

→ CARRY ON

thank you so much for reading! feedback is scientifically proven to make me write faster! 💞

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[queenmylovely]

Day 15: Sleigh Ride

pairing: Gwilym Lee x fem!reader

warnings: fluff only 

words: 1.2k

a/n: more touching with this one lmao 

Last, Full List, Next

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While in town with you for the Christmas market, Gwilym had noticed that one of the booths was advertising sleigh rides throughout the Christmas season. He thought it would be fun to do, and hopefully something that you would think would be fun to do with him too. It was pretty booked, so he had to sign up for a time a few days away.

In between the market and the intended sleigh ride, the two of you had dinner twice and had spent quite a bit of time whenever Gwilym wasn’t on the slopes sitting in front of the fire reading together and chatting.

It was the night before when Gwilym had signed up and the two of you were doing just that, reading different books but sitting on the same couch near the fireplace. You had started sitting next to each other, but then you had moved so your legs were on the couch too (your shoes were off). It was a loveseat, so you were close, and after a bit Gwil’s hand found its way to your ankle. Then a little bit later he slowly, without looking away from his book, pulled both of your legs across his lap. You adjusted to lean against the arm of the couch, your whole body warm with the casual intimacy.

When you came to the end of a chapter, Gwil tapped your leg so you’d look up at him, “What do you think about… a sleigh ride?”

“A sleigh ride?” you asked with a confused frown. “You mean the song?”

Gwil chuckled, “No, not the song, although that is good too. I mean someone in the village does sleigh rides and I have a slot tomorrow night and I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

“Oh a sleigh ride here, that’d be so perfect! I can’t imagine a better place for it, yes I’d love to go with you!” you exclaimed, leaning forward to touch his arm when your excitement took over and you went in for a big hug instead. “Thank you, Gwil, that’ll be so much fun.”

Gwil breathed out a laugh, laughing because of your surprise and excitement, breathless because you were practically sitting in his lap now. He hugged you back, “My pleasure.”

You pulled back and pecked his cheek; you had kissed a few times now, but the lobby in the early evening hardly seemed like the place for a makeout session. But then you noticed how close your entire body was to his and your face flushed with heat. You detangled yourself from him, also moving your feet back to the ground instead of on Gwil’s lap.

He cleared his throat and you gave him a sheepish little smile, “So what time?”

___

The two of you had decided to get dinner in town before the sleigh ride, finding a place that had a great view of the ski hill to watch all of the skiers and snowboarders. It was great food, and by this time, you and Gwil had a good rapport and rhythm for your conversations that usually included the books you were reading, what your uncles were up to, and how the skiing was that day.

After dinner, Gwil led you first over to the coffee and tea cart for some hot chocolate for the ride. Next, it was the booth at the very edge of the market that acted as the pickup point for the sleigh ride. You hadn’t even noticed it during your first pass, so you were glad that Gwil had and that he had the foresight to sign up for a time, as well as thinking to invite you to go with him.

After a little wait the sleigh arrived, pulled by one black and one white horse and driven by a couple probably in their fifties. All four aforementioned were in cute Christmas livery. A couple around your age got out of the sleigh, their eyes and smiles bright. Then the woman called Gwil’s name (or an approximation of it in a thick Swiss French accent) and you walked over. Gwil gave you his hand to help you into the sleigh and even through the gloves you could feel his strong and steady grip.

There were two blankets in the sleigh, and you decided to lay one on the sleigh’s seat to insulate from behind and then draped the other over both of you once you had sat down. The size of the blanket meant you had to squish together, which neither of you were complaining about. Gwil also carefully put his arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him, less carefully.

The sleigh ride started, going in a wide turn to take you away from the market and towards the forest. It wasn’t that late, but the moon was fully out, and all of the snow reflected its light, so you could see. The lane through the forest had little chalets every so often and you could even see the Christmas trees inside some of them through the windows. Other than the houses, the tall evergreen trees covered in snow and smaller trees still growing that couldn’t even hold snow on them, and all of the evidence of wildlife was plenty to see. Both of your favorite, though, was a great big fir tree that was decorated with lights and ornaments and a big star on top. It wasn’t as professional as the one done in the main square, but it was even bigger and it was still alive and in the forest!

You and Gwil pointed everything out to one another excitedly, like little kids on a school field trip. More than once you saw the couple driving the sleigh glance back at you and then at each other smiling. Somehow their acknowledgement of what was between you and him made you feel it even more as you simultaneously got a little embarrassed, caught being so smitten.

There was another big bend and you were now doing a wide circle around the market, the lights growing brighter and bigger as you got closer. But it was nice to see it from a distance at night, seeing how the whole town and all the visitors were laughing and talking and smiling in one cozy place.

It was down to the last couple minutes in the sleigh and you told Gwil, “Thank you so much for bringing me with you, this has been so much fun.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, love,” he told you, moving a piece of hair out of your face that had escaped from your hat. “I will confess that I did sign up with you in mind. If you had said no, I probably would’ve canceled the reservation.”

You looked down but smiled, flattered and glad that he seemed to be feeling something very similar to you, “I’m very glad to have met you here, Gwilym.”

Gwil smiled at your frankness, happy you felt the same way, “Me too, so glad.”

And then he tilted your face back towards his and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss that echoed what his words had said and went further, went towards the future and all that the feelings could mean.

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Paul Higgs: Baby Daze

Tomorrow I will return you to your regularly scheduled whump programming. Today... this is what wanted to be written.

CW: Teen pregnancy, some crass language surrounding said pregnancy, brief gun reference, some organized crime references

Approximately eighteen years before Tristan Higgs became another casualty of WRU…

-

"Well, look who’s here! Billy Higgs’s boy, come to see us after school, then?" Sean Malley claps him on the back and Paul nearly stumbles forward, just barely catching himself as he crosses the threshold from the sun-warmed walkway with straggly weeds growing stubbornly up through the cracks into the chilly shadowed warehouse. His sneakers scrape along the ground, but he stays standing.

He's hardly even as big as a stick compared to his dad's work buddies, all older guys with thick muscled forearms and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He’s never had much muscle on him at all, but then his dad didn’t have much in old photos either. Maybe he’d get some as he got older, if he worked here. If they let him. "How’s things, hm? Keeping your grades up?”

Paul smiles, a slightly strained expression. The smile is automatic, it’s what everyone expects with small talk. At school he mostly doesn’t even bother with it, but with his dad’s friends… well, a smile’s polite. Right? Friendly. 

He tries to look more friendly. He needs them to say yes to what he’s about to ask for.

“They’re fine,” He says, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “Same as always, A’s and B’s.”

Mostly B’s, but they don’t need to know that.

“Good, good.” Sean slides an arm around his shoulders, jovial as always. Paul tries not to be visibly uncomfortable at the touch. Everyone is always touchy, in the world, and he’s never liked it much. Except with Ronnie, but… that’s different. “So, talk to us, Paulie. What's got Billy’s boy mucking around here at the Garden with the old-timers?" 

It's not actually much of a garden, unless you count the dandelions in the sidewalks and the bits of scraggly grass along the edges of the pavement as your rows of plants. Instead, the big warehouse stretches wider than two Walmarts, chopped off into pieces by the standalone temporary walls inside that don't reach the ceiling. 

The ‘Garden’ is a place where things happen that no one with a badge is ever supposed to see. There's shouting, good-natured calling out of sums and figures and code words Paul doesn't know, bouncing and echoing in a constant chaos of sound. Metal scrapes, an odd clicking Paul vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place until he thinks of his dad cleaning his guns now and then at night, carefully putting them back together once he’s done. 

All that noise lays heavy like a blanket over his skin. He pushes past it - he's got a reason to be here, and he won't let Ronnie down. He can’t let her down.

"I'm here to work," He says, going for strong and loud. He doesn't change expression when the men around him laugh. 

He doesn't think their laughter is meant to be unkind, and besides, he doesn't really care if it is. These men have all known him since he was born - if anyone’s going to give him what he needs, it’ll be them. "My dad told me I could pick up some shifts this weekend as a lookout, that you pay cash at the end of the shift, right away. That I could get a couple hundred if I’m good at it, maybe five if I do some running, too.”

"Oh he said that, did he?" Sean meets eyes with Cilly, whose real name Paul has never learned. He isn’t entirely sure anyone here has ever given him their real legal name. Not even Sean. "Will might've let the family know first before he sent his boy here, hm? 

"Well, it's. It's important I get cash. Um. Fast. I just spoke to him, probably he'll call you in a bit thinking he's giving you a warning." Paul tries for another smile, and hopes it's warm enough. A bit of coppery strawberry blond hair falls over his green eyes as he looks hopefully from man to man. 

He's not even eighteen yet, but really, isn't that even better for a lookout? He knows where they do their business, he knows who to watch for, and he doesn’t look like he’s one of them at all. He's paid attention, sat up at night making maps of where they work and what they do. He knows they’ve gotten into business with WRU, even, the big Facility up in Berras has been sending people down here now and then. He’s good at this sort of thing. He knows he can do this. He’s going to make a living at this one day, and everyone starts somewhere.

He just… has to convince them. These men aren't unreasonable, and they're family. Well, sort of. In a way. In that they all commit crimes with his dad. And some of them actually are real family, although he’s not always sure exactly who.

"What d'you need cash for that can't wait for your parents to come back from Florida, then?" That's Cilly, scratching idly at a red spot on his face, sipping a mug of hot tea like they're at a kitchen counter and not a fold-out table by a warehouse door. The others all have takeout coffee cups, but not Cilly. 

Paul's mom buys him new mugs on all her vacations. A gentleman among thieves, she said once. 

Nah, Paul's dad had said. Just a thief. But he puts on airs for you. 

All the more reason to show him my appreciation, Bill. 

The mug he’s drinking from now was one of Paul’s mom’s presents to him. It has a little palmetto tree on the side and Nothin’ Could Be Finer written in swirling script. It came from a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when Paul was seven. 

He hated that trip. He never liked sand. Or the ocean. Or the noise of all the people everywhere in the street. He would have been happy with a book on the couch in the condo if they’d have let him stay there. 

"They're not in-"

"Think they're in Georgia," Conor pipes up, the oldest with hair gone nearly gray, cousins to the real boss, a man Paul has met maybe three times and knows only as Mr. Sondheim - which isn’t even a little bit his actual name. 

Conor makes Paul’s skin prickle, the way he thinks maybe a cat feels when it sees a mean-looking dog across the street. Paul's dad came home once with blood he had to wash off his hands and a shirt he had to throw out. When Paul asked, he said only, Conor's temper is going to get someone who matters killed one day. Too bad his grandson's as bad as he is. "Aren't they?"

"Nah," Sean says, shaking his head. "Florida. Definitely Florida."

"Actually," Paul starts. "They're in-"

"I thought Texas," Cilly says, almost thoughtful. He interrupts Paul thoughtlessly, and Paul’s face colors a little with embarrassment. He feels like the odd man out in a conversation meant to be about him. 

"They went to Alabama," Paul finally says, soft. Thinking no one’s listening, but they all look at him then. That's worse than when they weren't paying attention at all. He never meets any one person's eyes, instead focusing on Sean Malley's forehead, a spot that'll look like eye contact without having to be it. He's never liked having to look too many people in the eye. 

Or anyone, actually. 

"Ah, all right then. Alabama. Well. What couldn't wait for them to get back from Alabama, Paulie-Wol?"

No one's called him Paulie-Wol since he was eleven - and he hated it then. He blushes even darker. He's always been easy to make blush, and they laugh again. It's a little meaner this time. He has to not care. It’s important not to care, so they’ll let him work. 

Paul Higgs straightens his narrow shoulders and pulls a crumpled but of paper, shiny on one side, out from his back pocket. "This is why. I need money. Fast. For this."

He can't help how his voice dips, hushed, almost in awe. Sean is the first to take the little piece of paper, eyes widening in surprise at what he sees, before he hands it to Conor, who whistles through his teeth. Cilly takes it next, with a soft exhalation that's either curse or prayer. 

With this group, it could be either. Or both. Paul’s dad always says God doesn’t care overmuch about the difference.

"You're a bit young, aren't you? To need money for this?" Sean asks, and he's… concerned, Paul thinks, and he tries to square himself up even taller. “What’re you, Paulie, fifteen?”

"S-seventeen. It’s-... we didn’t plan on it, Sean, it just happened." This time when his face stays red, heat burning under the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, they don't laugh. All their smiles are gone, too.

They've gone serious, these men who aren't quite blood but might as well be. They aren't laughing at or with or because of him. They look worried about him.

"Paulie," Conor says, shaking his head. "Paulie, you know better than this. Don't they teach you how to make sure this shit don't just happen? Thought we’d stop having teenagers knocking each other up once we got past the eighties.”

"They did. I had a whole health class where we-... but it doesn’t matter, it still. Happened, okay?" The absolute last thing he wants to do is talk to these old guys about Ronnie, and why, and when. If they ask him he’ll melt into the floor, and die, and just be dead right here and now.  

“So, when you say you need money… Are you looking to drive her up to Berras?”

“No, that’s not... We talked about it, but she said she already thought about it and made her decision. This isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. I like her decision. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Sean blinks, surprised.

“Yes! I'm happy, so don't tell me I fucked up, because I did. I know I did, but… but I talked to Ronnie, and we have a whole plan and I need money for my plan. And just. Look at it.”

Sean glances back down, taking the paper back, smoothing it out. Shiny on one side, it's a printed black and white image, a smeary blur of monochrome shades. Unmistakable in its center, more or less, is a gently rounded blob of white, topped with another and with other little blobs coming off its sides. Labeled along the top is Baby Botham, 14 weeks 3 days. 

“Botham?” Sean asks, head cocked to one side.

“That’s… that’s Ronnie’s last name. She, uh. She didn’t tell them… Because we’re not married.” Paul squares himself up again. “Yet. We’re not married yet.”

He tries not to think about Ronnie crying on his shoulder about how her parents and her sister had screamed at her when she told them, that no one was talking to her and they might throw her out, like this. His throat will close up if he does, in hurt for her, and in anger. 

His own parents he’d just told on the phone today, heard the long silence on the other end. Whispers that didn’t quite carry through the line. Then his mother had said, brisk and no-nonsense as always, So what does Ronnie want to do? We’ll help however we can. Will she need somewhere to stay?

“You’re not married yet,” Cilly repeats, not with derision, just with a kind of flat uncertainty. “You’re seventeen, Paulie. Little young to be talking marriage, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’re talking it, anyway,” Paul says firmly. “And don’t tell me it’s stupid. We already made our minds up.”

“Well, far be it for me to question your judgement,” Sean deadpans. “Since you’re clearly making excellent decisions already-”

“I got married at sixteen,” Conor points out. “Wife and I been married forty-two years this December, too. Sometimes it works out.”

“Different world, different times,” Cilly counters, and Conor has to nod in agreement to that. “Lots of those didn’t work out either, now did they? Besides, kids got options now we didn’t have back then.”

“Ronnie doesn’t want those other options,” Paul says, forcing his voice to be loud enough to carry, surprising all three men, who give him a new kind of look. Maybe even seeing him as nearly a man and not a kid, just for the moment. “She doesn’t. I never told her to do or not do anything, we talked about it, and she knows what she wants to do, and I agree with her. Ronnie and I want to get married, and we’ll need somewhere we can live when-... when the baby comes. So I need to start making money. And I want-... I need some fast, this weekend.”

Cilly’s expression goes cold. “Don’t tell me your folks are making you find a place that fast. I’ll take Billy to the woodshed myself if he’d be such a bastard to his own kid when things get tough-”

“He’s not,” Paul says quickly. “They’re not. Mom and Dad aren’t-... but they get it, they’re helping us. It’s not for an apartment, not yet. It’s so I can buy her some stuff.”

"This is a serious thing," Sean says, and he rubs his thumb over what Paul is pretty sure is his baby's head. The blobs are all sort of odd to look at, but… he's pretty sure that one's the head. It’s where he would put the head, if he were designing a person, anyway. "But I can see you��re quite the serious young man, now. What sort of stuff are you lookin’ to buy, Paulie?" 

Paul swallows, nervously rubbing his palms along the seems on the outside of his pants. “I… I don’t know. What do you buy someone who’s pregnant? I thought, like, baby clothes? Or a crib?”

“No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “You can’t just get her baby stuff, not this early. You are not starting with a crib, Paulie. You got nowhere to even put one yet.”

“Then… what do I buy?” Paul looks from man to man. “I’ve never known a pregnant person before, not anyone I cared about.”

“You were around for my wife’s last pregnancy,” Sean says, mildly offended.

Paul shrugs. 

The three older men look at each other, and then sigh nearly as one. Someone pushes out the fourth chair from the fold-up table and Paul sits, each of the other men sitting in turn. Sean picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, Don. Let everybody know we’re off-limits for the next couple hours, ‘til lunch. Yeah, Billy Higgs’s boy stopped by. He’s sniffing around for some lookout work this weekend. Find him some decent jobs for me, will you?”

Paul starts to smile, and it’s genuine this time. Sean hands him back the little picture of the blob that will become a baby, his and Ronnie’s baby, and he tries not to crumble it fully in his hands, worried his sweat will smear the ink. She’ll get another one in a few weeks, said her doctor told her it’ll look more like a person, then. Less like a weird frog. Or like a really, really bad painting.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you.” Sean hangs up the phone and grins, leaning on his elbows on the wobbly little table. The sun shines warmly through the open warehouse doors on Paul’s back. “All right. Between the three of us, we’ve got, what, ten kids?”

“Yeah, but five of those are all Cilly’s,” Conor points out. “And mine stopped bein’ kids decades ago.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t change, and they don’t need much. You need a pen and paper to write things down, Paulie?”

“Write… write what down?” 

“What you’re gonna spend your money on, for your girlfriend. You don’t just show up with baby clothes, kid, you gotta go all out. Let’s talk date, let’s talk gifts for this Ronnie, let’s talk it all out.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Cilly says. “They all get that book, right? Isn’t that the one?”

Sean snorts, derisive. “Don’t get her that, not this early. That damn book had my wife in fucking tears telling her everything that could go wrong. We need to think of a happier book than that.”

“Well, call your wife and ask her what she’d want, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should!”

“She’s liable to start planning a damn baby shower if I do. You know how Christa is about little ones.”

Cilly grins. “Think she’ll make those deviled eggs I like for the shower?”

“Cilly, for God’s sake, we found out about this five minutes ago.”

“Right, but... deviled eggs.”

Paul takes a deep breath, and sits back in his chair. “I’ll remember, whatever you say. I promise. I don’t need to write it down. Just tell me what I should get her, what I should do.”

“Right. Well, then.” Sean spreads his hands. “Let’s talk gifts.”

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[skywalkerstyles]

Kissing Lessons pt5

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Readee

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, angst

A/N: not proofread

I hear voices.

“Officer, I know you’re just doing your job...But there’s no reason she needs to go into the system.”

“Are you sure ma’am?”

“Officer. I’ve raised this girl as if she were my own since she was six years old. She is family. She will stay with us.”

It sounds like Mitsuki.

“You may collect any items she may need from her home now, an officer is on standby there but you will have to be quick.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you. I know what she’ll want to keep.” There’s shuffling, movement. I can’t open my eyes. I want to tell them no. Leave everything. Burn that house of hell to the ground.

“I need to call the office and tell them I’m not coming in. Katsuki you can go if you’d like. I’ll have your father send Mei after they are done at Y/N’s house.”

“Someone should stay with her….I’ll stay. I want to be here when she wakes up.”

Katsuki’s mom puts salve on my cut. Her hands are soft and gentle. She smiles at me kindly as she puts a bandaid over it.

“Be careful with those kids. I know you’re playing but you can get seriously hurt. They are a bit bigger than you dear.” I smile shyly at her, she kisses my cheek and I sprint back towards the back yard to play tag.

My fingers twitch. I flex them, I still feel locked inside my body, I can’t open my eyes, but I can feel again. Am I dead? I hear someone shift beside me. Who is that?

"Katsuki? Why don’t you go home? You don’t have to go to school. Just go home and rest.”

“I’m staying till she wakes up mom….Please.”

“She’s a good girl. She’ll be alright.”

“I hope so…”

“Tell me son. Why didn’t she come home last night?” Home? I did go home. “She never goes over to that place. Did something happen? Was there a fight or an argument?”

“Mom...I….There’s something I need to tell you-”

“H...Home…” my words are hoarse and thick as I manage to finally speak. Slowly I open my eyes, taking in the room around me.

It’s white, sparse, and smells heavily of antiseptics. I see Mitsuki standing at the edge of my bed, and Katsuki himself, sitting in a chair beside me. He’s holding my hand, I don’t think he notices my eyes flicker towards our intertwined fingers. He leans forward, closer to my face, eyes wide and filled with worry.

“Y/N?” Before he can say anything else his mother is by the other side of me, kneeling down.

“Oh sweetheart.” she says, she reaches out and touches my cheek, a dull throbbing starts in my abdomen, I inhale sharply and shift with discomfort. “Are you alright?” she asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Wha...What happened?” I ask, everything is fuzzy, cloudy. Mitsuki is hesitant, she doesn’t want to tell me? Is it that bad? She clears her throat.

“Honey you….Your dad….” a strange sensation of dread washes over me. Memories come flooding back. My mother and father fighting. The gun. The blood. Knocking on the their front door.

My eyes become blurry with tears, I take my hand away from Katsuki, who released me with ease, and wipe my face.

“They’re dead aren't they.” I say flatly. “My parents are dead.” she doesn’t need to say anything. Her face confirms it. I sigh, trying to sit up, I’m tired of laying down.

“Easy.” Katsuki grabs my arm and slowly helps me sit up, while his mother places the pillows beneath my back. I groan as doing this causing the pain in my stomach to sharpen. I flinch, Katsuki doesn’t let go of me.

“Ouch” I moan, leaning back against the pillows. “So...What happens to me now?” I ask his mom, Katsuki’s hand slides down my arm to take my hand again, I let him.

“Well….I told the Officer we would take you. You pretty much live with us anyway so it wouldn’t be much of a change….You can come home.”

“Home?” I ask. She smiles.

“Yes. Our home is your home. It always has been.” I smile, tears falling down my cheeks. I can go home. To my real home.

“Thank you,” I reach out and she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. She kisses the side of my head.

“I need to go and call your father Katsuki, will you stay with her?” He nods as his mother gets up to leave. We sit in silence, he plays with my fingers absently.

“Katsu...I….” I don’t know what to say, there’s a lot I should say, but I can’t think.

“You really….You really scared us you know,” he says, looking up at me. His face is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. “We thought we were gonna lose you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you go there after school? Why didn’t you come home?”

“Because….” I take a deep breath, pulling my hand from his, “Because I couldn’t stand the awkwardness.” I reach up, running my hand over my face. “You just pulled back and...I know it’s my fault. I did it to myself. But….” my voice cracks. “Katsuki you are one of my best friends. And I don’t want to lose you. I want things to be like they were. Before I asked you for kissing lessons, when we could just hang out….I don’t want to lose-” he cuts me off, pressing his lips to mine tenderly. My eyes slide shut, all the feelings I have for him bubble up, I’m so confused.

“You’ll always be my best friend Y/N. That’ll never change.” he says as he pulls away, a soft smile on his lips. “And you can always talk to me. About anything. We’re okay.” I sigh with relief and nudge his forehead with mine.

“I love you Katsuki."

“Tch. Of course you do.” our moment is interrupted by a knock on the door. I look up to see Ash, he’s standing awkwardly with a bouquet of white roses. Katsuki pulls away from me immediately. Ash smiles sheepishly, holding the flowers up.

“I heard what happened….Wanted to make sure you were alright.” Katsuki stands up stiff and rigid, he walks towards the door.

“I’ll go find a vase for these,” he takes the flowers from him. “Give you two a minute alone.” He smiles at me again, making my heart flutter, before leaving me alone with Ash. Ash takes Katsuki’s seat. He looks worried, upset.

“I’m so sorry about your parents,” I feel my jaw twitch. I take the hurt I feel and ball it up, shoving it to the pit of my stomach.

“I think it was going to happen one day….They weren’t good for each other,” I pause, “Or themselves.” Ash takes my hand in both of his, he runs his thumb over my knuckles.

“There’s still so much I don’t know about you. I wanna know. I wanna know everything….But I understand why you wouldn’t tell me about your home life.”

“It’s embarrassing,” I say with a smile. He chuckles.

“Yeah. I guess it would be.” He leans in and kisses me, pressing his lips to mine softly, I let my eyes slide closed and relax into it. “I was so scared.” he echoes Katsuki’s words from earlier. “But that fear made me decide something.”

“What?”

“Homecoming.” I look at him confused. “Homecoming is a month away….If you feel up to it, I’d like to take you.” my mouth falls open in shock and surprise. I was not expecting that, but he looks confident and sure of himself.

“Sure,” he grins, kissing me again. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me excitedly, I smile into it. “That sounds great.”

Katsuki knocks on the door, Ash pulls away from me as he walks in. He sets the flowers down by my bed. They really are beautiful. Ash stands.

“I should probably let you rest,” he says to me, the look of excitement on his face is endearing.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“Thank you for saying yes.” he turns on his heel, leaving the room with a pep to his step. He sits back down, he opens a bag of chips and holds it out to me. I take one.

“What’d you say yes to?” he asks curiously. I shrug.

“He asked me to Homecoming. I said I’d go.” He nods, we don’t speak again for a little bit. Quietly munching our chips and watching television.

“Y/N.” he says during a commerical break.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to say you shouldn’t go. It’s not my place….But I just...I get weird vibes from that guy. Be careful, please. We almost lost you once. We…I mean.....I don’t want to know what it feels like to actually lose you. Okay?” I don’t know where this is coming from, but his face is dead serious.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Someone needs to.” I chuckle. He faces the tv again and we sit in comfortable silence.

I am released from the hospital a week later. One of the Bakugou’s was with me at all times. I was asked about my parents by the police. They were cremated. They asked if I wanted the ashes. I said no. Katsuki helped me to the car when I was finally released. Going to their home, my home, was like entering a dream. One I’d been wishing for my whole life. A place where I belonged.

Nothing really changes. Mei and I always share a bed so they don’t blow up the air mattress, their dad gets another dresser for me to put my clothes and Mei cleans off her book shelf for my books. This is contentment. This is normalcy.

“I’m so glad you can come back to school. I was dying without you,” Mei says dramatically as I slam my locker shut. My stitches are healing well, as long as I take it easy I can go to school. No gym class though, I am not complaining.

“I’m sure you were just fine.” we make our way to the cafeteria for lunch.

“Really Y/N,” she smiles and nudges my shoulder. “I missed you.”we sit at our normal spot and wait for Kai and Ash to show up. Ash called me alot at home, and came by a few times. Everyone seems to really like him, except forKatsuki, I don’t know why, but his warning pops into my head every time I am alone with Ash.

“Hey beautiful.” Ash wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses me dramatically. I hear Mei make a gagging sound and flip her off teasingly as he pulls away. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s good.”

“Guess who’s having another party this weekend?” Kai says, pointing at himself. I roll my eyes, Mei does too.

“Really? You have a party almost every weekend.” I snicker when she says this. Ash takes my hand, holding it under the table.

“Well this one is gonna be big! Epic! I swear it.” he kisses her cheek and points at me and Ash. “You two gotta be there.” Ash looks to me, I hadn’t been out since the shooting.

“What do you say? It could be fun.” I nod, giving in.

------------------

“Mei!" Kai meets us at the door, throwing his arm around his girlfriend and shoving a beer into her hands. “What took you so long?”

“We got held up at home.” I said, Kai barely acknowledges me. Dick. “Is Ash here?” I ask. He nods, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Yeah, he’s upstairs I think.” I question it for a second and then think maybe he’s in the bathroom. I leave Mei and Kai in the foyer and make my way up the steps of Kai’s house. The base from the stereo vibrates through my body. The music is loud. Always loud.

I start knocking on doors and shouting Ash’s name through them. When I get to the door at the end of the hall I press my ear to it. I can hear shuffling. I knock tentatively and try the door handle. “Ash? Is that you?” I push the door open.

Ash looks up at me alarmed, a blonde girl, Tiffany, pulls away from him smugly, her arms still around his shoulders. I can feel my heart cracking in my chest.

“Y/N?” Ash stutters. “It’s not what it looks like-” I turn, sprinting down the steps, I can hear him following me.

“Leave me alone!” I shout as I burst out of the house and into the night air. I can hear him following me quickly, shouting my name, anger becoming more and more evident in his voice. Suddenly I feel his hand, not so gentle, not so kind, on my upper arm. He yanks me around to face him, grabbing my chin in his hand.

“When I tell you to stop, You fucking Stop!” I flinch, his voice sounding very much like my father’s, I feel my body tense up, my jaw is aching from how tightly he’s holding it. His breath smells like alcohol and his pupils are dilated.

“Ash.” I whimper, “Let me go.” He holds me tighter, digging his fingers into my elbow.

“If you ever fucking run from me like that again….”he warns. He doesn’t finish, he doesn’t need too. My head is spinning, he was such a nice guy, so nice to me, I don’t know who this monster in front of me is. He glares at me and lets go of me forcibly. I stumble back and he pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a slow drag. I stand there, afraid if I move I’ll set him off again. We stand in the middle of the empty street, the noise of the party behind us. No one is outside. So no one saw.

Finally he shakes his head, flicking his cigarette away. He comes close to me again, I flinch when he caresses my cheek with the back of my hand, I feel sick.

“You look tired,” he sounds concerned. “You don’t need to be here. I’ll tell Mei you went home.” He kisses me, I don’t kiss him back, to stunned to move. “Go straight home. You go anywhere else...I’ll know.” he doesn’t look back as he leaves.

The kitchen light is on when I come home. I shut the door quietly and try to tip tioe to the room I now share with Mei .I’m shaken, I don’t know what to do, my mind is spinning. How could someone be so sweet and then turn into such a monster. My heart aches from finding him with that girl, and my mind is reeling from the threat he made.

“Y/N.” I stop in my tracks. Of course Katsuki’s still awake. He’s a night owl on the weekends. He comes into the hall, turning the light on. I turn my face away, trying to hide how shaken I am. “You’re early.” he says. I shrug.

“H...He wasn’t there. I decided to come home.” Katsuki reaches for me and I move away out of instinct, wrapping my arms around myself. I refuse to look at him.

“Hey,” he says, no doubt surprised by my reaction. “You okay?” before I can stop him his hands are on my face, they’re nothing like Ash’s. Katsuki’s hands are soft, and kind. He tilts my face up and I watch as anger washes over his features. He narrows his eyes, and when he drops his left hand, grazing my arm I flinch and hiss. Shit.

“Katsuki I-”

“What happened to your face?” He gently pushed my jacket off my shoulders and down my arm, I can see the purple bruise forming clearly. “What the fuck Y/N?” I pull away from him, my face to the ground and pull my jacket back up. “Ash was at that party wasn’t he?” I shake my head. His eyes are dangerous, his voice barely kept quiet as anger rolls off him.

“I fell. You know how clumsy I can be.”

“Y/N.”

“Katsuki stop. Please,” my voice is pleading, I need to be alone, I need to clear my head. “Please I’m tired….I just want to take a shower and go to sleep." Katsuki opens his mouth, ready to say something else but thinks better of it. He shakes his head, irritated but doesn’t press.

“Whatever you say Y/N.” tears burn my eyes as he walks back into the kitchen.

The water is warm, I let it was away all my anxiety. I examine myself in the mirror when I finish, there’s a few small bruises where Ash grabbed my face, my arm got the brunt of it. I make excuses for him in my mind and take a shaky breath. He had been drinking. Maybe he was really drunk, maybe that girl seduced him. Maybe he didn’t mean it. He didn’t know what he was doing.

Katsuki P.O.V

I ask Mei the next morning when she comes home if Ash was at that party. She tells me that he was. My blood is boiling. I know he put his hands on her. I know he did, but she won’t tell me. Y/N avoids me all day, I don’t take my eyes off of her. I want to protect her, I want to take care of her. She’s been through so much...I just wish she trusted me with this. I wish I had proven myself worthy of her trust.

I decide to keep an eye on her, and Ash. If I see him do anything….it won’t end well.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-3: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“If this happens again, that'll be the last design you're ever going to be making in Warson. We are not a charity.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

MC: … Sariel is calling for me?

Although I was confused beyond measure at why he would do that, I still complied, walking over to him.

Sariel: Rookie?

MC: Yes?

Sariel: Tell me what you think about this design.

MC: ?

Sariel had already handed me the design draft he had on hand while I was still stuck being puzzled.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was a yellowing sheet of paper. One look told you that it had probably seen a couple of years. There was even a splotchy light brown stain on the blank area.

I looked at the one-piece dress that had been drafted in the centre of the paper.

An intricately, yet delicately modified shoulder line, a tight waist area, and a pleated skirt made out of a thick material that fell over the knees. It was a classic design of a dress, its style reminiscent of the great Fashion Designer, Joseph Clinton's.

But I'm sure he isn't asking me to just comment on the design style of this, right?

How should I answer him?

☆Light Choice: Praise the good points

MC: I think this design to be… bold.

Sariel suddenly raises his eyes to look at me, his sharp gaze making me feel a tad nervous.

MC: This design draft feels like a vintage piece.

MC: I can see the not-yet developed version of the bias-cutting technique, which originated from the start of the last century, here.

MC: So, I’m pretty sure that this draft hails from those times of war.

MC: During those times, the fashion industry took a big hit due to the economic depression and the lack of resources.

MC: Women gave up their dresses, swapping them out for simple and practical uniforms and wide pants.

MC: But in this draft—

MC: Whether it be the special tailoring to further emphasize the curves of a woman’s body or the design of the beautiful bubble skirt, it all requires over ten meters of fabric to be created.

MC: It is a blatant revolution against the fashion trends during those times.

MC: The Designer for this piece hopes to use fashion to help liberate people from those warring times, and also to reshape people’s perception of beauty.

★Night Choice: Point out what's lacking

MC: From the draft, I can see how this is supposedly being created with the bias cut.

MC: The bias-cutting technique was only founded at the start of the last century, so I assume that this draft was created in times of war.

MC: Given that this draft was restricted by the era in which it was created, where the seaming and pleating of skirts were not yet as advanced, I'd say that this still has room for improvement.

MC: The internal structure of the chemise is overly complicated, so it's not very friendly on the wearer.

MC: However, it was able to break out of the wartime's style of “simple is best”, with practicality as its main design factor.

MC: It liberated women from overly baggy clothing and uniforms, reshaping people's perception of what makes things beautiful.

MC: This design spirit is something that should be applauded.

I quietly waited for Sariel to respond after I'd said my piece.

Sariel: That will do. Put it down.

MC: Right…

Sariel: This design draft that you're seeing right now...

Sariel: Is a work of Joseph Clinton's, from the time before he released the "Amber" Collection.

MC: !

So it really is Clinton's work!

That caused a stir in the meeting room as all designers present moved closer upfront to take a look at the design draft.

Designer A: No wonder it looked so familiar… This is definitely the same as his style of elegance and grace.

Designer B: The "Amber" Collection?  Isn't that Clinton's most highly-awarded masterpiece?

Designer C: Not only is it a masterpiece, it even made a new fashion trend take the world in stride! It still has a strong influence even now.

Sariel: He made this draft in an era that was all for simplicity, pissing his boss off so badly that he flung the bottle. It was a fine wine.

Sariel: Decallan 1928.

Sariel: Clinton kept it for a very long time, yet he never managed to taste it.

Sariel glanced at the faint brown stain on the draft, his eyes slightly glazing over. The slight mirth that tinged his voice was reminiscent of how one would describe the embarrassing moments of a friend of theirs.

But Clinton has already long since passed on, and none of these things was ever mentioned in his autobiography… So, why does Sariel know all of this?

Sariel pauses for a while before picking the drafted design sketch back up again.

Sariel: He was fired. This untimely design of his nearly ended his career right there and then.

Sariel: But, he managed to establish his own Fashion Studio in the end, funded and backed by a wealthy businessman.

Sariel: The "Amber" Collection was created using this draft as a baseline.

He pulled out another design draft from the folder. It was also a little yellowed, but still, a precious draft that had withstood the trials of time all the same.

Sariel: And in 1947, Joseph Clinton came out with the "Amber" Collection.

Sariel: It doesn’t matter whether it is a strapless arc that hugs one’s shoulders, or a long bud-skirted dress made with densely woven cotton.

Sariel: They all helped challenge and revolt against the society that was suffering from post-war depression and the trying times.

Sariel: The reason why his fashion designs awe people is because it represents free-spiritedness and an unyielding spirit.

Sariel: Pursuing beauty and personal exploration will always be the main factors of design.

Sariel: Unfortunately, I do not see these in any of the works that you've turned in.

Sariel: If this happens again, that'll be the last design you're ever going to be making in Warson.

Sariel: We are not a charity.

Calm, rational, highly professional, and leaving absolutely no room for debate.

Everyone present suddenly pales as the temperature seemingly drops to sub-zero degrees.

I daringly raised my head, only for my line of sight to coincidentally coincide with the look he shot over. I saw the slight amusement that had yet to falter, hidden within the depths of his eyes.

Light flickered, wavering within those pale depths. It was almost as if the translucent amber wanted to encase the small sliver of a smile, sealing it within its depths.

Does this mean that he acknowledges my prior reply?

I was stunned. I blinked in disbelief, unsure if what I saw was real. However, he'd already returned to his usual frosty countenance before I could process anything.

It looks like what happened earlier was merely just an illusion of mine...

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-5)

[wouldpollyapprove]

Coal Miner’s Daughter

Request: Can you do Tommy with number 4 from the fluff list?????

Requested by Anonymous

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language

A/N: I enjoyed writing this so much and I think I’m gonna at least do a second part. I can’t tell you when that’ll be out, I have to first find time to write it. I also didn’t expect this to turn out this long as I’ve been suffuring from writer’s block. Thinking about it now, I think it’s because I wasn’t inspired by the prompt I was given.

Masterlist

Recently moving to Small Heath, Y/n knew nothing but the fact that everything she owned would be covered in dust and soot. The fact left her unfazed, being a coal miner’s daughter and all meant that she knew no life without either. But this place was cleaner than the Welsh village she’d come from that was covered in layers upon layers of the black material. With the life given to her, she also knew little of what went on in the larger cities both in Wales and England. And that meant, she knew nothing of Mr. Thomas Shelby. 

At least, no until she spilled her drink on him.

“Fuck,” the man shouted as the chilled liquor soaked through his waistcoat. Hands raised, he backed away from the puddle that collected beneath him, the whiskey in his glass splashing onto his fingers. His eyes meet that of what he could only describe as a terrified deer, wide-eyed and doe-like.

Sucking in a breath, Y/n set down her empty glass, cursing herself for not paying attention. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized and reached for a handkerchief that was tucked away in her purse. “Here let me.” Y/n dabbed the clothe over a few areas to suck some of the moisture out. 

“Just-” He removed her hand from his chest. “-go somewhere else.” Though, it was clear her intentions were good, having gin thrown at him put him in a rather grumpy mood.

Nodding, Y/n scurried past the man, his stern tone told her it wouldn’t be delightful to cross him. With an empty glass, she slid into the where her neighbors sat, the ones who invited her to the Garrison in the first place. After she’d told them that she’d never been to a proper pub, they shared a single glance and then declared that they would take her out for around. Seeing as how her portion of the round ended up on a random man, Y/n wasn’t enjoying herself.

Marie shook her head when Y/n slide in next to her brother, Will. “Can’t believe you spilled gin all over Thomas Shelby and he let you live,” she snickered, a finger tracing the rim of the mug in front of her. 

Eyes wide in confusion, Y/n hoped someone would explain who she was talking about. Had she known such a simple accident could result in her death, perhaps she would have reconsidered moving to Birmingham. When no one caught on, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Christ, you are as innocent and naive as they come, aren’t ya?” Will rolled his eyes, downing the last of his whiskey. He sighed, setting the glass down when he caught the hurt and confusion in her eyes. “That man-” A finger pointed at the slender man that could be seen in the pub’s private room. Even from such a distance, Y/n couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of his ice-blue eyes under the light. “-is Thomas Shelby. Very long story short: he’s a businessman and gangster. Guts men like they’re fish and blinds them like their bastards. He’s not one to trifle with. Or lay in bed with.”

Face paling at his words, Y/n couldn’t believe she hadn’t been warned about the man before. Where she came from, the only people you had to worry about were the drunks. There were no gangsters in Aberfan, it was simply unheard of. You had the occasional thief, usually children who were left to starve when their fathers died in the mines and their mothers who couldn’t find work, and perhaps a murderer or two if a man was caught in the wrong bed. But it was never anything like what the people of Birmingham had to deal with. “Should I be worried?”

The woman across from her laughed, “No, dear. The worst he’d do to you is charge you for a new waistcoat.”

An hour or so later, Will let out a sigh and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m beat, think I’m gonna head home,” he said before shuffling out of the booth. Marie nodded in agreement, but she would agree to anything since she had finished off her sixth glass of wine. Y/n watched them stand and throw on their coats to protect themselves from the brutal Birmingham wind. “You coming?” Will asked, throwing a few coins on the table. 

Glancing at the glass that laid abandoned in front of her, barely touched after being refilled, she couldn’t find a reason to go home. Y/n didn’t want to spend another night in her apartment, too big for one person, all alone. Watch the shadows play tricks on her, make her feel safe one minute but let her believe she was in danger the next. At the same time, there was no reason for her to stay in the pub. Her glass would never empty and she would do nothing but feel sorry for herself, sorry that she couldn’t be more like everyone else. 

“I think I’m going to stay a little longer,” she finally said.

Marie raised a brow, “Are you sure ya wanna do that?” Y/n simply nodded and watched the pair slipped out the door.

Once they disappeared behind the wooden doors, Y/n started to regret her decision. It wasn’t too late to run after them, but her brain was telling her otherwise. In a room full of people who had known each other for years, seen each other on the street since they were children, she felt out of place. If she stood, Y/n feared a spotlight would be put on her, following her all the way to the door. But then, when would she leave? There would be no good time to slip past those in her way and run to the comfort and silence of the outside world if she feared the eyes that would be on her. 

Before her anxiety could bury her any deeper, someone slid into the booth. Bringing her eyes up from her glass, Y/n met the eyes of a thick, red-haired man. He looked like every other man that worked in the factories and the look in his eyes told her he didn’t care for a thing she had to say. “Here alone?”

Y/n hesitantly nodded. But as soon as she caught his reaction, she knew it would have been better to lie, say she was here with anyone to get him to find a new place to sit.

“Such a shame. A pretty girl like you, here all by yourself,” he commented, eyes scanning her body. “If you want, we could go back to my place.”

She smiled, “I would rather stay here and finish my drink. You can go home if you’d like.” Over the rim of her glass, she could see he wasn’t pleased and as the liquid stung her throat, she knew he wouldn’t leave willingly. 

“Or I could wait for you to finish.”

Closing her eyes, Y/n couldn’t understand how she had become lucky enough to not only spill her drink on a gangster but also have to put up with a bastard in the same night. How hard was it for the man to see she was uncomfortable? Did the loss of color in her cheeks not give it away? “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to go home with you.”

The man scuffed, obvious it was rare for women to pass him by. “What are you a prude? Women don’t come sit in pubs alone unless they want to leave with someone.”

Obviously, women in Birmingham took up much different social lives than those in Aberfan. If Y/n were back home, no one would question her being in a pub alone. No one would assume she was there for any reason other than to drink. Small Heath, Birmingham wasn’t the same and she was a fool to believe there wouldn’t be a little culture shock. 

“I-” she started before a shadow was cast over the table. Glancing up, Y/n wasn’t sure if she should be relieved to see Thomas Shelby standing in front of the booth. There was a dangerous look in his eyes when Thomas glared at the man across from her. Y/n found it odd, the man was her problem not his, so why wasn’t he enjoying himself in the little room that seemed to be set aside just for his enjoyment.

“This man bothering you?” he asked Y/n, eyes set on the man across from her. Before she could even nod, the man swallowed, skin turning a dangerous white. 

Shuffling out of the booth, the man stammered, “Sorry, so sorry, Mr. Shelby. I-I’ll just go then.” And like that, he was gone, almost as if he’d never been there to begin with. 

Watching him flee through the door, Y/n slide out of the booth, the eyes of her savior never leaving her. Standing next to him, she wrung her hands together, trying to find the courage to look him in the eye. Mr. Shelby was a tall man that held himself with a deadly sort of confidence that entered the room way before he even made an appearance. He looked like the man that was hard to please and easy to anger. 

Grabbing her coat off the back of her seat, Thomas handed it to her, “You alright?” 

His voice was soft, much different than she expected it to be when he wasn’t angry. “Yes, yes, thank you,” she finally managed, quickly glancing at his face that had softened since she’d spilled her drink all over him. “I think I’ll go home now, don’t want to bother you any more than I already have.”

“It’s no bother and I’d feel much better if you let me walk you home,” he waved her comment off and waited for his offer to be accepted.

Believing it rude to turn him down, a man like him probably wasn’t used to that, Y/n nodded, “If you want to, I suppose.”

With that, Thomas led her out of the pub, the cold air biting her cheeks as they walked out into the empty street. Stuffing her hands in her pocket, Y/n let her eyes wander around the buildings they passed. The brick structures, though not tall, were much larger than the ones she had grown up around. They were giants, looming over the pair as they passed, silence filling the air between them.

Thomas was the first break to the silence, his voice echoing down the street. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” she replied, eyes meeting anything but his own. 

It was silly to be nervous, she could tell he was making an effort. His voice was softer, a gentle touch to it that warmed her heart, and his demeanor was kind, almost loving. The glow from the few lights they passed drown his features in gold, making the man look angelic. In this light, Thomas Shelby didn’t look like a man that could pull the trigger and have blood on his hands. Instead, he looked like a man in love with the world, a poet or a painter. One that found beauty in almost everything. It made Y/n wonder if that’s what he looked like before he had turned to violence. 

“That’s a lovely name,” he mused, searching his pocket for something. With ease, he pulled out a cigarette canister and put one of the thin sticks between his mouth before passing it over to his company. 

“I don’t smoke,” Y/n shook her head as the cigarettes were placed back in Thomas’s pocket.

He nodded, striking a match. “Name’s Tommy,” he informed her once his cigarette was lit and he’d taken a drag, the match forgotten on the cobblestone behind them. “Am I correct in assuming you already know who I am?”

“I just know your name, not much else.” Y/n spared a quick glance at him, his eyes were following her every move, but she didn’t feel like prey with his graze upon her. In his presence, she felt safe, that could have been because he was a gangster or it could have been something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Taking a drag, Tommy glanced up at the night sky. It was a cloudless night, he knew it would be cold. When his mother was alive, she always grew a small garden and made sure to cover her plants when clouds disappeared from the sky come nightfall. “Starry nights are dangerous,” she’d say. “Not only are men fools when the sky is clear, but it’s anything but warm.” If his mother was right, he would wake up to a blanket of frost covering the plants at Arrow House. “You’re not from Birmingham, are you?”

Y/n shook her head, fiddling with the buttons of her coat. “Is it that obvious? But no, I’m not. I’m not from a place that’s anything like this,” she laughed, wondering why she ever chose to move to such a large city. 

“Where are you from then?” Tommy inquired, lips turning up in a small smile when he saw her eyes light up.

“Aberfan. It’s a coal mining village in Wales, dirty place but every lively,” she told him. “Small, everyone knows everybody and when you look past the soot and dirt, it’s very colorful and green. Beautiful, really.”

A big smile broke out on Tommy’s face, matching Y/n’s, it was out of character for him, but her smile was so God damn infectious. There were few people who talked of their home like that, especially considering she came from a mining town. Those mines were death traps for the men that entered, everyone was aware they may not see the light of day, but yet they went down because they needed the money. Knowing, that despite the death, Y/n saw beauty in the place she was raised made Tommy rethink how he viewed the city around him.

He couldn’t speak about the whole of Birmingham, only spending the majority of his life in Small Heath, but once he’d seen stacks of bills, the streets around him had become nothing but filth. Watery Lane was then a just a place for the poor to become poorer and where dreams came to die. There was nothing appealing about the dirt-covered streets but maybe there could be. If Tommy could only view his home under a different light, perhaps he could see the same type of beauty that Y/n did when Aberfan crossed her mind.

Tommy watched the smoke from his cigarette float through the cold air, his breath alongside it. “You miss it then?” The woman beside him shrugged. “You don’t?”

“I’ll always long for it,” she explained, finding herself to grow more comfortable around him. “But I know there’s more to the world than some quaint little mining village in Wales. As long as it’s in my heart, I do believe I’ll be fine.”

Letting her words sink in, Tommy came to a stop beside her at the steps of a front door, which no doubt lead to her apartment. How she felt about Aberfan was how he once felt about Small Heath when he was shipped over to France. The young man that went off to war believed that as long as he kept his home in his heart, it would be as if he never left. The man, a few years older, that returned from the tunnels no longer believed that, no matter how much he wished he did. “This your place,” he motioned to the front door, earning a nod from her. 

“Thank you for walking me home, you didn’t have to,” Y/n found herself smiling at the man as she climbed a few of the steps.

Taking off his cap, Tommy held it between his hands, the anxiety of a schoolboy coursing through his veins. “No need to thank me, I enjoyed your company.” There was a pause as Y/n climbed the rest of the steps, her hand hovering over the door handle. “And I was wondering if I could possibly see you again?”

Y/n didn’t give herself time to stop and question why a man that could drown in his fortune would want to spend time with a coal miner’s daughter. She was dirt and grim, while he was clean and polished, it just didn’t add up. But Y/n didn’t care as heat spread across her cheeks. “I’d like that very much, Tommy.”

“My Friday’s free, if that works for you then perhaps 7 o’clock,” he smiled up at her. 

She nodded, “That works for me. Good night, Tommy.” Y/n opened the door, but not before he said, “Good night, Y/n.”

Watching her slip through the door, Tommy stood there, hearing her feet on the floorboards. He didn’t know what was so appealing about the woman, she seemed shy, one to keep to herself, the total opposite of him. But he couldn’t just see her once and let her slip into the night, no, he simply couldn’t do that.

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