#there's not a whole lot of point here except I thought some appreciation for him should be made | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ace-turned-confused · 7 months ago

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whatever you want | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist

summary: date night for you and Joel but we skip to the good part word count: 3,2k warnings: 18+ only, POV changes, no plot in sight, reader has no physical descriptions other than clothing, established relationship, pet names, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, butt stuff, spitting, creampie, praise kink, panty kink, size kink, Joel’s filthy mouth a/n: this is the first thing i've written that's actually made it out the doc before being trashed forever - big thanks to my irl bestie for her continuous words of encouragement <3 this is very mildly edited because i'll hate it if i keep trying to improve it ✌️ i'd appreciate any feedback! again pls be nice thank you love you

You've been looking forward to this all week — date night with Joel. You usually stick to something simple, going out for a cosy dinner or just deciding to cook together at home — but he always ensures it’s a memorable night in one way or another, and tonight is no exception.

He suggested to you earlier in the week, lying in bed, “How ‘bout this time you pick out something for me to wear? Hm?” It had your mind racing with ideas, thinking about all the possibilities now presented to you.

You glance at him, “So what’s in it for you, then?”

“No ulterior motive here, sweetheart,” he puts his palms up near his face and smirks, “You always look pretty for me, I just thought I’d return the favour.”

“Hm, that’s a big decision,” you mutter with a playful smile.

You’re well aware of what Joel loves seeing you wear — he’s always loved anything you wear, to be frank, racy or not — and decided to pose a deal to him, something you knew you’d both benefit from.

“I may have some ideas. Why don’t we make a deal, then?” you inch closer to him and play with a stray lock of his hair. “You do something for me, and I’ll do something for you.” Your eyes meet and you can tell he’s trying to figure out the game you’re playing.

“And what would that entail?” he asks, a hint of cockiness in his voice, impressed by your unusual boldness. You remove your hand from his hair and drape your arm over him.

“Will you wear that red shirt again… with the sleeves rolled up?” you ask shyly, trailing your fingers up and down his side.

“Sure will,” he says, still smirking. You’re only getting more breathless the longer this goes on, and you haven't even made your whole point yet.

“And… those black pants of yours…?”

“Which ones, sweetheart? I got a lot of black pants,” he remarks, feigning innocence and a cheeky lilt to his voice. “You know which ones,” you mutter, your hand stilling.

He shifts closer until you’re pressed against each other and whispers, “Don’t think I do, you’re gonna have to tell me.”

You huff, annoyed at him for teasing you like this, and at yourself for getting turned on by his games. “The tight-fitting, black—”

“That’s not what you really want to say, though, is it? Tell me what’s going through that pretty head of yours,” he interrupts, and you shiver.

You look down at his chest, unable to make eye contact with him and pray he doesn’t notice how your cheeks redden as you whisper back, “Those black pants that everyone can see how big you are, those pants, I want you to wear them.”

He skims a hand up your back, “See? Was that so difficult?” he asks rhetorically, and you can practically hear his teasing smile and visualise the dark glint that you know will be in his eyes. “And what shoes should I wear, you know, to tie the whole look together?”

“You know very well I couldn’t care less what fucking shoes you wear,” you chirp back at him, forcing yourself to look him in the eye again.

Satisfied with your answer, he plants his hand on the small of your back, caressing you gently with his thumb, “You mentioned some kind of deal?”

If he hadn’t brought it up again you’re not sure you would’ve remembered at all. You’ll always be amazed by how calm he is after derailing a conversation and making you so flustered.

You close your eyes, mentally shake yourself, and start your bargaining, “Well, I promise to wear the laciest panties I own—” you look at him sweetly through your lashes, “—if you promise to keep your clothes on. And you can, you know, do whatever you want.” It comes out far breathier than you were planning, but it’s out. “With me, to me, you know. Whatever.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly, voice lowered, “Whatever I want, hm? And all I have to do is stay dressed? Quite the deal there.”

Joel’s made himself comfortable in his chair, eyes trained on you in the doorway. Sitting here now, the night’s only just beginning and you’re already like putty in his hands. He noticed hours ago your eyes had glazed over, and he’s been growing harder and harder ever since in anticipation.

“What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” he asks, and your gaze refocuses on him.

“You,” you reply, sweet and simple.

He does a once-over, taking in your flowery, strappy top and neat little black slip-skirt that falls just above your knees and hugs your hips beautifully — your hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt and you’re shifting your weight side to side.

He smiles softly and suggests, “Why don’t you show me those pretty panties you promised to wear?” and you nod gently, moving slowly further into the room.

Much more confident and comfortable in your own skin than when you took your clothes off for him the first time, you face Joel and lift your gaze to meet his. You reach behind your back to unzip your top and lift it over your head, dropping it to the floor. Pushing your thumbs beneath your waistband, you peel your skirt over your hips and hunch forward slightly, letting it pool around your feet. Standing at your full height again, he takes all of you in — clad in lace, black bra and lilac panties.

He widens his legs and curls a finger, beckoning you forward and you stand between his knees. Joel rests his hands on your hips, thumbing the lace over your hipbones.

“Where’ve you been hiding these?” he looks up at you and sees heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

“I, um… I’ve been saving them, for uh—“ you stutter, and he can see you start second-guessing your choice. Breathing shallowly, you murmur, “Do you not like them?”

He smiles at you, still playing with the lace, “I love them, sweetheart. You know I always do.” He lowers his gaze down to your panties again, eyes trailing across the fabric, and he doesn’t miss how you press your legs together, seeking any sort of relief.

He pushes against your hip to turn you around, and almost can’t believe how you’ve both ended up here. You, dressed in your best lace just for him, ready and willing to do as he says? You’d clearly been wanting to do this for some time now, but Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited, too. He kneads the swell of your ass, fingers toying with the lacy edges and hears you breathing deeply again.

“So, whatever I want?”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder and reply under your breath, “Yes.”

He turns you around to face him, hands still on your hips. He looks up at you again, “You okay?” and squeezes his hands.

“Yeah,” and you nod, smiling down at him.

“Well, you did such a good job picking these panties all on your own, sweetheart, I think maybe you need a reward,” he darts his tongue out and drags his hands along your thighs, resting his arms down and leaning back in his chair. “First, though, you’re gonna show me just how good you can be, okay? C’mon, on your knees.”

You lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, your eyes lingering on his bulge before looking up at him. He nods towards his lap and you start undoing his pants, palming him through the fabric. Reaching into his boxer briefs and wrapping your hand around his length, you stroke him a few times and pull his waistband down just enough to take him out, thick and heavy and already fully stiff in your hand. You bow your head to lick him from base to tip, hover above him and spit onto his cock, stroking him harder and smiling sweetly at him.

You start taking him into your mouth and he sighs, resting a hand on the crown of your head. “You been waiting all night for this, huh, sweetheart?”

You hum a response and he groans, watching you bob up and down, taking more and more of him each time. You pull off and continue stroking him, and he smiles at you in encouragement. You take him in your mouth again, and he feels you hollow your cheeks and take him even further, the tip of his cock just about breaching your throat and you whimper around him.

“Fuck, baby, doin’ so good,” he grunts and pulls you off. His hand moves to the nape of your neck, the other tracing over your collarbone and down over the lace of your bra, your nipples hardening through the delicate fabric. “Think you can do it?”

You nod eagerly at him, eyes glinting, hands stroking him languidly and you move to start sucking him again. He tightens his grip and stops you. “Use your words, please.”

“Yes, I can do it.” You look up at him and his hold softens.

“Good girl, go on.”

You lick the underside of his shaft and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock and take him again, working him just to the start of your throat. You’re breathing as best you can through your nose, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, lips stretched around him and brushing his wiry curls as you push even further and hold him there, fingers digging into his thighs. You start to gag and do your best not to pull off him, squirming to find any bit of friction and Joel moans at the sight, throwing his head back.

“Bein’ such a good girl, taking my cock so far down your throat, hm?”

You moan and swallow around him, his hips jerking at the sensation and he pulls you off. “Almost too good,” he breathes, “know you’d love me coming down your throat, but not tonight.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you whine, moving back and forth on your knees.

“Stand up for me sweetheart,” and you rise, looking down at him, still catching your breath. His hands are back on you immediately, squeezing your waist, hips, ass — any part of you he can reach. He runs his fingers across your panties again, trailing them down over your covered clit and between your folds and you tilt forward into his touch.

“Soaked right through these pretty panties of yours,” he looks up to meet your gaze and there’s almost no colour to your eyes anymore, just pure blown-out pupils. He keeps rubbing his fingers along you and you whine again, clearly desperate for him to touch you properly.

He smirks up at you, “So needy just from sucking my cock.”

Joel shoves his hand under the elastic of your panties and rubs his fingers between your folds and over your entrance, coating his fingers in your arousal. He shoves two thick fingers into you without warning and you fall forward with a strangled moan, hands supporting your weight on his shoulders as he pumps his fingers in and out, your cunt tight around him.

“Always so wet for me, huh? Need me to make you feel good?” He stares at you, eyes shut and mouth hanging open as he slows his hand and you force out a yes, your voice hoarse. He speeds up again and curls his fingers into that one spot he knows you can’t reach with your own hand, brushing over it again and again, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit.

Your legs start trembling and he pulls his fingers out and slips them into his mouth, sucking them clean. “Taste so sweet.”

He moves his legs between yours and pulls you towards him and down onto his lap, guiding your hips back and forth over his length, precome leaking from his tip. He leans forward, “You gonna keep these on while you sit on my cock, yeah?” and tugs on the waistband of your panties, letting the elastic snap back against your skin. You nod frantically in response and lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him haphazardly. He licks into your mouth and moans into you, hands firmly gripping your ass.

You rise slightly and he takes hold of his cock, stroking himself and pulls your panties to one side. He lines himself up with your entrance and you start to sink down, eyes screwing shut at the stretch. He holds you by the waist, your hands like a vice grip on his shoulders and it takes everything in him not to pull you down and make you take him to the hilt. You take your time working him in, inch by inch, and Joel can tell how close you are already, your broken moans getting louder and louder.

You’re fully seated and he takes a hand off his shoulder, plants a kiss on your knuckles and guides it between your bodies, spreading your fingers around where he’s splitting you open. “You feel how stretched you are, baby?” You gasp and he leans towards you and lifts his hand to grip across your chin, mouth ghosting yours and squeezes his hand to purse your lips.

“Open,” he orders and your lips part, spitting into your mouth and he feels you tightening around him. Pushing his index finger into your mouth, you suck and swirl your tongue around it, moaning as you lift up and down, grinding yourself onto the trail of hair at the base of his cock. Joel feels your legs starting to give out underneath you and he watches you with hooded eyes. He pulls his finger from your mouth and wraps his arms around you, hands reaching down underneath your panties to grab your ass and spread you wider. He prods his finger at your tight hole and your eyes shoot open to look at him, desperate and needy.

“You gonna come for me?” You whine and nod, almost begging him with a please, over and over again. He pushes his finger in to just past his middle knuckle and you moan out wantonly, already completely wrecked. Joel feels your cunt clamp down on his cock and you come with a sob of his name, eyes shut and face contorted in pleasure as he whispers praises in your ear.

At some point in your post-orgasm haze, Joel moved the two of you onto the bed — you waiting on all fours and Joel's voice breaking through from somewhere behind you.

“Did good sweetheart, always do, but I’m not done with you.” His hands are all over you, skating across and grabbing any skin he can reach. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder in search of him and notice he’s still fully dressed — well, as fully dressed as he can be — and remember that’s what got you into this position in the first place. Dishevelled greying curls, only the last couple buttons holding his shirt together, wide chest on full display, sleeves rolled up, pants and boxer briefs sitting mid-thigh, his cock, thick and hard and leaking and you clench around nothing just at the sight.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and pulls your panties down to the tops of your thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses on the skin as it’s revealed. He spreads you with his hands and spits onto your pussy and you let out a choked moan. He drags the tip of his cock through your folds and the messy mix of arousal and spit and your last orgasm. You feel him notch at your entrance again, and he sheaths himself fully inside your cunt in one thrust, all but punching the air from your lungs and he groans. You feel the swell of his tummy pressed against you and his fingers digging into your ass as he spreads you open. “Look so beautiful like this, wish you could see it.”

He leans over you, breathing into your neck, “Always take my cock so well, baby.” He pulls out almost completely, snapping his hips back into you and you can already feel heat pooling at the base of your spine again as he pounds into you, fingers gripping your hips so hard he’s bound to leave bruises. He snakes a hand underneath you to rub your clit and you feel your legs start to tremble.

All you can think is Joel Joel Joel, and his voice cuts through the ringing in your ears, husky and breathless. “You gonna give me one more, yeah? Come for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come on my cock,” and you all but see stars behind your eyes, overwhelmed with the sweet praise. He stills as you come, his hands and affirming words keeping you grounded as you clench and gush around him.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you up flush against him, your head falling back onto his shoulder and you’re not sure you can form words anymore, your chest heaving as you try to get your breathing back to normal. You turn your head towards him and he kisses you surprisingly gently.

“Can you be good just a bit longer?” He starts grinding his hips into you and you whine, your hands coming up to hold his arms. “Always such a good girl for me, hm?” He drags his mouth along the side of your neck and you nod tiredly, feeling him smile.

He starts with slow thrusts, his grip around you the sole reason you’re still upright, his voice in your ear and hot breath on your neck and the heavy, familiar, drag of his cock in and out making you dizzy.

“So fuckin’ tight around me sweetheart. Your favourite feeling, isn’t it? Being stuffed full of my cock?” He starts rambling on and you know he’s close. “You want me to come inside you? Want me to come inside your tight little pussy?”

“Yes, please. Please come inside me.”

He mumbles incoherently and you tighten your hands on his arms; his thrusts get harder and his arms stiffen in their hold around you and you feel him twitching as he starts to spill inside you, warmth coating your walls. He lowers you both to lie down as he comes down from his high, cock still buried deep inside you and you feel his spend start to leak out around him and down your thighs.

Shifting around and your eyes fluttering open, you’re wrapped up in Joel’s arms, head burrowed against his chest. You reach down and feel he’s cleaned you up and pulled fresh panties on you, a faint throbbing between your thighs. He stirs next to you and presses a kiss to your forehead, long and tender.

“Sorry, fell asleep,” you mumble and wrap an arm around his torso to press yourself into him even more.

He pulls back slightly, lifting your chin with a finger to look at him. “Sweetheart, think we’ve done this enough that I know you get sleepy afterwards. Stop apologising.” He cradles your cheek, kisses you sweetly and whispers, “Now go back to sleep.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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skyward-floored · 1 month ago

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Whumptober Day 5: Sunburn, Heatstroke

Four and Hyrule!!! Who do not deserve a bit of the abuse I put them through 😔 Also something about the nature of heatstroke fics... they always get really long when I write them. Dunno why.

Warnings: things in the title, hallucination, rope burn, very brief vomiting, arguably a bit of torture.

Ao3 link

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The desert was a fascinating environment, really, but Four had a feeling he would appreciate it a whole lot more if he could do so from a distance.

He couldn’t think of a single good experience he’d had in a desert, and it looked like his streak was holding. Seeing as Four was currently tired to a pole on top of a dune, Hyrule beside him, nothing to look at except endless sand and sun.

“Before you ask, no, I’m out of magic,” Hyrule said wearily, and Four sighed, setting his head back against the pole. He closed his eyes against the piercing sunlight, and tried to ignore the sweat already trickling down his brow, missing his headband. He could already feel the first signs of sunburn on his chest.

“Couldn’t they have given us some water before we started?” he asked, opening his eyes and staring idly at the horizon. Hyrule snorted.

“That wouldn’t be ‘fair’.”

“Oh like tying us to a pole without any sort of assistance is fair,” Four grumbled. “Not to mention taking half our clothes and all our belongings, and refusing to give them back unless we pass their “trial”. Just because we’re men. I’ve never met any Gerudo this territorial before.”

“I’ve never even met any Gerudo,” Hyrule said with a shrug against Four’s shoulders. “Well... I guess I have now. From what Wild said I thought they’d be nicer.”

“Well this obviously isn’t his time,” Four sighed. “They even took the dagger from my boot. Couldn’t they have given us something useful?”

“To be fair, we did agree to this,” Hyrule pointed out, and Four sighed again.

“Yeah. Because the only other option was them skewering us. I’m well aware.”

Four had never heard of a ‘trial of the sands’ before today, but the longer it went on, the less he liked it. The Gerudo he and Hyrule had stumbled on by complete portal-related accident were not friendly in any way shape or form. They’d quickly been surrounded, labeled trespassers, and been given the option of either attempting to survive for two days tied up in the desert, or be immediately killed for their crimes.

Four and Hyrule had chosen the desert.

It seemed to mostly be a choice between a quick or slow death, since as the Gerudo had tied them up and dragged them away, the leader mentioned that only one person before them had ever survived the trial. But Four still clung onto hope. If they survived, the Gerudo would let them go scot-free— the Gerudo wouldn’t oppose the will of the desert.

They just had to survive sitting out here for another 47 hours or so.

Easy.

Another bead of sweat trailed down Four’s face, and he sighed. He certainly wouldn’t complain if the others showed up before their time was up, though.

“Well... it could be worse,” Hyrule said after a bit, and Four raised an eyebrow. Then he remembered Hyrule couldn’t see it.

“...Oh yeah?”

“We’re not dead,” Hyrule said with a grin in his voice, and Four chuckled a bit weakly.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Silence fell over them, broken only by the scorching wind that whistled past. Four worked a little at their bonds, and he felt Hyrule doing the same, but the rope was as tight as ever. Four’s wrists were already raw, and he thought he might be starting to lose the feeling in his fingers.

And it was getting awfully hot.

A bead of sweat dripped off his nose, and Four blinked, his eyes beginning to hurt from squinting. The skin on his shoulders was pink from the sun, and it stung now where the ropes scraped against it. If nothing else, Four was going to come out of this with a wicked sunburn.

And hopefully nothing else.

“Smithy?” Hyrule asked after a while, sounding more weary than before. “You think the others will find us?”

“I hope so,” Four replied quietly.

He couldn’t think of anything more reassuring to say beyond that, but he shifted his head so it was resting more against Hyrule’s back. Hyrule leaned on him in turn, and despite the added warmth, Four appreciated the contact.

At least they weren’t alone. Four didn’t think he could stand that.

The scorching wind kept blowing past, too hot to cool either of them, the breezes kicking up sand that stuck to their sweaty skin. Four’s shoulders and arms began to sting, the ache of sunburn beginning to take hold. Sweat still dripped off his face, stinging his eyes on occasion.

The horizon stayed as blue as ever, nothing but sand and sky in sight.

Four wasn’t sure when, but eventually he and Hyrule both stopped working at the ropes, moving too painful with the burns only growing redder on their skin. They talked a little, but speaking felt like it expended more and more energy as time went on, and their conversation faded.

Four couldn’t turn his head very easily to look, but his whole chest felt raw now, the handful of bruises he’d received from the Gerudo throbbing, the ropes making his skin ache.

The sun felt like one of Wild’s guardians lasers on his skin, hot and painful. Four tried to keep his eyes on the horizon, looking for the others, but the line began to blur, wavering and melting in the sun.

He realized belatedly it had been a while since Hyrule had said anything, and blinked, struggling to focus.

“Hyrule? You still... ‘wake back there?” Four rasped, and he heard a croaky hum in response.

“Yeah. Gettin’... pretty warm.”

“Mm...”

Four blinked slowly, headache pulsing behind his eyes, and tried to fix his gaze on the horizon again. It had been sometime midmorning when they’d been put out here, was it noon now? Afternoon? It didn’t seem like the pole’s shadow had moved at all.

His whole torso hurt. The ropes rubbed against his burning skin with even the smallest movement, and Four hissed through his teeth when Hyrule shifted around.

“S’rry...” Hyrule slurred, and Four blinked, realizing Hyrule’s voice was a lot weaker then it had been. He wondered if his drained magic was making him feel worse.

“Stay awake ‘rule,” Four said, shakily tapping his head against him. “Don’t... you gotta stay awake.”

“I am, I... I am. I will.”

Hyrule’s skin felt clammy where it rested against Four’s, and Four scanned the horizon with a mounting desperation, barely able to focus.

How were they going to last two days out here?

Four’s stomach began to churn, his shoulders faintly trembling. His skin felt scraped raw, limbs aching, and for some reason air felt like it was harder to get in, and his breathing sped up. His heart pounded in his ears, the beat too fast, faster than it should be, and it throbbed in time with his headache.

Four swallowed back bile, and realized he’d stopped sweating.

That was bad. He didn’t remember why, but that was bad.

You’d think not sweating anymore would be good... he thought blearily, eyes rolling up to look at the sky. He’d given up on the horizon. The sky was better to look at anyway, even if it hurt his eyes. Blue and bright, the color was similar to... to something.

To water, he thought with a groan, throat drier than ever. He was so thirsty. Even a drop or two would be amazing. Especially if it was cold.

Mm. Cold.

Four never thought he would miss the time Blue got trapped in ice, but he found himself longing for it now. The idea of being anything but hot seemed like a distant dream.

Hyrule made an abrupt noise behind him, and Four startled, biting back a cry as the ropes scraped him. It sounded like Hyrule had lost the battle with his own stomach, and Four grimaced, unable to do anything but rest his head back on Hyrule’s shoulder while he weakly retched.

“Okay?” Four whispered when he finished, and Hyrule merely leaned on him a little harder.

Four closed his eyes, and silently begged the others to come soon. He didn’t think they could stand it much longer.

The sun continued its slow trek above them, Four still not convinced it was moving. His skin hurt, and though he couldn’t turn his head to look very well, he thought it might’ve begun to peel a bit.

He didn’t know how much time had gone by when Hyrule suddenly shifted a little.

“Four...” Hyrule croaked, “Four I see... see somethin’.”

“Really?” Four asked, hope stirring him from some of his dizziness. Hm. He might’ve fallen unconscious for a bit. “What?”

“It’s... can’ tell,” Hyrule murmured. “M-maybe... the others...”

Hyrule went quiet, then jerked suddenly, Four gasping as the ropes pulled.

“No!” Hyrule cried, voice cracking. He tried to push himself back, breath heaving, but all it did was send the ropes shifting around Four’s burnt skin, making him cry out.

“Hyrule s-stop!” Four gasped out, but Hyrule kept squirming, movements frantic.

“No no no— it’s gonna—” Hyrule choked out, still thrashing as much as he could. “Four, it’s— it’s r-right here!”

Four bit back another cry, and he tried to listen over the sounds of Hyrule’s frantic struggles, hearing nothing except the wind. No threat that would make Hyrule react so violently would be able to be that quiet.

It’s not real.

“Rule there’s n-nothing there,” Four wheezed, pained tears pricking in his eyes. “You’re seein’ th-things, please, s-stop moving.”

“It’s got... got a sword,” Hyrule gasped, still struggling madly, ropes tearing across Four’s skin. “Four it’s gonna—”

“It’s not! It’s not real!”

“It is!” Hyrule cried, “it’s about to—!”

“‘Rule, you’re hurting me!” Four nearly shrieked.

Something in his voice must have finally gotten through to him, and Hyrule went still, breath hitching. Four’s own breath hitched, his whole chest scraped and burnt, and he felt something wet trickling from under where the ropes were tightest.

Hyrule abruptly slumped, and Four waited in silence.

“N-nothing’s there,” Hyrule said shakily. “I thought th-there was, it... oh Four. ‘M s-sorry...”

“It’s okay,” Four whispered, swallowing thickly. “‘S okay. K-Keep... your eyes closed.”

Four heard his breath shake, but Hyrule didn’t argue, and the silence fell over them once more, thick now with pain.

Four closed his eyes, a dry sting in the corners, and tried to think about anything except the fiery feeling all across his middle.

...

More time passed. Four didn’t know how much.

He could barely remember how they’d gotten here, only reminded of it when he tried to move and the ropes further scraped his arms and wrists. Hyrule wasn’t saying anything anymore, and Four had run out of energy to try and talk to him.

He didn’t know if Hyrule was awake anymore. He only knew he was alive because he could feel his pulse where his head was pressed, too fast, too weak.

Four felt jumbled and weary, and more than once tried to reach for his sword so he could split, biting back a cry as the ropes scraped his bloody and sunburnt skin. They hurt even worse since Hyrule had thrashed around, and Four could barely breathe without pain searing across his chest and arms.

He needed his sword. Needed help. Needed to get out, he needed to help Hyrule get away from here and find the others, but the ropes were strong and Four’s energy had been entirely drained by the sun and pain.

All he could do was sit here and listen to Hyrule’s rapid, weak pulse, and hope they would make it.

Something was making a noise beside Hyrule’s pulse though, something that wasn’t the wind. Four peeled his eyes open, holding back a whimper as the sun hurt his eyes.

There was something in the distance, moving towards them. All Four could make out was a fuzzy blob, lit faintly orange by the setting sun, but that was all.

Four squinted, suspicious of another mirage like Hyrule had seen, but the blob got clearer as it approached, something with arms and legs. The noise got louder too, what sounded like garbled words on the wind, and Four blinked, the figure sorting itself into multiple figures, all... familiar.

“Four!”

Hope caught in his throat, and Four watched as Legend appeared in front of him, face sweaty and horrified. Wolfie ran beside him, sand kicked up by paws and pegasus boots, and Four could only watch in shocked relief as Legend slid to his knees beside him.

“Oh Four,” he breathed, and Four gave him a trembling smile, unable to do much else.

Legend wordlessly pulled a knife from his belt and began sawing, muttering something worriedly under his breath. Four could only watch, and when the pressure from the ropes abruptly disappeared, he lurched forward, unable to hold himself up any more.

Legend grabbed him, carefully avoiding where the ropes had cut into him, and Four gave him a grateful smile, relief making him feel twice as exhausted.

“Wait wait, don’t pass out, drink first,” Legend said a little frantically, and Four peeled his eyes back open, and let Legend hold his canteen to his lips.

Cool water filled his mouth, and Four nearly cried, drinking at it greedily. He whined when Legend pulled it away again, and the veteran gave him a chiding look.

“Hey c’mon, you should know better than to chug it,” Legend said gently, and Four sighed, relief hitting him as he saw Twilight nearby with Hyrule in his arms. “You can have more in a bit.”

Legend shifted him around a little, and Four hissed as his hands ghosted over his abused skin.

“Looks like it’s a good thing we found you when we did,” Twilight said from somewhere nearby, voice thick with worry.

“Yeah,” Four rasped, and despite the pain still cutting through him and the way his vision was darkening at the edges, he still reached out for Hyrule’s hand, threading his fingers through the traveler’s.

Hyrule held back, his grip even weaker than Four’s, but that was all the reassurance he needed.

Four sighed, and finally passed out, Legend’s frantic yelp ringing in his ears.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu four #lu hyrule #whumptober #whumptober 2024 #no. 5 #heatstroke #sunburn #writing from the floor #I should make a master list one of these days hm #especially since we’re nearing some that have multiple parts

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thecuriousbeauty · 4 months ago

Text

Traitor-The Present

Chapter 2

Word count: 5,075

Warnings: Violence, gun, blood, nightmare, slight panic attack.

Author's note: Thank you for the love on Chapter one! Feedback is appreciated:) Here's the link if you've not read it: Chapter One

There was no way y/n could follow Harry around all day, he was a busy doctor. He had patients to tend to. For the time being, she didn't have a better idea except to continue meeting him at the bar.

"Have you always wanted to be a doctor?", she asks the man, clad in a lime green shirt today. He seemed like he was in better spirits than he was the previous night, so y/n took the opportunity.

"I..don't know.", Harry's eyebrows furrow, like he tried to think, and it hurt him to remember. "I know how to treat people."

"That's nice.", y/n nods. "It must be a big responsibility, having lives of people in your hands."

"I think I'm used to it.", he replies shortly. "Why are you so interested?", he looks up at her.

"Just like that.", she shrugs. "Can I not make friends? I'm new to this town."

"Why did you come here?", he asks.

"Less expenses than in the city.", y/n sighs, looking around at the bar. Girls swinging their hips on the dance floors, guys looking at them like they were a piece of meat, and lots of loud music blasting. This wasn't her scene at all.

"You don't like getting drinks.", Harry tells her, more like a statement than a question. He was observing her too.

"I don't mind the drinks, it's the whole scene I don't like. I prefer spending my free nights in my bed, with ice cream and a good novel."

Harry cracked what looked like a small smile, one of the dimples on his cheek popping, which made y/n feel warm. She cursed herself for feeling like that, before continuing with the talk. "You said you want to make friends. I'm not the right guy, y/n.", Harry says.

"Why? You're ice cold, mean and friendless? What a sad lifestyle you must lead, Doctor."

He chuckles, popping some of the fried peanuts into his mouth. "I'm not cold and mean."

"So you are friendless.", y/n concludes.

"What's the point? I don't have time for friends.", he says.

"But you need friends in your life, Harry. Friends support you through hard times, you can be yourself with them, and you can have lots of fun!"

"Friends also betray you.", he grumbles.

"Have you been betrayed be a friend or a close one?", y/n asks, trying to know if there were people he thought plotting against him and Reagen in the past.

"I don't remember.", he snaps, motioning for the bartender to fill up his drink. y/n waits for him to calm down, watching him tip the entire glass down his throat and groan.

"Whiskey's your choice of poison?", she asks, flinching. She doesn't like the burn of whiskey.

"Yes, but it's too much for someone like you. You should try something sweeter, like rum.", he says. "Old Monk rum for the lady please.", he tells the bartender.

"What do you mean by someone like you?", she raises her eyebrows at him.

"You know what I mean.", he simply says. y/n decided to come back to the topic of friends. "Do you have a best friend?"

Harry freezes again, and y/n observes the look in his eyes like he was trying to remember a painful memory. Oliver had told her that Harry was his best friend. He needed his best friend back, and she heard the suffering in his voice when he told her that. "N-No..no, I don't think so, I don't know. I have memory issues, I don't remember a lot of stuff."

y/n nods. "That's okay. Well, I can be your best friend. I mean, I can start by being your friend and then we can see how it goes."

Harry smirks. "You really want to be my friend, don't you?"

"Be grateful I'm taking pity on you, Mr. Friendless mysterious guy.", y/n replies, and Harry laughs. y/n smiles. So he does remember how to laugh.

The bartender keeps her drink in front of her. "I've never tried this before.", y/n says, looking at the dark, sweet smelling liquid.

"You'll like it.", Harry says confidently. "Trust your new friend's drink choosing ability."

y/n grins and tries it. The liquid drink went down smooth, leaving her mouth refreshing and quenching for more. It had almost a dehydrated berry taste to it, which she really loved. She also felt the slight warmth of the alcohol.

"I do like it.", she decides, taking another sip. "How did you know?"

"Just like that.", he shrugs, imitating her from their conversation earlier, and she smiled, liking him more as she got to know him a little. "Oh and by the way you agreed to us being friends.", she adds, in case he let it slip by accident.

"Just friends, y/n?", he gets up after stuffing some cash inside the book the bill came in. y/n sits there thinking about what he said, and he gives her a small wave. "I'm gonna get to bed, see you around."

Harry leaves the bar, leaving y/n pondering. Did he want something more than friendship with her? She couldn't deny that she wasn't attracted to the man, but she couldn't take advantage of him like that. She was already feeling bad for befriending him for someone else. She was only using him and he didn't know that. She decided that she wouldn't let her feelings grow. Yes, he was handsome, and it was natural to get attracted, but she wasn't going to let anything else happen between them.

______________________________________________________

The painting was gorgeous. It as crafted with such bright tones, and beautiful color bleding. y/n had poured all of her emotion into it. It was piece she didn't look at very often. She didn't keep it for sale either. It was personal.

The woman in the painting was made of a mix of colors. Her eyes were standing out behind wide framed glasses, and she wore an intriguing and knowing smirk on her lips. Her hair fell down in blunt bangs over her forehead and framed her oval face.

"This is beautiful.", Harry speaks. "You paint more of landscapes, who is this woman?"

y/n sucks in a breath, approaching a sensitive topic. "I don't know..I think it's my mom. I remember how she looked like..but my Uncle Luke said my parents left me when I was little."

Harry tears his eyes away from the painting, looking at her. "I'm sorry. You haven't tried to contact them?"

y/n shakes her head. "I've thought about it, but I don't know if I can take whatever the truth is. And I'm happy with my Uncle."

Harry nods, looking at the other paintings. "Can I buy it?"

"Sure, which one?"

"All of it?"

"All of it!?"

"I have a new flat, it's empty.", Harry says flatly, like it was obvious. "This would look nice on the walls."

"But all of them is going to look like an art gallery and less of a flat, Harry. Um let's select a few out, okay?", y/n says, and Harry nods. "I'll have to see what your flat looks like, to know what matches."

y/n wanted to see if she can get her hands on any pictures, any files, or anything that can point out to his past life.

"Fine, let's have tea at my place.", Harry agrees and she smiles, nodding. "See, you're getting the hang of things for someone who hasn't had friends before."

Harry only gave the girl a small smile, continuing to look around her studio.

Harry's flat was huge. Two bedrooms, a big kitchen with a patio, a beautiful balcony overlooking the small town. It was neutral themed, the colors brown and cream. Harry makes them tea, and brings out some cookies as they sit on the couch.

"For looks like yours, you had to have been in love at least once.", Stella says, and Harry keeps his cup of tea down. "Maybe. Don't remember. Are you saying I'm handsome?"

y/n bites her lip as Harry smirks. "I didn't say that. You may be good looking, that's all."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"She must have been lucky, whoever the girl was.", y/n tries to get it out of him. Come on, please remember something so I know you really are the person Romania told me about.

Harry sighs, bringing his hand to his forehead like he had a headache. "I-I..I don't believe in it."

"Believe in love?", y/n asks, and he nods, bringing his hand back and looking at her with those beautiful eyes. "Do you believe in love y/n?"

y/n nods. "Of course. Love is like this overwhelming sentiment that keeps you up all night and makes you feel like a little child waiting for Christmas day. The feeling of having a soulmate and a place you can really call home, that sounds promising."

Harry's eyes ran over soft features, as he spoke, "You sound like you have been in love."

y/n laughs, biting into a cookie. "Nah, me? I talk too much, and I'm weird. Who would want to love me?"

"There might be someone.", Harry whispers softly, but not soft enough so y/n couldn't hear it.

__________________________________________

"I'm not sure if he is the man you're looking for.", y/n tells Romania on the phone. "He doesn't remember anything about his past, and he's such a sweet guy! He's a doctor who saves lives for god sake, he's not your mafia boss!"

"He's had you fooled by his charm, Miss y/l/n.", Romania huffs. "The reason he remained our secret weapon was because of how easily he could blend in. Do not fall for his charm, it's all an act."

"I think he really doesn't remember, Romania.", y/n twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, worried about what she has to do.

"He does, y/n. I have to believe he does, for his own good.", Romania sighs. "Or we have to kill him."

y/n's hand freezes over the phone. "K-Kill him?"

"Yes, he's a threat to our opponents. He knows too much. If they get to him first..", Romania drawls off. "You won't understand, y/n, just know that he is very important. You are our last hope. If you cannot prove that he remembers, then we will kill him. At least he'll get to be with Reagen then."

"Y-You can't kill him.", y/n whispers, her heart beating fast. What did she agree to? She made a deal with people capable of killing a poor man?

"Then do your job, y/n. I'm sending another fifty thousand to your account. Update me soon." Romania hung up with that, and y/n sat down heavily, hand on her forehead. She has to find a way to break into his shell. She doesn't want to be responsible for the death of a man.

__________________________________________________________

Broken windows. Blood covering the pieces of glass. Someone held a gun to her forehead, the face unclear. The wind was strong, piercing her skin. Then she heard the trigger being pulled and a shot being fired.

y/n wakes up with a gasp, her body sweating under the linen sheets. She closes her eyes, pressing a hand to her heart in relief. It was just a dream. The same dream she keeps having. Uncle Luke had told her to stop watching and reading mystery. This was the consequence.

Her thoughts went to Harry as she pours herself some water. She wasn't even supposed to ask questions to Romania. There were so many questions she had. About his line of work, about his family, about why the opponents had stayed away from him so far, and most importantly, about Reagen. How did they meet? How was their relationship? Were they going to get married?

So many questions she couldn't have the answers to.

The next morning, her Uncle Luke wanted to go on a walk, so she went with him. "Boy troubles.", Uncle Luke observes. "Who is it?"

"It's no one.", y/n dismisses it, feet trudging over the fallen autumn leaves. She didn't like the town, but she couldn't help but admit it was pretty. Full of trees.

"Really?", Uncle Luke teases and she sighs, giving up. "It's just Harry."

"Who's Harry?"

Her uncle had forgotten all about her side job, and the mysterious guy she was spying on. y/n cooked up a story about a customer named Harry to make Uncle Luke happy. She would do anything for him.

She fixed up some breakfast for him before rushing to the cafe. She was running a little late. She got to her painting. Then sat at a table, eating a lovely sugary custard pastry and drinking her ice lemon mint tea while she had a break.

"Do you always eat so much sugar?"

She looked up surprised to see Harry. "It's not good for your health.", he says, before sitting down across from her. "After you shove the sugary cereal down your throat for breakfast, you have this as your everyday snack?"

"Woah, don't go Doctor mode on me.", y/n laughs, continuing to enjoy her pastry. "But it's so good, and this is the only time I'm relaxing, so let me have my pastry, okay?"

"Suit yourself.", Harry eyes it with disgust.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital?", y/n asks him.

"It's my day off.", he answers, eyes moving to her lips as he watched her tongue peek out to clean up the little bits of custard. "Thought to spend it with my friend."

"Ahh.", y/n smiles. "How do you wanna spend it then?"

"Someone once told me it's fun to have ice cream and watch a movie. Show me how it's fun."

"Is that a challenge?", y/n grins, quickly downing the rest of her drink.

"Sure.", Harry gives her a signature smirk, before he leaned forward to bring his hand up to her face. His hand rests on her cheek as his thumb gently rubs away a bit of custard on the side of her mouth. y/n felt goosebumps on her skin as he touched her, and their eyes meet. y/n gets lost in the depth of Harry's eyes. She saw something she hadn't seen before.

Pain.

Harry quickly pulled away and y/n grabbed a tissue. "Give me a minute.", she told him, and he nodded, waiting for her. y/n had done her paintings for the day, and she signed out of the cafe.

They went to the grocery store to pick up some goods, all while talking happily like friends. Harry was lowering the guard he had up, and although that made y/n happy, it made her guilty at the same time. He thought she was his friend. He was trusting her.

And what was she doing?

She was using his friendship to get out some information that she doesn't care about, out of him so she can get the rest of her money from the deal and lead her life.

A man lurking behind them caught y/n's attention in the grocery store. She ushered them to the next aisle, and she saw another man at the end of it. Both of them were looking at Harry like he was their worst enemy.

y/n remembered what Romania had told her about their opponents.

"Harry, let's get out of here.", y/n keeps her hand on his arm, feeling the urge to protect him. He did not deserve this. He didn't even know who he is.

"Wait, we didn't get the kind of noodles you like-"

"-This will do." y/n puts one of the instant ramen packets into their trolley, staring back at the men hoping they'll back off. "Come on."

Harry follows her with the trolley, oblivious to the men watching him. He offered to pay, and y/n quickly gets them back into her car.

"Why were you rushing?", Harry asks.

"I um..I have to pee!"

"There was a restroom inside.", Harry points out.

"Yes I'm scared of urinary tract infections, yeast infections especially, they're so nasty, have you seen the pictures? I'm scared of using public toilets.", she lies, and rambles on.

Harry looked at her for a second, before doubling over and laughing. y/n smiled sheepishly, adoration filling her as she watched him laugh. That laugh did things to her.

"Well okay let's go then, you have to pee!", he says, and they both laugh as y/n pulls out of the parking lot, missing the two men staring at them from a distance.

_____________________________________

y/n watches Harry as he immerses in the movie, watching it with interest. They had obviously decided on a crime thriller. She had seen before, and she was more interested in studying the tall man beside her, lounging in his sweatpants, curled up on his couch.

"You're right, I should do this more often.", Harry mumbles, leaning back and stealing a glance at y/n. "You sleepy?"

y/n was a little sleepy with the lack of sleep last night, but she shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. "Not at all!"

A mountain of blankets and half eaten snacks rested on the coffee table in front of them, and she knew she probably wouldn't make it through the whole movie but she had to.

"Did you go to a doctor about your memory issues?", y/n decides to bite, and Harry heard her, but he still asks, "Sorry?"

"You have memory issues, you can't remember a lot of things. Have you seen a doctor about that?"

Harry pauses the movie. "No. It won't help."

"Why not?"

"I've tried taking medicine, it won't come back. I lost those memories for a reason y/n, I don't want to bring them back. Just like how you don't want to reach out to your parents.", Harry answers, jaw clenching. "I have a good life here. I'm happy."

"Are you though?", y/n leans forward to him. "Are you really happy, Harry?"

Harry remained quiet, studying her face. "It doesn't matter."

"It does! I wish to see you happy. If we can get your past behind you, maybe you can-"

"-I'm already behind it. I don't know what happened in the past, and I don't care. Can we just watch the movie?"

y/n sighed in defeat, but nodded, curling back on the other side of the couch as Harry presses play on the movie. How the hell was she going to get him to remember who he was?

y/n can't fight of the sleep for too long. Harry sees her dozing off, and a fond smile coats his lips as he looks at her. He wanted to carry her to bed, where she could sleep more comfortably but he figured he wouldn't without her permission. Instead, he went to his room to get his blanket and tucked it around her small frame.

He hated anyone in his personal space, but this was y/n. He could make an exception. Hell, he had already invited her into his house.

y/n mumbles incoherently in her sleep, and Harry coots closer to her, keeping a hand on her arm, in case she was having a bad dream, and continued to watch the movie.

y/n saw the same dream again. Blood. Broken window. Glass. Gun.

Harry frowned as her serene, peaceful face split into a disturbed one. Her eyebrows scrunching, and her legs tucking underneath her chin. She began to shake lightly.

"y/n.", Harry shakes her awake gently.

y/n runs in her dream, away from the gun, but the shot is still fired from the gun. Before she could see who was injured, she jolts awake.

Her scared eyes meet Harry's. "Hey, it's okay, you're in my flat, we were watching a movie and you fell asleep.", Harry strokes some of her hair back from her forehead as she looks at him, like she wanted reassurance that she's safe.

Harry doesn't hesitate before pulling her into his lap, wrapping his muscular strong arms around her, and tucking her head into his chest. "Shh..it's okay, you're okay. It was just a dream."

He felt a strong emotion to kill anyone or anything that caused y/n to get so scared. He knew it was in her dream, but he hated the thought of y/n being hurt. She was so delicate, so sweet, he had to protect her.

"H-Harry?", y/n whispers into his chest, her arms tightening around his body.

"Yes?", Harry whispers back, continuing to stroke her hair to soothe her.

"I'm sorry.", she sniffles, and he gets confused. Was she apologizing for having a bad dream? He had a feeling it was for something else. Either way, she was shaken up and his job was to get her to relax and make her feel okay.

"Don't be, sunshine. I got you."

______________________________________________________

y/n felt horrible. She felt like a monster. Here there was a man who comforted her when she was scared, and on the other hand, what was she doing? She was just doing her task. She would eventually throw him to Romania like he was a piece of meat. y/n felt like electricity was coursing through her veins when Harry's hands smoothed over her body and her hair, calming her down. He scooped her into his lap with no effort, and Stella felt safe.

She felt safe like she never had before. She wanted to stay in his arms forever and forget everything else that happened. She wished she'd met this man before all the Romania and money crap. She wanted to call her and tell her she couldn't do it anymore, but she couldn't back away now. Harry is not showing any signs of who he was five years ago. If he really is that person, then y/n needs to bring his memories back. His friends, or a family y/n doesn't know about, they need him.

She apologized to him, said that she's sorry for hurting him and doing this to him, but he thought she was worrying about her dream scare. If only he knew the truth.

Then there was what he called her. He called her sunshine. It sounded so sweet, and she wishes he calls her that again. y/n could no longer deny it. She had feelings for Harry, and the feelings kept growing.

One week. It has been seven days since she started her task. She has only three more weeks to get Harry to open up. She has to gain his trust first. Yes, he's letting her into his house, he's getting comfortable around her, but she has to gain his full trust.

"Here you go, chicken alfredo. You need some real food after all that ice cream.", Harry smiles as he serves the pasta he just made into two plates.

"I didn't know you could cook.", y/n says impressed as she sits on the chair.

"How could you? You've never had my food before. Now you know.", Harry answers, sitting beside her with his plate. He watched her as she tastes it. y/n let the creamy pasta satisfy her taste buds, and the flavorful bite of the chicken was amazing.

"It's so good.", she hums. "You're multi talented. Any other hobbies? Secret gamer? Guitarist? Cyber hacking? Gold smuggler?" y/n waits for his response to the last two.

Harry chuckles, eating his own pasta. "Gold smuggler?"

"I don't know, mystery guy. You tell me.", y/n says playfully.

"Not that I know of. But that would be an interesting secret hobby, wouldn't it y/n?", he asks, giving her a look. What was that look? Was it a knowing look? Was he teasing her? Was he hiding?

"I guess, y-yeah.", y/n replies shortly.

If he is hiding, he's doing a very good job of it. He remembers everything, he's putting up an act, a mask. Romania's words lingered in y/n's brain.

"I do play the guitar. How did you know?", he asks, pouring some water into both of their glasses.

"Your fingers are calloused.", y/n states her observation.

"Observant, I see.", Harry nods impressed. "You ask so much about me. What are your interests besides painting and reading thriller novels?"

y/n laughs. "Watching thriller movies." Harry rolls his eyes, and she grins. "Okay. Um..I don't really know, I don't get time Harry."

"You should explore yourself some more.", he mumbles.

"Oh? Says Mr. Always Busy Doctor."

He shrugs, and y/n looks at her phone as it rings. It was her Uncle Luke.

"Sorry, gotta take this.", she excuses herself, and Harry nods, twirling the pasta around his fork.

"Uncle Luke?", y/n answers, and hears panting on the other line. "W-Where am I?"

She keeps her fork down, fear creeping up. "You're at home, Uncle Luke, everything okay? Did you go out somewhere?"

"y/n..w-where are you?", her uncle's voice came out in a whimper and she stands up immediately. Harry looks at her with a frown.

"I'm at a friend's house, I'll come over now, okay? Don't worry, you're at home. Look around, what do you see?", she replies calmly, even though she was freaking out.

"S-Stairs..p-pictures on the walls. Of us."

y/n sighs in relief. He is at home. "Yes, it's safe, Uncle Luke. You're at home, okay? I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Come soon..sweetheart.", he whispered, and y/n feels her heart break at his small voice. "I will. I love you."

She stuffs her phone into her pocket and looks at Harry. "I'm sorry I have to go, my uncle needs me."

"I'll come with you.", Harry was already putting away their plates.

"No, Harry, it's okay..my place is small and it's a mess and..you don't wanna be there.", y/n says embarrassed.

"y/n, I didn't always have a flat like this. I used to live on the streets for a few months. Then someone who said they know me came and told me that I'm a Doctor. I managed to get my license back, and everything worked out. I know what it's like, okay?" Harry squeezes her shoulder gently.

y/n quickly stored in her brain the information he had shared. Then she felt bad. He told her because he thought she was his friend.

"Okay, come with me.", she agrees. Harry and y/n leave Zach's flat, and it's a twenty minute drive to y/n's place.

"Your uncle..", Harry drawls, waiting for her to complete.

"Alzheimer's.", she answers, and Harry nods understanding. They didn't talk on the way. y/n was worried, and Harry wasn't used to starting conversations.

When she got home, y/n runs to her Uncle who was sitting at the end of the stairs. "D-Did you fall?", she gasps, seeing him clutch his foot like he was in pain.

"Y-Yes.", Uncle Luke nods, arms leaning to pull his niece into a hug. "y/n. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Uncle, shh..", y/n assures, holding him tight and feeling guilty. She had left him alone and he fell. "Y-You didn't fall down all the stairs, did you?"

"No I tripped on the last few.", he answers. "I think my balance is off. I'm okay I think..I just needed to see you."

y/n nods, kissing his cheek. "It's okay, I told you that you can always call me. I'm glad you did." She looks over him to see if he was injured.

"W-Who's this young man?", Uncle Luke looks up at Harry who was silently watching their exchange.

"He's Harry, I told you about him, remember?"

y/n looks back at Harry, who was looking at her uncle with an expression she couldn't read. Uncle Luke nods at him. "Sorry our first meeting is like this."

"I don't mind.", Harry leans down to help him stand up. y/n took one arm and Harry the other, Uncle Luke was brought back on his feet.

"Does your ankle hurt?", y/n notices as he winces, and he nods.

"I can take a look.", Harry says. "Let's get him to bed."

They got Uncle Luke back to his room, and y/n makes him drink some water. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and his fingertips ran over Uncle Luke's ankle as he examined it. Harry did his prodding, checked the movement on the ankle, and observed that there was no swelling, but a purplish bruise forming. He did not feel any broken bones.

"It's a small sprain.", he tells them. "You have a crepe bandage, y/n?It should be there in a first aid kit."

"I think so, let me see.", y/n says, and goes to the cupboard near the sink where she keeps basic first aid.

Uncle Luke stares at Harry, making sure his niece is gone, before spitting out, "What are you doing with y/n?"

"We're friends.", Harry answers patiently, although he did not like the tone Uncle Luke spoke in.

"Don't you dare get close to my niece. I know all about you, Harry Styles.", Uncle Luke uses his full name, and Harry did not even know that that was his full name. He's used to people coming up to him and calling him that, then they threaten him and go away.

"Do tell me, cause I don't remember.", Harry says, and Uncle Luke grabs his collar with an iron grip. A weak man like him shouldn't be this strong, Harry notes.

"You think you're smart, don't you? Doctor Turner, huh? We're just waiting for the right time. You killed my family. I will watch you being burned down to the ground, Styles."

"What the hell are you talking about?", Harry exclaims, trying to get his hand off of him.

"Oh my god. Uncle Luke, stop!", y/n rushes over, and Uncle Luke lets him go, his face full of hatred and anger. "I'm so sorry Harry!", she says to him apologetically.

"It's okay.", Harry tells her, staring at her uncle. "Illness does it."

y/n nods, rubbing her Uncle's arms, calming him down. "I'm here, Uncle. Harry's my friend, it's okay."

He didn't answer, just kept looking at Harry as he wrapped his injured ankle up. "Keep it elevated, ice pack on and off. It should be fine in two days.", he said when he was done, and left the room.

"I'll be right back.", y/n tells her uncle, before running behind Harry.

"Harry!"

Harry pauses near the door. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into him.", y/n grabs his hand to stop him from storming out. Harry nods, a little shaken up with what her uncle had said. You killed my family.

Harry was a Doctor. He saved people, he didn't kill them. He knew her uncle was sick, but the fire in his eyes when he looked at him? He couldn't shake it away.

"He's turning delusional, I'll make an appointment with his doctor for tomorrow.", y/n shakes her head, stressed about what to do. Harry thought she had too much of stress in her life. He could see the dark circles under her eyes due to the lack of sleep. He wanted to ask her about it, but now wasn't the time.

"I-I have to go, y/n", Harry tells her, and y/n nods, standing on her tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for your help. You're a good man, Harry."

Was he?

Harry's fingers went to his cheek where she had kissed him as he stepped outside the door. Her touch made him feel less anxious. He hoped it would leave him calm enough to get some sleep tonight. His thoughts shifted to the girl who came into his life just a week ago. She was perfect. He had a chance to make things different from last time.

After all, she's his to ruin, isn't she?

137 notes · View notes

ranhaitanisgf · 10 months ago

Note

For your event can I have a fluff scenario with "delinquent and class president" & "stuck together" for Angry please? They get stuck in a janitors closet overnight at school & reader ends up comforting Angry?

—souya (angry) kawata // delinquent & class president // stuck together

☆ ˎˊ˗ halloooo everyone ! thank you anon to requesting this; i hope ur still around to read this ! i dont have a whole lot to add to this, but angry is such a cutie :D enjoy !! xoxo

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 1.4k+

☆ ˎˊ˗ gn!reader

masterlist || 2k masterlist

“hmm…” you pondered to yourself, wandering through the hall looking for potential candidates to help you.

you weren’t sure if this task was even a part of your class president responsibilities, but you couldn’t not help when your teacher had asked you to, (you were unfortunately very weak to people asking for help, but you chose to see it as a positive point).

when you had seen the horrendously chaotic state of the supply closet, you weren’t sure how your teacher had thought that you would be able to get the absolutely giant box of class handouts out of there by yourself, especially given he hadn’t been able to get it out himself. nevertheless, you decided to take the task on, setting out to find a good partner to help you out.

except, you’d run into a bit of problem.

every person you had approached had immediately run away, telling you some half-assed excuse to get out of it. it left you in a bit of a pickle; you now felt obligated to grab this massive box, but you probably would crush yourself if you tried to grab it by yourself.

however, when you saw a flash of blue hair walking by, you finally found the solution to your dilemma.

“souya-kun!” you called out, turning on your heel to catch up with him. he perked up at the sound of his name, looking back to glance at you. “hi! do you have a spare moment?” you asked, walking with him.

“i think so…” he answered, his soft voice contrasting his stony expression.

“perfect! do you think you could help me with something real quick?” you asked, putting your hands together in an effort to move him. “it won’t take more than ten minutes of your time! i can’t do it by myself, but the teacher asked me to grab this ginormous box and i can’t leave until i bring it to the classroom!”

“oh, okay.”

“yes! thank you so much! you’re truly a lifesaver!!” you exclaimed, relief flooding through you, (you’d been starting to feel a bit worried you would have to just pray to god that you wouldn’t get crushed by a box). “it’s not that far away from here!”

“alright.” angry answered, following you as you led him down the hall. he was quiet throughout the short walk, not attempting to make any sort of conversation with you. the silence wasn’t unnoticed by you, but you found that it was calm and nice rather than awkward and uncomfortable, which was something you could appreciate, (somehow, you found silence rather hard to come by nowadays).

when the two of you reached the supply closet, souya quietly followed you inside, looking around a bit at the cluttered mess of everything in the room. the door clicked closed behind him, which made you sigh a bit, glancing around the room to see if there was anything heavy enough to use as a doorstopper.

the mess of things around the room made it hard to even see everything that was there, which made you sigh, shaking your head.

“i’m not sure why it’s so messy in here…honestly, i’ll probably take a bit to straighten things out here before i go home.” you said. “i don’t know how anybody let it get this messy.”

souya didn’t respond to you, instead seeming to be thinking thoughtfully about something. his silence brought you back to the task at hand, moving a few things out of the way of where the box was on the shelf.

“okay, anyways, i just need help grabbing this box real quick, but let me prop open the door first…” you grabbed a nearby stool that seemed heavy enough to do the job, walking over to the door and grabbing the handle.

rattle.

“hah…lemme try again…” you muttered nervously, putting the stool down and putting all your focus on the doorknob. you praying that you’d just had a bad try at the doorknob and that it was not in fact locked.

rattle.

once again, the doorknob didn’t budge, only rattling in place as you tried to open the door.

“no way…seriously??” you said in shock, shaking the doorknob as you kept trying to open the door. “why the hell does a supply closet have an auto-lock door…?” you slowly turned around, facing souya with a sheepish expression on your face.

the boy only looked back at you, a bit confused at the fact that you’d been muttering to yourself for the past thirty seconds.

“uh, the door…it’s locked…” you explained. “please tell me you have your phone on you.”

“smiley’s phone died, so he’s using mine right now for something.”

“oh my god…and i left mine in the classroom…” you admitted, smacking your hand against your face. “okay, actually, it’s fine. someone will walk by and hear me if i start screaming, right?” you pondered. “i’m not sure how long i can scream for though…”

you heard a small thump! as souya sat himself on the floor of the closet, his knees pulled to his chest as he suddenly buried his face in his arms.

“gah! souya-kun!” you exclaimed, rushing over and kneeling down next to him. “are you alright?! i’m so sorry, this is all my fault!!”

“smiley will be worried if i’m gone for too long…” souya murmured, his voice a bit shaky now.

you hovered over him, unsure of what to do in this situation. in all honesty, you didn’t personally know him too well; of course, you’d heard all the rumors about the kawata twins a million times over, but you’d only really talked to souya in passing and through tutoring sessions you gave the both of them, (when they actually showed up to school).

you wouldn’t have guessed that he was so sensitive, but you supposed you should have figured. after all, souya always had a soft and kind voice when talking, and he was always so nice and respectful to you that it made you forget all the rumors about him.

“hey, it’s okay. i’ll get us out of here, no problem!” you assured, (you had no idea how you were going to get out of here). you sprung back up, looking around for anything that could help you.

of course, there’s literally only junk in here. what was i thinking?

and so, you proceeded to bang against the door for ten minutes.

you eventually stopped, rubbing your sore shoulder as you kneeled down next to souya. he hadn’t moved or said anything else at all, which was worrying you a little bit.

“okay, i think i lied…i’m sorry. i don’t know how to get out of here. but! i’m sure someone will find us eventually!” you said, trying your best to assure the boy in front of you.

what to do, what to do…

you sat down on the floor next to him, shuffling a bit closer to him, (you had to admit, it was a bit daunting that you two were currently locked in a closet, but you chose to put it out of your mind).

“y’know, when i was younger i beat someone up.” you randomly admitted. souya’s head perked up at this, which made you feel a bit more confident in continuing with your story. “yeah, i haven’t told anybody ‘cause i’m not sure how that would reflect on me as class president…but i mean, he totally had it coming, y’know?!” you exclaimed, your expression reflecting your true emotions on the incident. “he was being such an ass! i don’t even remember what his name was, but he would always pull on the girls' hair and would mess with the quiet boys in the class, and it totally pissed me off!”

“...you beat him up?” souya asked quietly, a curious expression on his face.

“yeah! and then i got expelled…but, it was totally worth it!” you said confidently, curling your fingers into a fist. “of course, i don’t think i could beat anybody up now. i would probably be the one getting beaten up, haha.”

“why?”

“oh, well…i mean i dunno. back then it was pretty easy because everyone was just as weak as everyone else, but now that we’re older everyone has different strengths. i mean, you and your brother are for sure stronger than i am, right?”

“...yeah, you’re right. there was this time me and my brother, we challenged these dudes from…” as souya began to talk, you smiled, noticing his head was fully out of his arms. the expression on his face had changed from nervous to somewhat curious and excited, making you feel quite accomplished. his voice was soft and calm as he talked, and unknowingly, listening to him talk was also calming you down as well, making you feel more relaxed. in fact, you even forgot for a moment that the two of you were currently locked in a closet.

how cute…

you supposed it wasn’t terrible to stay here for a while longer.

188 notes · View notes

thelastofhyde · 11 months ago

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space. (1)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it made you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkept facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped upon your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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sunnywalnut · 6 months ago

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Finished watching Dead Boy Detectives. Here are my honest thoughts.

-If you're going into it expecting another Good Omens, stop. Our protagonists are all minors. Teenagers. They cuss, they have total dirty mouths and sexual humor, but they are not eternal beings pretending to be middle aged men. They're ghosts. Dead Boys, if you will. Also this might be a stretch, but I'm assuming from the slightly less good CGI that the budget for this series was a LOT less than what it was for GO

-Edwin is kind of a dick in the first episode. But it's okay. Because character growth is swag.

-REALISTIC CHARACTER GROWTH!!! I liked Edwin a LOT more during the second episode BECAUSE of the character growth. And honestly? It's completely natural that bro is more than a little prickly after only being able to trust one guy for an extremely long time. Fair enough my guy. Carry on.

- this show kinda has Nimona vibes. If that makes sense. Witty humor, somewhat sexual dialogue, funny moments during serious times, though geared towards a younger audience. If you like those kinds of things, you will like this, I'm sure of it.

- In the early episodes, the pacing/character relationships feel a little off??? I'm not sure if that was because I was expecting another Good Omens or what. But after 2-3 episodes, the dust quickly settled and we got into the actual storyline. Which was extremely appreciated✨

-these villains are FUCKED up. I'm telling you. They are HORRIFIC. Had me squirming and cringing through their intense scenes. And gosh. That was a TRIP.

-TY TENANT PLAYS THE MAIN GUY EDWIN!!!! And he plays him WELL. I did not realize this going in to the show and thought his face was VERY familiar. Only after I looked it up did I realize why. He's our sassy son of Job. (EDIT: turns out Ty plays the Doom Patrol version. Not the one on Netflix. My bad! They do look pretty similar though, so ykw. Great casting. Also my point still stands. This guy is a pretty fuckin awesome actor. 10/10)

-Cat King is such a wild card holy SHIT.

-Charles is cute as fuck. His backstory HURTS. But also. I love the way his ears look. Like in the pictures that I saw of him they were of when the Cat King impersonated him so I was like oh chill. So he's got pointed ears bc feline but NOPE. He's just like that!! And honestly? Slay. I fuckin love it.

-oh did I mention tragic backstories???? Yeah we got those :D for everyone :D

-Niko is the best and I love her. Also I love how the letters on her desk are written in Japanese. That is a VERY nice touch of character building.

-hot butcher lady with throat tattoo

All in all. A truly delightful series and I genuinely hope it gets another season because I NEED to know what happens next. My little sister LOVED it and the ending had us all staring open mouthed at the TV screen in shock.

This 15yo girl is literally ranting my ear off, having adventures with the Dead Boys in her dreams and chatting with me about it, searching up fanfics and drawing fanart, the whole shabang. And it is DIFFICULT for this girl to get into shows like this. So honestly? This is perfect. Thank you, Neil. For giving us a whole other banger.

That being said. If anybody else has some younger siblings that are around 15-17 and are looking for shows to binge watch together, this is the perfect one. I'm telling you, you will NOT regret it (except maybe emotionally)

Thoroughly recommend.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #netflix series #neil gaiman #series recommendation #series review #dead boy detectives review

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janetbrown711 · 2 months ago

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If I Fail You

Chapter 2: No More Birthdays

Now fugitives from the celestial realm, MK and his friends and family set out to find the five color stones and save the universe.

Except that he's immediately swept away by his mentor, leaving said friends and family behind, leaving them to wonder and worry about what's wrong with him. Oh, and also climb a volcano with a four-month-old. But that should be easy enough, right? Right...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Ao3 Link

Pigsy didn’t sleep a single moment the entire ride out of the city to the middle of nowhere, watching MK and Li Na with a tight, anxious feeling in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Even when Tang, Li Na and even MK managed to fall asleep, Pigsy stayed up silently, watching and waiting. Of course, they were never asleep for too long, especially MK, but Pigsy felt it extremely necessary for him to be alert and on guard at all times.

It was something he seemed to share with the Monkey King too, as he also didn't close his eyes for even a second in the vehicle. Of course, it was likely that immortals like him didn't need sleep, but Pigsy could recognize the specific distant look in his eyes any day.

They didn't talk, though. Almost no one ever did, except when Li Na would wake up and everyone would ask if everything was okay and if they needed to stop and yadda yadda. Pigsy appreciated their worry, but Li Na was his responsibility and he could manage just fine. Everyone else needed to just sit back and focus on themselves.

It… wasn't easy though, and sometimes he was tempted to ask someone else to get her to stop crying for five goddamn seconds. But at the same time, he knew she was probably just scared since she hadn't ever really been in a car or car seat before, and to be stuck for hours and hours had to be uncomfortable. Sometimes he thought about just putting her into the carrier again to keep her close and happy, but knew if the car was attacked in any kind of way, she needed to be in the seat. Unfortunately, four-month-olds can't really understand that, so her uncomfortable cries could last for hours, and all Pigsy could do was try and stroke her cheek and remind her of her blanket and wish for the best, shoving his frustration and temperament as far down his throat as possible.

Happy. Safe. Cared for. That's all he wanted for his family, but it just kept getting harder and harder and harder– was it too much to ask for a moment's peace? A day where he wasn't relaxing under false pretenses, but knew for an undeniable fact that everyone was okay and fine? Or would that somehow destroy the world because it was against the rules or whatever? Bah, to hell with the whole thing, honestly. What's the point of it all if things can't ju–

“Pigsy..?” Tang groaned to life from the other side of the car seat. “Hon, you look like you haven't slept a bit.”

“M'fine, Tang. Just have to keep an eye out,” Pigsy was quick to wave off, checking on Li Na as she stretched sleepily under her blanket.

Tang chuckled, reaching a tired hand to Li Na's face and stroking her cheek. “Hi, bao bao… you certainly woke up a lot,” he smiled as she started to whimper. “Got scared, didn't you? Don't worry, we're here, everything is just fine, you're okay with us, Li Na.”

Pigsy hummed before his eyes landed on MK as he too stirred with the sunrise, his head rolling away from Mei’s shoulder.

“Ugh… sunrise already?” his son grumbled, trying to bury his face in Mei’s arm, but Mei shook him off.

“Damn, Monkey Man. Maybe you woke up but not all of us have,” Mei scolded, keeping her eyes shut.

“Rise and shine, everyone! We– uh– have some planning we need to discuss,” Sandy chuckled nervously from the driver's seat.

“Ughhhhhh– curse this stupid universe,” MK groaned, once again trying to bury his head in Mei's arm, but the dragon girl pushed him completely away and onto the window.

“Sorry bud, but he's right, we got some explaining to do,” Wukong sighed.

“Right, yeah. Just one apocalypse after the next,” MK huffed, leaning against the window solemnly, making Pigsy wince.

“But you said there was a way to fix this, right, little man?” Sandy tried his best to lighten the mood.

“Right, yeah, something about… stones? Or something like that?” Mei rubbed her eyes, finally giving up on going back to sleep.

“Five color stones,” the monkey king corrected.

Tang perked up at that. “The stones that the goddess Nuwa used to mend the heavens? I didn’t think they were real!” He looked at Pigsy with such a stupid look of amazement it made the pig chuckle.

“Mhm, they are! They’re just hidden, and guarded, and we have no idea where to find them, aha,” MK laughed nervously.

“What? Not even a little?” Pigsy asked, mostly looking at Wukong, who still stared out his window.

“No–! I mean– it’s fine because we’re just gonna ask someone who does! Nuwa!” MK quickly flipped to a sketch he’d drawn of her earlier.

“Ooo, yeah! She’s totally gotta have a temple we could go to, right?” Mei was instantly on board, though Pigsy still had his skepticism.

“Oh– yeah, at the Burning Mountain.” Wukong finally looked away to give them a smile.

“Wait– what?! Nononono– we’re not going to the burning mountain, not with Li Na, we have to think of anywhere else,” Tang instantly protested.

Wukong gave a glance to the back and shrugged. “Don’t really have a choice here, man. We’re kind of on a time crunch.”

“I-I know that! I just– I don’t need her facing the Fiery Beasts from ‘Past Calamities’ that guard the temple. She’s way too young for ‘trials by fire’– especially literal ones,” Tang looked at Pigsy anxiously.

“Yeah, I gotta say I agree here.” Pigsy glanced down at his daughter, who was reaching her stubby little arms for him. He met her reach with his hand, allowing her to grasp a finger before he looked back to Wukong. “Are you one thousand percent sure there’s no alternative here?”

“Unfortunately yes, I’m sure,” Wukong glanced down at the carrier too, before going back to the window.

“Right, of course,” Pigsy sighed, not sure why/how that managed to make him feel worse since it was exactly what he expected.

“Don’t worry, dad. I can keep her plenty safe,” MK assured with a tired smile.

“No, kid, it’s okay, me and Tang got this, it’ll be okay,” Pigsy gave a similar smile back.

MK nodded slowly before turning back around, meanwhile Tang gave him a long, anxious stare.

Pigsy chewed his cheek, looking down at Li Na instead of his husband. “She’ll be okay,” he whispered. “With your shield and Sandy’s strength, she’ll be okay.”

“Babies aren’t even supposed to be outside in temperatures over 32,” Tang countered.

“Human babies. Demon babies do better in the heat,” Pigsy tried waving off his own anxiety.

Tang gave an unamused look. “You do know she is still half human, right?”

Pigsy’s eye twitched. “Of course I know that, Tang, but do you see a goddamn alternative laying around here? No! So just– stop. I'll find a way to make it work, it’ll be fine,” he whisper-yelled, startling his husband.

“Pigsy–”

“Just stop, Tang. We’ll figure this out. We always have to,” Pigsy closed his eyes, tiredly letting Li Na stick his finger in her mouth.

Tang didn't say anything, which Pigsy let be. However, after a moment the chef was startled when he felt Tang pulling him closer and trying to rest his head on his shoulder.

Pigsy sighed and kissed his head. “We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Tang repeated, nuzzling as close as he could.

Pigsy kept his head atop Tang's for the rest of the ride.

The following hours were filled with chatter from MK and Mei, and a bit of Tang, as they talked and asked for details about the Burning Mountain and how it was different from the Flaming Mountains and such. Pigsy mostly tuned it out, keeping an eye out for any danger, and trying his best to fulfill Li Na's needs when they arose (though everyone agreed even if the world was ending, the car was stopping for diaper changes). She just about screeched in protest every time she was put back into the car seat, and whenever there was a bump in the road, and also whenever Pigsy or Tang’s hand stopped touching her, or whenever she wasn’t picked up for feeding. While incredibly frustrating, it was also probably unequivocally the worst day of the infant's life and she had zero communication skills or coping mechanisms, so she certainly had everyone’s sympathy. Besides, they still had her blanket and after ten minutes, she'd usually tire herself out. Granted, those ten minutes could feel like an eternity to the rest of the passengers, but it wasn't like there was anything they could do.

After about three hours, they arrived at the flaming mountain and Li Na was back in the carrier with Pigsy, to everyone’s relief.

However, the relief was short lived, as the Flaming Mountain certainly lived up to its name, while also having a shit ton of winding and perilous staircases to boot.

“I think my ankles hurt just looking at this thing,” Tang joked, elbowing Pigsy to try and get him to laugh too, but the pit in Pigsy’s stomach was far too deep for that.

“We’re seriously going to have to climb all that? Noooooooooooooooo,” MK groaned, slumping his head down.

“Bah, ‘Ol Alpine’ Sandy is good to go!” Sandy grinned, pulling out some of his rock climbing gear from his “emergency adventure” backpack. “We’ll be at the top in no time!”

“You know, I think there’s someone you’re forgettin’ here,” Pigsy sniped, making Sandy blush with embarrassment.

“Actually– that gives me an idea,” Tang snapped his fingers, summoning (and promptly spinning around) his khakkhara.

Pigsy sighed a massive breath of relief, glad his daughter wouldn’t actually have to face all that fire and lava. However, the feeling was incredibly short lived when he saw Wukong grab the staff with a guilty expression on his face.

“Yeahhhhhh, um, that’s gonna be a no-go, jangles,” he grimaced. “We can’t have that kind of big mystic energy or else–” “–Or else it’ll count as cheating! And we can’t fail the Trial By Fire!” MK interrupted, looking at the mountain with intensity.

“Wha– Kid, I’m pretty sure the ‘Trial By Fire’ is just a metaphor really, I’m sure the mountain ain’t testing you, right guys?” Pigsy glanced around the group, each having varied levels of one-sound responses.

“Yeah, gotta agree, bud. There’s no trial, we just can’t use magic because Li Jing will track us,” Wukong explained fully, glancing at Pigsy briefly.

Great.

“No matter, this mountain is going down,” MK shook his fist at it with determination.

Before Pigsy could even chuckle, Wukong wrapped his tail around his son and picked him up. “Or we’re going up! Catch ya at the top!” The monkey cheered, summoning his cloud and flying off.

“Wait–! MK–!” Pigsy called, but they were already nothing more than a blip on the horizon.

“Man, c'mon! Why doesn't his stupid cloud count as magic?” Mei kicked a rock and crossed her arms.

“Well, technically it's more of a ‘technique’ than a spell– plus the cloud is more like a kind of companion? I don't know– everything gets so mixed up with him,” Tang shook his head.

“UGH, fine, I guess we’re taking the hard way without MK, whatever,” Mei huffed and started going to the mountain.

Pigsy was going to follow, but his feet were suddenly glued to the ground as his eyes fell down to his daughter, who was looking up at him with big, innocent, helpless eyes.

“Pigsy? Everything alright?” Tang noticed his stance.

“No, I-I… I can’t take her, I can't climb that good, but we need to go after MK– Sandy,” Pigsy immediately turned to his friend, who looked down in confusion. “Sandy, you need to take her.”

“Oh-! Are you sure? She seems pretty cozy,” Sandy asked, smile soft and encouraging (or was at least supposed to be).

“You got more experience with this stuff, you can keep her safe,” Pigsy instantly nodded.

Sandy’s smile melted before he nodded and quickly got out a blanket from his backpack to use as a wrap while Pigsy removed his daughter from the carrier. This confused the infant, who instantly started squirming and whining, trying to grab Pigsy’s shirt with her tiny fists.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re just going with your yifu Sandy, it’s okay,” Pigsy tried assuring, but she still kept reaching and wriggling until Sandy was ready for her and the trade off was made– to which she started crying.

“Aw, hey now, it’s okay Little Piggy, good ol’ Sandy's got you,” the river demon assured, carefully wrapping her nice and snug to his chest, where she still protested, although less. Mo seemed to notice her upset mood and tried tapping her with a paw, but it didn’t help much either as she still kicked and cried.

The scene made Pigsy's chest tighten, but he shoved those feelings deep down in favor of putting his carrier in the diaper bag so they could get moving.

“Pigsy, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Tang whispered, grabbing Pigsy’s arm.

“Yes. We have to go after MK, and Sandy’s plenty capable,” Pigsy argued, glancing as the demon in question started stroking Li Na’s forehead as the cries turned to whimpers as she looked up at him.

Tang looked too. “Alright… if you’re sure, I am too.”

Pigsy’s chest tightened further, but he took his husband’s hand and started up the steps anyways, Sandy following and Mei quickly taking the lead.

After a quarter of the way into the first staircase, Sandy managed to finally soothe Li Na enough to stop crying, which was a huge relief. However, all two seconds of silence was apparently too much for Mei, as she felt the need to start complaining.

“Man… Stupid Wukong powers– ‘non-mystical clouds’– that’s total bullshit,” she puffed, kicking the step in front of her.

“You’re telling me,” Tang huffed, already starting to wince at each step on his left foot.

Pigsy chuckled and gave his husband a glance. However, that was a mistake if ever there was one, because the moment Tang noticed, he immediately hammed it up.

“Pigsy, darling, would you mind carrying me the rest of these steps?” His husband batted his eyelashes.

“In your dreams,” Pigsy rolled his eyes, trying to keep his eyes forward.

“Awww, c'mon, don't you looooove me?” Tang continued, wrapping his arm around Pigsy's.

“Keep this up and we'll see,” The chef gave Tang's arm a pat, making the scholar quickly swipe it away.

“Well, I never– we have a baby together and this is how you treat me? Oh my breaking heart,” Tang swooned dramatically.

“Oh, you mean the baby I had to carry for eight and a half months?” Pigsy raised an eyebrow. “What, you think that wasn't good enough and now I gotta carry you too?”

“Wha–? I don't mean it like that, I just– you know– with the–” Tang sputtered, meanwhile Mei cackled with laughter ahead.

Tang huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “Having fun now, are you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mei grinned, spinning around and climbing the stairs backwards. “Your gross couple banter turned roasting is much more entertaining than thinking about how stupid it is Wukong just zipped MK up the mountain.”

“Hey now, hiking can be a very meditative form of exercise,” Sandy spoke up from the back.

All three other hikers gave him a look.

“...Okay, it might not be for everyone– but still! Introspection and being in nature is a good thing that can help us reconnect with ourselves,” Sandy argued.

“Rrrright,” Mei turned back around. “Well if that's true then it's a damn shame MK's missing out on all this introspection then.”

“Now that I agree with,” Sandy said, his tone making Pigsy's ears perk a little.

“What do you mean?” Pigsy glanced back.

Sandy looked away, seeming a tad embarrassed. “Well, I mean– I just think the kid needs a break, you know? Like we talked about,” he scratched his neck, and Mo meowed in agreement from his shoulder.

“Oh, right, yeah– he wasn't actually sleeping when we were all hanging, was he?” Mei asked.

“No, probably not,” Pigsy sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

“Yeesh…” Mei winced. “He's really been working himself to the bone lately, hasn't he?”

“Oh yeah.” Pigsy bit his cheek.

“But it'll be alright, we'll get the universe in tip-top shape in no time,” Sandy smiled empathetically. “Then he can get all the rest he needs.”

“Unless the universe throws another disaster our way,” Tang muttered.

“Hey now, let's try and think positively here. Once we get the stones and fix the universe, everything will be just fine,” Sandy encouraged, making Pigsy grunt out of habitual disgust. The chef could feel his friends gaze on the back of his neck, but the pig ignored it in favor of continuing up the never-ending steps.

“Well… uh… anyways… anyone know any hiking games we can play, or something to pass the time? This is… a lot of stairs,” Mei said, reality probably starting to hit her.

“Oh, I know plenty! We can do I Spy, 100 Bottles of Beer, 20 questions, bird watching, the alphabet game, or some kind of memory game!” Sandy cheered, making Pigsy ponder if throwing himself into lava would be less painful.

However, the pig kept his mouth shut since it was at the very least a distraction from worrying about MK. Plus, Li Na seemed to be having fun with it too, laughing along with every song or silly voice Sandy did. Despite his begrudgingly acceptance though, he felt overwhelmed with relief when they finally reached the first tread in the staircase and they could all rest a moment.

“Oh… my god… I think my legs… are gonna fall off,” Mei wheeled before she collapsed to the ground. “How many more staircases do we got?”

“Trust me, Mei, you don't wanna know,” Tang warned, sitting down with a wince.

Pigsy noticed that and immediately took action to start massaging Tang's ankles, which got him a pained smile in return.

“Haha… yeah… we got a long day ahead of us, but pacing ourselves is everything! So we're gonna take a nice, long break to drink some water, eat some granola, and take it easy,” Sandy instructed, removing his massive backpack while Li Na started to wiggle and whine. “Ope-! Right after we get this little one settled too.”

Pigsy naturally perked up, watching carefully as Sandy undid his wrap and freed the now crying infant. Pigsy now recognized it was her hungry cry, and so instantly got out her bottle and formula– before realizing he had no water or way to heat it up safely. Granted, it didn't have to be warm, but Li Na was in a phase right now where she refused it cold or even room temperature. Then again, this place was boiling hot, so… maybe it would work..?

“Oh dip, snack time?” Mei asked the frozen pig.

“Y-yeah, I just– um…” Pigsy stared down at his hands.

“Oh-! Here, I can make it for you if we trade,” Sandy offered, and they swapped almost instantly.

“Hey, hey, it's okay Li Na, it's okay– I know it's hot and you're hungry– but we have milk, you'll be okay,” Pigsy tried shushing her, which seemed to actually work, her little body relaxing ever-so-slightly against Pigsy's chest.

Tang hummed with a tired smile behind him, resting his head on his husband's shoulder before stroking Li Na's cheek.

“Oughhhh, you guys are so stupid cute– even when she's crying! How is this even legal?” Mei doted on her.

Sandy chuckled. “Maybe one day you'll have one of your own and maybe then it'll be fair,” he said, measuring the powder with the scoop while Mo made his way over to the girl.

“But right now it's not! And MK's not even here–” Mei suddenly stopped herself and started petting Mo. “It’s not fair.”

Pigsy winced at the mention of MK, which made Tang sit up. “You feeling okay, hon?”

“M'fine, just–” Pigsy sighed. “I'm just tired.”

Sandy gave his friend a look of pity before offering the bottle. “This will help her stop at least.”

Pigsy took it, despite accurately predicting Li Na wouldn't like it, kicking it away and wailing loudly in protest.

“What? Is she not hungry?” Tang asked, making Pigsy's eye twitch.

“Of course she's hungry, Tang, it just ain’t warm enough for her,” he sighed heavily.

Tang gave an exasperated sigh as well. “As if being on a flaming mountain isn’t good enough for her.”

“Oh, well– I, uh… I might be able to warm it up, if you want,” Mei offered, still stroking Mo’s chin as he purred.

Pigsy bit his cheek, uncertain but ultimately deciding it was worth a shot before handing the bottle over. The girl took the bottle in one hand, trying to start a fire in the other. However, it didn’t seem to be working for once, causing Mei’s frustration to rise with each failed snap.

“C’mon stupid flame, just fucking light already,” she cursed, making Pigsy and Tang exchange a glance.

Sandy sensed the tension “Mei, you don’t have to do this, I’m sure we can think of something else–”

“No! I can do this! I just gotta–” Mei snapped her fingers once again, and this time a massive green flame shot up. “Shit–!” She cursed, instantly dropping the bottle to the ground (thankfully causing the flame to die out too). “S-sorry– sorry, I can do it– I have it all under control, it’s fine, I just–”

“Mei, it’s okay, we can figure something else out,” Sandy insisted, but Mei just picked up the bottle and started walking up the stairs again to a nearby stream of lava.

“Mei–! Wait! Be careful!” Tang instantly stood and called out to her, but the girl didn’t listen, continuing to walk until she was barely away from the melted rock, where she simply crouched down and held the bottle above.

Pigsy stayed sitting on the ground, semi-trapped by the still-screaming infant in his arms, but he watched with an immense hollow feeling in his chest. Mei was in trouble, MK was in trouble, Li Na was in trouble– but again there wasn’t a single thing he could do– why did he call himself a dad again?

Mei came back in not too long– though she smelt a lot more like smoke and had soot stains all over her white jeans, but she still handed over the bottle with a nearly uncanny grin. “Here you go, Piggy.”

Pigsy looked at her. “Mei, what is this? What are you doing?”

Mei scoffed. “What are any of us doing? Climbing a stupid mountain to get to MK,” she retorted, crossing her arms and looking up, while Pigsy just shook his head and tried cleaning off the bottle before finally giving it to Li Na.

However, the head shake just set her off again. “Ugh, we're going too slow– I have to get to MK before something happens. I'll catch you at the top,” Mei waved them off and bounded up the stairs once more.

“Mei, hold on–” Sandy quickly grabbed his bag once more and went to go after her, before seeming to remember there were other people there.

He looked at them, then back up at the stairs, before backing down. “She just needs some space for now, I'm sure,” he said, though Pigsy wasn't sure his friend actually believed that.

“This is… really bad, isn't it?” Tang laughed nervously, looking at both the chef and Sandy.

“We can fix this, I know we can. We just… need to get up this mountain,” Sandy's cheerful disposition faltered ever-so-slightly.

“And then what?” Pigsy scoffed. “For all we know, Mei's right and while we're stuck here some destiny bullshit is happening. Hell, by the time we get there, I bet MK is just going to be even worse,” he spat, looking away bitterly.

“Pigsy–” Tang tried placing a hand on his shoulder, but the chef shook it away– which he instantly regretted when it made Li Na whine.

“Sorry, sorry– I just–...” Pigsy glanced at Tang before closing his eyes. “I know there's nothing we can't get through together… but when his ‘destiny’ or mentor keeps isolatin’ him, I just… I just don't know what to do,” Pigsy looked at Li Na tiredly.

Tang knelt and pressed a kiss on Pigsy's forehead. “I know how you feel, hon– it's terrifying and I just– I hate it so much.”

Pigsy sighed, nuzzling his head against Tang's chest before his husband wrapped him into a soft hug.

“Self isolation is a nasty habit for sure,” Sandy looked at and quickly scooped Mo back up again. “It’s not going to be easy to combat it… but with work I know we can get through to him.”

“Always the optimist,” Pigsy snorted weakly.

Sandy chuckled a little. “Someone has to be.”

Pigsy couldn’t argue with that, swapping the now empty bottle with a towel to burp Li Na, before glancing back up the steps, where he could see Mei stomping around.

“You should go to her, Sandy,” he spoke up, but his friend shook his head.

“We need to plan what to do about MK together– she's his family too,” Sandy said.

“She's just as much a kid as MK, she doesn't need all that pressure either,” Pigsy argued.

“She's his best friend, Pigsy. She's going to worry and want to do something no matter what,” Sandy gave the pig a look so tender it actually made the chef want to cry.

“W-well, um… either way, I don't like the kid bein’ by herself and I'm just holding you back, so, you know...” Pigsy sniffled, trying not to dwell.

“Oh, c'mon, don't be like that honey,” Tang rubbed his arm. “We’re all a team here, whether they know it or not.”

Pigsy nodded, ultimately agreeing with the sentiment. “Sorry, yeah, I just–”

“I know, hon. You’re okay,” Tang kissed his cheek.

The chef smiled.

Once Li Na was all burped and settled, she was wrapped back into Sandy's carrier, which she again protested. Thankfully though, all that eating must've tired her out as she fell asleep by the time they saw Mei halfway across a rope suspension bridge.

“Mei! Wait right there!” Sandy instantly called out, an unusual panic in his voice that made the other two adults pause before rushing with him.

Mei turned around, seeming annoyed more than anything. “Took you slow pokes long enough. C’mon, we gotta get going–”

“Mei, wait, that bridge isn't safe and you don’t have the right equipment or anything! You need to take it slow–”

“Sorry, but I'm actually trying to reach MK before my retirement,” Mei rolled her eyes and continued onward, not noticing how the bridge slanted a notable amount to the right, nor how some parts of the rope were frayed or how it was over a massive chasm or–

“Mei, are you trying to get yourself killed too?!” Pigsy shouted at her, running to the bridge’s start.

“I'm trying to get back to MK before it's too late, unlike you slowpokes,” Mei mumbled that last part, continuing forward until a loud CRACK broke through the mountain and Mei let out a shriek– the plank underneath her foot snapping in half and causing her to fall halfway before she managed to just barely catch the bottom rope.

“MEI!” All three of them shouted, Pigsy summoning his rake without even thinking and racing to her aid (ignoring Tang's loud sputtering protests and confusion).

“Pigsy! Y-your rake-! What if that counts as magic?! We can't be tracked!” Mei worried.

“Jesus– I don't fucking care! I'm not losing any of my goddamn kids! Just grab on,” Pigsy instructed, not comprehending how that could even be on her mind right now. Thankfully, Mei did still have enough sense to do as she was told and Pigsy pulled her back up on the bridge– though was quickly startled when Mei suddenly latched onto him and wouldn't let go.

“Woah, hey now, it's okay, kid. I got you.” Pigsy hugged her right back, his rake disappearing once more.

“P-piggy, I'm so sorry– I don't know what I was thinking– I–” Mei started to cry.

“Hey, it's okay, I got you, Mei, I got you. We'll make it across, everything’s okay,” Pigsy assured, finally looking back at his husband and best friend, who both looked like they just had the biggest heart attacks of their lives.

Once Sandy noticed Pigsy looking at him, he shook off his shock though, sighing a breath of relief before clearing his throat. “Right– okay– you two need to stay to the left of the bridge, alright? And watch out for creaking or too much rocking– take it nice and even!” Sandy instructed, and Pigsy nodded.

“You okay to stand?” he then asked the still trembling girl, who shook her head.

“I-I'm sorry Piggy, I'm sorry,” she kept crying.

“Hey, it's okay– we can talk on the other side, okay? I got you, everything'll be alright.” Pigsy gave a squeeze for emphasis and eventually Mei nodded and slowly let go. However, the second Pigsy was up and standing again, Mei held his hand tight. The chef didn't mind, though, letting her hold on as they followed Sandy's instruction until they were back on solid ground and waiting for the others to cross.

The pair didn't speak while they waited, though Mei wrapped her arms around one of his and buried her head in his shoulder. Pigsy did his best to try and comfort her, though was constantly watching and worrying for Tang, Sandy, Mo, and Li Na.

Thankfully, everyone made it just fine– though the second Tang was across he grabbed Mei's shoulders and started shaking her.

“Long Xiaojiao, don't ever do that again!” he ordered before squeezing the daylights out of her.

“I-I'm sorry Mr. Tang, I-I don't know– I'm so scared– MK– he isn't acting right– h-he–”

Tang hugged her tighter. “I know– god, I know… but what can we do?” Tang asked, eventually letting go and looking to Sandy, meanwhile Mei reattached herself to Pigsy's arm.

“Hey now, it's not too late, MK is still with us. We have time,” Sandy assured as he unwrapped his carrier once again, passing over the anxious infant to Tang, who rocked her.

“Yeah, but– but how much?” Pigsy glanced at Mei, who squeezed his arm tighter, burying her head.

Sandy had to think for a moment, which didn't make Pigsy feel any better.

“Look… it's not going to be easy, but MK is still here, we just have to keep assuring him we're here too. Even if it seems like fate or the universe is trying to pull us apart, we have to let him know we aren't going anywhere and– and that he means so much to us a-and–” Sandy started to get choked up, which made Mo start to purr and rub his head against Sandy's. “Right– right, sorry–”

“Sandy, it's okay, you can be scared too,” Pigsy assured, receiving a tearful smile of gratitude in response.

“R-right– well–” Sandy tried clearing his throat as a few tears fell quickly down his cheeks. “Well first, we'll make it up the mountain and help MK with anything he may need. After that, we'll be back in the truck for the second stone, and rest up. We don't want to pile too much on him too soon, but getting in some praise and affection would be good, I think,” he sniffled.

“But will it be enough?” Mei asked quietly.

“...I'll have a one-on-one meditation session with him tomorrow– try to teach him mindfulness and try to pass on wisdom about fighting inner demons. It’ll help him know he’s not alone,” Sandy nodded to himself.

“MK kinda hates meditation though– part of the ol’ ADHD thing,” Mei pointed out, fidgeting with Pigsy’s shirt sleeve.

“I know, but–... but I think with time and effort I could really get through to him,” the river demon tried to sound confident, but when Mei didn’t seem any more assured, he sighed. “I know how bad– how helpless it feels to watch someone go through this… but I know that Pigsy and Tang are right– there is nothing we can't fix together.”

“What about after the meditation?” Mei asked again. “What do we do then? H-how can we– can we make sure he doesn't– you know–”

Sandy smiled softly. “We just continue loving him the best we can, Mei, that's all we can do– until we find a trained professional for him, that is.”

“Right… right, okay,” The dragon girl sniffled, glancing up at Pigsy for reassurance, to which the demon kissed her head.

“We're gonna make that kid feel so fucking loved he won't know what hit ‘im,” the chef joked a little too.

“And we'll also make sure to take care of ourselves in the meantime too,” Tang added, and Mei instantly nodded.

“R-right– I know, I'm so sorry– I didn't mean to– I just–”

“We know, kiddo, just don't scare us like that again.” Pigsy moved to wrap his arm around the girl's shoulders.

Mei’s eyes went to the ground. “I mean... I didn't– I know you've said it before, but… I didn't think you actually thought of me like I’m your kid,” she chuckled weakly.

“What can I say? We're huge saps,” Pigsy chuckled too and gave her another tight squeeze.

Mei snorted, nuzzling closer as she did.

“And– uh– for the record, I– um… I’m very fond of you too, Mei,” Sandy added, making Mei finally break the embrace to give Sandy a hug of his own.

“I love you too, ya big ol’ teddy bear,” Mei said, causing the river demon to laugh and embrace her back.

Pigsy could see his friend was on the verge of crying again, but he didn’t say anything and instead made his way closer to Tang before asking how he and Li Na were holding up.

“Oh, you know… little sore, little exhausted, but a little better, too,” Tang chuckled nervously while Li Na grasped her baba’s thumb.

“You thinkin’ you’ll be able to make it up the rest of the mountain? It’s a long way to go still,” Pigsy asked.

“Are you offering to carry me?” Tang batted his eyelashes.

Pigsy rolled his eyes and pushed him away playfully. “Not if you keep doing that.”

The scholar laughed, though it didn’t last too long. At first Pigsy just assumed he was tired, but his eyes had an intense focus on Li Na before he suddenly asked–

“Pigsy?”

The chef straightened up. “Yes?”

“Tell me everyone’s going to end okay– that MK, and Mei, a-and Li Na are going to be alright.”

Pigsy’s heart melted. “MK, Mei, and Li Na are gonna be just fine, Tangy–”

“Promise me.” Tang looked at him.

Pigsy hesitated, glancing at Sandy, then Mei, then Li Na before going back to his husband.

“I… I promise, Tang. Everyone’s gonna go home just right,” he said, placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Tang’s face relaxed into a tired and slightly goofy smile. “Thanks, hon. I-I just– thank you.”

Pigsy smiled and kissed his cheek, before turning to the others. “We ready to get going?”

“Oh-! Yeah! Don’t wanna leave him hanging for too long” Mei immediately bounced up, and once Li Na was back and wrapped up with Sandy, they started making their way up the mountain once more.

The hike ended up lasting until just about sunset, and with Pigsy having to carry Tang for a little over half the distance because of his weak ankles. It wasn’t great for the pig demon’s back by any means, but Sandy was already carrying his massive hiking emergency bag, Mo, and Li Na, so he sucked it up. It was also better than even entertaining the thought of leaving his husband behind, so while it was difficult, he endured knowing it would be worth it.

…Which was why when Wukong grabbed MK and immediately flew away again the second the group reached the top, Pigsy felt angry enough to tear the immortal limb-from-limb.

It wasn’t helped that from the brief moment Pigsy actually saw his son, there was this… this cloudiness behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was new– it had to have been new– Pigsy wouldn’t have missed it if it had been there at the restaurant or in the van–

Something bad happened to his son while he was out of reach.

“Well… uh… back down we go, I guess, huh?” Tang tried to lighten the mood, elbowing Pigsy to try and get him to join in.

Pigsy didn’t have it in him, though. Instead, he stared at Sandy, starting a silent conversation.

He’s worse, the chef’s eyes said.

I know.Sandy looked back with pity.

Why does this keep happening?

I don’t know.

Why can’t he just be okay? Why can’t he stay with us?

I don’t know that either, Pigsy. But we’re sticking to our plan as a team, no matter what. We'll figure this out.

Pigsy took a deep breath and nodded.

Right. You’re right.

Sandy smiled weakly. Of course I am. Let’s get going. Can’t leave him alone for too long.

“Right… right. Let’s get going,” Pigsy said, and after scooping Tang up once more, they started down the mountain again with equal parts worry and determination to fix what was wrong as a team.

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welcometothejianghu · 10 months ago

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 莲花楼/Mysterious Lotus Casebook

Mysterious Lotus Casebook is a 2023 drama about a beautiful twunk who just wants to die of his chronic illness in peace, except that neither the dumbass purebred dog of a man who has decided they're best friends now nor the jock begging him for a rematch are going to let him go without a fight (in the latter's case, literally).

Also they ride around in a magical bamboopunk RV.

I have referred to it elsewhere as "the CW presents: Nirvana in Fire," and I stand by that assessment. (I orginally called it Tiger Beat Nirvana in Fire, before realizing that Kids These Days will not get that reference. Shout out to the other elder millennials in the audience!)

There's been a lot of English-speaking fandom buzz about this show, to the point where if you're in these circles, I'm sure you've heard about it before. I know I had by the time I started watching -- which left me largely unprepared for the actual viewing experience, because the parts of the show that fans talk about are not a representative sample of the show itself.

This drama can be a good time. It's fun to watch. It has some hilarious beats and also some emotional moments. It spent its not-huge budget very smartly, and as such is generally quite lovely to look at. As my League of Nobleman rec will attest, I appreciate raw materials, and this is a show that has some fascinating raw materials.

(Or some materials that need to get rawed, take your pick.) (Also, it's not my fault they didn't do a dramatically lit Fang Duobing shot so I could round out the trio here.)

You'll find some people out there who've gone real hard for this show, doing some deep analyses and getting really emotional over it. I don't want my gentle ribbing to give the impression that those silly fans are delusionally talking like the show's a five-star restaurant when it's really just a fast food joint. Not so! There's a reason it's captivated a whole lot of people! And in case you might be one of those, allow me to give you five reasons you should consider watching it.

1. This bitch

The main character, Li Lianhua/Li Xiangyi is probably 50% of the show's appeal all by himself. He's fascinating. He's gender. He's fashion. He's been afflicted with a substance we called "bitch poison" the whole time we were watching. He has many emotions. He cries a lot. He coughs up blood every other episode. Cheng Yi is putting his whole lianhuassy into this performance, and it shows.

I made the Nirvana in Fire comparison earlier, and I stand by it for a lot of reasons, but the truth is that he's actually much more Opposite Day Mei Changsu: Li Lianhua wants all this stuff to fuck off and leave him alone forever. He is not seeking vengeance, nor does he particularly want to Do Schemes, but Circumstances keep dragging him back into the thick of all this nonsense he thought he left behind when he (mostly) died ten years ago.

The thing is, he used to be a real dick back when he was a kid. And I mean a real dick. He was a dick to his chronically insecure adoptive older brother. He was a dick to his girlfriend with the personality of wet tissue paper. He was a dick to the handsome loser who liked his girlfriend. He was a dick to his followers. He was basically just a cocky little shithead who thought he was the best at everything -- and he actually was the best at everything, which just made it worse.

Li Xiangyi used to think everything (especially himself) was sooooo important, and now that life has massively kicked his ass, Li Lianhua had come around to the position that nothing is actually that important, so let's just all chill and grow vegetables. He doesn't want a rematch. He doesn't want to retake his rightful place as the head of anything. He just wants to pay his respects to the dead before he joins them.

Now will everybody please just stop moving into his house.

2. goof-ass jianghu nonsense (affectionate)

As I mentioned earlier, everything I'd seen about the show on Tumblr had still left me absolutely unprepared for what a silly ride it is. Because it's silly. Hoo boy, is it silly. My wife dubbed it "lace front Phoenix Wright," just to give you a metric for how silly we're talking. Ace Detective Fang Duobing never cross-examined a parrot, but I feel he came close.

This show has some serious goof-ass jianghu nonsense -- you know, the sort of stuff that's impossible and ridiculous, except everybody’s going to treat it like it's just a normal part of existence. Here's a short and certainly inexhaustive list:

mind-controlling bugs

other bugs that control the mind-controlling bugs

ex-conjoined twins

a grown-ass man who can compress himself into bitchy third-grader

grave-robbing societies with secret brag language

so much nonconsensual qi-blocking performed by poking people in the boobs, that can't be safe, everybody wear thicker shirts

magical crossdressing powers

a bad guy who looks like this

a princess who can get abducted and sex-trafficked and, like, nobody really notices? huh.

healing childhood paralysis by the power of believing in yourself

a ... hallucination pit? what was that, anyway?

so. many. mechanisms.

the equivalent of the "he's only mostly dead" business from the Princess Bride

a gradually lethal bookshelf

the strange amnesia everyone suffers from where a dude can cover maybe 30% of his face and render himself immediately unrecognizable to long-time friends and associates

The thing is: I think this goof-ass jianghu nonsense is a legitimate selling point. I found it so fun. I turned off my need for show elements to obey little things like the laws of physics, and I had a good time. It can be a very funny drama, in part because it knows how silly a lot of its shit is, and it chooses to go full speed ahead with a sincere heart. If you are down for some shounen absurdity, you are in for a treat.

However:

2.2. goof-ass jianghu nonsense (derogatory)

I'm granting myself a sub-point here, because this is an important qualifier for the previous point.

I'm going to assume, based on what I've seen from fan responses, that many of the people who really like this show actually don't like the goof-ass jianghu nonsense. They are here for the BL vibes (after all, there are three cute boys who alll have some intense emotions about one another), and therefore downplay all the parts that aren't that. I want to make it clear that this is not a bad thing to do. There are many, many properties where I myself fixate on a single element and toss the rest into the sea. No judgment here.

However, since this is a post written to convine you to watch something, I want to make it clear what you're going to get if you dive in. If you're one of those people who skips scenes and/or entire episodes when your ship of choice isn't onscreen, you're probably going to be doing that a lot here. (I mean, I can't imagine doing this, but Tumblr has taught me that fandom is a rich tapestry.) The bones are good, but the connective tissue can be questionable.

The main thing I wish I'd known before starting is that the mysteries are not the selling point. They are the celery that gets the cute boy peanut butter to your mouth. You, the viewer, absolutely cannot solve them; you're never given enough context or information to keep up with the detective lads, much less get ahead of them. Everyone does everything in the most convoluted way possible, to the point of comic absurdity. Finding out whodunnit is rarely that satisfying, because too often the culprit is Jianghu Steve, You Know, That Guy Over There With The Superpower The Characters All Know About But You'd Never Heard Of Before Thirty Seconds Ago.

The goof-ass jianghu nonsense feels like the place where the show I see fans talking about least lines up with the show that actually exists. And I think that's a shame, because I think the show that actually exists is actually a good time! It's just, you know ... silly.

3. Whenever Di Feisheng's not onscreen, all the other characters should be asking, 'Where's Di Feisheng?

This drama gets sold like it's the adventures of three guys together. (Hell, I kind of did it myself in the intro.) This is not the case. This is the tale of two guys who do most of the plot stuff near one another, and their occasional third, Di Feisheng.

This is a 40-episode series and I swear this guy's onscreen for maybe 15% of the time -- and for half of that, he's just off doing his own thing anyway. He disappears entirely for huge chunks of the series, which is a crime, because he is my absolute favorite.

He is the rare grumpy himbo. He doesn't just have resting bitchface, he has bitchface for all occasions. He somehow has bitchface even during the rare moments he actually smiles. He's got a whole traumatic backstory, but the traumatic backstory is not the reason for the bitchface. He's Just Like That.

(Important to note that the actor himself only slightly has a resting bitchface. Xiao Shunyao can look normal and indeed quite pleasant. He has simply leaned into it real hard for this grouch.)

The one -- one -- reason I can accept his being gone for so ding-dang much of the show is how often he re-emerges with perfect, hilarious timing. Thank goodness the show realizes how much comedic potential his character has, because his unexpected entrances are some of the best laugh-out-loud moments of the series. If the show had taken Di Feisheng as seriously as Di Feisheng takes himself, he would have been unbearable. As it is, he's an unmitigated delight.

While you losers were being heterosexual, he studied the blade.

He makes the perfect foil for both Fang Duobing, who's the human equivalent of a puppy trying to gnaw an elephant to death, and Li Lianhua, who just wants to be excused from this narrative. Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing are basically two dogs fighting over their favorite toy, and their favorite toy is Li Lianhua, who really wishes he weren't. Some of the most compelling and fun moments of the series are when these three losers are all together.

And these three losers are barely all together.

This show is Not Danmei. It's so Not Danmei that I had a tremendously difficult time while making this post finding either official images or screencaps with even two of them in frame at the same time, much less all three. It is, however, a Danmei Starter Kit. I mean, the tag on AO3 has, at present, 742 works in it (283 in English). That's just since July! There are years-old c-drama shows that have a fraction of that fan output! And I'm willing to bet a big reason why is how little the very intense boys with ridiculously compelling interpersonal dynamics actually interact onscreen.

But, I hear you asking, why would less of what the fans want equal more fan goo? Well, friends, that's exactly what the fan goo is for: filling in the blanks. And this here show has a lot of blanks. Look, I've made a very scientific diagram (that many people seem to agree with) about how this all works:

The Hump of Compelling Mediocrity is the place where the amount of stuff worth thinking about far outpaces what the show actually contains of said stuff textually. It is the ideal location for imagination adventures.

Di Feisheng and Li Lianhua's relationship in particular lives right in the middle of that hump, what with the huge gaps in their backstory and all. They are a pair made entirely of unanswered questions. What the hell is going on there? What's their whole history, beyond the big fight? Why are they like this about one another? The show refuses to say. Whatever you imagine, you're correct. Now go tell AO3 about it.

interlude: God's perfect dipshit

I feel like I'm engaging in Fang Duobing erasure in the rest of this post, since he's not at the tip of any of the points I'm making, so I'm going to add a picture of him here, because I love him and want to pinch his perfect little cheeks.

You know what I am shocked by? How the MLC/DMBJ reincarnation fics apparently have not taken hold yet. I give it another two months.

4. IT HAS A DOG

FOX SPIRIT, MY SWEET BABY

'You mean the dog gets a whole selling point to himself' yes the dog gets a whole selling point to himself, because he is a very good dog and a very good boy (and his actor is a very good girl)

Apparently he has a whole backstory in the novel that never gets included in the drama, including an explanation of why he's named "Fox Spirit," if you feel like going and reading up on that.

Sadly, Fox Spirit is in the show even less than Di Feisheng is, and that is a crime, because he could have solved all these silly human mysteries in thirty minutes flat, Wishbone-style.

Dogs are so good.

5. One bad, bad girl

Do you like an unhinged villainess? Someone who's been sucking down Crazy Juice since beat one? Because oh boy, this show's got one of those for you.

Jiao Liqiao wants two things: to rule the world, and to make Di Feisheng her pretty little housewife. And whomst among us does not understand these two impulses?

She's not even the Big Bad! She's mostly just Di Feisheng's personal nightmare. She is the type of woman for whom the phrase "he's just not that into you" was coined. You've got everyone around her telling her, honey, I don't even think I've ever seen him look at a pair of breasts, while she's already planned their whole wedding menu and reserved the venue.

She has spent the last ten years of Di Feisheng's extended vacation making sure she's the one who's actually in charge, functioning as the point person for all the other evil schemes going on. Instead of handing over the reins upon her himbo boss' return, she's just going to keep doing what she's good at. As long as he keeps doing exactly what she wants him to do, she's gonna let him do it. If he gets out of line, well, there's always Plan B (the B stands for Breaking all of his tendons and making the world's surliest RealDoll).

I love the fact that she's so obviously evil, and he can't see it. To a certain point, it's not his fault -- everyone who serves under him is pretty obviously evil, so that doesn't make her special. But she's real evil even above and beyond that, and his dumb ass can't stop thinking about Li Lianhua long enough to notice any of the hundred or so knives she's aimed right at his back. He's so uninterested in her constant advances that he doesn't register how wanting to fuck someone and wanting to overthrow someone are not mutually exclusive desires.

(Was I bothered throughout most of the series by how her lipstick should be a little more crimson and a little less coral? Yes, but I'm not going to hold it against her. She's busy doing evil stuff. She'll get over to the nearest Jianghu Sephora and restock one of these days.)

While the show occasionally sidelines or straight-up forgets about a lot of its supporting characters for several episodes at a time, it never forgets to check in on what Jiao Liqiao's up to. Claws out, hair done, she is at all times a constant glorious, scenery-chewing menace with excellent taste in terrible men. Absolute legend.

Bonus: These two sluts

They don't get to be a full point because they're not nearly in the show enough, but just look at them. This is peak male character design. Slutty undone hair and slutty bare forearms, be still my bisexual heart.

Going to give it a try?

iQiyi's got you exclusively, baby.

Have I sounded a little defensive in this rec? Yeah, probably. It's just that I know there's a big and pretty intense fandom out there for this already, and I feel like a jerk coming in and being like "sure, it's fun!" when people are posting about how it made them cry for weeks. I want to be clear that that's not a bad reaction to have, while at the same time also being clear that that's not the reaction I had.

I might not even have written this rec, had I not been nudged to -- not because I don't think it's worth watching (I clearly do!), but because I don't know how much help it needs from the likes of me. There are plenty of other evangelists out there that'll give much more enthusiastic recommendations (like this one).

But the truth is that not every show has to be a heartbreaking work of staggering genius to everyone. I watched the show, and I liked it, and I had a normal time.

I also think there's something to the way I watched it, which was: one episode per day, schedule permitting, such that it took nearly two months for me to finish it. (And before you think I singled MLC out for this, this is actually how I watch most c-dramas.) I bet binging it is a way different experience, one where what rises more readily to the top is the tragic throughline of Li Lianhua's whole deal. If you're inclined to skip things not immediately germane to your points of interest, this is definitely the show to take at a solid run.

I actually paused in the middle of making this rec and made the one for the Blood of Youth, because the two invite comparisons: jianghu tales with chronically ill protagonists, some imperial bullshit going on, pretty boys with swords being weird about one another. Mysterious Lotus Casebook did not grab me as hard as the Blood of Youth, because MLC went for a more understated take on all its nonsense, instead of shooting completely over the top, which is how I prefer my nonsense (as the record will show). If you take your silliness with a subtler flavor, this could be the perfect thing for you.

Maybe you'll wind up being one of those people who gets their whole insides totally ripped out by this drama! But even if you don't, you're probably going to have a good time watching it anyway. And really, what more can you ask for from a show than that?

Peace, nerds.

#mysterious lotus casebook #莲花楼 #lotus boys #three virgins in an rv #rec post #i made this

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freedelusionshere · 1 month ago

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Keep on writing your meta and thoughts! I appreciate it a lot. I have a hard time putting my thoughts into coherent sentences sometimes but you do it so well! It’s so cool!!!

Also your particular observation on how a part of the Bear fandom thinks “overworking yourself for success is the only way to go about life, I don’t need love or anything else” is so spot on! I’ve not only seen stuff like that on Reddit as you mentioned but I also did see videos of this on TikTok and it was so frustrating cause the Bear is showing the audience how that does not work out.

That’s why I hope Season 4 is more explicit with how this thinking is detrimental for its characters specifically the main character.

The way I would be so happy to see Carmy removing this idea from himself, showing more intimate moments with the Bear team and doing things he enjoys. I would be so happy!!!

also to then have him experience romance with Sydney

to actually get to see SydCarmy 😅😅 likeee djsjdjd

that would really shake things up!

okay Thks for reading lol

Thanks for writing me! I think that what you're talking about here is actually the whole point of this show. It's about escaping systems that do not really benefit everyone and having solidarity within your community, not with empires and enterprises interested in doing extraction (Chef David) and treating people like robots. Why is Syd zesting lemons and only that when she's super talented? Hmm, I have questions, and I think the show does, too.

This is why Carmy ending up with Syd and not circling back to what his family wants for him is an important part of the overall themes of this show. Even when you start to get free of this stuff it doesn't mean that healing relationships and dealing with your past requires you to stand still in one place and live through your past lens.

Carmy's family is part of a system as well, they reinforce it constantly throughout the series, even while resenting it the whole time, they play the game. Michelle knows this, it's why she tells Carmy to get out of there in Fishes.

The show also depicts Carmy dragging Syd back into the fine dining stuff when she explicitly said in S1 she wanted to do something different. Syd admits she's been his accomplice in S3, so Syd is going to be unpacking some of this stuff with him in S4, I feel? The where did this go wrong; we know we're good together/for each other kind of convo. Because they are. The show has already depicted that when they fell for each other in S1. They're like a married couple getting a separation at this point.

What I've had on my mind the past few days is how Carmy and Syd basically in a very short period of time got in real deep with each other, entangled their lives (they essentially live at the restaurant), are behaving in almost all ways like partners except in one area: they're not physically intimate or experiencing the joys of that and the bonding and comfort it can provide. They both crave intimacy and are afraid of it at the same time.

And all these people in the media and fandom playing games about how they're better as friends or whatever? LOL. They can save it, these two want more than friendship from each other.

#sydcarmy #the bear meta

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kalegrinch · 10 months ago

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⭐️Sunshine⭐️ (Vers. 2.0)

(AKA re-read it right now.)

Rocky Rickaby x Reader

3.4k~ words

(July 5, 2024: Perfectionism makes me edit this fic every month or so, the ending is a bit different than the original and overall has less errors and stupidity and whatnot than it had in January, imo major revamp)

I’m not normally one to publish fanfiction, but I figured I’d share some to feed my growing infatuation for Rocky. If you like this, don’t be afraid of leaving a request of any sort. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated. This fic is really Reader’s-internal-emotional-constipation heavy (with a side of Rocky), so read at your own risk.

SUMMARY: You meet Rocky in a cold alleyway on a rainy day. What could he possibly want at this time of night?

WARNINGS: None, except for the incessant use of the pronoun he and parentheses-notes (I promise I did those two things for important reasons) and, yeah, Reader is a whole thing

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Maybe it was the way in which the cold rain fell from the dark and misty night sky, drenching you completely and you wadded around. Maybe it was how it cascaded down your face like a river, like water running downstream. Maybe it was the way the lullaby yellow color from the odd street lanterns reflected on the gray cobblestone of the streets of St. Louis, casting dark shadows in every direction imaginable. Maybe it was the cold wind whipping past you and flicking your tail back and forth, only stopping to seep solemnly into the fur of your body, hidden away in a jacket you stole from a generic store long ago. Or, most likely, it could've been him. The sole being that could wake you on a night like this. Him, standing peacefully with his back turned to you, always moving and fidgeting and humming along to any new tune he creates spontaneously with the flick of his whiskers and the tap of his shoe. Him, perfectly unaware of your presence.

He’s waiting for me. Even the thought of something so preposterous chilled you to the marrow, but you didn't understand why. When Mitzi told you he wanted to meet you here earlier in the speakeasy, you had plenty of time (A little less than 42 hours) to prepare (Mentally) for him. When and why had it all- everything from his random ramblings to the toothy grin to the syrup-coated language- suddenly become too much? When had it suddenly made you feel differently? Now you look forward to seeing him every day and participating in those stupid antics with him. It’s getting to the point where he’s one of the only things that pushes you forward to face every waking hour you have to endure on this planet. When did it get to that? And why?

You didn't dare let yourself think about (let alone believe in) anything more than platonic feelings. There should be nothing more than platonic feelings between the two of you. Nothing.

But why did that feel so wrong?

St. Louis isn't known for its hills, but this one that led up to this particular spot meant a lot to you. This particular spot, where the sun would always come up in the morning and where no one was curious enough to venture. Almost hanging on the horizon, it always spreads its glorious, haunting light across the acres of water that was the Mississippi River. You would often come to this cliff with him, always sitting on the very edge of the thick, stone railing that tried its best to prevent accidents with the shallow water far below, waffling with him till your throats were sore. And then some more, for good measure. It had become a tradition, to spend early mornings here with him. And you made sure it happened enough, enough to nourish this newfound infatuation for him that you regret admitting even to yourself.

Everything on the other end, across that ambiguous, murky sea, was blurry and insignificant, mere blobs of floating rock and bridges you could never cross. Sometimes, when you stared hard enough at the sight, you felt rather insignificant yourself. The thoughts would come running, coating you in the solution of your own despair and agony. Leaving you alone in the dark and endless tunnels of panic and fear, the one of your own creation. But then you'd turn around to your companion by your side, the one bathed in the sun’s orange light that never stopped the goofy yackety-yak and heartfelt, serious conversations with you, and for a couple of minutes the weight would be lifted and the world wouldn't feel as colossal, as cruel as it always did. The world was starting to feel more worth approaching with every day that passed, as long as you could approach it with him.

Now, your quiet footsteps echoed out in the dim and suffocating alleyway, a backdrop for his bard as you approached the incoming balcony that, after a long drop, gave way for the river. When you were close enough, you could see his relaxed shoulders, the rain dripping from his hat, and the way he leaned on the nearby brick wall for support right at the opening of the cleft where the two compact buildings ended. Although he was turned around, you could clearly picture his eased expression and considering eyes, scanning the river that was constantly being struck by the rain, mishaping the reflection of the bright, full moon from far above. He was always more subdued here, more calm, as if he felt sufficiently safe enough around you to let his guard down for you (It took plenty of coaxing for him to reach that state, of course) His voice rang into the night sky, only weighed down by the abundance of droplets that made you regret the fact that you did you hair this morning (for him):

A lover of choices more inconspicuous than ambivalent

She walks along penetrated pathways, all apathetic and innocent

The feeling’s initial, official, more vivid and free

Better for the perspicacious preacher of the land and sea

You’d never heard it before. It must have been new.

“Hey there sunshine,” Your surprisingly hesitant voice broke through the silence, “What’s that one about?”

He immediately turned around to face you, just as he always did in response to any of the teasing nickname you decided to use at all given moments. Sunshine had become one of your favorites, as it always earned you a warm smile and tail swish. Now there was a surprised grin plastered across his face, and you had to take your time to observe his pretty features.

Pretty? Where did that come from?

The icy blue eyes that always impeded any train of thought and seized your breath. The expressive eyebrows, imperfect blue suit...the blatant bullet hole in his sharp ears you've always wanted touch. All at once, you had an infatuating urge to run forward and encompass him in a hug as an apology.

Snap out of it, idiot

You had created an imaginary seven-inch glass wall between the two of you for your sake. To maintain sanity. And maybe your dignity, too. But there was a look of need present on his face, like his want for its demolishment exceeded your comprehension. If that nagging voice at the back of your head was correct, then that look was probably also plastered across your face as well.

“Ah, M’lady! What a pleasure, encountering you today! I was thinking-”

“Cut the dramatics, sweetheart. It's pouring out here. Unless you're planning to take me back to your place, I suggest you get on with it.”

The evident flirting was normal now (You assumed) but it still managed to catch the both of you off guard. It didn’t feel appropriate, this late at night, only reciprocated with the song of rain. Unpunctual nights alone in your drab apartment made you wonder if it meant anything. To him. And maybe to you, too. Nevertheless, it was expected of you. It was a part of your “personality.” It was your thing, your thing around him now.

Still, he smiled, “I wanted to… um…discuss the incident from mere days ago...”

You promptly recalled what he was talking about. A couple of days ago, you had a small argument in the speakeasy, resulting in you storming away from the situation before it escalated. Something about your safety. Ever since your first encounter (The one you’d like to forget but he always teased you about) the two of you followed each other everywhere. You practically had your own language, for whenever the two of you were at it with an easy-going squabble, heads would turn and concerned looks were spread.

I’m pretty confident the nature of pickles do not require an extended thesis, sunshine

But they do, love, they do! Think about it: The earth is a pickled fruit of the universe, just as pickles are the pickled fruit of the earth!

…Pickles are fruits?

Following him constantly resulted in figuring out about the whole rum-running gig sooner than expected, and after a plethora of begging, he let you come with him on those dangerous, late-night expeditions. It had become a trend, and you had more or less ditched journaling and had become an asset for the Lackadaisy. It wasn’t very profitable, but spending time with him was worth everything you had to give. And after a particularly wild quest, he asked you to stop aiding him in those misadventures so you wouldn’t get hurt, and the spat ensued. And you ran away. And you haven't seen him in three days, whether it's out of pure embarrassment or fear. Ah, great. Now you were spiraling into if he cares enough about me to fight me for my safety… then that means something, right? You couldn’t stroll into this dangerous territory of believing blindly. Not again.

“Well,” You took a breath and faced him again, mustering a look of defiance, “I don't want to”

Because you didn't enjoy arguing with him. At all. Because you didn't want to be away from him for another three days ever again. Even if you were the one who ran away and would run away again if it meant evading your problems.

“I'm won't pester you with that topic, love,” He chose his words carefully, speaking slowly like you’ve never heard before, all while maintaining eye contact, “Not today-if you truly don't wish to, I mean. I've just wanted to see you again. I’ve missed you” He made a weird face, a mix between apologies you did not require and come to me, please.

The honest commission left you with your mouth agape and took all of the previous guilt and regret away, leaving you with a horrible feeling of loneliness. Sure, you’d expected it for you yourself felt empty without him recently, too. But a verbal confession from him was different than the made-up acknowledgement you created in your head. It was as if you had just now processed the days you spent without him, and while a meager three days to the average person, enough to make you start towards him with your arms spread wide, actions tainted with regret. The invisible seven-inch glass wall vanished beneath the desire of him.

You hadn't spared a glance at the look on his face before you collided with him, a tangle of arms enveloping around his body. He almost fell but quickly took few steps backward, trying to regain his stance. It wasn't long before he reciprocated the hug and the two of you were locked in a warm, supposedly never-ending embrace.

The side of your face hung close to the fluff of his chest, and for a few quiet moments, you heard his shallow breathing and heart beating. When you felt his resting head on yours, you brought your tail towards his fluffy one hesitantly, merely tapping the tip of it in question. The question was answered as if there was no time to spare and they entwined, a reassuring feeling resonating through you that you’ve never really felt before. A feeling that said thank you. Thank you for staying. It was the type of fondness and fulfillment that captured who whole being and seized your heart, stoping it in this moment of time. This moment of time, with his arms wrapped around your back, his body shielding you from the cold, cold rain. This moment of time, where the forbidden three words were stuck at the edge of your tongue.

Those words were forbidden for a reason, so instead you tried to express yourself in, “God, I’ve missed you too”

It was a soft murmur, accompanied by you pulling your head away from his chest and resting it against his forehead without a glance at his expression for fear of what you would find. You made it fast, you made the motions quick. The big feelings were swallowing you whole and it made you act out of reason. You almost felt high. On him.

For a couple of seconds, the two of you breathed the same air and felt the same things. His fur touching yours, his paws on your back. You could hear a sharp inhale from him with the touch, but it soon returned to a slow inhale and exhale and his whiskers tickling yours. The low temperature of the cloudy night was long forgotten, now it was just you and him in this debarred show of affection. It was peaceful. It was quiet, giving a movement for the pattering rain to continue singing.

But he spoke anyway, cutting the sweet melody short. Drawing his head back slightly, he averted his gaze from yours, most likely meaning what he was about to say was important to him, “I started wondering-actually-” He cleared his throat, the nerves catching up, “Um... over the past couple of days- If you, um- if you trouble yourself... with the thought of me... like I do... with you” His head faced you once more with a tentative yet adorable look. He was absolutely petrified from this new whatever you were. He was petrified… but you knew, whether it was fact, your intuition, or just simple stupidity, that he craved this new whatever just as much as you did.

But this was weird, you had to admit. His stuttering was weird (He’s never stuttering). This level of touch was weird (The two of you were accustomed to that sort of thing, but not like this). The feeling you felt in the pit of your stomach, the growing feeling was weird. You resented labeling it, whatever it was.

You resented labeling it. Always did, always would. Because once you confirmed to yourself what you felt was real, the chance of making it out alive would deplete exponentially. Because he would leave, like they always did. And if he left now- you’d barely be able to scrape by. So you didn't want to imagine what that would be like after you admitted everything.

But, for once, when you pulled away, there was a new measure of fondness that overtook everything you held close, every rule you’ve ever written for yourself. Because when you pulled away and stared into those blue, thinking and questioning and beautiful eyes, and when you reached up and ran a gentle finger over the conspicuous hole in his ear (despite your better judgment) and when he shivered and smiled lightly, his mouth agape and as he continued to stare at you so closely with that observing and questioning stare (With something else mingling underneath, if you dared to imagine) nothing was holding you back. It could be the death of something precious to you, but as long as you could show him you cared about him as deeply and fiercely as you truly did, the needed actions were important and required.

So before you could spiral into another abyss of hurt and regret and rules written in sand, you reached up onto your toes and closed your eyes, still enveloped in the comforting embrace that challenged the night itself. You somehow got even closer to him, with the smell of syrup and rain coalescing into your senses. Your whiskers tickled as you brushed your lips against his.

With extreme care, you tried to take the lead in navigating this kiss. But a couple of seconds later, fear prickled through you. No, not prickled. engulfed. The both of you just stood there as your post short-circuit predicament was brought forth into conscious realization and you started regretting everything that brought you to this point, to this kiss. He hadn't reciprocated it yet. He didn't want you like you wanted him. The confidence was melting away and you were about to pull back, for why would he want you?

Im so stupid, You repeated this to yourself over and over again, drawing away, Im so stupid, Im so stupid-

But that was the exact moment you felt him seemingly snap up and return the kiss with the zeal of a starving man.

This was the feeling you'd been chasing since you'd met him. You realized that now, as your mind went blank and your emotions took over. You wanted this, and everything else he was and everything else he was willing to give you. The three words continued swirling and dancing in your mind, intoxicating you along with his taste of syrup and freedom and ridiculously long words.

For what felt like hours, the two of you stood in the pelting rain and nipping wind and the glow of the bright moon and odd yellow street lights. For what felt like hours, you were free of the problems that veiled you in life and haunted you in dreams. For what felt like hours, he was the only thing that ever mattered or will ever matter. For what felt like hours, you let yourself feel love.

But all good things come to an end, and you were running out of breath. When you pulled away and opened your eyes, you witnessed something not many get to see. Him utterly shocked and pleased and so many other things yet quiet at the same time. His eyes were closed for the first few seconds, but when they opened again slowly you could see the blown pupils and awestruck expression on his face, the parted, gasping mouth, and the shallow breaths and the completely ruffled exterior, with all that thinking and commotion going on inside displayed perfectly for view. A site you really didn't know you needed to see.

When he eventually got himself together again, you were patiently waiting, (as you always were) trying your hardest to muster up a smug grin (he could always see through your facade). The yellow of the lamps lit up his face, his astonished expression evident as for once he was lost for words.

“I-I… you-”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow, hm?” You let your voice become a whisper to reflect the rain that continued to patter on the stone ground, “Can't wait to see a drunk Freckle. I wonder what he’s gonna do when Ivy kisses him” Back to the persona. Back with the personality.

Before the innate desire to stay with him caught up with you, you sent him a quick peck on the cheek and snapped around stamping out all thought, back towards where you came from. Your tail swished against his leg as you walked away as a last form of good-bye, but before you got to escape you felt a warm hand grab your wrist. The want controlling the rational part of your brain that demanded a dramatic exit, you decided to turn around.

Cradling his cheek with his other hand, his mouth was agape (as it seemed to be quite often recently) and his pretty gaze was trained on you (you now learn it was always on you, ever since you met him). When he registered your eyes on him, though, he did a slight double take. As if he hadn't realize you'd turn around and had subconsciously reached out to you. He straightened himself up and dusted himself off and whatnot, even though that did absolutely nothing to his appearance. He still looked just as frazzled as during the kiss. So very adorable. So very yours (hopefully, don't get too excited).

Through the rain, you decidedly sent him a quick wink and before he formulated another sentence you tugged at your wrist slightly, gently. You knew he would never force you into anything you didn't want to do. You truly trusted him with your whole life, even if he was crazier than the perspicacious preacher of the land and sea. He looked down but before he let go, he whispered a word you couldn’t hear over the rain.

At your confused hum, he spoke louder, “You,” you shoot him a puzzled glance this time, and you saw the smallest of profound smiles appear on his lips, “Your earlier inquiry about my previous poem.”

“It’s about you.”

He said it with no hesitation, as if he didn’t care for your state of mind or for keeping you sane. As if the fool didn’t know how much his words affected you. As if he still didn’t now how much me meant to you.

And yet you knew you were the fool, standing in a rainy alleyway in the middle of the night.

A fool who couldn’t breathe.

He hesitantly let you go, his body still inclined towards you with the sort of something filled gaze that made your heart beat fifty times faster yet clench shut all the same. Vigorously fighting your aforementioned innate desire, you walked away without another look at his face. Keeping face, and all, for you only had so much mental strength to allow yourself any affection in a day.

Only when you finally escaped his gaze on your back were you able to breathe properly and think correctly.

But for the first time in a while as you trenched back to that dingy apartment you’ve started to identify as home, you wondered if the ability to love still thrived inside you. Truly love, not the acting you displayed constantly to satisfy the seemingly infinite void of fear woven into the fabric of your being like an abandoned tapestry. You’d have to give love another shot and tend to it, though. As your dad used to say, miracles don't come by often, and only an idiot lets one slip by. Rocky sure felt like a miracle.

#rocky rickaby #lackadaisy #rocky x reader #request stuff if you’d like #let me know if you enjoyed it #freckle lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #Fluff #mutual pining #lackadaisy rocky x reader #Sunshine #Nicknames #Rocky Rickaby x reader #roark rickaby #Roark Rickaby x reader #lackadaisy imagines #lackadaisy imagine

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