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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, familial judgement/bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your mother invites a lonely coworker to Thanksgiving, a bit too lonely.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this is the second of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The smell of nutmeg hits you as you enter the house. That and the garble of voices. You take your time as you unlace your boots, keeping your jacket on as the rack is already overflowing with the like. You mentally ready yourself to face your famiiy and their annual judging panel.

You peek into the front room as you keep a firm hold of the boxed pies you grabbed from your favourite bakery in the city. You promised dessert and you brought it. You'll put them down before you wade in the deep end.

You enter the kitchen, rehearsing your greeting for your mother, but you're met with a stranger's back. He stands at the counter, scraping cranberry sauce from a saucepan into a serving dish. His brown hair is combed back neatly, though you can only see the ends from your vantage, and he wears a pressed shirt too white for the task at hand.

You hesitate. Where the heck is your mom? You can't see the man's face but you can tell he's a bit too young for her. Or so you would assume. He could be a cousin's boyfriend and yet he might be a bit above that.

"Um, hi," you say as you approach the end of the island counter, well away from him, "I'm looking for my mom."

"Your mom? Doris?" He wonders.

"Yeah," you answer as you set the pies on the counter. "I know I'm a little late..."

"She just went to grab something from the cellar," he explains. "I'm Andy--"

"There she is," your mom sweeps in with her seasonal gravy dish. "Mm, I knew you'd bring store bought."

"They're from a local bakery."

"You never did like being in the kitchen," she reprimands. "Oh, Andrew, that looks perfect. Not too runny."

You glance at the man. This strange man draws praise from her like honey from a comb, whereas you find the task as easy as squeezing juice from a stone. You let it roll off your back like you have for years.

"I got pumpkin, apple crumble, and some pecan. They usually sell out of that." You say.

"Ooh, pecan," the man, Andy, says.

"Oh, Andrew, my younger daughter," your mother introduces you as an afterthought as she goes to wash the gravy boat, "The typist."

"Typist? Mom, I'm an admin assistant," you counter. "I guess it doesn't matter."

"Just her, I'm afraid," she shuts off the faucet. "And her pies. No grandkids from her yet."

You see that this year is going to be just like the last. You're better off facing the rabble of aunts and uncles waiting for you in the front room. Heck, the kids' table might be the place for you.

"Thirty this year," your mother adds.

You force a tight-lipped smile. When you were a kid, it was your grades or the stubborn bit of hair at the back of your head or that your sister, Tia, did it better. Now you're an adult, it's your lack of ambition or lack of kids. You don't think you lack the former and you don't really want the latter. Life is what it is. You have a job that pays your bills and you don't need to add to your cost of living.

"I work with your mom." He offers. You look at him again.

He’s tall, blue-eyed, distinguished. He’s older but carries it well enough. The thin lines around his eyes only add to his looks, and his thick beard further defines his jaw.

"Oh, the law firm?"

"He's a new partner," your mother preens. "Oh, he gave your brother some good advice too. Hopefully he can move out of that public office soon enough."

Right, Rodney does everything right. He got into law, just like your mother told him too, and he has a pretty house and a pretty wife and three spoiled brats. Tia only has the one and a husband who works out of town every weekend. They're real grown-ups but to you, growing up seems boring.

Your life isn't glamourous. You do diamond art or catch-up on the last issue of your favourite comic when you're not too tired. You get takeout once a week, otherwise you put the ready-made meals in the microwave and eat it in front of the television. It's not special but it's your life.

"Public defenders do a service to the community," Andy says. "I did it for twenty years. It's not bad work. He can move up."

"Mm, and yet you moved to a private firm," your mother challenges him.

"Maybe you should be partner," he chortles at her playfully as he wipes his hands on the tails of the borrowed apron tied around his torso.

"My mom makes really good stuffing," you say, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it, even if you're not home for the holiday." You drag your feet along the tile, "I'm going to say hello to Auntie Toya."

"Good luck. She's in one of her moods," your mother tuts. "Must be menopause."

You leave before she can aim another snipe in your direction. She can't help but let the bullets fly and see where they hit. It might be thanksgiving, but you're struggling to find much to be grateful for.

🍂

"Mandy has a Christmas recital. I'll be sending the invite in the family chat," Tia, your sister, proclaims. "If you can make it, she'd be so happy, huh, sweetie?"

She pets behind her daughter's ear and makes her giggle. Every awes and cooes at the little girl. Just like when your sister was her age, she's the princess of the family.

"I can try to bring the kids," Rodney says. "We're thinking to get Kelly into dance next year. I need to get used to those things."

Everyone laughs. You're not very amused. You're happy the kids have hobbies, that they are doing interesting things, but you just don't care that much. Still, your happy to be able to fade into the background.

"I'm sure your sister can make it," your mother says, bring you back into the universe, "she doesn't have anything else going on."

Your eyes dart back and forth. Your mouth is full of potatoes. You gulp painfully.

"I can set the date aside. I still have some vacation left," you choke out. You can't make up an excuse with a whole audience to call you out.

You sink back into silence as Tia goes on about the show. They're doing The Nutcracker. Oh joy. You were never a fan. Why can't they do something fun, like The Grinch?

"Don't think I'm included in that invite," Andrew says under his breath from your left shoulder. As the two loners at the table, you're put together. "Kinda awkward."

He chuckles, trying to ease the tension. You shift and hide your embarrassment. You forgot there was a complete stranger here to witness your judgement.

"Right, well... I'm sure you have enough going on," you say.

"I'm sure you do too," he pokes at the yams. "Kids keep you busy but life is already hectic."

"Sure," you agree dully. You don't want to be rude. "you have kids?"

"One. A son. Grown. He went to his girlfriend's for the holiday and his mom... is not in town."

"Bad timing," you take another bite of potatoes. Maybe next year you can come down with a timely case of the flu.

"Don't be silly. She doesn't have a boyfriend. We'd all know," your mother trills with laughter. You pop your head up as the hairs on your neck tingle. You know she means you before you even catch her gaze. "It'd be such an achievement, she'd have to shout it from the rooftops."

You lost track of the conversation and you're not sure how you became the butt of the joke, but you're tired. It's supposed to be a day for family but it just feels like you're being cast out of yours. You put your fork down.

"I'm going to clear my plate. Think I had too big a snack on the drive here," you stand, gritting back your irritation. "As usual, stuffing's delicious."

You get up and make your way along the table. The silence is dense. Oh well. If they want to make this painful, you can do the same.

You go to the kitchen and find a container. You scrape your leftovers into it and shake your head. You suppose you are behind. You're thirty years old. Next year you'll be thirty-one and her chiding will be even louder. The ticking of the clock will only ger worse as the years go by.

"You're right, stuffing's good," Andy says.

You wince and glance over your shoulder. "Uh, yeah. Like I said, think my eyes were bigger than my stomach."

He comes up next to you and rinses off his plate, "well, I think my stomach would be turning too after that."

"It's whatever," you shrug.

"Thirty isn't old. You got time," he says.

"Thanks," you reply tersely.

"Not that it's any of my business."

You're silent. It isn't but you're not going to be rude enough to say that out loud. Unlike the rest of your family, you can keep your thoughts to yourself. They might think you're immature because you're not living behind a white picket fence, but at least you don't act like a teenager.

"It's better to take your time. You know, you rush into big decisions and you can't undo them. They don't always turn the way people promise," he says. "You follow that road map, take one wrong turn and you're wife's spending Thanksgiving with her 'work husband' at a hotel." He opens the dishwasher and wedges his plate between the metal, "Work husband, secret boyfriend, you know..."

You're struck by the revelation. You can hear the tension in his voice. The hurt, the anger.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you utter dumbly.

"You're sorry? She isn't," he reaches for your plate and rinses it next. "I'm not telling you because I want you to feel bad for me. I guess I'm trying to commiserate. It could be worse." He adds your plate to the washer, "you're doing nothing wrong. Being alone means you have choices. Being tied to someone... you have obligations."

"Yeah, sounds about right," you say. "Well, thanks. Not to benefit off your pain but yeah." You put the lid on the tupperware and sidle along to put it in the fridge, "I think I'm going to get some fresh air. Getting a bit overcrowded in here."

"A little," he agrees.

You leave and hold your breath until you get to the front door. Who knew the stranger at the table would be the only one to make you feel welcome?

You grab your coat from the guest room and push your feet into your boots at the front door. You go outside into the brisk air. It's actually nice. Refreshing almost.

You sit on the porch bench. In the colder months, it's rarely used. It hasn't snowed yet but the frost glistening on the grass is foreboding.

You tuck your hands into your sleeves and look along the street. The other houses with yellow windows, glowing with the warmth and shadow of happy families. This time of year has only ever been stressful to you. You're never a part of the fun, you're usually the source of it.

The front door opens and you fight to keep your unease under wraps. You don't need your mom lecturing you. Again. Or Tia telling you not to be jealous. Whatever happens is always your fault.

"Whew, it's cold," Andy's voice eases your nerves as it assures you it isn't who you fear.

"Yep, I don't mind. It's the only thin I like about this time of year."

"Really?" He nears and sits on the other end of the bench. "I'm a summer person, I guess. Used to be we'd go to some resort for New Years." He says.

"Sounds nice," you say.

"I know. I'm moaning about a luxury," he scoffs, "trust me, I get it. I got it all, what do I got to whine about?"

"I wouldn't say that. You never know what people have going on."

"Nope," he agrees and rubs his hands together. He's quiet as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. He bends and unbends his fingers as he examines them then sits up again. "Brrr. Only good thing about this weather, snuggle weather."

He laughs. You try to. It's an awkward joke.

"Maybe I should get a cat," he suggests.

"Maybe," you clutch your hands tight. You should go inside. You know he's being nice but he's ruined the moment.

Your teeth chatter as you take a deep breath of the late autumn air. Just a little longer before you go back. You close your eyes.

The bench creaks and you think he's getting up. He must get the hint. Instead, as you open your eyes, you feel a weight across your shoulders. You flinch and peek at him from the corner of your eye.

"You're shivering," he says.

You look at him then back to the road. You should pull away but you can't. It feels mean.

"God, my hands are so cold," he grips your shoulder as he puts his other hand on your thigh.

"Woah," you catch his thick fingers.

"Come on, let's get warmed up," he breaks through your resistance and rubs your leg.

"Alright, I don't know what you think--"

"What's so wrong about it? Like trains passing through the night. My wife's cheating, you're single, we could have some fun," he purrs as he holds you against him.

"Um, no thanks," you grab his fingers again. "I'm flattered but--"

"Shh, shh," he peels his hand away from your leg, once more evading your grasp, and grabs your chin. "Your mom told me all about it. How you can't get a date--"

"That's not--" you latch onto his wrist, "stop, please, Andy."

"Come on," he turns your head and nuzzles your nose with his, "I'm so fucking lonely. My wife hasn't touched me in over a year."

"Your wife-- Andy," you hiss.

"Just kiss me, please? That's all I want. Just a little affection. To feel wanted."

"You're-- stop. Let go of me," you try to dislodge his hold on you. He's too strong.

He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours. You murmur and slep his chest with your other hands. He hooks his arm around you as he angles you toward him. You writhe and bite his lip.

He gasps and pulls back, keeping you locked in his embrace, "listen, sweetheart, you wanna play hard-to-get," he squeezes your jaw until you whimper, "what's mom gonna think when she catches you all over her married coworker?"

"No, that's not--"

"I'm sure she'll believe you," he snarls and slides his hand down to your throat.

"Why..." you croak.

"Baby, please, it's not a bad thing," he moves you with him as he edges off the bench. He turns, one arm still around you, his other hand locked onto your neck. He bends and forces you onto your back as he settles over you. "I'm going to make you feel just as good as you make me feel."

You wriggle and whine. What he says is just as scary as what he hasn't said. He'll make you feel as good as you do him, or as bad.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #one shot #fic #autumn #defending jacob

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bellaxgiornata · 6 months ago

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Half of Forever [One]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.9k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: break up, pining, idiots in love, angst with a happy ending

Summary: Everything had always felt right with Matthew. He had been your other half. Your forever. Until he went and shattered your heart when he ended things. But even after the years apart and your attempts to move on, Matt had never managed to stray far from your thoughts. Though unknown to you, you'd never quite left his, either.

a/n: This is just a short three part series I couldn't resist writing that's somewhat loosely inspired by the song "Half of Forever" by Henrik. The next part is in Matt's POV. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt Murdock Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1

Fingertips trailing along the expanse of his chest, you adoringly explored every dip and curve of the sharply defined muscles along Matt's naked torso. Hand currently traveling back and forth languidly from collarbone to collarbone, your own chest began to rise and fall with each of his steady breaths as your body relaxed further against his.

You watched in reverent silence as your fingers delicately lowered, rising over the swell of his firm pectoral. The muscle twitched as your finger gently brushed past a recently healed gash he'd received from a switchblade the other night. Eyes focused on the ministrations of your hand, you carefully traced across the length of the cut with the tip of your index finger. You remembered how he’d stopped by your place that evening, allowing you to clean the wound before cleaning the rest of the blood from him afterwards.

Dragging your hand downwards, your fingertips grazed past his nipple, smiling when Matt shuddered briefly. Continuing your descent towards the valley between his abdominal muscles, you caught the way those also faintly twitched beneath your touch as you quietly admired his body. Carefully your fingers skimmed their way up the left side of his ribcage just past an angry black and purple bruise blooming up the entirety of his side. He'd gotten that just a few nights ago from a baseball bat, limping as he'd made his way around your apartment afterwards.

You could have happily laid there the rest of the evening with Matt's skin warm beneath your fingers just trying to commit every inch of him to memory. Taking your time simply mapping each scar and bruise, finding him beautiful in spite of each one. To you he was perfect, even with the injuries he brought home nightly.

Gaze traveling up towards his face, you found that he'd closed his eyes as he lay along the pillow beside yours. He looked content and at peace. There wasn't a single crease of worry etched along his face; instead his full lips were parted slightly, the corners of them partially curled upwards at the corner.

Unable to resist, your hand slid its way up his chest again until your fingers ran past his adam's apple and stopped at the stubbled base of his chin. Lightly tracing the line of his jaw, his facial hair prickling you, you caught the way his mouth tugged further into a lazy smile.

“What're you doing?” he whispered.

Your fingers paused their aimless wandering at the uppermost point of his jaw, your eyes flickering up towards his. They were open now and somewhat creased at the corners as they fixed around the space just to the right of your cheek.

“Admiring you,” you whispered back.

His dark brows shot up onto his forehead, his smile growing wider. “Admiring me?” he questioned.

“Yes,” you answered simply.

Your fingers delicately trailed up towards his temple next and you reveled in the way his eyelids lowered once more. A throaty hum vibrated in his chest, the noise only encouraging your soft touches.

“You say that like I'm a painting,” he teased.

“No,” you distractedly responded. “You're far prettier than a painting, Matthew.”

Focused on smoothing your fingers across his forehead, you caught the way his head tilted up towards your hand. Beneath the sheets where both of your naked bodies were entangled, you felt Matt's own hand gradually snake its way up the outside of your thigh until he came to rest his warm palm along the swell of your hip. His fingers began kneading your soft flesh, something sensual and possessive in the way he touched you in return.

“Mmm,” he hummed out. “Well whatever the reason, it feels nice every time you do this.”

“Does it?” you asked curiously, one of your brows arching.

You lightly swiped your index finger down the length of his nose, grinning when he leaned up to kiss the tip of your finger.

“How does it feel to you with your senses?” you asked.

Matt's hand made its way up along your hip only to curl around your ribcage. The heat of his skin on yours began to draw forth goosebumps across your body, especially as the calloused tips of his own fingers teasingly grazed back and forth along the underside of your breast.

“Addicting,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “Like electricity dancing across my skin.”

“Really?” you asked. “Is that always how it feels to you when you're touched?”

“No,” he answered with a slight shake of his head. “Only when it's you.”

Raising your head from off your pillow, you smiled down at Matt beside you. As if he could feel your gaze on him, his own eyes opened, revealing the beautiful hazel hue of them once more.

“I love you, Matty,” you whispered.

“And I love–”

The blaring, sharp tone of your alarm cut violently through your dream, painfully dragging you back to consciousness. With an irritated groan you rolled over and buried your face into your pillow in an attempt to block out the sound.

You hadn't wanted to wake up. Not quite yet.

Cursing under your breath, you reluctantly rolled back over and threw a hand out towards your nightstand. In frustration you roughly snatched your phone off of the charger and ended your alarm. Tossing the offending device back down, you collapsed onto your back in your bed with a huff.

It had been a few weeks since you'd last had a dream about Matt. But this one had seemed much more vivid and realistic than some of your previous ones. And it had ended far too soon.

Hands rising up, you attempted to rub the sleep from your eyes as you tried to wake. Your dream replayed in your mind instantly–the memory of Matt's skin beneath your fingers, the warmth and love in his eyes, the sweet sound of his voice–and your hands slowly fell back to your sides. Turning your head along the pillow, you glanced over to your left and frowned. The mattress beside you was empty. Just like it had been for years.

While lovers had come and gone since you and Matt had long since broken up, none of them had ever filled that space beside you like he had. None of them had ever even come close. At this rate, you weren't sure anyone ever would. Or that you'd ever stop thinking about him.

Reaching your hand out across the top of your comforter, an old, familiar ache steadily returned in your chest. You ran your hand along the space beside you, trying to recall the way Matt’s eyelids would drowsily flutter open and his groggy voice would always greet you first thing when he woke.

“Good morning, angel.”

That dull ache only grew in your chest.

You'd loved Matt. Loved him in a way that you'd never experienced before or after him. The feeling had been overwhelming and all consuming, but not in the way a fire burned everything around it to ashes, more in the way that a gentle rain lays claim to everything it touches. You had been so hopelessly in love with Matt while you’d been together, convinced that he was it. The big love of your life. Your other half. Your forever.

Until he utterly destroyed your heart.

“Because I can't be who I am when I'm with you! Don’t you see that?!”

Flinching at the memory of Matt's voice, one that had never ceased to stop haunting you, you abruptly withdrew your hand from the side of your bed that had once been his. Even though the argument had been years ago, the pain of it still cut deep like it had been just last night.

But you didn't want to think about that fight.

With a resigned sigh you threw the sheets off of yourself and dragged yourself out of bed. It was probably time you got ready for work anyway, because you certainly couldn't just stay in bed yearning for the past.

Shuffling out of your bedroom, you made your way across the hall and towards your small bathroom. Flipping the light on, you stepped over to your shower and reached in, turning on the water and letting it heat up. Gradually you began peeling your clothing off one layer at a time, your body still sluggish from sleep as you moved.

It was a minute before the water had warmed, steam wafting out past the shower curtain. Once fully undressed, you stepped inside and drew the curtain closed behind yourself. Attempting to wake yourself further, you closed your eyes and turned your face up towards the showerhead, letting the spray fall over you. The water ran in rivulets down your face and your body, the warmth of it comforting first thing in the morning.

“I love you, angel.”

You smiled at the memory of his voice, briefly allowing yourself this one little moment. With your eyes still closed as you stood beneath the spray of water, you swore you could feel the ghost of his arms wrapped around your waist, his solid body pressed to the back of you. If you tried hard enough, you could almost feel the brush of his soft lips along the line of your shoulder or the graze of his rough hands down the sides of your body.

The pair of you had often showered in your apartment together. Especially on weekdays before work because he often stayed over after running around the city at night. On occasion you'd even accepted being late to the office when Matt's hands began wandering their way around your body, both of you too distracted to focus on showering some mornings.

“I can't do this anymore!”

“You're too much of a distraction. It's not worth it.”

“I can't be who I am when I'm with you!”

Exhaling softly, your eyes reopened as the bitter words he'd last said to you inevitably resurfaced in your mind. Turning your face away from the spray of the showerhead, that dull ache in your chest hit you a little sharper.

The man you'd last seen–the one you'd argued with–was nothing like the Matt you'd always known. Your Matt. The one you'd never been able to fully fall out of love with after all these years, no matter how hard you tried. But somehow your Matt was still that very same Matt who had crushed your heart in his hand without the slightest bit of remorse. The one who’d yelled at you and said all of those terrible things that you’d never expected to hear from him.

It had been painfully impossible for you to ever make sense of your conflicting feelings whenever you'd thought about him after that night. Because you wanted to hate him. Moving on would have been so much easier if you could, especially after that argument and the things he’d said. If only you'd just think of him with anger in your heart, maybe that persistent ache there would finally fade.

But somehow you just didn't hate him. You couldn't.

A tear slipped out of your eye as you picked up your bottle of face wash and began to squeeze some into your hand. Sniffling softly, you knew that dull ache you often felt when the memory of Matt resurfaced wasn't going anywhere, just like you knew your thoughts about your ex weren't about to suddenly vanish today.

Because today, like every other day, was just going to be another day without Matt.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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wistfulforstars · 7 months ago

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For What It's Worth - Part 4

Rex x Reader

Summary: You wake up to someone special. A lot of feelings come out in the process.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader is hurt, language, discussions of violence, Rex tries and fails miserably to break up with you, mature sexual content in later chapters, minors: get out

Tag List: @bambiswriting @jessyhazy

If anyone would like to be added to the tag list, please comment below or message/ask directly.

In hindsight, you wished your awakening was a little more gentle, a little more romantic. Mostly, you were just sore and bitchy and ready to fall back into the release of sleep.

Ow-ow-fuckity-ow, I need water-I need the bathroom-I need my MEDS, cocksucking-motherhumping-OW!

It was the middle of the night, this you could tell from behind your still-closed eyelids. Your large window would be letting in a LOT more light otherwise. It was quiet for Coruscant, the traffic noises and ever present hum of neon seemed to have dampened for the moment. Or it could be the brain damage you reminded yourself. Pretty good concussion you’re sporting there, kid. You and that durasteel wall became very fast friends, didn’t you?

Clearly, you needed more sleep. But to do that, you needed your meds. And to take your meds, you needed to get to some water. Your bathroom wasn’t far, but you hadn’t stood up by yourself yet. Not that that mattered right now. You certainly weren’t going to wake up Tia at this hour, after all she’d done. It sounded like she was sleeping in the chair again, even after you had told her to go home and get some real rest. At least she was in a deep slumber, heavy breaths and a slight snore coming from that corner of the room.

You sighed, and wrenched your weighty eyelids open. It took a moment to focus, having been asleep for so long. You stared at your ceiling, then looked to the left, where your bathroom lay, then to the right, trying to get your eyes moving a little. Tia sure was snoring up a storm tonight…

You inhaled sharply, irritating your broken ribs. Hissing, you stared, stunned, at the reclined figure in your grandmother’s chair.

Rex.

Your heart swelled for a moment, before sinking back into your chest. He’d come home, safe and sound…and you weren’t conscious to greet him. What’s worse, you weren’t awake to tell him the sorry-honey-I-got-into-a-little-trouble story yourself, and who knows what conclusions that brilliant man had reached on his own…

He had taken off his armor from the waist-up, his blacks showing off the lovely curve of his shoulders, the muscle of his arms. He leaned back, arms crossed, a slight frown marring his otherwise peaceful face. You wanted to go over there and see if you could wipe it from his features entirely.

Pain started to blossom behind your eyes, reminding you of your current task. Meds. Sleep. Talk to Rex in the morning. With more confidence than you really felt, you pulled back your covers and sat up straight. That hurt way more than you expected it to, a sharp pain blossoming up from your side. The bathroom was looking farther and farther away, but you were determined, and so you slowly swiveled your bruised and scraped legs, your swollen ankle sliding towards the edge of the mattress. Gritting your teeth to avoid waking your sleeping beauty in the corner, you gingerly placed your bare feet on the floor and prepared to push off the bed. One…two…three…

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You squeaked, falling fully back into the blankets, before clutching at your screaming ribs. “Sonuvabitch!”

Rex crossed the distance between you in two perfect strides. He kneeled before you, hands flitting here and there, trying to find some place to steady you that wasn’t bruised or battered. “Careful, cyare,” he whispered.

You breathed through the pain, deep inhales as you went to grab his wrist, “Didn’t know…you were home.”

If he had any reaction to the referral of your apartment as home, he didn’t comment. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Bathroom…meds…water.”

“Then you should have woken me,” he chastised, before you were swept up, gently as if you were made of glass, into his strong arms.

“Rex!” you hissed, but surprisingly, your ribs didn’t twinge, your head didn’t spin.

It took only a few steps to get to the bathroom. He hesitated at the toilet, before asking, “Can you stand by yourself?”

You shrugged, “You interrupted my first try.”

He nodded, brown eyes gentle. “Bear with me then, cyare. I’m going to help you with your pants and get you sat down, then I’m going to turn around, alright?”

“Oh…okay.”

He did just as he said he would, without fuss or complaint. His eyes and his hands didn’t linger, and the whole affair was much less awkward than you thought it would be. You were redressed and back in his arms in a matter of minutes.

You carried the pill bottle and the water he had procured while Rex took you back to bed. Your heart thumped as you approached the mattress. How many times had he carried you to bed, under entirely different circumstances?

“Will you sleep in the bed with me?” you asked, your voice small.

“Not tonight. I don’t want to accidentally bump anything,” was his simple answer.

“Then move the chair closer? Please?”

He did, after he had you settled. And as tired as you had felt before, you couldn’t seem to wrench your eyes away from him to go back to sleep. His face was calm, far too calm for the situation. The light in his eyes seemed strained and fractured. But you knew what kind of man you had chosen, and he was too good, too chivalrous to bring up his inner turmoil while you were injured and bedridden.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t awake when you got back,” You met his eyes, but he turned away almost as soon as you did. His bare hands were trembling.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” his voice was raw, and showed more emotion than he probably intended.

“Still,” you insisted. “I always want to be the first to see you when you come home.”

There was that word again, home. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so bold tonight, but perhaps near-death experiences just did that for you. Perhaps that was how Rex got to be so brave.

You glanced at your side table, and smiled. Your lip twinged, “You brought me flowers again. Zeira’s?”

Rex seemed to start out of a daze. He glanced at the flowers as if he’d forgotten all about them, “Oh… yes.”

“Rex,” you called firmly. “Look at me. Talk to me.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes closed, “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you want me to tell you about it?

“No-” he started, then cut himself off. He pressed his lips together hard, and breathed. His eyes fell back open, searching yours, and you closed a hand around his shaking one. He nodded, “I want to know what happened. From you. But only if you want to. Only if you can.”

You gave him a small smile, nodded, and sighed, “I’ll get this out of the way first: Partway through it, I provoked them. On purpose. Half of these bruises wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t taunted them, if I’d just stayed quiet and let them go on their way. I think they were mainly drunk and immature and really hated my button collection, because they focused on that way more than they did on me, at least at first. But I…I wanted them to get caught. I used the comm line you gave me, to Fox, and I knew the corries were on their way. I wanted these little shits waiting for them. So, for your sake, I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I played fast and loose with my safety, my body, so the CG could catch them.”

Rex gazed at you, stunned, incomprehension in his eyes, “You Fives’d them.” He muttered, and he brought his other hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Force save me, you ran your mouth and took on the punishment to distract the enemy till backup arrived!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” you shrugged. “And I am sorry that you had to see me like this because of it. That wasn’t…all I wanted was for the corries to get there and take them away, so I could get back to you.”

He stopped pinching the bridge of his nose and scanned your face, his sharp soldier’s eyes filled with longing, “How…how did they get you in the first place? Did they follow you home or…?”

You gripped his hand as hard as you could with the brace on your arm, bolstering yourself against the memories, “They didn’t follow me, at least not that night. But it seemed like they might have seen me go into the hospital and were waiting for me to come out. It happened so…so fast, that it’s hard to think that they weren’t, I dunno, lurking.”

Your gaze had dropped to your lap as you told this part, but you knew he was horrified. You could feel the indignation, fear, and fury rolling off of him in slow, barely-controlled waves. But now that you’d started telling the story, you couldn’t stop. This was more than you’d told Fox during his interview, more than you’d told Tia any time she’d gently prompted. You had to finish, had to get it all out.

“They pulled me into the alley first, knocked my face against the wall. Said some shit to me I don’t remember. Took my backpack. One of them bent my arm backwards, and then…then it gets hazier. I’d pressed the button on my comm at that point. They just kept yelling at me and well, it pissed me off. These stupid little boys who couldn’t have been much older than teenagers were attacking a grown woman on the way home from work at a clinic, and who the hell were they to pull this kind of shit? And, well, you know how I get when I’m pissed,” you chuckled a little and grinned at your boyfriend, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile in return.

“Anyway, I called them stupid little limpdick fuckers, or something equally ridiculous. Insulted their mothers for raising them, maybe. And before I knew it, the one holding my arm whirled me around and backhanded me across the face.”

Rex took in a sharp breath, and you reached your hand out to touch his cheek, stroking it with your thumb. At your coaxing, his pinched-shut eyes opened, and you saw the tears lurking in their corners. He ever so gently reached out and held your wrist, turning his head to kiss your fingers, your palm. Little worshipful things against your scratched skin. The pressure at your wrist increased for just a moment, like he was finally losing control of himself, before those well-built walls snapped down into place. He held your hand to the side of his face, to his jaw, mirroring the bruise on your own, “Keep going,” he pleaded, eyes filled with something so hard and brittle it might break.

The words came fast and unbidden now as you gazed into his eyes, unable or unwilling to look away, “I reeled back and fell. As soon as I hit the ground they gave me two swift kicks to the ribs. I felt them break, but the pain didn’t register until later. I was so mad. I think one of them punched me in the face at one point, and that’s how I got two black eyes, the bastards. But mostly it was pushing me into walls and shoving me back onto the ground. I twisted my ankle pretty badly, and my hip took one hell of a check from the corner of a dumpster, but most of the bad damage was done already. They were running out of steam by then, maybe sobering up, and the corries arrived a few minutes later. I got two days in the hospital, and now I’m on two weeks of near-total bed rest which, honestly, is probably what I’m most irritated about.”

You breathed in and out, trying to steady yourself. You didn’t know what else to say, really. Your boyfriend was probably running your story over in his head, trying to find a reason, a why, but at this point, you didn’t really care to know. Assholes did asshole things, and while you weren’t happy with it, while you would have trouble sleeping for who knows how long, you had decided you were satisfied with the pile of charges Fox had gleefully dropped on your attackers’ heads. That, you figured, was enough.

But Rex looked hollow, broken, haunted. Glassy-eyed and horror struck. And you weren’t totally sure how to make it better.

“Hey,” you called. “You’re far away, trooper. Come back to me.”

That laser-sharp intelligence snapped into place, and Rex went back to scrutinizing your face, searching, wondering, worrying.

“Ner cyare,” He murmured. “You’re leaving something out.”

“What do you-”

“I talked to Fox. He has a theory.”

You wrinkled your face, “I heard Fox’s theory at the hospital. So they attacked me because they didn’t like my backpack-”

“It was because of me,” you’d never heard his voice this empty, this listless.

“Stop that, it was not because of you-”

But Rex had finally snapped. His anger, his worry, his sheer terror all came boiling up to the surface. “They attacked you because you showed support for clones!” he bared his teeth, dropped your hand. “You had a few buttons on a backpack, and you were almost killed for it! What if one of them had a blaster? What if they weren’t stupid kids, but actually part of the anti-clone movement, and they wanted to make a statement? What if they decided that a clone had touched you, so everyone else was allowed to as well?”

He stood, and started pacing back and forth. His hand reached for his holstered blaster, thumbing at the handle while he raged through your tiny bedroom. “Three pounds of shit in a two pound sack beat you to hell because you implied you might support clone rights. Can you imagine what could happen to you if someone actually found out that you were with a clone? That a filthy meat droid had laid his hands on you?!”

You flinched back, only a little. This was the first time Rex had ever raised his voice in front of you. But, ever the tough medic, your ire rose just as quickly, “Don’t you dare call yourself-”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he seethed, all guilt and fury. “It’s not inaccurate, cyare. I’m genetically engineered republic property that’ll probably be decommissioned as soon as the war is over. You can’t tell your family you’re seeing me. We can’t even go out to most public places. I own nothing, I am nothing-”

“You are mine!” you growled, surprising you both with your ferocity. You clutched your side, which was aching in time with your heart. Rex froze, but you barreled on. He needed to hear this, and you might waste away into nothing if he convinced himself to walk out that door. “My friend, my lover, my favorite person in the entire galaxy! The Republic can’t have you, and shriveled little dicksacs on the street can’t take me from you, and you sure as hell don’t get to call it quits because of some nonsensical martyr complex!”

“I’m not-”

“Can it, soldier,” you noticed how he stood up a little straighter at your tone, and stuffed down your sense of pride for now. You were done with this. He was being ridiculous, and it was hurting both your hearts. And your cracked ribs. You took a deep breath.

“I know you, Mister Upright and Noble Captain! I know how you operate!” tears started forming in your eyes now. “And you are not going to make us both miserable by leaving me for the sake of my safety! This isn’t some net melodrama, and the only way you get to deprive me of the best thing in my life is if I’m making you unhappy! Got it?”

Rex looked like he’d been hit upside the head. Clearly at a loss for words, whatever retort he’d been preparing was lost in the collection of babble spilling from his lips, “I…best thing…no, I can’t be…best thing… you could find someone-”

“You are the best thing in my life. I’m not finding someone else,” you recited firmly, raising your chin.

Rex placed his head in his hands, slumping heavily back into his chair. The fight had clearly left him for now. He shuddered as you reached out to him.

“I’m sorry, Rex, if this is hard, if my choices cause you too much stress on top of what you’re already forced to deal with,” you stroked his short shaved blonde hair. “But I choose you, and whatever else comes along with it. It’s clear to me now, that I need to be more careful, and I can adjust. But… if it’s too much, if the worry and the guilt isn’t worth it for you-”

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands again, bringing your knuckles to his lips. He let them sit there while he gazed into your eyes and mumbled, “It’s worth it. You’re worth it. But you have to understand, I’m not worth all-”

“Oooh, so close,” you shook your head. “But you do not get the reassuring your girlfriend points today. Try again without the self deprecation, please.”

He stared at you, and you swore there were moons and suns and planets in those eyes. All the things he’d seen, all the places he’d traveled. Rex looked unbearably tired. But he slowly sighed and nodded, kissing your knuckles again, “Alright…alright cyare. You’re worth it. You’re always worth it.”

“Full-stop? No caveats?”

“No caveats, ma’am.”

One of your tears finally slipped out of your eye and down your sensitive cheek, “Thank you.”

“But I never want to see something like this happen to you again,” he gestured to your bandage, your bruises. “I don’t think you understand what happened to my heart when I saw you lying there. It collapsed on itself, cyare, like a dying star. I won’t live through that a second time.”

Your eyes shone at his sweetness, his sincerity, and you couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up, “Got it. No more provocative buttons.”

“No more shitty job posts,” his jaw was set.

“But-”

“No buts, ner karta,” he shook his head. “I can compromise on some of the weird ones, but the seedy district clinics, with no security cameras and medics with suspended licenses-”

“Hey! We’re licensed!”

“Cyare.”

You sighed, “Fine. We’ll go through my usual assignments together, cut the worst ones from the rotation.”

Rex smiled, “Thank you. That means more than you will ever know.”

You grinned back, “I’m just happy you’re not leaving me.”

“That would be…very difficult,” he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Your tone took on a teasing lilt, “Please,” you rolled your eyes. You took on a very poor imitation of his voice. “You could always find someone-”

“I was going to tell you I love you tonight.”

Your mouth fell open, and despite all the other confessions you’d given each other, you gazed up at your trooper with newfound awe. His eyes seemed…settled, certain for the first time since you woke up. He quirked up the corner of that gorgeous mouth in the half smile that first charmed you, all those months ago.

He gestured to your nightstand, “That’s what the flowers were for.”

“Rex,” you breathed. “You’ve got to know by now. It’s been written all over my face for the longest time. I love you.” You hooked your good arm around his neck and pulled him forward, “I love you. I love you.”

The kiss was gentler than you would have liked, but you knew why. Rex was allowing you both this moment, but you could see from the way he inspected your jaw once he pulled away that you would not be getting anything more intense than a brush of the lips for a while. Sweet man, damn him.

He helped you finally take your pain pills, and you were halfway unconscious by the time he laid you back on the pillows. That didn’t stop you from continuing the conversation.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I will.”

“Try to get some sleep. Take the couch if the chair gets uncomfortable.”

“Alright, ner karta.”

“And if you ever call yourself a filthy meat droid again-”

You weren’t sure what you would do if it came to that. You fell asleep before you could finish the thought.

#captain rex #captain rex x female reader #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #clone wars fanfiction #sw tcw fanfic #the clone wars #wisteriabyrnefanfic #wistysfics

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romanarose · 1 year ago

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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 6

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi takes Candy out, and Javier gets jealous, but still he defends them both. Drama erupts, and Santi finds something out about himself.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Santi's mommy issues in full swing. Javier is jealous, lots of arguments. Cumming untouched, titty sucking. We're in for it boys!

THE SMUT WAS 100% WRITTEN BY THE AMAZING @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction i knew i needed mommy kink and he was the one to go to. If you like subby men, Fen, my dearest cowritter, writes great fics esp with Steven Grant <3 What Fen said when they wrote it "Yoooooo, what am I writing Romana? Madness? I think so."

6.7 words (I'm so fucking sorry okay A LOT WAS HAPPENING)

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the smut scene in the last chapter was not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

***************

Santiago didn’t know why he was so nervous.

“What we need is to get out into the actual field!” Javier exclaimed, setting his mug down loud enough to make Santi jump. “Sorry, Garcia.” He muttered, wiping a bit of spilled coffee with his sleeve.

Santiago rolled his shoulders, reaching back to rub his spine over the scar. The surgery saved his life, but damn did it hurt. “S’alright. Listen, I had an idea, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. It does get us out of the office next week.”

“I’ll take it, what do you have, Pope.”

Santi smiled. “Well, the nickname is fitting. It’s a rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya.”

A smile quirked up on Javier’s grumpy face. Unbuckling his belt after a second round of stress donuts, Javi kicked his legs up on his desk. “Of course you would know that.”

“My tia invited me.” He shoved Javi’s boots off, then wiped his hands on his pants. “We know what his family looks like now, maybe they will be there? It’s something.”

Javier agreed, it was something. Tracking Lorea had not gone as well as Escabar had. Not that that was a flawless mission itself, but at least it had traction. Martin Lorea was far less public.

The pair settled into an easy rhythm of planning the event. Santiago would have to avoid his tia’s, he thought. That may be hard, considering he had 4 and several cousins who will likely be attending the event. Colombia doesn’t have a canonized saint yet, and she was recognized as venerable so her potential beautification was a big deal for Colombia. Still, he couldn’t be recognized at the rally, his family would want to talk and talk and talk and ask why he didn’t have girlfriend and talk and ask who Javier was, and Tia Lupe would ask him if he had a ‘modern arrangement’ with Javier which would make Santi sick to his stomach with anxiety and- fuck he felt like the donut he stole from Javi was coming back up.

“Gotta go, be right back.”

“I’ll be timing you.” Javier kicked his legs back up on his desk and closed his eyes.

Over the toilet, Santi dry heaved, unsure if he was really going to puke or just felt like it. What the hell was it with Javier these days that made him so anxious? Things had been going well, their friendship repaired in the months since Javier caught him and Candy together. Other than Frankie, who would always be his number one, Javi was his best friend. He’d die for him the way he’d have died for Will, Frank or Ben… but there was something more. Since the day they met, Santiago wanted nothing more than Javier’s approval, he strived for it… maybe it was that he saw Javi as a father figure, almost 15 years older than him… that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t place it until earlier this week.

The DEA ball was coming up, Javier had asked Santi if he wanted to carpool since they both didn’t have dates and lived near-by… to which Santi said he actually had a date. She was a surprise. So was the fact Javier wanted to go.

The “Oh” that had fallen out of his mouth though Santiago off. It sounded disappointed. Santi couldn’t stand Javier disappointed in him. That’s when the thought happened. ‘I wish we could just go together’ Not arrive together. Go together. As a couple. His first thought was no, that’s illegal. His second thought was no, he’d go to hell. His third was him mami, god rest her soul, would roll over in her grave.

He shook the thoughts away, but ever since then he began noticing the way he stared at Javi, the way his body buzzed with any incidental touch… He had to shove it down.

Certainly, Javier was open-minded, but he would to spend as much time as he did with him if he was gay, right? He wouldn’t incite Santi over for futball games on the tv, he wouldn’t take him with him to get lunch… he wouldn’t even want to work with him. It would all be over.

That’s what made Santi sick.

That, and the anxiety over who his secret date was.

You didn’t know why you were so goddamn nervous.

You had to admit, you were very surprised when Santiago showed up for his regularly scheduled appointment, flowers in hand, asking you to join him at the ball.

“Santi… sweetie… I don’t know…”

His large eyes looked nervous. “It’s a job! I’ll pay you, I’m not expecting anything free! And I I know what you’re gonna say, I don’t care about Javi freaking out. Imean, if you care I don’t wanna pressure you of course! I’m not trying to come between you guys, but I doubt he’ll even show. He hates these things.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You take the flowers, thanking him genuinely, and walking to your kitchen. Santiago anxiously paced your walls, trailing his hands over your posters. “Sweetheart, I know we have a good time, but I am a prostitute, you know this.”

“I swear, I don’t have any notions about us being in love… I just want you there.”

Placing the flowers in the vase, you turn to look at him. “I just… well…” You hesitate, unsure how to not freak the poor kid out. “oh my god, there's no polite way to say this, but, Javier is far from the only DEA agent I’ve slept with. Hell, I slept with the janitor once.”

“Mario’s a cool guy, I don’t blame you.”

“What I’m saying is,” She sighed out her words. “You’re a sweet young man, and I know you’re a lot younger than most of the guys there. I don’t want to cause you any trouble-”

“Candy-”

“And I know I’ll cause you trouble if I’m there. They are going to make fun of you for bringing a hooker to a ball.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. There’s no one else I want there with me but you, and I don’t care what Javier says, or any of them for that matter.”

You smile softly at the young man. He was earnest, but although you believed he didn’t care about the other guys at the precinct, you didn’t believe him for one second about Javi. Santiago worshiped the ground Javier walked on, it was clear by the way he talked about his partner.

“If you really don’t care, then yes, I’d love to go.”

His youthful face lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes” You giggle. “It sounds like a great night.”

Santiago ran to you, making you squeal as he threw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make you cum so many fucking times on my face, Candy, you don’t even know.”

You had to admit you were a little nervous. A lot nervous. He said he didn't think Javier would be there, but you weren’t sure, and hadn’t had a chance to try and prod him for information. You’d asked around, and Javi had been spending several nights with Gabby. This was not unusual, he was known to bounce around women, but he always came back to you. Today, though, it made you jealous as all hell. Santiago made you nervous too.

You wanted to at least make a good impression for him, so you went out and bought a brand new evening gown for the occasion, something classy, showing the curves but not your tits. Your big Farrah Faucet curls that usually accompanied a night with Lorea and his men were dialed down more to a simple look, your make-up more natural that a night on the town with high rollers would see. Still you were beautiful and you knew it. Just less like a hooker.

Javier didn’t know why he was so fucking nervous. He never went to these stupid things, much preferring to spend a night undressed with his cock buried between a pretty woman’s legs than stuff himself into a suit that had only gotten tighter in recent years. But, Pope was gonna be there, he was gonna be dressed up in some overdone suite, Javi just knew it. And his stupid curls would be slicked back and inevitably a few would pop out and he’d spend the night trying to keep them back but they would want to be wild and he’d eventually mess with his hair too much and it’d be all every-which-way and, and, and…

So maybe he was late. So maybe he was a little tipsy. Maybe he had been taking pulls of a flask in the back of a taxi but there was coke baggie and a cum stain on the seat so was it really the worst the car had seen? He pulled up to the dance in his too-tight suit, stumbling out a bit, and attempted to find his way inside. He didn’t really want to see Santi dancing with a girl, but if he didn’t show, Santi would worry, and Javi didn’t like Santi worrying.

Javier hoped she was nice. A nice girl because he was a nice young man. Someone to take care of him in some ways, to let him care for her in others… Javi knew he could take care of Sant. He had when he was sick, hadn’t he? Therein lied the reason Javi was drunk. The burn of the liquor was to press down the feeling he couldn’t ignore sober. He wanted Santiago.

“Buenas noche, amigos. ¿Has visto Santiago?”

Javi asked as he stumbled on a few men from the DEA chattering in a corner

One of the men, Freddy, chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Oh, you haven't seen him yet?”

This caused all the men to laugh, but Javier didn’t get the joke. He got the feeling whatever it was, they were laughing at Santi. Javier knew Santi hadn’t really clicked with the men. He was too straight laced, too honest… too good.

“The fuck does that mean?” Javier asked with an obvious bit of bite. Santiago was his to protect.

“Young Garcia came here with a whore on his arm.” Another man, Josue, with a patchy mustache he should just call it quits on attempting to grow replies. “Wonder if he knows what she is, or if he’s going to wake up to a nasty bill in the morning.”

The group laughs, and Javier feels panic rising inside him. No. No way. Santiago couldn’t possibly be that stupid, could he? He was the smartest man Javier knew. He’d never risk her like this…

Freddy continued when he saw Javi’s confused look. “Yeah, Pena, thats what I thought too!” He said with a laugh that Javier knew was not the good natured ribbing he gave Santi. “You know Candy?”

“Uh, yeah, sounds familiar.” The room was spinning, lights and smoke and colors starting to blur.

“The whore on 7th that lets you play rough? Yeah, her.”

Javier snapped to attention again. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either!” He turns to another man Javier doesn’t have it in him to focus on. “I bet Virgin Maria thinks he’s in love.”

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Javier turned Freddy to him. “What the fuck did you say about Garcia?”

“Relaje, Pena. You call him Pope, different name, same meaning.”

But it wasn’t. Santi was Javi’s friend, Javier cared about him. Javier called him Pope to his face and if he thought it upset him, Javi wouldn’t do it. Freddy and the guys were calling him Virgin Maria behind his back, intending on being assholes. It was meant to hurt, it wasn’t true (Santi wasn’t a virgin even before Candy), it was meant to make a mockery of his good nature, his religion, and his morals. The effeminate name was meant to mock his slight build and stature as well as his passive nature. None of them knew the Santiago that Javier knew. They didn’t know the intelligent, compassionate, incredibly capable young former special opes agent who had saved his life multiple times and had given more break throughs on Lorea than he could could.

“Tell me again what you said about Candy.”

Despite the fact everyone was staring at them, you had never seen Santi so happy, so relaxed. He had a few drinks and for his small body it probably left him feeling warm and content. You had opted to stay mostly sober, only drinking one glass of white wine from the open bar; Santiago’s generous and soft smile to the bartender only endeared him to you more.

He was so much fun like this. You loved the time you spent with him in bed, that was fun too, but you’d also come to genuinely enjoy the moments where he wasn’t making you orgasm on his lips again and again. You genuinely cared when you asked him about his day, and had made a mental note of all the names he mentioned at the precinct that were causing him problems that you recognized. You weren’t sure how without outting him, but you’d figure out some way to fuck with them. One who was a massive dick to him, Freddy, was also a massive dick to you too.

Santi was indulging in a cupcake, telling a story of his friend Benny hitting on a woman only to realize her husband was standing next to her.

“It took me, his brother Will, Fish and Redfly to break the fight up. He still won’t go in that neighborhood anymore!” Santi giggles, taking a bite of the vanilla.

You laugh along; he’s an entertaining story teller. “Did he learn his lesson?”

“No! No! That’s the best part!” Santi said as he waved his hands excitedly. “He immediately, and I mean as soon as we cleaned the blood off his face, went and hit on another girl! And you wanna know the worst part?”

“It worked?”

“It work- how did you know that?”

“Women are easy, Santi.” Swaying to the music, you set his cupcake down. He has frosting on his upper lip, just under where his mustache sat.. “We love our men bloodied.” You pull him in close, eyeing his upper lip for the frosting, but he looks like he’s going for a kiss, and who are you to deny such a handsome man?

“Even when they lose?” He speaks, voice soft and sultry. Santi’s eye flick to your lips, his own push pillows parting to receive you.

“Especially when they lose.” You close the gap, taking his lips in yours and licking your tongue over his sugar-covered upper lip, brushing over his mustache. Sweet, just like him. Your sweet man.

For a moment, you are lost in him, the sounds of the Jim Croce floating in the air.

'Cause every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I'll have to say I love you in a song’

CRASH!

Immediately, at the sound of excitement, Santiago is in front of you, guarding your body with his. He doesn’t move, thinking clearly and assessing the situation; looking for where the danger is at and where the best exit points may be. Keep Candy safe. Keep Candy safe. His only goal was her, keep her away from any narcos, terrorists, freedom fighters or drunken men that might be causing a stir. When the center of the commotion was coming from the north, Santiago took Candy’s hand and began to take her to one of the south exits, a lesser used one with less potential for a second assailant, when he felt her tug away.

“JAVI!” She shouts, running towards the danger in high heels, rust colored skirt fluttering just as her flowy sleeves did.

“CANDY!” Running after her, he catches up with ease without the hindrance of heels. Santi tries to stop her, not wanting her near the drunken brawl, but she is on a single minded mission. Javier was under Freddy, who Santiago did not like, and getting the shit beat out of him. If he had a second more, if his focus wasn’t so on Candy, he would have beat her too it… but Candy was quicker

Santiago watches in surprise as she lifts her skirt, pulling a knife out of her garter, getting behind Freddy and gripping his hair hard, knife to his throat.

Everything was a deadly calm, everyone saying so, so still to not disturb the crazy woman with a knife. When Santi looked to Javier to check if he was okay, he saw Javi looking up at her with his big brown eyes, clearly fucking enamored.

“Freddy, get off of him before I tell everyone the weird shit you’re into.”

The next few minuets were a blur. As soon as Freddy was off Javier and Candy’s knife was off him, he was a big man again and the group began arguing. Santiago couldn’t quite pick up what it was about except “KEEP HIS NAME OUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” From Javi.

They were all three escorted out by security; weapons weren’t allowed at the ball.

Outside the doors, a second argument erupted.

Candy tried to approach Javier. “Javi, baby, are you-” But as her hands reached for his swollen face, the older agent stepped back and turned his attention to his mentee. “Are you fucking stupid, Garcia?!”

Santi and Candy both are taken aback by this, but it’s Candy that speaks first. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

Javier’s anger is turned back to her. “And you! You should know better than this! Than coming here!”

She rolls her eyes. “Javi. It’s literally a part of my job, I’m an escort.”

“FOR DRUG DEALERS!” Javier shouts, throwing his hands in the air and stumbling back. “Not for YOU!”

“So what, he’s too good for me to take out? Dirty whore like me belongs in dirty nightclubs and dirty crackhouses?”

“Oh for fucks sake THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

Instinctively, Santi places himself slightly in front of Candy. “Tone it down, Pena.”

His icy glare turns condescending as a short, drunk, sardonic laugh escapes him. “HA! Do you think you’re in love, Santiago? Do you think you’ll be the magical man that can ‘save her’? That’s not how this works! You aren’t supposed to be bringing prostitutes to government functions, you absolute IDIOT! And you’re especially not supposed to bring HER!”

“ENOUGH!” Candy shouts at him, eyes flashing in anger. “You don’t get to tell him what he can and can’t do, Javi! And you certainly do not have possession over me! I am not yours! Just because we fuck does not mean you own me, and you don’t get to decide who I sleep with. Like you said, I am a prostitute, one of SEVERAL you frequent, so I wouldn’t be getting too high and mighty about being careful when everyone knows Helena nearly died working for you! I am not yours!”

Javier scoffs. “Oh, and he is? You think he’s your little lover boy, someone to play pretend that you are having a normal relationship with? He’s a scared child, he’s terrified of intimacy and thinks a finger in the ass will send him to hell!”

“Javier, fucking stop it right now.”

“He can’t protect you! He can’t take care of you!”

“Oh, and you can?”

“YES!”

Javier’s shouted words hung in the air, dripping with anger and venom. Santi simply watches, watches them like a scared child watching his parents fight, wishing it would just fucking stop, but it won’t. Not between them. Javier doesn’t back down and Candy isn’t scared of him.

Then, Candy starts to laugh. It’s short little laughs at first but grows louder. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME JAVI!” She laughs once more before shaking her head, tugging a bit at her hair as she walks a short circle. Candy shook her head, suddenly calm. “Thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing.”

Javi blinked, his voice now noticeably slurred. “What the actual fuck was that.”

Santi stepped up, sliding an arm around Candy’s waist. If she said what she wanted to say, he wanted to guide her away from Javier before he could be more hurtful to her. “It’s from Fleetwood Mac, Javi. You’d know that if you cared enough about her to look into her interests.”

Candy turned to him then, surprised, her soft eyes looking towards him; the hint of a smile on her face.

Javier, however, looked bewildered. “Her interests?You. Are not. DATING HER!”

“I still care about her!” Santiago defended himself. “Just because I’m not a sad slut who can’t emotionally attach to anyone anymore doesn’t mean I treat her like she’s not a person!”

Javier looked like he was about to speak, then shook his head. “This is fucking insane. This is not a Hollywood movie, there is no happy ending here, FUCK YOU GUYS and FUCK THE GODDAMN PRESINCT”

With that, Javier stormed off, angrily mumbling about one thing or another and his broad form shrunk down the street.

It was then Santi felt her begin to shake. Thinking quick, he took off his sports coat and wrapped it around her. “Hey, hey bebita,¿Estás bien?”

“Si” She shook her head a bit, then turned to him with an irritated look “He just really pisses me off sometimes, you know?”

Santi chuckled. “I know. He’s an asshole, let’s not worry about him, okay?” He wrapped his arms around her, and Candy allowed herself to sink into him. Santiago felt her relax, laying her head on him. He was angry, so fucking angry at Javier for the things he said to Candy, the way he spoke to her, it was hurting with jaw with how much he was clenching it… but it was clear Candy was upset too. His feelings didn’t matter, her’s did. He needed to be her man, be her strength, so he pushed his feelings aside.

Through the doors of the ballroom they could still here the live music playing, and he felt Candy gasp as The Eagle’s hit song, Peaceful Easy Feeling, began.

“I love this song…” She whispered, beginning to sway to the music. The stars were out, shining on her. It felt like they shined for her alone.

‘I like the way your sparkling earrings lay

Against your skin, it's so brown’

“I know.” Santi whispered against her skin. “I asked them to play it.” He sang the next line into her skin.

‘Y quiero dormir contigo en el desierto esta noche

Con mil millones de estrellas alrededor’

Candy took her head off him to look into his eyes. Fuck, she was pretty. So so pretty. He wanted her with him all the time, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t in love. Santi wasn’t sure he was capable of romantic love, honestly. He wasn’t sure he was capable of a love that was safe. But whatever he had with Candy right now it was good.

“You requested this song for me?”

‘'Cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

“Of course I did… wanted to make sure there was music you liked.” Santiago stroked her hair, careful to not mess it up, just enough to feel her. He began to dance with her in earnest.

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“And I found out a long time ago

What a woman can do to your soul

Ah, but she can't take you anyway

You don't already know how to go”

Santiago twirled her, making Candy giggle.

“You listen to Fleetwood Mac?” She asked him through her laughs.

‘And I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

He shrugged. “I didn’t until I saw you had three albums, a Fleetwood Mac poster AND a Stevie Nicks poster.”

“So you… just decided to listen?”

“They're clearly important to you.”

He sings to her once again in Spanish

‘Tengo este presentimiento de que te conozco

Como amante y como amiga’

Candy whispers in his ear. “I enjoy our time together. I hope you know that. I do consider you a lover and a friend, Santiago.”

‘But this voice keeps whispering

In my other ear, tells me

I may never see you again’

Santiago believed her, but the ever-presant anxiety inside him told him this was temperary. Don’t feel safe, don’t feel comfortable. You are expendable. You are only loved as long as you are useful. You are only loved as long as you are perfect and good and right all the time. You can never mess up. If you do, WHEN you do, she’ll walk away just like Javi did. Still, he shakes these thoughts off and tries to focus on her. Focus on Candy.

‘Porque tengo un sentimiento tranquilo y pacifico

Y se que decepcionarás

Porque ya estoy parado

En el suelo’

As the song ended, Santi dipped a giggling Candy down low, admiring the way the dress flowed over her beautiful body.

“Hey Candy, they aren’t gonna let us back in there, wanna hop some shitty bars?”

“I’d like nothing more, Santiago.”

Back at his apartment, Candy and Santi giggled their way into his bedroom. A slightly tipsy Santi flopped down on his bed, sighing out a declaration that this was the best night of his life. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you smiling at him. He thinks that he wants to see you in his home more often.

“You look really pretty in that dress, you know that?” Santi says with a love-sick smile plastered all over his face.

You can’t help but smile back, unable to hamper the little laugh that lightens your chest. He was a bit more tipsy than you’d thought.

He pouts a little, being overly dramatic on purpose as he leans up on his elbows, his left leg half hanging off the bed as you stand watching him.

“Don’t laugh.” He pulls a face that has the opposite effect.

You don’t give him the chance to retort again and poke his foot with your index finger, while you school your face into a mock disapproving scowl. “Shoes on in bed?” You tut, expecting another pout and tease back from him, a shrug and a chorus of ‘Well it’s my bed, I can do whatever I want.’

But instead, his eyes widened a little, a small dusting of light pink blossoming over his brown cheeks and nose and highlighting his faint freckles. “S-sorry.” He mumbles quickly, scrabbling up into a sitting position to undo his laces. He’s pulled off one shoe and dropped it carefully to the floor before you even have a chance to register what he’s doing.

“Hey, hey,” you sit down next to him, your thigh touching his, and stroke your left hand through his curls. They’re a little stiffer than usual from the product he used for the occasion; it hasn’t stopped more than a few rough strands from breaking free though.

Santi leans into your touch instantly, instinctively closing his eyes and sighing, a weight lifting from his ribs. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring.

“You okay?” You whisper, continuing to run your fingers softly through his hair.

He nods and hums an affirmative.

You’re about to ask again, unable to stop yourself from double-checking his well-being. That seed of affection for Santi that first settled in your heart weeks ago has now grown and rooted into your chest, its vines and leaves twisted around your rib cage, seeking out your love like sunlight.

Just as the words form on your tongue you notice the not-so-subtle bulge in his trousers and bite back a smile.

Ah.

Not distress. Not panic. Nothing like that at all. Not right now, anyway.

Santi can’t see your expression with his eyes closed. He’s shifted closer, his temple gently against your shoulder as you stroke his hair. He sighs happily, almost dreamily.

It’s nice to see him like this, relaxed into your touch. He too often seems anxious, worried, worrying about his military friends, worried about Javi, worried about his family although those details remain vague. He’s mentioned his sisters lives in the US, Atlanta she thought, his tia’s he saw so often here, and every now and then a brief mention of his mom but only in passing. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, leaving a faint lipstick stain on his skin and he presses closer to you, nuzzling into the nape of your neck.

Languidly you run your free hand up his thigh, just tracing your fingers over his crotch before you squeeze.

The sharp, low moan that escapes his lips is more than worth it, though the gasped word that tumbles out is a bit of a surprise.

“Mommy,”

He freezes instantly, his eyes going wide and teeth audibly snapping shut. In less than a second he’s racking his brain, trying to work out how, why, where did that word come from? What deep, dark recess of his mind forced that word to the surface? Something was wrong with him. Something fundamentally wrong with him, deep down in the recesses of his brain. He was fucked up. He was going to hell.

Maybe you hadn’t heard it. Maybe you wouldn’t notice it. But already Santi knew those hopes were a lost cause. The way your hand had tightened momentarily in his hair the second it slipped past his tongue. He’d had a drink, a few drinks- although they’d mostly worn off throughout the night- that was a good enough excuse right? Oh god. What must you think? What would you-

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” Your voice was low and sweet, a caress to his very soul and he shivered in spite of himself, moaning again and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroked his painfully hard cock.

He nodded his head rapidly, not wanting to disappoint you. He’d be good, he’d be so fucking good for you. His breath hot on your neck as he pressed closer, angling his body completely towards you with a soft whimper.

You continued stroking him for a moment longer, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his thick base before you unzipped his fly and flicked open his trouser buttons. You always loved this, loved how needy he got, how desperate for you.

Santi groaned loudly, his lips against your neck, half muffling his words against your skin as he squirmed into your touch.

“Hmm?” You halted your actions teasingly, waiting for him to repeat himself.

The small sob and bob of his throat nearly broke your resolve, but he pulled his face away from you a fraction to speak.

“Mommy, please,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help yourself, it wasn’t like it was the first man to call you ‘mommy’ in bed, but there was something about sweet, innocent Santi who had blushed his way through your first encounter not that long ago speaking that world that set your blood ablaze.

“Please what?” You teased.

He squirmed again, bucking helplessly against your hand. “Please?”

“You’re gonna have to use a few more words than that pretty boy, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Santi let out an anguished sigh, pressing his face into your neck once more.

Quickly, you moved your hand away from his weeping cock and firmly pinched his chin between your fingers, pulling him back ever so slightly so that you could look into his dark brown eyes as you title his face up.

“If you don’t speak, Mommy won’t be able to help you.”

Santi audibly moaned, his eyes rolling back for a split second before he shut them tight. His dick twitched uncontrollably.

“Yes, please, sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy.” His words were all rushed together and there was a hazy look to his gaze when he opened his eyes again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You petted his hair gently. “I know you will be, Mommy’s got you, sweetheart.”

He whimpered, rubbing his thighs together with every word.

“Now, tell me what you want.”

“Can I,” he swallowed again, placing his hand on the zip of your dress, “can I undo this?”

That wasn’t what you expected him to say, and you raised an eyebrow at him lazily as you smiled and nodded.

Santi let out a little nervous breath before hastily undoing the dress and carefully slipping it off your shoulders and down to your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He held his breath as he gazed at your chest, his left hand hovering just above your skin as he stared with reverence. As if he hadn’t seen you semi-naked many, many times before.

You stroked his hair again. “You’re such a good buy, aren’t you? Asking for what you need?” You say softly, just to gently break him out of his trance. You did enjoy teasing him, but never for very long. He always listened, always did as he was told, and you were happy to reward him

He nods quickly, never taking his eyes off your breasts. The tip of his tongue pokes out and wets his bottom lip.

Ever so slowly he leans forward, placing a light, sweet kiss to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, before trailing down to your neck and collarbone. His kisses get messier, wetter, more urgent the further down he goes and you don’t expect him to pause, panting against your skin.

He looks up at you with large eyes that send a shudder of heat through your core. “Can I kiss your breasts… mommy?” He adds the name shyly, looking down momentarily so that his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks.

You keep stroking his hair as you nod, hooking your fingers around the nape of his neck and guiding him towards your chest. He takes the small movement and runs with it instantly, surging forward and covering your breasts in desperate, wet kisses. Switching back and forth between them constantly as if he simply had to lavish each with the exact same amount of attention. He moans as he lightly bites and sucks, his hands digging into your skin as he holds onto you for dear life.

You press him closer, urging him on by digging your fingers into his curls and scratching your nails along his scalp. He rewards you with another muffled groan, the vibrations reverberating along your skin and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

Santi pushes closer, the force nearly knocking you onto your back as he latches onto your left nipple. You brace your right hand on the bed behind you so that you can keep your balance.

“Such a good boy Santi.” You whisper and he whines, looking up at you once with lazy, lust-blown eyes as he keeps his mouth against you. He sucks demandingly, the sensation almost bordering on too much, but still somehow not enough, and swirls his tongue around your nipple before lapping at it and starting the process all over again. His hips are bucking desperately, but he doesn’t dare ask for attention. He knows you’ll take care of him. You always will.

He sighs, shifting, simultaneously trying to get something and not knowing what he wants at the same time.

You know what he needs though.

You coo at him, soothing and sweet as you pull in closer into your arms, cradling his head as you gently ease him into your lap. He moans so loudly, the sound quickly becoming a whine in his throat as you embrace him.

For a few seconds, he seems to relax into you, all the stress of the day and previous weeks and months draining from his soul and bones as he gently sucks. But then he starts to squirm, his thighs shaking and stomach muscles tensing. He pulls his mouth off of you with a pop and low, desperate groan. His eyes shut tight and eyebrows knitted together as he whines and presses his forehead against your skin.

“Gonna cum.” At the very back of his mind he has a sense that he should be embarrassed, embarrassed that he’s this far gone and going to cum practically untouched. But he can’t fight the pleasure as it bubbles up his spine, doesn’t want to.

“You can cum Santi,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re such a good boy, cum for Mommy.”

He shakes his head, unsure why, tears at the very corners of his eyes, “please.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, holding him tight and kissing his temple. “I’m here.”

He moans loudly, latching back onto your breast and sucking for all he’s worth.

“Mommy’s here.”

He groans again, pulling away a fraction to get his words out. His voice is breath and high. “Want Mommy to cum.”

The pleading in his voice spikes at the throbbing arousal in your core. “Santi, it’s okay-”

His whine is muffled against your chest as he reaches down, sliding his hands between your legs to caress your body the way he knows you like. You’d taught him exactly how you want to be touched, exactly how you touch yourself. He was an eager learner.

“Santi,” you manage to breathe out through his messy desperate kisses.

“Mommy needs to cum now please,” he murmurs, his speech slurred against your tongue,

Your breath catches, thighs squirming as he strokes you, the movements soft but sure. It only takes an embarrassingly short time before you’re moaning into his mouth and tensing as your release overtakes you in a rush.

When it’s clear you’ve cum, he tenses, his orgasm following through him and bursting behind his eyes. His cock throbs as he empties himself into his pants. You smile softly at his face as his forehead pinches in bliss, your hand still stroking his hair.

There’s a pause, a small moment of quiet just before he sighs deeply, feeling weak and boneless. And then he looks up at you with his dark, dark eyes. The softness, the relief, the adoration… the sleepiness.

“So good, Santiago… you’re so good. My perfect boy…”

Santi sighs against your skin, relishing in the tender moment as you play with his hair. “Was that weird?” He mumbles into your skin.

“Noooo, no not at all. It’s very common, actually.”

He looks up at you through heavy lids and suspicious eyes. “Really?”

“Oooooh yeah.” You chuckle. “More often than you think. I’m not here to judge anyone.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he seems to relax. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

You opt to not talk about it anymore, at least for the time being. He’s so tired right now, coming hard and untouched, and you decide it’s time to put him to bed. By the time you lay him from your lap to his pillow, he’s half asleep, so you opt with minimal dress. Gentle, you unbutton his shirt and slowly, carefully slide his shirt off. When you take off his trousers and underwear fully, you replace them with sweats. You think he’s asleep, breathing slowly and eyes closed. He looks positively angelic. When your getting ready to zip up your dress again, and make your exit, you hear his voice once more.

“Stay the night?”

You sigh. “Santi, I dunno if that’s a good idea…”

His eyes open slightly, just enough so you can see him. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want, I just don’t want tonight to end…”

He looks so vulnerable in this moment… and you don’t want this night to end either. Rules be damned. Santi was different. Santi was better. Santi was good. And you? You deserved some damn good.

“Don’t pay me, I’ll stay.”

Santiago sits up ever so slightly. “No, no Candy this is your job. I don’t expect free-”

“It’s not free, honey.” You begin to strip down, Santi’s sleepy eyes drifting down your naked body, staring at the knife at your garter. “We’re going to sleep, just like I would at home. And tomorrow, you’ll make me breakfast. Sound like a fair trade?” The truth was, sleeping with Santi, actually sleeping with Santi, sounded wonderful. You didn’t want it to feel like a transaction.

So, you slip into his clothes. You wear a tee shirt and sweats and climb into his bed where you think he’s actually asleep this time. He snores lightly. He sleeps on his stomach, so you rub his back. He feels nice.

You want better for him. You want him to have a stable life, a loving wife who wasn’t a whore, kids if he wanted them, his family and friends surrounding him. He should have to live in danger, work a dangerous job. He should be allowed to be happy. It wasn’t a life you could give him, you knew… but you could imagine.

You kiss the scar on his spine.

******************

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading!!!!

If you're still hear, please drop a lil HI! It's 12 pm here, inching towards 1 but i promised to put this out so i will!!!

Everyone PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLOUSE FOR FEN FOR THE SMUT IN THE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS SO I CAN MAKE SURE THEY SEE ALL THE LOVE

I hope everyone is saying as safe as they can be in these temps, my heart goes out to all those struggling but especially those in war zones, poverty, homelessness, or in areas that were previously never this cold and thus unprepared for a harsh winter. I know us northerners joke about how cold we get, but I know its different when your infrastructure isnt equipped to take this on.

So tell me friends

Did Javier have a reason to be mad at Santi?

Or was he overreacting?

TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE ARGUEMENT AND YOUR THOTS ON OUR DEAR SANTI

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolb @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleiite @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie @reallyrallyauthor @solar-fics @criticalarchitecture

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theshypinkflower · 2 days ago

Note

I feel like that one episode of fairly odd parents when Veronica is typing to Trixie. That's how I feel whenever I type something out for you 😭. Anyways, I wanted to ask you about - Is there specific songs you personally think goes with each tpof / btd characters + your fanon / ocs? I think we all can agree that Sal's whole entire thing is the song Bitches love me by MSI but I wanna hear from your opinions :)

Dude I lost the progress for this ask the moment the internet cut out so I had to redo it 😭😭😭😭😭

Me to my fans <3 (since apparently I’m trixie)

I tried keeping this HC more revolved around what they’d actually listen to, but some of the songs are based off lyric content relating to them. Btw I looked at other playlist for some inspo and WHO IS PUTTING DADDY AF BY SLAYYTER ON A CELIA PLAYLIST. I think she’d rather die than listen to a song that calls a man daddy. Anyways here you go, tried making it accurate as possible

Strade:

Megalomaniac (KMFDM)

Stand The Pain (And One)

Amerika (Rammenstein)

California Girls (Katy Perry)

Dead Man’s Party (Oingo Boingo)

Bro seriously gets down to anything energetic

Ren/Fox:

Horror of Our Love (Ludo)

Love Me Dead (Ludo)

Caramelldansen (Caramella Girls)

(I couldn’t copy the song name)

Sano:

Eyes Without A Face (Billy Idol)

Waltz No.2 (Dmitri Shostakovich)

Clair De Lune (Claude Debussy)

Serenade For Strings In E Major, Op. 22, B. 52 II Tempo di valse (Antonin Dvorak)

Akira:

DotA (Basshunter)

Little Kandi Raver (S3RL)

Fer Sure (The Medic Droid)

Scene Girlz (Brokencyde)

Kiss Me Again (Roy Bee)

Cyclone (T-Pain)

Any and all pitbull songs

Lawrence:

Ten hour rain noises to fall asleep to

White Winter Hymnal (Fleet Foxes)

How To Completely Disappear (Radiohead)

Ode To My Family (The Cranberries)

Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes)

Never Love An Anchor (The Crane Wives)

Vincent:

I Was Made For Lovin’ You (Kiss)

Highway To Hell (AC/DC)

Fuck Away The Pain (Divide The Day)

Black Betty (Ram Jam)

She Keeps Me Up (Nickelback)

Rire:

No One Lives Forever (Oingo Boingo)

Sympathy For The Devil (Rolling Stones)

Puppet Boy (DEVO)

Lacrimosa (Mozart)

Cain:

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (The Platters)

End of The World (Skeeter Davis)

The Wonder Of You (Elvis Presley)

Stupid Cupid (Connie Francis)

Derek:

Seven Minutes In Even (Mindless Self Indulgence)

Pigskin (Hollywood Undead)

Flashing Lights (Kanye West)

3 S’s (Mindless Self Indulgence)

Everywhere I Go (Hollywood Undead, look I know it’s overused BUT IT FITS)

Bottoms Up (Trey Songz)

Celia:

Criminal (Fiona Apple)

Paper Bag (Fiona Apple)

Johanna (Suki Waterhouse)

Only Happy When It Rains (Garbage)

Rattlesnake (Kabaret Sybarit)

Mason:

Knockin on Hevaen’s Door (Bob Dylan)

Hangman (Tia Blake)

Flightless Bird, American Mouth (Iron & Wine

Clay Pigeons (Micheal Cera)

FEATURING A LITTLE BONUS!!! (I was gonna do all my TPOF ocs but this has taken me forever so…have Sal. I’m sorry no kangaroo or rhino or desert gang, I was originally going to do them but I lost them in when this didn’t save the first time)

Sal:

Tainted Love (Soft Cell)

Enjoy The Silence (Depeche Mode)

Shout (Tears For Fears)

Salvatore (Lana Del Rey, you know why it’s on this list)

Angel Eyes (ABBA)

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tiastoleyourtoast · 10 months ago

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oh jesus christ long time no see (4 whole months???)

this is probably gonna be a sorta long post

new blog: https://www.tumblr.com/tobystoleyourtoast

I'M BACK!!

but uh some things happened, main thing being- i dont like omori anymore

yeahhhh i dont like it anymore, i got very bored of it. i dont know why, but it just feels like the game has no interesting content anymore (for me at least)

so i wont post anymore omori content. im more into bungo stray dogs now, and so heres a gif of atsushi in the omori art style (consider this the last omori related thing ig idk)

i will probably abandon this account and start a new one (so you can choose if you wanna just stay and look at my old omori stuff here or go to my new bsd account) , i'll edit this post to tag the account or something :D

uh, sorry (idk why but i feel sorta bad)

i post a lot more on my youtube account, so if my tumblr doesn't satisfy you uhhh

here ya go: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRtcRXuBGkS6TG2Qp5Xxs0A

however since i wont post omori content again, the nailed flower au will be abandoned aswell (IM SORRY GUYSSS.........)

#moving #moving accounts #omori #omori fandom #animation #drawing #artists on tumblr #digital art #sketch #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #would this be considered as quitting?#cuz im just quitting *this* account #gonna start a new account

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umbralaether · 1 year ago

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Hello! You can call me Blue, and here you can expect lots of my hyperfixations. Primary content is listed in the bio above, and I tag them all accordingly. If you need something specific tagged, let me know and I’ll include it in my common tags :)

My Dragon Age sideblog: @glitteringdust

I like writing and do take requests should anyone wish for something specific, bear in mind that I sometimes take a bit to create due me being super picky about what I share lol

Writing links: bg3 & ffxiv

Basic Info

Character’s full name: Eisha Pantera (ee-sha pan-terra)

Birthday: 10th sun of the 2nd Astral Moon

Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te

Class: Summoner, Astrologian, Reaper

Ships: G’raha Tia (Main ship), Haurchefant, Thancred Waters (AU), Azem x Emet Selch

Screenshot tag: eisha screens

Lore/Answers: eisha lore

Azem: Astraea

Physical appearance

Age: post endwalker -> 28

How old does he/she appear: 25

Body build: Slim w/ lean muscle

Eye color: Aqua (post shb left eye became pale aqua)

Glasses or contacts: neither

Skin tone: blue-gray

Distinguishing marks: faded dark blue tribal marks across cheeks; vertical scar over left eye

Hair color: dark blue with light blue highlights

Type of hair: medium thickness, straight texture

Hairstyle: short w/ a crown braid

Overall attractiveness: unintentionally alluring

Physical disabilities: post-endwalker she has bouts of muscle spasms due to fluctuating aether

Usual fashion of dress: relaxed, modest, casual

Favorite outfit:

Ala Mhigan gown in raptor blue

YoRHa Type-53 bottoms of casting

Shadowless boots of casting

Jewelry or accessories: usually wearing the edengate earrings, Cait sith neck ribbon, Halonic auditor’s bracelets, crystarium ring and amaurotine ring

Personality

Good personality traits: Caring, Forgiving, Easy-going, Patient, Polite, Smart

Bad personality traits: Avoidant, Anxious, Self-Sacrificing, Passive, People-pleaser

Mood character is most often in: Inquisitive & calm

Sense of humor: finds joy in the small things in life; puns and cheesy jokes will make her laugh

Character’s greatest joy in life: helping those who cannot help themselves, and reuniting with her soulmate

Character’s greatest fear: failure, loss

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: a death of one of her loved ones. Loss is not something she wants to go through at this current moment

Character is most at ease when: she’s near the beach & can hear the waves

Most ill at ease when: she has to make a public speech

Enraged when: mercy is not shown when it could be

Depressed or sad when: life is lost because there was nothing left to do

Priorities: finding happiness & making it for others; have a family; publish a memoir

Life philosophy: treat others how you would like to be treated

If granted one wish, it would be: to live in a fair & just world where everyone looks out for one another

Character’s soft spot: *cough* villains who just needed love instead *cough*

Is this soft spot obvious to others?: Hopefully not, she would be so embarrassed

Present

Current location: the Lavender Beds

Currently living with: her husband, G’raha Tia

Pets: Pickle the Lunatender, Squash the Royal Lunatender

Religion: “You can only save yourself”

Occupation: Adventurer & food connoisseur

Finances: well off due to a friend’s crafting business

Family

Mother: Elesia Pantera

Relationship with her: complicated. Eisha was supposed to become the matriarch of the clan once she became of age but instead she ran away after they fought about it. Then the calamity hit and she never got to see her family or clan again.

Father: unknown

Relationship with him: never met him, no clue if he’s alive

Siblings: a sister, Elva Pantera, who died when Eisha was 13

Relationship with them: estranged before her death, because her mother had chosen Eisha instead of her to lead.

Spouse: G’raha Tia

Relationship with him/her: soulmate.

Children: currently expecting one child, gender unknown at this time

Favorites

Color: Blue

Least favorite color: Brown (just not her style)

Music: a fan of violin and piano

Food: ramen; breakfast foods; sushi; pasta dishes

Form of entertainment: reading, sightseeing, cooking!

Location: Thavnair

Weather: Clear skies with any range of heat!

Most prized possession: all of her trophies from her battles

Habits

Hobbies: cooking, reading, exploring

Plays a musical instrument?: she is learning ukelele

How she would spend a rainy day: snuggling up indoors with warm food and a good book/her significant other

Spending habits: impulse purchases for herself & others happens quite a bit

Smokes: occasionally

Drinks: special occasions

What does she do too much of?: daydreaming, thinking, & learning

What does she do too little of?: taking a breaks & getting proper rest

Combat skills: healing, magic arts, recently competent at physical combat

Nervous tics: tends to tap her fingers on the table, or mildly lash her tail

Usual body posture: relaxed

Mannerisms: is formally polite around new people, bordering on shy. When she gets to know someone, she is sure to remember things from past conversations to catch up on.

Peculiarities: will occasionally feel the aether of those who have passed on around her. Has flashbacks of pre-sundering events that feel like dreams.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?: realist. both bad & good happen in equal amounts

Introvert or extrovert?: introverted

Daredevil or cautious?

Logical or emotional?: leans more towards emotional but it is situational

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Methodical and neat, everything has a place and she knows where it is.

Prefers working or relaxing? She becomes guilty when she takes a day off, and likes to stay busy.

Confident or unsure of himself/herself? She is confident in her abilities, yet unsure about her mental fortitude.

Animal lover? Adores all creatures of every shape and size!

#pinned post #about this space

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gaviicreates · 1 year ago

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Blanket of the Seventh Dawn - A Crochet Adventure

Note: This post may contain spoilers up to FFXIV Endwalker

Good Morning, fellow Warriors of Light and Darkness! And/Or my fellow crafters.

After creating my simple G'ra-hat, I was inspired with more rampant ideas for ways I could combine my love for Final Fantasy 14 and my love for crafting. Mix in a little bit of yarn collecting - which I think we all might agree is its own hobby - and the Blanket of the Seventh Dawn project was born.

It's still in baby stages - I want to bring you on this journey, if you'd like to follow along. And I'm happy to share yesterday my yarn arrived, which means I can finally get started.

Yarn: Arcane Fibre Works | website

I started with matching each of the Scions to a colorway, as well as choosing two additional for my and my husband's Warriors of Light. For my craftyfolk - think of these people as the main characters, the characters you play as well as the friends you meet along the way. In introducing the project, I've made all of my skeins greyscale, as I will reveal each of the characters and their colors as I started working with their skein.

But to give you a small hint - here's the list of characters I'm including: Alisaie, Alphinaud, Estinien, G'raha Tia, Krile, Lyse, Minfilia, Papalymo, Tataru, Thancred, Urianger, Y'shtola. Just in case, I'll continue to tag these posts under ffxiv spoilers, and for full disclosure, I am currently in Endwalker MSQ content.

All of the yarn was purchased from Arcane Fibre Works. I've worked with their yarns before, and I knew they had a large variety for me to search their colors for those that sang Scion.

I'll be turning all of these colors into granny squares, which I am thinking of doing solid to let some of these chaos colors shine. Once all of the squares are complete, the plan is to combine them into one large blanket. Each character should have a few squares. But that's for later along the project.

For now, I am super excited to get started and to share this journey with you. As far as who we start with...? Let's roll a d12 and find out, shall we?

TBC...

#ffxiv spoilers #ffxiv #ffxiv blanket #blanket of the seventh dawn #scions of the seventh dawn #crochet #crocheting #yarn #gavii makes stuff

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hargrove-mayfields · 1 year ago

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It’s Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 2- Family

My prompt: A family reunion with Billy

Quick content warning, there is discussion of child abuse against a baby and abusive head trauma.

-•-•-•-•-

“Watch out, big bump in the sand.” Argyle warns, in his signature slow drawl.

He’s pushing Billy in his wheelchair, across a beach, heading towards a reunion for Argyle's family, the first since the couple had moved back to California.

The Gaspar family isn’t the biggest, just Argyle's mom, her two sisters, and their kids, the oldest of which have a few babies of their own. It’s still a lot bigger than any family affair of Billy’s, but those became obsolete when Billy was still just a couple of months on this earth.

Everything fell apart around then, the family split into bitter chaos and hatred. See, back then Neil had done something that couldn’t be hidden or ignored. He shook Billy.

All it took was a few seconds, but to this day he’s never regained function of the right half of his body. It’s cerebral palsy, hemiplegic. Along with the paralysis he’s got to worry about seizures and a whole list of cognitive problems, memory loss the most prominent.

Billy’s mom is his full time carer. Now that Max and Will are all grown and leading educations of their own, Ima Joyce can stay home with Billy and help him do all the things he either can’t do anymore, or never learned how to.

Argyle is a big help too, always bringing over giant casserole dishes of food for Billy and his adoptive family, or lifting Billy into the bath. It’s sweet, and fills a void that his childhood had left.

Billy wants to repay some of that with the simple things, tasks he can manage- giving cuddles, trying his specialty pizzas, visiting his family. Still makes him nervous, to be faced with his boyfriend's entire family.

Argyle tells him that’s normal, that he’d been terrified the first time he sat around a table with Max, Jane, and his secondary caregiver, Murray, at the same time, but it seems different. Billy’s terrified of not just making a bad impression, he’s worried about something like having a seizure on the beach in front of Argyle's baby cousins.

And, at the moment, he’s scared of being dumped on his face into the sand because of these bumps Argyle is pushing him over.

“Told you the power chair would’ve been better.”

“I tried my best, dude. It died before I even got it to your room. Like, tires locked, beeping sounds kinda dead, man.” Argyle doesn’t even sound defensive, he just laughs about the absolute train wreck that was their morning.

“Just tell me this thing is close..” Billy keeps complaining, only to be reassured right away by Argyle.

“Right around the corner, blue sky. Just follow the smell of tia Evelyn’s carnitas.”

Another thing that Billy really enjoys doing with his boyfriend is exploring his culture. Argyle hadn’t really been too open about his Mexican roots, since when they met Billy was in the midst of a custody battle between Hargroves and Byers. He said it felt wrong to talk about family when Billy hadn’t really found his own yet.

Now that it’s been a few years, and things are a lot better, Argyle likes to share certain dishes and songs passed down by his family that Billy just loves. It’s his favorite part about living in California instead of Hawkins.

In the same way that Mrs Byers taught her boys to speak the language of their Tanakh, and Billy loves to listen, he loves to hear Argyle and his family speaking Spanish, although he can usually only mentally translate a few words or less.

Argyle's mom is the first to spot them now, calling as they make their slow approach to the perfect spot between the trees, where they’re all set up on a few picnic tables pushed close together, “¡Hola cariños! ¡Finalmente lo lograste y mira, trajiste a tu novio!”

Billy catches that she’s relieved they both made it, but that mostly comes from Argyle's next words, where he restates what she says. That’s they’re tactic, to make sure Billy is never left out.

“Yeah, we’re here mami. Me and my boyfriend. And not just that, but we brought my super delicious world famous brownies!” Argyle sounds excited.

His mom, however, does not. She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrow, “¿Las normales, cariño?”

“Uh, Billy these are plain brownies.. right?” Argyle leans forward, looking at the tray of brownies Billy’s been steadying for him in his lap, a look of sudden worry on his face.

Now Billy’s just confused, but he goes along with it, answering, “Yeah? What else would they be?”

“Well…” Argyle looks sheepish, and Billy realizes just what other kinds of brownies Argyle would be making.

Howling with laughter, he exclaims, “Argyle, you did not!”

Bring pot brownies to a family gathering that is. But by the looks of it…

“It was a mistake, my guy! And uh, I ate the whole tray myself ‘fore anybody else could get messed up.” Argyle defends, face flushed a subtle but deep red, but somehow that just makes it worse.

Accidentally mixing up the trays is one thing, but eating all the evidence? Billy is stumped. Shocked. Almost in awe.

“How?”

Starting to regain a little humor about it, Argyle asks, “How what, sunshine?”

“How are you alive?” Billy clarifies, genuinely curious.

And then there’s another blow to every assumption Billy had made about life ever, in the form of Argyle proudly declaring, “Back in the day, I could eat two trays.”

All Billy can do is stare and look horrified, somewhat unsure if Argyle was joking or not. He’s too bad at social cues to distinguish.

But Argyle moves on, turning back to his mom to explain to her and promise that no, this is not a repeat of last time.

“Si, mami. Sin marihuana esta vez. Prometo.”

“Esto es un alivio. Quiero que te comportes lo mejor posible para tu novio hoy.” She seems to be satisfied with that answer, kissing Argyle's cheek and stepping aside so they can enter the imaginary boundary line of the party space.

Billy’s Spanish skills aren’t good enough to pick anything out this time, leaving him to wonder, “What did she say?”

Argyle shrugs, “Just something about making good impressions.”

That’s confusing. Billy’s actually a little worried he’d imagined last year's picnic while in a hospital fever dream or something. He doesn’t sound very confident as he says, “I’ve met your family though.”

Argyle tells the whole truth now, probably sensing Billy is getting stressed, “Right. She meant me though. That whole tray of hashies fucked me up pretty bad. Mama doesn't want me ruining the party in front of you.”

Billy is understanding, but also, he’s kind of surprised. He didn’t expect her to think Argyle was the problem.

After all, he’s not the one in a wheelchair, who can’t even hold a plate of food for himself, or sit through the whole family party without falling asleep. Maybe it’s leftover fear from being shoved around the house in an uncomfortable hospital lent wheelchair and never let out of the house by his biological family, but Billy is sort of used to being the one people don’t like.

For some reason, maybe because he hasn’t felt this way in a long time, Billy doesn’t hold back in expressing that.

“She’s scared about you ruining it. I’m scared about myself ruining it.”

Argyle shifts the dynamic from standing next to Billy, to crouching in front of him, a gesture that Billy only feels comfortable with when it’s someone he’s really close to. It brings them to an intimate space to talk about this problem neither of them really realized was a thing until now,

“Wait, what? You don’t got nothing to worry about, babes.”

Invited to talk about it, Billy spirals, “What if I get sick or somethin in the middle of everything and we have to go home, and everyone’s upset at me, and-“

“Baby. Mi angel. That’s not gonna happen.” Argyle declares passionately and confidently, holding the hand Billy has feeling in, “They love you. They’ll understand.”

Billy wants so badly to believe it, in spite of whatever irrational part of his brain flared up today, “Promise?”

“From the bottom of my heart, dude.” Argyle promises, impossibly romantic and heartfelt.

Feeling better, and ready to socialize in the way Argyle's family does best- food -Billy smiles, “Could you wheel me to the food table?”

“‘Atta boy!” Argyle kisses his hand, and stands back up to push Billy over. On his way, he calls, “Mami! Pass me a plate?”

“¿Qué dices, mijo?” His mother playfully purses her lips and waits for his answer to her demands about his manners.

“Por favor?” Argyle corrects himself.

The smile she wears is unmistakably full of love and joy for her boy, getting him a paper plate and waving him over, “Of course. Come, come.”

By the end of the day, Billy doesn’t even remember why he was worried. He leaves the beach full of love and good food, and with an invitation to the next one. The little cousins all loved him, one even crawling into his lap to play shark watcher with him.

They accepted him. All of him, abled or not. And one day, when he and Argyle decide they’re ready to take things to the next stage, these folks will be his family too, as William Reuben Ocean Byers-Gaspar.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading! It’s time for todays charity highlight!

This time I’ve chosen The Arc.

The Arc is a US based organization specifically designed to advocate for individuals with intellectual disabilities. Their board protects the civil rights of those with IDD and is working to break down the societal barriers that intellectually and developmentally disabled individuals face.

These include areas like criminal justice, healthcare, employment and education, and travel. The Arc works to provide resources directly to disabled folks so they may advocate for themselves, self-identify issues with language easy for them, access care, and feel safe and protected.

Most importantly, they work directly with disabled individuals to set their standards and align their goals with what disabled people actually want and need. This allows disabled members of their board and staff to be heard, not talked over or told what to do or say.

Fighting against inaccessibility and advocating for the legal and social rights of disabled people is something I’m really passionate about. The Arc is one of my favorite organizations and I’d appreciate if anyone would like to check them out.

So, if you’re interested in supporting The Arc, there are several ways. You can donate money, sign up for their news updates, share your story about programs in your life as a person with IDD, or access and utilize the resources on their site!

For more information or a place to donate (not required of course, I just want to give the option), click here for a link to the site.

#disabledbillyandsteveweek #argilly #billy x argyle #billy hargrove #disabled billy hargrove #tw abusive head trauma #tw child abuse #my writing #ej writer #if the Spanish is awful I apologize #i used my brothers three years of high school spanish and google translate to fill in the gaps

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queer-crusader · 1 year ago

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In praise of Dead Man's Chest,

a rather forgettable follow-up of Curse of the Black Pearl, i wanted to quickly list the moments where the vibes are truly off the charts:

when Bill Turner comes to tell Jack his time is up and gives him the black spot

visiting Tia Dalma. Her telling of the origin story of Davy Jones' heart, the fact that she has the same music box on her table in a brief shot, Barbossa's boots (still dead? resting?) on a bed in a different room as monkey Jack investigates. (Hell, when her cabin comes into view we hear the same tune we heard when Barbossa died!!) "Him heart." "A touch... of destiny" ma'am i fucking love you

Will being sent to search the Flying Dutchman but he's only sent to a wreckage that has fallen victim to the kraken. One crew member still desperately trying to hoist a sail, Will barely able to snap him out of it. Bodies everywhere. Lashing rain. A body dropped from great height, its face torn off by the kraken's suckers, just a membrane of skin that is still pulsing as the man desperately tries to breathe beneath it. I feel like this is Will's "you'd best start believing in ghost stories, Turner. You're in one!" moment

And then the Dutchman rises from the depths and its crew literally comes out of the woodwork!! Will dousing his sword in oil and smashing a lamp to fight with a flaming blade and see what he's up against!!

"Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss?" (still thrilled i put this line on a pair of booty shorts in my black sails crack fic but thats an unrelated sidenote, this line just FUCKS) "All your deeds laid bare. All your sins punished. I can offer you an escape." BILL NIGHY DOES NOT PLAY ENOUGH VILLAINS

"Life is cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?"

Jack looking at the scene unfolding through his looking glass. Jones looking right back at him. Jack putting the glass down and Jones being RIGHT THERE. VIBES OFF THE CHARTS

"You can't talk your way out of this one, Jack" yet HERE HE IS BARGAINING THE WORTH OF HIS SOUL. And he tells Will, who is taken as down payment, is in love, betrothed even. And the impact that has on Jones. Not to mention how the key theme of Davy Jones, a man whose story is centered around love and heartbreak, starts playing for the first time. Fuck

Recruiting new men (sorry, cannon fodder to give to Jones) and Gibbs asking a potential crew member (Norringtonnn) what his story is. "My story... It's exactly your story, just one chapter behind." FUCK THATS SUCH A GOOD SUMMARY OF NORRINGTON'S CURRENT STATE

THE ORGAN VERSION OF DAVY JONES' THEME. The way the giant coral tubes coming out of it remind me of the arteries and veins of a heart. The way Jones still cries while playing it - cutting out his heart clearly didn't have the full intended effect, despite his cruelty that followed. (Here's the coolest fucking IRL version of that theme btw. You'll realise exactly where the phrase "pulling out all the stops" comes from)

Wyvern, a man so long for his debt on the Dutchman he's becoming one with the wood. That fucks

LIAR'S DICE. There's an extended version of the scene and here is an analysis of why the long version fucks actually and how it's a masterclass on writing plot and character development subtly

"Let no joyful voice be heard! Let no man look up at the sky with hope! And let this day be cursed by we who ready to wake... the Kraken."

And then when you see the true scale of it. The way it snaps a ship in half and pulls it beneath the wave. That kinda fucks

"The boy's not here. He must have been claimed by the sea. "I am the sea." Mr Jones i think that's a point of contention the root of which caused your relationship problems and everything that followed

Leaning into the chest and hearing an actual heartbeat

Jack abandoning the Pearl during the Kraken attack, then checking his compass and for the first time it works, telling him what he wants most. We don't see what it points to, but based off what he tells Elizabeth in the first film, my guess is the Pearl, which in his mind represents freedom

The absolutely HAUNTING memorial of Jack at Tia Dalma's cabin, underscored with the sound of Will's knife hitting the table over and over. The deep despair. Tia Dalma saying she knows how Will hoped to use the Pearl to chase down Davy Jones and save his father. The way she jumps on the slightest glint of them being willing to try and repair what has happened. She wants Will to go after Jones. Because after all, she's taken steps to help the crew for the inevitable moment Jack would lose and needed saving:

BARBOSSA'S BACK BABEYYYY AND LOOKING MORE ALIVE AND THRIVING THAN EVER

Special shoutout to the three-way fight in the chapel and on the waterwheel, it's silly and a little slapstick-y but it DOES have some cool choreography and really cool moments! Clearly an attempt to recreate the fight in the workshop from the first film, and while it doesn't succeed in the same way (not quite to the rhythm of the music like in the first film, little to no character development revealed like we saw in film 1), but the scenery is vibrant, the choreography is good, the ever-changing alliances fun and the scene IS memorable!!

#anne speaks #potc #i've already mentioned the less good stuff in my earlier post about this film #the slapstick bs. the cannibal bit (FUCK that whole sequence)#hell even the opening scene is completely unmemorable even tho it's at this big creepy haunting prison #there's crows visibly pecking people's eyes out!! jack escaping through a coffin!! it's all pretty gruesome!!#and i always forget it exists or what the fuck the purpose of that scene is #(it's where jack gains the drawing of the key that opens the chest of davy jones btw)#but yeah it takes a solid hour for this film to REALLY gain traction but once it does? some SOLID stuff there for a good while #long post

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the-book-queen · 12 days ago

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#book deals #romance deals #romance novels #romance reader #romance blog #romance blogger #contemporary romance #historical romance #mf romance #ff romance

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bellaxgiornata · 9 months ago

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The Devil at Your Window |5: Looking Out for the Devil|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Y'all get a little Matt POV in this update! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock

Monday Night

Shifting all of the bags you were carrying over to your left hand, you tried to stick your key into the lock of your apartment door. It took you a few attempts to even get it into the lock just right because your focus was mostly on the three heavy bags you were currently trying to hold in your left hand while your left leg pressed another bag against the door in an attempt to keep it from falling and spilling its contents all over the hallway floor.

It was a minute before you finally managed to unlock the door, stuffing your key back into your coat pocket before swinging it open. You gathered up all of the bags in both of your hands afterwards before awkwardly shuffling into your apartment. Once you’d managed to lug everything inside, you reached a foot out behind yourself and kicked the door shut. With a relieved sigh, you dropped all the bags to the floor at your feet before leaning back against the wall behind you, your arms aching and sore from the trek home tonight.

“That was more work than I expected,” you muttered to yourself.

You took a minute to catch your breath, running a hand over your forehead as you continued to rest your back against the wall. Your heart was racing after having carried all those bags for a few blocks and then having toted them all the way up to your apartment. As you rubbed your sore biceps, you quickly remembered why you always had most of your groceries delivered.

With another sigh you eventually bent over, beginning to undo the zippers of both of your winter boots before you peeled them off your legs and set them on the entry rug by your door. Straightening back up, you locked your door before tugging your coat off of yourself next, hanging it on the nearby hook. Then turning around, you once more grabbed onto all of the bags you'd dropped before heaving them up into your hands one last time, carrying them all the way over to your kitchen counter before dropping them down with a grunt.

Reaching into a bag, the first thing you pulled out was the storage bin and its lid that you’d just purchased this evening. You set it onto the counter beside yourself and pulled the lid off, hoping you weren't about to make a complete ass out of yourself with what you were planning on doing with it.

“Really hope all this food doesn't end up going to waste,” you said to yourself. “But someone needs to make sure you're staying fed and hydrated out there because I know you sure aren't.”

The first thing you wanted to focus on filling the container with was the bottles of water you'd bought. Pulling the grocery bag stuffed full of them towards yourself, you began to pull out multiple bottles as you focused on neatly lining them up on one side of the container. You even added a few extra to the bin since you weren't sure just how many the Devil might need in a night.

As you worked on filling the container with water, you desperately hoped they wouldn't be frozen bottles of water whenever he potentially managed to stop by your place. You hoped putting the bin out onto your fire escape before you went to bed later at night and bringing it back inside in the morning would help to resolve that issue depending on when he showed up. But at least when it became warmer in a few weeks the water bottles freezing wouldn't be an issue anymore–because you certainly still planned to keep stocking this bin for him for as long as he'd be running around the city at night keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. It felt like the least you could do.

After the water bottles were situated in the bin, you began pulling out all of the food that you'd purchased from the store after work, taking everything out of the bags and setting them all onto your counter. You quickly set to work tearing open all of the boxes before you began to pull out multiple different packages of food. Working methodically, you neatly stacked the protein bars on top of each other beside packets of trail mix, sticks of jerky, and granola bars in the bin. As you filled the bin, you briefly wondered what snacks were the Devil’s favorite. Would he ever actually tell you so that you could add them to this bin, or would consider that to be too personal of information to share with you, too?

While you knew it wasn't possible to feed the mysterious man an actual meal every night, and you knew that you wouldn’t always be home with a fresh cooked meal all the time, either, you figured maybe if he was aware of the food and water you left out for him like the stray you were affectionately beginning to see him as, he'd find a minute to make his way past your apartment and grab something from the bin on occasion. Because you assumed that he most likely didn't have time to stop by and chat with you every time he was out, but at least this way he might be able to eat something . And you might finally be able to stop worrying about him just a little bit knowing he wouldn't go to bed hungry at night, which was what you figured he currently did and that thought had been bothering you since you'd met him. You hoped this bin of food and water would at least help resolve that some nights.

With the bin finally filled, another idea struck you. Turning around in your kitchen, you began to rifle through your kitchen drawers looking for your pad of post-it notes and a pen. Eventually you discovered both in your junk drawer before bringing them over to an open space on your counter. Smiling to yourself, you wrote out a brief message before peeling off the post-it note and sticking it inside the bin. You let yourself take a moment to admire how neat and tidy everything looked while wondering what the Devil himself might actually make of stumbling on your little Devil’s Pantry. You only wished you could see his reaction when he eventually saw it.

Grabbing the lid from beside the container, you set it back on top and sealed everything up safely inside so the rain and snow wouldn’t ruin the packages of food. You picked up the container and stepped around your kitchen counter, dropping it off on your table beside the window that led to your fire escape. You mentally reminded yourself that you’d need to set it outside for him later tonight before you went to sleep.

With your task for the evening finally completed, you headed through your living room and down the hall, making your way to your bedroom with every intention of getting out of your work clothes and relaxing for the rest of the night. Though the Devil admittedly wasn’t far from your mind.

Tuesday Night

Matt flung himself over the dividing gap and onto the next rooftop, losing his footing and stumbling slightly as he landed on top of the building. He was exhausted from his night out tonight, his body worn and beaten and his injured rib still not fully healed from the other week. Running around in the cold tonight hadn’t been helping his body either, his muscles already growing stiff from how long he’d been out this evening in the thin layer of clothing he had on.

But yet as he was making his way back towards his own apartment, ready to end the night, he found himself already planning to stop by your place first. He wasn't entirely sure what time it was at the moment or if you were even still awake, but he was curious to drop by your fire escape and find out. It had been a rough night, but the prospect of hearing your bright voice and your entertaining quips were drawing him towards your apartment like a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that sometimes felt like Hell’s Kitchen on some of his nights out. He couldn’t seem to resist the pull he had towards your place, especially not after what he’d already been dealing with this evening.

Jogging across the length of this rooftop, his breath growing ragged from exertion, he could hear the change in the wind as he neared the edge of the building. Gritting his teeth together before he leapt across, he braced himself for the impact. Once more he stumbled as he landed onto the top of your building, letting out a grunt of pain as his rib throbbed miserably at the jolt. He paused for a minute, wincing as his gloved hand reached down, covering the sore area along his side. Someone had managed to get a decent punch there not too long ago which certainly hadn’t helped, either.

When the sting of pain began to fade enough, he carefully paced his way towards the edge of the roof on the side of the building where he knew your fire escape was located. Once more bracing himself for the series of sharp impacts he was about to endure as he dropped down, he grit his teeth and knelt down on the rooftop before deftly flinging himself over the side of it. He landed solidly on the fire escape below, his injured side already protesting his actions. Ignoring the pain, he rose back up and gripped onto the metal railing of this fire escape before easily throwing himself over once more and onto your fire escape just below.

With a relieved sigh now that he knew he could take a momentary breather, he rose back up to his feet and focused his senses on your apartment, attempting to ignore the growing ache along his ribs. His head canted to the side as he approached your window, catching the even and soft sounds of your breathing from inside. He realized you were in fact asleep just as the toe of his right boot knocked into something on the metal landing.

Matt instantly paused, taking a step back as confusion crossed his features beneath his mask. His head darted down in surprise towards whatever he’d kicked, his body pausing for just a moment. Then curiously he lowered into a crouch on your fire escape, wondering what the mysterious object sitting outside of your apartment could be. Nothing should have been out here.

Gloved hands reaching out, he began to feel the object before himself. It was solid and rectangular. After a moment he thought it strangely felt like a container, and if he focused closely enough, he smelled…

“Food?” he whispered in disbelief.

His brows knitted together in deeper confusion, his head tilting to the side once more as one of his hands removed the lid. The unmistakable scent of beef jerky, granola, nuts, peanut butter, and dried fruit hit his nose.

Matt took a moment to remove his gloves, setting them on the fire escape beside his boots as his brows remained tightly knit together behind his mask. He slowly reached his hands back into the container only to have his fingers brush against what felt like a post-it note. He picked it up, running his fingers along the indentation of pen marks carefully a couple of times. Eventually he managed to make out what you'd clearly written as a note for him. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips beneath the mask as he ran his fingertips over the pen marks, reading your message to him again.

Take whatever you need from the Devil’s Pantry. And please DRINK SOME WATER (if it's not frozen). Your kidneys will thank me.

He laughed lightly to himself, very aware of the way you'd emphasized the part about drinking water. You'd even underlined that section besides writing it in all capitalized letters. You certainly were concerned about his kidneys, weren't you?

“Devil’s Pantry, huh?” he murmured to himself in amusement.

He reached his hands inside the container, a grin on his mouth as his fingertips inevitably met the plastic of a water bottle. He pulled one out, noting it was fairly chilled to the touch but not yet frozen. You must have set this container on your fire escape for him not too long ago. Possibly before you'd gone to sleep. Something warm and unfamiliar filled him at the thought as he twisted off the lid and began to drink down the water. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little thirsty.

You were a curiosity to Matt. Surprisingly quite trusting of the Devil, a man you didn't even know, who spent his free time lurking the city at night and beating the shit out of criminals. Yet you oddly seemed to admire him for it. And for some reason you kept going well out of your way to help him ever since you'd accidentally met him that evening when he'd fallen onto your fire escape in a snowstorm. Your care and concern for him was something that he just couldn’t begin to understand from a stranger. Or a possible friend, he supposed.

And what he found even odder than your kindness towards him was the fact that you were attracted to him. It was almost impossible for him to ignore with the way your body practically screamed it at him whenever he showed up–especially that time he’d shown up and you’d undressed him and kept him warm. He’d been very aware of your attraction to him then as you sat in his lap. Matt would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t also intentionally done things to see if he could increase your heart rate sometimes, whether it was flirting with you or stepping a bit too close into your personal space. Your body always reacted and he found it interesting. Certainly no one else ever reacted to the Devil like that when he was out. Only you. Everyone else in the city was afraid of him, even those he rescued elicited the scent of fear.

But you were different.

Maybe it was because his blood was always still running a little hot from his time out as the Devil after the things he'd done that night, or maybe it was the constant physical activity as he raced around the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, but he couldn't deny that it excited him a little whenever he felt the way you reacted to this side of him when he showed up at your window. Because you didn't know who he was, and he didn't really know who you were, either. You didn't even know what he really looked like since he had never removed his mask, putting the pair of you almost on equal footing for the first time in his life. Which was…exhilarating, in a sense.

You were somehow attracted to what he considered the darker side of himself. The side he always kept hidden and sometimes even felt ashamed existed. It was a side that was not Matt Murdock–the kind and charming lawyer by day who helped those in need in a different way in Hell’s Kitchen. The side everyone knew him as because the Devil didn't have friends. Except for maybe Claire. Though you were the only one drawn to the side he kept a secret, a side Foggy didn't even know about and Claire had very much rejected. But you seemed to care about him anyway, even when he was injured and covered in someone else's blood. Somehow still wanting to take care of him, still worried about him. And there was something very curious about that.

As Matt reached a hand out, grabbing a stick of jerky and tearing it open, he reminded himself that that was all this was between the two of you. Your strange desire to help Hell’s Kitchen's vigilante and his strange desire to keep appearing at your window. Maybe for the possibility of a friendship to form between you both because deep down he did feel a little alone at night even if he would never admit it. But there was nothing more than that between you both. Because there never could be anything more. Not without you knowing who he actually was, and that was something that he'd absolutely never reveal to you no matter how many slip ups he had. You would never know the Devil was actually Matthew Murdock, which meant nothing more could ever pass between you two than the fleeting moments you had together in the evenings.

Quickly devouring the stick of jerky, he grabbed another bottle of water and what seemed to be a protein bar before he put the lid back on the container. If you were going to leave him snacks, he wasn't going to let them go to waste. As you already seemed to know and were perpetually bothered by, he certainly wasn't about to go home and find anything to eat in his apartment before he collapsed in his bed.

Positioning the water and bar in the crook of his arm, he began to descend the fire escape, making his way down towards the alley. His apartment wasn't that far from yours thankfully, only a block over and across the street. You lived so close to him that truthfully, if he had wanted to eavesdrop on you as Matt Murdock while he was home because maybe you’d crossed his mind during the day, he absolutely could.

But of course, that would be wrong in more ways than one and he absolutely wasn’t going to do that.

Wednesday Morning

The shrill sound of your phone alarm cut through the dream you'd been having, pulling you back to consciousness. You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as your left hand darted out of the warmth of your sheets, feeling around the nightstand beside your bed in search of your phone. Eventually your fingers found it and you picked it up, unburying your head from your pillow and squinting at the bright screen in your dark bedroom.

Turning off the irritating alarm, you dropped your phone back onto the nightstand with a loud clatter before burying your face back into your pillow. You definitely didn't feel like leaving the comfort and warmth of your bed to go and get ready for work. Another miserable groan left you at just the thought of getting up, the sound muffled in the fabric of your pillow.

But then your body stiffened as you remembered the container on your fire escape. The Devil hadn't seemed to stop by Monday night when you'd first set it out because when you'd brought it back inside yesterday morning nothing appeared to have been removed. You'd been a little disappointed at the sight but you reminded yourself that he was probably busy. Or maybe he hadn't been out that night. Or he may not have even made his way over to this side of Hell’s Kitchen.

Or maybe he thought you were weird and creepy for suddenly leaving him food and water out like he really was a stray cat and now he was avoiding you.

But despite that fear, you found yourself hopeful this morning. Maybe he'd stopped by last night and finally discovered your little Devil’s Pantry filled with snacks and had actually been pleasantly surprised. You certainly hoped so.

Pushing yourself upright, you threw the sheets off of yourself and quickly jumped out of bed. In barely contained excitement that would have been embarrassing if anyone else had witnessed it, you hurried out of your room and down the hallway, making your way through your living room and over towards the window. Unlocking it, you pushed it up before leaning out of it into the freezing February morning air to grab the container. You turned and set it on the kitchen counter beside you before quickly closing the window and locking it once more.

Focusing your attention back on the container, you shivered at the lingering chill from the open window as you removed the lid. A smile quickly drew itself across your mouth at the contents inside. Two water bottles were definitely missing and your post-it note had been moved. It also looked like a couple of snacks had been taken as well.

Still smiling in satisfaction to yourself and refraining from letting out a pleased squeal, you realized he had stopped by sometime last night when you were asleep and had found the snacks you’d left for him. You wondered what he'd thought when he'd found it. Did he think it was strange? Was he grateful? Did he not care at all? Though what had you even more curious was another couple of questions that soon arose in your mind.

How often had the Devil actually been stopping by your place and you had never known before because you were asleep or not home? And why did he keep coming back?

Making a mental note to stop by the store after work later today and pick up some ibuprofen to stick in the container with the food, you placed the lid back onto it. The Devil had told you the other night that he was often out even when he was injured. You’d had a sneaking suspicion that if he didn't keep much food in his apartment, his medicinal supplies might not be so well stocked either. He could probably use something to help with the pain he seemed to always be in, especially because you had a strong feeling he didn't sit down and do that weird meditation thing every night to heal himself. He seemed like he barely took care of himself as it was, too focused on helping everyone else, so you doubted he spared the extra time for that unless he really needed it.

But you were determined to make sure someone was looking out for him in Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned and set the container on your kitchen counter before making your way around it and over towards your coffee machine. As you turned it on, your disappointment at having missed the chance to interact with him last night was replaced by the knowledge that he'd yet again come back to your place for whatever reason. You took pleasure in knowing that you’d been able to help him even if you hadn’t been able to see him. But as you began to brew a cup of coffee, you knew he’d be on your mind all day today. Because now you found yourself wondering what it was that kept bringing him back to your apartment over and over.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fanfic

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