#where it's okay to pump your own gasoline

[secondbeatsongs]

makerrcat made me watch John Wick, and my hot take about it is that the entire plot of the movie is impossible, not because of the action sequences and cool fight scenes, and not because of the awesome mob hotel run by a dude named Charon, but because it's illegal to pump your own gas in the state of New Jersey, so John never could have had that interaction with Viggo's son at the gas station

[genocidehim]

Tuco seeing someone insult his girlfriend and him secretly torturing/killing them for disrespecting her

notes: reader is female, misogynist comments, graphic violence, Just Tuco being Tuco. words: 1212

Both had to make a quick stop at a nearby gas station to refill the fuel of Tuco's 1970 Pontiac LeMans. He seemed much calmer this day, his hard and serious gaze appeared somewhat less tense with you by his side, and although he didn't let go of his tough personality, he was much more lenient with you around.

"I'm going to stop here for a second, if you want you can help me fill the tank while I buy something in the store," Tuco announced as he turned into the gas station and parked the car next to the pumps. "Do you want something, amorcito?"

"Hmm... maybe a juice? I'm a bit thirsty" you replied.

"Whatever mi reina wishes," Tuco gave you a smile and quickly leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek. "It's on me, I'll get the gas. Try to fill it all up."

"Okay, got it. I know how it works, don't worry."

He gave you one last smile before stepping out of the car and walking briskly into the gas station. You decided to follow his lead and got out of the car, walking around it to open the fuel tank and have everything ready to fill it up.

With some care, you went for the gasoline hoses to fill up the tank and decided to do it all at your own pace. You didn't know much about cars and the last few times you had tried, you had ended up getting gasoline all over your shoes and wasting a few drops of it. To Tuco, this was nothing to get angry about; in fact, he found it quite amusing, so he watched you calmly doing all that work as if it were the hardest thing in the world. You were certainly giving him quite a bit of entertainment without even trying.

But not everyone thought like him, especially not the man who was waiting behind Tuco's car with an unfriendly expression.

"Move and fill up that shit tank already!" The man's voice was present, and you almost trembled in response. The man seemed quite in a hurry, and your slowness was beginning to piss him off.

"I'm trying to fill it up! Just a second…" You replied in a somewhat muted tone, despite trying to mimic his tone of voice.

"These damn useless bitches can't even fill a damn gas tank." The man vociferated in response to your actions and you just stayed quiet while you finished filling the tank and put the hose back in its place. "But move the car, damn it!"

"I'm waiting for someone…"

"And can't you move the car and leave it in a place where it won't be in the way? You're a damn useless piece of crap."

"She can't drive, you asshole" Tuco's voice was present in the heated argument, catching your attention immediately.

Tuco had been listening to the argument from that idiot while walking back to the car with your juice in hand. The way his expression frowned and his jaw tightened revealed the anger that was starting to boil in his blood.

The man didn't take long to notice how Tuco's expression began to look increasingly sadistic and tough, making all the airs of arrogance and superiority he had been experiencing a moment ago disappear.

Tuco approached the man's car and was about to drag him out of the car until he felt you gripping his arm tightly and pulling him back.

"Tuco, no, please don't do it… The police can come" you pleaded as you continued pulling him back. "I don't want you to go back to prison… Let's go, honey, it's nothing."

"This damn asshole called you useless. Do you think I'm going to let him get away with it?" Tuco retorted as he watched you trying to move him when you really couldn't. You just looked at him with a concerned expression on your face and worried eyes.

"I'm sorry, man! I was in a hurry, but I won't bother you again. I'll go to another gas station" the man was lucky to be able to back away and leave the place without Tuco catching up, leaving you both alone there while Tuco was burning with rage.

You kept holding his arm while trying to tell him everything was okay. You knew that Tuco wasn't exactly the most stable man, but he didn't need to resort to violence, not in the middle of the day.

"Amorcito, please… calm down. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me" you pleaded with a soft voice that really moved him, seeing you, his girl, so worried and trembling for him.

Tuco's attitude changed quite quickly, and his eyes softened as he saw how concerned you were. One of his big hands stroked your hair as he seemed to regain his composure.

"My girl worries so much about me… You really don't want me to go back to prison, do you?" He turned to you and held you in his hands, being as gentle as his rough hands could be. You nodded your head and he leaned in to softly kiss your forehead while keeping you close. "Don't worry… I won't leave your side."

Although Tuco had promised to stay on the edge, he had memorized the license plate of that guy's car in his head. And he was going to do something about it.

Finding him wasn't as difficult as he imagined. With good contacts, he managed to locate the guy in a notorious neighborhood where fortunately many of Tuco's men worked, making it easier to kidnap the man and take him to his own garage away from the public ear.

The man lay gagged and tied to a kitchen chair in Tuco's garage while his screams were muffled by the handkerchief that kept him gagged. Tuco felt powerful having that idiot under his control and, although he had promised not to get into trouble, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to defend your honor against a heartless jerk.

"Did you really think you could get away with calling MY GIRL useless?" Tuco's rough voice came out in a guttural scream from his throat as he kicked the chair and made the gagged man fall backwards to the floor. "Who gave you the right to treat her however you damn well please? HUH? WHO?"

Once the guy was on the ground, Tuco gave him a good kick to the stomach with the tip of his leather shoes, a blow that would take the air out of the guy completely and have him whimpering in pain while his screams were muffled by the fabric in his mouth.

A twisted idea crossed Tuco's mind and made his eyes light up instantly. He walked out of the garage and returned to the kitchen, searching through the drawers for a potato peeler before returning to where the man was and giving him one of the most sadistic looks he could muster.

"I'm going to peel your fucking tongue so you won't even think about calling my girl useless again… or any other woman for that matter… Now, stick out your tongue and stay quiet or I'll start cutting off your fingers until they're useless…"

[eyobis-andthe-bunnycats]

[ID: a grey map of the united states with individual counties, or relevant title, visible denoting where it's illegal to pump your own gas in red. About half of Oregon is red, all of New Jersey, and a small borough off of New York./ End ID.]

Oh that reminds me of when New Jersey was proposing to end that regulation (or them complaining having to pump gas in different states, I forget which) and people who were opposed kept citing how inhumane it was to have to be in such close contact with the gasoline and its noxious fumes. And I'm like, my guy, you make one person constantly be exposed to that as part of their job??? It's okay for that one person to be constantly exposed to it, but you just can't???

Parts of the country where self-service gas pumping is illegal.

[ameliora-j]

twin flame iv // gw x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: smut (finally), fingering, size kink, tummy bulge, light degradation, creampie (all acts are consensual!)

an: this is seriously so short i apologize. but alas it is here :) one more part after this and twin flame will be finished ahhh

part one | part two | part three

you and george had been sitting on the floor of your old treehouse for nearly an hour now. the silence consumed you as you stared into his brown eyes and he stared right back into your own yec one’s. no one spoke a word. no one moved an inch. the silence was all-consuming. deafening.

“yn?” he finally breathed in a whisper.

“hi georgie…” you murmured nervously.

“what are you doing here?” he asked.

“i came to get you,” you shrugged one shoulder. “fred told me you weren’t in contact with anyone and i knew where you’d be. so i came. be… because i wanna talk to you,” you told him.

george nodded and you slowly shuffled forward on your knees. “george i’m sorry. for a lot of things actually, but to sum it up, i’m sorry for not being open about my feelings for you. i was too scared to tell you that i’m in love with you because… i-i didn’t wanna ruin us. what we have is so so good. and i wouldn’t trade it for the world georgie. you mean absolutely everything to me. and if i lost you then i’d lose myself. but i guess i just didn’t realize that by not telling you… then in the long run, i was losing you anyway,” you told him. george bit his lip and you shuffled even closer.

“i wish you would’ve just ruined it,” he told you. “because fuck, yn. i’m so in love with you that it’s absolutely unbelievable. you consume me. you live in my head rent free. you’re everything and more to me. i’m so fucking in love with you that i’m at a loss for words. you wouldn’t believe the things you do to me. i want you to make you mine forever,” he told you.

“i want to be your’s forever georgie,” by now your knees were touching with as you both continuously inched towards each other. your lips were a hair’s breadth away from his. you could feel his breath fanning over your face. george was the first to break, lurching forward and finally connecting your lips.

passion burned and fireworks exploded as you moaned into his mouth, allowing him to shove his tongue into your mouth and go on an adventure. your hands roamed from his sunset orange locks down to his broad shoulders and finally to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling around with them. he pulled away as you got to the last button. “been waiting so long to do that,” he murmured as you pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he pulled your’s over your head.

“do it again,” you whispered breathlessly. he didn’t waste a second, gripping you by your bottom and pulling you on top of his lap as you began to heavily make out again. your hands roamed his broad chest and accentuated abdomen before finally tangling in his hair as his hands found home on your ass, kneading and squeezing. “want you georgie,” you whimpered as he moved to press open mouthed kisses down your neck, leaving hickies in his wake.

“you can have me, butterfly,” the nickname made you outright moan as you ground yourself down against his hardening member. he fumbled around with the button of your jeans before unbuttoning and unzipping them, dipping his hand into your panties. you moaned as he ran two fingers through your slit and you bucked into his hand.

his kisses moved to your covered chest as he dipped two fingers into your heat, curling them and instantly finding your gspot. “more,” you moaned.

“take it off,” he motioned towards your bra and you quickly obeyed, reaching behind you and unclipping it. immediately, his lips attached to your nipple as his thumb came up to toy at your clit. you whimpered again and he chuckled as he gently teased your nipple with his teeth.

“wanna cum georgie,” you whimpered.

“go ahead, butterfly. not stoppin’ you,” he muttered as he pulled off your right nipple before turning and giving the left the same attention. one drag of his teeth over the sensitive bud and you were done for, making a mess of your pants as your cum gushed out onto george’s hand. he fucked you through it before pulling his hand out and sucking his fingers clean. “fuckin heaven,” he moaned as he pulled them out with a pop. “better than i ever imagined.”

“wanna suck your cock georgie please,” you whimpered.

“next time princess,” you couldn’t hide the smile at hearing there’d be a next time. “need to feel your sweet little cunt wrapped around me. take the rest off,” you nodded, quickly ridding yourself of your jeans and panties as george did the same. he gently laid you on the makeshift bed he’d set up, climbing on top of you and positioning himself at your entrance. “ready butterfly?” he asked.

“give it t’me george,” you murmured, wiggling your hips for emphasis. he slowly pushed into you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, moaning at the stretch. you reached your arms up and squeezed his biceps tightly as he bottomed out. “need a second. s’big,” you murmured softly.

“take your time butterfly,” he whispered as he leant down and placed gentle kisses on any and all inches of skin he could find.

you nodded finally after a few seconds of preparation. “okay… okay go,” you told him. george slowly pulled out before thrusting back in, effectively hitting your gspot. “there,” you moaned. he smirked slightly as he slowly fucked into you. “fuck georgie it’s so big,” you moaned.

“yeah butterfly?” he mocked slightly. he ran his hand down your left leg before lifting it, placing it over his hip for a better angle. your back arched into him and you bit your lip. “fuck baby, so little. see myself in y’little tummy,” he marveled as he pushed down on the imprint of his cock in your lower abdomen.

“want more georgie. more please,” you begged.

“greedy little thing,” he hummed as his hand made contact with your clit, rubbing in tandem with his slow, rough thrusts. “love you so much butterfly,” he murmured into your neck.

“love you too georgie,” you moaned softly as your eyes rolled back into your head. “wanna cum please,” you whimpered.

“look at me when you cum butterfly. cum with my,” you nodded rapidly, opening your eyes as he pressed his forehead against your’s. “cum butterfly, now.” with his explicit permission, you let go. moaning out his name loudly as you slipped over the edge, cumming on his cock as he bottomed out, and pumped you full of his cum.

he stayed inside of you as you both came down. it was a few minutes before he slowly pulled out. you hissed slightly at the burn as you felt his warm cum dripping from your overworked hole. he fell on the pile of blankets next to you as he pulled you into his chest. you rested your head against his pectoral as you played with the chain around his neck. after a few minutes of silence, you began giggling. “what’s so funny over there, butterfly?” george asked with a smile.

“we just fucked in the treehouse our dad’s built for us when we were kids,” you giggled. he began to laugh with you as he kissed your head.

“you’re more than just a good fuck, butterfly. you’re the love of my life,” he told you.

“your twin flame,” you smiled as you kissed his jaw.

“my twin flame indeed,” he smiled down at you.

~~

two weeks had passed since you and george’s endeavor in your childhood treehouse, and you were now both back in the apartment above the shop. you had even gotten your job back as cashier and manager. you were in george’s room, readying yourself for the day. you brushed through your hair and buttoned up your shirt, tucking it into your skirt before walking downstairs. “morning yn!” fred greeted.

“morning freddie,” you smiled as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

george snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek. “morning butterfly,” he smiled as he kissed your cheek.

“morning georgie,” you giggled.

fred mocked a gagging noise. “you guys are even more insufferable now than you were when you were arguing,” he joked with a playful eyeroll.

“oh you love us, freddie,” you teased with a smile.

“loving you less and less the more i hear your noises. the walls are thin!” he called as he made his way downstairs to the shop.

“so… date tonight?” george asked. “after work. we’ll leave early,” he told you.

“and leave freddie all alone?” you asked with a small pout.

“oh he’s got angelina butterfly. he’ll be perfectly fine,” george waved you off.

“okay fine, date tonight then mr. weasley. don’t be late,” you winked over the brim of your coffee mug.

everything was perfect. back in place. back how it should be. you were back at the shop, living with fred and george. you called the younger twin your boyfriend, and you were happy.

the cosmos were aligned. and the universe was on your side. in the end, love won. the universe decided to pour gasoline onto your twin flame. she expanded it and it was now exploding and bringing upon a future for you and george that was even brighter than your flame.

and you couldn’t wait for that future to begin. it sure as hell was bright.

add yourself to the taglist

tags: @ellerosie2332 @i-love-scott-mccall @rmvb24 @astralpcrker @daisybloommm @maybeisthemoon @moonliightbabes @stormi-ames @jochim322 @coninl @melonoptimist @lunajoyce3 @clairdemoony @mangoberry99 @imclueless @enya-2004 @prongsyy @Lol-whoandwhat-is-dis @burnfleur @anything444ourmoony @horrorxweasley @alicecullens-gf @theincredibledeadlyviper @georgeweasleyshoe3697 @narwhalebaby @cloudyskylines @ezmayzworld @aesthete-c @lunacurlclaw @snktastarkov @rudypankowisdaddy @ohnoitsmekc @all-hailreyna @sapphirepixiesworld @gloryekaterina @sisi.bby @lisszabini @skarlettmikaelson @lazarus0 @bellatrixscurls @nojamsonmytoast @weasleywhore @bohologyc @griebis @georgelvr @the_internet_ruined_me @abi-gail22 @georgeweasleysgf @memoirsofawallflower

*crossed out means i couldn’t tag you

[bohica160]

Omegaverse - Night out with Hound Wolf Squad (pt. 2)

(Sorry this took awhile. Work was crazy this week >< I ended up making this part fem reader.)

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗMinors gtfo, this isn't for youᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

As you clutched the front of his shirt, he rubbed slow smoothing circles in the middle of your back. You felt his chest begin to vibrate lightly. It took you a second to realize that Chris was purring as well. No one has ever heard this alpha purr. Thankfully for him the music in the building prevented anyone else from hearing it.

While Chris continued to rub his scent on you, Night Howl looked over at the two of you, almost choking on his beer. Tundra slapped him in the back, "Shut up! Don't ruin this!" She hissed at him. Once your scent returned to its normal sweet airy scent, his hands rested at the small of your back. He turned his head down towards your neck, taking a long inhale of your scent. 

It was the best thing he's ever smelled. He could never get enough. Always unconsciously trying to be near you. When he released a long breath of war. air against your bare skin, you didn't realize you placed a soft kiss on his neck.. barely missing his scent gland. A small deep grunt brought you to your senses. You froze in embarrassment. Your cheeks flaring up as you squeezed your eyes shut. Chris noticed your body tense up. 

"You okay?" He asked softly into your head. You slowly nodded your head, still refusing to move. "Use your words little omega", he teased, causing you to release a small whimper. It's fair to say you are the smallest in the group. But just something about how he said that made you rub your legs together. He kneaded your hips, smirking at your reaction. 

While you were both lost in your own little world, your ex made his way from across the room and was walking towards you all. His eyes locked with Chris's dark blues ones. You could feel Chris growl rumbling through his chest. You looked up at him to ask what was wrong, but he hugged you closer to him. 

Before you could look over your shoulder to see, Chris stood up from his seat without breaking eye contact, with one arm wrapped around your waist. Umber Eyes and Tundra noticed this unfamiliar Alpha approach you and Chris, the smell of wet dog emanating from him. "Need something?" Chris sounded completely unphased by the other alpha. The other man sneered, "I'm here to talk to my omega", he raised his chin and tilted it toward you.

Tundra appeared next to along with Night Howl and Umber Eyes. "Excuse you?" You frowned, glaring at the man. “Watch your tongue Omega,” he commanded, continuing to stare down Chris. A deep growl erupted from Chris, his scent started to smell of smoke and gasoline. He released you, and moved towards you ex, towering over him. “The only person who should watch their tongue is you. This is my omega, and if you know what is good for you, you will leave", he taunted as he bared his canines. 

Your ex's scent faded quickly, if he had a tail it would be tucked between his legs. The man just stood there trying to hold his ground against Chris. However once he let out a growl in warning the man gritted his teeth as he walked away. Chris shook his head, before looking over at you. "Well that's enough excitement for one night. Did you want to head out?”. You looked over at the others. “You guys go ahead, someone needs to watch those fools,” Tundra said as she motioned over at Canine and Lobo, who were still ‘using their charm’ on the dance floor, “We will be okay.” She gave you a wink before you turned back to Chris. He placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you both out of the club. As you passed some of the alphas who were eyeing you, Chris continued to pump out his scent, parting the sea of people.

Once you both made it outside, Chris continued to keep his hand on you, while you guys headed back in the direction you all came from. His scent slowly went back to its spicy musk scent. You both were soon coming up to his car. He cleared his throat, “did you want a ride home?” “No you don’t have t-”, when you looked up at Chris, he gave you a stern look. “I-.... yes please”, your voice soft as you looked down in submission. Chris walked you over to the passengers side and opened the door for you. 

Right when Chris got into the car, he could smell the slight change in your scent, “Sorry about everything. I panicked and it was the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t think it would have escalated to that point. I didn’t mean for you to say I was your omega”, you looked down at your lap, too nervous to look at Chris. A blush krept up his neck, heating up his cheeks and ears. He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. “No, it's my fault for saying that. It was a step out of line”. Your inner omega was screaming at you. You wanted for him to claim you as his. A battle was happening within you.

“I-I wouldn’t mind being your omega”, you said barely above a whisper as you looked at him in the corner of your eye. The man next to you choked on air, causing him to cough up a storm. He looked over at you, his dark blue eyes glancing between your sparkling eyes and plush lips. You leaned over the center console, pressing your breasts together, giving him a nice view into your shirt. “Do you want that Alpha?” you purred, biting your bottom lip. Chris’s alpha was growling at him, telling him to mark you, to finally claim you. He leaned in just barely brushing his nose against yours, “Is that what you want little omega?”, finally giving into his inner alpha, releasing a low growl, trailing his nose down your jaw and to your neck, lightly scraping his canines against your scent glands. 

An ache between your thighs began to grow, your panties wet with your slick, your hands wandering over to his muscular thighs, squeezing them as they got closer to the bulge growing in his pants. “Please Alpha”, he started to nip and suck at the flesh, “please make me yours”. A moan escaping between your lips as he began to swirl his tongue over gland, before pulling back and pressing his lips to yours. One of his hands caressed up your neck, before grabbing a handful of your hair, giving it a slight tug. You gasped against his lips, allowing him to slip his warm tongue into your mouth. The taste of alcohol lingering on him as your tongues pressed hungirly against each other. 

You needed to feel more, you needed to be closer to your alpha. Your swollen lips trailed down to his jaw. Loving the prickly feeling of his scruff as your trailed open mouth kisses down one side of his neck, then doing the same to the other side. So lost in the feeling of your lips all over his skin, you maneuvered over the center console, placing both hands on his shoulders lowering yourself onto his lap. The moment you got closer the scent of your slick filled the car, the grip he held on you tightened, as well as his pants. 

The kisses became more needy and sloppy, teeth clashing against each other moans being swallowed by each other. You began to rock your hips against him, you clit rubbing just right against the tented pants. You pulled back, eyes glazed over chest heaving, gulping air. You leaned back against the steering wheel, you motioned with your eyes to look down. Once his eyes went to where you rested on him, you lifted up your skirt slowly. His cock twitches in his pants the moment he saw your flimsy panties soaked with your slick. 

His head fell back against the headrest, "fuck", he groaned out. He reached out, hooking his finger around the wet fabric, running his finger up and down, rubbing his knuckle against your folds, barely catching on your bundle of nerves. "All of this because of me little omega", his gravelly voice going straight to your core, clenching around nothing. "Please Alpha. I need you to fill me", you sobbed.

"Shit," he hissed against gritted teeth. You lifted yourself up just enough for him to work fast on unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down just enough for his thick cock to spring out, slapping against his abdomen. You wiggled your hips in anticipation, mouth watering needing to finally taste his seed. But you felt like you'd go insane if he didn't fill up your cunt with his member. 

"Come here", he purred as he cupped one of your cheeks while the other fisted his shaft. The heat radiating from your sex was making his cock throb and leak pre down the tip. You rubbed the head up and down your folds wetting it with your slick before sinking down onto his fat cock. The burn of him splitting you open was making a heat pool in your lower back, your mouth slightly open with your jaw slack. 

Chris was doing everything in his power not to thrust up into you. He moved his hands onto your hips, squeezing with bruising strength. You whimpered as you lifted yourself up just an inch before forcing yourself down the rest of his member, letting out a cry. You sat there for a second, adjusting to his girth. Small tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you squeezed them shut. Chris took this time to coo against your skin as he littered your face with light sweet kisses. Whispering words of praise, "So fucking perfect for me. My sweet omega taking me so well."

You unconsciously clenched around him causing him to thrust up. Punching The air out of your lungs the moment he hit against your cervix. "Alpha", you sobbed against his lips. He brushed away your tears with his calloused thumbs. "I got you" he shuddered underneath you, "your alpha has you". He slammed his lips against yours. He gave you a couple shallow thrusts up into you. Your walls refusing to let him go. He swallowed each of your moans, cock massaging your gummy walls. Making sure you feel every inch and vein.

The windows in the car fogged up, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your ass filled the small pace. Your walls soon fluttering around him, you release your lips. "A-alpha." "I know. M-me to", he rested his forehead against yours, half lidded eyes gazing into your glossed over one's. The pressure building inside of you was too much. Your hips instinctively rocked against his meeting him with each thrust. He could feel his high coming up on him faster than he wanted, but he was determined to feel you spasm around him before he filled that sweet cunt.

"Cum for me. Cum for your alpha", he rasped. That being the final thing to make the coil of pressure snap. Head falling back as you arched into him, letting out a silent scream. Your walls sucking him in, milking everything he had to offer. "Shit shit shit!", he choked out before closing his jaw around your shoulder. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head as you road out your climax. With every pump he emptied into you, jerking up into you, made you convuls more around him. You fell forward onto him, head tucked right into his neck. He gave you a couple more thrusts before resting his head back against the headrest. 

He rubbed slow smoothing circles into your lower back, feeling the heat from his palms sink into your body. You let out a small whimper as you tried to sit up, but that only caused him to twitch inside you, giving you small shockwaves. He placed one of his hands on the back of your head, guiding you to rest back against him. He turned his head to kiss your cheek. "No need to rush." He whispered against your head. 

[dreaminpetals]

can i request a fic where naib thinks his fem s/o is cheating on him when she isn't, and it leads to... smut perhaps 👉👈

🔪 mister loverman // naib subedar

art credit

it was a usual occurrence for everyone in the manor to become a bag of nerves weeks before the annual ball. hunters and survivors alike were expected to pick a date and a lavish outfit in a short period of time, all while balancing brutal ranked matches and competitive tournaments.

naib wanted to ask you ー he was going to ask you, his one and only love, but he wasn't sure how. if it was up to him he'd casually ask over dinner, but his friends had chided him for his bluntness. eli's advice repeatedly swam through his ears. 'give her the invitation she deserves, not what's easiest for you, naib.' he'd have to think of something romantic, something that would amaze you and leave all the girls jealous.

until then, naib fiddled with his elbow pads at the dining table, eager to get matched up already so he could release all his pent up anger on the battlefield. he was seated between his girlfriend and her new best friend, luca. the two were always up to something and naib would be lying if he said he didn't feel the thorns of jealousy every time he saw the prisoner by your side. luca was an alright guy on his own, but he had no sense of boundaries and got a little too close to you for naib's comfort. platonically holding hands with luca always leaves your boyfriend a disgruntled mess. that should be him with his fingers wrapped around yours.

"hey naib, pass this to y/n for me," luca sneered and a twitching hand passed him a folded up note. he did just that. you passed him a note back, so on and so forth. naib wondered just what they were talking about that couldn't be spoken aloud, were they discussing him?

were they flirting?

no, you wouldn't betray his trust like that. you promised you would stay with naib through thick and thin, there was no chance of you leaving him for luca. he pushed his darker thoughts to the back of his mind when the fourth survivor and hunter joined.

naib was the first survivor to be blasted back to the manor, all because luca kept distracting everyone. making funny faces, trying to convince the hunter to go friendly, all the things naib hated during matches. sure, it was only a quick match, but it wasn't often he got to be matched up with his girlfriend. the urge to protect you always took over his body and made him fight better, this was his chance to shine and luca snuffed it out.

before naib could storm out of the room, two notes crumpled on the floor by the dining table caught his attention. would it be so bad if he read them for himself? seeing an innocent conversation between you and luca would quell all the suspicions that plagued his heart, he thought. naib smoothed out the notes and what he saw shook him to his very core.

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'of course, luca!"

naib's hands began to shake uncontrollably and it took all of his self restraint to not rip the notes into shreds. he fucking loved you. and you did this.

the notes were stuffed into his pockets. he was going to confront you for this and it wasn't going to look pretty. it would hurt to lash out at his girlfriend, who he thought was the love of his life, but if you were so willing to throw everything away for a random newcomer in the manor ... so be it, he would make you regret hurting him. the closer he stomped to your shared dorm, the heavier the weight in his pockets felt. two slips of paper. that was all it took to shatter naib subedar's heart and douse the shards in gasoline.

he couldn't bear to look at the couple photos hung up on the walls. the dishes you made together during a pottery class. the presents you bought each other. your belongings still on the nightstand. he would have to throw all of it out. naib took a seat on the edge of the bed, releasing a ragged breath he didn't know he was holding. his whole face was red and he was shaking with a silent rage. if it wasn't for the damage in his elbows he would have punched a hole through the wall. his girlfriend, his future wife, the love of his life had cheated on him. it still hasn't sunk in yet.

when he heard two pairs of footsteps approach the door, your graceful steps and luca's hobbled footing, naib winced. his nails dug into his thighs as the doorknob turned, and a single tear trickled down his cheek when you bid luca goodbye.

"hi babe! sorry if this is sudden but have you seen my dice? i can't seem to find them anywhere..." your innocent, sweet tone normally made naib's heart swell, but now it was more comparable to his heart being torn in half with rusty pliers. he wanted to lash out at you, to scream and show you just how much pain he was in, but the moment he heard your voice and felt your presence in the room all of his rage subsided. he still loved you.

"why don't you ask luca." his voice had an unrecognizable emotion in it.

"luca? why's that?" he could hear you drop your bags to the floor and approach him. "hey, is everything alright?" you went to place a concerned hand on his shoulder but his quick reflexes allowed him to roughly grip your hand and twist it midair, holding you in place. "huh?! naib stop it, you're hurting me!" he let go when he heard those words fall from your mouth.

"i said. why don't you ask luca." he hissed, venom oozing from every word. it was strange, when the hooded mercenary turned to face you, fear and confusion were apparent in your eyes.. you didn't look like someone who was caught in the act, moreso like someone caught in a misunderstanding. "i found these in the dining room," he fished the notes out of his pockets and placed them in your palm, grabbing your other wrist so the notes would be cupped in your hands. he didn't want to look at them. "care to explain?"

"naib, let me go," your hollow voice flickered above a whisper. you tried to move your hands but they were trapped by his larger ones. the eyes staring daggers into you were so damp, like he was moments away from bursting into tears. he wouldn't budge. "naib... i can explain this if you let me go. i know what you're thinking and i didn't cheat on you,"

his gaze softened and he slowly freed you from his grip. in a heartbeat, you fetched two extra notes from your pockets. laying them out on the bed, they formed a conversation:

'can i ask you something?'

'of course, luca!'

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'i'm sorry, i'm waiting for naib to ask me'

naib reread the notes so many times he may as well have burned holes in them. the tears that fell from his troubled eyes stained the papers and made them even harder to read... he was so furious with his love and she hasn't done anything.

"naib sweetie, it's okay... i would have thought the same thing if i were you," a pang of guilt hit your heart to see the usually strong and fearless naib subedar look so crestfallen, so stripped down and vulnerable. you were all he had and for a moment he thought he lost everything. you crawled into his lap and draped your arms around his shoulders, craning your neck to give him a reassuring kiss. it took a few seconds for naib to react, pecking your lips then pulling away again. he hesitated for a moment before his arms rested on either sides of your waist, it was clear he was afraid to touch you. naib didn't want to hurt you again.

his adam's apple bobbed as he thought of what to say. the words trapped in his throat were begging to spill out but he couldn't think of an adequate way to apologize to you. "i shouldn't have assumed," was all he could sombrely squeeze out, gingerly tugging you close so your rosy face could press against his tearful one. when you kissed again, a thin string of saliva connected your aching lips as he pulled away to speak once more, "i don't want to lose you... m'sorry if i hurt you baby," before you could respond, the hand resting on your waist took hold of your wrist and he kissed it better, making eye contact with you the whole time. his soft kisses trailed all the way to your neck where his hot breath fanned under your jaw. "there's nothin' i could do to make it up for you, is there?"

his words went straight to between your legs. "there is one thing," your teeth met your bottom lip and naib suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you down and looming dangerously close to your lips again.

"mm? and what would that be?" he curled his lips to give you a sharklike grin. naib was hungry for you. he clapped his hands onto the sides of your knees and rode them up your thighs until he reached the hem of your skirt. in one swift movement, he hiked the fabric up to your belly to expose your panties. "somethin' like this?" all you could do was nod, your words were caught in your throat. naib hooked his fingers into your undergarments and pulled them straight down, lifting your legs to toss them across the room. your bottom half laid bare in front of him, the man you loved and nearly lost. naib outstretched an arm to place some soft pillows under your hips.

you were on the verge of breaking while he took his sweet time to spread your thighs apart. you squirmed and felt your pussy pulsate for every second that naib wasn't devouring you whole. "naib, please," you mewled, lust pumping through your veins.

your words fell to deaf ears, naib was only focused on the perfect dessert laid out just for him. he was a very primal man ー once something was in his sights, he wasn't letting it go. naib brought his tongue to swipe a stripe up your sopping wet pussy, delving straight in. your body convulsed at the sudden pressure, his hands coming to grip your hips and hold you still. you rutted against his face and he seemed to enjoy the friction from the low drawls of 'good girl' that escaped his lips between flicks of your clit. you weren't sure how long you could last with his head going berserk between your thighs. naib lapped up every drop of juice that spilled from you and licked every inch of your pussy clean, it was as if his life depended on it. to him, it did. he had to go through the agony of thinking you slipped from his grasp. he would never tell you this, but he was working extra hard to bring you to euphoria because he wanted to outdo anything luca could do.

naib knew you were close the moment your thighs squeezed around him and your hands smacked over your eyes to cover them, fingers twitching and wrists tremoring. one final tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves and you were seeing stars, your body giving out in his arms.

"did i do good y/n? please... tell me baby," a whine fell from his lips as he used your slick to lube himself up, the tip of his dick growing red from need.

you were still experiencing the aftershock of your orgasm, heaving and dragging your hands down your face while you quivered. it was hard to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. "yes... i'll never leave you naib, i love you so much," he growled in response, and that was when you knew he was entering a frenzy that nothing could pull him from.

he positioned the head of his cock in front of your entrance and deliciously rubbed himself over your folds for a few good seconds, seizing the opportunity to coil his arms under your back and lift you up so your forehead rubbed against his. he was flush on top of you, getting sweat and drool all over your shirt. "need you so fucking bad," was all he could muster before sheathing himself inside of you, sloppy thrusts following suit. there was no rhythm or rhyme to how he fucked you into oblivion, he was desperate. naib was beautiful above you, his glistening eyes searching yours for any sort of malice to which he found nothing. nothing but adoration. holding you steady with one hand, he reached down to thumb your clit. the sensations had you crying out underneath him and bringing a jagged smile to his lips. he grew more frantic with each thrust, eventually spilling his seed deep within you. the two of you moaned in unison and he laid you down on his chest, still rubbing circles on your clit. he wasn't finished with you just yet, he couldn't pry himself away from you until he stopped being ashamed about his incorrect assumptions of you. he still had no clue how he read his girl so poorly. while he relentlessly fingered you, a lightbulb appeared above his hooded head.

"by the way, how'd you like to go to the ball with me?"

[chyna-hd03]

Field Work #5

1. | White Supremacy |

We are all well aware of the definition of white supremacy whether it is because we were taught, have experienced/seen it first hand, or maybe just using basic context clues in the wording: White Supremacy is the belief that nonwhites are inferior in more way than one and overall are biologically different, or some even believe not fully human. As seen in the linked video older cartoons constantly pumped white supremacy into their watchers whether it be blatantly or subliminally. The blatant white supremacy in these cartoons was shown by how the nonwhite characters communicated it wasn't proper they slurred, stuttered, struggled, and can hardly be understood; its equivalent to a jumble of words while the white characters consistently speak properly (and even eloquently in some cartoons) painting the picture that intellectually whites are far more superior. The hairstyles and accessories between girls are subtle but so obvious a cherry on top of the racist cartoon is what ill call it, two little girls one black and another white “naturally” the white child is given a clean sleek look topped with a cutesy barrette while the black little girl's hair is seen as unkept and careless looked that's topped with a bone. When these cartoons were released they made it seem normal and okay to make fun of, bully, judge, and look down upon nonwhites, especially black people who were portrayed terribly and incorrectly in older cartoons.

2. | Intersectionality |

Intersectionality is a way of assessing how one's race, gender, and class affect and shape one's life and choices. Based upon how, where, and/or how you looked growing up affect the choices, opportunities, and even patterns that you are exposed to, this varies for every person typically white people are shown better paths and opportunities due to the abundance of social capital with a helping hand in the cultural capital; but this isn't only in whites just more common. The girl in the TikTok is a teenage black girl in high school with no job, living in a less fortunate area, parental issues, and is pregnant but this is not to bash anyone in these circumstances or something relatively close but to point out that a good amount of people like this young lady end up pregnant young among other things. This is partly a generational thing there is a good chance that you or someone you know parents had a baby young this normalizes the single mom struggle when they're really barely surviving or getting by, this pattern has a chokehold on many communities including my own. In the comments on TikTok people talk down to her about how her baby probably won't have a father and she won't be anything extraordinary because this is the pattern that people see, though it may be extremely hard and feel impossible it is definitely possible to do all those things with a baby given the right resources and dedication.

3. | Genotype |

Genotype is what affects your exterior appearance, this is the one thing that makes all of us different on a biological scale. Genes make up 0.001 of our DNA which contains health and appearance so besides that 0.001 we are mainly equal. People are quick to assume that the fact that some people look different whether it be lighter, darker, smaller, bigger, or even have big noses they assume it's inferior and which in no way is correct. In the picture, these spidermen all have different costumes but they are all still Spiderman and if you change the wording to be more accurate to the human race like “we may all look different but we are all human” it's literally the same and both statements are true.

4. | Jim Crow |

The laws that were put in place to enforce segregation legally after slavery. All Jim Crow laws did was add gasoline to the fire that is divided into the United States. These laws divide us into groups based on our looks convincing everyone that we were different inside and out. The 14th amendment was placed to basically make sure no U.S citizen was stripped of their privileges or immunities. Jim Crow worked around this by giving POC the same things as white people, just extremely lower quality teaching the community that they were lesser because they had worse quality bathrooms, water fountains, etc. This is not to say the 14th amendment does nothing with jim crow but the lack of details in it is what makes jim crow thrive though it still puts pressure on the laws so that we still got the bare minimum. Which wasn't near acceptable.

5. | Miscegenation |

An older demeaning historical word for interracial marriages. Interracial marriage is still looked at sideways now depending on the coupling and where you are in the world. The black community that I have experienced and seen much prefers that the upcoming generations marry within their own race and when they don't they say the non-black partner is “stealing our black queen and kings”. Painting a picture that the thought of two people of different races is so bad that someone has to be getting forced into it. The flyer pictured is the biggest overreaction when it comes to a couple marrying, like how will a kid be negatively affected by SOMEONE else's marriage just because they are different colors. Property values may be would've plummeted during that time because maybe some white people wouldn't want to live in the same neighborhood with a black person, unnecessary reactions like this are what make minute and things that shouldn't matter social problems.

6. | Racial Ideology |

Family Guy - White Track Stars Are Obsolete like DVDs

The normalization of discriminatory behavior because the behavior is well-known or popular that's usually done by institutions and individuals is racial ideology. Racial Ideology cripples people's mindsets giving them ideas like all black people are loud or all Asians are smart but when there is someone who doesn't fit this popular norm they're “weird” or rare. In the video they let the white runners get a headstart before they let “everyone” else go because it's a common misconception around the globe that black people are more athletic, stronger, faster, and bigger but this isn't true there are tons of black people who aren't athletic myself included. Saying that our biological makeup is the reason why we're like this when in reality biologically there is barely any difference between a white or a black man. Ideas like this make it harder or unnecessarily easy for whites and POC to progress in a career, or a sport, and even in life.

Sources

[writefightandflightclub]

“One word from you and I will jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.” - First Love / Late Spring (Mitski)

Pairing + genre: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader. Hurt / comfort + angst.

Summary: Santi is the sorta man who keeps his promises, and he promised to be there for you always and forever. All you have to do is say the word.

Author’s note: this one hurt me. Word count: 6k (SORRY!)

Warnings: panic attack  / aftermath = a major / central theme. Allusions to prior trauma (non-specific). One mention of blood. ANGST.

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.” - Frankie Morales

Years of cruel awakenings in the military had made Pope an especially light sleeper. Luckily, out here in the suburbs, he was significantly less likely to be awoken with a grenade through the window. So, when his cell phone rings, wresting him rudely from slumber, he almost allows himself to be blasé about it. To just hit the red button and turn over.

But it’s still pitch dark. Too late -or too early- for this wake-up call to be something routine. So, Pope’s arm pokes out from beneath the covers as he fumbles blindly for his phone. He brings it to his ear wordlessly, voice still grogged by sleep. If he expects anything at all, it’s for the caller to be Catfish - drunk and checking-in on his sorry ass again.

“Santi?”

Instead, it is your panicked voice -swaddled in tell-tale signs of danger- which slices through the dark like the blade of an enemy combatant, yanking Pope harshly from his haze. Flinging off the coiled ropes of sleep, he is instantly firing on all cylinders, his body responding in much the same way as he might to enemy fire; preparing to counter a threat. To eliminate whatever is hurting you, with as much speed and precision as possible.

“Shit. I’ll be right there.”

Pope throws the covers off and he’s already awake and moving, even before he can comprehend exactly what’s wrong. He knows enough. He knows that something is wrong. And he knows he’s going to be there for you, like he promised he always would be.

He tugs on his nearest sweats and tumbles through his house in the dark, adrenaline pumping through him as he barrels his way across the landing, stubbing his toe more than once on the strewn piles of unpacked boxes. Pope’s breath seethes through his teeth and he curses, momentarily wondering if he’s grown soft since he was discharged; he could swear bullet wounds never used to slow him down as much as a big toe clipped on the corner of a box.

Continuing to shake the remaining webs of sleep from his head -and actually remembering the layout of his new house- Pope presses on. He throws himself down his staircase, missing the last five stairs. He is straining to decipher your words on the other end of the line all the while, to little avail.

He speedily wrestles on a jacket and scoops his car keys out of the bowl by his front door, quickly toeing on odd shoes before he scrambles from his house and slots himself behind the wheel of his truck. Pope’s heart is hammering blood around his body as he slots his cell into the car phone holder and powers the car down his driveway, all less than a minute from waking.

He’s a mess of worry as he hears you cry blearily through the speaker, and he bridges his fingers against his forehead in frustration when he can barely interpret a single word of it.

“Cariño, listen. I’ll be right there. You at home?”

All he can make out is a “no” and “driving” and not much else, and he panics.

“Fuck.”, he curses, under his breath, as he realises he’s not going to get anything useful out of you in your current state.

Pope sucks air in through his teeth with frustration. He can’t eliminate the threat if he doesn’t know what it is, and there’s nothing Santi finds more terrifying than not knowing what he’s up against. Nothing more terrifying than being unable to execute a plan. To fix a problem with lethal precision.

“Just sit tight, okay? Just stay there. I’m coming to you, cariño.”

He pulls up a tracker app to establish where you are, and he puts pedal to the metal, driving far faster than he should. There’s no way he’s going to let a speed limit or some pesky stop lights stand between him and getting to you as quickly as possible.

Following directions to your location, Santi eventually finds your truck strewn in the middle of an intersection, door flung open. It looks reminiscent of something from out in the field, as if you’ve been strewn from your vehicle by a blast.

As Pope pulls around, his eagle eyes immediately locate your shadowed form crouching on the lip of the sidewalk, face buried to your knees. He parks abysmally, his heart throbbing, and legs it over to you, his movements tactical and efficient.

When he reaches you, Pope crouches down in front of you without a care for those bad knees of his. When he reaches you, everything ceases to be tactical or lethal. Everything about him is suddenly soft and haphazard, and he’s pawing gently at you and looking over you for any harm, examining your eyes for clues as you regard him like a sheepish animal.

You don’t appear to be physically hurt, but your skin is sheening, your face tear-stained, hands trembling and eyes glassy. 

“Sweetie. Hermosa, look at me. What happened?” Pope asks, his voice both soothing and insistent as he gingerly tips your head upward with his strong hand to search your vacant eyes.

You don’t answer though, and so, recognising the aftermath of a likely panic attack -knowing how they manifest for you- Pope comes to sit behind you on the sidewalk edge, slotting his legs either side of the trunk of your body and wrapping you firmly in the circumference of him. He pulls you tightly to his chest, bundling your clammy arms and hands into his embrace.

Pope shushes and soothes and rocks you. He brushes your hair back from your sweaty face. He lets your tears fall wet on to his hands as he clasps them in front of you. And through it, Pope does his best to present a picture of calm, despite his terror at seeing you so distressed. He forces his breathing to remain slow and deep and steady, until your own stunted breaths are somewhat in sync with the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“I got you. You’re safe,” he mumbles into your hair, into the crook of your neck, hooking his head over your shoulder, all stubble and grizzled curls nuzzling up against you. “You’re safe. You know that, cariño?” He soothes, encourages. “Tell me yes, baby. Come on.”

“Yeah,” you finally push out, voice scrubbed clean. 

The inflection of your voice hurts Santi. Boy, does he know that feeling. Your voice sounds strung out; tense, and spread thin. Somehow you sound on high alert, burning and raw... but at the same time, empty and numb. Like a shocked, ravaged fruit, scooped-out.

It manifests differently for Pope -nightmares mainly- but he knows. He understands. You’d both done more than your share of dark things that insisted on following you out from the military. The resulting pain had always been a bedfellow lying under the covers between you, pushing you further and further apart as it nuzzled its way into your chests, causing hearts to crash and ribs to bruise like roll cages.

“You’re ok, sweetie. You’re doing good.”, he reminds you. “That’s it.”

You’re still tense against him, all of your muscles stacked and coiled like an angry snake, your legs bouncing agitatedly; yet at the same time there is no intention in your body. You are aimless. Firing on all cylinders but with no target - nothing in your sight. No tangible threat to eliminate.

Pope knows all too well that the most elusive enemy of all is the kind in your head. Still, your breaths become slower, more level. And now that your physical symptoms appear to be calming, body levelling, Santi tries his best to bring your mind back too. Tries to ground you in everything real and tangible. 

“Focus up for me, ok? You know the drill. What can you smell?”

You are silent, and he gives you a gentle jostle in his arms. He wishes he could see your face properly, but you are still staring dead ahead. 

“Come on, hermosa. Try for me.”, he pleads, and something must finally reach you.

When your voice finally comes, to Pope it’s like the first bloom of spring after a long winter.

“I can smell peach trees. Balmy air. Gasoline.”

He finally unclenches a little himself, as you begin talking. “Good. What can you see?”

Your hair brushes against his neck as you subtly swivel your head around the scene. “Grey. Asphalt. A badly parked car. But also... spring. Buds and blades of grass peeking through the cracks.”

Santi similarly scans his eyes around the intersection and empty lot in your view. “Shit. You’re fuckin’ poetic, baby.” He would have just said trucks. Maybe would’ve recited a few number plates he’d accidentally memorised already - old habits die hard.

Pope smiles softly to himself as he is reminded of the way you see things. Differently. More softly. You always saw him more softly. You didn’t see him as a killer. You saw the buds peeping through the cracks. You loved him like spring.

“You’re doing good, cariño. Keep it up. What can you hear?”

“Your voice. The hum of the pylons against the hot, damp air.”

Santi is calm, practically mesmerised by you as you speak. He swallows thickly, as he holds you against him. “What can you feel?”

You take a deep breath then, before speaking, your chest straining against his circling arms as your rib cage expands. Your voice is fuller when it flows from your lips, and it is only then - finally, that you sink into him, allowing relief to take you. “I can feel you.”

“You back with me, huh? Come on, keep going. Let’s finish this.”, he encourages, his breath billowing over the back of your neck.

“I can feel... my heart in my chest, the air on my face. Wet tears there. Your warm skin on mine, and your body sturdy against me. Your breath warm, your stubble rough on my neck. The hairs on your arms tickling against me. I can feel the metal bobbles of your chain digging into the flesh of my shoulder.”

Your hands start to slip over Pope’s arms and hands as you become more and more grounded, seeking out more textures. Touch always grounds you like nothing else.

The more grounded you become - the more your touch skims over him- the more Pope rises, swept away like spring blossoms on balmy air, sweet and helpless. Then, your fingers skim over his watch, running over its glassy face. Over the ridges of his knuckles. You stop abruptly when you reach the cool, smooth wedding band on his ring finger.

Pope tries not to let his heart break into pieces as you pause, rotating the ring ever so slightly between your fingertips. 

Grounded, back to yourself, you swivel your head towards Pope, turning to where his face nestles at the junction of your shoulder. “I feel... safe,” you say, bringing your palm up to the side of his face, your stare no longer vacant like a house with empty windows, but lit with the soft glow of home.

You’ve come back to him, and you’re inviting him in. 

“You are safe. I’ve got your six, ok?”

“I know you do. And I’ve got your zero through twelve.”

Pope smiles sentimentally, as you recite your old phrase, the feeling bittersweet like unripe peaches.

How he wishes you would really come back to him. Invite him in.

Pope narrows his eyes fondly at you. You have mascara streaking down your cheeks. Tear-plumped eyes. And you’re beautiful. He could kiss you. Wants to. But this moment is not about his comfort, so, instead, he presses his palm over yours and asks you gently:

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He feels you stiffen slightly against him.

“Take your time.”, he soothes, running his fingers up and down your arms, absent-mindedly dipping his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume. Light notes of first loves and late spring. 

“It’s dumb,” you say, leaning your head back on to his chest. “I was driving home from...”, you appear to cut yourself off, snapping your lips shut, and it is only then that Santi properly clocks your attire.

Oh. Okay. Well, shit.

That’s a “date” dress if ever he saw one.

He wants to either fight or to retreat. To take some action, deploy some strategy. He wants to beg you to be with him instead. He wants to. But he tries to swallow his heartache down. This isn’t a time for his pain. So, he simply buries it right down with all the rest; shutting himself off. Eyes becoming vacant windows. 

“And then what?” he prompts softly, neutrally, giving you an easy way to bridge the glaring gap in your story.

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You shake your head disbelievingly as you recall it. “A car backfired behind me. It became bullets,” you continue, voice monotone, brow troubled, eyes searching like the sweep of headlights. “Tires screeching became screams. The stop light glaring down on my hands, became red like blood.” You shrug, tugging in a long breath only to huff it out in frustration, voice hollowed-out again. “Then, I was back there, Santi. I was right back there. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

Pope smooths his hands over your shoulders as he feels your muscles recoil against him. This is one of the times he doesn’t envy your poetry, at all. When your trauma is a scribe which can translate everyday things into a metaphor for your pain. All Pope can offer is to look at you with comprehension. Understanding. It’s no use telling you it wasn’t real. He knows how real it can feel, in the moment. All he can do is gently kiss your hair. Hold you a little tighter. Be here for you, like he promised.

Pope wishes he could take all this pain from you. If there was a way, he gladly would. In a heartbeat. But a fine job he did of that; when he was with you, he had only seemed to hurt you more.

He shakes the clingy webs of pain from his own mind. The nightmares clawing at him sometimes even while waking. “Then what?” Santi probes gently.

“I guess I got out of the truck. Parked like a shithead. And that’s when I called you.”

You twist your head back towards him, nipping your lip guiltily between your teeth in realisation. “I’m so sorry. It’s so late.”

Pope’s face becomes pinched and he looks down at the asphalt. “Don’t apologise,” he says sincerely. “I promised you always and forever. I still mean that.”

Gratefully, seemingly overcome with broiling emotion, you press a chaste, sentimental kiss to Pope’s lips, even as other more broken promises linger and mingle in the air between you.

With the shock of your lips on his, Pope finally stands, helping you delicately to your feet with him. “You wanna walk it off or shall we drive straight home?” Well, shit. It’s not his home anymore. “I mean, I’ll drive you... you know what I mean,” he trails off, sheepishly. 

You fold your arms over yourself, separating from him. But still you say warmly: “Can we go home, Santi?”

He looks at you, forcing his eyes to remain warm and soft. Guarding the perimeter of his heart. Refusing to let the pain creep in. Still, he knows a late frost can kill off those shoots which dare to venture out into the fickle sunlight. He won’t let happiness bloom either.

Instead, he wraps one sturdy arm around you -giving your shoulders a squeeze- and nods, insisting he’ll be right back with you as soon as he’s parked your truck up “less like a shithead”. He promises to swing by and collect if for you later but for now, you bundle into his truck and he leans across you to clip you securely into the passenger seat.

Then, Pope drives. Much more calmly than he had en route to you, keeping the movements of the car as soporific as possible as he winds through the quiet, dimly lit suburbs.

Every now and again, his eyes flick over to check on you. Your head is turned away from him, as you watch the dark scenes slip by the black hole of the window pane.

“You don’t have to watch me, Santi,” you say softly. “I’m okay.”

He swears you must have eyes in the back of your head. Or maybe you know him too well.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, dubiously.

You turn towards him then and stupidly he looks away, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road rather than looking at you directly. As if he might turn to stone if he your eyes meet his. 

God, he wants to look at you. He’s missed your face far too much to waste so much time not looking.

“I’m okay.”, you insist again.

“I know,” he says softly. Not with any pity, mind; only empathy. Pope’s good with other people’s pain. It’s his own he can’t get a handle on. Too much baggage to carry.

“I really thought I had it under control.”, you say, your prior conviction wavering.

His eyes flick to you then, your gazes finally meeting and sparking like the switch to a warm, porch light. Familiar. Instantly warm.

“You did, until you didn’t,” he says plainly. “And you will again.”

You throw your hand on to Pope’s thigh to deliver a grateful squeeze, but then you’re looking out of the window again. As if you can’t have too much of him at once; can’t give too much of yourself at once. Can’t open up all your rooms lest you might invite him in to stay. Keep him distant like a guest in the parlour. Keep your head turned as if you’re walking away from him and you can’t look back, only ahead. Don’t invite him into your bed.

With a sigh, and a bridged hand rasping over the stubble at his clenched jaw, Pope pulls the truck into your driveway, engine gently humming until he slips the key out of the ignition.

He pats your thigh this time, to break your stare out of the black hole of the window. You look back at him wistfully. “Come on then, drama queen.”, he teases, boldly, his heart thrilling when the faintest ghost of a smile glints in your eyes.

Pope opens up the front door and leads you upstairs, following the familiar route to the master bedroom. He guides you to the edge of the bed, with a broad hand on the small of your back, and settles you down before flicking on the bedside lamp, a soft glow pooling in the room. Then, he gets down on his bad knees again to ease off your shoes.

His eyes flick around. Pope is always observing. Now he’s observing your life without him. He glances over to your tented paperback on the bedside table. He guesses you’ve started sleeping on his side of the bed since he’s been gone, then? He decides to push that hurt down with all the rest as he wonders vaguely if that was to feel closer to him. His face becomes taut.

“Santi?” you breathe, sucking his attention back as he kneels in front of you, and he deliberately softens his face. Your hands are pressed firmly down on your thighs, as if you need to weigh them down. As if your hands could so easily rise up to wind in his curls, like a spring breeze through a mess and flurry of cherry blossoms. You always saw something fresh in him. Saw poetry. Always saw what was possible, rather than the winters he had weathered.

You were always looking ahead. Oh, how he’d tried to look with you. To believe that he could still bloom. But that summer never came. He was simply glimpses of buds through cracks, never flowering.

“You wanna take a bath?”, Pope asks, throwing up the words like a shield, standing up stiffly. 

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That sounds nice. My muscles hurt.”

“Ok.”, he says, as brightly as possible. “I’ll draw you a bath, Princesa. And I’ll make you some warm lemonade while the water’s running. We got lemonade?”

Shit. He said it again. “We.”

Old habits die hard.

He supposes he can forgive himself the mistake, as he’s here with his home, in his house.

Shit. Your house. It’s your house now.

So, Pope potters busily around your house and sees to what you need, seeing ghosts of his own happiness and pain as he ambles from room to room. Trauma penning dark poetry across everyday scenes.

An apparition of you dancing to Metallica in the kitchen while you cook up pancakes. An image of you splayed out across the couch as you snuggle down, smile broad, ready for a day of watching Disney movies with him, arms outstretched to tug him in to your embrace. 

The kitchen floor where you’d had The Talk. Where you’d cried together for hours, backs up against the cabinets and knees drawn in to your chests until you’d finally decided. Decided that it hurt so much to be with him, that the inconceivable hurt of being apart would somehow feel like relief. Pope could never forgive himself for that. For hurting you that much. All he’d ever tried to do was keep his pain away from you, but it had still found you. It had snook around his perimeter and taken you down.

Always a killer. Always lethal.  Would he ever be anything else?

Pope’s pain flares again now but he pushes it down. Pushes it down again. Pushes it down. And he pads almost serenely up the stairs, coming to your aid. Coming to your aid, like always.

He lets you have a few sips of the warm, sugary lemonade. An old custom to steady the nerves after such a draining event - without resorting to hard liquor, at least. Once you’ve had plenty, Pope bends and lifts you from your perch on the bed, unceremoniously carrying you, bridal style, to the en suite. He sets you gently down by the edge of the tub.

Still not seeming entirely like yourself -still shaken and likely completely sapped from the earlier onslaught- Pope takes matters into his own hands.

“Okay, first things first, Winter Soldier,” he grins gently, taking in your mascara-smudged eyes. “Where’s that bottle of oily shit you rub on your face?”

You smile tentatively, grasping a bottle from the bathroom counter. “I can do it,” you state.

“I know, but you don’t have to, Princesa. Just let me take care of you.” Gently, but insistently, Pope takes the bottle from your hands and grabs a handful of those cotton rounds he’s watched you use before. He asks you to sit on the edge of the tub and tip your face-up to him, and he wipes the mess away from you as best he can.  

Once he’s disposed of the cotton rounds and rinsed his hands, he turns back to you, asking reverently, “Can I help you get your dress off?”

He sees mild apprehension flash across your face at the thought of him undressing you. He’d hate more than anything to make you uncomfortable. After all, just because he’s seen you naked before doesn’t mean he’s entitled to now. So, he waves his finger in the air mysteriously before receding into the bedroom.

Pope returns momentarily, with a big, loose nightshirt from your sleepwear drawer, gathering the material in his fingers until it forms a loop he can ease on over your head.

“You with me, cariño?” he asks. “Do that magic fuckin’ thing. Whip your bra out of your sleeve.”

Catching his gist, you let the shirt fall over you, shimmying yourself out of your dress and underwear whilst preserving your modesty. Pope offers an arm to hold you steady as you step one leg and then the next out of your clothing, respectfully averting his gaze all the while. Then, his arm steadies you as you step over the edge of the tub and into the warm, welcoming water.

For a moment, you don’t lie down. You just stand there. You look so vulnerable in that moment that Pope can’t help but reach out for your hand to grip in his. He watches in earnest as a question rises on your lips.

“Will you stay with me?” you ask him in the smallest of voices, clutching his hand tightly.

“What do you think I’m doing, hermosa?” he whispers, his eyes kind and smiling.

With that, your eyes brim with grateful tears. But you evidently feel free to crouch and then stretch yourself out in the tub. You submerge yourself fully for a moment in the warm bubbly depths, the stirring water wafting aromatic scents of spring around the room.

Pope watches as you dip yourself and arise from out of the water like a mermaid, your hair slicked back from your face and your soaked t-shirt clinging to your skin. 

“Mi sirenita,” Pope breathes affectionately, suddenly unable to push it all down.

He loves you, and old habits die hard.

“Santi?” you suspire, water droplets beading on your eyelashes like diamonds.

“Yeah?” Pope asks with apprehension, feeling like he’s about to stray out of secure territory.

“Get in with me?”

Santi hesitates, rasping his hand over his stubble again. Wishing he had his baseball cap to pull down over his eyes to obscure his emotions. For real? You want him to climb into the tub with you?

Pope examines your eyes for any sign of danger. Of hunger. But you simply look like you’re hurting. Like you need him. And Pope will always be there when you need him. He doesn’t know another way.

“Sure,” he gives in with a nod of his head, voice soft. “Make some room behind you.”

You oblige, folding your knees so he has room to slip in. Pope kicks off his shoes and -still in his t-shirt and sweatpants- plunges into the water. His clothes quickly become clingy and heavy with wetness, but he slots himself in behind you, wrapping his arms like he had on that sidewalk, and you languish your head back on his firm yet comfortable chest.

You both recline there wordlessly, until you seem entirely calm. Until all the bubbles have burst, and the water starts to feel cold. You both lie there as long as you possibly can.

Eventually, you wrap your arms around yourself too, your hands coming to rest on top of Pope’s. Your touch traverses absent-mindedly over his fingers, his knuckles, and again, inevitably over his wedding band.

Pope can feel the questions almost writhing their way out of your body, like coiled snakes. More than likely, you’re about to ask him why he still wears it. Why his sorry ass can’t seem to think about ever taking it off. Still, as you tug in a breath to launch your words, it suspires out of you as wordlessly as it arrived. Perhaps you’d felt him tense against you and decided to spare him the humiliation. Perhaps you didn’t want to hear his answer.

A few minutes later, when you eventually find the inclination to speak again, the words launched on your breath aren’t questions at all. Your hands skim over his arms, your fingertips pruning and wet, your bathtub touch slick and kissing whelks on to his skin.

“I... I wanted to take care of you too. But you wouldn’t let me.” You pause momentarily, breath caught in your chest as if you’re awaiting retaliation. When all you get back is silence, you take that as license to continue, your voice achingly small and trembling. “I worry that you stopped fighting for us because you didn’t believe you were worth fighting for. And, Santi, mi alma, I just need you to know that you were always good enough. You were never too broken for me. I wanted to take care of you, and I just...” You pause to huff air out between your lips, like you’re about to deliver a punch, or maybe like you’re preparing to be struck by one. “...Even if it doesn’t end up being me. Please, let someone take care of you next time, okay?”

Pope stills against you as your fingers worry over his. He feels like his heart has risen into his throat and that he’s choking on it. He feels like everything he has pushed down for so long is fighting to burst out. He lifts his hands away from yours to palm the tears from his face, very suddenly realising how cold the water has gone.

But he still can’t find the words to name his pain. Now is when he envies your poetry. Pope only knows how to use his words a shield, or to attack. He doesn’t know how to make flowers out of them.

“Ok, come on, sugar. Time to get out, ok?”

You shift forward, folding in on your knees, and Pope is staring at the back of your head again, as if his love for you only exists now in a house of mirrors. You’re looking ahead, to the next time, the next love, and yet he is still lost. Still stuck. He can’t find a route out of his pain.

He couldn’t be who you needed. Even when all you’d needed this whole time was him. He couldn’t even be that. He’d shut himself down. Shut himself off from you because he thought his pain would wreck you. And that was the thing that had wrecked you, in the end; that he was gone. Trapped in a house of mirrors. Vacant behind his eyes, which has used to glow like warm, familiar porch lights. He wouldn’t let you in. He wanted to. But he couldn’t find the door.

You heave yourself out of the tub and finally spin towards him. He sees the tears on your own cheeks too. “Yeah. Time to get out,” you intone glumly.

Pope knows you’re not only talking about the tub. It’s time. To finally look ahead.

You offer him your hand and he emerges from the water, his clothes sodden.

“¿Si soy una sirena? Tu eres Flounder.” The atmosphere is too heavy to laugh, but you tentatively chew on a fond smile. “What are you gonna wear now, idiota?” you ask.

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Pope admits, then looks at you quizzically when he registers your playful words. “Pero yo soy Sebastian, por supuesto. ¡No soy ese pececito feo!”

Your smile expands, just a little. “I still have some of your old stuff. Don’t be mad - I kept that Metallica t-shirt, for one.” 

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Pope chides, eyes shining softly.

You squeeze his hand and disappear momentarily to find him some clothes, turning away as you both towel off and dress side-by-side.

“Ok, well I better leave you to it.” Pope suggests abruptly, if only to shield himself. You seem better. Happier. He should leave before his own pain drags you down again. Or before he lets himself feel happy. 

“Stay, Santi. Let’s just be broken together, for a minute.”

He looks at you, pained, as if you’re being cruel to him, his heart fluttering like a bird in his rib cage.

“Please?” you beg in a broken, resigned voice. Scooped-out, wringing your hands together. “It feels like the end...” your face scrunches up as you bite back tears “...so please just stay one more time. Just lay on your side of the bed, and fall asleep next to me? Please.”

Pope tries to remember all the bullet wounds he’s suffered, because he could swear this hurts more. He could swear he’s bleeding out as you plead with him. As you talk about this ending. Pope always called you “mi Vida”, so it’s no wonder that your words feel like death; like the cruellest kind of poetry.

As he faces you, Pope’s blood is pounding in his body like he’s getting ready to run. When did you start to feel like a threat? Weren’t you on the same team?

“Santi.”

Still, one word from you, and Pope can’t refuse.

“Okay,” he agrees. Anything for you, even if it hurts him. “Go ahead and get under the covers.”

You oblige and he flicks out the light before coming to lie next to you on top of the duvet. On “his side” of the bed.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, his words like flowers as he throws an arm over the shadowed form of you. 

One word from you and Pope is there. No matter what you need.

But when it comes to his own pain? The pain that was always a shadowed bedfellow between you? Pope can’t find the words. He doesn’t have your poetry. He can’t imagine the possibility of healing. Of blooming.

Being stalked by a threat he can’t name? Can’t give form to? Nothing scares Pope more than a target he can’t fight, because if he can’t fight it, how in the hell can he protect you from it? How could he protect you from his pain? From all of his bullshit?

One word from you and Pope would jump.

He would jump off of that ledge he’s on and fall right into your love again. He would love you like he did in late spring. When the air had smelled like peaches.

Pope would do it differently this time. He would let things bloom. Or, he would at least try. He would try to find the words, like you always do.

He wishes. He wishes you would invite him back in. Wishes you would say the word. But nothing ever comes.

You’re already falling asleep by his side, maybe for the last time.

So, instead, Pope’s gone by the time morning comes. You find his ring laid out on your dresser, along with a note.

“Mi vida. I’m here for you any time of the day or night. Always and forever. Siempre te querré, mi alma. I know I fucked some things up, but I sure as hell don’t need a ring to keep that promise. Santi xxx xxx P.s. Me llevé mi camisa Metallica - I’ll have Frankie drop it back to you, cariño. Looks better on you anyway. xxx xxx.”

Maybe one day Pope would learn to accept that some things are messy. That not everything can be solved with precision. That sometimes, instead of trying to fix everything, it’s okay to be broken; together.

Pope had broken many promises to you along the way, when he became the soldier who had stopped fighting. But there was at least one he could keep.

If you need him, he’ll be there for you.

Always and forever.

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

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.

How am I doing so far, boys? Doing okay? Yikes. I’m nervous. Okay.

That’s how I know -yeah, I’ve got this- that you two are going to make it work. Because Pope doesn’t know how to let people down, not once they’re on his team. He keeps fighting, no matter what.

He’s the kinda guy you want watching your six. Once he is, you’ll never look back, and you shouldn’t. Because you two are a team now, and everything is ahead of you. You’re a team for life.

Husband and wife.

And you know what my absolute favourite thing about all of this is? Mi hermano. You have found a woman who has your back too.

Todos, you know what she replies when Pope says “I’ve got your six”? She says “I’ve got your zero through twelve”. Isn’t that a-fucking adorable? Even if it is tactically questionable. Jejejejejeje. (I know, I know, laughing at my own jokes.) So, man. Pope. Santiago. I know you can be a stubborn ass, but let her take care of you too, okay?

You deserve it, hermano. I love you.

So, cheers, to the bride and groom. By the way... I don’t know how Pope bagged this one ‘cause she’s way out of his league... For real. But... Oh shit, where was I? Oh yeah, that’s it.... thank you, Tom. You finally came in useful. Jejejejejeje.

Yeah. Cheers, to the bride and groom.

You’re not soldiers anymore, and you don’t need to follow orders. Only your hearts. (Damn right you’re crying. I pulled out all the stops for this, you sap.) But, my dear, dear friends. You don’t technically need to fight anymore, but may you always keep fighting.

Stay with me...

Keep fighting for each other. If you do that, I know you two are destined for a lifetime of happiness. I know we tease you for being a sap and being whipped but honestly, my man, your love? The two of you, together as a team? It’s beautiful, bro.

That’s squad goals right there.

And, Princesa? Pope’s knees might give out imminently. (We have a sweepstake that they’ll give out during the first dance. Jejejejejejeje.)

But his love for you? Chiquita, that ain’t ever gonna quit.

(You ready for this?)

Just like that man’s ass!

Woo! Yes- fuckin’ killin’ this speech, right? Not a dry eye in the house. Pope’s bawling like a mother fuckin’ baby. (Sorry for the language, abuela.)

Right, what was I saying? Thanks, Tom. Getting some mileage out of you today. Makes a fuckin’ change. Jejejejejejejeje.

I was saying, chiquita, that... wow. This man’s love for you? That’s always and forever. And I know, I know he’ll keep that promise. Because Pope is the kinda man who keeps his promises.”

~ Excerpt from Frankie “Catfish” Morales’ triumphant best man speech, on the happiest day of your life. The day you married Santiago Garcia. 

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

You awake, and you roll Pope’s ring in between your fingers.

“¿Santi, mi corazón? Ven a casa. Come home.”

You wish he would come home.

Most of all, you wish you could find the courage to say the word.

THE END

Want more? Here’s my first Santi one-shot, which has angst and smut: Ride or Die.

I write for Poe (my main man), Santi, Nathan, Evgeni, Finn. Masterlist here. 

Feedback in an ask or comment will make my day.

Thank you for reading!

Tagging (let me know if you wanna be added / removed from Santi tag-list!)

@darksideofclarke @yougottakeeponkeepinon @damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @mylifeliterally @shakespeareanwannabe  @woakiees​ @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @damndamer0n​ @itsamedeemoney​ ​ @spider-starry​ @starryeyedstories​

[jeonsjiddies]

right where you want me (m) | pjm

summary - nothing was getting you off anymore, no matter how hard you tried. Luckily, your neighbor Jimin was happy to help.

rating- explicit 18+

word count- 3680

pairing- jimin x reader

genre- smut 

Warnings: rough sex, spanking, oral (female recieving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

a/n thank you so much to @sweetnspicy93​ for beta reading and helping me you’re amazing 

“Mmm.. Jimin! Fuck!” you moaned, the familiar fire burning deep in your belly.

You worked yourself closer to release, one hand pumping the vibrator in and out of your aching hole while the other circled your clit. You were teetering on the edge, so close to release, images of Jimin’s ass in his slacks from when he’d dressed up the night before flitted through your mind. You imagined your heels digging into that plump bottom, legs wrapped around his torso while he fucked you senseless. 

You could almost feel the weight of his body on yours, could almost imagine he was really there with you, if it weren’t for the buzzing noise coming from between your thighs. You tried imagining that Jimin was using the toy on you instead, but you could already feel your orgasm retreating as your fantasy dissolved and reality washed over you like a splash of cold water. You’d been so close this time… until it died away, leaving you unsatisfied. Again. 

You groan in frustration for probably the 100th night in a row. Laying in your bed with your vibrator in hand just wasn’t doing the trick. Nothing seemed to do the trick anymore. You’d tried Tinder hookups, you’d tried the detachable shower head, probably 15 different sex toys, and nothing was getting you off anymore. You were convinced your pussy was broken.

On the verge of tears, you chucked the useless toy against the wall with a thud, and it hit the floor and split open, batteries rolling in different directions.You watched them roll away and sighed, pulling your pajama shorts back up and accepting defeat. 

You weren’t sure why you even tried anymore. It was clear you’d probably never get to orgasm again. Your problem began when your new neighbor moved in next door. It was 3 and a half months ago, and one look at the man had you weak in the knees. He radiated sex appeal.  From his skin tight jeans that showcased his perfect ass to his flowing, see-through white top unbuttoned about halfway, teasing you with defined abs, to his piercing eyes and the plushest lips you’d ever seen in your life. 

Even the way he walked made arousal pool in your panties. He knew he was sexy, he had the toned body of a dancer and his movements were graceful and confident. When he’d directed his pearly white smile at you, you were a goner. That was the day that Park Jimin had ruined you.

You’d gotten to know Jimin a little better over the past few months. You both left for work at the same time and would walk to your cars together, chatting about anything and nothing at all. Sometimes he’d get up early to bring you coffee or you’d bring him some cookies you’d made. You were friendly enough, but you did try to keep a little bit of distance since being anywhere within ten feet of him had you feral and dizzy.

If Jimin noticed your obsession with him, he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you like everything was normal and asked if you’d caught the newest episode of The Masked Singer. Jimin was kind, he was funny, he was polite, and he was devastatingly handsome. Every new fact you learned about him only made you like him more, want him more.

How many nights did you lay alone in your bed, fantasizing about Jimin and the way his hips moved? How much stamina he must have? He’d dance for hours at the local studio, you knew he could go several rounds. He had so much control over his body, you loved imagining how that would play into how well he could fuck your brains out. Pretty well, you guessed.

Just this morning, he’d offered to give you a ride to work, saying that he had a dancing class to teach nearby at a new venue. You’d agreed, not wanting to be rude, and also it was good for the environment, right? Cutting on gas emissions. That was why you wanted to get in his car. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You immediately regretted that decision. Jimin’s car was very nice and clean, but it was small. His thick, juicy thighs were mere centimeters from your own and his hand brushed against yours whenever he had to change gears. Jimin's car smelled like him- prim and proper with a hint of his cologne. Sitting so close to him, completely enveloped in the scent of him in the small space.. you could almost imagine him leaning your seat back and having his way with you in his car. You had to rub your thighs together to get some comfort from the pooling moisture between your thighs. This was going to be a major test of your self control.

You tried to focus on the tranquil turn of the steering wheel in Jimin's hands instead. Jimin was a smooth driver, which you weren’t surprised about. It seemed like you couldn’t find a single thing he didn’t excel at. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over to you every so often though, making your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink. Jimin was paying more attention to you than the road and didn’t notice the speed bump. He didn’t slow down in time and drove right over it, jostling the whole car. His arm shot out to shield you from the impact, his hand landing right above your breast. 

Your brain seemed to short circuit, your eyes widened and you stared at Jimin’s hand. He was frozen in shock and made no attempt to remove his hold on your body. You could barely breathe, the heat from his skin soaking through your shirt had shivers racing through your spine. You were vibrating with sexual tension, losing your mind. When he finally regained his senses, he yanked his arm back, fingers accidentally grazing across your nipple. Your body jolted and heat rushed between your thighs. If you didn’t get out of his car soon you were going to attack him.

“I’m… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” he mumbled.

“It’s okay.” you tried to make your voice sound even, but it came out breathless. 

You thanked Jimin once you’d exited the car and politely refused his offer to pick you up after work, lying that you had plans with a friend. You’d spent all day at work horny as you’d 8ever been, tortured for eight hours with sticky thighs and an unbearable yearning between your legs, which was what brought you here, denied yet another orgasm because you just wanted Jimin between your thighs, not that stupid plastic imitation. 

Even now you couldn’t stop shivering when you thought back to how close he was, how good he smelled… you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining his sweaty body after dance class… You punched your pillow with a loud whine before you heard a heavy knock at your door. You made your way to the front door and opened it, immediately being pushed back into the wall with a pair of soft, plushy lips on yours.

You only knew it was Jimin by his smell, and the small flash you’d seen of him before he’d basically attacked you.You froze for a moment, shocked and reeling. Jimin was kissing you. The same Jimin who had consumed your thoughts and dreams for months. Those soft, pink lips were pressed against your own and it felt better than you could’ve ever imagined. You kissed him back with fervor, though you weren’t really sure what brought this on, you weren’t about to tell him no. Live out your fantasies first, ask questions later. His kisses left your lips and moved over to the shell of your ear.

“You know our bedrooms share a wall, right?” he purred, “I’ve been listening to you fuck yourself for months, calling out my name.” 

“What?” you squeaked in embarrassment, trying to cling to the minimal amount of brain function you had left while his lips worked their way down your neck, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to get to know you, do this right. But I’m so tired of listening to you not get off.” he hissed. “None of those boys knew how to fuck you right. I’m going to help you baby.”

Quiet whimpers left your lips when he began rocking his hips into yours, his hard member grinding against your core. Jimin pulled his lips from your skin and looked into your eyes. You saw his pupils were blown with lust. His usually perfectly styled hair fell into his eyes and he shook it away, breathing just as ragged as your own. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” he spoke evenly, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips.

“Please don’t stop.” you whispered, swallowing nervously.

Jimin smiled, his eyes burning with desire as he backed you up towards your room, shoving you down on the bed and crawling until his body hovered over yours. His lips reattaching to your skin had your hips bucking up into his, desperate for any kind of friction. You probably should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you seemed but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when your wildest fantasies were being played out before your very eyes.

“So impatient.” Jimin tsked, hand sliding up your shirt and under your bra to grasp your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Jimin…” you whined.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Jimin purred in your ear.

“Touch me.” you begged.

“I am.” he teased, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers again.

You whined loudly, rolling your hips up to meet his. 

“Nuh uh, use your words.” he encouraged.

“Please, I want you. Your fingers, your cock, anything. I just need you inside me.” you writhed against him.

“Mmm… good girl.” he smirked, making his way down your body and leaving a trail of love bites.

His skilled mouth sucked and nipped at your skin like he was a professional. Jimin instinctively knew how to work your body, how to draw the neediest moans from your pretty lips. Your body was on fire, and he was your gasoline, fueling the blaze the closer he got to where you wanted, where you needed him. His fingers gripped the elastic of your pajama shorts, tugging them off and tossing them aside.

He peppered hot kisses along your panty-covered slit, deciding to tease you rather than give you what you wanted. Jimin wanted you begging for him, needy and desperate.Jimin wanted to get back at you. For all the sleepless nights he lay awake listening to your moans on the other side of the wall, calling to him like a siren. He relieved himself more times than he can count to just your breathy moans and was left wanting more. He intended to drive you to the point of insanity before he let you have your release. He wanted to make sure no one would ever be good enough for you again, you’d only want him. No other man would ever touch you again.

He ran his tongue along the lace of your panties, dampening the already sticky fabric. His barely there touches were making you dizzy and you whimpered, lacing your fingers through his thick, soft hair. Tears were forming at the edges of your vision, so desperate for release you hadn’t found in months, and Jimin’s touches were ghosting along your skin raising goosebumps in their wake but they weren’t enough.

Finally, he pushed your panties aside and his tongue dipped into your heat. You almost cried out in relief when you felt his muscle sliding along your walls and licking designs on your clit. Your back arched off the bed and he used one hand to hold your hips in place while he continued to drive you mad with his skillful tongue. 

He slipped a finger deep in your hole, curling it and hitting your gspot with every flick of his wrist. The way Jimin worked your body put all your Tinder dates to shame. You knew he was a sexpert upon first glance but you didn’t realize he could perform actual magic between your thighs. He added a second finger, then a third, stretching your walls. 

Jimin pumped his fingers in and out of you at the perfect rhythm, alternating the timing of his fingers with the flicks of his tongue on your sensitive bundle of nerves and you could feel yourself climbing towards your end. Your whines got louder, your cries needier. You couldn’t stop yourself from bucking your hips against Jimin’s hold.

“Oh, fu- JIMIN!”

Finally, for the first time in months, the sweet blissful, euphoria consumed your body. Jimin’s ministrations sent you over the edge, your orgasm completely consuming your being. You felt like you were ascending out of your body and soaring into the night sky while Jimin worked you through your release. Jimin did not slow down, even as you began to settle from your high.

You attempted to push him away, feeling overly sensitive from your first orgasm in three months, but Jimin was stronger than you, and soon the burning turned to pleasure again, building back up much quicker than the first, and you wriggled beneath Jimin’s hold on your hips. Mere minutes after your first orgasm, another crashed through you, just as intense as the first. Jimin finally relented, leaving a soft peck on your folds as he pulled away from your trembling body. 

His chin covered in your juices, he grinned at you, moving up to place a kiss on your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and somehow that was erotic enough to create another wave of arousal to gush from your over-sensitive cunt. You moaned into Jimin’s kiss, nipping at his swollen lips. 

“Mmm.. your turn.” you smirked, reaching down and palming at his hardened member, but Jimin stopped you.

“No tonight is about you, baby. We have all the time in the world for that later. I just want to be inside you.” he purred into your ear, nibbling at the skin.

You couldn’t exactly argue with that. You reached down to pull his sweats down his thick, delicious thighs and tossed them aside. He lifted your shirt and sports bra off of you effortlessly, licking his lips at the sight of your nipples peaked and ready for attention. His tongue swiped a bold line across one, then the other, forcing shivers from your fucked out body. You quickly tugged at his boxers, simply unable to wait any longer. 

“Need you. Now.” you panted.

Jimin smirked, shimmying out of his boxers and hovering over you.

His length brushed against your folds and both of you groaned. Jimin’s cock was thick, so hard it looked painful, and dribbling precum from his pretty round tip. Jimin froze, looking like he was about to cry.

“I forgot a condom.” he nearly whimpered.

“I’ve got an IUD.” you assured him, running your fingers through his hair to get the sweaty mess out of his eyes.

“Oh thank god.” he breathed in relief, body shuddering. 

Before you could reply, Jimin was entering you, he just couldn’t hold back anymore. He started off slowly, making sure you could handle the stretch and burn. Your breathless moans of his name made it hard for Jimin to keep control, and soon he was pounding ruthlessly into your soaking cunt. Your headboard bounced against the wall but you couldn’t force yourself to care, not when Jimin felt so good buried inside you.

Jimin seemed to reach places within you that no other man had before, like he was made perfectly for you and you perfectly for him. He fit inside you so well, his cock brushing against your walls was driving you insane. You weren’t sure how he hit that lovely spot inside of you every time, but his expert thrusts hit the best angle every time. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. So wet for me baby.” Jimin grunted as he continued to snap his hips into yours.

“Jimin!” you gasped when his teeth began to nip at your collarbones.

“That’s it baby, say my name… who fucks you this good? Who owns this pussy?” he growled, bringing one hand between your bodies to circle at your clit.

“You, Jimin!” you groaned, body bouncing with the forceful impact of Jimin’s thrusts.

“Louder!” he commanded, his hips snapping harshly while his fingers increased their speed on your nub.

“Fuck, JIMIN!” you screamed. 

“You feel better than I imagined, princess. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to wreck your pretty little pussy? I used to get off with you, you know.” he groaned while his hands found your hair and pulled so your neck was exposed for him to litter hickeys on.

“Oh god.” you moaned at the idea of Jimin alone in his bed, hand wrapped around his cock while he got off to the sound of you getting off to him.

“Mmm… it took everything I had not to come over here and make you cum all over my cock. Your sweet pussy is even tighter and wetter than I’d dreamed. Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me.” his voice shook.

Without warning, Jimin flipped you over onto your stomach and started pounding into you from behind, reaching a whole new angle you didn’t even know existed but had your head spinning. You pushed your hips back against his to meet his every thrust. You were jolted out of your blissful state when his hand came and smacked your ass, sending electricity straight to your core.Your pussy clenched around his length and he let out a strangled groan.

“You like that, huh? Such a dirty girl. How many times did you fuck yourself without me?” he questioned innocently.

“Ummm… I’m not sure.” you confessed. “I haven’t gotten off since you moved in though.” 

“Hmmm.. then how many Tinder dates did you have instead of coming to find me?” he wondered.

“Ummm, 4?” you answered, unsure of why he was asking about your other sexual partners while he was balls deep inside you.

“Mmm… you’ve been a bad girl. You should’ve just come to me. Count.” he ordered, his palm coming down swiftly on your bottom again.

“Ah, one.” you moaned quietly, clenching around him again.

“Mmm.. you like this a little too much.” Jimin chuckled, bringing a harsher slap down on your ass, then soothing the red skin with a gentle brush of his fingers. 

“Two.” you whimpered blissfully. 

Jimin loved the way your skin turned red under his efforts, and he loved the way you tightened around him every time he delivered a spank to the soft skin of your bottom. He admired it for a moment, fingers tenderly grazing over the skin before he unexpectedly left another harsh slap on your skin. 

Your body jolted forward with the impact and you groaned low in your throat at the blissful burning on your backside.

“Three.” left your lips in a whisper as your high drew closer with Jimin’s actions.

His pace didn’t slow down while he “punished” you in the best way, and you were just on the edge of oblivion when he delivered the final slap. You screamed as your high washed over you, even more intense than the first two, and Jimin’s thrusts got sloppier as he met his own end soon after you. He worked you both through your orgasms until you were shaking and tears were falling from the corners of your eyes.  Jimin collapsed next to you, trying to steady his breathing just as you were.

“Are you okay?” he asked between his deep breaths.

“So okay.” you sighed happily, a small giggle rising from your throat. “Ugh, it feels so good to finally cum.”

“Mmm… you’re so sexy when you do.” he grinned, licking his lips suggestively.

You covered your face to hide your blush and he only laughed, crawling off the bed and going to grab a damp washcloth. He returned and knelt between your thighs, running the cloth gently along your folds to clean up the mix of your juices and his cum seeping out of your spent pussy. You whimpered at the overstimulation, and Jimin tossed the cloth into your hamper.

You reached out for him and tugged him back into bed with you, and he wrapped his arms around your frame, holding you against his chest. Your breathing was still labored but feeling Jimin’s body against your own felt more important than oxygen in that moment. He stroked your hair gently with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around you.

“I hope you realize I’m not going to let you go now.” you smiled into his chest. “There’s no way anyone is ever going to top that.”

Jimin laughed, a deep, full belly laugh and pulled you closer into his embrace, kissing the top of your head. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll fuck you whenever you want.” he grinned. “But I really would like to take you on a date sometime.”

“I’d really like that.” you blushed, looking up to meet his eyes.

Jimin bit his lip to try and hide the smile that threatened to spread on his swollen, deliciously red lips. You let yours free though, grinning up at him like a kid on Christmas. Jimin’s resolve broke and his smile spread from ear to ear.

“Where would you want to go?” he asked, idly playing with your fingers.

“Hmmm...  I don’t know. Somewhere lowkey but fun? I want to get to know you better.” you hummed thoughtfully, watching his expression.

“Okay… maybe… the amusement park? Then dinner?” he offered. “Or would you rather go to a movie? Or we could-” he began.

You giggled and pressed your finger to his plush lips.

“It doesn’t matter where we go, as long as you’re there. You’ve got me right where you want me.”

[nekojitachan]

OK, so it took a while, but I got something written (I should say something completed). Let’s hope this continues.

That something is the next part of the raven!Andrew soulmate story. There’s a bit of a time jump here. But hopefully you’ll catch on to what’s happening.

Here’s a link to the first part.

*******

Andrew pulled the Maserati Quattroporte Ribelle into the only gas station at the exit; they were two hours from Abby Winfield’s house, timed to get there around 7am. That meant they’d drove through the night after leaving West Virginia, creeping out of the Nest past midnight like a pair of thieves – or escapees. However, Ichirou had granted them their (limited) freedom at last, even bestowed upon them the car which rumbled to a stop at the gas pump of some no-name town.

Nathaniel slumped lower in the passenger seat and tugged the hood of his black long-sleeved t-shirt further over his face while Andrew grabbed his wallet, despite the fact that they were the only one at the gas station/mini-mart. “Do you want anything?” Andrew asked his soulmate before he stepped out of the car.

“Uhm, something to drink?”

“One super-size atomic sludge freeze slushie, coming right up, sweetpea.”

The left corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched upward as Nathaniel called him an asshole and more, the insults cut off when the car door slammed shut; that was the most reaction he’d gotten out of his boyfriend since they’d left Edgar Allan. He couldn’t blame him, really, not when one had considered everything that had happened in the last couple weeks.

They’d succeeded in taking down Riko; the mentally unstable prick had finally snapped during the pregame session when the Ravens and Foxes were supposed to face off at the division championship. Considering that his little ‘tantrum’ had led to several players on both teams being injured, it was decided that the final game would be cancelled and the championship awarded to the team with the most points accumulated during the season, which of course were the Ravens. A lot of people weren’t happy about that since they’d looked forward to the face-off between the Foxes (Kevin Day) and the Ravens (Riko), but there was little that could be done in the end.

Especially when Tetsuji announced that he was stepping down due to ‘guilt’ from failing his nephew. Oh, there was a bit of an outcry about what was going on at the Nest to make Riko ‘snap’ like that, but it was mostly overridden by the news of ‘the Master’ retiring and the search for a new coach (as if Ichirou didn’t have one lined up already).

Mostly.

All that mattered was that Riko was shuffled off to some psychiatric center (never to return, not that Andrew would put money down on the prick lasting out the rest of the year), and that Tetsuji was gone, too (he’d give him maybe another year, just so it didn’t look too suspicious, both of them dying close together). Since Ichirou had taken over after his father had passed away in the spring, he’d made it clear that he intended to rid himself of the side branch for once and all; he broke no exploitable weaknesses.

Andrew had been more than willing to exorcise those weaknesses if it meant buying Nathaniel’s freedom.

(Or at least as much freedom as he could manage at the moment.)

With their ‘king’ and ‘master’ gone, some of the Ravens had flown far, far away from their Nest. A couple had been… strongly urged to leave (kicked out). A few had complained about the stress of the program and not wanting to end up like Riko, and been let out of their contracts (a good example of PR). And then there had been Jean, Nathaniel and Andrew.

Jean took the opportunity during one of the many ‘what are your thoughts on Riko’ interviews to announce that Jeremy Knox was his soulmate, so it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that he accepted an offer to transfer to SCU. Since Aaron blew up all of his (pathetic) social media channels with how he’d found his own soulmate at last and that she was a PSU cheerleader, and Nathaniel always defended Kevin after he transferred to the Foxes, it didn’t shock too many people when Nathaniel and Andrew allowed PSU to release a press release a few days later (finally) that they were leaving Edgar Allan to join their former teammate in South Carolina.

It’s what Andrew had strived for all these months, yet… yet here he was at 5am in a random minimart, shoving energy and granola bars, bottles of green tea, cans of energy drinks, and whatever decent chocolate snacks he could find into the basket hung from his left arm, to be paid for (along with a tank of premium gasoline) by a fancy black credit card courtesy of one Ichirou Moriyama. Dressed in a black hoodie, his stare hostile as he dared the half-asleep attendant to say something as the teenager rung him up, he was half-tempted to demand a pack of cigarettes before he left to return to the car.

Nathaniel would be upset if he resumed the habit, so he didn’t do anything.

(Nathaniel was already stressed out enough with all the changes.)

Andrew grabbed the credit card and bag of goods then left the store to return to the car, and noticed that Nathaniel had locked it during his absence. His soulmate gave him an anxious smile as he fell into the driver’s seat (hmm, very comfortable) and handed over the bag before he returned the card to his wallet then fastened his seatbelt.

“Really? Most of this stuff is junk,” Nathaniel complained as he grabbed a green tea and granola bar for himself.

“Guess I don’t have to share,” Andrew said as he fetched an energy drink and chocolate bar for himself; he felt something settle inside of himself when Nathaniel smiled at the joke.

“You’re gonna have to put up with Kevin soon enough,” his soulmate warned as he unwrapped the granola bar.

“And who do you think is gonna win?”

Nathaniel’s smile softened as he reached over to tug back Andrew’s hood. “Try not to beat him down too much.” Then his smile faded into a guilty expression. “You okay driving the last bit? We can stop somewhere.”

Andrew held up the energy drink. “This will see me through.” He popped it open and took a sip. “Once we get settled in, we’ll work on your driving lessons.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel nibbled on the granola bar for a moment. “I… this is… I don’t….”

Andrew reached out to slide his hand into the voluminous black hood, to cup the back of his boyfriend’s nape. “We’ve got time now,” he assured Nathaniel. “No one’s going to drag you back to the Nest,” or Baltimore, “and you’ll figure this stuff out.”

Andrew would make sure he did, that Nathaniel got a chance to learn all the things he’d been deprived of, between being locked up in the mansion (death house) in Baltimore then caged in the Nest.

It was quiet while he returned to the interstate (save for the purr of the Maserati’s engine), then Nathaniel let out a loud sigh. “I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

No, he hadn’t, and despite that fact, he’d agreed to follow Andrew out of the Nest, to leave behind Jean (his pillar of support for years) to face the unknown. Maybe someone wouldn’t consider it such a big deal, switching campuses and teams, but Nathaniel’s life had been strictly controlled by Nathan and Tetsuji, had been restricted to school and his ‘house’ (the mansion in Baltimore, then the Nest). He’d never once gone anyplace without it being approved first, had never roamed freely, had never been free.

Andrew might have been abused and passed around, but he had been able (mostly) to go wherever he wanted (except while in juvie). Hell, some foster parents hadn’t given a damn where he went, as long as they could collect a check while he was their ‘responsibility’. So Nathaniel out in the big wide world was a shock to the redhead, one that Andrew was trying his best to cushion.

(He was there for his soulmate, someone to ground him, and even after all this time was amazed how Nathaniel’s anxiety settled at his mere presence.)

The last two hours passed mostly in silence, with Nathaniel reaching for Andrew’s right hand after he finished the granola bar and two green teas. Andrew threaded their fingers together while he followed the GPS to Winfield’s house, pleased to grant his soulmate that bit of comfort, especially as the interstate gave way to city roads and then to neighborhood streets.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured Nathaniel. “Kevin said we could trust her.” If not, then Kevin would be eating his own pickled liver.

“I know.” Nathaniel shivered as he glanced at the ranch-style houses that lined the road they drove along. “It’s just… this is so new to me.”

Andrew was quiet a moment before he stroked his thumb along his soulmate’s left hand. “If she’s not an addict of some sort, she’ll be new to me, too.” He refused to think about Cass just then.

Nathaniel gave him a horrified before he shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t, okay? Now’s not the time for our ‘who had it worse’ game.”

“Which I won,” Andrew insisted, even though that wasn’t quite true; it was basically a tie on different fronts.

“Whatever,” Nathaniel snorted, yet the tension left his body and he gave Andrew’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll just go on about sleeping on the floor all the time so you can hog the bed, I bet.”

“Sleeping on the dirty floor, which is why I get to hog the blankets,” Andrew stated in a bland manner.

“As if you’re not gonna hog all the blankets anyway.”

Andrew hummed in a noncommittal manner (yes, he was going to hog all the blankets, thank you) as he pulled into Abby Winfield’s driveway; it was a nondescript split-level ranch, similar to the others on the street, with several Foxes’ flags planted in the marigold and daisy flowerbed.

For a moment, he debated his decision to have him and Nathaniel play for the Foxes, before he decided that it would be even more painful to join the Trojans.

(Dammit.)

He turned off the Maserati’s engine then reached for his cell phone so he could text Winfield that they’d arrived while Nathaniel stared at the house while nibbling on his full bottom lip (not a distraction at all). To his mild surprise, it only took a minute after his message had been sent before the front door of the house opened to reveal a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a light blue robe, her shoulder-length blonde hair tousled and a gentle smile on her face as she motioned for them to come inside.

“Uhm, she looks nice,” Nathaniel said in a quiet voice as he fiddled with his seat belt. From the doubtful tone to his voice, it was clear how well he knew that ‘looks nice’ didn’t mean that the person was nice.

“Stay behind me,” Andrew ordered; his boyfriend gave him a cool look for a moment before he nodded once.

Nathaniel may be the Butcher’s son, may be a Hatford, but they’d worked out over the past year or so (with a bit of trial and error) that Andrew faced the dangers first. Nathaniel was the one who knew Ichirou’s deepest secrets, who the Moriyama heir (and now lord) favored the most, so Andrew took the hits (and took them well, if at all), because if Nathaniel was hurt… well, it wasn’t good for either of them, if that happened.

Andrew protected Nathaniel, because Nathaniel was the one Ichirou needed the most. Nathaniel wasn’t happy about that, but Andrew didn’t know everything that his soulmate did, nor could he step in to Nathaniel’s spot if something happened to the polyglot idiot.

(He didn’t mind taking the blows when he knew his boyfriend was upset with each one that landed, when Nathaniel would gladly take them in his place. Nathaniel – Nat – never took him for granted. Never.)

(Nat was the only one who never did.)

They left the car and approached the small porch, Andrew in front, while Winfield’s smile brightened the closer they got. “You’re a bit early! I’d just put on a pot of coffee when I got your text.”

“No traffic,” Andrew said as he followed the woman into the house; Kevin swore that she was trustworthy, that they’d be fine staying with the team’s nurse until the dorms opened up in June. He wasn’t pleased to live with a stranger for several weeks, but it would attract less attention than if they rented a hotel room.

“I hope it wasn’t too bad of a drive,” Winfield said as she led them to a kitchen painted a bright yellow with yellow and white checkered curtains on the window and a table with six chairs; the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air, and a carton of eggs was set out on the counter. “Coffee will be ready soon, and I’ll make breakfast in a minute. Sit down, I’ll be right back,” she excused herself as she left the room, her left hand clutched on the front of her robe.

Considering that they’d been in a car for the last few hours, Andrew and Nathaniel remained standing; Nathaniel shuffled around the kitchen as he checked out the unfamiliar space, his movements jittery with anxiety. Andrew left him alone for a minute, then grabbed the hood of his shirt as he walked past to reel in him. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured in German as his soulmate slumped against him.

Nathaniel nibbled on his bottom lip while he nodded. “It’s just… this is all so… so weird.” He shivered a little before he rested his chin on Andrew’s left shoulder.

While Nathaniel was ecstatic to be rid of Riko and Tetsuji, he’d spent almost half his life in the Nest, and the other half had lived in constant fear while in the Butcher’s house. He was used to following rules (his small rebellions aside), to contained (twisted, stressful, dangerous) environments, to an existence that was anything but ordinary. He knew several languages, he knew how to take apart and put together a gun while blindfolded (and to shoot it), he knew dozens of ways to kill a person and how to maneuver through a good bit of the crime syndicates in North America (knew enough to bring down a good bit of the crime syndicates in North America), but he gazed in confusion at several appliances in Winfield’s kitchen, couldn’t drive and was floundering without Jean’s presence (even though he had told his partner to go join his soulmate).

Adjusting to the ‘real’ world was going to be quite the adventure for Nathaniel Wesninski.

(Andrew found it ironic as hell that he was the ‘well-adjusted’ one in that regard out of the two of them.)

Andrew had taken to massaging the small of his boyfriend’s back, which had prompted an appreciative murmur, right before Winfield returned to the kitchen, her cellphone in hand and dressed in pink sweatpants and a white t-shirt. “I’ve never heard David so cheerful this early on a Saturday morning, he-oh!” She smiled yet again to see them so close together, the expression tender; Nathaniel only pulled away a little so he could watch her movements. “He said he’ll be here with Kevin soon, so I guess I better make a lot to eat!”

“Uhm, thank you,” Nathaniel said in a quiet voice. “And thank you for letting us stay here.”

“It’s nothing, I have Foxes in and out of here all the time!” Winfield motioned around with an egg in her right hand before she cracked it into a large bowl. “Let me get this started then I’ll show you your room and you can bring your stuff in.” She gave them a wink while she continued to crack the eggs. “Kevin said you’ll be sharing a room, right? That means Aaron won’t be sleeping on a couch when he arrives.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed as he gave Nathaniel’s right hip a quick squeeze then let go so he could pour himself a cup of coffee; there were mugs set out by the coffee machine, along with a small pint of cream and a bowl of sugar. He held up the pot before pouring a second cup, which he did after Nathaniel nodded.

He’d just prepared his drink to his satisfaction (with Nathaniel wrinkling his nose over the amount of sugar and cream dumped into the mug) when Winfield stepped away from the stove. “Okay, now for a quick tour.”

They’d already seen the living and dining room from the kitchen, so she took them down the long hallway to their bedroom for the next several weeks, pointing out the linen closet and bathroom along the way. The room had a queen-sized bed, a nightstand and a small dresser that would easily hold all of their belongings during their stay, decorated in pale cream and blues. Nathaniel blinked a couple times after entering the room, probably never having witnessed something so… ‘homey’ in his life, while Andrew could put up with the lace curtains and flowers on the bedspread since the space was clean and not painted black.

Winfield next showed them the lower level as they went to the car for their belongings, which housed the washer and dryer, along with a den with a television and gaming console (which would make Aaron happy when he returned from visiting Nicky in Germany), and a treadmill (which would make Nathaniel happy) along with some other exercise equipment. While she returned to the kitchen to resume making their breakfast, Andrew and Nathaniel fetched the few bags they’d brought with them from Edgar Allan.

Most of the belongings were Andrew’s, were what he’d taken to the university back when he’d been a freshman and what he’d collected over the last two years (mostly books). Nathaniel owned very little in the way of personal items, and they’d both agreed to leave behind as much as they could that was tied to the Ravens and Edgar Allan, so he didn’t have anything other than a few changes of clothes, a suit gifted to him from Ichirou (necessary for when he was called on for ‘business’), things he required for school and those rare personal items.

Shopping was at the top of their agenda.

It didn’t take them long to unpack; they returned to the kitchen to refill their coffee mugs and help Winfield (well, Nathaniel offered) set the table. Shortly after that was done, the front door of the house opened and a loud voice called out. “Abby! Get your sutures ready, there’s a mouth I need you to sew shut!”

“But it would be so much better if we-“

“For the last time, we’re not completely revamping the practice schedule! Another word out of you and not only will I sew your lips shut, but I’ll take away your keys to the court!”

Nathaniel shuffled closer to Andrew as David Wymack, coach of the PSU Foxes, stomped into the kitchen, a large box of what appeared to be donuts held in his left hand; he was dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a faded orange and white t-shirt with the team’s logo on front. Right behind him was Kevin, dressed in his usual black jeans and a black t-shirt, who smiled when he caught sight of the two of them then rushed over to give Nathaniel a hug.

“You look good, both of you do,” he told Andrew’s soulmate, who allowed the embrace for a couple seconds, while in the background Winfield chided Wymack about the whole ‘sew mouth shut’ thing. “Glad to be here?” Once he let go of Nathaniel, he gave Andrew a polite nod in greeting.

“It’s much better than the Nest,” Nathaniel hedged, which really wasn’t much of an answer since juvie had been better than the Nest, in Andrew’s opinion. Still, Kevin didn’t seem to pick up on it, especially since his father decided to join the conversation right then.

“I have never seen this one,” he gave Kevin’s dark hair an affectionate tousle, “so wide awake this early when practice isn’t involved. I thought I’d have to drag him out of bed, but all it took was hearing that the two of you were here and he got up right away.”

Kevin frowned as he attempted to restore order to his hair then gave a gentle shove to his father’s side. “We’ve been waiting for them to join the team for how many months now,” he complained; Andrew ignored the father-son bonding (or whatever it was) so he could investigate the box of donuts, with Nathaniel right behind him despite the fact that he disliked sweets. Wymack noticed Nathaniel’s ‘clinginess’, especially when redhead didn’t grab a donut for himself.

Then again, Nathaniel had been cagey around the man whenever they’d met (when the Ravens had played against the Foxes or at the district banquets), under the premises of Nathaniel talking to Kevin (supposedly to come back to Edgar Allan). He’d made sure to stay out of Wymack’s reach the entire time they’d given an update about how things were going with Riko, wary of any adult male who reminded him of Nathan Wesninski.

“The board will be happy to know you’re finally here, considering the fits they threw over me holding open two spots on the team so late.” Wymack slowly backed away and leaned against the counter, his tattooed arms folded across his broad chest. “Though they feel it’s worth the aggravation in the end, considering we signed two more Ravens.”

“Ex-Ravens,” Nathaniel murmured as he gave Andrew a queasy glance for the large bearclaw he picked from the box for his second donut, the cream-filled one already devoured.

Wymack huffed in approval while Kevin glared at Andrew (and was blithely ignored). “Yes, exactly. You two are officially Foxes now, your gear’s in your lockers and your numbers locked in.” He gave them an amused look while Kevin appeared smug. “You’re lucky your numbers were available, though part of that is nobody wanting to touch #3 and Renee being willing to change her number for her last season.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes while he swallowed a bite of pastry. “Why did she do that?” Players tended to be attached to their numbers for some reason, not that he gave a damn about his own, even if it was tattooed on his left cheek.

Wymack glanced at Kevin before he spoke. “Because she’s not planning on joining to the pros once she graduates; she enjoys playing Exy, but she accepted the scholarship so she could get a college degree and she believes what we’re doing here with the Foxes. She feels that you’re more invested in the sport than she is, so she’s fine with changing on her number.”

Didn’t that sound like everything he knew about one Renee Walker (at least officially)? Andrew didn’t give a damn about Exy, it was just something that had allowed him to get out of a bunch of boring therapy sessions, to keep an eye on Aaron, to give Aaron a chance of a university degree, to allow him near his soulmate, to protect said soulmate….

It gave him Nathaniel.

So what if he ended up playing it for the next decade or so? Nathaniel would be by his side (except for the year where he went to the pros and Nathaniel remained behind for his last year in university) while he ‘suffered’ through it all; it didn’t matter what number he wore on his uniform or what team he played for as long as his soulmate was there beside him.

“It’s just a number,” he muttered before he tossed another piece of pastry into his mouth.

“You know it’s more than that,” Kevin argued as he rubbed the ‘2’ on his left cheek. “There might not be a Perfect Court anymore, but we’re still considered among the best players in Exy. There are… certain expectations for us.” Judging from the way he glanced at Nathaniel then back at Andrew and Wymack’s expression hardened while he talked, he didn’t mean their fans.

Kevin might not know where all the bodies were buried or had played a major part in taking down the side branch, but he still answered to Ichirou in the end.

“We’re well aware of what’s expected of us,” Nathaniel said as he stared Kevin down.

It was quiet in the kitchen after that, until Winfield cleared her throat a couple minutes later. “Breakfast is ready so why doesn’t everyone sit down?” She gave them a nervous smile as she motioned to the table; once they shuffled toward the chairs, she brought over a large pan filled with scrambled eggs, cheese and hashbrowns, followed by a plate of sausage.

Nathaniel eyed the meal with trepidation, but at least helped himself to the egg mix, probably thinking with longing of his usual oatmeal and fruit, while Andrew would have been fine with the donuts. He noticed that Winfield and Wymack bore the same soulmate marks on their forearms (what looked to be a daisy-like flower and tower), which might explain why Katelyn Day had kept Kevin a secret from the man. Winfield told them that they could help themselves to whatever was in the kitchen or make their own meals, and that she was willing to cook around any dietary requirements.

“Ah, we don’t want to bother you,” Nathaniel said as he picked at his food (at least until Andrew gave a light kick to his right ankle). “We don’t eat anything too complicated, just….”

“I’m familiar with Kevin’s diet,” she told them as she gave their friend an affectionate look. “And he told me that you like fruit. “We’ll work something out that’ll fit in with what you’re used to but won’t be as strict.”

“Or flavorless.” When Nathaniel gave Andrew a narrow look for the complaint, he rolled his eyes. “Try to tell me that you weren’t bored with steamed fish and rice.”

The left corner of Nathaniel’s mouth quirked upward as he flicked aside another piece of hashbrown from his eggs. “I think all that chocolate you eat ruined your tastebuds.”

And who was it that gave him said chocolate, often smuggled into the Nest? Andrew huffed as he scooped up the potatoes to eat himself.

“So, your uniforms and gear’s ready, it arrived the other day,” Kevin said as he pushed his empty plate aside. “We can start practicing tomorrow, I’ve some ideas that-“

“No.”

Kevin gaped at Andrew for that flat denial, while Wymack held his mug between his hands and leaned back in his chair, Winfield got up to clear the empty plates from the table and Nathaniel stilled. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You came here early to-“

“We came here to get out of the Nest, since it’s crawling with reporters and we’re no longer Ravens,” Andrew reminded Kevin and Wymack. “And to give us,” more Nathaniel, “time to adjust. Which means Exy’s going to wait a bit.”

“But-“ Kevin, the Exy addict that he was, turned to Nathaniel, the other Exy junkie at the table. “Don’t you want to get back out on court as soon as possible?”

Nathaniel let out a slow breath and scooted his chair away from the table until he could bring his right knee up and hug his bent leg against his chest; he looked so small and uncertain while hunched over like that, looked so helpless, but Andrew knew that it placed his hands near the knife holstered around his right ankle. “You forget that Jean and I had next to nothing that wasn’t given to us by the Moriyamas,” he reminded Kevin. “Andrew and I need to go shopping tomorrow.”

“You can-“

Wymack cut off his son with a stern look before he nodded at Andrew and his soulmate. “The court’s not going anywhere, get settled in first. I can give you the team’s p-card if you’re low on funds.”

“Did you see the car outside?” Kevin muttered, appearing upset over having his Exy playtime denied, only to wince when Winfield get a slight smack to the back of his head before she rejoined them at the table. “Ow!”

“We’re fine,” Nathaniel answered while Andrew shook his head; while he wasn’t a big fan of accepting handouts from anyone, especially a Moriyama, he figured that Nathaniel was owed for all the work he’d done over the years so Ichirou could pay for a few new wardrobes (at the least).

“Right, how many times have I-“

“Dad, the car!”

“Leave them be, David, I’m sure they’ll ask for help if they need it.”

Wymack scoffed at that remark but dropped the subject after giving Andrew and Nathaniel a dubious look; the rest of the meal passed in relative silence. Before Wymack and Kevin left, Wymack handed over a set of keys to them, which apparently would let them into the Palmetto Court (so would the lock picks in their possession, but there were some things their new coach didn’t need to know). “Call me when you’re ready to practice so I can show you around and give you the code to get in.”

“It’s going to be great to be on the same team again,” Kevin said in passing. “I’ve got all these ideas for us.”

“Don’t scare them away, you moron,” his father chided as he shoved Kevin toward the front door. “It’s not too late for them to run for the hills.”

Kevin mumbled something about it being all right, his voice cut off by the door closing behind him.

Nathaniel stared after the two men, a slight smile on his face, only to twitch when Winfield stood up from the table. “It’s so nice to see Kevin excited again. He’s been a bit depressed about the championship game, but you coming here has cheered him up.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel shared a look with Andrew; they knew that Kevin, for some strange reason, had been upset over the whole ‘Riko locked up’ thing (what had he thought would happen to the psychotic prick?), but they let Winfield think whatever she wanted about the matter. “Uhm, we can help,” he offered when she started to clear off the table.

“No, it’s all right, why don’t you two go rest or something?” she told them. “You look tired. I’m going to let the dishes soak then run some errands.”

Andrew didn’t need to be told twice (not that he wanted to do chores in the first place); he grabbed his soulmate’s left hand and pulled him away from the table before Nathaniel got them stuck washing the dishes or something equally lame.

The bedroom door had a lock on it, but it was the basic type found in most houses and could easily be broken with a bit of effort; Andrew resolved to get a better one while they were out shopping tomorrow. For the time being, he piled their bags in front of the door, so at least they’d have some warning if anyone tried to enter the room while they slept.

Nathaniel sat on the bed and watched him ‘barricade’ the door, a slight smile on his face. “Suspecting Kevin to burst in here to drag us off to court?”

“Would you even put up a fight if he did?”

“Hmm, maybe not if it’s after our nap.” Nathaniel tilted his head back as Andrew approached the bed, his smile growing as Andrew combed his fingers through his soulmate’s unruly hair.

“Why do I put up with a junkie like you?” Andrew murmured as he rubbed his thumbs along Nathaniel’s elegant cheekbones.

“Because I’m your sweetpea,” Nathaniel reminded him, amusement and affection bright in his pale blue eyes.

Andrew made a gagging sound as he pushed his soulmate down onto the bed. “The lack of sleep has made you delirious. Take off your clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound like we’ll be sleeping then.” Nathaniel laughed for the first time since Jean had left for California, the sound short but teasing, when Andrew threw his own shirt at the idiot’s face.

“I’m about to smother you with a pillow,” he threatened as he shoved down his jeans (and refused to be unaffected by the sight of Nathaniel shimmying out of his own pair, those long legs bared and pert ass- not now).

“I thought we were supposed to talk about new kinks beforehand.”

Andrew sighed as he slid between the sheets (baby blue, but soft so he’d bear with them). “Nat… shut up and sleep.” His boyfriend got like this sometimes when he was stressed, would be one flippant comment after the other in a show of false bravado. Nathaniel’s wry smile faltered for a moment, then he curled up close to Andrew while giving him an almost pleading look.

Clicking his tongue over the idiot’s concern, Andrew pulled Nathaniel against him. “I’m going to gut Kevin if he does break in here,” he said while he removed his armbands (to tuck beneath the pillow), once his soulmate was settled against his left side.

“Hmm, okay. He should know better, though, after I threw a knife at him the one time.”

Huh, Andrew hadn’t heard that story yet. He made a mental note to ask about it after they woke up, then pushed all thoughts out of his mind (everything they had to do, Ichirou, Kevin, the Foxes, checking up on Jean…) so he could fall asleep, Nathaniel’s breath and slow even against his shoulder.

*******

Yeah, I just couldn’t see writing yet again the whole ‘we’re gonna take down Riko’ storyline, so I skipped it. Now to show Andrew and Nathaniel joining the Foxes (and obviously, the impact that has on them, especially Nathaniel). Aaron will be joining shortly, and Jean will show up long-distance-wise for now (can’t pull him away from Jeremy now that he’s finally with his soulmate).

Oh, and Kevin obviously has a really good relationship with Wymack here. Confessing the truth earlier helped a lot in that regard (something Jean and Nathaniel got on Kevin to do).

I guess I gotta come up with a title for this? *sighs*

[shiishki]

okay wait, i changed my mind. you should answer all of these questions as well, if that's what you want from me >:)

oof there's a lot of it, that's what i get for wanting to be ✨aesthetic✨

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

vowels (and the importance of being me) - hunny

honeypie - jawny

pretty young thing - michael jackson

mirrors - justin timberlake

sunflower - red orange county

paradise - rude-a

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

a therapist.

ok someone else.. uhh,, my grand grandma because i only have scratches of memories but i dunno if that counts since she passed away...

*rummages through ancient scripts* uhh ok someone who isn't dead.. uhm,, tommie? yeah I'd like to meet them if i could meet anyone on earth

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

ok, the closest german, english or polish book? nvm i have english

"suddenly was. So I just said thank you a few times too, and Mum" ironically this is one of the normal lines in this book

4: What do you think about most?

the fact that I'll have to do something after school. and I don't know if i want to go to college or get a job bc i have no legitimate idea on what to do with my life. it gets overwhelming, just the lack of knowledge about the actual experience.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

Ok

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

with, tho i sleep with just shorts in summer

7: What’s your strangest talent?

not sure if it's a talent, but i can fall asleep anywhere

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

girls are pretty. boys are pretty

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

by me, yes. no one else has written a poem about me specifically. nvm, tommie wrote one and it shall rest on my wall, or desk, i need to find a place for it

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

uhh i think last month?

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

i don't think so, but i am hella afraid of the possibly gigantic, terrifying things in the ocean depths that humans haven't discovered yet

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

yep, beloved legos as a lil child

13: What’s your religion?

i can't ever remember the name, but i believe gods (from all religions) exist in some way or form. so i believe in different pantheons and etc.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

walking my doggo, skateboarding, thinking about how to make the lives of my characters worse

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind it.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

uhmm the arctic monkeys? or the strokes

17: What was the last lie you told?

i know what i want

18: Do you believe in karma?

yes, the rule of three specifically

19: What does your URL mean?

i don't know. it's something me and my sis came up with and that's just my whole identity now.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

uhh greatest weakness.. i can't finish things. strength is that I'm very stubborn so maybe I'll finish that thing out of spite

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

i grew up thinking crushes were like unicorns. my ex was odd enough to argue with that i didn't love her if i didn't have a crush on her. but I think if i had to guess.. selena gomez, especially in the role of alex russo in wizard of weverly street

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

nope

23: How do you vent your anger?

i write angry letters. sometimes they're sad letters. i write a lot of letters. except i never send them out and no one made a movie about them :}

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

jars and witchy bottles, books? scented candles

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

phone calls are stressful enough as is, i don't need you to see my reading off what i frantically wrote to not stumble over my words

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

i think so, yes, but that won't stop me from becoming better

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

hate flies buzzing right by my ear, love cat purring

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

what if I'd been born in a place where it was illegal for me (nonbinary) to live, in a time when others thought of me as a curse?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

they be chilling.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

right arm, doggo, left arm, pillow

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

fresh air and doggo, because doggo is with me and I can't live without open windows

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

i dunno tbh

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

which one is less homophobic?

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

every gender is my opposite gender. selena gomez and justin timberlake

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

to make it easier for people down the line

36: Define Art.

make thing, thing goes woo

37: Do you believe in luck?

yis

38: What’s the weather like right now?

it's nice actually, very sunny, slight breeze

39: What time is it?

12.59 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

i don't, but i once crashed into a fire department vehicle with my bike. bike ded.

41: What was the last book you read?

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

i legit ass don't know what gasoline smells like.

43: Do you have any nicknames?

many variations of my name, aka. Luce

44: What was the last film you saw?

i think it was Robin Hood: King of Thieves, but it might have been that half of spider-man homecoming i managed to watch with my poor internet

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

oh man i dunno... it's not an injury, but i was very sickly as a lil kid and almost died :)

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

once, years ago

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

hmmm horizon zero dawn i think

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

proud pansexual ^^

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

not really, i don't think they're big enough to be actual rumors,, meh

50: Do you believe in magic?

yis

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

meh. they suck, i know they suck, that's it.

52: What is your astrological sign?

cancer ♋

53: Do you save money or spend it?

i attempt saving. attempt

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

for my own money, sweets. i bought lizards for my cats so they can brush their teeth from my dad's amazon acc

55: Love or lust?

luv

56: In a relationship?

nope, i buy my own cookies

57: How many relationships have you had?

1, kinda toxic toward the end, very stressful, don't recommend

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

nu ><

59: Where were you yesterday?

on the fields walking my doggo

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

yep, a pastel pink hoodie in my closet uwu

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

yis, thicc warm socks

62: What’s your favourite animal?

cats

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

cuddles and food.

64: Where is your best friend?

bold of you to assume i have a best friend.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

tommie-hildebrandt, kageyuji, nekomas-kuroo, joyful-soul-collector

66: What is your heritage?

I'm a demon boi from Poland tho that's not a thing to be proud of, i mean, look at the economy. awful.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

sleeping, trying to sleep.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

Pinkton. or Satan.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

this is such an odd combination of words i had to look it up. yea.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

a friend who won't laugh at me when i ask them to order smth for me because I'm too anxious to.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

excuse me? i am saving the doggo wtf. f u boss, I'm gonna sell my tragic story to the news.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) i tell my parents. b) live the hell out of them uwu c) nope uwu.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

trust.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

history maker - dean fujioka :]

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

3332

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

communication, trust, some more communication.

77: How can I win your heart?

let's not pretend to be something else to please each other, and bring some bitter chocolate.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

maybe. it could. i don't have a say in it since my sanity is held by tape.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

eat the pizza. stop caring about others not liking me/parts of me. just living for myself uwu.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

uh i dunno how the american sizes work and i don't wanna look it up so, 39, 40 fits too.

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

demon boi

82: What is your favourite word?

socks.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

the bloody organ that sits in your chest and pumps blood into your body so you don't die.

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

uhm im not sure if that counts as a saying, but fake it till you make it

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

blinding lights - the weeknd

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

oh a normal question people use for ice breaking, sea blue and pastel variations of it.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

like my wallpaper? or the actual picture that sits on my desk? or how my desk looks like atm? it's ugly, a lot of papers and pens and schoolbooks.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

donald trump. or the next asshole who'll try to take the rights of the lgbt and poc away

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

this. this is the question.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

yo there's a pizza somewhere in the refrigerator, want me to heat it up? we can have a sleep over and talk about our feelings :3

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

telekinesis! or shapeshifting! i could do such fun things with telekinesis ^^ yeah I'd totally eat some radioactive veggies

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

that time my "friends" got me into shoplifting, half-hour is more than enough to punch some sense into my brain and develop good music taste

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

can i save this one? i don't think i have an experience horrible enough to be erased haha

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

sleep as in.. uh no thank u. but I'm down for a sleep over with sam smith ^^

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

just me? what about my pets? my fam? it's lowkey illegal for me to go just anywhere without them owO

uhhmm, greece. imma become part of the greek pantheon out of pure spite. and maybe toronto canada.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not any that i know of o.o

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

i think i may have but i honestly don't remember

98: Ever been on a plane?

nope, i dunno if i like planes, but I'd probably sleep if i were on one.

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

yeet.

[theimpossiblehologramtree]

Falling For You

Parring: Poe Dameron x reader

Word count: 3800+

anonymous asked: Request for Poe x reader: reader is injured on a mission and Poe admits he’s in love with her when he thought she was unconscious but the reader could actually hear him and confronts him about it later, saying she loves him too

Warnings: erm swearing, injuries

A/N: Thanks for requesting, sweet anon! I hope you like it. I’m a day late with this one, but ✨🌌 HAPPY STAR WARS DAY AND MAY THE FORTH BE WITH YOU, ALWAYS  🌌 ✨

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

🐝masterlist🐝

REQUEST IF YOU WANT MORE

☕buy me a Ko-fi!☕

Gifs are not mine. Credits to the owner.

'Fuck, I'm hit!'

You felt panic rush through your veins, as you lost control over your ship. The damaged X-Wing was spinning in the air, falling, the distance between it and the ground decreasing rapidly. Your heart was pumping in your chest quickly, almost as if it wanted to escape. Your small, fragile fingers, that were covered in blood, were pulling a parachute leaver, but to no avail. The metal got stuck, and you were trapped in a falling ship with no way to escape.

'(Y/N), where are you?! Just hang on, okay?' you've heard your best friend and General yell. You tried to look around and see if you can spot his red X-Wing, but everything was foggy. You felt your heart sink, when you realized, that you will not be able to see him for the last time. Being a Resistance pilot, you were used to the thought of near death, but getting separated with Poe - it was something else.

He was your best friend ever since you had met on Yavin 4. He was a spice runner while you were just a regular smuggler, but the connection between you was strong. You had to share your ship with him and his friends since both you and they had gotten in some trouble back on Tatooine. Preferring leaving, rather than dealing with that nasty situation, you made a deal and you transported them as far from there as possible. The travel was unproblematic unless you count Poe constantly trying to get under your skin. You had been drawn to him instantly. At first, he was just a "fun guy to spend time with", but you got on well and became best friends. When he told you he was joining the Resistance, you didn't even think twice before coming with him. That's when the bond you shared grew stronger since both of you were flying in the same squadron.

Right, friendship. You had never been more than that. Not that you didn't want to, I mean, you were basically madly in love with him. You adored his sarcastic personality, his cheeky comments, his beautiful dark curls and sparkly eyes. He made you feel special and unique in every way possible. He reassured you when you didn't feel needed. He helped you. He always complimented you, mostly on your looks and flying skills, heck, he even admitted that you were the best pilot in the universe, better than him. He was half-drunk and in a state of euphoria after a successful mission, but you would always point this out in your arguments. You loved him, but you've never had the chance (or the guts) to tell him.

And now you never will.

You remembered all the memories you shared with Poe. The first time you went stargazing, a thing that quickly became your habit, something you did after every mission. You would lie down on the roof of the base and just stare at the night sky full of shining stars. You remembered the first time he called you his best friend, which made you so emotional that you teared up. He just held you against his chest, chuckling and running his fingers through your hair, while you cried. You had never had friends before, and the thought of having someone you could rely on by your side made your heart warm.

The memory of the first time you argued crossed your mind. You were supposed to go on a dangerous secret mission for the Resistance. When General Organa told you, you were so happy, finally having the opportunity to prove yourself in the field. Poe, on the other hand, got mad. He didn't think you needed to prove yourself, but his emotions were mostly caused by the fact that you were supposed to go alone. It's not that he thought you were weak and helpless, on a contrary, but be was just worried something might happen to you. He started yelling at you, confessing that he cared for you and he just couldn't lose you too. That made your heart break.

And now he was yelling at you to hang on.

'Thanks, but that's really not an option, Dameron!' you yelled back, instantly regretting it, since those might have been your last words. But, Maker, he was really stupid sometimes. You tried to look up at his ship, hoping that you might see him for the last time before your fall ends, but to no avail. The glass was shattered, foggy, covered in gasoline and your blood. Closing your eyes you brought back every detail of his face, every wrinkle, every freckle and every little scar.

'Poe...' you whispered, as your life was getting closer to its end. You saw his eyes and heard his joyful laughter ring in your ears.

And then there was nothing.

-

'(Y/N) NO!' the small cockpit was filled with screams of terror, as Poe watched his best friend's ship crash on the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his eyes started well with tears. A wave of guilt, shock and sadness hit him, while all he could do was to stare at the wrecked X-Wing. At first, he didn’t feel anything. No sadness or despair, he felt just fine. His mind still didn’t process the fact that he had just lost his best friend. Poe never thought much about losing you, since you were a great pilot, so he wasn’t prepared to let you go. Before the battle, he didn’t say goodbye to you, because he never had. You always joked together before taking off and while being high up in the air.

‘Hey, flyboy! Just don’t look straight at the sun!’ you told him right before getting into your ship.

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll be too busy watching your shitty flying, Princess!’ he replied, laughing.

‘I’m the best pilot in the galaxy, you said so yourself!’

Poe couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. The beams of sunlight crowned your head, making your hair look like someone dusted powdered gold on it. You looked like an angel. Poe’s heart fluttered as he watched you, a dreamy smile forming on his lips.

He loved you, even though you were just friends and nothing more. He knew you could never be separated.

But here he was, alive and healthy, looking at your demolished ship. He had just witnessed your death, but it didn't move him. He was... fine. All he felt was a shock, no pain, no grief. It made him worry slightly. His mind screamed at him to feel anything, any emotion, bad or good, whatever. But he didn't. He was just numb. His eyes traced the route of Millenium Falcon, as Lando flew closer to see if you were anywhere to be found.

'General, what do we do?' he heard a voice, that belonged to one of his pilots, through the communication system. Poe had no answer to that. He half wished to be back home at Yavin 4, while the other part screamed for the fight to continue. He was desperate for any kind of reaction from his body, a power to scream or tears in his eyes. But it just wouldn't come.

'General?'

'Do we go back to the base?'

'We won, General!'

'General, we can go home now!'

He couldn't listen to that anymore. Poe mumbled a quick 'Yeah', before taking off his helmet. He couldn't come back home.

He just lost it.

-

A distant cheering snapped him out of his thoughts. They won. But he lost everything. Carefully Poe tried to stand up and move his bandaged hand. It was just a minor injury, compared to what was happening in his heart. Without a word, he walked out of the medical room and headed outside. He had no place to go to be alone. Everything reminded him of you, even his own quarters.

'Poe!' he turned around, at the sound of the familiar voice. Finn was cheering and running to him with a smile on his lips. This made Poe let out a sigh of relief. At least Finn was all right. Hugging his friend with one hand, Poe smiled sadly.

'Poe, we've won. The war is over!' Finn yelled and laughed, doing a little dance of victory.

'Yeah, that's great...' that was all the pilot could bring himself to say. He was truly happy that they won. He just wished the price wasn't that big.

'What is it, huh?' Finn asked, concerned, the smile coming off of his lips. 'Are you not happy? Isn't it what you wanted?'

The silence was more than enough of a response.

'Is it about (Y/N)? Is she not gonna make it?' Poe's head shot up at those words. Is she not gonna make it? What the hell does that mean?

'What do you mean?' he asked slowly, his orbs not leaving Finn's. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest.

'I just thought they had news abo- Oh, Maker!' the stormtrooper's eyes winded in realization. 'You don't know, do you?'

Poe's heart was beating faster than ever. He was still confused but also worried, not knowing what his best friend meant. What if Rey got fatally injured - or died - too. He wouldn't be able to take it.

'Do I know what, Finn?'

'She is alive. Lando got her out of that wreck just in time. She is in fatal condition, the medics don't know if she is gonna make it, but she didn't die. Not yet.' the man said slowly.

Poe was sure, that if it wasn't for the extreme adrenaline rush he just felt, he would have collapsed right there. He still wasn't entirely sure if he believed it. His heart was pounding in his chest at an incredible speed. No, it couldn't be. Perhaps he heard wrong. Or Finn wasn't thinking about (Y/N).

This was a battle, of course a lot of people died. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

But he had to make sure. Even if that meant getting his heart broken again, he had to ask for confirmation.

'Say that again' he whispered faintly, barely making any sound.

'She is alive, Poe. (Y/N) is still alive.'

That's all it took. The sound of your name was enough to make him break out a run and sprint back to the hospital, where he had been just a few minutes ago. Glancing through the glass, he quickly found the room they put you in and burst in through the open door. You were there, laying on the bed, with your hair splayed on the pillow in a messy halo. Your body was covered in blood, dirt and dust, but in Poe's opinion, you still looked beautiful.

Lots of cuts and bruises covered your face, and you had a wide gash on your stomach, which was the main source of blood that was covering everything. Poe's eyes darted instantly to your chest, looking for any sign of life. It was rising and collapsing in an unsteady rhythm. Your nose and lips were covered by the oxygen mask, and there were lots of cables connecting you to medical devices. The heart rate monitor showed an increasing line.

The nurses were bustling around the room, searching frantically for bandages, patches and gauzes. They were displaying surgical threads, needles and scalpels on the sterile metal table to sew the wound on your stomach.

Poe felt his heart stop, not for the first time this day. You were in terrible conditions, but you were alive. He felt his eyes prickle slightly as he watched your closed ones. A tear fell on his cheek and rolled down, falling on the tiles. Relief washed over him as he sunk to his knees, still standing in the doorway. The nurses seemed to take notice of him, and one quickly scurried over to the pilot.

'Sir, you have to leave. We will have to perform surgery on her, and we must not be interrupted. Please, stay in the waiting area' she said professionally and gestured to the chair in the hallway.

'But I love her...' Poe whispered, ignoring woman's words.

'I know, but she has very little chance of surviving and must receive help right away.'

'I love her' he just repeated, his gaze still lingering on your face. He couldn't get enough of seeing you alive.

'Sir, please...'

It wasn't until Poe heard his friend's voice and felt a pair of strong arms pulling him up, that he snapped.

'Poe, come on. It's all right, she is in good hands' Finn said, helping him get up. Poe managed to get a last glimpse at your unconscious figure before walking away. His mind was racing. He still couldn't believe you were alive. All he could do was stare blankly at the floor, not knowing what to do.

'Hey...' Finn spoke softly 'You should rest, it's been a really long day.' Poe blinked a couple of times and shook his head.

'No, I'm fine. I'll stay here in case she wakes up' he said loudly but seemed to be unsure of his words. He saw you, after all. It would have taken a miracle for you to get better.

'Hey buddy, she will be all right. You need to take care of yourself, or they won't let you in. No offence mate, but you stink' Finn scrunched his nose. In fact, his friend didn't stink - he mainly smelled of gasoline and sweat - but he was in terrible conditions. They haven't slept in ages, and Poe had dark hollow circles around his teary eyes. His uniform was dirty, the fabric torn in a few places, and he had an injured hand wrapped in bandages. To be frank, he looked no better than you.

'She will be all right, Poe. I will wait here for any news. You have to rest.'

The pilot didn't seem sure and was about to protest, but he caught his friend's sharp look.

'You come to me as soon as anything happens, understood?' he said, sighing in defeat.

'Understood, General.'

'I need you to promise me.'

'I promise, Poe.'

And with that, the pilot was instantly gone.

-

'Just for fifteen minutes, General Dameron.'

Poe quickly scurried into the room and sat gently on the side of your bed. You were after the surgery - the medics did an exceptionally good job - yet still unconscious.

'Hey, Princess' he whispered, running his fingers through your hair. 'Next time don't scare me like that.'

Your face was calm, eyes closed and cheeks slightly flushed. Poe couldn't help but stare at you in awe. Even now, you were perfect.

'But hey, we won!' he breathed, too scared to raise his voice.

'We destroyed those sons of bitches, (Y/N), we did it!'

And just like that, he started telling you about your victory. How at first there seemed to be no hope. How he had shot at the giant ships.

But then he came to the part where you got hit. Tears welled in his eyes at the memory of your falling X-wing. His voice started shaking, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying. Once again, Poe saw your ship getting hit, orange and yellow colours of explosion flew in front of his eyes. As he saw the machine fall down, he wanted to scream your name again.

-

At first, you had felt a few wet drops - probably someone's tears - fall on your cheeks and neck. Then a wave of pain hit you in your stomach. You were too tired to open your eyes or make a sound.

'And my heart stopped at that moment, Princess' you felt your heartbeat quicken at the familiar voice.

Poe.

He took your hand and squeezed tightly.

'I love you, (Y/N). And I just can't lose you' he said, making your heart skip a beat. You were lucky the nurses forgot to turn on the heart monitor, or he would have been able to hear everything. There was a moment of silence before the door creaked.

'General, we must insist you leave. Fifteen minutes are up.'

You felt the weight of his body shift from the bed, Poe stood up.'Goodbye, my sweet princess' he whispered and placed a loving kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

-

You felt a light breeze of the morning wind brush against your face, as you walked down a corridor that was leading to the hangar. You were heading there to see Poe. It was supposed to be a surprise since he didn't know you were out of the hospital yet. Knowing your best friend, he was fixing his X-Wing despite the early hours. It wasn't uncommon among the pilots of the Resistance to be up on their feet before the sunrise. Working on machines and improving their efficiency with droids helped clear your minds before missions. You were sure this is where you should be looking for a certain brown-haired ex-spice runner.

And you weren't wrong.

As soon as you walked into the hangar, you immediately spotted him. Poe was standing next to his half-demolished X-Wing, armed with some wrenches and screwdrivers. He was talking to Finn, who was standing nearby with BB-8 that was circling vigorously. You took a moment to admire the view, before coming over. The droid saw you first, beeped enthusiastically and scurried over to you. It bumped into your legs, nearly sweeping you off your feet.

'Hey, buddy!' you kneeled next to him, laughing. 'Missed me?'

BB-8 beeped happily in response. You straightened its antennae, chuckling at the small robot. You could feel Poe's shocked gaze focused at you while standing up. You locked your eyes with him and walked over, smiling.

'Looking good, flyboy!' you said to him.

'What are you doing here, Princess?' he asked, clearly stunned by your presence. He dropped everything to the floor and took your arms into his hands, so delicately as if they were made of porcelain.

'I'm happy to see you too, Poe' you chuckled at his reaction. 'They let me out today, so I came here to see some old friends.'

The pilot snapped out of his thoughts and embracing you tightly, bringing you as close as possible with all the strength he had. His eyes started to water slightly when he inhaled the scent of your sweet shampoo. If Lando hadn't gotten you out of that wreck, you wouldn't be here. You wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging him back. Your hands wandered to his hair, as you wrapped his curls between your fingers.

'It's okay now, flyboy. I'm here' you whispered soothingly. 'I'm not leaving you.'

You stayed in this position for five minutes, just embracing each other, appreciating your presence. Poe finally let go and looked you deep in the eyes, with a small smirk already forming on his lips.

'I told you your  flying is shitty' he stated, making you laugh.

'Excuse me?! I believe you were the one yelling at me to hang on when I got hit' you poked his chest and sticking your tongue at him.

He laughed and caught you by your waist, bringing you closer to him again.

'I was just trying to be helpful, darling' he said, tickling your stomach. You squealed and tried to wriggle out of his strong grip. You didn't succeed, so the only thing you could do is return the favour, starting a tickle fight in the middle of the hangar.

'Get a room!' somebody yelled from the small crowd that had already gathered around you.

'Yeah, Poe. Get your girlfriend and go to your quarters!' shouted Finn, who knew about your mutual love for each other. He, more than anything, was rooting for your friendship to turn into something more.

'Come on, man, you know we are not together' the pilot let you go, blushing furiously.

'Is that so, Poe?' you teased him. After he confessed his love to you when he thought you weren't listening, you finally had the guts to tell him about the feelings you returned. 'I thought you loved me and just couldn't lose me.'

'What?' he turned his head to face you, his eyes wide. You knew about his crush. 'I don't, (Y/N). I never said anything like that' he said trying to deny his affection.

'Oh, yeah? Cause I think you did. A few days ago, when you thought I was still unconscious.'

The crowd around you increased, people were clearly interested, and you couldn't exactly blame them, you were making quite a scene. Poe's face turned red, and his eyes widened. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode in his chest. You fucking knew, and it was his fault.

'No, Princess, you must have been dreaming' he giggled nervously attempting to hide his embarrassment. 'I don't love you, because... because if I did, you would mean the world to me. I wouldn't be able to live without you by my side. And I would have stupid nicknames for you, that I would use, even if you hated them. And I would love all the little quirks you have, all the little things you do. The way you put a single strand of hair behind your ear would be the highlight of my day. If I loved you, I would do anything to make you laugh, just to see that spark in your eyes, that appears when you smile. I would wake up and fall asleep just thinking about you. And my heart would - fuck - it would stop every time I see you and every time I hear your angelic voice. I would want to share my every day with you because you make my life better, Princess. And... and... I do. I fucking love you, (Y/N).'

The entire room went silent at his words. You slowly approached Poe, shaking your head in disbelief.

'I fucking love you too, flyboy' you said, bringing your hand to his cheek. He looked up hesitantly, his lips parting slightly in surprise. His brown eyes met yours, and for a while, you just looked deeply at each other.

'Fuck' he breathed out, before slamming his lips onto your with incredible strength. The unexpected kiss knocked the breath out of your lungs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, and closing the gap between your bodies. Poe smiled into the kiss and lifted you off the ground gently, spinning you in the air. You could hear the people cheering at you but at the moment the only thing that mattered was Poe Dameron, the (second) best pilot in the galaxy.

[spaceyantique]

she’s so heavy [john x reader]

i’m back! for a brief moment before exam season! idk where this came from but i had a lot of fun writing it because i am a filthy sinner! requests are OPEN so feel free send me whatever! okay here we go! thanks to @kalypsichor​ for beta-ing <3

he looks like an angel omfff 

pairing: john x reader

year: i was picturing late 1965ish shea stadium johnny

word count: 2.4k

summary: literally just filth. like four seconds of fluff at the end. you and john are high/drunk at a house party and y’all fuck, and that’s basically it. inspired by @rogersbabyyy​‘s “sex, drugs, rock’n’roll,” which is truly spectacular. also inspired by “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” - the bassline there especially

warnings: a whole lot of drug use (alcohol, weed, lsd, etc). also there’s (unprotected) sex - reader is presumed to be on birth control. stay safe and use protection, y’all

To give them credit, celebrities of the music industry really knew how to party. You’d been reluctant to go out at first (you’d only just arrived in the States a day ago) but after much convincing from your boyfriend, John (and perhaps a bribe from Paul), you found yourself at a house party in the suburbs of Los Angeles. 

It was nearly two in the morning, and the whole house was hardly a half-step away from total debauchery. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, the orange and blue lights reflecting on their glistening skin. There were bottles and cups strewn about the floor, and clouds of smoke from ciggies and blunts fogging up the whole atmosphere. It felt as if that same fog was also in your head, though that was likely due to the blunt you’d been smoking for the better part of the night. Then again, someone had offered you a tab of acid earlier, and you couldn’t recall if you’d taken it. Your brain fog could be from that. As if mimicking the strangely loud pounding of your heartbeat, live music pumped through amps somewhere deep inside the house. 

To be quite honest, you weren’t quite sure whose house it was. Maybe one of Elvis’s? Bob Dylan? You’d been rather surprised to hear the name as you pulled up to the house, but it had slipped your mind completely by now. You giggled at the thought. How could a mind be slippery? Come to think of it, it had also slipped your mind what you had just been doing, until you felt the hand that was wound tightly around your waist. You turned your head and found yourself nose to nose with John. Ah, of course. You snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. Everything felt so so slow, like it was covered in honey. A gooey yet tingly sensation erupted where his fingertips brushed your back under your silky orange top. 

You pulled away from John, but kept your eyes closed for a moment. You felt him move his hands from around your waist to cupping your face.

“Love,” he murmured, trying to hold back a giggle. You smiled, but kept your eyes closed lightly. He said your name, and this time you opened your eyes. John was smiling at you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t stop giggling. 

“Where’d you go?” He slurred, sliding his hands back down to your hips. You only laughed harder, sloshing some of your half-full glass of whatever onto the carpet. You tilted your head forward slightly, and suddenly caught sight of John’s neck. His signature suit jacket had been lost ages ago, and now his white button-down hung open nearly to his sternum. His cheeks and neck were flushed and shiny with sweat. When had it gotten so warm in here? Anyway, you’d never seen something so delicious. 

You lurched forward rather ungracefully and pressed your lips to his neck, using your teeth for particular emphasis. You felt the vibration of John’s moan before it reached your ears, and the waves of it seemed to bounce around your head. His hands slid lower, taking up handfuls of your arse and pulling you close to him. You traveled upward slowly, taking your time to leave slightly pinker love bites.

By the time you reached his jaw, John’s chest was heaving. You pulled away to get a good look at him. Those bright amber eyes were a more honeyed brown now, slightly glassy and drooping from the drug. His lips were parted and you could feel his warm breath on his face. His bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. You grinned, swaying as if in a dream.

You felt John glide a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, and kissed you so hard you felt as if you two were fusing. Maybe it was from the fog in your head, but you felt the rest of the world fall away. No more threadbare couch in the corner, dim orange lighting, wood-paneled walls. All that existed was John, John, John. John and his tongue in your mouth and John with his hands traveling over your body. You vaguely noticed that you were already getting wet. He muttered something against your lips.

“Wha?” You managed to moan out as he began kissing along your jawline. 

“Want you,” he mumbled. “Need you.” 

You clutched onto his collar with your free hand.

“Then have me,” you purred, meeting his eyes. He growled, tugging you impossibly closer and you could feel his hardness pressing against your hip. The drink in your hand fell to the floor, seemingly in slow motion, and you dissolved into giggles. The liquid crashing over the white carpet was somehow unspeakably funny, and your teeth clacked against John’s as he started laughing too. 

John took this opportunity to slide his hands up your shirt with a sensation you could only describe as creamy. Your grin disappeared again as you pulled him against you and attempted to make your way to the doorway. 

“Bathroom?” You asked, stumbling out of the lounge. It was your blasted heels, they kept catching the carpet. His hands danced around the waistband of your miniskirt.

“Bedrooms upstairs. He’s got loads.” Before you even tried to recall who he was talking about, your world tilted as if you’d suddenly been put in a washing machine. After a few moments of overwhelming dizziness, you shut your eyes, realizing John had picked you up after you tripped over your heels again. To avoid more spinning, you kept your eyes shut, instead gliding your lips over John’s collarbones to hear his breathing speed up even more.

After fumbling with the doorknob for a good moment, John burst into an unoccupied room upstairs. The bed was neatly made, and a lamp was on in the corner, casting a golden glow on everything inside. 

John tossed you onto the bed, and you bounced as you landed, causing you to burst into laughter again. This time, he crawled on top of you, wrapping his hands around your wrists as he hovered over you. His lips curled into that trademark smirk, his messy hair glowing in the lamplight. 

“Wha’s so funny, birdie?” He leaned down until his nose was hardly an inch from yours. You tried to stretch your neck up to kiss him, but he pulled away. You whined, feeling as if you might combust if he didn’t kiss you right this instant. A cocky smile pulled at his lips.

“John,” you whined. “John, Johnny, kiss me, please.” You shifted your shoulders, the cool comforter underneath you almost sizzling on your burning skin. Laying on your back was making the world spin again, but John was holding you safe. “Want you,” you pleaded again.

“Good girl,” he muttered, before leaning down to kiss you hard again. Your body reacted immediately, spine arching into him and knees bending at his waist. He brought your hands above your head, holding both wrists in his left hand, while the right traveled down your body achingly slowly. He tugged the hem of your shirt up, the silk easily pooling at your collarbones, exposing your tits. He leaned down and like molasses, he dragged his lips across the sensitive skin. You gasped, and the sound echoed in your head, and felt more wetness below. You were still spinning, floating into an endless blank space, but holding onto John was keeping you safe and anchored. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, and you moaned louder, arching again into his intoxicating touch. 

As John made his way back up your chest, he released your hands and you tangled them in his hair. He groaned low as you tugged it, and obliged as you shifted your weight to roll on top of him. You were straddling him now, staring into those ferocious eyes. His shaggy hair was slightly curled now from sweat, and his chest was still heaving under you. With numb-feeling hands, you struggled with his belt buckle, but soon you were pulling down his jeans and then your own pants as he fumbled to undo the rest of his buttons. You nearly tore your top off the rest of the way, leaving the two of you completely exposed.

You climbed back on top of John, straddling him again and taking him into your hand. At your touch, he closed his eyes and moaned, and the sound swirled around you like gasoline on top of water, all shine and beauty. Another high hit you all at once, and the dizziness nearly sent you toppling backward. The sweat on John’s face reflected the golden lamplight, and you suddenly you two were trapped in amber. Slowly, you tested your ability to move by gliding your hand up and down again, and John moaned out again, his hands finding your hips and squeezing hard. He opened his eyes, a dopey look on his face.

“Why’re you smiling, love?” He managed as you continued your movement. Come to think of it, you were smiling. Instead of answering, you leaned down, pressing your unbearably hot chests together and kissing him again. As you felt the amber release you, you snaked your hand back up to his hair and began to grind down on John’s cock. He opened his mouth, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut once again. His hands were on your hips still, guiding you up and down.

“Love,” he said suddenly. Struggling to pull yourself out of your bliss, you focused your eyes on him. “Love, need you,” he said again. After a second, you nodded, the thoughts taking a moment to traverse your foggy mind. The second wave of your high was starting to subside, and you suspected that the alcohol from earlier was wearing off. John was still looking up at you, his face more desperate than you had ever seen. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt a pang of arousal go through you. You nodded. Holding onto your waist, he flipped you once so that your positions switched, and then again, so that you were bent over the side of the bed. The pads of your feet made contact with the cold, hardwood floor and you hissed at the sensation against your flaming hot skin. The turning had made you dizzy, but as John bent over you and nipped at your ear, you felt his solid groundedness again. 

As he continued to kiss at the back of your neck, John’s fingers slipped between your legs and circled your clit languidly. You gasped arching your back and pushing yourself harder against his fingers. He straightened and chuckled, sounding a million miles away.

“Now, now, birdie. Behave.” Gradually, steadily, his tempo sped up, leaving you nearly choking for air, your tits rubbing against the embroidered bedspread deliciously. Every so often he would dip his fingers into your pussy, and the filthy, wet sound alone made you moan more. In your fevered, foggy mind, it felt like no time at all before that familiar warmth was filling up your lower belly, matching your outer temperature. 

“Johnny,” you gasped. He leaned a bit more over your body, pressing your lower back into the mattress with his free hand.

“Close?” He asked, delving deeper into you than he had before. You meant to respond, but the honey in your brain stuck to your answer and it came out as only another moan. The heat was unbearable, you were so close, so, so close, John, John, John! His name tumbled from your lips as they went numb, your brain unable to focus on anything but the pleasure. He slowed his rhythm as you came down, panting. You released your death grip on the comforter beneath you. You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto it.

“John,” you moaned weakly, feeling him press his dick against your arse.

“I need you,” he groaned. “Can’t wait.” Nodding, you pushed yourself back to him. Given how wet you were, he slipped inside with one thrust. He moaned brokenly, and you turned your head to watch him. Mouth hanging open, cheeks still flushed, head tilted back, he looked like the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He pulled nearly all the way out and then slammed back in with enough force to bang the headboard against the wall. You both cried out loud as the sound of skin slapping against skin joined the kaleidoscope of shiny sounds. 

After a few moments, your neck hurt from craning to watch John, but for the life of you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall continued as he fucked you into the mattress, each thrust going deeper.

“Fuck.” His voice was hardly more than a whine at this point, moans rising in pitch as he got closer. 

“Come on, Johnny.” He was enchanting, entrancing, the tips of his hair curling over his ears. His skin was so smooth, pink lips and pink love bites glowing in the golden light of the lamp in the corner. He hardly looked real. A particularly deep thrust brought you back to Earth and you moaned loudly, eyes fluttering. John’s rhythm was faltering, becoming uneven and ragged like his breathing. Finally, with more force than ever, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his face screwed up as he came deep inside you, moaning your name and leaving bruises on your hips. 

For a few seconds or hours, you two remained there, panting, allowing the waves of heat and pleasure to roll off you. Finally, John pulled out and made for the ensuite, leaving you feeling empty and rather cold. After a quick clean-up in the bathroom, the two of you collapsed onto the bed, you on your back and John on his stomach between your legs, his head on your chest and his arms around your waist.

“I can hear your heart beating.” His voice was rough and not particularly strong or weak. 

“Mmm,” you replied, eyelids already drooping from the sex and the alcohol and company.

“Hey.” He nudged your collarbone with his chin. You smiled, looking down at him.

“Hey.”

“Love you.” 

“Love you too, Johnny,” you murmured, burying your nose in his soft hair. This was going to be one hell of a hangover, but that was a problem for another time. 

[jimlingss]

The President’s Son [14]

Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

➜ Words: 3.7k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

He really is too much sometimes. But lately, it seems to be getting worse and worse.   “Is that my sweater, Taehyung?!”   He pulls on the sleeves and tugs on the collar as if he can dig his nose or hide his entire face in the soft material. “......maybe.”   You aren’t angry as much as you are perplexed. “Why?”   “Cause I love your clothes and they’re always bagging on you which makes it the perfect size for me!” He has a disgustingly coy expression on his face, staring at you with a bashful smile. “Did you buy them like this for that purpose? So we can share?”   “No.”   He bats his lashes and pretends he didn’t hear. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, dumbo. I know your true feelings deep, deep down. It’s okay, I mean I don’t blame you. How could you be able to resist someone like me? You can’t. Lucky for you though, I feel the same way. I like you too.”   Taehyung waltzes out of the room, having no plans of taking off or removing your oversized sweater that fits him well. He hums underneath his breath, walking away casually, leaving you baffled and confused.   There was definitely something not right about him.   It wasn’t that he’s become more insane — he’s always been some kind of crazy, reckless, and irresponsible. Nor is it that he’s in an unusually happy and bubbly mood lately. It’s that he’s been hitting on you to an extreme point….like he’s trying to achieve something. You don’t know what.   He’s always loved teasing you, but it’s become provocative, flirtatious. Taehyung’s become kittenish — playful, frisky, and he’s more serious about it. He commits to every joke with the utmost sincerity that you can barely tell if he’s sick or he really wants to get a rise out of you that badly.    Taehyung sing-songs when he calls you. “Dumbo~ where did you go?” He dotes on you, clings onto you. “Stand close to me, I have a feeling an attacker’s gonna jump out from the right and tickle me to death. I’m so scared.”   It would be bearable if that was it.    But he’s evolved into using greasy pick-up lines, to always move closer to you like you’re a magnet, to touch you lightly whenever he gets the chance, and to wink across the room as if no one else is watching.   When you tell him to go pee before the two of you leave, he’s gazing at you intensely without blinking. Like his life depends on it, he’s keen on holding eye contact with you — it doesn’t matter what you say, whether it’s important or not.   Taehyung not only pays close attention to every word that falls out of your mouth, he frequently compliments how strong you are while licking his lips with his tongue. He’s picked up a new habit of whispering in your ears too, allowing his hot breath to skim on your skin. And whenever you tell him that he’s pissing you off — he shrugs and apologizes despite clearly not meaning it.   “Hey, Namjoon.” Taehyung sticks his head through the front passenger window. “Can you get out?”   “I’m supposed to drive you, Taehyung.”   “Y/N can drive me.” He stands straighter and turns around. “Right?”   “No,” you deadpan. “I thought we agreed on this. Remember the last time?”   “We’re not gonna be chased. I’m not gonna get kidnapped.” The blonde male sighs. “I just don’t like to sit at the back of the car. I don’t need a damn chauffeur everywhere I go. That’s weird.”   “You can’t drive.”   “Yeah, but you can. And I can sit up front with you.”   “The chief—”   “Your dad can take it up with me. You’re supposed to serve me and my needs. You won’t get in trouble for something like this, trust me, alright?”   “I don’t serve anyone. I’m not a maid.”   “Yeah, but you’re my bodyguard. You’re my protector, so you gotta protect my mental state too and this would really, really help it.” There’s a second of silence and in the heat of the moment, Taehyung decides to spontaneously switch tactics. He pouts, eyes sad and he shakes your arm while swaying back and forth. He tries to convince you with his cute act, but you’re not amused in the least bit. “I’m not the President’s son. I don’t know anything about that. Right now I’m Taehyung….so, please, Y/N? Pretty, pretty please?”   But despite being irked by his behaviour, a drawn out exhale squeezes from your lungs. “You make me annoyed.”   Taehyung grins, aware that he’s won. “I know.”   You walk around, looking through the open window of the driver’s seat before pulling the door open. Namjoon’s brow raises, skeptical and surprised you gave in so easily. “Are you sure about this?”   “I don’t know.” There’s no reason to lie. “But I’ll handle whatever happens.”   That’s a good enough answer for the strapping brunette and he shrugs, getting out, not willing to put up a fight lest Taehyung throws another tantrum. It’s not his job to decide what’s best for him after all — he doesn’t get paid enough for that.   Taehyung slides into the passenger seat and turns to stare at you. His cheeks nearly burst with his enormous grin, happy to get his way. “One day I’ll learn how to drive properly, so I can take you around instead.”   “No, thanks. I’d rather stay alive and not die in an accident,” you mutter, putting the keys in the ignition and firing up the engine. He scoffs and argues it’ll be fine, but doesn’t put up much of a fight as he leans back, savouring the moment.   It’s so entirely mundane and something he’s so happy over. Maybe it’s because he finally feels normal, that it’s just the two of you driving to some destination, and he’s not a person of different status in the backseat with you and a driver up front.   If this is all that takes to make him happy, you’ll find ways to always achieve it.   “I’ve been thinking about something and I’ve finally decided,” he says out of the blue over some generic pop song playing over the radio. “I’m going to help you.”   “Help me?” You’re skeptical, sparing a glance to the person beside you. “How?”   “I’m going to help you adjust to real society, so that you’re healthy and normal and no longer emotionally stunted.”   “I am healthy and ‘normal’, Taehyung.”   He ignores you, continuing and really convincing himself as he talks and nods. “No one likes talking to a robot.” You let out a long sigh. “You trust me, right? It’ll help you get closer to your dad too. Nothing’s gonna change if you don’t do anything about it, and he probably thinks you’re well-adjusted. You don’t want to disappoint him, right? But rest assured, I’ll try my best….”   There’s a drawn out silence that you savour. “Are you bored, Taehyung? Don’t you have an art project due in a week?”   He gasps dramatically and you feel his gaze boring into the side of your face. It was better when he was in the backseat and stared through the rear view mirror — at least that was easier to ignore. “I’m offering you my help and you think it’s because I’m bored and have nothing better to do?! That’s only a little true! But I’m mostly doing this out of the goodness of my own heart! You should be thanking me.”   Your tone drips of sarcasm. “Thanks.”   Yet, Taehyung still grins, taking it very literal. “You’re very welcome.”   You have an inkling of what’s to come and you’re not excited in the least bit. Sure, you don’t know what exactly is in store, but when it comes to Taehyung and especially with his recent behaviour, you know it can’t be good. The emotion that you feel, you quickly realize, is dread.   Dread. Though in a way, he is showing you how to feel more emotions — you’ve never felt this kind of reluctance and apprehension in a long time.   Once the car is parked, you get out and lock the doors, stuffing the keys in your pocket. The parking garage is empty, echoing with his running footsteps. Taehyung catches up to you at the speed of light, almost like he’s trying to tackle you. But instead, he throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close into his body.   You jolt before glaring at him. Though it’s futile. Taehyung is undeterred by it and he even secures his hold on you, almost nuzzling his forehead into your hair.   He offers the cheesiest grin possible to explain what the hell he’s doing. “People are naturally affectionate, dumbo. It’s part of human survival. You shouldn’t be flinching every time someone gets close to you, y’know.”   You say nothing.   The hairs on the back of your neck have risen. Your blood is pumping, and it’s not because you’re especially flustered from his touch or that butterflies have migrated to the pits of your stomach to flutter their wings around. No, it’s nothing romantic. Rather, it’s the urge to tackle him to the floor that’s been ingrained into your muscle memory.    When someone touches you — they want to fight you.   Or at least it’s what’s been ingrained into your system.   If only Taehyung knew your internal conflict, he’d be scared enough to let you go.   “When was the last time you hugged someone?”   “I don’t know.”   “Well let’s change that right now.” Suddenly he stops in the middle of the parking garage where you both could get hit by a car. Taehyung unknowingly pours gasoline into the fire of your internal turmoil by spinning, throwing his other arm around your waist, and pulling you into a tender hug.   Your knees bend. You grip his arm. You’re automatically put into a fighting stance.   But somehow, Taehyung doesn’t budge whatsoever. It’s as if he was expecting it. The college student leans his weight on you, his own knees bent, his feet rooted into the ground. He is an unmoving force that refuses to be pulled down. And the pair of you are stuck at a standstill.   “It’s okay to relax,” he murmurs into your ear. “No one’s gonna attack you from a hug.”   It’s not affectionate or soothing in the least bit. Your pupils are dilated — adrenaline pumping — flight or fight instincts kicking in full force. It’s only forced logic that makes you resist your urges. Your utmost priority is to protect him after all and throttling him would be counter-productive.   But If an outsider saw the two of you right at this moment, they’d probably be repelled at the sight. It’s much less of an embrace and more like you’re about to wrestle each other.   “Says you.”   “Stop panicking, it’s okay.”   “I hate this.”   Taehyung lets go, putting his hands on your shoulders and stepping back at a more comfortable and breathable distance from you. He smiles gently. “That’s okay too. But it’s not so bad, right?”   “No, it’s bad.”    Hugs are downright awful.   He scoffs and continues to walk alongside you, syncing his footsteps in yours. “Pft, you act like I’m subjecting you to some kind of torture.”   “It is torture. It’s sweaty and gross.”   “Wow I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you five? Next you’re going to be talking about how you don’t want to catch cooties.”   “Hey, I remember for a fact that you were the seven year old who always shrieked whenever I touched you. Didn’t you call me diseased?”   Taehyung laughs at the memory. He ends up leaning in closer to you, the back of his hand purposely brushing yours. The blonde takes the leap and leans down to clasp your hand, holding it tight and squeezing it comfortingly.   Except you jab him in his gut with your elbow, shoving him back.   Taehyung is left behind, wheezing, wind knocked out of him. Still, he gives you a thumbs up and a pained grin, telling you that was a pretty good one.   //   The flirting does not cease, not even in class.   Taehyung stares and purposely knocks his elbow against yours when he’s scribbling notes. Then he not-so accidentally drops his pencil on the floor near your feet and when you both bend down at the same time to pick it up, he retains intense eye contact and brushes your hand with his fingers. It’s distracting and when you look over, he hasn’t written a single thing down.   All Taehyung does is doodle your name and put hearts around them. He even muffles his laughter behind his hand in the lecture hall when he sees your outright disgusted expression you no longer try to hide.   When the hour’s over, he rides his bike exceptionally fast so you can hang on tighter to him. He calls you cute and holds you like his favourite teddy bear. He tries to spoon-feed you lunch, and that’s where you draw the line. But it doesn’t help the situation when other people think he’s head over heels for you — whispering about how sweet and cute he is as you both walk past, giggling and always looking over….   You must admit, it’s impressive.   Taehyung’s obviously switched tactics and now he’s wearing you down faster than you thought was possible. By the end of the day, you are truly exhausted and overwhelmed. Like Namjoon, you don’t get paid enough for this.    “Is everything to your liking, sir?”   “Wow.” One arm is propped up, holding his head as he lies on his side on the bed, body bathed in the dim light coming from the lamp next to him and making him glow. “I hate being called by anything other than my actual name, but I really wouldn’t mind you calling me that again. I might prefer ‘master’ though. Give it a try.”   “Can I leave or not, Taehyung?”   “Boo, you’re no fun.” He sits up with a pout. “And why do you want to leave so soon? I thought we could….play a little.”   “I’m tired and I’d like to leave. We have an early morning tomorrow too. Your class starts at nine.”   A sly smirk pulls on his mouth and his irises twinkle. “You could just stay over. That would make it easier for the both of us.” Reaching your limit completely, you move to switch the light off and you turn away to the door. But at the last second, Taehyung calls out to you. Desperation meets your ears. “Wait, Y/N! I was just joking….please don’t leave.”   You linger at the doorway before turning back around so he can see the profile of your visage.   Taehyung’s playful and mischievous expression has wiped off. What’s taken its place is hesitance and traces of fear. “I….want you to stay.”   “What’s wrong?” Your own voice softens, recognizing his earnestness, how his timbre was tender and husky around the edges.   “I can’t sleep,” he murmurs. “Well, I can, but not well. I’m….scared and I keep getting nightmares of that time I was taken by those people...except, you never came to rescue me and I was on my own….I just...want you to stay with me. For a little bit. If that’s okay with you.”   It’s quiet and you recognize it well from having it seen in your colleagues back when you were still on the force — how trauma has made its mark on him. “We need to book a therapist.”   “No.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been to one before, many times, and it’s fine...but it’s not what I need. Not right now.”   Taehyung wants someone to be with him.   Someone that’s not paid to be.   You gaze at him, staring, breath held in your throat. And then your hand slips off the doorknob.   You do a complete round as usual around his apartment, looking out the windows and onto the street, drawing the curtains after the premise is checked. The doors are locked again, deadbolts in place, and you peek to make sure nothing’s out of the ordinary, that there’s no hiding intruder.    But instead of leaving, the last thing you do is enter Taehyung’s bedroom.   The door closes behind you.   “What...the hell are you doing?”   Taehyung sits up again. This time, he’s appalled, the covers falling down to pool around his lap.   “I’m making sure you’re safe.”   His hand extends as if he’s trying to show someone else how ridiculous this is, baffled beyond coherent speech. “You look like you’re part of a horror movie!”   You don’t see a problem with it — you’re just sitting in the dark. And in the corner of his room. Perched in an armchair with your arms on the rest and your back straight. Your eyes are wide open and staring at the door. A sleek handgun is prepared in your lap.   He cries out in protest, “I’m gonna get more nightmares from this!”   “You’ll be safe this way.”   “No.” Taehyung peels the corner of the covers and pats a spot beside him. “Come here. Lay here with me. I’m not kidding, Y/N. I’m not letting you sit in the corner of my room with you like that. It’s creepy as fuck.” He crawls over the bed and grabs your arm. A muffled yell tears from your mouth before you fall onto his mattress and he’s pulling you in, getting comfortable.   “I can’t fight in this compromising position,” you mutter against his chest. But it doesn’t stop him from holding you, arms wrapped around your abdomen like you’re his body pillow, leg thrown over yours, cuddling your frame.   It’s horrible, sweaty, and way too warm.   “No one’s going to attack us in my apartment. There’s a whole security system in this place,” Taehyung mumbles. “You know that.”   “Yeah but don’t you want to feel safe? I thought that was the point.”   “I want you beside me.” There’s a moment of silence. “If you’re that uncomfortable, you can leave….I-...I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to.”   You consider it, but it doesn’t take a lot of deliberation to come up with a decision. “I’m fine.”   For just a little bit, you allow yourself to relax and be beside him. To you, it goes beyond a sense of duty, more than being part of your job. It’s a desire to make him feel comfortable and safe at any cost.   “It feels like we’re kids again.” Taehyung laughs at a low volume, breaking the peace in his quaint bedroom. You can hear his thundering heartbeat against your ear — but you suppose any kind of human physical contact warrants that response. “We should have a bubble bath together. I promise I won’t touch. I’ll only look.”   Your eyes roll, even if he can’t see. “We never shared a bath.”   “Yeah, but we should.”   “No.”   He giggles and it’s pleasant to listen to. “We did share a kiddie pool together. Remember? I had these rubber duck arm floaties with me and some pool toys. You were supposed to teach me how to swim. Didn’t your dad teach you?”   “Kind of.” Your eyes shut and even when it goes against what your intentions, you’re lulled, no longer as alert as a few minutes ago. The corner of your mouth still moves. “He put me in an adult swim class so I could learn.”   “Oh.”   “He punctured holes in my floaties when I wanted to use them. Said I didn’t need it and wouldn’t have it on me if I was drowning.”   “That’s….” Taehyung searches for the right word. “....intense.”   You hum a soothing note and the corner of your mouth quirks as another memory surfaces. “Didn’t you push me in the actual pool? In the deep end?”   “And you survived!” He chuckles and snuggles you closer. “Guess your dad’s strategy worked after all.”    “I remember you shoved me down a waterslide when I wasn’t ready too.”   “Huh. I don’t really recall—”   “You tried tripping me up the stairs and laughed when I slipped in a puddle.”   “You have a fantastic memory, don’t you, dumbo?” Taehyung grins, though he isn’t sure why you’re bringing it up now. You’ve accepted his apology, but he’ll apologize as many more times as he needs to. He was an idiot back then — he still is.   Your voice drops, rumbling in your chest. “That’s cause I remember everyone who does me wrong.”   There’s a pause, the threat lingering in the air. He gulps and glances over. “Would you look at the time?! It’s almost midnight! We should go to bed. Got an early morning tomorrow! No more talking! Goodnight, dumbo. Sweet dreams.”   “Are you going to let me go?”   “Shhh…..” He shushes you, and when you mumble a ‘goodnight’ back, he smiles.   Taehyung eventually drifts off. You listen to the way his breathing softens and steadies, noticing how his chest rises and lower with snores. His grip eventually loosens, though he still hugs onto you. The furrow of his brows relaxes when he knows you’re still with him.   It takes time, but soon you’ve also become sleepy enough, drowsiness taking over and pulling you halfway through consciousness and dreams. In this state, the day’s events sink into your bones, muscles, and mind.    You don’t think it’s normal to hold hands or to share a bed like this with a friend, even if it’s a childhood friend. At least not like this.   The way he holds you is intimate, nearly encompassing your entire frame. You never realized how broad his shoulders were, no longer that of the child that you once knew. Taehyung’s body is warm, his presence pleasant to be beside and making the darkness much less intimidating.   Whenever you squirm away, he unconsciously gets closer, and you find yourself smiling.   While you might not know a lot, it’s clear that it’s not normal to be in a position like this with someone who’s merely a friend. But Taehyung’s more than that. Maybe you just never thought about it deeply before. Maybe it’s just always been a part of your subconscious, but you never once put a name to it. Like your emotions that you felt and merely subdued down…   He’s not just a friend. He’s—   You’ve fallen asleep before you can finish your own thought.

[roguesandsaviors]

Wanting In

Fandom: Sicario

Characters: Matt Graver, Alejandro Gillick,  Charly Dunn (OFC), Kate Macer, Reggie Wayne

Pairing: None

Summary: There was a third member that joined the team that Matt Graver created. She holds different views on the ending events of the movie than Kate did.

Word Count: 2,064

Rating: SFW

Warning: Explicit language, mentions of violence, references of drugs related to movie events

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

Kate was less than pleased. We were being used. It was never about us making a contribution to the team. Nothing more than a technical necessity. We were the means to an end for the operation. Sure, it rubbed me the wrong way but in the end, what was done was done and the job getting finished was more important than my feelings on the situation. Something had to change and if it took means that were less by the book then so be it. Kate and Reggie didn't have that sort of view as we suited up.

Relegated to the back of the squad, I checked over my weapon a couple of times. The military team assembled would likely take care of any bodies that we ran into but that didn't mean someone couldn't slip through. I didn't want to be caught unaware and unprepared. 

There was a quiet anticipation that rippled through the men. I felt that creeping chill up my spine, a surge of adrenaline exploding in preparation of what was to come. A sure gun fight and nothing got the blood pumping more quickly. The SUVs stopped in the middle of nowhere, guided by the eye in the sky towards the entrance to the tunnel. Cracking my neck, I exited the car and took my spot towards the rear of the group. 

The hike to the entrance was uneventful. Alejandro was sent in first, quickly followed by the head of the military team. I felt like I was practically chomping at the bit, especially when the ringing of gunfire in a confined space started echoing out. Forgoing caution and reminders to stay back, I pressed ahead of Reggie and Kate. Sweeping in every direction I could, there was nothing. The gunfire hadn't stopped. 

A turn came up and a quick sweep to the left had me nearly face to face with one of the runners. His weapon was quickly aimed at my chest. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger, watching as his body fell. 

"Shit." 

"You good?"

"Good." I responded quickly to whoever had asked before we moved on. Clears began to be called out as the gunfire ceased. Just as I went to turn to regroup, I noticed Kate heading off. This wasn't going to be good. My choices were to let her fuck something up or go follow her and try to stop whatever it was that she thought she could do. Making the decision, I took off after her. If the others wanted to be pissed about it, oh well. 

She didn't seem to realize that I was following her. A concerning fact for numerous reasons. She exited just ahead of me and I had to double time in so I didn't lose her. 

I exited the tunnel and nearly groaned. Alejandro had an officer at gunpoint while Kate was attempting to hold him. I raised my weapon and settled it squarely on Kate. 

"That's enough. Drop the weapon Kate." I took a leap of faith in the fact that Alejandro wouldn't shoot me too. It didn't seem like the style of the operations but I had been wrong before. A few tense moments of silence passed.

"He has an officer Charly."

"Who is carrying drugs in the back of his squad car. He's corrupt and part of the cartel. Drop your gun Kate." She refused to, shaking her head. It only took her turning her head towards me for a moment for the opportunity to arise.

The shot was fired and Kate went down. I relaxed, dropping my weapon down as Alejandro moved over to her. The bullet had hit her kevlar. He wasn't looking to kill, just incapacitate her for some time. I could hear her gasping from over here. That sort of shot hurt and smarted for weeks.

"Don't ever point a weapon at me again." I didn't make a move to stop the operative as he got into the car with the officer and drove over. Moving over to Kate, I attempted to help her up. She was still gasping for breath. 

"That was real fucking stupid," I grumbled before hauling her to her feet. She shoved me back immediately. 

"Stupid?! He had that man at gunpoint. Do you know what he is going to do? None of this is okay!" 

"I know full well what he is going to go off and do. We need to get you back. Come on. Before they send the guys back in." I reached forward and grabbed her by the vest. "Besides, it's gonna be a good idea to get your chest looked at. Kevlar stopped it but that doesn't mean it didn't crack a rib."

"How are you okay with this?!" She was still pissed. Each and every word had a gasp between it as she struggled to get her breath back.

"Because it's not our call! Wake the fuck up Kate. You think the stash houses we raid, or the homes used to hide bodies after the fact are making a damn bit of difference? Because if you do, please fucking enlighten me on where I can see it. I don't. More people are dying every day because those fuckers are allowed to do as they please and live like kings." I wasn't in the mood for her bullshit and just wanted to get back. "Come on. Before they come back looking for us." I grabbed her by the vest again and began to pull her back through the tunnel. 

We made it back just as the men were coming back towards the tunnel. Kate, still trying to recover from the bullet, tore from my grip and lunged at Matt, landing a hard looking hook. I groaned and looked towards the sky, the night was over but she demanded to cause trouble. 

Reggie moved forward only to be shoved to the ground by a few of the other guys while Matt worked on grabbing Kate and trying to calm her down. Eyes were on me and I held up my hands, not intending on causing any trouble. 

"Good work guys." I moved passed Reggie plastered to the ground and gave Matt and Kate some privacy.

*****

Standing next to Matt as he unloaded his gear from his body, I shook my head. Kate and Reggie had already left, Kate pissed off by what had happened and what she had seen while it just had added a whole gallon of gasoline to the fire for me. Was it legal? Not really. Did I give a shit about that? Absolutely not.

"I want in. Not that halfass fucking bullshit Matt. I don't wanna be kept around for shit that you can't pull unless you have someone to use as a puppet." He wasn't looking at me but it was obvious he was listening. I would have said the same to Alejandro if he was there too. He was still across the border, taking care of business. "I'm sick of spinning my wheels. I can take out bad guy after bad guy in the streets before breakfast and I have three more taking their place by fucking lunch. This? This is making a difference and I want part of that. I don't care what I have to sign or what lies I gotta tell, fuck I'll dig my own grave." The past couple of days had been a hell of a ride and more eye opening than I expected. It had served as a reminder that it was possible to get more things done than what my current restrictions allowed. Kate may not have been able to wrap her head around that, she may have wanted to do everything by the book to a tee. The other side wasn't playing by those rules. It was kill or be killed and only that mentality was going to give us the chance to get a grip on this thing before it became any worse.

There was a smirk on his face when he finally turned to look at me. Hip propped against the SUV, he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"What makes you think we're adding to the team?" He held the cards and he knew it. I had to quell any frustration at the smirk and the ploy. He was dangling bait in front of me and I couldn't bite. At least he wasn’t playing the gender card. I knew that there weren’t a lot of women that were willing to get their hands as dirty as he surely did on a constant basis. 

"It isn't a team. You take assignments and build from there." A hand ran over my dirty, sweat stained face, nearly cringing at the feel. That wouldn't serve my cause though. "I'll up and quit my position now. Resign and not think twice about. Sign whatever paperwork you want me to. I gotta do shit that matters more, that actually hits where it counts. Otherwise the bullet I take in the streets means shit. At least if my head gets cut off, it means I've pissed someone off and hopefully taken a few of the assholes down with me." A moment of silence settled between us, only broken by the grunt of a soldier or the like storing their gear and getting into their SUVs. 

"Get in the car." It wasn't an answer and as much as I wanted to push for one, it was better not to. There were only so many boundaries I could press at the moment. Biting the inside of my cheek, I slid into the backseat without another word. Steve and Matt were both silent as the engine was turned over and we took off. That was a rare occurrence over the past several days. Further proof that things were likely done. 

The desolate, nearly pitch black desert landscape went flying by outside the window. Not that I could see any of it but it gave me something to concentrate on rather than the question looming overhead.  There was no way to know what was happening in Matt's head. He didn't exactly have the power to make that call. I knew that. But he had the influence to make it happen. A shower and a beer sounded about good right then as the adrenaline rush began to die down. The job was accomplished and it meant that we could relax for just a bit. 

Arriving at the motel, the car was still in silence. The desire to throw a fit was strong, press and demand but that wouldn't be how I won this. No, I had to head back to my apartment, get myself cleaned up and wait. Slipping from the car, I knew it wasn't entirely over since I would have to sign paperwork and Matt didn't seem keen on getting any of that done tonight. Without another word, I headed to my car and settled in. There was a moment where I couldn’t drive away, stuck in that shitty motel parking spot as the entire situation washed over me. I would stick by what I had told Matt but there was a second of panic over what I had witnessed and seen now that the adrenaline had fully worn off. That wasn’t unusual, even on shit I did on a normal day. The implications of this were far bigger though and it couldn’t be ignored. Flexing my hands against the steering wheel, I let out a slow breath. There was nothing to be done about it now and it didn’t change the fact that I wanted it more than ever.

The drive home was quiet. I didn’t feel like putting on music or even talking this whole thing out with myself. Sometimes hearing the pros and cons aloud was helpful but not now. I was in the shower when the phone rang. The ringtone was odd though. Poking my head out, I could see a light coming from my pocket. Curious enough, I stepped out of the shower and crouched. There was a phone, one that wasn’t mine, nestled into a pocket of my pants. 

The caller ID came up as “Pick up the fucking phone”. Frowning, and against some better judgement, I pressed the answer button.

“Hello.”

“Wasn’t sure you would actually listen and pick up.” Graver’s voice echoed through the speaker. “So you want in.” 

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 9)

Daryl pushes the out of function automatic doors open and takes a step into the convenience store. He looks around, lets his eyes pass half-empty shelves and broken fridges for soda and bottled water. It’s dead quiet, except- Daryl turns around. Juri stands right behind him and looks curiously into the store, hands deep in the pockets of the dungarees. Where did Mila go? He looks over Juri and sees the door to the liquor store closing. Great. He looks down at Juri again. 

”Okay, kiddo. Stay behind.” 

Juri nods obediently and Daryl turns to the store again. Cautiously he takes a step further into the empty store. But he hears nothing, no hissing noises, no dragging steps. The coast is clear. He turns and nods at the boy, who walks into the store and steers towards the shelves with candy. Daryl directs his steps to the section of the store with washer fluid, car wash tools and gas cans. Does she usually let the boy go away on her own? Probably not, she seems like the protective type of mother. What made her let the boy run after him then? Does she trust him, Daryl? Daryl’s cheeks suddenly turn all warm, again. Damn it. He takes a red five gallon can from the bottom shelf and walks over to the shelves with candy. On his way out he grabs two bottles of water from one of the dead fridges. Juri methodically goes from one end of the chocolate bar shelf to the other when Daryl approach. There is not much left, but he is still careful about what he chooses. How does muteness even work? God, Daryl felt stupid before, he had no fucking idea what it meant to be mute. Juri’s little nose wrinkles at the sight of a raisin bar. 

”Hadn't chosen it either.” Daryl says. ”Found any Mars? Snickers?”

Juri points to a plastic bag on the floor. There are about ten Snickers bars in the bag, along with KitKat bars and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Daryl gives him a thumbs up. What do you talk to mute three year olds about? 

“You’re tough, kiddo.” Daryl says and grabs a Snickers bar from a shelf, opens it and takes a bite. “Your mom too. And stubborn...” 

At that moment he sees something in the corner of his eye. Mila is back, holding the rifle.  

”Ready to get some gas?” she asks.

”All good to go.” Daryl says and holds up the metal can. 

They leave the convenience store and head for the pumps. Mila's backpack looks moderately heavier than before, filled with Juri’s bag of chocolate bars and, what Daryl thinks, a few bottles of vodka. He doubts that she uses it as mouthwash. Daryl’s just about to start filling the red metal can with gas when Mila exclaims:

”We have a visitor.”

A limping figure, whose skin is reminiscent of sour milk to the color, hurls himself against them from behind the corner of the supermarket. Daryl puts his hand on the crossbow, ready to take it out, but instead he gets Mila’s rifle pressed into his solar plexus.

”You fix gas, I take care of him.” Mila pulls a knife from the shaft of her boot. ”Look away, Malish.” she says softly to Juri, who clings to her jeans. 

Obediently, Juri puts his hands over his eyes. With determined steps, Mila goes to meet the walker. With impressive finesse she stabs it in its neck, bringing it down on the pavement, where she finishes him off by inserting the knife deep into its ear canal. She stands up, noticeably unmoved by her action, albeit clumsy and probably in pain due to the fact that her midsection is wrapped up like a Christmas present, and walks back to them. Daryl continues to fill the tank under silence. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s like being in the presence of a tornado and he feels dazed, like after a rollercoaster ride. Mila exhales and leans up against the petrol pump. Sweat runs down her forehead.  

”Here.” Daryl hands her one of the water bottles. ”Couldn’t find any cold ones.”

She takes the bottle, unscrews the lid and drinks, before handing it to Juri. 

”I thought I had better, what’s the word? Physical… stamina than this.” she says and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. 

”Ya’ also thought ya’ were a great medic.”

”Yeah that was pretty dumb.” she chuckles and meets his gaze. ”What was it you called it, scrapbooking?”

Daryl quickly looks away. Mila chuckles.

”I heard about it. Denice told me.” 

”Didn’t mean it-”

”I didn't think you had humor.” Mila says and nods towards her stomach. ”Juri calls it the ’mummy tummy’. I don't know which bad name for it I prefer.” 

Daryl can't help but grin. He puts the gas pump back and screws on the cork to the gas can. When he lifts the heavy can, a rhythmic clucking sound is heard when the gasoline hits the metal on the inside. He’ll probably have to go back and get another can or two tomorrow, but for now this will do. Besides, Mila seems a bit wobbly. 

They start to walk back to the car in slow pace, passing overgrown lawns, abandoned vehicles and houses. A rusty swing set cries out for attention from children that no longer plays on it. A shopping cart lies on the sidewalk and walkers are scattered around the ground like the first yellow leaves of autumn. Juri scurries a few meters in front of them. The blonde hair bounces around his head. Every now and then he turns, to make sure they are following. 

”Where have you been, by the way?” 

”Huh?” Daryl turns his focus back to Mila. ”What?”

”I haven’t seen you since I was interrogated, in bed. Where have you been? What do you do? I practically know everyone else by now… almost. You saved my life. I wanna… talk.”

”Haven’t ya’ been sleeping for, two days straight?” Daryl scoffs.

”You could have dropped by?”

”What do ya’ wanna know anyway?” 

Daryl glances her. Why is she so determined to talk to him? What does she want to know, and why? There’s nothing to know. He’s a nobody. Besides, he can’t talk with her. Obviously it’s completely impossible for him to have a normal, intelligent, conversation with this person. And yet, although he feels like the biggest idiot in the world in Mila’s presence, he’s quite comfortable in her company, or their company. It may be because he stayed away from them, didn’t do as the others and checked up on them. Just because he’s, what? A social misfit? Whatever he is; here they are, walking past rotting corpses side by side, talking to each other. How ‘bout that. 

Daryl raises his gaze. Mila’s eyes glow like sapphires in the sunlight, peering at him underneath the brim of the hat. 

”What do ya’ wanna know?”

”Like, did you pick the unusually boring wall color I was forced to stare at while in bed?” 

”Shut it, Jersey.”

”Okay. Take me to the quarry then.” Mila responds.

”Why?” 

”Because, I want to see what the fuss is about.” Mila lifts the backpack and rifle higher up on her shoulders and grunts when she stretches her abdomen wrongly. ”Did you say thousand?”

”Ya’ think I count them?” he waves his hand at her. ”Come on, give me the backpack.”

”No, why?” 

”Because you’re weak and will collapse any goddamn’ second. Hand it over.” Daryl waves his hand in front of her again, to show her that he’s serious. “Come on.”

Mila sighs and crawls out of the shoulder straps. Daryl throws the clinking backpack over his shoulder.  

”Great. Let’s go look at the dead bastards.”