#y'all be tripping some serious balls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelastofhyde · 7 months ago

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

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

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

241 notes · View notes

sunshine-theseus · 11 months ago

Text

Meme Girls | Zecira Mušovic x Reader

Words: 2.7k Summary: doing a video with Zecira leads to a lot of unnecessary angst Warnings: angst, poor early a.m. writing request for - @wosofanfics note: y'all i'm sorry if this sucks. it has been proof read but i'm literally half asleep and it's 1:15am. i hope it's good.

“Welcome back to another episode of Meme Girls.” Laughter breaks out across the room as Zecira tries to introduce the video, tripping over her own tongue.

Aggie and I are sat on bean bags facing each other, Zecira between us. We were supposed to doing a football challenge with some of the other girls for someone’s YouTube channel but whoever was supposed to be joining the goalkeeper here had to pull out. That left us.

“To my- stop laughing! To my right side, Agnes Beever Jones!” I give a small cheer and clap as Aggie throws her hands up in the air, all of us laughing simultaneously. The camera man gives us a dirty look, a sign for us to hurry this up.

“And to my left,” I give her a wink when Zecira turns her head to look at me.

“Y/n, the hotshot, L/n!” I can hear some of the girls outside the door, cheering on as well as they pass by, some even whistling.

“Why does she get a cool nickname? That’s not fair.” Aggie complains, adjusting herself in her beanbag to look at me.

“I’m simply better.” A cheshire grin is thrown her way.

“When Emma tells you training is cancelled because of the rain.” The prompt is arguably quite easy but we both spend some time contemplating which photo suited it best. Aggie holds up a relatively old picture of Fran, clearly walking off the bus for a game, her thumbs are up, and earphones are in.

“Completely chill. A day to relax and have no worries, spend time with friends. Whatever you want.”

“Nah it’s time to celebrate. That call is rare and I’m appreciating every damn second.” I rather aggressively pull my photo from the stack of cards. A picture of me from last season after a UWCL game against Lyon, my shirt clutched in my hands as I knee slide into the corner after scoring the winning goal.

“Wow. You look really good there.” Zecira’s voice is pretty alluring as she compliments me, and I turn a fiery shade of red.

“This isn’t fair. Z is going to pick you because you’re in love or whatever.” The young striker whines.

“You and the fans with those stupid speculations. We’re just best friends.” I avoid looking at Z as I try to jokingly tell Aggie off, her eyes rolling at my denial. What I do miss is the light that dims in Zecira’s eyes as I say it.

“Whatever you say.”

We’re given a few more prompts before the media manager calls time. I end up winning 3-2, Aggie tossing a fit by throwing her cards at me. Her fake childishness is scolded by one of the onlookers, clearly too serious in comparison to us, but we only continue to laugh as we stand from the bean bags. I take hold of Zecira’s hand to help her up as well but pull too hard, the Swede falling forward as I rush to catch her. My hands slip under her shirt as I grab her hips and both of us blush a deep red as I try to apologise, trying to forget the feeling of her skin beneath my hands.

The next few days between Zecira and I are awkward. Between the tripping situation and the comments from Aggie, our relationship had been strained and neither of us wanted to bring it up, so we didn’t talk at all. The things fans had to say under the video didn’t help.

‘Zecira and Y/n are definitely dating right?’

‘Find someone who looks at you the way Z looks at Y/n’

‘New favourite friends to lovers.’

They were funny, sure, but untrue. At least that’s what I told myself whenever I looked at my best friend, dark hair tucked behind her ears while laughing at something Guro said, and I felt jealous. Or when I go to score a goal in training and she dives for the ball, her shirt riding up and the tight muscles of her abdomen flashing briefly, and I can feel my face heat up and my stomach tighten.

And eventually, due to popular demand, I’m back in another video, facing Sam in a ‘Meme Girls Championship’.

“Welcome to the Meme Girls Championship. Today we have the two winners of the previous games, Samantha Kerr and Y/n L/n. Are you ready?” Sam lets out a guttural scream and I simply nod, trying not to freak out about the tingle in my leg where Zecira and my legs touch.

“Here we go. When you make a tackle outside the penalty box, but the other team still get the penalty.” I flick through my cards, searching for the best one, but Sam is ready in no time.

She holds up a picture of Zecira and Ann-Katrin, standing side by side with sour looks on the faces. It’s good enough for a chuckle but I’m certain I can get a better one. I eventually land on a picture of Jessie. She’s dressed in an old training kit, hands covering her face, clearly disappointed in something.

Zecira takes a moment, looking back and forth between the two photos we’re holding up.

“Zecira. You’re in it.” Sam gives her a side eye, hinting at the fact she thinks she should win.

“Wifey Z. You know this is the better one.” The nickname had been a running joke between us for some time, so neither of us think much of it, despite the obvious fact we probably both wished it meant more.

“Mmmm, I have to go with Y/n’s.”

“No! These cards are unfair! I used that last time and you picked Jessie’s one of me breaking my shoulder!”

“Get wrecked Sammy.”

The comments under that video are unexpected. I don’t remember doing anything that would elicit any ‘couple’ comments, yet they were full of them.

‘I think Y/n just accidentally exposed their relationship at 1:17’

‘WIFEY? She knowwws. They’re definitely together, you don’t just call someone your wife.’

So apparently, I did imply we were a couple, but it was from a simple misunderstanding. The issue that comes with that is the inability to deny it. If you deny it, fans assume you’re hiding something, and obviously there was nothing to confirm, so we had to live with it.

Turns out it was hard to live with. Anytime either of us posted, those comments would pop up, asking us to confirm it. At games there were fans shouting it out. Even the girls began speculating whether we’d been secretly hiding a relationship for who knows how long. It was beginning to get tiring, especially when I have feelings for her.

I wanted nothing more to just go up and kiss her and tell her how much I like her, then the comments could be true, and I’d know that. Hopefully it’d also mean I’d get to hold her hand as we walk side by side and kiss her good morning every day. But I was certain she didn’t feel the same, so that was that.

~~~~~

It took a week after the video was posted for things to go back to normal within the team and between Zecira and I. Occasionally Millie or Jess would jokingly ask us ‘how the married life is’, or something along those lines, and we’d all just laugh.

It was a tradition between me and Z, that after a London derby, we’d pick a nice restaurant and go out for dinner. Both of us get dressed up and walk out of the stadium together, sign a few things and go. It started in 2021 and we hadn’t missed a dinner since. So obviously that’s what I prepared for when we had a derby coming up.

I had a new rusty orange, satin dress that I’d brought in preparation for the dinner. Hanging it on the rack in my cubby before I got changed into our warm-up kit always made me a little nervous, aware of the casual outfits that adorned everyone else’s wracks. I didn’t bother looking over at Zecira’s space, expecting her outfit to be hanging like it always was. Perhaps I should have.

The game was tough as always during a derby, and very physical. The likes of Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord made it difficult to stay standing if the ball was at your feet and I knew I was likely to come out with bruises from the start. I must say I didn’t expect the black eye that began swelling after an elbow to the face from Lotte.

By half time I looked a wreck, and Emma was prepared to sub me off if they didn’t let up by 60 minutes. I’d lost count of the number of bruises that had begun developing on my legs and arms, even my torso was sure to be black and blue, and admittedly my eye was somewhat hard to see out of. I was also limping, a studs up tackle from Katie landing on the inside of my right ankle making the tissue rather tender.

“You’re going to look like that blueberry girl from Willy Wonka soon.” Zecira jokes as we make our way back out to the pitch.

“Heh yeah, dinner might be a little awkward for the other people around.” I get a smile back before she makes her way to the goal, and I head to the middle of the field to meet with Erin to do some short drills again.

The game ends in a tie. 2-2 across the board. I gathered more injuries as the game went on but nothing that wasn’t more than superficial, and I was buzzing to sign a few things and take some pictures with the fans before heading back and dressing up for dinner with my best friend.

Then I see them. Zecira is only a few people away from me at the barrier, talking to a guy. The conversation seems very interesting and sweet, nothing more than a footballer meeting a fan. Until they kiss. So, as her best friend, I make my way over. Why had she never mentioned him?

“Hey Z! Who’s this?”

“This is Tom. We’re dating, nothing official yet. He’s going to take me out for dinner tonight.” It’s hard to be upset when you see the smile that spread across her face. Her dimples were showing and there was a sparkle in her eye. But I wasn’t one to just let someone break a tradition after 2 and a half years.

“Tonight? What, after we go to dinner? You know, at the restaurant we’ve been waiting for a table at for months?”

“N- no I mean right after I get changed.”

“We always do tonight Z.” I start to seethe through my teeth.

“Well can’t you go like tomorrow or something?” I understand Tom was trying to help. I can only assume he wasn’t aware about the years long tradition between the girl he’s dating and her best friend. But I could imagine that if we were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears and my arm would be swinging, getting ready to knock him out in one hit.

“Uhhh, no. No we cannot. Because not only does it take months to get a table, we have to go tonight because it’s tradition. Routine. We’ve never missed a derby dinner once Zecira and like damn I’m going to let us start now. Not for some guy.”

“Common it’s just one. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll make up for it I promise.”

“Make up for it? There’s no making up this dinner. But have fun with Tom. I guess I’ll go get real dressed up, eat portions that are far too small and drink much too expensive wine by myself and be thrown looks all night. See you in training.” As I storm off, I catch glimpses of the remaining crowd that is yet to trickle out and realise perhaps I should have waited.

Now embarrassed as well as angry, I run down the tunnel in desperate search for an empty room. I eventually stumble into one and slam the door closed and lock it. The walls rattle and I hear something fall off one of them, but I find it hard to care as I search for the light switch.

Once I find it, it’s hard for me to hold back all the emotions that have been building up over some time. I rip my boots of and throw them at the door with all my might. I’m surprised the window doesn’t shatter.

“Stupid fucking feelings. Stupid fucking dinner. Stupid fucking Tom. Stupid fucking game.” The list goes on for some time as I cry, broken up every now and then by a scream.

Eventually I slump to the floor in the middle of the room and sob. My chest heaves and I struggle to breathe as I cry into the ground. The bruises and black eye are long forgotten as my lungs struggle to expand, and I begin to panic.

‘This cannot be fucking happening right now no no no.’ a panic attack is the last possible thing I need and I’m in a random room all alone. No one knows where I am. Everyone could have gone home by now.

My head is pounding. Or maybe it’s someone at the door. I’m not sure. I don’t have the energy to figure it out.

‘I hope someone finds me soon’ is probably the last thought I’m aware of having. But then someone’s arms wrap around me. Their perfume is familiar, but I can’t quite place it as they hook an arm beneath my knees and another behind my back. Most of my surroundings are lost, sight blurred and hearing fuzzy as I try to draw in more air, so I don’t know where I am until I feel a mattress beneath me.

I could identify the medical room beds in my sleep, and this was definitely one. After a few minutes of just resting there, my breathing started to slow and I came around. Newly aware of a hand gripping my own, I turn to the person beside me.

“Zecira? What are you doing here? You have dinner with what’s his face.”

“You’re more important. And, what you said on the field… you’re right. I was wrong in breaking tradition for some guy I’m not even really into. It’s- it’s just…” she trails off with a sigh.

“It’s just that, I needed something to take my mind off you.”

“Off me?”

“Yes. Look, after those videos we did on media day, and the one after, I couldn’t fathom the idea of me telling you how I feel and you rejecting me. I like you so much but I know you don’t like me back so I started going on dates. Tom was the only bearable one.”

“Wait wait wait wait. You think I don’t like you? Zecira, there aren’t enough words to express how much I like you. Seeing you with Tom, it, it made me mad about the dinner sure, but I was also jealous. I want to be the one kissing you and taking you on dates, holding your hand, celebrating a win.”

“What?”

“Kiss me you fool.” The angle is poor but despite it, we lean toward each other until our lips are connected.

It becomes quite a hungry kiss, but I pull away before it can get too heated, smiling at the girl in front of me.

“If we get ready and leave now, we could still make that reservation. Make it our first date?”

That’s how we end up hand in hand, waiting to be seated. The satin gown hugs me perfectly and compliments Zecira’s sage green dress.

“I’m really sorry for bursting up on you. Especially on the pitch.”

“I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve told me in advance but it didn’t warrant that reaction.”

“I should’ve spoken to you about what was going on.”

“Kiss me and we call it even?” her hair falls around our faces as she leans down to kiss me. It’s gentle and sweet and tastes like her vanilla lip gloss. Life feels good when you’re in love with your best friend.

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wsl #woso fanfics #chelsea fcw #zecira musovic #zecira musovic x reader #cfcw #meme girls

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phenphoenix · 8 months ago

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Her Redemption [At Morningstar Castle, Lilith, Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Anthony, Niff, and Husker, along with a large group of demons, await in a large open area. Specifically, Vaggie is wearing a very modest, yet very fine, dress.] Alastor: approaches Vaggie Are you sure you want to go through with this, my dear? Vaggie: deep breath Yeah, I do. Charlotte: walks up to Vaggie Whatever happens… don't forget me. Vaggie: smiles Only if you don't forget me [Vaggie and Charlie smile as the portal to Heaven opens up and a large choir of angels descend, including both Adam, Lute and Emily. Both land in front of the demons as the rest of the angels remain overhead] Adam: ahem…Lils, you look good. Lilith: Dickbag. Adam: Yeah, I deserve that one. looks around Got a nice place. Lilith: Of course. Let's get this over with, shall we? Adam: Uh, yeah. clears throat before turning to Vaggie Hey, …Vaggie {j sound}, right? Vaggie: Vaggie {g sound}, sir. mutters how she was named that in some of her films Adam: Right, that's my B. clears throat As of recent events, Heaven was made aware of many, many… just a shit ton of mistakes.On top of the slaughter of sinners - turns to the angels which I was not consulted on, by the way! - *turns back to Vaggieyou got fucked up and left down here and, what, became a porn star? Fuck, man. Anyway, to help rectify mistakes, on top of other things *side-eyes Lilith* You're getting an express trip back to Heaven, and… uh, I dunno, a million Heaven bucks. How about that, huh? [The angels cheer, though quite a few are not that enthusiastic. Lute gives a nervous look while Emily glares] Adam: So, what do you say? Wanna get back into paradise? Vaggie: looks to her friends before turning back to Adam That is… an amazing offer, Adam sir. I just… I can only say one thing… pause before giving both middle fingers Fuck you. [Dead silence. Everyone just stares at what is effectively Vaggie spitting on a once in an eterinity deal. They all stare in silence]

Vaggie: I said "fuck you". overhears angels murmur Want me to say it for the kids at the back? I will, fuck you! Fuck you all for leaving me down here for three years, fuck you {Emily} for ripping my wings off like chicken legs, fuck y'all in general for this… fucking dress! tears her outfit in such a way that it looks far more scandalous causing many angels to look away and Charlie to drool a bit Much better… and fuck your idea of "paradise"; you sing the same shit every day, there's at least variety down here! I disobey one little order and you drop me like a sack of crap, these guys at least see me as a person. And they don't have to like me, so I know it's real when they say I'm their friend, As far as I care, you {Adam} can take that deal and shove it up her {Emily} ass, she clearly needs it. I'm gonna stay down here with people that I actually like. So fuck off so I can get to banging my literally hot as hell girlfriend! walks over and wraps her arm around Charlie, who squees quietly [The angels all stare in shock. Emily is seething] Emily: You insolent… little.. heretical-! gets stopped by Adam's axe Adam: I'm on point here. turns to Vaggie You got serious balls to say that… mad props. Emily, Lute, Vaggie, Charlotte, Alastor, Anthony, Lilith and all the angels, in order: What!? Vaggie: You… aren't mad? Adam: you went through shit, what's not to get? Plus it's clear you're doing fine down here, especialyl with my bois! points to Al and Anthony You do you, Vagesaurus. Offer's open when you want it, babe. [Everyone looks stunned as Adam takes to the skies] Vaggie: They have one of my movies in Heaven? Charlotte: Heaven has porn? [The angels follow Adam back to the Heaven portal] Emily: flies in front of Adam, stopping him Adam, what was that?! Adam: Lady made her choice. Argument is pretty valid. Emily: She insulted all of Heaven! Adam: And you took her eye. Seems fair to me. intense glare Right? [Emily looks to the angels watching this before standing down] Adam: turns to Charlie Treat her well, she deserves it. Charlotte: Oh, I plan to. Vaggie: blushes embarrassedly Charlie… [Adam pushes past Emily, continuing back to Heaven] Lute: Sit, is this a good idea? Adam: I'm sorry, did the fucking traitor say something? Lute: This is dangerous territory, leaving her down here with them. With… her. Adam: Didn't hurt the past 3 years. Besides, gotta admit it's hot as fuck. [The angels they into Heaven, leaving the demons staring where the portal once was. Charlie and Vaggie begin kissing] Anthony: …did that just happen?!

Usually I save your writings so I can answer them with comics or drawings- BUT BRO THIS IS TOO GOOD I GOTTA LET OTHERS SEE THE BRAINWORMS IMMEDETLY!

^ Total mad lad right here, fellas

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel swap au #the hart hotel

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blueandbetaraptors · 1 month ago

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Can you write a PAW Patrol fic where Chase and Marshall try to comfort Ryder after he loses his pants during a mission? Like he's totally embarrassed after what happened and hides under the sheets of his bed.

I hope this is what you wanted. I tried to make it funny and on topic!

Pups save the pant-tastrophy

It was a nice warm day at Adventure bay. The pups were out playing with Ryder. Ryder was tossing a ball and the pups would go run and bark after it. Marshall, being a bit clumsy was chasing the ball and didn't see the big tree branch that had fallen on the ground, he tripped over it and rolled a bit.

“Woah woah woah woah… I'm getting dizzy…” the Dalmatian said as he rolled past the rest of the pups. He then bumped into a tree. When he stood up, he yelped in pain and licked his sore paw.

The rest of the pups rushed over

“Are you ok Marshall?” chase asked

“Dude that was some serious rolling” zuma responded.

Ryder, noticing the pups were gathered around Marshall, decided to check up on his silly pup. However while Ryder ran. He didn't catch that his pants were a little loose and as he ran they fell, and so did he. He quickly pulled them up and ran to Marshall. Thankfully none of the pups saw the slip, he was thankful for that.

“Marshall! Whats wrong pup?” Ryder asks as he drops to his knee.

“I think I have a splinter in my paw Ryder.”

“Rocky, tweezers please.” Ryder asks his recycling pup.

“Ruff! Tweezers!”

The tweezers emerge from rockys puppack and Ryder takes a hold of them. He gently pulls out the splinter.

“How does it feel now Marshall?”

“So much better thanks Ryder!” marshall responds and then jumps on him and gives him some puppy kisses.

“Ha ha ha, your welcome marshall.”

Suddenly the phone rings and Ryder pulls it out.

“Ryder here.”

“Ryder! You gotta help! The pigs are loose and so Garby!” farmer Al called out.

“Oh no! That's not good! We are on our way! No loose animals are too fast and no pup is too small.” Ryder exclaims as he slides the button and hits the center

“Paw Patrol to the look out!” Ryder exclaims.

“Ryder needs us!” the pups call and the take off to the look out marshall, gets stuck on the ball and rolls out of control towards the look out.

“Marshall! Watch out!” Chase Yells then marshall bowls into the other pups.

“Strike!” marshall responds and the pups laugh.

The pups go up to the lookout and get ready for Ryder to adress the situation.

“Paw patrol ready for action Ryder sir!” Chase says.

“Thanks for hurrying pups! Farmer Al needs our help! Something scared the pigs off and they ran away Garby followed them and he needs our help. Marshall I need you and your EMT gear incase one of the animals gets hurt.

Spy chase, I need you and your gear incase the animals get stuck somewhere or we can't find them.

Rocky, we need you to help fix the pen so they can't escape,

Zuma, rubble and Skye, we need y'all to help look.”

The pups bark out their catch phrase then Ryder responds

“Great! The Paw Patrol is on a Roll!” then he runs by the pups.

The pups and Ryder race over to Farmer Al.

Once they get there Famrer all runs over.

“Oh thank Goodness Ryder! Please help!”

“We will get them back! Chase! Launch your drone and check to the west. Skye, take your copter and look east. Rocky, work on the fence. Marshall stay here. Zuma, head towards the bay make sure they don't try to take a swim. And rubble, drive around Farmer Als farm and see if Garby is still near by. “ Ryder gave the assignments.

Few minutes later chase calls out,

“Ryder! I found the pigs! They fell a few feet down in an old well! Garby is eating near by.”

“Pups, meet at the well!” Ryder

Says as he jumps on the ATV.

Once the pups get there, Ryder pokes his head over the well and sees two pigs.

“Chase! Send me your winch and lower me down. Skye, get your harness we will lift the pigs out one at a time, marshall check the pigs out once they get topside.”

The pups bark out

“On it Ryder” and “you got it.” and got to work.

Ryder then is lowered down into the well.

He quickly snaps a harness to the first pig.

“Ok Skye! Lift him up!” Ryder

Calls.

Soon the pig is lifted up slowly and out of the well.

Then the harness comes back down and Ryder gets the pig into it and calls back to Skye to lift the second one up.

Soon both pigs are out. As Ryder grabs Chases winch Ryder starts scaling the side when his foot slips and he slides back down onto his back, however he doesn't realize Chase didn't hear him fall and kept pulling in the winch. The winch gets snagged on Ryders pant pocket and starts pulling up. Ryder tries to tell chase to stop but he doesn't hear and suddenly the pants go flying off.

Suddenly alarmed and cold Ryder feels tears well up.

“Ryder! I'm so sorry!” Chase yells and pokes his head.

“Chase, are those…”

“Not now marshall!” Chase barks. When marshall starts to ask who's pants they were.

“Ruff! Blanket!” marshall barks out.

“Im gonna drop a blanket down!” marshall calls and drops it down to Ryder who is still stunned at the situation.

Ryder shakily takes the blanket and wraps it around.

“Ryder, I'm lowering my harness down.” Skye shouts.

Ryder numbly puts the harness ou and does his best to cover himself up.

Once topside Ryder jumps into his ATV and races off, not even listening to Al thank them for the help.

The pups looked at each other, made sure the animals were put away safely and then went back to the lookout.

The pups went to play but Marshall and Chase went to go find Ryder. They found him sniffling under his blankets on his bed.

“Um, Ryder? Are you ok?” Chase asks.

“I..i can't believe.. That.. I..l Ryder.” Was so blustered he couldn't even speak.

“Ryder.. Sir.. I am.. So sorry, I didn't realize I had done that.” Chase whimpered.

“I..it was an accident chase. I'm not mad. It was just really embarrassing.” Ryder said as he poked his red eyes out from under the sheets.

“Ryder I totally get it, I have a lot of embarrassing moments. I mean like I don't wear pants, cause ya know, I'm a pup, but I probably would have lost my pants a few times by now Ryder if I wore them.” Marshall tried to encourage him.

“Ryder, I tried to protect you as much as I could when I realized what happened and I'm so sorry and please forgive me.” Chase started to cry and Ryder got up, fully clothed and held his Shepard,

“ Chase, Its ok, it was an accident. Sometimes these things happen. You did good and thanks to Marshall for giving me a blanket, i didn’t have to fully go from farmer Als place to the lookout without some sort of cover. Now that would have been so much worse.” Ryder said as he stroked the fur of the Shepard and the Dalmatian.

“How can I make it up to you?” Chase asked.

“Why don’t we go play ball and have some fun.”Ryder asked as he slowly got up.

“Ok!” Marshall asked and he went to run out the door he slipped on some pants Ryder had tossed on the floor which missed the laundry. Then Ryder picked up the pants.

“Well Marshall, you did just slip on some pants.”

Then they all laughed and went out and played more ball.

#paw patrol zuma #fanfic #oops #loss of pants #paw patrol rocky #paw patrol chase #paw patrol skye #paw patrol marshall #paw patrol rubble #paw patrol #Pawpatrol Ryder #fanfics #stories #ask #request

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parvuls · 2 years ago

Note

you said ask you about your olliewicks headcanons so im asking you. -bittysovenbetsy

neither of them was entirely sure of their sexuality before samwell. they hooked up at a kegster that first time - it was wicks's first kiss with a dude, and ollie had only ever gone to second base (with some band kid from his hometown). there's tub juice involved but all in all it's surprisingly uncomplicated in the morning.

it doesn't start out too serious. at first they were bros, and then they started hanging out outside of practice, and then they were kissing, and then they... continued hanging out outside of practice? they're pretty chill people. their date night is studying at founders and then getting burgers. one time ollie gets them tickets to a bruins' game and they take the train up to boston and it's like, the height of romance. wicks fistbumps him for it.

they never meant to hide it from anyone - they kind of assumed the team would catch up on their own? because they spend so much of their time together? but then they didn't? so they just carried on with their lives because, man, honestly, their teammates are cool but kinda scary dramatic. chances are they'll end up on the swallow or some shit and that's just unnecessary.

speaking of: for the majority of their college years they're both sure bitty knows. bitty is their fellow frog, he's their queer peer, they're bros. but what actually happens is: bitty asks where they're going when he sees them dressed semi-nice one night (i.e. in something other than sweats) and they say they're celebrating their anniversary at jerry's, and bitty assumes they're speaking in some weird bro code (who celebrates an actual anniversary at jerry's???). a misunderstanding ensues.

they only find out he doesn't know when he comes out (with jack zimmermann. wicks says he knew it; ollie says he's full of shit. they both think jack's got major balls for going about it like he did, though). there's A Conversation about it all at the start of their senior year.

the conversation goes: "wait... y'all...???" "yup." "since WHEN?" "like, the beginning, bro." "...???" needless to say, bitty did not know. it takes a while to sink in.

he doesn't tell the rest of the team. because honestly, it's kinda funny in retrospect. but he does read their newsletter, and when they hike across new zealand, jack emails them and asks to see their photos.

they're not super close with anyone else on the team. wicks is pretty tight with his friend group from home and ollie is the few-close-friends type. wicks was in drama club his senior year of high school, though, so they end up good friends with ford when she joins the team. they usually hang out on the weekends they don't have a game.

wicks is the one to formally propose. he doesn't even have a ring or a speech planned - they've been casually talking about maybe making a road-trip down to vegas and eloping along the way - but then they're kissing the ice, and saying goodbye to samwell, and he's struck with a (rare) sentimental moment. ollie doesn't even fistbump him as a response. it's a whole moment.

they adopt two dogs and then another, years later, who only has three legs and can't see well with one eye. they go to new zealand again for their tenth anniversary and make sure to email the photos to jack zimmermann. and they live happily ever after.

#olliewicks #omgcp #omgcheckplease #this is late but honestly? it was super fun #I don't play around with side characters very often #text #headcanons #ollie x wicks

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una-hopeless-romantic1118 · 3 years ago

Text

Nikolai Lantsov Fluff Alphabet

A/N: i love fluff y'all. ESPECIALLY NIKOLAI AHHH.

send me some requests of different character with their own fluff alphabet :)

oh also, i was watching miraculous ladybug while writing this, and ADRIEN/CAT NOIR AND NIKOLAI ARE KINDA ALIKE WTF—

pairings: nikolailantsov x fem!Tidemaker!reader

Warnings: a sprinkle of smut (does not go into detail), slight mention of murder (doesn’t go into detail either), mention of abuse, a lil bit of angst, and, wait for it. ... fluff

taglist: @traitorsiriusblack,

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

— y'know, he really wants to spend as much of his time w you, like every second of his life, but he's a king, and a busy one at that. he doesn't like just holding ur hand while on meetings or sharing longing glances from across the room (though he does like them), so he dances w you like all night during winter fates or balls and literally sticking his tongue out to the men who's been waiting in line to dance w you too. He'll plan trips on sea where you guys usually spend weeks in, playing chess, chasing each other around the ship, and him teaching you how to steer the ship, cooking together (which ends up with him burning the food so u have to start over again. not like he's doing it on purpose or anything *wink wink*). OMG ALSO. Reading a book together, taking turns reading per chapter. Cuddlesssss. LOTS. Especially in breaks. In the couch, ur bed, the lounge area. This man will try to spend every break of his spending his time w you.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

— whether you’re thin or plus sized, short or tall, whatever race you are, he loves you. he goes into extra simp-mode whenever you smile bc he just loves seeing u happy, most specifically whenever he pulls out that smirk of his and whenever he tells you a joke or whispers an insult to you abt one of the guards. He's also in love w your personality and how shockingly kind you are, sarcasm, how understanding and empathetic you are, how easily you make someone feel at ease. but, at the same time knowing that you have the ability to kill someone with your eyes closed makes him a lil giggly too.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

— you had gotten pretty used to a queen's life, but things do have the ability to get overwhelming. like, you feel all that “it feels like i can’t breathe” crap, and he knows it too. so he showers u w kisses, gives u rest, cuddles, and voluntarily does ur work for u.

if someone disrespects u—now this is a different story. he might be a respectful man and is humble when someone disrespects him, but if people fail to give his queen the respect that he expects, then he might as well kill them. you would do the same when it comes to him.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

— he’s a family man. he wants to marry you so bad, give you all the treasures of the world that exists. whenever he sees you playing w kids or making them laugh, he absolutely melts. while he feels insecure over the possibility of disappointing your children and raising them wrong, and most of all disappointing you, you couldn’t disagree more. seeing him worried abt it shows how much he cares, and that was enough proof.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

— i kind of see you as the dominant one. i mean, ofc, ur not controlling him or anything. he just likes feeling like he isn’t the one in charge all of the time. but overall, it’s equal. plus, he is a SIMP for stubborn and independent women like u.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

— yeah, he would forgive you no matter what u did. he’s the kind to not go to sleep mad at you, so he would make you two talk abt it. not that he’s pushing you, it’s just it’s more better that way, especially since he wants to take ur relationship seriously and sees this as a mature thing. those nights would usually consist of awkward silence but nonetheless, one of u guys give in and apologize.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

— as most of u know, nikolai wasn’t the favorite child. he barely got anything, especially love and affection. until u. u loved him endlessly and he finds himself feeling chosen for once, even teary eyed sometimes, when he’s with you. he didn’t think that was possible. and in response, he will throw u fetes, gift u an abundant amount of jewels and presents, and even names things after you.

he points at the bushes like a child. “oh look, love, flowers!”

u giggle. “i see them. they’re beautiful.”

“not as beautiful as my lovely, lovely Y/N” he gushed and kissed you. “i shall name them after you nonetheless.”

and would even go as far as naming stars, events, fetes, jewelry, gems, even your own children (which u refuse) after you.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

—a BIG BOLD NO for keeping secrets from each other. you tell each other everything, no matter how embarrassing, which usually comes with a lot of teasing. so, yes, you both share everything.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

—ur kind of an uptight person ngl. being a former general and having Ravka as ur responsibility—u refused to sleep. however, nikolai lantsov did not like seeing u like this, and u learned from him that sometimes u have to take breaks and have fun every once in a while.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

— YES. as much as he hates to admit it, it is SO OBVIOUS. u were talking to a general from a different kingdom in a ball. nikolai dropped his current conversation, strolled over to y’all, grabbed u by the waist and kissed ur temple, all while glaring knives at the general.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

—um...y e s. he’s experienced, definitely. ur first kiss was before u started dating and it was during an argument😏(yall wattpad babes know where this is going). u were frustrated w him for skipping too many meetings with kingdoms with queens asking for alliances through marriage, and when he tried to argue back, he couldn’t help but cup ur face w both of his hands. he stared at for a while, then he u kissed you. in fact, that’s how most of ur arguments go, which isn’t fair, but then again, nikolai likes seeing u flustered and u love it when he kisses u.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

—it wouldn’t be extravagant or anything, surprisingly. u both were at the palace’s rooftop, tilting ur heads towards the rain. u were sitting down, legs hanging over the edge, and smiling at the sky. nikolai was standing up, hovering over u when he felt his heart beat rapidly than usual. he had to sit down next to u to have a closer look at u. when u noticed his heavy breaths, u opened ur eyes and he immediately clashed his lips w urs and said those three words.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

—hell yes he wants to be Mr. Lantsov-L/N. this time, he does do something extravagantly. he knew ur favorite part of the palace was the gardens, but u LOVED his ship. so on the morning u were on ur way back home from a vacation on the ship, he decorated the ship w flowers, woke u up and led u outside. he knelt down with the ring and had a big speech with tears flooding his view. u were crying too and in fact, u couldn’t stop.

“y/n, love, i need some sort of answer besides ur sobs.” he sniffed.

u giggled uncontrollably. “yes!”

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

—love, y/n/n, bee (bc ur adorable until provoked), my love, lovely, beautiful, moya tsaritsa, koroleva, milaya.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

—giggly, blushy, soft, and daydreamy to the point where he would drop everything he’s doing and caress ur hair, play footsies w u, or intertwine a finger with urs and in return u play with his rings. AND HE ALWAYS LOOKS MESMERIZED UGH😍

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

—lots of PDA, but he won’t do anything to embarrass u. he would kiss u, caress u, play w ur hair, lean on u, hug u, hold ur hand, or touch u in anyway really. and omg he absolutely LOVES showing u off, to his friends, co-workers, guests. he’ll be in a bad mood in front of tolya, tamar, genya, david, and the rest when u walk in asking for something when he suddenly perks up and brightens his mood.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

—he knows what u like and don’t like, who u like and don’t like, what u need in a bad day, etc. he has u memorized. if he had time, he could write a manual on u. so it’s a relief u don’t have to tell him u don’t like something bc he knows by the look on ur face or the change in ur tone.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

—creative af. there was a point where he asked what ur former lovers did for u and u told him, not paying attention to why he did, and he did those things better. he bought u a carriage? well, nikolai made u ship. he bought u ur favorite treats on ur bad days? well nikolai hired the pastry chef as ur own chef.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

—he supports u a lot. he spends Ravka’s money just to help sponsor charities u host. he’s ur biggest supporter and ur his.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

—nothing too risky that’s out of ur comfort zone. look, i don’t need to explain but he is the perfect guy and if he makes u uncomfortable it would make him want to throw himself into the ocean. even if he really wanted to do something w u or to you and u don’t want to, he won’t push.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

—like i said, he knows you like the back of his hand. BUT. the first few years of dating he’s obviously still studying you, so there are a lot of confusion for him when all of a sudden you stopped talking. but after a few years then he’ll definitely get the hang of u.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

—important enough that, let’s say, u get held hostage. nikolai would drop everything, even sell Ravka for u. it’s you that’s irreplaceable.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcannon.

(since im so nice i’ll put 4)

—nikolai has genya teaching him how to braid ur hair

—u both have matching ear cuffs

—every dance in a fete is started and ended by you two.

—ur always cold and he’s always hot. it works perfectly for cuddling

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

—if i didn’t make it clear enough, Y E S. He loves cuddling you especially in the cold. ur usually the small spoon, but ofc u exchange roles. if not spooning, he likes to drape over his arm over ur waist and bury his face between ur neck and shoulder. sometimes when u unintentionally separate from cuddling when ur sleeping, u somehow notice and move back to him, which automatically makes him smile.

he loves kissing u randomly bc it make u flustered (like it doesn’t normally🙄) . nose kisses, temple kisses, kisses in the cheeks, on the lips, knuckles, shoulder blade, collarbone, palm, evERyWhERE.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

—write u like a trillion letters, no matter how random they are.

*cue cardan greenbriar*

Dear Y/N,

Three words. General. Emil. Kirigin. I simply cannot put up with that envious bastard going on and on about how it isn’t the same without you in the palace. But it’s all taken care of. You won’t hear from him for a while.

I miss you :(

-Your beautiful husband, Nikolai

***

Dear love,

Tamar and Tolya have been my friends for a long time, but they're horrible drunks and I keep losing to their worthless drinking contests.

Can’t you just kill the ambassador that called you over there in the first place so you can come home?

-Nikolai, your talented and damnably handsome husband

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

—he would always say that if he were threatened to choose between you and his title, he would choose u. it’s romantic, but u didn’t think he would truly do it until there was a situation where he would have to. and he chose u. always.

a/n: hey bebs <3 i wrote another fluff thing for nikolai that no one asked for so here :)

How Nikolai Lantsov would act around you before confessing his feelings

#fluff alphabet #fluff #nikolai lanstov imagines #nikolai lantsov x reader #y/n #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #forbidden #leigh bardugo #grishaverse imagine #ck #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lanstov x reader #soc #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov fluff

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strawbxrryneptune · 4 years ago

Text

When We Fall

Warnings: Graphic sexual content including oral (Male and female receiving w 69) use of sir kink, light biting, pain kink, wing play, etc, mentions of suicide and character death, hints at cheating but it didn't happen, sacrilegious themes? I think?? You're fucking an angel so like,, that's pretty blasphemous lmao, fuckin in front of amirror, reverse cowgirl

It's gonna sound a little wonky at certain parts but bare with me, I'm bad at serious stuff.

^^Pictures do not belong to me !! I made the collage but the art is not mine^^

♡♡

Katsuki Bakugou never saw himself as worth saving. If he was dumb enough to fall behind, dumb enough to let things get too much, then it was on him.

If he was gonna be saved, it would be by himself. He didn't need anyone for anything. He told himself that for years, as a young angel in training, through his apprentice years, even now as a successful guardian.

He got this far by himself, why did he need anybody else? He didn't see that he was stuck. He couldn't move past this point without someone else. That's why Deku was the right hand man of The Highest and not Bakugou. Stupid, stupid, Deku. Bakugou was furious when the courts announced it. What did Deku have that he didn't? He was strong, he was powerful, and he got the job done. That's basically what you need to be a guardian angel, isn't it? When he had complained to the courts, all they had said was "Patience, young one." He had scoffed.

What did patience have to do with anything? He had plenty of patience. Patience was something he had to practice daily, dealing with the kinds of people he did.

He was always assigned to old people, dying out before he could even get attached. Not that attachment would be a problem. He was Bakugou Katsuki, for Christ's sake!! He didn't "get attached", especially to old farts.

That all changed once he was assigned to you.

You, with your glowing skin and beautiful eyes, pulling him in the moment he saw your case file. He used to see you when he was living, a friend of a friend. He never got to talk to you cause you were always around stupid Deku. Y'all might have been together, but he didn't care. He had to meet you, talk to you, touch you, taste you. He would visit in your dreams, talking to you and making you laugh, holding you though the bad parts he couldnt change.

When you finally worked up the gal to ask who he was, he took a deep breath and told you. He was your guardian, assigned to you until you die, there to protect you and keep bad things away. You simply laughed and told him,

"Fine, don't tell me."

He only growled down at you, huffing before disappearing into the cloudy depths of your consciousness.

You didn't see him for weeks, trying to conjure him back in your head, but to no avail. Finally, finally he showed up, but it was not in your dreams. No, he showed up at the foot of your bed, glowing a dewy gold with his wings spread out behind him, tunic wrapping lightly around his slim hips.

You gaped at him, your brain trying to process what it was seeing. He smirked down at you, stalking over to where your soft body lay, trailing thick, calloused fingers over the expanse of your exposed thighs. He lifts up the hem of your oversized tshirt slightly, quirking an eyebrow in question.

You bite your lip and spread your thighs as an invitation, making him groan and slide into the sheets with you.

He gently positions you so you're straddling his face, facing his swelling cock as it makes his tunic rise.

He kisses you through the fabric of your panties, running his tongue up and down the fabric while groaning about how wet you got for him, how much of a slut you were for lusting after an angel.

He finally rips your panties off of you after teasing for what felt like hours, immediately sucking your fat clit in his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. He grips your hips to grind you roughly against him, sucking at you and sliding thick fingers into you, making you mewl and shake above him.

As you push your hips against his pretty face, you notice how big the bulge is in front of you, looking almost painful. You moan softly at the feelings coursing through you and the sight of him so aroused from just eating you out. You bring shaky hands up to grope at his clothed cock, causing him to let out a startled sound into your pussy.

"Fuck, Princess- whaddya doin-"

You cut him off by grinding yourself further onto his mouth, unwrapping the cloth around his waist and watching his cock slap up. You salivated at the sight of it, thick with veins running along it, the head leaking copious amounts of prespend. You shiver when you feel Bakugou's tounge slide into your slit, his teeth catching on your sex and making you whimper above him.

You lean down and run your tongue along the pulsing veins littering his fat cock, ripping a raspy moan from the blonde's lips. His thighs clench in front of you with the sudden urge to fuck up into your mouth, but he resists it in favor of adding two more fingers into you, now stretching you with three and making you groan. He laps at your clit, determined to make you cum before him.

You suck at his tip, dipping into it before moving down further, rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft as you fondle his balls, making his hips jump when you circle his taint with your fingers. He whimpers into your pussy, tongue stilling inside you as he revels in the pleasure. He's glad you can't see him, cause his eyes are rolled all the way up, drool and your slick running down his cheeks. You slide your hands up and down his thighs fondling his balls and sucking him down your throat, moaning around him when his movements pick up. Just when you think you'll make him cum, he pushes you off of his face.

You blink to yourself in confusion, before he grabs you from behind and positions you over his leaking cock, his breath fanning over your neck before he sinks his cock inside of you, simultaneously sinking his teeth into your neck to muffle his whines.

You arch your back in pleasure, locking eyes with him in the mirror at the foot of your bed that you know wasn't there before. He smirks against your neck, snapping his hips up into you as he grabs at the fat of your tits, playing with your nipple with one hand while the other brushes over your clit.

"Why don't you ask your guardian to help you cum, hm?"

You gasp out, barely able to get out a word as he bounces you on his lap, his fat tip hitting your spot with every thrust.

"Ka-Katsukiii-"

"Nu-uh, that's not my name, slut. You only get to call me Sir, yeah?"

You choke out a feeble,

"Yes sir-!"

Before going back to being a garbled mess. You reach back for stability, only to brush along soft feathers, realizing that Bakugou hadn't put his wings away. In your hazy state of mind, you slowly started to run your fingers up and down the spine of his wings, moaning breathing in his ear as your head tilts back, causing a shudder to run down Bakugou's body, all the way to the head if his dick which pulsed violently inside of you.

He flicked at your clit, growling into your neck to cum, which you did without hesitation, creaming his cock. He gritted his teeth at how tight you clenched around him, and with one look at the white ring you left around the base of his swelling cock, he came inside you, spurting endless amounts of spend. He panted hotly against you, gs tly pulling you off to go clean up, chuckling when he saw you passed out.

♡♡

The hall of the Higher Ups was always huge, but with the guilt and shame resting on his shoulders, the room seemed even bigger to Bakugou. He avoided eye contact with the Advisor, staring dead into Shitty Deku's eyes.

"Why the fuck am I here, nerd? Shouldn't I have already transferred Down There?"

Deku winces at Bakugou's language, straightening up.

"I managed to convince the Council to give you a second chance, Kaachan. This was the first time you were assigned to someone young and appealing, and it's not like there are a lot of options up here-"

"Would you shut the fuck up already? I did what I did, I don't need you picking up after me and trying to be my saviour."

Bakugou sneers, backing Deku up. He rolls his eyes when the Advisor steps forward to intervene, only for Deku to hold a hand up.

"I don't know why you're always right there. You're like some creepy stalker or sumthin'. You have everything you could fuckin' want! Why are you bothering me, especially when I'm to get your position-"

"Because I fucking care, Kaachan!"

Bakugou flinches back at the tone of Deku's voice, surprised at the curse that came out of his mouth.

"Why do you think you're even here still? I'm the one who convinces the Council to let you stay here, even with your foul mouth and crude ways. I'm the one who got you up here in the first place. They gave me a choice. Condemn you to Hell for what you did to me, or let you be here and make peace, but you make it so hard. I thought you would've changed. But I guess you just hate me that much, huh Bakugou. Hate me so much you would fuck her, after all this time."

The blonde's eyes widen, his face burning hot in anger.

"Why would you bring that shit up, it was in high school-"

"I DIED BECAUSE OF YOU."

The hall is silent, Deku's voice echoing around the walls, the words "because of you" ricocheting in Bakugou's head.

"You didn't do shit cause of me, Midoriya. You decided to do it, right?"

Deku scoffs, tears filling his eyes as he turns towards the Advisor.

"Still as blunt as ever, Bakugou. Take him away."

Bakugou turns away, spitting out an "I can do it myself" before waking out the hall, keeping his head high even as scornful Higher Ups regard him, strutting to the transporter. He gets in and pushes the button, vermillion eyes locked on piercing green ones all the way down.

♡♡

When you wake up in the morning, the bed is empty, but there's a note on your dresser from Bakugou, telling you how he's going on a little trip for a bit, but he won't forget you.

He'll never forget you.

♡♡

@boooooooooom

♡♡

Masterlist

#bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou smut #fallenangel!bakugou #bucket-talks #bakugou x reader

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yeongwvnhi · 4 years ago

Text

Them as your college boyfriend

—

Pairing - Oneus x genderneutral reader

Genre - fluff, angst, suggestive (yet again the whole package)

Warnings - bullying, language, nosebleed, two vague mentions of sex (for the jokes) but of course nothing explicit

Taglist - @twancingyunhoe

Word count - idk,, sth between 1k-2k words

》><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><《

Youngjo

Most likely your seat mate or classmate first of all

Since he's such a sweetheart everyone loves him

A lot of girls in your class probably have a crush on him

He befriended you at the start of the first semester because he just immediately liked you (platonically at first)

Guess that didn't sit right with some of your fellow classmates

Let's assume you're not his seat mate for this

The jealous girls who sit behind you are talking shit about you and laughing

Some might even throw balls of paper at you with insults written on them

Of course Youngjo notices that something isn't right because you're acting weird

He's going to ask you repeatedly what's wrong

But you won't tell him because you think it's silly and that they will just stop

Of course it sadly doesn't work like that

The girls go even further,, purposely hitting your shoulder when passing by

Or tripping you

They even go as far as to spread rumors

And when they finally reach Youngjo he's going to be FURIOUS

First of all he's going to look for you to comfort you

But when he sees the girls in your class cornering you he gets mad again, yelling at them to back the fuck off

They try to pretend like they don't know what's going on, but quickly run away when he looks like he's gonna explode

Youngjo is going to hug you tightly and tell you that it's going to be okay and that he's there for you anyways

And even though this is a shitty timing, tells you that he really likes you

Of course you say that you like him back and he asks you out djjxjdg

After that he'd quickly make it a point that both of you are off-limits and he'll protect you

Will probably walk you to all your classes, even if you don't share them and give you a kiss in front of the classroom

Nobody messes with you anymore and you finally found nice friends

They always tease you for Youngjo being so protective, but they're not serious because they understand where he's coming from

And because he's a little shit you bet your ass he will always manage to give you at least one hickey

Because he's possessive but in a good way ��

Seoho

You only share one class with him and that is chemistry

He immediately caught your eye from the first lesson you shared because he sits diagonally in front of you

Ironically he was kind of late on that day and clumsy him forgot his pencil case

So he turned around and went "pssst"

When you looked up at him, confused and all, he shyly smiles and asks if you've got a spare pen

Lucky for him, you never leave the house with less than two pens, so you lend it to him

"You can just give it back when we see us next time" you tell him and he thanks you a few times before going on to do his task

After that day you couldn't get that small encounter out of your head

Why? Because the two guys behind you gossip a lot,, saying Seoho is mean and cold etc

So next week when you have that class again Seoho sits down next to you instead of his original seat

He smiles at you and holds out your pen towards you "Thanks a lot for last week, you really saved my ass"

You tell him it's no big deal and introduce yourself to him finally

Turns out it's very fortunate for you that he decided to sit next to you now because you're not getting anything the professor is teaching

Seoho sees you struggling and kindly explains everything you don't understand

After that the two of you become really close and even hang out after classes to grab something something drink or to eat

This goes on for a few months before you finally just gain the courage to talk to him about your feelings

"What did you want to talk about?" He asks you after your classes for the day are over, the two of you met behind the building for more privacy

"I uhm... realized that I really like you... I just wanted you to know that" you tell him rather quietly, but he heard it all very clearly

"I really like you too, Y/N!" Seoho smiles brightly at you when you meet his gaze, and asks if you want to go out with him

Of course you say yes!! Jxjdnh

So since you knew he wasn't a big fan of PDA or skinship in general you never really initiated much of it unless he decided he wanted to hold hands or hug you

Of course that went differently when you weren't in college

Mostly he was chilling over at your apartment/house/dorm after classes were over for the two of you

He loves to give you random kisses out of nowhere or just grab your hand to play with your fingers

If you were over at his place, you'd just be chilling somewhere or you'd be laying in his lap and taking a nap after a stressful day while he was stroking your hair

But there were also days where he texted you in the middle of a lecture to meet him in the hallways of the toilets

When you got there he just pulled you behind the corner to make out with you for a good two or three minutes just to walk away shortly after, telling you that's all what he wanted

"Are you serious?! I hate you" you'd grumble and walk away, pissed off because he left you all riled up

Whenever he did that, you'd straight up ignore him until classes were over just to get him all whiny and clingy, begging for your attention and saying how he was sorry

Geonhak

You two befriended each other during the last year of high school and coincidentally enrolled into the same college, so you were glad to have someone you knew

Sadly you two didn't share a lot of classes, so you only saw each other during the breaks or after classes were over

But you had each other's number so it wasn't all too bad

He'd often text you during his free periods how he was so bored and that he hated the teacher he had for the next class

You'd jokingly tell him to stop being a baby and to toughen up

Of course he'd get cocky and say how he already was tough since he works out a lot, always getting you flustered when he (jokingly) offered to demonstrate it to you

Everyone knows the two of you as the bickering duo because you're always at each other's throats, but the second someone says something mean to one of you it's on sight

Geonhak always (again, jokingly) complains about how difficult or annoying you are, but he'd never let someone bad-mouth you on his watch

You also bet that he's always going to pick you up when you've got a shared class next or when classes are over

And he's going to walk you home (whether that be actually home or just the dorms)

Right from the beginning everyone just automatically assumed y'all are dating

But you aren't ✨surprise✨

Of course Geonhak soon realizes that he actually has feelings for you

And the second he's sure of it, he tells you

Like... in the middle of the walkway on your way from college

Of course you're perplexed and need a few seconds to comprehend what the hell he just said to you

When it finally clicks, you tell him that you feel the same

I swear the cutest, most wholesome smiles breaks out on his face and he hugs you

Catching you off guard yet again, but you hug him back

From then on the two of you stopped denying the questions about dating, and all your friends are like "we knew right away"

Even though Geonhak also isn't big on PDA or skinship, he doesn't mind holding your hand or giving you a quick peck here or there

But behind closed doors he's just a giant teddy bear, always wanting to cuddle

Or, well.... or he's gonna be pinning you against the next best wall the second you two are alone

Keonhee

He's your seat mate in all the classes you share

Which are... literally almost all wnjdjdjfh

You're just bound to become friends, so lucky for you that Keonhee is such a nice and cute guy, trying to help you out whenever he can

For example that one time when you forgot your P.E. bag in the last classroom and were just on your way back

There was Keonhee, meeting you halfway and handing you your bag with a chuckle and ruffling your hair "be careful with your stuff" He jokes and smiles before leaving

That's what made you fall in love with his unnecessarily tall ass in the first place

You decided to be subtle about your feelings and just opted for asking him about stuff concerning your curriculum or assignments more often than usual

But Keonhee isn't stupid, of course he noticed how you seem to be initiating more conversations with him

He didn't mind at all though, he thought you were cute and he already knew that he had a crush on you

Keonhee was also rather popular among the girls, so you decided to not get your hopes up just in case

Well lucky you because he decided he wanted to confess to you on a Friday to give you time with your answer

So he asked you to meet him behind the gym after your P.E. class, saying he's got something important to tell you

That phrase left you on your toes all day and you had a hard time concentrating in your P.E. class

Which led to you getting a volleyball right on your nose, causing it to bleed and someone had to take you into the gym's infirmary room so you could lie down

At least your nosebleed stopped after 5 minutes, so you washed up and checked if your nose was okay

Luckily your nose is fine and you can continue class with your mind now more focused on paying attention

After class is done, you wash up, get changed and then realize that Keonhee is waiting for you behind the gym, making your brain go haywire

When you meet him, his gaze instantly falls to your, still red tinted, nose

"What happened? Are you okay?" He immediately worries and gets in your face, flustering you unintentionally

"N-Nothing! Just a small accident!"

Keonhee pouts cutely and playfully scolds you for not being careful

Then you remind him that he wanted to tell you something

You watch him get nervous but that doesn't last long when he puts his big hands on your shoulders and meets your eyes

"I uhm I really like you, Y/N" He blurts out and you blink a few times, perplexed

Keonhee takes that as a sign to leave, but you stop him and also blurt out how you like him back

A huge smile breaks out on his face and he hugs you excitedly

After a few weeks everyone on campus knew you were dating and Keonhee wasn't shy on showing his love for you at any time or place

He'd always hold your hand, have his hand on your waist or give you back-hugs

Also loves to make out in empty classrooms during breaks, but you didn't hear that from me

Hwanwoong

Big surprise, but you've already been dating him before you entered college, so it was a huge bonus to hear you both made it into the same one

But sadly you don't share a lot of classes, so you always sit together during lunch and meet at who's locker is closer during breaks to talk

Word quickly went around and by the 2nd or 3rd week, pretty much everyone in the facility knew you two were dating and therefore off-limits

But of courseeeee it wouldn't be college without a little drama, right? So obviously there were girls who were hitting on Woong and guys/girls who were hitting on you

The two of have been dating for a long while though, obviously nothing would drive you apart

So the two of you had enough of the constant flirting that you just decided to be bold as fuck and made sure to make out whenever people were around who were hitting on you😳

Pretty soon everyone realized the two of you were happy together and FINALLY!! left you alone

But did that mean you two stopped being nasty in the hallways? Hell no

Your friends learned the hard way that it was better to not look for the two of you when you were gone during the breaks

Because one of your female friends had walked in on you two doing the dirty in an empty classroom at the end of a hallway 👁👄👁

Poor girl ran away for the sake of her eyes lmao

You two have no shame smh even the teachers make sure to leave you alone when you're not to be found at your lockers or in a hallway/the cafeteria

Surprisingly enough, you two were quite decent in your classes though

Your classmates would often come to you when they had problems with a topic

Woong and you even founded a study group for everyone in your year who needed help,, available every weekend aside from vacation

Everyone loves you guys even though you're nasties😭

At some point during the year there was a transfer student who didn't know you two are dating

So when he asked someone about your whereabouts, one of your friends deadass said that you're either eat each other's throats somewhere aka making out

Or that you were doing the deed

Poor guy thought they were joking and didn't listen to your friends' warnings and stupidly went looking for you

Instant regret is all I'm going to say here

So basically Woong is just your horny boyfriend who loves you to bits and pieces though and will fight anyone who dares to hit on you and vice versa

Dongju

Dongju is a transfer student and you got assigned to show him around and make him feel welcome

Of course you didn't mind and even though he looked really intimidating at first

He actually is really cute and a giant sweetheart 🥺

You became his first friend that day and you even exchanged numbers 👀

If he ever had a problem in finding a classroom or literally anything...

He'd come to you

He wouldn't even consider asking a teacher or whoever was close by

No, you were always his first option and I- he's so cute pls😭

Anyways,, after a month or two he got the important bits of the building down

You bet he will walk you to your classes and meet you after they're over

Because he just really likes you

And you quickly realize you like him too~

So you two meet up after the day of exhausting classes to get a bite to eat or have something to drink somewhere and talk about everything and anything that comes to mind

And a month or two again after getting even closer, Dongju decides to ask you out

He does it when you two are sitting in your usual cafe and you're so happy and excited,, immediately telling him that you'd love to go out with him

No one is surprised when they see you guys entering campus while holding hands and giggling to each other like little middle schoolers

But they all support you and wish you luck

Your friends will tease you for it but of course not in a mean way

Knowing that Dongju is a little inexperienced, you two take everything nice and slow and not rush anything

You tell each other whenever something bothers you, because it's important to build a relationship on communication and trust

Since Dongju is really mature, he handles everything like a professional 😳👍🏻

Your classmates are surprised about how you two never argue and just have such nice chemistry

I think that a relationship with Dongju is just very... well mature, because he handles everything so good

No one ever caught you two kissing in college or outside because you're not too big on PDA

It was mutually decided that holding hands and hugging is more than enough when you're out in the open

Doesn't mean you don't come to classes with hickeys on your necks occasionally tho 👀

#yuki writes #kwritersworldnet #oneuswewriters #oneus #oneus fluff #oneus angst #oneus suggestive #oneus headcanons #oneus imagines #oneus scenarios #tw bullying #tw blood #yeongwvnhi.txt

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

Text

A Night in Rhodes - Male Version

Summary: Kieran finally accepts your generous offer of buying him a new set of clothes, as well as helping him bathe.

Pairing: Kieran Duffy x m!Reader

Word Count: 3353

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Bath, Bathing, Rhodes, Drinking, Whiskey, Friends to lovers, First time, Bath sex, Anal sex, Smut, Making out, Passionate sex, Bottom!Reader, Top!Kieran.

Notes: I’ve never came across a bathing Kieran fic before?? It’s canon he’s stinky but damn, why ain’t y'all helping him wash?! This is part two of a lil Kieran series, the first part is here.

FEMALE VERSION

Kieran had worked overly-hard today, his feeble bones aching whilst he sweated buckets in the blazing sun. You had watched from under the shade of your tent as camp members scolded him the minute he sat down to take a break, treating him like a slave; you'd told a few of them off, waving your hand at any excuse they came up with him. Thankfully, the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping.

You'd planned on going into town and insisted Kieran came with you. He was currently washing the sweat off his face in the lake, wiping the water off with his sleeve as he let out a sigh.

"Kieran," you said from behind him, making the poor boy jump.

"Jheeze! Why you gotta startle me like that?" Kieran said as he turned to you.

"Sorry," you smiled, trying not to laugh. "You ready to come into town with me?"

"You're really serious about takin' me, ain't you?" Kieran asked. He had it drilled into his head that no one wanted to give him the time of day, let alone treat him to some new clothes and a hot bath.

"Course I am, else I wouldn't have asked," you reply.

"Well, lead the way then," Kieran says as he stands upright.

The two of you mounted your horses and began the short ride over to Rhodes. It was a weekday, the sun getting ready to set and hopefully, the Saloon wouldn't be too busy. You hitch your horses outside and head to the bar, ordering a room and a bath. The bartender lets you know it'll be a few minutes, so you buy a round. Kieran spends the whole time bothering you, saying 'you ain't gotta do all this for me' and 'I really appreciate it but this is too much.' You brush him off, insisting he accepts it.

"The next ones on me though, alright?" Kieran tells you before the two of you have a shot of whiskey. You watch his face scrunch up, not being too familiar with drinking. He orders the two of you a beer, his face remaining scrunched until he manages to gulp some of the beer down. You laugh at him, swigging on your beer as Kieran curses.

The bartender lets you know your bath is ready so the two of you head up, taking your room key from him.

"I'm gonna go get you some new clothes. You gonna behave yourself whilst I'm gone?" you jokingly ask him.

"I don't know why you're askin' me that. When ain't I well behaved?" Kieran responds.

"I'm only pullin' your leg," you smile. "Now go get in the bath, I won't be long."

You shut the door behind you, leaving Kieran alone to get himself in the bath.

Your trip into town doesn't take long, popping to the general store to get Kieran some new clothes, along with a bottle of whiskey, some treats for the horses, and some snacks for tomorrow... or tonight, depending on if you or Kieran got too drunk.

Kierans a little nervous but quick to undress, leaving his clothes folded on a chair. He settles into the water, the bath a milky colour, full of suds and bubbles. He relaxes, enjoying the warmth of the water, watching the fire through half-lidded eyes. Kieran slowly dips his head under the water, getting his hair wet so he can pick the shampoo bar off the bath rack and begin washing his hair, using what's left on his hands to scrub through his beard.

Kieran hears a knock at the door just as his head comes back up from the water, rinsing the shampoo out.

"Come in," he says, knowing it's you.

You open the door to see Kieran wiping the wet hair off his face, looking a little bit like a drowned rat.

"Enjoying your bath?" You ask him, locking the door behind you.

"Yeah," Kieran replies. He watches you unpack your bag, leaving the items on a chair in the corner of the room.

Kieran frowns a little as you approach him with the bottle of whiskey, filling two empty glasses on the bath rack. You notice his frown.

"This was all they had," you shrug. Kieran brushes it off, taking a swig of his drink, frowning yet again at the taste. You're quick to finish your drink, pouring yourself another one.

"You don't look that clean for someone whos in a bath," you tease him, sitting down on your knees. The bath reaches your chest, you rest your arms on the rim. You're thankful the water isn't clear, not wanting to make Kieran uncomfortable.

"I've only just got in!" Kieran defends himself. You giggle at him.

"You still want me to bathe you, Mister Duffy?" you offer, a flirtatious tone to your voice. Kieran lightly nods. You notice the bounce of his Adam's apple, nervously gulping.

"You let me know if you're uncomfortable though, okay?" You tell him as you pick up the luffa and bar of soap off the bath rack.

"I will," Kieran reassures you. He sits forward, watching you lather up the luffa.

You start with his arms, gently but firmly scrubbing over his skin, watching as the many patches of dirt wash away. You trail up them, going over his chest to reach the other arm. You make your way to his back, scrubbing all over it, moving his hair off his neck so you can scrub the back of it. You can feel how tense Kieran is, despite not really touching him. You rub the luffa on your hands, getting them as soapy as you can. You drop the luffa into the water and begin massaging his back, doing your best to ease and relax him.

Kieran lets his eyes shut, his arms resting on the rim of the bath.

"You're far too kind on me," he tells you, one eye peeking open so he can take a sip of his drink.

"It ain't nice to see someone struggle and not help 'em," you tell him. Kieran hums in agreement with you, his eye shutting as he enjoys the attention you're giving him.

You work your way over his back, going down his shoulders. Once he feels better you urge him to lie back, letting himself relax in the tub.

"Did you wash this?" you ask Kieran as you attempt to run your fingers through his tangled hair.

"Yes!" Kieran sulks, unpicking your fingers from his hair.

"You ain't done a good job, I can still see dirt," you tell him. Kieran huffs and watches you pick up the bar of shampoo, properly washing his hair. You keep his head back, ensuring nothing trails into his eyes.

You put the bar back down, using what's left on your hands to clean his beard.

"At least your beard looks kinda clean," you tell him as you run your fingers through it.

Kieran catches your eyes just at the right time, the two of you staring at each other for a few lengthy moments. You watch his face slowly turn red, yours doing the same. You've got an overwhelming urge to Kiss Kieran, and little do you know, he has the same urge. Neither of you acts on it, breaking your eye contact so you can continue to wash him.

Kieran clears his throat, looking around the room. You pick the luffa back up, adding more soap to it as Kieran rinses his hair and beard, then picks up his drink, leaning back in the bath with it.

"I'm gonna wash your legs now," you inform him just before lifting one leg out the water and scrubbing over it.

Kieran nervously watches you, far too self-aware as his crotch was close to the water's surface. You're focused on cleaning him, switching over to his other leg, not realizing you're a little too close to his crotch.

Kieran lowers himself as deep as he can get, hoping his half-hard cock isn't noticeable through the milky water. You hadn't picked up on it until his sudden change, submerging himself as much as he can. You look up at Kieran who's staring at you with wide eyes, finishing off his drink. You offer him another glass to which he gladly accepts, filling his glass and placing the bottle back on the bath rack.

You watch Kieran sip on his drink, no longer scrunching his face at the taste of whiskey. You continue to wash his legs, knowing when you're getting too close to his crotch just from the way his chest rises and falls.

"You seem tense, Kieran," you inform him.

"No, no. I'm fine," he reassures you.

"But you'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?" you ask him, concern in your tone of voice.

"Definitely, Mister," he replies, nodding his head at the same time.

You hear his consent loud and clear, going back to wash at his thighs, your hand slowly getting closer and closer to his crotch. Kierans watching your every move, feeling the buzz as he sips on his drink. He's rock hard by now, though you just don't know that yet. He can't help it! The way you're teasing him is too much. To be honest, he started getting hard the second you walked into the room. He hoped this would go somewhere, though wouldn't be surprised or get upset if it didn't. He respected you, and you respected him.

You place the luffa back down on the bath rack, using your hands to massage each of his thighs instead. He may be weak and fimble in his arms and body, but his thighs actually have some muscle to them. Your hands are close now, brushing over his V lines. Kieran lets out a small sigh the first time you trail over them; the suspense killing him.

Finally, your hand finds its way to his cock, gently kneading his balls before taking him into your hand. He's around average in size. Not so small that you can't feel him, and not so big that he'll hurt. He's well-sized, Kieran sized.

You overhear Kieran whimper as your hand wraps around him. He finishes his drink, leaning to the side so he can reach over the baths edge and place his glass on the floor, letting out a small thud. Kieran relaxes back against the bath, watching you hazily as you slowly stroke at his cock, your thumb gliding over each of his prominent veins. He lets out a small moan as your thumb rubs over his tip, eyes staring at the water despite not being able to see anything.

"This baths pretty big, you know," Kieran informs you, inviting you in.

"Are you asking me to join you, Kieran?" You ask him, a purr to your voice.

"Is it a sin if I am?"

"Only if you want it to be."

You stand upright before taking a sip of your drink. Kieran watches you undress, enjoying the small show you're putting on for him. You're quick to strip off, though you try not to show how eager you are, not wanting to come across as desperate, despite your very obvious hard-on.

Kieran sits upright, shuffling backward a little so you can climb into the bath. His hands are quick to grab hold of you, settling them on your waist as you straddle him.

The two of you are surprised as your crotch's brush against each other. You settle down so his cock is pressed flat against yours, and you can see how crazy that's driving him. It's driving you crazy too, the urge to rut your cock against his is unreal.

The two of you in sync lean in to finally kiss each other. Kieran keeps his arms around your waist, pulling you forward as your arms go over his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. You can faintly taste shampoo on his lips, though the heavy taste of whiskey drowns that out. He's passionately kissing you, open-mouthed, your tongues slipping into each others' mouths every so often. Kieran exhales, whimpering every time you grind against his cock, your own cock twitching at the friction.

Kieran's hands move from your waist down to your ass, giving them a firm squeeze. He urges you to sit forward slightly so his hand can reach around and find its way at your hole. You accidentally break the kiss with a moan as Kieran pushes a finger into you. Your fingers grip at his hair, foreheads pressed together, eyes shut. You continue trying to kiss him but you're cut off with every thrust he makes. Kieran knows what he's doing, slipping another finger into you and slowly working you open. You're thankful you spent some time prepping yourself earlier, having a hunch that tonight would end up this way. You burry your head in the crook of his neck, moaning his name as he fingers you. You reach down, lazily stroking at his cock, making his cock twitch, ignoring your own.

"Honestly, Mister, I really wanna fuck you but I'm still so exhausted from today's work," Kieran tells you, his fingers slowing down so you can respond.

"Let me ride you," you ask as you gently kiss him.

"You'd do that?" he asks.

"Of course. I'd love to."

Kieran passionately kisses you, his fingers slipping out of you so he can position you over his cock. You reach down under the water, keeping him in place as you line yourself up. You slowly slide down on him, both of you letting out a sigh as he fully slides in. You sit there for a moment, enjoying the way Kierans cock is stretching you despite that slight pain. Kieran's patient, allowing you to lead the way when you're ready to. Kieran grips hold of your hips as you slowly start to ride him, the bathwater making a slapping noise every time it hits your bodies. The two of you try to keep your moaning quiet, hearing how busy the Saloon was getting, along with the crackling of the open fire.

Your eyes are shut as you ride him, reaching down to jerk yourself at the same time, your other hand gripping onto the rim of the bath. Kieran's starstruck as he watches you, loving the pinkness to your cheeks, the way your mouth is partly open, the way you exhale in time with your thrusts. The fireplace is behind you, the light giving you a halo look. Kieran feels like he's making love to an angel.

Sadly, your knees are starting to ache. You lean forward a bit, trying to find an angle where they won't hurt as much. Kieran notices your pain urging you to lean forward so he can fuck you.

"Thought you were too tired for that?" You tease, looking down at him.

"I still got a little bit of life left in me," Kieran responds.

You grip hold of the bath rim above Kieran's head, leaning forward so Kieran can wrap his arms around your waist. He begins bucking up into you, his eyes closing shut as he rests his head on your chest. You let out a yelp as he begins, catching you off guard with his quick thrusts. You can hear Kieran's grunts and moans against your chest, breathing heavily as he fucks as fast as a rabbit.

You take one hand off the bath, tangling it through Kierans' hair, cupping the back of his head.

"Shit!" You yelp out as Kieran bucks deeper into you.

"To deep?" Kieran asks, quickly coming to a stop.

"No, no. I love it. Carry on," you urge him, so he does.

Kieran doesn't go as fast, his breathing already quite heavy. You begin to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips against his, jerking your own cock whenever you can. Kieran moans as you do it, leaning back against the bath so he can watch you through half-lidded eyes. You let go of his hair, your hand moving down to play with your balls. The eye contact seems to make Kierans cock twitch inside of you, hitting your prostate every so often.

You can tell Kieran's not going to last much longer from the way his cocks throbbing inside of you. He grabs a hold of your hips again, his mouth parted as he watches you ride along with his thrusts.

"I really want you to cum first," Kieran tells you, the tone in his voice hinting that he's ready to climax at any second.

"Tonight is about you," you inform him.

"Yeah, but that ain't right, not lettin' your partner cum before you," Kieran moans as you roll down hard on his hips, cutting the end of his sentence off.

"Aint you a gentleman. I'll cum first, but you follow me, alright?"

Kieran nods in agreement.

You pick up your pace, focusing on getting yourself off. Kierans trying his hardest to hold back, loving watching you get yourself off on his cock. He's moaning, whispering encouragement as he continues to slowly buck upwards into you. You let out a loud sigh, your body shuddering as your orgasm hits, You ride it, your ass tightening around Kieran whos loving every second of this, despite his chest now being covered in your seed.

Kieran quickly pulls you down firmly onto him, a large moan escaping his lips as he cums, his cock twitching inside of you, filling you up. He lets his breathing calm down, urging you off him. He slowly sits upright, crossing his legs so you have room to sit, almost knocking the bath rack as you move to sit opposite him.

"You good?" he asks you, leaning against the bath. You nod in response.

"Are you?" you ask him.

"Yeah. Real good," he smiles.

"Suppose we should get outta this dirty water," you joke, though the temperate of the bath is really beginning to dip now. Kieran nods, letting you get out first whilst he rinses your cum off his chest.

You wrap one of the soft towels around yourself, passing Kieran one as he exits the bath.

"These them clothes you got me?" Kieran asks you, eyeing up the neat bundle of fresh clothing.

"Yeah," you tell him. Your back is turned to him, focusing on drying yourself thoroughly. You eventually manage to get dressed, the clothing thankfully not sticking to you. You hang your towel up by the fire, putting away your belongings and Kierans' old clothes.

"What do you think?" Kieran asks. You hadn't put any focus on him, but your eyes lit up as you looked over at him.

Kieran was stood there in black leather boots, very dark brown jeans, and black suspenders. He wore a lovely yellow and black plaid shirt, the colours complimenting his outfit, along with a dark brown leather hat, the same style as his old ones. Kierans awaiting your approval, but you just stare at him, your heart fluttering at the sight.

"Mister?" he asks you.

"Kieran, you look adorable!" you squeal. "I mean... handsome," you correct yourself, trying not to make him feel mushy.

Kieran brushes off your comment. "Adorable? I like that," he smiles. "You got a way with pickin' outfits."

Your hand goes over your heart, your stomach and chest going fuzzy at the sight of him.

"You gotta let me pay you back some time," Kieran replies as he checks himself out in the mirror.

"No! I insist. It's my gift to you."

"But you've done so much for me. I can't accept all of this."

"Well, you're gonna have to. I ain't takin' any of it back, nor a penny off you," you tell him as you pick up your bags, going to unlock the door. Kieran rushes over to take the bags off you.

"At least let me buy some drinks for you then? And whatever else I can do to repay you?" Kieran offers as you open the door, the two of you exiting into the Saloon.

"Fine, Kieran," you roll your eyes at him.

The two of you head down to your room, leaving the bags there and making your way back over to the bar. You hand over the bathroom key as Kieran orders the first round of drinks. The two of you spend the night getting drunk together, turning more than a few heads. By the end of the night, Kieran trying his hardest to keep his hands off you. He eventually drags you out the back, pinning you up against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. A few drunken men pass by but only the one makes a comment, 'get a room!'

It's a good thing you'd booked one. You're gonna need it.

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kilojulietsierra · 4 years ago

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Seis Dias - Prologue & Chapter One (Frankie Morales x OFC - Triple Frontier meets Six Days Seven Nights)

I watched Triple Frontier and Six Days Seven Nights in the same day awhile ago and... this happened over the weekend lol

It was a lot of fun to write and I hope y'all enjoy it too!

Notes - my Spanish is a work in progress, if there are any mistakes they are mine. Rating is lower than usual for me (T - on Ao3) but I have an idea for a bonus chapter at the end that would bump that up. Canon typical violence and language.

~~~~~ Summary~~~~~

A well known photographer on vacation with her new fiance just got called in on a once in a lifetime, last minute job for one of her biggest customers. Promising her fiance that it'll be a quick 2-3 day trip from the south american resort they're staying at to the job and back. With an overnight bag, her camera and a bribe for the... quirky pilot that flew them to the remote vacation spot, she takes off to the shoot.

A storm rolls in while they're in the air and the quick trip takes a dangerous turn.

Forced to land in the middle of the night when lightning strikes their plane the pair find themselves in the middle of the South American jungle with a wrecked plane and no way to get help and no way out of the jungle but to work together.

They survived the crash but that's the least of their concerns, the jungle has more than one danger lurking in its shadows.

~~~~~~ Prologue`~~~~~

Joanna was grateful to be out of the slush and snow but her annoyance with the February weather soon turned to annoyance towards the crowd of people in the lobby which she had found her shelter in. She shoved and excused her way through the frigid New Yorkers to the front desk, "Hi, I'm here for an appointment with," She was cut off by someone knocking into her camera bag, causing her to sway on her feet and clutch at the strap to keep it from slipping, "Excuse you. Anyway, Robin Monroe? Can you let her know I'm here"

"Floor seven, elevator bank is to your right." The receptionist had no clue that Jo had been here a dozen times already this month. She only glanced up to point to the general direction of the elevators as she reached for the phone receiver.

"Thank you." Joanna squeezed through the gap in the crowd and made a beeline for an elevator just opening. Her and the other elevator riders stood in silence, slowly filtering on and off as the floor numbers climbed. At the seventh floor Joanna took her leave and soon heaved in a deep breath at the wonderfully empty foyer of Ms. Monroe's publication office.

Making her way through the desks and design tables Joanna waved and greeted the familiar faces until she came face to face with a photo shoot set up in complete chaos. Backdrops set in disarray, layout mock ups scattered on the floor, makeup and hair assistants scurrying back and forth and in the center of it all Robin trying to direct the melee. "So... how's your day going so far?"

Monroe turned around in a snap and visibly sagged "Oh Joanna, you'll never believe!" She fell into the long and winding story of how the talent for this particular shoot had fell through and now everything, absolutely everything, was a disaster.

Joanna took a deep breath, situated her camera bag on her shoulder and pulled out her phone to shoot her boyfriend a quick text that she would probably be late getting home tonight.

Later when everything had calmed down and the shoot was completed, a success as far as Jo was concerned, Robin walked her to the foyer where one of the assistants met them with a huge bouquet of flowers. "These came awhile ago for Jo." The young girl informed them, giddy to see what the card said. "They're from Kyle," She grinned and bounced on the balls of her feet while Robin inspected the exotic flower arrangement.

Jo read aloud, "A surprise after a long day, love you, Kyle." She flipped the note over to find a reservation card for one of her favorite restaurants.

~~~

"Fancy flowers, fancy restaurant, what's going on?" Joanna teased as the hostess guided them to their table.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Don't ask questions, it'll ruin the surprise."

Kyle was a handsome young man, tall and lean, blonde close cropped and perfectly styled hair, bright blue eyes and a worked as a shockingly successful stock trader for someone his age. He and Joanna made a striking couple and they both knew it. Especially Kyle.

Once they were seated and had placed their drink orders Jo pressed again, "Ok, you know I'm not a patient woman Kyle. What's up."

"Okay fine," he chuckled as he reached for the inside pocket of his suit jacket, "Close your eyes."

Jo balked slightly but at his insistent stare, did as he asked. When she was finally allowed to open them she gasped.

"Two weeks from now, you, me and six days, seven nights in paradise." Kyle swiped through pictures of an out of this world, boutique, trendy, South American beach resort."

"Oh my God." She watched as he swiped through the promotional photos; lit, edited and laid out in such a way that she could nearly feel the sand under her toes and the sun on her skin. When he put his phone away she turned to face him, "Kyle, you're not serious! That looks amazing! Are we really going?"

"We're really going. You always say you miss travelling and that I need to take more time off so... tada!" He said with pride and matter-of-factness that was his trade mark. "Are you excited baby?"

"So excited." Jo leaned in to give him a kiss and mentally begin counting the hours.

---

Day One

When they landed in Bogota Joanna swore that she felt a weight lift and her mind clear. All she could think of was being able to enjoy herself, truly, for the first time in a long time. She reached out and grabbed Kyle by the back of his shirt, "Wrong way." As he turned outside the terminal towards security and away from where they needed to go, to collect their luggage and then towards the charters.

"What?"

"Seguridad." she laughed and pointed at the sign he was about to walk under, "We want maletas, and then we have to find the charters, she pointed in the opposite direction. "This way."

Without saying anything he trailed along as she led the way, following the signs, correctly this time. Eventually they found themselves walking thorough the doors and onto a paved tarmac where two men where leaning against a small plane chatting and laughing.

"Disculpe me,"

Jo approached them and Kyle muttered under his breath."I always forget you can actually speak Spanish."

Joanna ignored him. The two men by the plane glanced up as Joanna continued, "Ayudame, por favor? Estamos buscando por..." she paused to pull up the name of the charter service, "Aire Tropical?"

The two men stood up a little straighter, the taller, scruffier of the two cocked his head as he looked her and Kyle over. "Well you found it." He said in a very American accent. He was tall and broad, his arms bulged slightly through the sleeves of his button down shirt. His jeans were faded and worn, so were the cowboy boots on his feet and the Standard Oil cap on his head. He slapped the other man on the back and then stepped up to Kyle and Joanna. "Franciso Morales." He extended his hand to Kyle and then Joanna, "Mucho gusto."

"Mucho gusto," She offered a small smile and was glad to see it returned.

"So you're the pilot?" Kyle asked, incredulous.

Franciso pulled his worn out cap off his head, ran his hand through his shaggy hair and placed it down again, "Umm, yeah."

"And you're American?"

The other man scoffed, short and silent, "Yeah, for the most part anyway. If you're ready to go, I am." He glanced over his shoulder to the plane.

"Great," Kyle interjected before Jo got the chance, "Could you grab the bags?"

Franciso looked to Kyle, his head cocking to the side again as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of gum.

Joanna cringed, worried Kyle had offended their only ride to paradise.

His eyes jumped from Kyle to Jo and then back. When he smirked it was not in the pleasant friendly way it had been when they shook hands. "You bet."

After the pilot, Francisco, had grabbed their bags and took them to the plane Kyle pulled her aside. "I'm not sure how I feel about this hillbilly flying us anywhere."

Jo smacked his chest with the back of her hand, "Kyle." She glanced towards the pilot to see if he had heard, "He works for the resort. It's fine."

A shrill whistle interrupted them. "Angelica, vamanos!"

A leggy woman with perky breasts and a big smile came bouncing out of the charter hangar. 'Coming!" She giggled as she joined their little group, "Hello!" Her accent was thick and not from South America but Jo couldn't place it. "You must be the couple coming to the resort. I'm Angelica, I work their and I promise you are going to love it!"

For a brief moment Jo doubted that was true, but beside her Kyle was nodding enthusiastically.

~~~

The flight went perfectly well and Jo couldn't stop leaning to look out the small window at the jungle as it passed by beneath them in a blur of green and random villages on their way to the remote section of coast where the resort resided. At some point Francisco must have noticed her excessive staring, "Este es la tierra de los dios, no?'

Jo glanced back at him, seeing him watching her over the rims of his dark aviators and under the bill of his cap. She couldn't help but smile, "Verdad. Es... es increible. No tengo los palabras."

Francisco nodded. "Verdad." He smiled and turned back to the windscreen. everyone remained silent the rest of the flight.

~~~

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." It was all Joanna could say upon setting eyes on the bungalow that would be theirs for the next week. The beach under her feet, the sea in front of her, jungle behind her and a bright blue sky above her. She was in paradise. Truly.

"I know right." Kyle dropped the bags by the door and joined her outside. "It's perfect." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned back into him. "This is perfect."

~~~

The first thing Joanna did was put on her bikini and a pair of shorts, grabbed her camera, and headed for the beach. For a change it wasn't model wannabes, actor hopefuls, suburban families or Instagram influencers in front of her lens. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken pictures just for the enjoyment of it. It was the most amazing feeling. Without even thinking about it she spent the whole afternoon wandering the beach and the resort snapping pictures. The ocean, the jungle, the mountains, young couples playing in the surf and lovers cuddled in the shade.

Joanna hadn't realized how late it was until she came back to the bungalow to find Kyle dressed for dinner in pastel shorts and a linen shirt. "Was beginning to wonder if you got lost or something. Got out of the shouer and you were gone."

"Sorry." She shrugged out of her camera strap, "Wanna see what I found?" Jo clicked some buttons on her camera and turned it so Kyle could see the screen.

"I made reservations at the restaurant for us tonight. Why don't you go get ready."

~~~

Dinner had been amazing and when the restaurant served drinks and desert a band had started playing. Couples all around them were attempting their best Tangos or Cumbias but Joanna was worried about Kyle. He had been off ever since Bogota and she worried her wandering off hadn't helped matters.

Just when she was about to ask him he took a sip of his cocktail and cleared his throat. "Joanna." He leaned forward, "Do you know what tonight is?" He took her blank stare as a no, "This is our anniversary. Well unofficially at least, it's the anniversary of the day we first met. Three years ago."

Realization hit her, "Oh, the cab! We fought over a cab and I called you an asshole." She chuckled.

"It's okay, it was worth it. All part of the journey." He stared at her, clear blue eyes glinting in the candles and tiki torches.

Joanna smiled, unsure of what to say. Instead she just stared at his handsome face. Then out of nowhere he was kneeling in front of her, staring at her, his hand reaching into his pocket as the diners around them all collectively began to notice, and look their way.

"Joanna..." He looked as if he was considering his words carefully, hoping to be long and eloquent but found nothing, "Will you marry me?"

Awestruck Jo blinked at him, heart in her throat and forgetting to breath. Now she was the one at a loss for words. So, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him while the rest of the diners applauded and cheered.

---

Chapter Two/Day Two - Read Here!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier #pedro pascal

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #425

“evolution repressed by our backwards contest / breeding our torrential demise as we come to this edge”

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? I think Nutella is a godsend, but I use peanut butter waaaaay more often. We don't even really buy Nutella because I will destroy the jar. Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Baked. What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? Kathryn. I think. Do you like breadsticks? I just like bread, man. What are your favorite things to spend money on? Tattoos, uuuuugggghhhhh <3 Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Neither, really. Most puppies drive me insane (even though they're cute as everliving fuck), and I don't want another cat. Mom actually talked about getting another, but I really just want my one boy. Roman would get SO jealous, anyway. I enjoy just having my baby. How old will you be on your next birthday? 26. Yikes. Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? As "the fat one," I can be sometimes. I would say though that more often than not, it's sort of whatever to me because I'm a human that has to eat. When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I thought I slept way later than I actually did. What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My stuffed meerkat Rebel. Jason got it for me for my first birthday that we were together. Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? Never again. I was once able to think "agree to disagree," but sometimes by doing so, you're siding with evil by not enforcing what is more than just a belief. It should come with being a human. Also given my own sexuality, it would be a slap in the face to me. Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? Hell no. I'd date one though, if they were modest about their position. Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Wow, no. Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Quite frankly, nowadays, my appearance. I need it. My self-confidence is so far below "shit." Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? Nope. You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? Hm. I know I talk about it a lot, but it would still probably be a 40 gallon terrarium for Venus. She needs - and deserves - it. Honestly, have you ever danced naked? NOOOOOOOO. What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? Downloaded music. My mom eventually found out, but didn't care much. What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Google. Do you like to write poetry? I do, but I haven't done it in a while. :/ Are your ears pierced? Yes. If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? Piercing gun. Which, by the way, do not do. There are many more risks with a piercing gun versus a needle by a professional. Do you wear makeup regularly? I never do. Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? No. I've been on a bagel kick lately. When was the last time you tripped over something? Last night, actually. The rug in the living room was slightly turned up, and I tripped in the dark. I didn't actually fall, thankfully. Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I'm diagnosed with OCD. I experience more ruminations and intrusive thoughts more than obsessive behaviors, though. Who was the last person you yelled at? Probably Mom. Why did you yell at them? I don't remember. Favorite type of apple? I like pink lady apples. I really enjoy any, so long as they're crisp. Ever seen live horse racing? No. To be totally honest, I don't really like the concept of it. Motivating a horse to run by hurting it doesn't exactly seem moral... How about live greyhound racing? No. What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The Internet, haha. Have you ever touched a giraffe? No. What does your mom call you? Britt. What stresses you out the most in life? I really don't think I could pick a top one. There are so many. Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Yeah. Y'all probably know WoW is my favorite. If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? I used to be able to slam out Expert easily with only very few songs I had to play on Hard, but now it's been YEARS. I've played less than once in a blue moon, and my skill's definitely faded some. It really depends on the song. What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? He couldn't handle my depression anymore. What’s your favorite country song? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw, probably. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Fail to communicate what he was feeling with me and then make a dashing break for it very, very abruptly after three and a half years. It put me past a state of shock, but trauma with how no less than obsessed I was with him. What were you for Halloween last year? I didn't dress up. :/ I wish I had the money and motivation alike to. Are you feeling guilty for something? I always will. Are you usually quiet or loud? Quiet. How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? Like... uh... all of them, oof. What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? Meerkat Manor. Do your siblings text you? Not really. Do you want a small or big wedding? Small. Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Not the house I currently live in, but I have before. Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don't know. Ever kissed someone who smokes? No. Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Frankly, no. Do you own your own computer? This laptop, anyway. Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? Yes, with my younger sister as a kid and pre-teen. What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? I hear the video I'm watching, as well as my fan. Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yes. What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? Nothing. Not like that's a surprise. What do you typically order from Wendy’s? Son of the Baconator. @_@ Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No. Those are so awkward to me. What do you love most about yourself? I don't know these days. Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? No. What are you doing right now? This survey and re-watching John Wolfe play Outlast 2. What’s bothering you right now? I'm immensely nervous about tomorrow. I have my first (and I pray the fuck to God not only) session with my new personal trainer then, and I'm terrified by how my body and my mental fortitude is going to react. Y'all have no fucking idea JUST how out of shape I am, and the muscles in my legs seem basically non-existent by now. I have to do something about my health, though, and I'm determined to make this shit work. More than determined. I know the first day is going to be hard, but I need to do this more than I can explain. What was the last thing you drank? ... What great fucking timing, I have a can of Mountain Dew, lol... That's another thing that needs to change. I've gotta stop the emotional and boredom-eating and chill the fuck out with soda. Be honest, do you like people in general? Quite frankly, no. There are plenty of people I love and think are amazing, of course, but I think I lean towards humanity being too shitty to like "in general." Do you want your tongue pierced? I miss my snake eyes. :/ That was suuuuch a cute piercing. I just had to take it out for the safety of my teeth. I kept accidentally clamping down on one of the balls when eating, and it would cause tiny fractures. Do you change your phone background a lot? No. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? It's not funny-sounding, no, I just think it's too manly for me to enjoy as part of my name. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Yes. Oddly enough, I don't remember what I OD'd on now... You'd think I would, given how extreme the situation was. It was some cold medicine. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I absolutely do. It's extremely insensitive to people like myself who legitimately suffer - and I do mean "suffer" - from the disorder. Describe your day so far in three words: Dull. Lazy. Anxious. What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? Probably my senior project and the presentation I had to do for it. I taught about the fallacies and misconceptions of snakes, and I made a PowerPoint and some drawings to color and crosswords for the special ed children. I was so, so very nervous, but I got through it fine and the kids seemed to enjoy it. I actually still have the recording. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: MILKY WAY. FUCK I love those. Have you ever stepped in dog poop? UGH yes. What was the last thing you spent money on? My niece's birthday present. Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I almost said "yes," but then I realized he doesn't know me at all anymore. I've changed so much, hopefully mostly for the better. He hasn't "known" me in many years. Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? It's terrifying to imagine my life without Mom; Sara, too. Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? I prefer no coffee. Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? Nah. Do you enjoy being outdoors? If it's cool outside and I have somewhere to sit that's not the ground, yes. Do people tell you that you have an accent? Sometimes. Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? They're pretty, but I don't support their usage by this point in my life. They're a fire hazard, triggering to some vets with PTSD, and beyond terrifying for animals. What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I get most heated about child molestation. You do not fucking touch a child like that. I don't even write any of my bajillion evil guys committing it in RP because I just can't stomach it. Even when my little sister (a children's social worker) is telling Mom about some stuff she sees at work, I have to not be present, 'cuz that shit isn't rare. It's nauseating. Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? A good number of people, honestly. Do you enjoy tanning? Hell no, I avoid the sun and heat at like all costs. Are you a virgin? This is going to sound weird, but I actually don't know, but I lean towards no. Who’s your celebrity crush? mARK EDWARD FISCHFUCK Did or do you get good grades in English class? I was always excellent in English. What part of your body are you self-conscious about? My stomach. But I'm self-conscious about everything else, too. Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? No. Everyone knows I can't cook worth a damn. Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Truly close, no. Unless you include pets, actually. Then a few. :/ Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yep. When was the last time you got a shot? Earlier this year for Covid. Get your fucking vaccine, btw. :^)

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''altaer" by 3teeth

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lunarsaga · 4 years ago

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EPISODE 2: Angel Among Demons

HOLY SHIT THIS BITCH IS LONG, HAVE FUN Y'ALL~ a very quick note, I wanted to work in more of Luna being bilingual, so when you see [text in brackets like this] that means that she's speaking in english. (This will only happen in her perspective—no one save Kagome will know what she's saying.)

ENJOY!!!

================================

“Luna, please tell me again why you have to go off on your own.” Kagome set her hands on her hips.

Luna sighed as she slung her shotgun holster over her shoulder and held up her sheathed short sword. “Technically I don’t have to. But if you all are stopping to rest, go ahead and rest. I’m just needing some practice with my sword—it’s been a while since I’ve even held a katana.”

“Shouldn’t you save your energy as well?” Miroku asked her. “We have quite a journey ahead of us, it seems.”

Luna shook her head. “I’m too restless to sit around right now. Besides, if we’re headed toward a fight, you’re gonna want me at the top of my game.”

“Just stay close, okay?” Kagome pleaded. “I can sense a demonic aura somewhere in the area.”

Luna tucked her sword into a belt loop on her jeans, offering her sister a little finger gun. “That is what the shotgun’s for, little sis. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

As it turns out, she wasn’t… wrong. But that didn’t mean her little solo workout wouldn’t be entirely uneventful.

She walked a little ways away from where the group was, taking a second to appreciate the surrounding nature. Even back where her dad’s place was—in upstate New York—the forests weren’t quite like this. Not only was the scenery beautiful, but the air was about ten times clearer than she was used to. Truly beautiful.

She found a nice little spot among the trees: a little clearing, mostly clear of rocks or anything she could trip or fall on, and no grass or mud to slip on while she was moving around, just dry dirt. There was a little sapling, just big enough to be a practice dummy while she worked on her form. She dropped her gun out of the way, and shucked off the flannel shirt she was wearing. With that tied around her waist, she was left in just a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.

“Alright girl,” She said, repeating words that had been said to her so many times over the years: “Let’s get to work.”

She wasn’t afraid to admit that she’d gotten rusty. In her era, she only really ever needed her modern weapons; the only reason she even had a Katana was because the rare occasion called for it. Well, this was certainly a situation that called for it.

“Sorry, tree,” she chuckled to herself, “but you’re young, you’ll heal. Life, uh...” She drew her sword, twirling it in a figure eight around her body. “...finds a way.”

It was easy for her to get lost in her training. This often happened when she did repetitive drills or workouts: the movements came rather naturally, so she could zone out and lose herself in it. It might’ve been an hour, could’ve been more than two; she wasn’t sure.

“Fighting with a katana isn’t like what you see in the movies.” That was the first thing her father had taught her when he’d given her this sword—almost ten years prior. “It’s all about moving your feet.”

She sliced an arc through the air, envisioning her sapling opponent swinging a sword as well.

“Strike fast, and dodge faster.”

As the imaginary blade “swung” her way, she ducked the blow, feet sliding across the dirt. She paused for a second, hand extended in front of her and sword raised above her head, parallel to the ground. She smirked, steadying her breathing. She remembered being thirteen and how it felt to actually wield this sword for the first time...

“You and your sister are special,” her father had told her, “you can learn to see with your other senses.”

As a young teen, she’d laughed at that. “Like using the Force? Like a Jedi?”

“Just like that.”

The Jedi thing seemed like a joke at the time. But as she grew older, she learned it was more serious than she could have ever guessed.

“Everything gives off an energy called an Aura. The more powerful something is, the easier it is to sense.”

Before she could swing again, she froze. Speaking of auras, she was picking up on a rather strong one—and it was headed in her direction. She heard no sound—other than the wind rustling through the trees and the occasional call of an animal in the distance—but this strong sense of foreboding was unmistakable. Her ears were burning, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as a chill ran down her spine.

A demon, no doubt. And a powerful one at that.

“It’s not enough to sense its presence. Focus. Close your eyes. Where is it coming from?”

Right… over… There!

Without even looking, she whirled and flung her sword directly at the source of the demonic aura. The blade struck something—she heard the thunk—but she didn’t wait to look. She immediately dove for her shotgun, tossed the holster, and caught herself in a roll. She was solidly crouched on her knees and the balls of her feet, with the gun cocked before she looked up at the demon she’d chucked her blade at.

“Thought you could sneak up on me, huh?” She snorted. Then, she actually took in the sight of him.

First of all, her blade hadn’t even come close to hitting him. It was currently embedded in a tree trunk—just barely, it looked like it could fall at any second— about six or seven feet from where the actual demon was standing.

The first thing she noticed about him was the sheer amount of white on his person. Pristine white linen kimono, hakama of the same fabric cinched around his ankles, an enormous (and fluffy-looking) pelt of fur over his shoulder, and silvery-white hair cascading down his back. On top of all that, he wore armor that Luna supposed was meant to be intimidating— but to her, it just looked ridiculous.

And his face. He was positively gorgeous, which was incredibly confusing given that the feeling of dread she was getting from his aura hadn’t gone away. His eyes were a striking shade of gold—but cold as a polar ice cap. He had markings on his face—two magenta on each cheek, and an indigo crescent moon on his forehead.

“You’re in my way,” he said. Even his voice was cold, albeit resonant. “Move.”

For a second, Luna forgot she had a voice. Silent as her lips were, her mind was racing, trying to do the math: What the actual fuck— why is he so pretty? He’s a demon! Demons ain’t usually this damn pretty! Who the fuck gave him permission to look like that— it’s a Tuesday for fuck’s sake!

Almost a solid thirty seconds had gone by, and Luna realized she still hadn’t said anything. Oh, fuck, okay, stop just fuckin’ staring at him and say something, you idiot— so, of course, the most intelligent thing that she could say at that moment was: “...huh?”

Those frigid, golden eyes sparked just the tiniest bit of annoyance. “I said move.”

Her grip on her gun loosened just the tiniest bit, and she straightened up just a little. After a small glance around the enormous forest surrounding them, she made an amused face at him. “What? Dude, there’s a whole forest, just go around me.”

She uncocked her shotgun, stretching her legs to stand up.

“You have quite the audacious nerve for a human.” And he sounded none too happy about that. “Get out of my way.”

Luna sighed, “And you seem to like repeating yourself. I’m doin’ something here, so unless you feel like getting your demonic energy purified today, I’d suggest you take abouuut...” she pursed her lips, pretending to judge the distance with her pointer finger. “Five? Six steps to the right? It won’t be that hard on you, I promise. No one will think less of you.”

Now she was just being facetious, which was more than likely going to cause problems for her in the future—knowing how demons tended to be—but she had absolute faith in her weapon and her own skill. With an aura as strong as his, it wasn’t likely that her sacred salt rounds would do more than wound him, but sometimes that was at least enough to scare off some spirits.

When he didn’t respond, she figured he was just going to swallow his pride and take her advice. She was about to set her shotgun down and go back to practicing, but the Bad Feeling roiling in her gut got worse. It wasn’t just the buzz of a demonic aura anymore, the energy started crackling with even more malice, and she swore there was a sickly smell in the air for a split second before she felt it pop.

Her instincts screamed at her to move, so she spun to the side, almost as if her body moved on its own. What looked like a whip made of pure green light zipped close enough to her that she felt the heat on her cheek. When it didn’t stop, neither did she; she jumped back and nearly fell over backwards trying to bend out of the way of the second snap of the whip. This time, she didn’t hesitate to cock her gun and fire.

The air was still for a second as the shot rang in her ears, tension crackling and fizzling out like the tails of fireworks. When Luna regained her balance, she aimed and pumped again to ready the second shell. No distraction this time, she was aiming straight for his face.

She expected him to be at least a little startled—hell, she could see she’d blasted the end of his sleeve off, and there was a surface burn on his hand from the Sacred Salt packed into her ammunition. His claws were still bared, still glowing green from where he’d lashed at her. What was frustrating, was that he didn’t seem like he was more than mildly perturbed.

“...how did you do that?”

She growled at him: “Sacred Salt, you wanna see it up close? Try me again, fucker.”

“Vulgar.” His voice was flat, but he did finally move… but not to walk around her. He stepped forward like he was trying to inspect her. “You are a priestess, I assume.”

“Nah, I ain’t that pretty and nice,” Luna said, keeping her stance and line of fire. “Call me a Demon Slayer, or a witch if you like. Names don’t matter, the end result will be the same.”

He’d moved to point-blank range, but that horrible feeling in her gut had only grown stronger—her instincts were telling her to run the fuck away, but logic told her the point was moot. She only had one shell left, and the first hadn’t amounted to more than a scrape on him. Even at this range, she’d never do much more than scratch him.

“Whatever name you take matters not to me,” He continued, “regardless. You are still human. And as such you are no match for my power. I will give you one more chance to get out of my way, or you will die.”

There was another tense moment of silence. Luna could feel her heart beating from her ears, to her toes, to the tip of her trigger finger. Resolute as she was—and as much as she so desperately wanted to wipe that calm, detached look off this proud asshole’s face—she knew she wasn’t making it out of here alive if she didn’t stand down. And it’d be kind of a lame-ass thing to say when she got to the afterlife: “How did I die? Oh, I refused to back down from a standoff with a super-powerful demon because I didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction of telling me what to do.”

“Fine.” She huffed, uncocking her gun and stepping out of the way. She sneered at him as she rested the gun on her shoulder. “But not because you told me to. I’m gonna be late for dinner if I don’t head back.”

The air was still thick with tension as she went to grab her sword. She didn’t look back at him, but she was hyper aware of his presence. Thankfully, this time, there was no climactic snapping of the tense energy; as she pulled her sword from the tree trunk, she felt his aura receding. When it was far enough away, she heaved a sigh of relief and let her shoulders relax.

“One of these days, girl, your pride is gonna get your ass killed!”

Luna rolled her eyes as she went back to collect her holster and her katana’s sheath. “I know, Alice,” she muttered to herself.

~ ~ ~

This was why Rin didn’t like humans.

She had only been minding her own business! She needed to eat, so she’d been foraging through the forest like she always did. She didn’t realize that she’d wandered so far away from Master Jaken and Ah-Un until she looked up, arms full of foraging spoils, and realized she had no idea where she was.

She tried to retrace her steps, calling out for Master Jaken and Lord Sesshomaru every once in a while, but it didn’t help. She remembered passing by a human village before, but she made a mistake in trying to use that as a way of finding her way back to where they had stopped. Because when she passed the village, she was confronted by some men that lived there.

“You’re the one we saw earlier, with those demons!” One of them said, “Child, you should not be living among them!”

Oh no. Rin began to back away from them, but they only drew closer. One of them cut off the path she was walking on.

The one closest to her was looming over her. “You should come with us. Demons are dangerous, you could be killed or eaten!”

“No, I won’t!” Rin said. She might’ve been trembling, but she was firm. “I won’t go with you, and I’m fine on my own!”

“Don’t be silly, you’re far too young!”

“Where are your parents?”

“If you tell us, perhaps we can help you return to them.”

“I don’t need your help.” Rin kept backing away, hoping to put enough distance between herself and the men. She clutched the little bundle of food closer to her and prepared to run. “Leave me alone!” Valiant as her attempt to escape was, it was still in vain. The one closest to her grabbed her arm, and she accidentally dropped her food. She tried to struggle away from him, but his grip was too tight.

“Let me go!” She yelled, tears pricking her eyes.

“You should be living with your own kind, girl!” the villager said, “You belong with humans!”

“OI.”

That was a new voice. Rin stopped pulling, and the villagers all turned their focus to the newcomer: it was a woman—human, as she appeared to be. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was dressed strangely; black garb, and skin-tight like a ninja’s. She had something that looked like a very short, strangely-patterned kimono tied around her waist. In her hand was a short katana, and she carried what Rin thought looked like one of those matchlock guns on her back.

A samurai? Rin guessed. If she was, she was dressed really strangely. No armor, either? Maybe she really was a ninja.

The woman’s hazel-brown eyes narrowed at the village men. “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” She held her hand out, gesturing to Rin. “Let the girl go, or we’re gonna have issues.”

What an odd accent. Rin looked up at the man, hoping he’d listen and let her go. No such luck yet.

“This doesn’t concern you, woman,” the man said. Rin could swear she saw a twinge of anger in the woman’s face when he called her that.

“This child was residing with demons!” One of the others joined in.

The woman arched an eyebrow. “So what? You her father?”

“No—”

“Uncle?”

“....no.”

“Caretaker?”

“No.”

“Then it ain’t much of your business either, now is it?” The woman crossed her arms, leveling a stare that could mow down a forest. In an instant, her expression changed as she shifted her eyes to Rin and gestured with her sword. “C’mere, honey.”

The man holding her wrist looked like he wanted to object, but Rin took the opportunity to rip her arm free and run away from him. She did not like humans, not in the very least. Humans were horrible, and these men were no different. But this woman—her eyes were soft, and she squatted down to Rin’s height when she stood next to her, her posture non-threatening.

“Did they hurt you?” She asked gently.

Rin stared at her a second, folded in on herself. “...No…”

“You know these guys? Are they from your village?”

Rin shook her head. “I don’t have a village…”

The woman nodded, processing that before asking: “You have someone taking care of you, sweetie?”

Cautious, Rin paused a second. It seemed this woman wanted to help her—but… she was still a human. Rin didn’t trust humans. There might’ve been something about her that was different. This close, Rin could see her eyes better: they weren’t just hazel brown, they just looked like that from far away. Most of the color was a cool brown, but right around her pupils, she had flecks of gold that took the shape of crescent moons.

Was she really a human with eyes like that? Lord Sesshomaru had golden eyes… and the crescent moon on his forehead! Perhaps she wasn’t a human after all—or she wasn’t a full human, at least. That settled it; she was definitely more trustworthy than most humans.

Rin smiled a little as she answered her: “Yes… I have Master Jaken and Lord Sesshomaru.”

Her savior nodded and smiled, then she stood to face the village men again, blocking them from Rin. “Alright, you all can head home. This girl is obviously spoken for.”

“By demons!”

“Are you mad?!” the one that grabbed her demanded. “She is in danger!”

“Probably,” the woman said. “But look at her. She’s unhurt, she’s obviously able to feed herself, and the only ones I see endangering her is you three. So scram.”

“How dare you talk back!”

Rin flinched as the leader reached out and smacked the woman across the face. She started shaking again, but this time it was from anger. “You can’t hit a girl like that!”

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” The woman’s voice was low. She cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and untied her odd kimono from around her waist. She turned around, set her weapons down, and held out the kimono. “Hold this for me?”

Confused, Rin nodded and took the garment, surprised at the soft, warm fabric. She watched as the woman turned back to the villagers once again.

“Alright, boys,” she said, cracking her knuckles as well. “Just remember… you hit first.”

The leader had no chance to figure out what she meant before she swung back and punched him square in the nose (Rin tried not to laugh). The other two shouted and lunged at her, but she kicked one in the side of his knee and smacked the other in the face with her elbow. When the first one went down, the second came back and tried to grab her, but she flipped him over her shoulder as easily as if she were lifting a sack of beans. The leader had fallen to his knees, cradling his bleeding nose. The woman stood before him, crossing her arms.

“Hope you’ve learned to leave young girls alone,” She said flatly, “If you haven’t, I’ll be back.” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to Rin, her face softening again. “Sorry you had to see that, honey.”

Rin shook her head, blinking wide eyes up at her as she held out the kimono. “...Are you a ninja?”

She laughed. “What? No, no, not a ninja. Just good at fighting. Thanks for holding my shirt for me.”

Shirt? Was that what that was called? This person was incredibly odd, but still; Rin was very grateful for her. She went to go gather her food up again, as the woman tied her “shirt” back around her waist and picked her weapons back up.

“Now,” she said, holding her hand out for Rin to take, “let’s get you back to your people.”

Rin happily took the outstretched hand. “Okay!”

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“I’m Rin!”

“Nice to meet ya, Rin. My name’s Luna.”

~ ~ ~

“Rin! Where on earth have you been?!”

Well, that was the shrillest voice Luna had ever heard. And it came from—what the fuck was that?!

“Master Jaken!”

...well. Sure, when she’d heard this little kid was “residing among demons” from those limp-dick douchebags from the neighboring village, she didn’t expect to be returning her to someone who looked like your average human. But when Rin mentioned she recognized where they were, she definitely didn’t expect to be greeted with the sight of a little demon that looked like Kermit The Frog’s ugly step-cousin.

And yet, Rin spoke to him like he was an uncle. “Sorry, Master Jaken! I went to find something to eat, and I almost got taken by humans from that village!”

“WHAT?!” The little demon shrieked.

“No, it’s okay! Miss Luna helped me!” Rin turned back to look at her with a wide grin on her face, and Luna gave a little three-fingered wave.

“Yo.”

“I thought she was human at first,” Rin went on, “but now I think she might be a demon!”

Luna laughed at that. “What?”

“You foolish girl!” “Master Jaken” chastised her, “That’s no demon!”

Rin looked confused. “Huh? But… she has gold in her eyes, just like Lord Sesshomaru!”

Gods above, this kid was adorable. Luna shook her head, smiling fondly. “I promise, I’m not a demon.” When Rin looked disappointed, she added: “But I promise, I’m not like those guys that tried to take you. I’m one of the good ones.”

She was snapped out of her good mood by a familiar feeling. A demonic aura, another strong one. With her focus on the adorable kid—and the little demon and the horse (dragon?)-looking demon so close—she hadn’t noticed it until she felt it directly behind her. Her grip on her sword tightened, and she hazarded a look over her shoulder. And who should be standing there, but the pompous asshole she’d run into earlier.

Startled, she practically launched herself into the air, shouting: “[JESUS FUCK!]” in English. She didn’t dare draw either of her weapons, just stood out of the way so she wouldn’t be killed.

“Lord Sesshomaru!” Rin greeted him happily.

What the fuck. “[Y… you’re—]” she stopped herself, trying to get her brain to go back to the right language. “[God damnit], you’re her Lord Sesshomaru?!”

“Lord Sesshomaru”, of course, didn’t answer. He just glared at her, likely planning how he was going to murder her. “Rin. Who is this woman.” It wasn’t a question, and those disdainful golden eyes never left Luna.

“This is Miss Luna!” Rin answered. “I was just telling Master Jaken: she saved me from these terrible villagers that were trying to take me away!”

Luna held up her hands defensively, never breaking eye contact with the demon. “Didn’t know she was with you. I just wanted to help her.”

Sesshomaru was silent for a moment, but his glare disappeared and his expression returned to indifference. Luna gave him a nod, a silent (yet contemptfully begrudging) sign of submission. Without another word on the subject, the demon passed her by.

“We’re leaving.” He said to the other two.

Luna made a face at him behind his back, then shook her head. Fuck, this guy pissed her off to no end, and she’d only known him for a little over an hour. The little girl, however, caused her to smile again, and Luna waved goodbye as she turned to leave.

“[What an asshole.]” She muttered, once again in English.

~ ~ ~

Luna had to admit, watching Inuyasha choke on his instant noodles was pretty hilarious. “You did WHAT?!”

“Yeah, this demon lord guy,” Luna said, waving her chopsticks around as she spoke. “Colossal dickhead. I had no idea that this little girl was his—well, not his, but— [dammit, what’s the word for it again…?]”

Kagome pressed her hands together, looking like she was about to burst a blood vessel. “Luna. Do you remember when I told you about Inuyasha’s older brother?”

“Kinda?” Luna said, slurping up more noodles. “Somethin’ about the swords, right? Inuyasha sliced off his arm?”

“Yes. You remember what his name was?”

“Uh…” Luna trailed off.

“Sesshomaru.” Kagome deadpanned.

“What’s this got to do with that assh—” It clicked, and Luna swore her eyes nearly came popping out of her head. “Wait— THAT was the older brother?!”

“Yes! I told you about him, Luna!”

“[Son of a BITCH, Kags!]” Dammit, she had to get better about that. “You know I’m shit with names!”

There was also, of course, the fact Kagome hadn't mentioned that he was fucking gorgeous, but there was no way in hell Luna was gonna say that out loud now.

Sango looked a little worried. “It doesn’t bode well that you just ran into him randomly.”

“Well, it’s not entirely impossible,” Miroku said, “he is searching for Naraku, just like we are. Unfortunately, that means our paths are likely to cross at some point.”

“What’s amazing is that you came out of it alive!” Shippo said to Luna. “He’s crazy powerful, and none too friendly at that.”

“I refuse to believe you just dodged his poison whip like that,” Inuyasha snorted. “He’s way too fast. You woulda been dead meat right then and there.”

“Maybe I’m just faster than you~” Luna teased him.

“You are not, ya damned liar!”

“Or maybe it’s cos I’m stronger—I am taller than you.”

“COME AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE!”

“Guys, not over the food!”

#the lunar saga #inuyasha #inuyasha fanart #inuyasha oc #inuyasha au #fanfic #sesshomaru #rin #kagome higurashi #sango #miroku #shippo

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