#turns out that one is actually the least written. whoops

[anneapocalypse]

I love every YouTuber who has ever made "[Character] dialogue - all options" video.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ideal scenario is that i like thinking about this like, essential short story adventure where winston and tuk hook up w/a couple [that bachelorette party] members, and as a foursome/quartet because they have these parallel stories of two pairs of friends who are like "sure i'd have sex with you if things aligned for that" and now are living that short story about expanding a dynamic & becoming closer friends for the end of it (of course billions only wrote winston as standing next to tuk next episode, instead of rian as he's often written to be standing with incl in a previous finale, to shove him out of the path of getting material and let taylor have confusing nonresolution w/rian based on this proximity and coincidence instead. but who can't say that that, And winston next not even trying to sit with tmc in the last finale appearance which at this point is probably for the best and instead again hanging out with tuk and then ben, isn't about having been closer for whatever all happened there in obtaining casual sex together)

and they can have perpendicular stories of also just having some nice chats and enjoying other interactions together such that maybe it's just fun for this one night of crossing paths, maybe anyone stays in touch at all, who even knows, if winston or tuk are dating anyone it's probably only going to come up again in how they were last dumped for being too much effort for how unepic they are, so godspeed to offscreen unmentioned dating. but just friendly acquaintanceship, or again this one-time spontaneously crossed paths night's acquaintanceship, is also a lot of fun. and why not imagine that winston "he's not allowed to not feel self-loathing or, by doing basic things like talking or initiating Or oppositng anything, Not operating as though he's too low in a social hierarchy here to be allowed thusly" type of material where his spontaneity, vivacity to bon vivantocity, self-assurance that is apparently arrogance/aggression to every who thinks he ought to be self-effacing instead, etc, is actually just a social success in other less wretched non-work situations, and his personality is taken as a contribution to the proceedings even before anyone takes up his proffered contribution of himself as a potential sexual partner. and lending confidence to tuk as like one person who won't, at any given time, go into hostile mode with him or even like take up the position of issuing this criticism, which is an inherently elevated (over tuk) one when it's a unilateral thing. such that tuk's personality can be a potential contribution as well. and winston and tuk's Friendship Developing Moments can be happening then, too, b/c Maybe they've hung out outside work on their own aleady, but also maybe they've never really been interacting with a larger group outside work, such that that group is less likely to include some people, or entirely people, who will suddenly go sicko mode on either or both of them. and then meanwhile, who knows anything abt this bachelorette party, could be already a cohesive friend group who all see each other all the time, or people who see each other more infrequently meeting up on this trip, or a mix; could be fun and chill or something so scheduled/demanding it's kind of like a work trip, or fluctuate....and of course zero info abt the individuals such that imagining anything abt them is entire OC territory, and i'm bad at that, or at coming up with stories, so not exactly a lot of details here from me but godspeed if two of them unlock another tier of friendship here b/c like parallel to winston and tuk, they're like hmm okay so we're mutually down re: potentially having a foursome here, and spending some time away from the larger group

(or of course the scenario that tuk and winston can also have that moment but just as putting "and/or: a threesome?" as an option, and that tips the scales for someone who might've otherwise felt more indecisive like "hmmmm casual convenient hookup, or spending more time out & about like this / whatever other activity...." but then is like oho Well, if it's a threesome, i'll seize that opportunity, sure....such that then maybe afterwards [winston and tuk hanging out together] happens sooner, if the third member feels more third wheel about things lol, since now they'd be the only two who already know each other. like ooh who knows, round n+1 in the aftermath just one on one (and/or i mean, maybe another thing the third party's still around for, re: further casual sex opportunities that don't just fall into your lap every day), and/or talk, watch tron together, go back out on the town even. where the conclusion of this truly is the essence of "it Is easy to imagine that winston and tuk are real Genuine Friends for the implicit further offscreen time spent together outside work / interactions between them here. and fun" and with that flair of "and give that a juxtaposed parallel in it being the same for a couple bachelorette attendees, why not, good for them"

[hydrobunny]

everyone thinks that they know us

tags: confessions, getting together, friends to lovers

a/n: written from the idea made by the amazing @yangx2isawhore :3

--------------------

it's exactly 11:34pm when the ringing of your phone wakes you up.

jolting up from your bed, you blearily glare at your phone screen. the contact name of SHIDOU‼️ burns into your eyes.

you hang up.

a second later, it rings again.

"what."

"y/n!" as always, shidou's voice is just a little too loud for it to be acceptable. "how mad would you be if i killed rin right now?"

you pause. you look at the time. you consider the probability of him telling the truth.

"pretty mad."

"great!" and you can hear the grin in shidou's voice as he recites out an address. "you can come save him then."

although you were the one that had tried so hard to befriend rin itoshi, you were pretty certain that you hadn't signed up for whatever the hell this was.

you pull up at the address at a sharp 12:02 am, annoyance already settling in underneath your eyes.

the address is a mansion (why would you ever expect anything else), and the recognizable bass of party music blasts through the windows. at least a dozen different colored sports cars (you consider how much one would sell for) are parked outside of it.

you debate turning around. unfortunately, you think shidou might actually be serious about killing your best friend.

best friend. how did you get to this point? friend. didn't matter that you might have been in love with him- rin could never see you as anything more.

you knock on the door.

a man you might be able to recognize if you cared enough answers. his dual-colored eyes flit over you with interest.

"hey there, pretty," he says, and his voice is slurring with the unmistakeable touch of alcohol. "don't think you're on the invite list, but i can make an exception."

you scowl. "no thank you. shidou called me to come?"

he cocks his head. "what could someone like you possibly have anything to do with that psycho?"

"he-"

the psycho in question slams into two-eye's side, whooping. "took you long enough!"

you sigh.

shidou ryusei grins at you, positively buzzing with energy. the smell of cheap (why cheap? genuinely, why did he buy cheap alcohol?) beer lingers around his face.

"did you kill rin yet?"

the grin immediately wipes itself from his face. "getting there."

he whirls around, a warm hand latching around your own- and then he's pulling you through the hallways of this too-big house.

the music hasn't stopped for a second since you've got here. in many of the rooms, you can spot groups of vaguely recognizable people, all of them in various states of buzzed-to-plastered.

you wonder how professional athletes weren't any better than the frat boys that threw weekend parties. (well, the age range was pretty much the same)

"where are we?" you manage to shout into shidou's ear, as he pulls you further away from the heart of the party.

"sae's house!" he yells back.

"what?"

the two of you slam into another room- shidou shuts the door with too much force - and the music fades away into background noise.

rin's head snaps up at your entrance.

"rinrin!" shidou crows. "brought you another babysitter!"

rin stares at you with genuine confusion. his eyes are hazed over, his cheeks a light red. "what? y/n?" a red solo cup, ominously empty, sits by his hand.

"yes, yes," shidou replies, pushing you forward. "the only person who can somehow tolerate your presence is here!"

you slip out of shidou's grip. "what the hell is happening?"

he rolls his obnoxiously bright eyes at your question. "little itoshi's weirdly drunk and incoherent. which means big itoshi has to pretend like he cares. which means i can't force big itoshi to drink an enormous amount of alcohol! so now you have to watch this idiot!"

"i am not drunk," rin snarls towards shidou. "and i don't need a babysitter."

he attempts to get up from the counter he's perched on, and immediately wobbles. you debate whether it would be worth laughing.

before you can make a decision, another side door opens.

and sae itoshi meets your gaze with bored indifference.

"what- you!"

he raises an eyebrow. you're not sure how you got into this situation.

you wonder how you're supposed to react to meeting the one and only brother you've heard rin talk so much about.

some inner part of you immediately doesn't like him. the other part immediately notices how similar they look, and curse their sheer attractiveness.

either way, sae loses the little interest he had in you immediately, turning towards shidou. "is this-" he waves a hand towards you. "her?

shidou nods furiously. "junior is perfectly cared for now. now let's get out of here!"

rin glares at all three of you.

sae sighs. for someone who's supposed to be the host, he doesn't look thrilled at the prospect of socializing.

the elder itoshi turns his attention onto the younger. "you're fine with her?"

rin's eyes narrow further. he doesn't respond.

shidou takes that as his cue. his hands place themselves on sae's shoulders. "good talk, everyone!"

and with another slammed door, you are left alone with rin. it's more than a little awkward.

you open your mouth- he shoots you a glare. you can take a hint. (even if it breaks your heart.)

out of a bored curiosity, and maybe a little spite, you start opening cabinets. they're mostly empty (you wonder what kind of life sae lives).

rin's gaze follows you the entire way. it's intense enough to give you goosebumps.

eventually, you come across a pot of gold- a wine bottle, its cork untapped. there's a ribbon attached to its neck; you spy the JFU logo placed on top.

"he won't mind, right?" you ask.

silence follows.

you open the bottle. if you're going to be stuck here anyways, why let it go to waste?

surprisingly, it's rin that talks first. "why'd you come?" he mumbles out, stumbling over a syllable.

you shrug, taking another mouthful of the wine. (it's good. too good. damn rich people.) "shidou said he was gonna kill you."

“shidou has your number? you responded? why'd you care?" he blurts out in a tsunami of words. immediately after, he looks away with reddening ears.

you eye him with slowly growing amusement. there's a buzzing in your stomach that's slowly stripping your self control away. "yes. and yes. and because we're friends."

rin tch's, still refusing to meet your eyes. you think he'll keep talking, but he doesn't.

so you take another swig of the wine bottle. maybe rin can be the one to reach out for once.

but- like always- you're the first to crack. after a possible fifteen minutes of brooding silence, you sigh.

"what's going on with sae?"

rin's gaze snaps to your face. "what about him?"

you raise your brows. (you think you meant to raise only one. you can't really tell.) "i thought he didn't fuck with you."

rin's face scrunches at your words. "what?"

you groan, sliding down from your perch onto the floor. "you know? i thought- well, he looks like he cares."

he stands up. "he doesn't."

"sure."

he stares at you with a complicated expression, and then makes his way over to you. you blink up at him.

"i don't like you talking to him," rin says, seemingly more lucid than before.

"wasn't really my choice." you shoot him a smile, raising a hand. he lifts you up to standing with it.

from how close you now are, the two of you are almost touching. if you weren't as delirious on wine as you are now, this would be much more distressing.

even now, it takes all of your will to maintain eye contact with him.

"you don't like me talking to him?" you mumble out.

rin tilts his head. "no."

"can i ask why you came here then? or why you got plastered off cheap booze?"

he opens his mouth, then stops. and then- "you're not doing much better."

you clear your throat. more than the wine, it's rin who's clouding your thoughts. his faint cologne- so much more evident at this distance- intoxicates you.

"that didn't answer my question."

his eyes narrow. "i felt like it."

you frown. "what situation are you in that made you want to get drunk with shidou?"

and his eyes flicker down. to your lips.

"what do you think?"

you stumble; rin's hand places itself in the small of your back. signature itoshi teal burns.

you're both drunk. you're in his brother's house. and yet-

and yet, you're both here, and rin itoshi is leaning down into you.

his lips meet yours desperately, his breath catching over and over again. your hands tangle into his hair- he groans wordlessly.

you separate with a gasp.

"are you- what?" you manage, face ablaze.

rin looks just as disheveled. "y/n."

"rin."

he steps back, eyes roving from wall to wall. "fuck. fuck, im sorry. i thought-"

that's not the right words you wanted to hear. you step forward, the wine bottle long forgotten behind.

"you thought right," you blurt.

rin stares at you. a flush sits over his face.

"i thought you wanted to just be friends. that- that you didn't want me." you say.

surprise, and horror, flicks in his eyes. "what?"

you cough out a laugh. "not very smart off the field, are you?"

rin's mouth opens and closes, much like a fish. you think he's going to speak-

he closes the gap between you two, and his lips meet yours again.

between gasps, he mumbles a "i could never not want you." into your form.

and you sigh out your own declaration of love

somewhere in the house, a door slams. someone whoops in exhilaration.

but in this room, it's just you and rin. alcohol tinges both of your breaths. you're both drunk on something bigger.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Good news. Did some decent progress on What’s Up Danger so you guys will finally get fed this Wednesday! Bad news, the quality might not be the best since I’m fasting while writing it oTL

Anyways, here are some Batfam w/ Cat Villain! Reader moments/snippets.

TW YANDERE AND MENTION OF NONCON/SOMNO

Both Jason and Reader’s first words to each other were, “What the fuck.”

Reader referring to Jason being a giant, and violent asf esp in comparison to Dick. While Jason was confused at his heart beating so fast and mildly crushing on you while you were fighting.

Bonus points: You guys did the spiderman point meme.

You have the biggest age gap with Dick. I headcannon the boys to be close in age so there wouldn’t be any not so good implications when it comes to relationships, but it’s almost unavoidable unless Batman switches sidekicks every year or so. (You are younger than Jason but older than Tim)

But that is also another reason why you two didn’t click as well as you did with Jason

You’d often make jokes or use slang and Dick would just be “???” He tried his best though.

On the reverse side of things, and like I mention before Tim and you got along too well as friends. He’s one of the few people you could gush to about literally any fandom and he somehow (through stalking your searches and literally every gadget/appliance you owned) knew everything about it already.

You two have written several theses on fellow vigilantes and villains (mostly ‘dumb’ ones like who has the best cake based on so and so criteria)

Damian is the best when it comes to bantering with you mid-fight. It’s the combined years of sass and assassin training. Went from plain insults to whole ass (not so) subtly being horny when you beat each other down.

He’s also the worst (best?) when it comes to your nicknames. He insists that you two use it on each other. Some exclusive while others he’s usually fine hearing from other mouths.

There was one point in time where you were called Kitten while the boys forced/bribed you to call them Daddy

Tim and Jason have tattoos of you/related to you.

For Jason it’s your name with a few paw prints, and for Tim it’s when he first fought you (and got his ass whooped)

After Jason came back and revealed himself to you, he tattooed the scratch marks you left him on his back after doing the deed.

Damian secretly practices doing henna so he can draw on you during your “wedding” since he doesn’t want anyone touching you. Sort of defeats the purpose, but go off king.

Being the thorough guy he is, he uses lab equipment to make his own blends.

Bruce? Bruce hates your ass. Sometimes it’s in a hatefuckey way but most of the time he blames you for corrupting his kids.

So he corrupted you in turn.

I feel like he gets off to cucking them honestly (blame that one comic) but if Reader is AFAB I wouldn’t be surprised if he impregnated them.

He’s a softie at heart when it comes to you though, courtesy of your similarities with Selina.

Speaking of, Talia adores you.

Like if there was anyone she would want with her son it was you.

She thinks the fact that you haven’t been put behind bars is a testament to your skill, and after getting over your similarity to her “rival in love” she would actively get you to be with her son.

Eventually she realizes she loves you more than Bruce and well, that’s a story for another fic.

You have at least a dozen trackers on you at all times.

Most of them you’ve ingested and pooped out.

It’s mostly Tim of course. But the duty of actually feeding you that stuff usually goes to Dick.

Dick has uh- somnophillia’ed you a fair bit after the break up.

He really, and I mean really likes to watch you sleep.

It reminds him of those ‘catnaps’ you’d take while watching over the Titans.

There would be times where he’d just be in a daze/in autopilot for hours reminiscing about your past together

His favorite memories to go back to were your first fight together, first kiss, and times under the sheets, and a date you guys had before in a festival/circus.

He never takes the antidote for Poison Ivy’s sex pollen and always comes to you for it, regardless of his or your relationship status.

Tim has at least a million typewritten chats with AI you, and around a few hundred hours of voice chats.

You did eventually take his virginity.

He came as soon as he was inside you/you were inside him.

You have been offered to be a part of the bat crew or a vigilante. But,

you massacred many after Jason’s supposed death and feel too guilty to call yourself anything other than a villain.

Chokers with bells. It’s a popular gift to give you. Especially ones that are custom made with expensive ass materials and engraving.

Sometimes Tim just gives you weapons.

Alfred is your best source of blackmail material.

You’ve actively tried cursing him (with immortality). You love the man.

He’s secretly the president of your official fanclub/fansite but you didn’t hear that from me.

You fight a lot with Damian’s pets. Like in a way that you turn into a literal cat and hiss at them.

And last but not least, you’re vv close with every member of the Teen Titans (besties with Rachel and Garfield)

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

@sophiethewitch1

[karlachismylife]

Saw this and immediately thought of you! I hope your hiatus goes well!

Thank you so much, love! This cuteness was helping me keep it together during my hiatus and as you can see I survived, all thanks to you! Honestly the "thought of you" part just makes me tear up. Being the Hyena CEO of COD fandom is one of my biggest accomplishments (and also the most pleasant one cuz I get cute hyenas in my askbox).

So now that I'm out of my hiatus, let me tell you that these two? SoapGaz all the way.

CW: basically a short spinoff of the Queen of the Clan, can be seen as both canon and non-canon to the main story, so fem!chubby!reader and this is already established poly 141 x reader (ooh spoilers), a little bit of animal (well, shapeshifter) genitalia touching (non-sexual no matter how hard Soap- okay I'm out)

It's already at dusk that you're suddenly tasked with a simple thing everyone just kinda forgot about: there are new camera traps that need to be installed in the further part of the sanctuary, in the middle of the hyena territory, and since your reputation of a hyena whisperer has been firmly established, no one even thinks of other candidates for the late job.

You'd be quite grumpy about it if you didn't know you'll have the sweetest company to keep you safe and entertained.

Once you load the equipment into your backpack and receive written instructions - at least they didn't make you remember all the complicated measurements you'll have to make before setting up the traps - you roll your scooter out onto the dirt road and set off into the quickly darkening night. Fresh wind smells a little bit like sun-warmed dust and grass as it hits your face on the moderate speed, crickets and night birds weaving their song of nature cooling off after sunset, sounds loud enough to fill your head through the revving of weak engine and air swishing in your ears.

Not wearing a helmet is one of the least reckless things you've been up to just last month, and you can't lie, you feel a little bit power-drunk and allmighty after what you've gone through. Certain fellas do nothing to put you back on earth, shamelessly encouraging your power trip.

After all, the more confident the queen, the stronger the clan.

It's as if the wind picked up your thoughts, filled with the same four someones as always, and carried it over into the breathing with full chest savannah - because you're not even halfway to your end point and there's already loud whooping, two familiar voices, cutting through the air closer and closer to the road. Luckily for all of you, they make sure to get even louder and run a few dozens meters through the tall grass framing the curb, before two large silouettes jump out on the road to escort you in leisurely pace.

There's something so satisfying in the realization that you actually managed to indentify them just by their voices - Gaz's melodic, always slightly purring whooping somehow still distinct even when there are Soap's excited, hasty whoops, almost tripping over themselves and getting grabled with the inexplainable accent he carries into his hyena form too. Their big forms traverse the road effortlessly, even Soap's bulky body taking on that predatory elegance to match Gaz in his dark, determined trotting - they make some loops around you and your scooter, tails raised in excitement, and and shut up only after you turn the engine off at your stop, propping the machine on its stand.

Soap nearly jumps you, balancing poorly on one hind leg and trying to paw at you with both front ones, screeching and whining with his widest smile and tongue lolling out. You chuckle and boop his wide nose, ready to bend down for some kisses, but Gaz, ever the polite one, nudges your hip with his dark muzzle and raises his leg too.

Right. They really wanted you to get in onto the whole greeting ritual - sitting you down for a gentle talk and reassuring it that it's not weird, if it's them. They're not animals, they're just... animal-shaped. Your arguement about palming crotches as a greeting being weird with humans to was kinda just thrown away. After all, they're your clan, they're yours, why would anything be weird between you?

So you oblige, crouching with a sigh and running some quick bellyrubs down their patiently waiting bodies, until you reach two proudly erect hyena members. It's just a ritual, it'll help them with watever scent-hierarchy-service thing they've got going on, you have to remind yourself, as you briefly skim over their genitals and pull your hands away, wiping them off on the boys' fur and slapping Soap's fluffy butt for trying to grind into your palm.

"You try that again and I'm never touching you again, Stinky, you hear me?" You even make a point out of returning the old nickname, and watch with satisfaction as Soap's fluffy ears lower miserably and he dips down to the ground, the embodiment of guilt.

Not for long, though - after he gets a kiss on the nose from you, Gaz jumps Soap and bites his scruff, starting a scuffle. Their commanding officers seem to be busy, so Sergeants have a lot of energy to spare - you know that better than anyone.

Yesterday bitemarks on your thighs still sting as you unload your backpack and pull all the equipment out. Leaning your butt against the scooter, you put on the little headlamp and start reading through your instructions, laughing and fighting off both Soap and Gaz that stopped playfighting just to rummage and sniff through your things.

"Shush! Mum's reading, it's important," you throw at them, earning two sets of outraged huffs - no need to understand hyena language to hear the "you're not our mum" hidden between grumpy sneezes. It works, though, both hyenas plop their asses next to you, Gaz leaning against your hip to get some chin scratches and Soap playing with the strap of your backpack, throwing it around, tugging and chewing on the buckle in the middle. "Okay, it shouldn't be long. Hey, can you help me?"

They both jump up immediately, Soap puffing his chest out and fluffing up his mane just to show how helpful he is, Gaz just standing patiently, only reaching his neck to try and sneak a peek into the paper you're holding.

"I'll be doing some measurements, and you guys please dig a little holes where I say, okay? Not deep, just... well, to fit that thing, see?" You nod at one of the camera traps and after they both inspect it with thorough sniffs and shy nibbles and grumble in understanding, you get that laser tape measure - much easier to use alone and in the night.

Finding one of the spots you need to measure from, you crouch, set the laser and look down at the number on the screen. Too close. With a grunt, you scoot a little further and press the button again. Aha, there!

"Okay, so can you now make a hole right where the laser dot is? Guys?" Confused by the lack of movement from your usually very eager to help and serve hyenas, you look up.

Only to see them both staring at the little dot of your tape measure with tails on high alert and legs in a wide stance, prime for pouncing.

For fuck's sake, you forgot they're basically overgrown spotted cats.

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

[brahmsthirdracket]

Hello! I recently came across your hughes brothers fics and binge read most of them last night :). Would you be open to writing anything about the time Luke said quinn ripped jack’s braces out of his mouth? (If you’re not taking requests feel free to ignore this!!!)

Luke never feels like eating much before cross-country. He likes it fine - he likes it more than fine actually, at least compared to Jack and Quinn, because it’s one of the few things he’s better at than them - but the thought of slogging it through the mud straight after breakfast makes his stomach roll.

He swirls his spoon around his bowl of cereal instead, trying to corral his Cheerios into a pleasing formation. He’s got a kind of Great Lakes thing going on but he’s eaten Lake Superior and it’s doesn’t really make sense for the milk to be the land and - 

“Time to go, kiddos!”

He swallows Lakes Erie, Michigan, Huron and Ontario, and the surrounding landmass with a grimace, and shuffles into the hall. Jack and Quinn are already sitting on the stairs wearing matching fleecy headbands and looking miserable. 

“It’s cold,” Jack whines. 

“Run faster then,” their mom says, rummaging through her purse. “You’ll soon warm up.” She looks real pretty today, Luke thinks. Like maybe she did her hair extra nice or something. He pulls his headband on and sits on the bottom step, cheek resting on Quinn’s knee, to wait. 

“Jim!” she bellows. “Hurry up! I’m already running late!” 

“For what?” Their dad’s head appears through the basement door, followed by his golf clubs and then the rest of him. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?”

“The PTA fall fundraiser,” says his mom, at the same time his dad says, “Golf.” 

“It’s on the calendar,” they both say at the same time. 

“Well, you’ll have to reschedule,” says his mom in that voice that means no arguing. “Boys have a meet in Sunnybrook.” 

“But -” splutters his dad. “I can’t reschedule. I put it on the calendar, like you told me to.” He lowers his voice, pleading. “El, it’s with the guys.”

“It’s okay mom,” says Quinn, standing up to lean over the bannister and pat her shoulder consolingly. “We’ll miss cross-country this one time.” 

“Let me see this,” she growls, and they all trot into the kitchen after her to peer at her Wildflowers of Texas calendar. 

Fall Fundraiser shift 9-12 is written in today’s box in his mom’s neat handwriting, and below that: 

Q, J & L Prep 2 XC 9am (don’t forget headbands!!)

Someone’s drawn a skull next to cross-country, almost- but-not-quite obscuring a tiny and unmistakable golf printed right at the bottom. 

“See?” says his dad, jabbing a finger at it. 

“Well, just go after the race and take the boys with you,” she says, already fishing out her car keys. 

“But - tee time is at nine! Ellen!” 

“It’d better be a quick race then, hadn’t it?”

She kisses each of them, pinching Jack’s scowling face and adjusting Quinn’s headband. Luke turns his face into her fleeting pat on the cheek before she’s out the door in a waft of perfume.

“Run fast and don’t fall in the lake!” she calls ominously over her shoulder, just before the door swings shut behind her. 

Their dad waits for her SUV to pull out of the drive and down the road before he flicks the curtain back into place and motions for them all to huddle in. 

“Come here, rink rats.” He tugs them in close, lowers his voice like he’s about to reveal some top-secret play. “And listen up. This is the plan.”

***

The plan turns out to be the ODR, a bag of pucks and a cheery, “I’ll pick you up in a coupla hours!” before Luke’s even out of the car. 

Jack whoops with happiness the minute he hits the ice, spinning and sending the pucks scattering in every direction. Quinn’s right behind him, thwacking puck after puck into the net. 

“Fuck.” Thwack “Cross.” Thwack “Countryyyyy.” Thwack

“Forever,” Jack sing-songs, sweeping one up onto his stick and slinging it through the air. It bounces off the metal with a twang.

“C’mon Lukey,” he calls, scuffling playfully against Quinn. “Don’t pretend you actually like that shit.”

Luke tries to sulk for a bit, taking his time with his laces. His brothers hadn't even laced them up for him, which, rude. But it’s a perfect November morning, as crisp and perfect as a snowglobe before you turn it upside down. They’ve got the whole rink to themselves. It’s been way too long since they did this: no adults, no cones or drills or gear, just the three of them together, playing hockey. 

“Yeah, well some of us can actually outrun old ladies pushing little dogs in strollers,” he chirps, darting out into the middle. 

Quinn and Jack exchange a look. “Get ‘im,” growls Quinn, with a wolfish grin, lurching towards Luke and trying to hook him in with his stick. Luke squeals, twisting away and rocketing as fast as he can up to the other end of the rink, Jack in hot pursuit. They chase him all over, dodging pucks and their abandoned sticks and gloves, until they’re all wheezing with giggles. Quinn eventually manages to get an arm around his neck from behind and pull them both down and Jack belly-flops on top. 

“One day,” Luke pants from the bottom of the dogpile, trying to knee Quinn in the balls so he’ll let him up and getting a facewash for his troubles, “I’m gonna be bigger and faster than both of you.” 

“But until that day,” Quinn replies, finally rolling off and tugging Luke to his feet, “You can get in goal.” 

They play shinny until they’re hot under their sweatshirts and jerseys, hair sticking to their foreheads and breath coming in short pants, and Luke thinks he’s never had so much fun playing hockey, playing anything. It’s hard though, just as gut-churning as a whole weekend tournament or relentless drills in the basement with his dad. Jack and Quinn never give an inch, never care that he’s smaller and younger when it comes to this, and he loves them for it, because when victory comes, he knows he’s earned it. They push each other just as hard, sometimes too hard Luke thinks, watching Jack cuss and elbow Quinn in the gut as they're scrabbling against the boards. Quinn shoves his face back, and the next minute they’re rolling around on the ice in one of their completely shitty fistfights. 

Luke hovers next to them, glancing around and praying no one he knows from school is about to walk past. 

“Stop. Trying. To. Bite.” pants out Quinn. He’s managed to roll over and pin Jack with his weight, and is trying to push his face away. Jack’s a slippery eel though - especially when he’s an eel on ice - and he seems to be trying to lick Quinn to get him off. Which is not a tactic Luke would use himself, honestly, but whatever works he guesses. It must work, because he manages to sink his teeth into Quinn’s forearm and they’re rolling all over the place, gloves and sticks forgotten - thank God. What happens next is a blur of flying arms and legs (and in Jack’s case teeth, the weirdo), but suddenly Jack lets out a shriek of pain - a real one - and Quinn lets go of him like he’s been burned. 

Jack curls up, one hand over his mouth, and whimpers into his knees. 

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Quinn tries to make him look up, pull his hand down. Jack’s eyes are huge with unshed tears. “Jackie?” Quinn asks again, really worried now.

“Um,” says Luke. He squats down next to Jack and picks up the little piece of metal off the ice. Cradling it in his glove, he holds it out to Jack, who gazes at it for a moment and then promptly socks Quinn square in the jaw. 

***

“Someone’s arm better be hanging off,” growls their father when he pulls up to the curb they’re huddled next to and flings the car door open. Luke wordlessly holds out the braces to him. “The fuck is that?” 

“Jack’s braces,” mumbles Quinn, with a guilty glance at the unhappy figure hunched on the other side of the lot. 

“Jack has braces?” Sometimes Luke thinks he could grow a tail and his dad wouldn’t notice unless it affected his play. Last week he had to check Quinn’s date of birth so he could fill out some paperwork.

“He doesn’t anymore, Dad,” Luke pipes up. 

“Jack! Get over here!” he bellows. He takes the braces from Luke’s hand, holding them up for a better view. “These things just click back into place or what?” Jack stomps over, scowling and sniffing. He won’t even look at Quinn, and when Quinn tries to reach out his hand Jack smacks it away viciously. 

“Fuck off.”

Their dad gets a handful of Jack’s jersey and tries to prise his mouth open like he’s a dog that’s eaten something bad. “Oww", whines Jack, trying to twist out of his grip. “You’re hurting me!”

“Open. Up.” Their dad grunts, trying to push the braces back across Jack’s front teeth with one hand, and hold him still with the other. 

“Dad, no! Stop!” Quinn pushes himself between them, trying to protect Jack from being force-fed a mouthful of metal. “You can’t do that! We have to go to the orthodontist.”

“The what?” he pants, temporarily letting go of Jack to turn the metal round, as if the reason he couldn’t fit them back on like Lego was that they were upside down. Jack immediately darts behind Quinn and Luke reaches up to swipe them out of their Dad’s hand. 

“Dad,” he says, more bravely than he feels. “I think you need to call Mom.”

The three of them huddle together on the backseat, trying to stay as quiet and inconspicuous as possible as their dad calls their mom for instruction. Luke finds a packet of half-eaten Reese’s pumpkins, no worse for being frozen and unfrozen a few times and settles in for the long-haul. Jack slumps sideways with his head in Quinn’s lap, playing with the strings of his sweatshirt and allowing Quinn to scratch behind his ear in apology.

She’s ominously silent all the way through the slightly edited version of what happened, not even interrupting to yell at Quinn. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says, after a pause. “You didn’t take your sons to their scheduled sports-activity but instead took yourself to golf and allowed said sons out unsupervised to publicly brawl, causing hundreds of dollars of dental bills?” 

“It was on the calendar! It was on the calendar Ellen!” 

“Well Jim Hughes, all I will say is thank God for Canadian healthcare.”

“They cover braces?” says his dad, perking up. He twists round to waggle his eyebrows at them, all looks like we got away with it.

“Oh no,” she says airily. “I meant for you four, when I’ve finished with you!”

[panlight]

I know I've mentioned this before, but sometimes I think it's a blessing that SM hadn't really read/watched much Vampire Stuff before she wrote Twilight.

Don't get me wrong--there are definitely times where I'm very frustrated by this, where she misses a key moment that someone more genre savvy would have taken full advantage of. The main character being turned into a vampire in such a clinical way removes so much of the intimacy and eroticism of vampire lit, for example. Or the way she didn't give her vampires any weaknesses and how that makes it so much harder to raise the stakes and put them in any real danger. Or to feel bad for their cursed existence because like . . . it actually seems not that bad without all the weaknesses and limitations.

But It's a blessing in a way because it allowed her to come up with characters like Emmett, Esme, and Carlisle. MOST of the sympathetic, 'good' vampires in fiction end up being like Edward. This brooding vampire who hates what he is and probably has some kind of Dark Past (Edward's vigilante era in his own opinion) but wants to be good but oh, the endless midnights! And obviously that's a compelling story; these tropes are used so often because people ENJOY them.

But then you have Emmett, who is a 'good' vampire too and just . . . doesn't care. He's nice. He'll protect you. But he's also killed people. Whoops. Probably felt bad about it at the time. Probably still feels a little bad if he thinks about it now. But he's not brooding about it. He's generally pretty happy and fun and doesn't take things too seriously. Normally this would be a 'bad' vampire or at least morally gray vampire but as written by SM, he's clearly intended to be a good guy. Just one of the bros who happens to be a vampire.

Then there's Carlisle, who had every reason to be the brooding vampire who hates himself (was actively hunting vampires when he was turned! son of a pastor! alone for centuries!) but instead he . . . just got on with it. Also I think his success with vegetarianism is in itself kind of unusual and refreshing for the genre. I know lots of people think he'd be more interesting if he had killed people but as someone who read Twilight during a marathon read of other vampire fiction the fact that he HADN'T was actually what made him interesting to me. It was bizarrely . . . hopeful? It's the kind of thing that someone actually vampire genre savvy probably wouldn't have done.

Likewise Esme just being this white suburban midwestern vampire mom and playing it 100% straight. This isn't some commentary on how vampirism is a shallow perversion of motherhood or whatever, Esme IS the mom. She does mom things. It's taken seriously. She's not some sinister Other Mother, she is genuinely loving and gentle and motherly and again, I feel like someone genre savvy wouldn't have played it that way.

Anyway, yes sometimes I long for more typical vampire stuff in Twilight, but sometimes the lack of genre knowledge worked out in its favor.

[fetishfairytales2]

Sissy School, Pt. 2 (Story)

The next day, the sun was already shining through the windshield as I drove Brandi back to Huggies for her first day of Sissy School. I glanced at my precious cuck, all strapped into her car seat like the helpless baby she is. I had to giggle at her reflection in the rear view, dressed in her pathetic school uniform, just like a little doll. She wore a tiny plaid skirt that barely covered her pink pull-ups, those cute white lace stockings, and a pink blouse with "Teacher's Pet" written across it. Her blonde pigtails were tied with bright pink bows, making her look so innocent and sweet. Her pacifier gag, molded from Conner's massive cock of course, kept her quiet, but her tears said it all. "Look at my widdle Brandi, all pretty for her first day of school!" I smirked, locking eyes with her in the mirror. "Aww, stop with the waterworks, princess. You know you don't have a choice, so why the tears?" I listened to her muffled sobs and whimpers, like she could actually convince me to change my mind! "Bet you're gonna have a blast, silly girl! Stop being such a drama queen!" I pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall, where Ms. Becky waved eagerly. Seems like my sissy wasn't the only one excited for her first day of school!

"Come on, my little sissy, time to get you outta that car seat and ready for school!" I cooed, strutting over to the car door, my heels clicking on the pavement. "Look, there's Ms. Becky waiting for you! You wanna make Mommy proud on your first day, don'tcha, Brandi?" I knew this was the tricky part, getting her out of the car without a scene. I quickly unbuckled her, leaving her wrists cuffed to keep her from causing a fuss. I grabbed her by the pigtails and yanked her out, her little skirt riding up to expose her diapees. "Remember, baby," I whispered, turning her chin toward me, staring into her teary eyes, "you don't wanna be a bad girl and have Daddy hear about it. No more morning spankings if you're good today." I gave her a wicked smile, handing over her school bag. "Now, listen to Ms. Becky and Ms. Staci. They'll teach you how to be the slutty sissy we know you can be!" As Brandi turned, resigning herself to her fate, I gave her one more swift spank on the ass. “Whoops!” I giggled when she yelped behind her gag; “did Mommy accidentally spank your plug? Sorry sweets!” I watched Brandi slowly trudge toward the front door, her pigtails bouncing. “Have fun cupcake! Mommy will be watching all day!”

Oh my God, I was so excited to watch my sissy's first day of school that I barely gave her time to walk through the doors before I was on the phone with my girls, Lyndsey and Kylie! "You guys have to come over ASAP!" I squealed into the phone. "It's Brandi's first day, and they live-stream the whole thing! I bet it's gonna be hilarious!" I rushed home, poured myself my first glass of wine for the day, and fired up my laptop just in time for the show to begin. And there she was, my little Brandi, standing with three other sissies, all wearing those tiny plaid skirts and stockings, and of course, their diapers on full display. They were all standing in a circle in the center of the cute pink classroom next to their matching pink desks and chairs. I could see Brandi staring wide-eyed at the dildo that was suction-cupped to her chair.

Ms. Staci, looking all kinds of hot but pissed off, stood at the front of the classroom.. "Alright, you pathetic losers," she barked, "if your sissy pussies aren't full, they will be! You know the damn rules - nothing less than six inches at all times!" She was so over these sissies already! "Bend over those desks, now!" Three of the sissies quickly obeyed, but my little rebel, Brandi, just stood there, staring at the floor. Staci marched around the circle, noticing Brandi and looking pissed. "Sit. Down," she ordered, pointing to the first sissy, seeing a hole already cut in the back of their diaper. She checked the second too; “better be at least six inches long,” she barked, pulling out the back of their diaper to inspect. When she got to Brandi, she ignored her for a moment, instead making her way to the final sissy’s desk. “Diaper down, I want to check you. Spread them slut, you know how this goes…” The very annoyed teacher didn’t say anything else, instead yanking a massive black rubber butt plug from the sissy’s ass. “Quit your bitching slut, you’re not that tight anymore anyway…” Staci snickered.

"And why aren't you bent over like the rest of these losers?" Ms. Staci demanded, having none of Brandi’s sassiness! “Did I fucking stutter?!” the teacher asked, marching over to my little sissy. "I said I wanted every ass bent over and stretched, and I mean it! Got something to say, princess?" she yelled, her eyes daring Brandi to talk back. Brandi, trembling and whimpering, tried to speak through her gag, her eyes pleading. "What was that, bitch?" Staci screamed. "Don’t you know not to talk with a cock in your mouth, slut?!" She dropped the rubber butt plug on Brandi's desk with a thud, then bent my helpless, cuffed sissy over the desk. "Let me help you out, sweetie," Staci hissed, untying the pacifier gag. "If you even breathe right now, you'll spend the day in detention, got it?" She leaned in close, her voice a menacing whisper. "Now, listen up losers, when I say do something, you fucking do it! I don't care if your pussy is already stretched, or your diaper is full of shit. What I say goes! Got it?” All four helpless sissies nodded now, even Brandi!” Staci leaned in again, talking directly to Brandi; “and right now, I want the new loser here to stick her fucking tongue out..."

Oh my God, the tension in that room was real, and I was loving every second of it! Brandi, trembling again, barely stuck her tongue out, and Ms. Staci was not having it. "All the way, bitch!" she snapped, grabbing Brandi's tongue and pulling it out of her sissy mouth. "I want it all the way out, you pathetic loser!" Staci got right up in Brandi's face now. "From now on, you little slut, I own you. Me and every hot woman that works here, we're way too good for you, but we still like to play with our toys. So, when I say jump, you ask 'how high?' Got it?" With that, Staci slowly walked behind Brandi, her voice dropping to a whisper again. "Open your fucking mouth wide..." Then, getting tired of Brandi’s defiance again, Staci screamed in the poor thing’s ear, "DO IT NOW YOU FUCKING BITCH!" And just like that, my sissy's mouth was forced down onto a freshly used butt plug, which I’m sure she just loved. "That's it, bitch," Staci giggled, sounding so bitchy now; I knew I would love this girl! "Lube it up for this fucking loser, 'cause it's going back in her ass! Maybe this should be an everyday thing! It would help you make friends!" She wrapped her hands around Brandi's pigtails, forcing the sissy to deepthroat the plug. “Take it all the way bitch, you’ve already earned one demerit, don’t make it two because you’re not sucking like a slut!”

"Oh my God, is that Brandi?!" Lyndsey was laughing behind me, peeking over my shoulder at the live stream. I was so lost in Brandi’s suffering, I didn't even hear Lyndsey come in! We hadn't seen each other in ages, well, except for the weekends when she cuckysits Brandi while I'm out with Conner. I poured her a glass of wine and filled her in on all the juicy details - Conner's big promotion, how I wanted Brandi out of my hair more, and of course, the best part - enrolling my sissy in Huggies and Hunks. "Huggies and Hunks,” Lyndsey giggled, “why the and Hunks? I know it’s not the diapered freaks that go to ‘school’ there!” she laughed, waiting for what she knew would be a fun story. I explained how the strip club next door was owned by the same woman who ran the school and how they shared all kinds of staff. "Mmm, I’ve been to Hunks a few times,” Lyndsey giggled; “hopefully Brandi’s as impressed with those boys as I was! She plopped down next to me on the couch, and we turned back to the live stream. “Heather, I have got to see this, like, right now!”

By the time we got back to the live stream, Ms. Becky had taken over, and it seemed we were just in time for Art class! The four sissies squirmed in their desks, their poor asses all being stretched. "That girl, Staci, she's a real bitch," I explained to Lyndsey, pointing out the college-aged blonde. "But she's my favorite. She had Brandi in tears so fast! And the dark-haired cutie is Becky," I continued, "She's a bit nicer, but trust me, she knows how to have fun with them." We watched Becky hand construction paper and crayons, making sure to bend down and get cozy with each sissy. I burst out laughing when she practically smothered Brandi with her cleavage! "Aww, my poor little chastised cuck," I cooed, "She hasn't had any release in ages, and now she's surrounded by these hotties every day. They told me they all wear the same uniforms except Friday. Then they wear even less! Brandi is going to be seeing these girls every day in those tiny shorts and tight crop tops! Bet she's dying inside!" I took a sip of wine, loving every minute of this.

"Alright, my little sissies," Ms. Becky cooed, clapping her hands together, "it's time to show me your artistic skills!" Lyndsey and I nearly choked on our wine as she turned on the classroom TV, revealing a dick pic. Holy shit, that was the biggest dick I had ever seen! "This, my darlings, is Ms. Becky's boyfriend, Mr. Jerome!" She sighed, clearly proud of her well-endowed man. "Some of you lucky girls might even meet him during your 'Sucky Exams' this week! So, who can tell me how big Mr. Jerome is?" She scanned the room, ignoring the fact that each blushing, made-up face staring back at her was gagged. "Aw, no one knows? Well, I know you've never seen anything this big, unless your pretty little princess lips were wrapped around it or it been was fucking your mommies! No worries sweeties, I’ll tell you; Mr. Jerome is a whole nine inches! Isn't he amazing?" She held up a crayon and a piece of construction paper with a very evil smile; "I want each of you to draw Mr. Jerome!” Despite the gags, there were a lot of groans. “Aww, don’t be like that! I’ll tell ya what; the best little artist will get an extra diapee change today,” she grinned excitedly, “ and the worst…”, she paused, pretending to look sad, "will get no diapee change today, is going to miss recess, and get a detention demerit! Okay girlies, get drawing!”

As we watched the sissies scribbling away with their crayons, I filled Lyndsey in on the details. "Three demerits, and Brandi's in detention, where they get...well, I'm not exactly sure. She already got one this morning, so I'm curious to see what happens next!" I giggled, then explained the weekly 'Sucky Exams,' where the sissies had to pleasure the male dancers from the strip club next door. We held our breath as Becky announced time was up and collected the drawings. I just knew Brandi was in trouble when I saw her still frantically coloring. 

"Crayons down, little one," Becky said, tapping her foot. "Don't want a spanking on your first day, do you?" Brandi reluctantly handed over her work, her head hung low. "Let's see here..." Becky shuffled through the drawings, building the suspense. "First up, we have...Sissy Slut, and oh my, look at this!" She held up a crayon drawing, a decent attempt at capturing Mr. Jerome's ‘glory’. "Not bad, Slut, but it doesn't do him justice. Next, we have Jizz Bucket, and this one's a bit better,” she smiled, holding up a slightly more impressive attempt. "And here we have Cum Breath, who did her best!" Becky held up a third drawing and just shrugged. "But finally, our newest little one, Brandi…who doesn’t have a cute nickname yet. But she was working so hard, so let's see what she's got..." Becky held up a half-finished, messy drawing that was barely recognizable. "Well, sweetie, you tried…I guess Unfortunately, I think you'll be missing recess and getting a detention demerit. That makes two for you today, so you better work extra hard to not end up in detention on your first day! Okay girls, diapee checks and then recess…for everyone but Brandi! Remember girls, one diapee a day, so if it ain’t leaking, it ain’t coming off!”

Kylie walked in just as Art class was ending, pouring herself a glass of wine and joining our girls' day. "What am I missing?" she asked, laughing. Lyndsey and I filled her in on the drama, pointing out Brandi standing in the corner with her nose against the wall. "Looks like no changes for our naughty princess," Kylie giggled, "Good thing you plugged her before school, huh?" We watched as the other sissies were led out for recess, everyone ignoring Brandi. Then, Staci returned, grabbed Brandi by the ear, and dragged her out of the classroom, across the hallway, and towards the Playroom. "Uh-oh, I bet she's in for a rough time," Kylie giggled. "I don't think she wants to play with whatever's in there!" We watched as Staci opened the door, pushed Brandi down to the plush pink carpet, and slammed the door shut. "Damn, that girl’s wicked," Kylie nodded, clearly enjoying the show. "She's rough with our girl, and I love it!" Brandi, still gagged, barely had time to struggle to stand up before the door opened again. “Whoa! Look at those arms!” Kylie giggled as we all drooled over the toned muscles of the man who was standing over Brandi now.

"Recess for them, slut," Staci said, walking past the hunky guy and grabbing Brandi by the hair. "You, though, get to play with my friend here. He's the bouncer from next door, and since it's slow, he can join us for a little fun. He might not like sissies in pissy diapers, but he loves getting his dick sucked, so I'm sure he won't mind, right?" She smirked at the bouncer, who shrugged. "Perfect, let's play. Wrists in the cuffs," she ordered, pointing to the wall. The bouncer dragged Brandi to the wall, fastening her wrists to the fluffy pink shackles hanging from the ceiling . Staci returned with a vibrating wand, smiling. "Everything comes off, just the plug and cage stay on this loser," she said, standing before a sobbing Brandi, who was begging behind her paci gag. "First though, please, shut her the fuck up," Staci ordered the bouncer, who complied by ripping off Brandi's pull-up and spanking her ass hard. "Act like a bitch again, and I'll have every guy from the club here to treat you like a bitch. Got it?" she warned. Brandi froze immediately, terrified. "Now, your new Daddy here is going to remove your gag and strip you. If you make a single fucking sound though, he'll throat-fuck you till you pass out. Do you understand, bitch?" Staci asked, grabbing Brandi by the chin. Wow, this girl was rough with Brandi!

We watched, so excited, as Brandi was manhandled. First her cock paci gag ripped out, leaving it dangling around her neck. Then her shirt was hiked up, bunched up at her wrists, still trapped in the shackles. Finally, her skirt was gone, leaving her naked and vulnerable, her little pink chastity cage barely visible. "Won't be needing this," Staci giggled, flinging the skirt behind her; “not now anyway.” She smiled as she pulled on the shackles' chains to lengthen them. "There, that's better, princess,” she said as Brandi was forced to sit against the wall, her legs spread, her eyes wide with fear. “I know you're used to being on your knees, but we want you comfy," Staci mocked, sitting in front of Brandi. "So, a fun game for my little loser, then. Excited, aren't you?" She leaned in close, squeezing Brandi's cheeks, forcing her mouth open as tears streamed down her face. "First, Daddy loses his pants," Staci said, as the bouncer stood over Brandi, his pants around his ankles. "And I'll grab him like this..." She gripped his cock, stroking it slowly. "To get him ready for you, sweetie," she whispered, brushing the massive dick against Brandi's lips. "Say 'ahh' or I'll force you to." Before Brandi could react, Staci squeezed her cheeks again, forcing her mouth open once again, and pushing the dick into her, making her gag. "Good little bitch," Staci cooed, “you just keep that nice and hard for me!”

"Now, if your mouth wasn’t full,” Staci smiled with almost sadistic glee as she taunted the bound sissy. She looked like she was enjoying tormenting Brandi even more than I did! “I bet you'd be begging me to stop, wouldn't you, fuck-face?” She continued, “pleading with me, telling me how much you hate sucking cock." She held up the vibrating wand, her evil smile getting even bigger. "But we both know you're full of shit, and I'm gonna prove it! Here's the deal: if Daddy cums in your mouth before you do, you never have to suck dick here ever again. I promise! But, if you cum in your cage while sucking his dick..." She giggled, waving the vibrator in front of Brandi's face. "You'll be spending the rest of today, tomorrow, and probably the whole week in detention! Your Mommy did warn us you were a naughty little loser and that you would spend a lot of time in detention. I hope she was wrong! Oh, speaking of your Mommy, she wanted me to tell you a secret…." Staci looked directly into the camera, and winked! She leaned in close to Brandi, whispering in her ear, muffleing the words. I knew what she was saying; I asked her to do it just after signing the tuition check. Brandi's sobs turned into desperate wails around the stranger’s cock, her body almost convulsing in the shackles. Guess poor Brandi didn’t think our little secret was as funny as I did!

Out of nowhere, the ripped, muscular hunk grabs Brandi by the pigtails. "Oh I think it’s playtime!" Staci laughs. The bouncer grunts and forces Brandi's mouth down on his thick cock, thrusting until her throat is stuffed. Staci's giggles fill the room as Brandi gags and chokes, tears streaming down her face. "She loves sucking that big cock, huh?" Staci teases, egging the man on. "Fuck her throat! Make her gag, choke her on it, she wants it so bad, I think she's a slut for it!" Brandi struggles for breath, her sobs muffled by the cock down her throat. "Oh no, take it all, bitch," Staci laughs when Brandi tries to pull back. “You’re not going anywhere,” she adds, grabbing Brandi's head and forcing her deeper. "No vibe until you stop gagging and take it like a good girl," Staci whispers; “the game hasn’t even started yet bitch.”

"There we go, good loser,” Staci cooed as Brandi finally relaxed and let the bouncer use her throat without fighting back. Staci held the vibrator against Brandi's caged cock, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Mmm, that feels good, huh, loser? Mommy says you haven't been allowed to cum in months!" Staci turned up the vibrator's intensity, making Brandi's shackles rattle. "Aww, she loves it! Look how turned on she is! Such a good little cock slut!" Brandi, being her pathetic self, was actually moaning around the cock invading her throat! I thought back to when we dated and wondered how I ever put up with such a loser. "Beg for it, bitch, if you want it so bad! Beg Daddy for it!" Staci taunted, pressing the vibrator harder. The bouncer pulled out of Brandi's throat, and she sniffled, probably about to beg for mercy. But instead, he slapped her face with his cock and thrust back into her throat. "Aww, at least you tried, sweetie," Staci giggled.

Brandi was trembling on the brink of a sissy-gasm, her body shaking harder and harder as the vibrator teased her caged cock. The bouncer, a true alpha, showed no signs of slowing down as he pounded her throat. "Not yet, bitch," Staci giggled, turning off the vibrator with a fake gasp. "Whoops, where'd the buzz go?" she asked with a wink, as Brandi continued to be throat-fucked. "At least Daddy still wants to play!" Staci leaned in, her fingers massaging Brandi's throat while the bouncer's cock pounded away. "That's right, baby," she whispered, her smile sinister. "This is your life now. Mommy will drop you off here every morning she doesn't want to deal with you, and I'll let strangers fuck you however they please! You've got two holes, and I'll make sure they're both well-used!" The thought of Brandi being used like this every day sent a shiver of satisfaction through me. This school was everything I'd hoped for and more!

“Gosh loser,” Staci's voice took on a fake sympathetic tone. "I think I’m gonna make you cum while Daddy fucks your throat, ya know? Oh, and every time a real man uses your sissy holes actually. What’s gonna  happen from now on, is I’m gonna condition you, bitch. That's what your Mommy wants, right? You're gonna dribble sissy goo from that cage every time a man fucks you!" She shrugged, as if it were inevitable. "Of course, you'll go to detention after, 'cause no sissy is allowed to cum here at Huggies. All those other sissies? They come here, we watch them for their mommies a couple hours a day. They might suck dick once a week, but it's mostly just humiliation. You, my dear, are fucked though.” It was wild to watch the bouncer just endlessly pound into Brandi’s mouth the whole time. This guy just never ran out of stamina! I needed his number! “Your Mommy paid us to ruin your life!" Staci finished excitedly and I just smiled, sipping my wine as I watched on. The reality of Brandi's situation sank in for her, she was crying and fighting against her shackles now like she was begging for her life.

“Oh well,” Staci shrugged, without sympathy. “I guess it’s game over, bitch boy," she giggled, turning the vibrator back on and waving it in Brandi's tear-filled eyes. "Time to cum, slut," she smiled, "I want to see those sissy dribbles leak from your cage while Daddy fucks your throat!" Brandi's eyes widened as the vibrator made contact with her cage, her body trembling on the brink of orgasm. The bouncer, sped up his thrusts, his cock pounding her throat. Staci laughed even harder as she jammed the wand onto Brandi's spasming cage. "Come on, sissy, cum like a girl while Daddy fucks your face!" Staci taunted, her voice cruel. "I want to see those loser dribbles! Brandi's muffled moans and screams got louder until the bouncer pulled out, stroking his cock in Brandi's face. Staci's verbal assault didn’t stop though and either did the vibrator, "Cum, you fucking loser! Cum while you stare at the cock that just fucked your mouth! That's it, cum like the girl you are!” Brandi's body shook, her eyes rolling back as she leaked the smallest little puddle through her cage.

Staci turned off the vibrator and snuggled into Brandi's neck, whispering with fake concern. "Aww, poor thing. Did mean old Ms. Staci milk your sissy marbles and now you’re still feeling all pent up?" God she was such a bitch! "See, bitch boy? I told you, you love cock so much, you'd cum just having one in your mouth!" She winked at the bouncer and subtly grabbed Brandi's pigtails, holding her head in place. "Time to thank Daddy for giving you what you love!" Brandi, exhausted from her torment, couldn’t fight back as Staci forced her head down, and the bouncer went back to pounding his dick down her poor throat.

"Of course," Staci whispered in Brandi's ear, smirking with satisfaction. "After Daddy cums down your throat, it's straight to detention for you. You know the rules, no cumming for losers at Huggies." Kylie, Lyndsey, and I laughed, watching Brandi's mouth being used like a fleshlight, her throat gagging on the bouncer's cock until he finally emptied his load down her throat. "Three demerits on your first day, bitch," Staci smiled, very proud of herself. "Time for detention, loser!”

To be Continued…

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023​) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.”  On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his  heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[venuslcver]

RELENTLESS PT. 4 ⋆

pairing: pushyex!rafe x kook!reader

synopsis: you find that the day after your encounter with rafe, your ex-boyfriend, both of you seemed to have different expectations for how your relationship stands.

tw: feminine described character, ex-lovers, pining, profanity, toxic love (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

hearing the ring of the doorbell, you threw on your pink satin victoria secret robe, flying down the newly done, wooden stairs in your house. you must have finally got the package that you had been waiting at least five days for, it contained multiple new outfits that you would consider dying for. i mean it was the bare minimum considering how beautiful they were.

forcing the door open abrasively, you let a sign when you didn't find a large package on your porch, but flowers...

picking up the rather generously large bouquet, you searched for any type of identification for the giver of the breathtaking, hand-picked flowers.

it can't be from rafe

there is no possible way in hell it's from rafe. seeing the hand-written note, "a gift for making you sore last night- rafe"

letting out an obnoxiously loud scoff, it seemed to concern your mother enough to walk onto the main foyer, "oh wow! who are those from?"

quickly plucking the inappropriate note from the eye line of her, you began to walk up the stairs, "I have no idea"

"huhh, that's weird. anyways you need to meet your father at the golf course at arou-", taking a moment to look at her vintage watch, "around 12:30"

continuing your pace up the stairs through the entirety of the conversation, "sounds good, you meeting us after for dinner, right?"

"yes, dear"

laying the flower vase onto your dresser, sliding your robe off, you continue getting dressed for a round of golf with your dad and a couple of his friends. surprisingly they were actually were quiet entertaining, especially when they got a little drunk on the course. which naturally guaranteed that you would whoop their asses in golf.

pulling up in your own separate golf cart, you were greeted by the old men; your dad, aaron, mark, and ward. you met officially rafe through ward, he would occasionally join a game with his dad instead of just his buddies. and soon enough he was fucking you in a secluded part of the golf course.

"god i'm rusty" you thought.

you started to get into the rhythm by the second hole, just as you began to laugh at a joke that aaron, mia's dad, said, you see a distant golf cart edge closer and closer to the game that you guys were currently playing.

there is no fucking way in hell it's really him

sure enough, coming speeding up on one wheel, was rafe with a large smile on his face, and alcoholic beverage in hand. coming to a halting stop, rafe stalked closer, not before resting an arm around your shoulder, subconsciously fiddling with the straps of your shirt. there you stood, not able to move away from his touch. your dad looked utterly confused at the current situation unfolding in front of him.

"sorry guys, accidentally let time get away from me"

a synchronized "no problem" quickly left the older guy's mouths. hearing a deeper voice, you snapped out of your current thought process, "I didn't even get a thank you for the flowers"

purposefully speaking with a low tone while seemingly smiling, "i thought the fact that i left in a hurry, let you know that i regret what happened"

a little harsh

you saw rafe's face dropped quick to turn pale in color, though, only for a split second before putting up his usual cold exterior.

"baby, you want'a drink?", rafe asked loud enough for everyone to hear without question. simply because he knew that it would piss you just as much as you did to him. though his comment would never hurt you— unlike yours.

the five older men all glanced at each other for a brief moment before attempting to focus back on the game.

he has truly reached another level of douchebag

and that is exactly what you told him, propping your bodyweight on top of your toes, whispering into his ear, "your truly such'a dick, you know that"

before he could come up with a counterargument, he began to get heckled, "it's your turn rafe" "come on, it's your turn, man"

by the time that the game had concluded, rafe had somehow wormed his way into also having dinner with your family at the country club. and considering that rafe would be joining for dinner, your dad decided that he would drive home and get your mom, while you began getting settled at the reserved table.

which lead to the current moment— you and rafe sitting at the dinner table alone. looking into your eye line, the beach sunset through the wall of windows, which made you wish that you could slam your head into the window hard enough to get out of the awkward situation. clearing his throat, "soo, you got any idea of what your gonna order?"

looking over at rafe, you could tell that he had something else on his mind, something that caused him to soften his eyes when you made eye contact with him for the first time in hours, "no one is around, what's a 'matter?"

scanning the surrounding area, seeing that not a single soul was close enough to hear anything that rafe would say— when he potentially expelling his feelings. real human feeling. those of which he lacked for most of his life.

"w-why'd you b-break up... with me?" he leaned forward, eyes barely able to hold eye contact.

[callmehere-iwillappear]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

this has been sitting in my drafts for probably months and i actually don't remember who tagged me at this point sorry </3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

26

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

168,724

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently just rise but i've had some other fandoms i've written for in the past

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

call me here (i will appear) Use Only For Intended Purpose The Idiot's Guide to Blindfold Chess new phone who dis because i fear i'm lost (and i cannot be found again) wow big surprise(/s) all of these are rise al;jfldksjfkd

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to but uh </3 i am not very good at it

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ummm. probably waiting for answers, wasting time bc even if u know the comfort and healing comes there very much isn't any in the fic itself so whoops </3 i am not good at hurt/no comfort so i don't. have a lot of fics that would really qualify

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uuhhhhh ig fibonacci? most of my fics have relatively happy endings and. this is the one with the least angst overall so

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not yet thank god

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do not alfjdlkjfkdls

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

imma keep it real with you chief most of the crossovers that i've written are with other people's aus and idk if that counts

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of fingers crossed

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeesssss? sorta? it's not like, on ao3 but i've done some collab crossover stuff with friends (see aforementioned crossover question)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

god idk. i don't do a lot of shipping these days sorry </3 i have some ships i think are cute but i'm not like, into them enough to say they really qualify

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i want to finish idiot's guide and cmh very very badly and i refuse to jinx it. idk abt npwd solely because of like the type of fic it is, idk if it'll ever be finished finished yk. like there'll always be more little scenes i can do

16. What are your writing strengths?

um. i've been told i'm good at character voice

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

sweats nervously

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i don't really do it? i probably wouldn't unless it was like, just a couple words - i don't mind too much when other ppl do it bc i have a translation extension on my laptop but i don't have many options when i'm on my phone

19. First fandom you wrote for?

doctor who........ i was like. god idek. fifteen? maybe younger i straight up don't remember <- also none of this is on ao3 this was like, back in my ff.net days and i don't think i even remember my login lmao

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

hmm hm hm. okay. probably because i fear i'm lost. just bc like... idk i'm proud of how it turned out and i'm really . idk. happy with the reception it got. i'm happy it reached people who can relate to it. and it's short enough that there's not like, enough space for there to be parts where i just have to force myself to write stuff i'm not 100% happy with to fill in the gaps. if that makes sense

tagging: You

[epickiya722]

Hello, I'm new here, I would really like you to answer my question, I really like your thoughts. What bothered me most about this chapter 261 of jujutsu is that it doesn't make sense that Yuta came back in Gojo's body, this took away the weight of Itadori again in the story, it seems like a fanfic written by a fan. 2. this chapter took away all the weight of gojo's death.

Hi, right back at you, Anon!

I could see how this chapter bothered you. I seen some people even mentioned how "Yuji is going to be sidelined again".

I already written a post about 261 here, and I'm going to mention a few things I already said in that post.

Now, this may seem to be shocking to some people when I say this because y'all know Yuji is my favorite. But... I can see Yuta on the frontlines but just for this moment. I also have a second outlookto this. I don't think this is going to be a Sukuna VS. Yuta battle.

It feels, just a little at least, like a tag team of Yuji and Yuta VS. Sukuna part 2. It's just that this time, Todo is here in the place of Rika.

In my post, I mention how it feels like Yuta may be showing up at this particular time to save Yuji from losing that bit of humanity he has left. In a way, he is taking the weight off of Yuji. That burden of turning yourself into a curse to kill a curse.

Also, I just thought of this. The audience knows Yuji has awakened. We seen him hitting Sukuna with those back-to-back Black Flashes, whooping Sukuna's ass. Yuta hasn't.In a more realistic sense, with Yuta being out the fight for some time, during that time I can imagine he also worried about Yuji and the others like "I gotta get back in the fight, I gotta help". So pack that panic onto possessing your teacher's body.

I know to some, this indeed feels like a "Yuta is here to take Yuji's shine" moment, but again to me it's just feels like someone coming to help after taking an inhumane risk.

Gojo told Yuta to take care of Yuji and the others if something ever happened to him. And yeah, this is him doing that.

There's also the fact that neither Yuji or Yuta actually care to show out against Sukuna, they just want to kill this guy. There's not even a sense of rivalry between them.

And even if Yuji is out of the fight for a while, this is a rhetorical question for other Yuji fans, would that make you see him any less of a great character he is?

Because even during the Culling Games, he wasn't in that arc much but it didn't make me think of less of him because before, during and after he has moments that I still find great and honestly when he's not onscreen, just makes appreciate him more as a character.

I don't think screentime should determine how great a character is. Just the time they have shown should count for something. That during that time onscreen, they showcase what makes the viewer favor them.

Whatever happens next, isn't going to make me think of Yuji any less.

But enough of that!

Okay, for Gojo's death... okay, I can see why people would feel upset about Gojo's body being used like that after dying.

But I think that's the point. It should make the audience sick to their stomach because none of the characters are happy about it either. Except maybe Sukuna, he seems thrilled.

People are currently slandering Shoko for not trying to convince him against it, but uh... in the same breath Gojo expresses indifference about it even though it is his body. "Who cares what happens to one's corpse?" He takes no regard about what if he does lose and says "well, I'll admit I don't like my body being used like that".

Didn't do that.

To me, Gojo... I'm not going to say "okay"... was nonchalant about it being he states "he won't lose, he won't die" verbally to hide that even if he does he's accepting to it. He accepts he dies this time around. He finally is no longer tied down to that life of being a weapon. And maybe... this is also him kind of... punishing himself for what happened to Geto's body.

Geto died and Gojo didn't properly dispose of the body because he probably couldn't make himself do it. That lead to Kenjaku getting his body and using it as a weapon.

So, how does Gojo make up for it. Well, Yuta is the one to end Kenjaku so Gojo, still probably feeling not feeling satisfied and guilty, decides "well, if I do lose, they can use my body as a weapon".

Gojo's life is a tragedy, but his afterlife, being there with Geto and the others he lost, just may have been his mercy. He's finally in a paradise where he can feel happy, truly happy and whatever goes on in the real world, he can let go, including his body.

But that's just me.

[edgarbright]

Ikevil Wrapped in Wicked Romance story event route with the premium ending + epilogue for Alfons…

Unpopular opinion but I admit I loved it

The content warning is very real! If you don't like, don't read, just put it on auto if you want the blouse/event completion lol But the cw only made me more curious about him and the route did not disappoint in showing how twisted and spicy and wonderfully villainous Alfons's ability can be! Like William's ability will make you take the knife to cut your throat with your heart bursting out of your chest and your skin turned to ice. Alfons's ability, meanwhile, will have you willingly take the object in his hand and go where he leads with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

While Alfons's ability can take away your perception of reality, I liked how he never used it to make anyone, least of all the MC, feel bad.

And I did like how unapoletically he was about what he did, especially since, in his own twisted way, he was creating this route's illusion for the MC's sake.

Some may remember way back when Ikevamp Arthur's main route dropped and I seethed over what happened in like chapter 4. Arthur's pseudo-sexual assault intended to punish and scare the MC for getting involved in a house of vampires. Ikevil's MC is an actual hostage at Crown where she needs to prove her loyalty or lose her life. Alfons could easily have fallen into a similar Arthur-like trap of treating MC like a fly caught in a spider's web, and punishing her for putting her nose in the wrong place.

But he didn't!!!

MC was traumatized from walking in on the prologue murder, and to follow Alfons for the day meant she would be forced to face even more bloodshed because that's what Crown does! But MC (and me as the reader whoops) weren't thinking about that part; we were thinking about the silly pretend lover mission part. So it was simultaneously shocking yet hilarious how quick Alfons was to enchant MC into thinking he was her lover. Like that man did not miss a beat in going from enchanting her to convincing her to getting that first kiss. I can't even be mad because he is supposed to be a villain, so go ahead and have the kiss, sir...!

The rest of the story is written so well in a surreal kind of way. I think I'm just very into this veneer of sweet and soft with the sense of danger lurking underneath. Even when we get the meat of the dubcon, it felt dark but like in a fairy/spirited away kind of dark.

And I think this route and that content warning worked because of the MC. Her observations, her internal dialogue, her internal conflicts, her anger, her desire--they held the spotlight even while Alfons led most of the way.

The question now is which event route to pick next? I've completed two premium routes (Alfons and Ellis) and I should be able to do one more route (I've estimated four premium routes are just out of reach at around 43.7k unless I want to spend). I'm not that interested in Victor or Harrison, tbh (I'd love to hear from people that favor them!) so at the moment I'm inclined to go for Ellis's bitter end (or even Alfons's bitter end). Are the bitter ends darker? Anyone have any recommendations?

As a side note for main routes, I've put William on hiatus at chapter 18 and switched to Liam. That Liam performs a particular play surprised me and made me super happy, because that play is one of my favorites, so a great start! His route has some serious content warnings so let's go...!

[dino--draws]

Part one of two! Headcanons boogaloo!!! Because i have a geology assignment I gotta go do now but if I didn’t get some of this drawn out/written I would’ve exploded. What if this guy got so so fucked up. What if the ABSTRACTION turned him into a parody of who he was before and it took him years to realize something was off and theres a reason why people looked at him strangley? What if a full grown man got pataphysically lobotomized of his emotional complexity because he was turned to an archetype? Also whoops this whole thing turned into a neurodivergence allegory sorry it will happen again

tune in later for part two where things actually get better for this guy LMAO. You ready to start taking steps to rebuilding your sense of self? At least as much as you can?

and yeah this is once again me being fucking insane about blorbo from my someone elses oc. This will also continue to happen

[bxbynyah7]

Told You So- Sam Golbach One-Shot

sam x oc (Emmy)

summary: Living with 5 boys always proves to be a trip. Except when someone finally gets hurt, and it so happens to be your boyfriend

warnings: cussing, broken bones, yelling, Sam gets full named by Emmy, (I think that's it)

A/N: This is my first story I have ever posted online. I have a few written that I want to push out and they will for sure be longer than this one. I hope you enjoy and if you want to read something specific, send in a request :)

----------------------- S A M G O L B A C H ------------------------------

Living in the traphouse with my boyfriend, Sam, was exciting to say the least. We lived with some of his closest friends so you can imagine it was like living with 5+ toddlers sometimes. And today was one of those days. I was sitting inside at the bar trying to work on some editing for some of Sam’s new pictures from the photos I took for him when I heard all the boys yelling from the back yard. I shut my laptop and grabbed my phone off the counter with an eye roll. I walked outside into the hot L.A. sun and stood with the rest of the boys. My tank top and shorts stood out against all of their hoodies and jeans even though it was damn near 100 degrees outside. “What the hell are ya’ll doing?” I asked them. Colby, Jake, Corey, and Aaron just looked at me like deer stuck in headlights. “What? Cat got your tongues or something?” I said with an attitude. I needed to get back to work. Sam wanted to post those pictures today, so I needed to get them edited. “Nothings going on, Em. Why would you think something is going on?” Jake stuttered towards me. I rolled my eyes and looked at Colby who was making, well attempting, subtle glances up to the top of the house. Confused, I looked up and saw my boyfriend standing on the edge of the roof. “Samuel John Golbach! What the fuck are you doing up there?” I yelled at him. He smiled sheepishly and gave me a small wave. “Hi baby. I was about to help the boys make a TikTok, wanna watch?” He called back down at me. I looked at him irritated. “Sam, what TikTok are you making?” I asked. I was genuinely concerned for him. I had no idea what they could possibly be doing. I hadn’t been on TikTok in over a week because of work. “Okay I’m filming. Whenever you’re ready, Sammy boy!” Corey yelled. Colby whooped and cheered and Sam counted down from three. On three he jumped and fell down fast. He was supposed to land in the live seat they had under him. He missed and landed partially on the ground. “Sammy!” I yelled and ran over to him. He groaned and tried to turn into his stomach. “No baby stop you can’t roll over. You might’ve fractured your spine” I told him while holding him still. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. “Fuck this hurts.” He whispered to me. I had silent tears running down my face as I kissed his forehead. “ I know, sweet boy. The ambulance is on its way I promise.” I whispered back. “How long until the ambulance gets here?” I asked the boys. “There right around the corner.” Colby told me. I heard the siren before I saw the lights because I didn’t want to take my eyes off Sam. “Ma’am, we’ve got it from here.” One of the paramedics told me. “Okay, uhh he’s 24, jumped from the roof and landed partially on the lovesac. I heard a big crack when he hit the ground, so I think he fractured his spine. If not the spine, some of his vertebrae.” I rattled off quickly. “Damn woman, you a nurse or something?” The other paramedic asks with a laugh. “Studying to be one actually. That and I live with a bunch of dumbass boys who like to do stupid shit.” I told him with a small laugh. They got Sam up in the gurney and loaded him in the ambulance. “You wanna ride with him, nurse girl?” They asked me. I nodded my head and hopped up and sat next to Sam. “Emmy, it hurts. Like so fucking bad.” Sam whispered to me. “I know it does. You jumped off the roof and missed the bean bag. What did you expect?” I asked him. I grabbed his hand and rubbed soothing circles on the back of his hand with my thumb. He smiled at me and squeezed my hand gently. 

time skip to the hospital

“Well, you indeed did fracture a few of your lower vertebrae. Three to be exact.” the doctor told Sam.  He looked at me with some fear in his eyes and at that moment I knew exactly how he was feeling. “Hey baby, you're fine. I know exactly how to help with the healing process so you will be in great hands.” I told him, brushing his hair back off his forehead. He smiles at me and looks back at the doctor. “Okay so what are you able to do?” he asked him. The doctor went on to explain that there wasn’t much he could do other than give him a brace and pain meds. After a conversation about what he can and cannot take, the doctor left to get the nurse for his brace. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, my love.”  I whispered to him. He brought my hand up to his lips and placed a few pecks on the back of my hand. “I'm sorry I’m putting you through this. I thought I could make that jump.” he told me. I smiled and placed a kiss on his forehead. “I told you so, babe. I told you so.”

[vodika-vibes]

Pen-Pals

Summary: When you're assigned a pen-pal for one of your classes, you expect to make a friend, at best. You definitely don't expect Tup to become something more to you.

Pairing: Sailor! Tup x Reader

Word Count: 4569

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: I am, like, 85% done with my Prince!Boba fic and decided to write this instead. Whoops.

Tagging: @the-bad-batch-baroness

Divider by saradika

“Alright everyone,” Your gaze drifts from your notebook up to the front of the classroom, where your teacher is trying to gather the attention of her class, “As you all know,” The teacher continues as soon as she has everyone’s attention, “I have been working to set up this pen-pal program with men on the front lines, as well as men on the naval ships-”

The room dissolves into groans and you roll your eyes, “Miss,” One of your classmates calls from the back of the room, “You’re a Rune teacher! Not a language teacher!”

The teacher slams her hand on the table, and the room falls silent immediately, “I already have pairings made up for all of you,” She says through ground teeth, “And you are going to write at least one letter.” She falls silent as she glares around the room, and then she’s all smiles again, “Now when I call your name, come up and get your assignment-”

After class ends, you leave campus quickly. The worst thing to do would be to remain and listen to the rest of your classmates bitch about this, admittedly weird, assignment. Why a Master Level magic teacher, who’s students were all adults, is creating a pen-pal program is beyond you…but grades are grades.

Plus, she gave you a stack of these really neat envelopes that will teleport the letter to the recipient the same day it’s sealed, and you really want to take a look at the runes that allow that to happen.

You push open the door to the store your grandparents own, and walk through the shop, into the back, and up the stairs. “I’m home!” You call as you open the door that leads to the house proper.

Your grandfather doesn’t look up from where he’s burning something into a piece of wood, “Welcome back,” He says, “How was class?”

“The teacher finally managed to make her pen-pal dreams come true,” You reply as you place your bag on a chair and walk over to the table, “What are you working on?”

“You tell me,” Your grandfather replies as he pushes the schematics over to you.

You turn the paper so you’re able to read it properly, your fingers lightly tracing over the written runes, “It looks like…hm…a warmer of some kind?” You asked.

“Very well done,” Your grandfather praises as he glances at you, “It’s a commission that came into the shop, they want a clothing warmer.”

“And you’re making it out of wood?” You ask doubtfully.

“Just the frame, kiddo. It’s going to be cast in steel when I finish this bit.” Your grandfather rolls his eyes, “You know your grandmother, she’s already got the forge fired up.”

“At least she loves her job,” You counter as you turn the schematics back towards your grandfather.

“True enough, she does love metalworking.” He beams at you, “So, who’s your pen-pal?”

“Dunno, I haven’t opened the envelope yet.” You reply as you grab a cookie out of the jar, and take a bite, “Unless you need me in the shop, I’ll probably head to my room and get started on that.”

“Such a diligent student,” Your grandfather teases, “We’re all set in the shop, for now. Killian actually showed up for his shift today.”

“You know you should fire him, right?” You say as you break off a piece of your cookie and toss it into your mouth.

“Ahh. I can’t do that. He’s Bernie’s son!”

“I didn’t know that leeches could look human,” You mutter under your breath.

Your grandfather points at you, “Behave.”

You hold up your hands, “Okay, okay.” You finish your cookie, “Since you don’t need me, I’ll just go to my room.” You grab your back and head out of the room, though you turn and start walking backwards so you can still see your grandfather, “I’m just saying, if I didn’t show up for work three times a week, I’d get fired.”

He shoots you a disappointed look, and you muffle a laugh as you turn and head down the hallway to your room. Though you do take a moment to open the door to the basement, where grandma’s forge is located. You don’t hear her hammering anything yet, “I’m home, grandma!”

“Hi, baby! Don’t come down here, there’s dust and smoke everywhere!” She calls the warning up the stairs.

“I can see it, Grandma. Have fun!” You hear the sound of delighted giggling, and you’re pretty sure you hear her crowing something about copper, but you decide that you do not want to get involved.

You very carefully shut the door to the forge, and watch as the fire suppressants flare to life down the hall and across the floor, and you shake your head and walk down to the end of the hall.

The house you share with your grandparents is a decently sized place, all things considered, even if it is oddly shaped. The fact that the only way to get to the basement is from the second floor, rather than the first floor, is odd. Though you don’t put it past your grandparents to have designed the house that way intentionally.

Your room is the smallest room in the house. 

It’s small enough that your grandfather had to make you a loft bed with a desk and a bookshelf built underneath, but you really don’t mind. The smaller room is easier to clean, and it means you never have to invite people over.

Useful, since you don’t actually have any friends.

You hang your bag on the hook on the bedroom door, and pull out your class books, the stack of envelopes your teacher gave you, and the simple envelope with your name on the front.

You sort everything, and then you sit at your desk and you slowly open the envelope. 

The first thing that slides out is a picture. A young man with dark skin, curly black hair pulled into a bun, and brown eyes is showcased in the picture. He has a tattoo of a teardrop under one of his eyes.

You set the picture to the side and pull out the slip of paper inside the envelope. It’s not even a full sheet of paper, it’s just a ribbon of paper with a few words written on it. His name is Tup Fett, he’s a few years older than you, and he’s stationed on the Resolute, a naval ship.

Well, you suppose. It’s something at least.

You open your desk and dig around for a moment, before you pull out a picture album and flip to the very end. You grab one of the most recent pictures of yourself (a professional picture you got made for your grandmother’s birthday a couple of months ago) and you slide it in the envelope that your teacher supplied you with.

And then you grab a blank piece of paper, from the stack of specialty stationary that your aunt gave you several years ago and you’ve never had any use to use, and then you just…stare.

What does one write to a pen-pal anyway?

You tap your pen against the paper for a moment, and then, when nothing comes to you, to start doodling flowers across the top and around the edges of the paper.

And then, once the paper had over two dozen intricately drawn roses, you started to write. 

Starting with an introduction and then an apology for all of the roses you drew on his letter. And once you started writing, you found that you couldn’t stop.

One page very quickly becomes three, and that’s when you decide to stop. You sign the letter, and then add a postscript saying that he doesn’t have to reply if he doesn’t want to.

And then you pull the picture back out of the envelope, and fold it in the letter, and, before you can start second guessing yourself, you shove the whole thing into the envelope, address the front, and seal it with a touch of magic.

Nothing happens for a moment, and then the envelope flashes twice, and vanishes.

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

When the men on the Resolute were told about the pen-pal program, Tup wasn’t convinced that it was a good idea. He’s still not convinced that it’s a good idea, but so many of his brothers are-

As a Private, Tup doesn’t expect to get a letter. Or to be lucky enough to get a pen-pal at all. After all, the Commanders and Captains and higher ranked brothers are sure to be chosen.

Which is totally fair. He does not begrudge his older brothers their ranks, he knows how hard they’ve worked to get to where they are, especially since some of the natborns they work with seem to think that there’s some favoritism going on.

Which is categorically ridiculous. Jango doesn’t play favorites. It’s why Cody works on a warship too. It’s why everyone except Fox works on a warship, and the only reason Fox doesn’t is because he’s in charge of the Mandalorian Guard. And the Police Force. And the Royal Guard.

Anyway, Tup is convinced that he’s not going to get a pen-pal, so he doesn’t even bother with considering it.

Which is why, when he steps into the room he shares with his batchmates, and he sees a letter on his bunk…he’s not really sure how to react.

He carefully picks it up and sees that it’s addressed to him, and so he just stares at it for almost 30 seconds. And then he lays down on his bunk and he slowly opens it.

Tup pulls out three sheets of paper, and his lips curl up into a smile, and that smile grows when the picture falls out of the letters. He picks it up and looks at it, at you, for a long moment. And then he turns the picture over and reads the information on the back.

Your name, the date it was taken, and a note in neat cursive, “I got professional pictures for Grandma for her birthday, but she only kept one, and gave the rest away. I did manage to save this one, though. So…here’s me.”

Tup flips the picture back over, and grins at the image of you. Cute. So very cute.

He sets the picture down on his chest, he’ll have to remember to beg Rex for some tape later so he can hang the picture on his bunk, and he opens the letter. Tup is more than a bit surprised when he sees all of the roses drawn on the first page.

And when the very first sentence is both an introduction and an apology for all of the flower doodles, he can’t help but release a quiet laugh, joy blossoming in his chest. 

Tup reads his letter three times before his older brother bursts into the room. “Tup!” Hardcase says, “Why did you skip dinner?”

“I was busy,” Tup replies as he sits up, and then he grins and holds up the letter, “I have a pen-pal.”

Hardcase blinks at Tup, twice, and then he lunges at him, “I want to read it!”

Tup swears loudly and twists, his feet catching Hardcase’s chest plate and pushing him back, “It’s not yours, dikut!” Hardcase lands with a loud crash, and the door to the room opens again.

“Tup? Hardcase?” Rex looks between the pair of them, “What are you doing?”

“Tup got a pen-pal and he won’t share.” Hardcase says from the floor, “Tell him he has to share.”

“That’s not at all how that works, Hardcase, and you know it.” Rex replies flatly, and then he glances at Tup and flashes a small smile, “I’m happy for you, vod. I have the envelopes in my office, you can get one in the morning.”

“Thanks, Rex.” Tup replies with a relieved sigh.

Rex just grins at him, and then he bends over and picks up a small square of paper, and his grin grows, as he looks at it. “She’s cute, Tup.” He offers the picture back to Tup, “I’ll go get some tape so you can hang the picture.”

Tup takes the picture and mutters something in response, before he hides the picture in his pocket.

“You’re not going to be able to hide it for long, vod.” Rex warns, “But I’ll make sure that no one tries to read your letters.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Tup replies easily. “They can get their own pen-pals if they want to read letters.”

Rex laughs, and claps Tup on the shoulder, “I’ll be sure to mention that. Come on. Let’s get you your envelope and some tape.”

“I thought you said I had to wait until the morning?” Tup asks.

“You’re not going to sleep, Tup.” Rex counters with a roll of his eyes, “You’re far too wired. Letting you write the letter now will at least keep you occupied until you do fall asleep.”

“...thank Rex.”

“This is the only time I’ll allow it, Tup.” Rex warns as he points at Tup.

“Yes sir.”

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

When you wake the following morning, and carefully maneuver yourself down the ladder and onto the floor, you notice that there’s a letter sitting innocently on your desk.

You stare at the letter, pleasantly surprised.

You honestly didn’t expect a response at all, let alone one within 12 hours of the initial letter.

You yawn and sit down. You can hear your grandparents moving around down the hall, and you know that you really should save this to read later…but you have a few minutes, right?

You carefully open the envelope and settle back in your seat, and start to read.

Thank you for writing to me, sarad! I can honestly admit that I wasn’t expecting a pen-pal at all, especially not one who is so talented. I really liked the roses, so please don’t apologize for doodling!

It was also really interesting to hear about your class. I wasn’t aware that there were magic schools…but I suppose it does make sense. There’s not nearly enough wizards in the world for everyone to have an apprenticeship. I admit that I’m not sure what runes are used for, but you seem very passionate about them. Is that because of your grandparents? You mentioned them, and their shop, a lot.

I can’t tell you where I am right now, it’s not allowed, but I can tell you that we’re still several months away from returning to Mandalore. I miss solid ground…and my own room. More my own room than solid ground, if I’m going to be completely honest.

Sharing a room with 5 other men? Not fun. The fact that they’re my brothers somehow only makes it twice as bad and ten times more annoying.

Oh! The picture you sent me is currently hanging on the wall in my Berth. Not in my bunk, just…on the wall…next to the mirror. I’m so sorry, my brothers are idiots and they insisted. Hardcase made some paper flowers and taped them to the wall around your picture. I’m still not sure why.

It’s okay though, because Cap gave me permission to beat him around the training room in the morning.

I suppose I won’t be too hard on Hardcase. The splash of color is nice. If you wanted to send more pictures of anything, it would be nice. But please don’t feel like you have to.

Anyway, I have to wrap this up now. It’s late and I do have work I need to do in the morning.

Thank you again, Sarad, for writing to me. I hope you will again.

Yours, 

Tup

P.S. Hardcase says hi.

P.P.S. Dogma also says hi.

P.P.P.S Hardcase says that if you want to send some candy, that would be nice. He wants fruit flavored hard candy, I’m partial to peppermint, personally.

P.P.P.P.S. This is the last one, I swear. Hardcase swears that fruit candy is better, he’s wrong. I’m pretty sure he was dropped on his head as an infant.

By the time you reach the end of the letter, you’re giggling. Tup sounds so fun, and Sarad is a very nice nickname.

More pictures is definitely do-able, you have an entire box filled with random pictures you’ve taken over the last few years, though you’re not sure how to get candy to them.

Maybe if you put the candy in a box and then tape the letter to the top? You’ll ask grandpa, he’ll know.

“Angel!” You hear your grandfather call from the hallway, “Breakfast!”

“Coming!” You shout back. You carefully lay the letter in an empty box, planning on collecting as many letters as Tup decides to send you, and then you hurry out of your room. “Hey, grandpa! I have a rune question-”

The letter you eventually send back to Tup at the end of the day is attached to a box full of candy, cookies, and various pictures of places and people. You also added some stationary for Tup, and you’re pretty sure your grandparents added a few more pictures of you.

You eye your grandmother suspiciously for a moment, “Are you planning on adopting Tup, Grandma?”

“Hm? Oh, no dear. I’m in the process of planning your wedding to him.”

“...Grandma!”

“What?”

********

Tup blinks at the box sitting on his bunk.

He’s fairly certain that the pen-pal thing isn’t supposed to be a daily thing, but he’s not complaining. At all.

He grabs the box and sits on the floor as he carefully opens it. And then his jaw drops.

There’s a bunch of different types of candies, a container full of cookies, a sweater, and a box that, when he opens it, reveals an entire stack of pictures. Tup absently flips through the pictures, most are of various places around Mandalore. Though some are pictures of his Sarad through the years.

Tup pops a peppermint into his mouth, and carefully peels the envelope off the front of the box, and opens it.

Hey Tup!

I have to admit, having a letter to read as soon as I woke up this morning was a surprise. Though it was a pleasant surprise! I didn’t think that you would want to write back to a babbling college student. I’m glad that I was wrong!

It would be nice to be an apprentice to a proper wizard, but, well, only the wealthy or the lucky actually have that chance. And I’ve never been either, so I made due with what the college can offer me. Not that I’m much of a magic user, honestly. You’ll never catch me running around throwing fireballs or summoning lightning. I’ll stick with my safe, clean, runes.

You said you don’t know much about runes, but to keep this from becoming a lecture-Runes can be used for a lot of things, but mostly they’re useful. Like…I have runes sown into my boots so that they don’t get dirty, even if I jump in a mud puddle. And I have a locket my grandparents made me that acts as a rudimentary tracking charm. (I really need to get them to remove that, I’m not five anymore after all.)

And I do lean more to runes because of my grandparents. They raised me since I was four. My parents and older siblings decided to take a world tour…and just never came back. It doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers my grandparents, though. They feel like I should miss them, and I really don’t. How do you miss something you never had?

Anway.

What’s it like living on a ship? I imagine it’s cramped and you don’t have much space. At least you’re with family, I suppose. Though if I had to be in close quarters with any member of my family for a long period of time, I would commit murder, so it’s best that I’m not.

I don’t mind that my picture is hung up, your picture is hung up over my desk after all. But I did send some more pictures so maybe you can reclaim the picture of me and replace it with something a bit less…embarrassing? Though I think grandma snuck some more pictures of me in your care box.

I hope you like the sweater I got you. I wasn’t sure as to your size, so I got a size up from what I thought you might wear. And I know the Resolute’s color is blue, so I just grabbed that color, so you can wear it on shift, maybe? If you don’t like the color you can send it back, and I’ll get you a different one. Promise.

Anyway, my lunch break is almost over, so I had better go. I have to go scream at one of my grandfather’s employees…he showed up five hours late for his shift. Who does that??

XOXO

Sarad

P.S say hi to Hardcase and Dogma for me

P.P.S There is enough candy in the box for you and Hardcase, but please don’t feel like you have to share with him.

P.P.P.S Also, you’re both wrong. Chocolate is the superior candy, and I will fight you on this.

Tup grins at the letter and immediately pulls the sweater on. It’s a bit too big on him, but it’s warm and he loves it. He opens the box of pictures and starts going through them. All of the pictures with his Sarad in them get put to the side to get hung up in his bunk, while he leaves the others on the desk so the Berth can get properly decorated.

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

It’s been almost a year since you first started writing to Tup, and you still hear from him almost daily. Of course, you’re just as guilty as he is of writing daily letters.

And sending gifts. So many gifts.

Though, in your defense, most of the things you’ve gifted him have been sketches and doodles. Though you did send him a new hair clip that your grandma made for his birthday.

He also got a cake, courtesy of your grandfather.

You spin your pen between your fingers as you stare at the almost finished letter.

Well, the letter is finished, technically you could send it as is, and it would be fine. After all, Tup would be docking soon…as in today, and you can finally see him face to face, but-

But.

You nervously gnaw on your lower lip and, before you can second guess yourself, you add a hastily scribbled postscript, and then you shove the letter into the envelope, and seal it.

The letter glows, and vanishes, and you stare at the spot for a moment. 

Well. It’s out of your hands now. Now all you can do is wait.

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

Tup stares at the letter in his hands wide eyed. He wasn’t expecting another letter, not since he’s so close to returning home, to being able to see you in person.

But you sent a letter anyway, and while the majority of the letter is normal stuff, it’s the postscript that has him thrown for a loop.

I’m looking forward to meeting you in person. I’ll be there when the Resolute docks, Grandpa already said I can have the day off. So don’t worry about replying to this letter!

XOXO

Sarad

P.S. I love you

He reads the postscript over and over and over. There aren’t any more envelopes. He can’t reply to you, even though he wants nothing more than to send a reply, even if the reply is only four words.

He fights the urge to hunt Rex down and demand one more envelope, though he knows his older brother is absolutely not going to give him another envelope, even if there was another envelope. Which. There is not.

“You alright, vod?” Dogma asks, as he looks from Tup’s anxiously bouncing leg to the way he’s impatiently tapping a rhythm out on the paper in his hand.

“What? Yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Great.”

“Right. You wanna try repeating that in a way that’s more believable?” Dogma asks dryly.

“...Sarad loves me.”

Dogma stares at him, silent, “Vod. You’ve been in love with her for six months. Why are you freaking out about this?”

“Because I want to tell her.”

“Great, you can tell her in person. In two hours.” Dogma replies.

“But-”

“No buts. Just relax, vod.”

The last two hours pass by in the blink of an eye, and Tup shifts nervously. This is the first time he's been able to meet you face to face, and he's nervous.

Only a little.

Because you're great! And you're so kind, and whenever he talks to you, or thinks about you, his stomach flips, and he feels like a cadet again.

But he's still nervous. He's not Rex or Jesse or Fives, all of whom ooze charm as easy as breathing. So there's always the chance that you'll see one of his brothers and choose one of them.

Regardless of what you had said in the letter.

And then the ship is docking, and he's disembarking and he sees you, and you're just as ethereal as your pictures showed-

And you see him, and your smile is blinding, and then you're in front of him, and your arms are around his neck, and he's stumbling backwards, and Rex has to catch him -

Tup can't help but laugh as he curls his arms around your waist, "Hi Sarad." He breathes out, and all of his nerves vanish as though they never existed to begin with.

“Hi,” You reply, your arms settling comfortably around his neck, “Did you get my letter?”

“I did,” Tup replies.

“And?” You ask, some anxiety passing through your gaze.

Tup grins at you and catches your lips with his own, one of his hands leaving your hip to cradle the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He can hear his brothers wolf-whistling him, and he breaks the kiss, though he remains close enough to kiss you again, when he wants to, “Is that an answer?” He asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

And your face is red, and your eyes are bright, “I’d like to hear the words anyway.” You whisper, uncaring of the audience…and you do have an audience.

His grin is boyish, and both of his hands move to cradle your face between his hands, “I,” He kisses your forehead, “Love,” he peppers light kisses across your cheeks, and nose, “You.” His lips catch yours in an even deeper kiss. “How’s that?”

You giggle and tilt your head slightly, “I think it’s perfect. A perfect confession for a perfect Tup.” At this point, the audience has moved away, with other couples reuniting across the docks.

He kisses you again and again, before he finally pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “Remind me to write a letter to your old teacher for introducing us.”

“She’ll be unbearable, Tup.” You whisper up to him.

“We can allow it, for a little bit.” Tup whispers back.

“Grandma and Grandpa are dying to meet you, can you leave?”

“My shore leave officially started the moment I stepped off the ship. I would love to meet your family.” He ghosts his lips against yours, one more time, “Lead the way, Sarad.”