#( XVIII - THE MOON;; out of character. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rollingsins · 2 years ago

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all hers, part i

summary: “I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” Tara says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.” ghostface!tara

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, possessive behavior, vaginal sex, murder of an OC character), smut.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: for anon, who requested some smutty, possessive ghostface!tara. very, very fun to write, let me know if you want me to write some more ;)

Four murders in seven days.

It was a nightmare. You’d heard the stories, sure. Seen the movies. But you’d never thought it would actually happen to you.

That’s what you got for transferring to Woodsboro of all places.

Your phone buzzes as you finish locking the remaining doors. It’s Tara. You smile instinctively as her name flashes across your screen.

where are you? still coming over?

You look outside. It’s dark already, and the thought of leaving the house when there’s a lunatic running around scares the shit out of you.

not tonight sorry, baby. lost track of time. don’t want to leave Chase here by himself.

You contemplate asking her over. Her sister is in town, and you’d been trying to give them some space to reconnect. Sam was with her, you assured yourself. Besides, the last thing you wanted was her leaving the safety of her home and getting attacked.

“YN! Popcorn ready?”

You drop your phone to the counter, check on the popcorn in the microwave.

Chase had been your first friend at Woodsboro High, before you’d met anyone else, even Tara. Since you’d started dating her, you hadn’t seen him much. He’d asked you over tonight - your parents were out and he didn’t want you on your own. He’d had a hankering, in somewhat bad taste, to marathon the Stab movies.

It was nice being with Chase again, even under such terrifying circumstances.

You tell him so.

“You know why that is, right?” He laughs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Your girlfriend hates me.”

You roll your eyes.

“She does not.”

“Does too. Every time I see her she gives me these eyes.”

He squints, twists his face into an angry glare.

“Like she wants to kill me.”

“You’re imagining it.” You tell him.

Throw a kernel of popcorn at him.

“Uh huh.” He says, turning his gaze back to the movie, “Sure.”

Talking about Tara had always been weird with him. He’d had a thing for you, back in the day, when you’d first met. He’d even asked you out once. But you already had your sights set on Tara and nothing could deter you. He’d taken it well-ish. So you’d thought.

“How are things going with her, anyway?” His voice casual. You look over.

“Good.” You say. “Great. Why do you ask?”

He doesn’t look away from the TV. Shrugs, but it’s tense. Like he’s trying to appear more non-committal. You suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“Just wondering.”

The movie plays a little, you let awkward silence wash over the room. Peer down at your phone. No response from Tara. Maybe you should have gone to her house after all.

“I-” He says suddenly, then stops. Purses his lips.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” He says. “Nevermind.”

You stare.

“What, Chase?”

“I just get a weird vibe from her sometimes. That’s all.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“You don’t know her.” You say, instantly defensive. “There’s no vibe. She’s perfect. She’s the perfect girlfriend.”

And she was. She picked you up everyday at 8am on the dot to drive you to school. She walked you to class, held your books for you. Showered you with affection.

“She’s possessive.” Chase says. He’s looking at you now. Words spilling out of him like they’ve been pent up for a while. “You just don’t see it because you’re all moon-eyed for her. It’s not normal. It’s like you're her special toy and nobody else can play with you.”

“Stop.” You say.

“She’s isolated you from all your friends.” He continues. “You used to play soccer, remember? What happened to that? What about dance? All the things you used to love. You don’t do them anymore. Your whole world revolves around her.”

You stand up. A lump rises in the back of your throat. You’d come here to watch movies with an old friend, not have him berate you about your relationship.

“That isn’t true.” You say, “With school, I just don’t have time for those things anymore-”

“Because when you’re not in school, you’re with her.” He presses. “And she wants you with her all the time. Like I said, possessive.”

“Great to know how you really feel.” You say. Grab your phone.

“Sorry, YN. The truth hurts.” He slumps back into his seat, stares at the TV again. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” You mumble.

You open your phone when you reach the bathroom, go straight to Tara’s contact.

She’s opened your message, but hasn’t replied.

“Great.” You say aloud. Your perfect girlfriend has left you on read.

You contemplate calling her, asking her to come get you. No. You chew on your bottom lip. You could just leave, chance an encounter with ghost-face. You decide against it. You’re annoyed with Chase, but not that annoyed.

You wash your hands. Head back downstairs. Flick Tara another message.

You’re not mad, are you? Love you. Wish I was with you instead. xx

Chase hasn’t moved. He looks up when you enter, looking a little sheepish.

“YN-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You say. Sink into the sofa, as far from him as possible. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

And you do. Forty minutes of cheesy dialogue and bad acting and not a word from Chase. You like it that way. You keep glancing at your phone, waiting for your girlfriend’s response. But nothing.

The movie’s over. You can hear the credits rolling, but your eyes are drooping. Half gone. Your phone long abandoned, Tara’s reply nowhere to be found. You’re dreaming of Hawaii in the summer. Pina colada in hand. Tara dressed in a bikini, waist deep in the water. Kissing her in the sand, not a care in the world.

Then you hear the crash.

Your eyes jerk open. You sit up. Startled. You look around the room. The TV has shut itself off. Chase is nowhere to be found. There are noises coming from the foyer. Your heart beats, fast. You look wildly around the room. You want something to defend yourself with.

You settle on a small wooden zebra. Some useless ornament only Chase’s mom would decorate with. It’ll do.

You hear scuffling. More crashing. Then, Chase’s voice, shrill - scared.

“Please! Stop!”

Your ears ring. Terror rips through you as you make your way into the hallway, quietly as you can.

Chase is on the floor, writhing, both his hands wrapped around a curved, silver dagger.

Your stomach drops.

It’s Ghostface.

Your bottom lip trembles. You want to run. Scream. Hide. All at once. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, transfixed.

Ghostface raises his arm, steady. Then slams his dagger straight down and through Chase’s chest. Chase cries out. Blood gurgles from his lips. Ghostface stabs him, twice, then three times. Crazed. Possessed.

Your body gives way. You let out a scream. Topple backwards into the hallway cabinet.

Glass smashes around you. Ghostface looks straight at you.

Your back hurts from the fall. You writhe desperately on the floor, trying to get up. The Zebra has slipped from your fingers. Tears tumble down your face.

In your peripheral, you see Ghostface abandon Chase. Head straight for you.

You cry out as he makes a grab at you.

“Stop.” His voice is contorted, unnatural. He’s using a voice-changer. That same awful voice from that dumb movie you’d just watched. You sob as his hands tighten around you.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t struggle.”

You flop out of his grip, kick up just in time to take the Zebra in your hands.

“I’m not here for you, stop-”

Your fingers tighten around the Zebra. You use all your force to smack it hard against Ghostface’s head. You hear him cry out. Fall back.

You’ve hit him hard. He clutches at his head as he falls back.

There’s a clang as his mask hits the ground.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your chest seizes painfully. The Zebra in your hand slips out of your grasp and hits the floor.

“Tara?”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes. You blink.

She swallows. Stands upright.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She says. The voice changer is gone. The sound of her voice makes you want to weep, “Don’t be scared.”

She edges towards you, slowly. As if you’re a baby rabbit that might startle at any moment. You see the gleam of her dagger in her hand. Still wet with blood.

“Tara.” You say again, voice trembling. You take a step back. Panic floods through you. How can this be happening?

“It’s me.” She assures. “You don’t have to be afraid. Look.” She holds out her hand, drops the dagger to the floor. It careens over the carpet. Stains it with blood.

She inches closer. You don’t realize just how close she is before she’s reaching out, tugging you into her open arms. Your body locks up. The shock, the panic, the lump at the back of your throat. Everything spills over. You blubber into her chest as she holds you tight.

“Shhh. It’s okay baby.” She comforts you, hands rubbing tight circles across your back. You want to push her off. You want to run. But you can't, you're frozen, all you can do is bawl. She tilts your head up to her. Rubs her nose against yours. She smells metallic. Like blood. She’s covered in it, you realize with a start.

You tremble.

“Don’t be scared.” She repeats. Strokes her fingers along your cheeks. “My pretty girl. I would never hurt you.”

Her eyes are wild. Pupils blown. No trace of your sweet, loving girlfriend. You don’t recognize the person in front of you. You want her off you. But you don’t dare push her away. She presses you into her. Over her shoulder, you see Chase’s lifeless body. His glassy eyes stare up at you.

“He’s dead.” You say. Tears leak like acid from your eyes. Tara holds you tighter.

“I know.” You feel her lips graze the side of your head. She presses a lingering kiss there. “I’m sorry you had to see, darling. I thought you were asleep.”

A whimper emerges from your lips. Tears fall hot and fast down your cheeks, your hands limp at your side as she holds you. Cradles you.

“Why?”

She pauses. You feel her tense.

“Because they wanted you. All of them. They wanted you, but I’d never let them have you. Because you’re mine.”

And it clicks. There had been four victims so far. The first was Dan and his brother Sam, both boys you’d known since elementary school. Both who’d had crushes on you.

Then there was Aaron, your first kiss. Then Sadie, your first girlfriend.

Your bottom lip trembles. They were all dead because of you.

Tears roll down your face. Your body starts to shake.

Tara shushes you, pulls back only slightly to wipe away your tears. She’s so tender, gentle, you almost forget the bloodied body you’d just watch her maim lying in the corner of the room.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl.” She presses her lips to your forehead. “Here. Look.”

She steps back momentarily. Shimmies out of her black robes. She’s wearing your old varsity soccer t-shirt underneath. Your sweatpants. The necklace you’d got her for your one year anniversary. She looks like herself again. Your Tara.

Your bottom lip trembles.

“See. It’s just me.”

It makes you cry even harder. How could this be real? You’d just watched as your sweet, gentle, loving girlfriend had driven a knife into someone.

Tara. How could it be Tara?

“I know, I know, baby. It’s okay.” Her arms are around you again. She holds you as you sob. Every instinct in you screams to run. To get away from this deranged psycho who just killed your best friend in front of you. But you can’t. She’s the only one you want to run to.

You press yourself into her, tears soaking through her shirt. She cradles you, you feel her lips ghost your forehead.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” She says, “I’m sorry, baby girl. I know it’s a shock.”

She holds you a while longer. Until your eyes are red and dry, nothing left to cry. Your heartbeat still hammering against your chest.

What do I do?, You think. Where do I go?

She was calm now, much calmer than you. But that could change in a heartbeat. If you ran, she’d chase you. Maybe even kill you too. That look in her eyes, black, terrifying. You hiccup against her.

What the fuck do I do?

She rubs your back. Draws away from you just enough to wipe the rest of your tears from your face. Lets her fingers linger on your cheeks.

“Come here.” She dips down before you can protest. Presses her lips to yours. You don’t resist. Electricity flows through your body. Your stomach flutters the way it always does when she kisses you. Your body wants her just as it always does. Guilt flushes through you. You draw back, hold her at arms length.

“I can’t.” You pull back, a fresh wave of tears rising. Your stomach turns. “I think I’m going to be sick”

Her hands grip your shoulders.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. Hey. Look at me.” She’s firm, suddenly. You look up at her through glistening eyes. She softens her voice again, brushes your hair out of your eyes.

“I’m going to clean this up.” Her head jerks to the body near the corner of the room. “Then I’m going to clean you up.” She strokes the side of your face. Scratches on your cheeks from the glass.

“And then I’m going to take you to bed and make love to you. Show you just how much I adore you. Alright? Will that make everything better, sweetheart?”

Revulsion rises in your stomach suddenly. Her hands on you feel heavy. Suffocating. Your cheeks flush hot with emotion.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me.” You say. You shake off her hands, take a step back.

The words startle you as much as they startle her. Hurt clouds her features for a moment. She tries to smooth it over, tilting her head.

“Baby. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do. I don’t want you near me. Not after what you’ve done.” You back up, pressing yourself against the wall. Part of you wants to make a grab for the dagger but she’s too close. Besides, what would you do with it anyway? You weren’t like her. You weren’t a killer.

Tara blinks. Her eyes fill with something you don’t recognize.

“You’re just confused.” Tara says, voice hollow. “I know it’s hard to get your head around-“

“Please. Go. Just go.”

You’re shaking. Tara stares. Her bottom lip twitches. You recognize what’s behind her eyes this time. Anger. Irritation.

“You want me to go? After all this. After everything I’ve done for you?” For the first time, her voice is trembling. She looks angry. Hurt. Confused.

“For me?” You ask. Your voice rises. “You killed my best friend for me?”

“For us.” She urges. “Don’t you see - there’s no distractions anymore. No one else. No one is going to take you from me.”

She’s moving closer again. You don’t want her near you. You eye the door, move before she can stop you.

“YN!”

You run. Blood rushing in your ears.

She calls your name again, but you don’t look back. The front door is locked, so you sprint for the back. You can’t think straight, can’t trust your own emotions. So you trust your instincts.

Run. Run. Run.

You reach the door, fumble with the handle. Your heart in your throat. You twist it madly, but it doesn’t budge.

“Come on!” You cry out. You twist again, but it’s too late.

You feel her hands on your waist as she grabs you.

You struggle against her, screaming. The sheer force knocks you both over. You scramble up, trying to stand but she’s too quick. Her hands wrap tight around your waist, pulling you back down to her. She grabs your wrists, holds them tight over your head as she climbs on top of you.

“Get off me!” You cry, but she doesn’t. Squeezes you down tighter.

Wild eyes stare down at you. Her eyes, usually the softest brown, are wide, saucer like. Her eyebrows knit together as she pleads.

“Please, baby, stop.” She begs. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

She’s smaller than you, but she’s so much stronger. She’s always been stronger than you. It used to be hot, the way she could hold you down with such little effort. Now, it terrifies you.

You try with all your might to push her off but she only grips tighter. A frustrated sob emerges from your lips. She presses you against the floor. You feel her lips on your forehead as she shushes you.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” She says, voice so tender you almost forget she has you trapped in a vice grip. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then let me go.” You wail. Your body goes limp. There’s no point in struggling. She’s too strong. “Please, Tara, just let me go.”

“I can’t do that, baby.” She says. Her voice soft, almost apologetic, “I love you.”

You whimper, pathetically. Your mind whirls, going a mile a minute. There’s no way out, you realize. She’s stronger than you. She’s faster than you. And she’s hopelessly and desperately in love with you. She’ll never let you go.

Your breathing evens out.

“I love you.” She says again, voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath is hot, against your mouth. You shudder. She presses her lips to your cheek. Nuzzles her nose into your neck.

“I love you.”

Her lips press into your neck. A hot jolt of energy sparks between your legs. Even now, after everything she’s done you can’t help but want her. You start to cry again.

She tilts herself up. Looks at you, really looks at you.

Gone is the manic, crazy killer who just chased you down a hallway and stuck a knife in your best friend. Her eyes are wide, that soft, sweet brown they always are.

There she is. Your first love. Your high school sweetheart. The girl who had taken your virginity. Tara. Your sweet girlfriend, Tara.

“I love you.” She whispers, a final time. Your heartbeat slows, steady. Your eyes flicker down to her lips. She notices.

She lingers above you only a moment, before she leans down and captures your lips.

Heat flushes to your cheeks. Butterflies erupt in your chest.

Warm, warm, warm.

Is all you feel.

You groan into her mouth. Confusion flashes through you once again.

“Stop.” You murmur against her lips. Soft. Half-hearted, like you don’t mean it. She pulls back.

“Stop?” She asks. Voice low. Like she knows what you’re going to say.

Your breath hitches. Her hands loosen their grip on your wrists. Her weight on top of you suddenly feels erotic.

“Don’t stop.” You whisper, and she claims your lips once again.

Your kisses build, feverish. Desperate. A mesh of lips and teeth and tongue. You loop your hands through her hair, pull her tight against you.

Her hands loop under your shirt, tug at your jeans. You pull hers off first, wanting her hot and naked against you, groaning at the heat of her skin against your own.

All thoughts of Chase are gone as you slip your hands into her underwear. She’s wet already, gasps as you circle her clit. You press warm kisses to her jaw.

She presses you back onto the floor. Tugs your underwear down your legs. Her fingers dip down to your heat.

“Tara.” You gasp. She nuzzles herself into your neck. Presses, wet, sloppy kisses down your jawline. Her fingers brush your clit before she sinks her fingers inside you.

She groans. Kisses you deep.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight. So wet.”

“Tara.” You gasp. Her fingers curl inside you, her thumb rubbing gently over your clit. She kisses you again. Works her fingers deeper into you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” She asks. Her voice is graveled, thick with want. You moan out as she hits just the right spot.

“You like that? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod, madly, clawing at her back, trying to pull her closer.

“I like it too, baby. It’s my favorite thing in the world. I’d do anything to be inside you.”

Her eyes are black, hazy, lust filled. You kiss her deeply.

“I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” She says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.”

You moan.

“Tell me.” She says, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, baby.” You gasp.

“That's right. All mine. Every inch of you.” She growls. Her hand movements are steady. Angry. Pounding into you. Your hips jerk with each thrust, your cheeks red.

“Nobody else is going to touch you. Not ever. I’m the only one who gets to do this.” She says. Her eyes are starting to blacken again, jealous at the thought of somebody else sinking inside you.

“No one else.” You pant. “I promise.”

She growls, takes a nipple in her mouth. Bites down hard. Her fingers drive into your pussy.

You moan her name. It relaxes her a little. She slows her pace, dipping down to kiss down your stomach. She nuzzles against your thigh, lovingly.

“Who can blame them?” She says. She reaches up to touch your face, presses a gentle kiss to your belly. Her fingers pump in and out at a steady pace. Her fingers coated in your wetness. “My perfect girl. Always so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you? I want you all the time.”

She dips down, presses kisses to the tops of your thighs, rhythm steady as she fucks you. A low moan escapes from your mouth as she licks a long stripe down your center, stopping momentarily to wrap her lips around your clit.

Your thighs clench around her head but she keeps your legs pried open. She sucks you only a moment before she’s grinning up at you, debauched, slipping a third finger inside your dripping cunt.

“I wish I could spend every waking moment inside this gorgeous pussy. Always so pretty and tight and wet for me. Always throbbing around my fingers. Squeezing. Trying to keep me in you, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes gleam. Her pretty red lips sticky with your arousal.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby? You’d like me to be in you all the time.”

“Yes.” You groan.

“Dirty girl.” She chides. Her head dips down again, and you throw your head back as she sucks on your clit, hard.

She releases you after a moment. Lips back on your thighs, fingers pummeling up into your g-spot.

Your stomach coils. She sucks on your thigh leisurely, her fingers slamming into you with no mercy.

“Mine.” She says. “Say it.”

“Yours. All yours.”

Her arms grip tight around your waist. She licks her way up your length, not stopping the force of her fingers.

You throb around her, so close. She presses kisses to your thighs as she works you to the edge.

“You going to come for me, baby?” She murmurs, lips on your clit, “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart. Come in my mouth.”

She sucks your clit, hard, and you topple over the edge.

Your back arches. You let out a low groan as your orgasm washes over you. She works you though it, lovingly sucking, her fingers curled.

You slump back onto the floor as she presses kisses to your belly. She keeps her fingers in you as she leans up, kisses you so tenderly.

“Good girl.” She murmurs. You sigh into her mouth. You can taste yourself on her lips. It’s intoxicating. She presses a kiss to your neck.

Draws her fingers out of you. You whine. She smiles, sucks you off her fingertips.

“Don’t worry baby.” She murmurs. Brushes a lock of hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart beat slows. She shuffles herself off you.

Wraps herself tight around your waist, drawing you into her.

Your eyes draw to the robes of the floor. The mask. The dagger. Chase is here somewhere, dead in another room. And you just fucked his killer.

Shame floods through you. Your body tenses. She can sense it. She turns you in her arms, pulls you into her bare chest.

“Shh. Don’t look, baby.” She coos. “I’ll clean it up.”

“He’s dead.” You say. More monotone than anything. In the last thirty minutes you’ve felt every possible emotion you could ever feel. You’ve cried every last tear. You’ve fought and struggled and lost against your own desires. You’re exhausted.

“It’s alright, babe.” She senses your resignation. Presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s just you and me. The way it should be.”

She tilts your face up to hers. You let her press a kiss to your lips. Close your eyes.

“I’m all yours, baby.” She says. “And you’re mine. Forever.”

You nod, slowly.

She is, there’s no point in denying it.

Next part

#scream #jenna ortega #fanfiction #mine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #ghostface!tara #wednesday #wednesday x reader #ah

2K notes · View notes

alientitty · 28 days ago

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Persona 5 (Royal) Guys Punchability Rating

Should you, playing as Joker, take a swing at your confidants? Find out here!

I-The Magician: Morgana

Hey, he's just a little kitty cat! It might be annoying how he doesn't let you go out at night and keeps talking when you're trying to read or meditate, but when he's not around it's clear you can barely function without a feline handler. He does keep saying weird shit to Ann though. 3/10

IV-The Emperor: Yusuke Kitagawa

Is it even fair? The guy's a toothpick. He's gonna blow away with the next breeze. His stamina in the Metaverse comes entirely from sitting around thinking about the darkness of the human soul re:art all day. Isn't he a starving orphan? But he does keeping saying out-of-pocket shit and you don't care how gay he is, that's no excuse for being a misogynist. Violence isn't the answer, but he'll feel the passion behind your slap, even if he doesn't entirely approve of the method. 5/10

V-The Hierophant: Sojiro Sakura

Aww, isn't he such a lovable tough guy? Basically your new dad, generational enmity and all. Hey wait why is he checking out your teenage friends. Hitting on all these younger women. Isn't he like 50? 60? If he's in his 60s you worry his brittle bones will shatter on impact, but if it's 50s then he's fair game. Maybe he'll finally trust you after some male bonding through friendly roughhousing and all. Depending on how early it is in the game there's a chance you'll be out on the street, though. 6/10

VI-The Chariot: Ryuji Sakamoto

He's your homeboy, your bro, your best buddy! And sometimes friends deck friends when they get outta line. You do feel kinda bad since he's been trying to channel all those big water sign emotions into becoming a gym rat instead of getting goaded into fights and all, but you'll keep it clean. You love him, but he can be so embarrassing in front of your other friends! Maybe he'd stop chasing skirts like a doofus if he just got some friendly skin-on-skin contact with other guys now and then. Wait, what? Well, anyways, it's totally a fair fight. As you throw the first punch you remember, wait, isn't he a domestic violence survivor? Shit. 9/10

XI-Justice: Goro Akechi

You can't tell if he's actually cool or just pretentious, but you've been waiting for a chance to wipe that shit-eating grin off his pretty face. You bet he has a 15-step skincare routine to get that perfect glow when he delivers a backhanded compliment that subtly conveys how much he thinks he's better than you. Staring each other down across the billiard tables while you play a verbal game of cat-and-mouse isn't enough. This cold war's gotta heat up. And, spoiler alert, he will challenge you to a duel...and then some. This ends with one of you on his knees. 10/10

XII-The Hanged Man: Munehisa Iwai

What beef do you even have with this guy? He's the hot gun guy who gives you custom builds in exchange for glimpses into the life of a Goodfellas side character. Besides, with his history, you don't wanna risk it. He's way too experienced and strong and grizzled and smoldering and...ahem. Maybe you would learn something. 4/10

XVI-The Tower: Shinya Oda

That's a kid. You do wanna punch the people making this poor child's life so hard, though. 0/10

XVIII-The Moon: Yuuki Mishima

He looks up to you so much it just wouldn't be fair. You've seen him beat up so much already that, even if he asked you to fight him, it'd be like kicking a puppy. He can be annoying and a creep and maybe even a little scary sometimes, but a punch is not what he needs. 2/10

XIX-The Sun: Toranosuke Yoshida

Dad?! For real, though, he's just about the only adult in this game besides Lala-chan who seems actually cognizant of the fact that you're a teenager. If you tried to take a swing at him he'd be incredibly disappointed that his lessons didn't stick, and you'd never forgive yourself for letting him down. 1/10

(Igor isn't here because he's nothing. As in, literally immaterial. You can't punch your dreamscape spirit guide with your real life human hands. He's, just, not there.)

1-The Councillor: Takuto Maruki

The most punchable guy in the entire game. Everyone thinks that self-effacing, oblivious beta male act is so charming, but you're not buying it. He's only there for Shujin to cover its ass until it cycles out of the news and is either willingly complicit or too incompetent to notice. He thinks his disarming, approachable shtick is a therapeutic icebreaker, but it's more like a lack of boundaries bordering on malpractice. He's one of those self-described "empaths" who projects his own personal issues onto everybody else and plays the victim when you call him out on it. The last thing you or any other troubled teens need is this bumbling, paternalistic stooge messing around in your heads. Plus, every time he makes that stupid pouty face you wanna slap the license outta him. Hey, does he even have one? 11/10

Bonus: Protagonist/ Joker / Your Name Here

Well, you play as him, so he's kind of you? The dialog options let you be a little mean or creepy sometimes, so I guess it's up to the player to decide if he's a jerk or not. Or you can take all those options as reflective of his personality (add in the fake glasses and Uniqlo mannequin getups, and he's kind of an asshole). Just keep in mind that, for a guy who eats a single loaf of bread at lunch every day, he's surprisingly built and pretty strong. You'll be in for quite a fight you can't back out of if you take a swing at him. At yourself?

??/10

#here it is at last...sorry to all the maruki fans i hope u at least find this funny #persona 5 royal #p5r #morgana p5 #yusuke kitagawa #sojiro sakura #ryuji sakamoto #goro akechi #munehisa iwai #shinya oda #yuuki mishima #toranosuke yoshida #takuto maruki #joker persona 5 #p5 confidants

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gothcsz · 2 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVIII.

GIF by joelsteinfeld

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Things come to a head during the full moon.

WORD COUNT: ~14.2k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst, very brief slut shaming, not one but two confrontations, fist fiiight, gun violence, light descriptions of gore, religious imagery, character death (not main so y'all can breathe), more of that crime stuff, smut, p in v sex, fluff i think, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: strap in you guys, this emotional rollercoaster is... something! i'm in the process of moving so updates will be slowwww <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Leaving her proves to be difficult the following morning. The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, a drizzle now compared to the torrential downpour of the previous night. Javier hadn’t expected to fall asleep, especially not through the entirety of the night. It’s been so long since he’s slept without being plagued by nightmares or restlessness.

Something about her presence softens the sharp edges of his anxieties. With her in his arms, he finds a peace he hasn’t known in years, and now he doesn’t want to go another night without her by his side.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing softly against her bare shoulder, savoring the warmth of her skin one last time before he carefully begins to slide out of bed. He’s done this before— quiet exits in the early hours of the morning— but this time feels different, like he’s leaving behind a piece of himself.

As he moves, Paloma stirs slightly, and he freezes, unwilling to disturb her slumber. His eyes drift to the plush snake he had won for her at the fair, now lying forgotten on the floor. The sight of it tugs at something deep inside him, a small smile playing on his lips.

So, he grabs it from where it fell off her bed and lets it replace his spot next to her, hoping that it’s enough to make up for his absence.

After redressing, he makes his way to the bedroom door. He pauses just before leaving, casting one last lingering look over his shoulder. His eyes trace the outline of her form beneath the sheets, admiring, before seeing his way out.

The house is still, save for the gentle patter of rain against the windows. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks softly, its hands edging closer to six in the morning. He lets out a slow breath, his steps careful and quiet as he enters the room he was originally supposed to stay in to grab his duffel so he can get ready for the day.

Throughout his morning routine, Javier’s thoughts are consumed by Paloma. He stands under the warm stream of the shower, amazed at how she can take the discomfort of being exposed and vulnerable and transform it into something he’s no longer hesitating to embrace.

The barriers that once fortified around his heart seem pointless now, as all he wants is to let her in— to let her glimpse into his tumultuous mind with the hopes that she’s able to quiet it down.

As he shaves and brushes his teeth, his mind drifts to the possibility of bringing her home to Laredo. He can already picture her there, fitting in as if she’s always belonged. Her southern twang and radiant smile charming everyone instantly. He imagines the way her golden heart would win over his gossipy aunts, and he can almost hear his cousins’ teasing jabs about Javi bringing home someone way too pretty to be with him.

And Chucho— he’d probably insist that his son make an honest woman of her before someone else tries to sweep her off her feet.

He realizes then, with startling clarity, that he has no intention of letting her go. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, love blooming in his chest with an intensity that does scare him just a little.

He finishes buttoning up his uniform shirt and catches his reflection in the mirror. A scoff escapes him, “How about you date her first before jumping the gun,” he mutters under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he clasps his silver watch around his wrist. It’s both a chastisement and a reminder to pace himself, even though his heart is already racing far ahead.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls him toward the kitchen, where he finds Romeo leaning casually against the island, still in his sleepwear, a steaming mug in hand. The sight of him in such a relaxed state shouldn’t make Javi nervous but it does.

That’s just what happens when you harbor secrets.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’. You get some rest?” Romeo replies, his tone easy and conversational.

Some of the best goddamn sleep I’ve gotten in years he thinks but Javier just nods, “I did. Thanks for letting me stay the night. It got pretty rough.” A double entendre that threatens to pull him into inappropriate memories— the way Paloma’s mouth had felt on his cock, the sound of her soft gags, the perfect arch of her back as he fucked her. The images flash vividly in his mind, tempting him to lose focus.

This is not the time, not with her dad standing just a few feet away, unaware of the perverse thoughts swirling inside Javier’s head.

He sets his bag down by the entryway, trying to push the tantalizing recollections aside as he engages with the sheriff, hoping his face doesn’t betray what’s really on his mind.

“No problem. Didn’t bother me none, I was out like a fuckin’ light the second my head hit the pillow.” he rasps, sliding a mug over to Javier.

They chat about their plans for the day, the conversation flowing easily until Romeo excuses himself to get ready. With his drink in hand, Javier steps out onto the front porch, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. He gazes into the distance, where the rain has settled into a gentle mist and the morning sun remains hidden behind a shroud of gray clouds.

Upstairs, Paloma stirs awake, the familiar plush clutched to her chest.

But no Javier.

His absence, while expected, still hits a sore spot in her heart. Yet, as the memories of their passionate night together flood her mind, they balm that ache, warming her from the inside.

A soft smile curves her lips as she recalls the way his hands had felt on her body, the stretch of him inside of her, and the other phantom sensations of their lovemaking that still linger.

She shifts slightly, rubbing her thighs together in a futile attempt to quell the lingering stirrings of desire he manages to elicit. It’s annoying how effortlessly he can provoke her without being anywhere near.

Then she feels the soreness between her legs and at her shoulders from him pinning her hands behind her back while he ruthlessly took her.

She rolls over, pressing her nose into the pillow he slept on, and inhales deeply. The faint scent of his cologne lingers there, and she hums softly in contentment.

Wanting to catch him before he leaves, Paloma tosses off the blanket, her naked form exposed to the cool morning air. She stretches luxuriously, a small grunt escaping her lips as she feels the delightful tension in her muscles. Her first impulse is to throw on his flannel, but with her dad still around, she decides against it.

Instead, she makes her way to the dresser, choosing a more appropriate outfit. After freshening up in the bathroom, she takes the stairs two at a time, her heart racing with anticipation.

She hears the sound of the shower running, but it fades into the background as she spots his silhouette through the screen door. The sight sends a thrill through her, and she bites her lip, struggling to contain the broad smile that threatens to spread across her face.

The door creaks softly as she pushes it open. Javier, expecting to see Romeo, turns his head. The moment his eyes land on her, an electric jolt has him straightening up. His entire body responds to her presence.

“Good morning, officer,” she purrs, closing the door behind her. Leaning against the pillar opposite him, she lets her gaze shamelessly trace over his uniform-clad figure.

Her eyes linger on the authoritative stance that makes him look so irresistibly manly and commanding. Now that she’s had a taste of him, all Paloma can think about is how she’d love to drop to her knees and indulge him whenever he’s around.

“Miss Leighton,” Javier acknowledges with a slight jut of his chin, lifting his steaming mug to his lips. The move hides the small, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Maintaining a façade of casual indifference, she asks, “Did you have a good night?”

Javier’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as he glances toward the house, checking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Decent,” he replies, keeping up the pretense, the tension between them already winding tighter.

Paloma’s tongue flicks across her teeth, her eyebrow arching. “Yeah, that bed in there ain’t exactly the most comfortable.”

A few seconds of charged silence stretch between them before she pushes off the pillar, closing the distance. “What time did you end up leaving?” she asks, tone soft, trailing her finger slowly down the center of his chest. She gazes up at him through thick, fluttering lashes, her touch light but electrifying.

“Six.”

Her heart stutters as she processes his words, realizing he spent the entire night with his arms wrapped around her. “Really?”

Javier nods, captivated by the way her eyes seems to hold him in a spell. She licks her lips as she leans up to place a quick, teasing peck on his. The fleeting contact serves as a clever distraction as she deftly snatches the drink from his hand and steps back, taking a sip, her face scrunching up in disgust as the bitter taste hits her tongue.

She quickly hands it back to him. “Ew, of course you drink yours black. You could try not being such a cliché,” she teases with a playful grimace. Javier exhales a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

He uses the exchange to pull her back into his embrace, setting the mug on the thick wooden railing of the porch. “Don’t be mean, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing her properly, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her waist.

She sighs against his lips, butterflies in her gut fluttering and she might lift her leg like in the movies. His kisses are so thrilling, so perfect, that she reluctantly pulls away before things get heated and she has him reenacting the first wet dream she ever had about him— the one where he fucked her right here on this porch.

“Am I going to see you today?” Her mouth is already forming a disappointed pout, as if she knows the answer before he even replies.

“Unfortunately no,” his thumb gently brushes over her full bottom lip, “Trust me, I don’t like it either but we’re busy as hell.”

She kisses his thumb, “What y’all got goin’ on?”

“Helping clear roads all morning. There are still people in town without power, and they don’t expect to fix it for a few more days, so we’re checking in to make sure everyone’s okay.” He explains, squeezing her hip in a reassuring gesture.

“And tonight?”

Javier’s face reflects the weight of the responsibility he carries. “It’s a full moon tonight. After we wrap up in town, I’m hauling all the case files from my place to the station. I need to prep for a big debrief with all the officers in the county. We’ll be patrolling as soon as curfew starts. If I’m right— he’ll be out tonight.” He pauses, letting out a long, steady breath, his resolve palpable. “I want to catch this motherfucker so bad.”

Paloma hears the steely determination in his voice and nods in understanding. “Y’all will. Been workin’ so hard on this, honey. Even if it’s not tonight or tomorrow or whenever; you’re doin’ the best you can.”

He offers her a small smile, one that she mirrors with a tenderness of her own. They lean in at the same time, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, nena,” he mutters. “You gonna be at home all day?”

“Yeah, with the weather and curfew tonight, I’d rather just stay in,” she answers, “I’ve got some stuff to work on, too.” She’s been writing about him. Inspiration struck her unexpectedly, as it often does, and she’s been refining his song ever since. She wonders if he’ll like it, and if his reaction to her playing the piano was any indication, she feels optimistic.

Javier is relieved to hear that she’ll be safe and at home. “Good. I’ll call you when I can to check in.”

“And I’ll be waiting by the phone, very eager to answer on the first ring.”

She giggles, scrunching her nose habitually and he swears he can feel his heart swell so big that it almost erupts out of his chest. “If I don’t end up getting home too late,” his voice drops to a lower, more seductive timbre, “maybe we can revisit one of those sexy little phone calls again?”

Her breath catches at the sultry tone, a faint throbbing sensation stirring between her legs, despite the soreness, and she squeezes her thighs together. “Absolutely,” she breathes out, hell— she’ll stay up just to have his voice in her ear, directing her to touch herself.

As if drawn by the magnetic pull of their shared desire, his hand slips boldly from her waist, descending to cup her ass before giving it a light, playful spank. The gesture makes her flush with excitement.

“Great, now let me grab my stuff before your dad comes out here and sees me all over you like this,” Javier says, his voice teasing but edged with urgency.

She gives him one last kiss, pulling away, her eyes following him as he retrieves the mug, finishing off the last sip of coffee then head inside.

As anticipated, Romeo appears not a second later, dressed and ready to tackle the long ass day they have ahead.

“Hey sweetheart,” her dad places a kiss to the top of her head, descending the porch steps, “Dunno when I’ll be home. Got a lot goin’ on today. I’ll have the phone on me at all times if you need anythin’, ‘kay?”

She nods, smiling at him, “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Javier comes out shortly after, his hand discreetly brushing against hers as he passes, a final, sweet touch until he’s able to make time for her again. The sound of their footsteps fades as they move down the driveway, leaving Paloma standing alone on the porch.

Determined to keep herself occupied, she turns and heads back inside once they’re gone, feeling his absence keenly. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his kiss, and the promise of their next encounter weave through her thoughts, making it a challenge to concentrate.

Yet, she remains resolute, channeling her energy into her work, each note of the song a testament to the feelings she has for him.

All eyes are on Javier as he stands before the gathered crowd. The small sheriff’s department is packed, not just with his own officers but with personnel from surrounding towns, each of them united by a single, pressing goal. Whether they’ll achieve this goal tonight is uncertain, but it’s better to act decisively than to remain idle, waiting for something to happen.

He wraps up his briefing, his voice steady as he delivers the final instructions. The room buzzes with a tense energy as the officers disperse, each heading off to prepare for the night ahead. The rain outside continues, a literal reminder of the metaphorical storm that they’re up against. He hopes the weather won’t deter their assailant; but criminals with such precise, obsessive patterns rarely stray from their habits, rain or shine.

Thanks to the extra helping hands, the files from Rome have been organized and filed away, leaving Javier with a rare sense of order. He walks over to his desk, where a lone manila folder sits. It contains the remnants of his surveillance on August and his group, back when they were his prime suspects in the investigation.

They’re an odd bunch, and the deeper he dug into their past, the more their story seemed to make sense. Misfits who grew up in the worst parts of their hometown, subjected to abusive or neglectful parents. Their rebellion was almost predictable— an inevitable backlash against the suffocating piety they were born into.

There is something off about them, something that sets off alarm bells in Javier’s mind. But despite his instincts, he could never find anything that linked them to the crimes that have haunted this corner of Texas.

For a long time, Javier wrestled with the idea of coincidences, aware of his tendency to chase them down just to fit his narrative. He knew that this bad habit often undermined his hard work, leading him down paths that wasted precious time and energy. This folder, filled with days wasted and dead ends, is a tangible reminder of that flaw.

But he likes to think he’s gotten better about that. Better at not being so reactive right off the bat.

Amidst the photos of the three young adults, there are a few that stand out and make his stomach twist. Paloma, caught in the frame, August’s hands all over her, sitting on his motorcycle, a joint between her fingers. He had considered bringing them in for the drug use alone, but he knew that making a move, especially during that rough patch with her, would have done more harm than good.

There’s no reason for him to hold onto this anymore; the folder likely got lost in the shuffle, buried beneath a mountain of others that he hadn’t had the time or energy to sort through until today. He’s set on shredding its contents when his phone rings.

Reaching to unclip it from his utility belt, he brings it up to his ear.

“Peña.”

“I didn’t call at a bad time, did I?” Her voice is like honey and he loses composure for a second.

“Hold on, baby.”

Setting the folder aside, Javier glances around the busy workspace before slipping away. He walks down the hallway, making a quick left into the interrogation room.

“Palomita, you okay?” Javier asks, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. He’s a little confused as to why she’s calling. Not that he minds— he never does— but his first instinct is to worry that something might be wrong.

“Just fine, cowboy. I’m bored… ‘n missin’ you, s’all.” Her soft drawl seeps through the line, melting him entirely.

He scratches at his brow with his thumb, trying to play it cool. “Missin’ me already? I just saw you this morning,” he teases, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips as her airy laugh dances through the phone.

“Pathetic, I know.”

He hums thoughtfully. “If you think that’s pathetic, then I’d hate to hear how you feel about me missin’ you all the time.”

“Oh, that’s just pitiful ‘n wretched. I’m disgusted, really.” He hears her shuffling and wonders what she’s doing. If she’s laying in her bed, twirling the phone cord around her pretty little finger or if she’s leaning against the wall with her lip between her teeth.

“So, you just called to tell me you miss me and then to chastise me. Got it,” he quips, though her laugh— bright and genuine— makes his chest ache in the best way.

“As flattering as this all is, sweetheart, I hate to leave you but we’re getting ready to head out. Your dad is waiting for me.”

He can almost see the downturn of her lips when she responds, “Okay. Just wanted to call before I didn’t hear from you for ‘nother three to five business days.”

“I promise to take you out again soon. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to fuck you in the bed of my truck.”

“Oh, please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll follow through, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, alright?”

A few more teasing exchanges pass between them, her giggle ringing in his ears like a melody he never wants to end. When she finally lets him go, there’s a noticeable lift in his mood.

She just has that way about her— making him feel like he’s carrying a piece of her warmth with him wherever he goes.

Javier heads back to the others, his mind still lingering on the sound of her voice. He’s ready to dive into the action, to focus on the task ahead—but then, without warning, a powerful force slams him into the wall.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, his shoulder searing with pain as he struggled to regain his footing. It’s Romeo, his face twisted in rage, and before Javier can react, his fist connects with his jaw, sending a sharp pain radiating through his skull. The taste of blood floods his mouth as his lip splits open, and the world seems to tilt for a moment, the sounds around him dulling to a low roar.

“You think you can fool around with my daughter after I’ve been nothin’ but fuckin’ nice to you? Let you into my town after all your shit in Colombia?” His voice is a guttural snarl, laced with betrayal and fury. He doesn’t wait for an answer, his hand gripping Javier’s collar and shoving him harder against the wall. “I welcomed you into my home, and this is how you repay me?”

The room falls into a stunned silence, the officers who had been preparing for the patrol now frozen, their eyes wide as they watch the two men— men who have been working tirelessly side by side for months— erupt into violence. Some of them move forward, trying to pull the sheriff off Javier, but he’s like a man possessed, shaking off their attempts to restrain him.

“I knew somethin’ was goin’ on but I refused to believe it could be this. Never thought you’d screw around with her. Not after I entrusted you to look after her! I practically handed her to you on a silver fuckin’ platter!”

Javier’s own anger flares in response, his hands coming up to shove Romeo away, but not with the same force. He knows he should keep his mouth shut and take it. He shares some blame in this mess, but the words spill out before he can stop them. “I’ll admit I fucked up, but I’m not going to stop seeing her.” This sends the other man lunging forward but he manages to swiftly dodge him. “She’s a grown-ass woman that can make her own decisions— be with whoever she wants. Do whatever she wants.”

Romeo’s eyes blaze with an almost feral intensity at the back talk, and he lunges again, fists flying, and this time, they collide with Javier’s ribs, causing him to grunt in pain. The scuffle is a mess of limbs and rocketing emotion, the room filled with the sound of grunts, curses, and frantic shouts of the officers trying to pull them apart.

It isn’t until the sheriff shoves Javier hard against his desk that the chaos comes to a sudden halt. The force of the push sends the lone folder on the desk flying, its contents spilling out in a haphazard mess onto the floor.

For a split second, everything seems to freeze as the photos flutter down like damning evidence, landing face up for everyone to see.

Hs daughter, in those compromising, intimate poses with August. The silence is deafening as Romeo’s gaze zeroes in on the pictures, his expression shifting from rage to something far darker and unreadable.

His face twists in disgust, leaning down to collect it all before turning on his heel and storming out of the building, shoving past anyone in his way. The door slams behind him with a thunderous crash that echoes in the shocked silence.

Javier stands there, chest heaving, blood leaking from his lip. The officers around him are still, their eyes shifting between him and the door the sheriff had just disappeared through.

“We leave in ten minutes.” Javier announces roughly. They listen to him instantly, snapping back into what they were doing before the scuffle broke out.

He reaches for the phone, dialing the Leighton home number, his heart pounding in his chest.

Ring.

“Come on, come on…”

Ring.

“Pick up, fuck. Please…”

But there’s nothing. Just the monotonous drone of an unanswered call. His grip tightens around the plastic, dread curling in his chest. At least their relationship is out in the open now; if there’s a silver fucking lining to this mess, he supposes that’s it.

He calls her a few more times with no luck.

She’s lost in her own world, pacing the porch with her headphones snug over her ears, her eyes closed as she lets the music wash over her. The rhythm guides her steps, mind drifting far away from herself.

The sheriff’s truck skids to a halt in front of the house, wet gravel crunching under the tires. He doesn’t even bother shutting the door as he storms up the porch steps, the folder clenched tightly in his fist.

She doesn’t hear him approach, not until his rough hand grips her shoulder and spins her around.

The shock of seeing her father’s face, twisted in anger, has her yelping out. She quickly pulls off her headphones, the music falling away as she takes in the sight of him. “What’re you doin’ here?” Her voice is laced with confusion, brows furrowing. He wasn’t supposed to be home until much later— what the hell had happened?

Romeo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he thrusts the folder at her, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles in his neck bulge. “What the fuck is this, Paloma?”

She blinks rapidly, her confusion deepening as she rids herself of her portable CD player, opening the folder. Her breath catches in her throat as she sifts through the photos.

Her stomach drops when she meets his burning gaze. “Where did you get these?” she whispers, barely audible.

Romeo lets out a dark, humorless chuckle that has a chill running down her spine. “Don’t matter where I got ‘em. What matters is what the hell you were thinkin’ gettin’ involved with trash like him! And doin’ drugs?!” He’s seething.

The venom in his voice stings. “Daddy, it’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” he interrupts, voice rising. “You think I’m blind? Stupid? I know about you and Javier too.” The name comes out as a snarl, his eyes flashing with betrayal.

Her face blanches. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“He’s the one who had these!” he roars, temper boiling over. “Javier was keepin’ tabs— hid them in his damn desk while he was screwin’ around with you behind my back. I can see it comin’ from him, but from you?”

The weight of his words slam into her like a freight train. She knew that he would blow up and act rash, but this is nothing like what she anticipated. “Daddy, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me!” he shouts, stepping closer, face inches from hers and she stumbles back slightly. “This is why I don’t trust you to be out on your own. Why I have to keep an eye on you— because you can’t make sound decisions. You’re reckless, you’re—” He cuts himself off, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he tries to rein in his anger.

Paloma’s emotions erupt in retaliation. “Reckless?” she shoots back, shaking with anger and hurt. “I’m suffocatin’ in this damn house. Puttin’ my life on the back burner so I can keep you content instead of doin’ what makes me happy. You treat me like a child, like I can’t think for myself!”

Romeo’s face twists with contempt, the harsh words tumbling out before he can stop them. “Because you’re actin’ like a damn whore!”

The insult hangs in the air, a bomb that has just gone off between them. She feels as if the ground has been ripped out from under her, his words echoing in her ears like a cruel taunt.

It shouldn’t surprise her, it really shouldn’t. He has a history of making sly comments such as these, especially when it came to what she wore.

But to hear him say the actual insult? Spitting it in her face in such a disgusted tone?

Her vision blurs with tears, but she refuses to let them fall. Without another word, she shoves past him, her heart pounding in her ears as she flees into the house. His furious shouts follow her, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back.

Her room feels like a cage, the walls closing in on her as she yanks open her closet and grabs a suitcase. She can’t stay here— not after this. The tears finally spill over as she starts packing.

Romeo’s heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, each one like a hammer driving nails into her chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he demands, banging on her bedroom door. “Paloma, open this door right now!”

She ignores him, her heart aching with every item she throws in. She doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know where she’s going to go, but she knows she has to leave.

When she finally has everything she can carry, she steels herself, taking a deep breath, and yanking the door open. Her dad stands there, his face red, but she doesn’t give a fuck. She moves past him without a word.

“Paloma, stop!” he pleads, following her down the stairs and into the hallway that leads into the foyer, “What would your mother think of you acting like this? This is not the daughter she would be proud of!”

The mention of her mother brings her to a screeching halt, and she whips around, her eyes shimmering with a fiery spark. “You don’t know shit about her!” she spits, venom dripping from every word. “Who she was, what she felt— the things she went through.”

“And you do?!”

Oh, how she’s tempted to unleash everything on him right here, to reveal the divine blood that courses through her veins— the same sacred lineage that had flowed through her mother’s. But he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t grasp the significance. It’s crystal clear to her that this has always been about control. She could tell him a thousand truths, and he would still remain unchanged.

Determined, she ignores him entirely and turns to push open the screen door. The keys to her car are tucked away in the visor, waiting for her.

“Come back here!” exasperation peaks as he rushes to catch up with his daughter. His hand latches onto the handle of her suitcase, pulling it— and her— back toward him. She cries out in frustration, fiercely trying to reclaim it, but he overpowers her with his strength.

Their struggle becomes a frantic dance, the suitcase flailing uncontrollably. In their chaotic clash, it catches on the iridescent wind chime that has hung on the porch for years. The chime crashes to the ground, splintering into a million glinting fragments.

The soft tinkling of broken glass and metal join the sound of her choked sob, and she fights the urge to fall to her knees.

She and her mother used to spend Sunday afternoons crafting wind chimes together.

They would hand them out at church or when they visited town. Paloma cherished the joy of giving, the way people’s faces would light up at receiving something she had poured her effort into, guided by the one person who loved and believed in her unconditionally.

Her skills and creativity come from her mother, who never allowed her daughter to be idle. She was always engaged in some project or another, her hands and mind constantly at work.

This particular chime was the only one she had left to remember Abeline— Calmana— whoever she was, by, having gifted away the others. Paloma stopped making them after she passed away.

Romeo stares down at the broken, sentimental item, his face a mask of shock and grief.

She shoots him a glare full of disdain, her voice quivering. “No wonder she killed herself.”

The words hit like a physical blow, a gaping wound in both of them, the kind that can’t be mended. Romeo opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, frozen in place, as his only daughter turns her back on him and walks away, victorious in claiming her bag.

At what cost?

Her footsteps are urgent and unyielding as she hurries down the driveway, her suitcase bumping against her leg with every stride. The darkness of the night surrounds her like a shroud, but she doesn’t look back, the pain too raw, the burden of what just transpired is almost unbearable.

She flings her belongings into the back of her car and slides into the driver’s seat, her hands shaking as she starts the engine. She drives off, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

She drives aimlessly at first, but the familiar streets soon lead her to Tammy’s house. Her heart feels like it’s been ripped apart, each beat laden with pain. The sobs she’s been holding back break free, and she cries, gut-wrenching cries that echo in the car as the miles between her and the house grow.

By the time she pulls up to Tammy’s, she is drained, her body exhausted with the aftermath of her tears. She barely has the strength to step out of the car, but she does, walking up to the familiar door. The weight in her chest is so intense, it feels like it might drag her down.

Tammy opens the door, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in Paloma’s tear-streaked face. Without a word, she pulls her inside, enveloping her in a warm, comforting embrace. She guides her to the couch and sits beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, not caring that she’s wet from the weather.

She explains what happened, her voice cracking with every word. The fight, how it escalated, how her father had berated her and, worst of all, how her mother had been dragged into it, something that made her feel small and worthless.

Tammy’s anger rises, “I oughta go over there myself and put his ass in place. The hell was he thinkin’?” her voice is fierce, but it’s tempered with genuine concern. Her eyes flash with indignation, reflecting her deep sense of protectiveness for Paloma. She and her sisters have always treated her like she was their own.

Paloma shakes her head, too exhausted and emotionally drained to engage in further conflict. “It’s okay. I just... I need to make a call.” She nods understandingly and directs her to the landline, giving her a moment of privacy.

Paloma picks up the receiver, her fingers trembling as she dials Javier’s number. When his voice finally comes through, it’s like a lifeline. She struggles to keep steady as she explains the situation again, but her emotions betray her, and she chokes up several times.

“Javi, I just... I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms right now.

He listens patiently, his concern evident in his tone as he reassures her and tries to provide comfort through the phone. He doesn’t tell her about his own confrontation, solely focused on making sure she’s alright.

“There’s a spare key to my place taped inside of the mailbox. Use it to let yourself in. I’ll be home as soon as I can, cariño.”

Paloma clings to his words, letting them anchor her as she fights to calm her racing thoughts. Just talking to him makes her feel a little less broken.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Javier knows it’d be unprofessional to ditch his patrolling assignment, especially with tensions running as high as they are tonight. But after everything that’s unfolded— he’d rather be with Paloma than driving around the deserted backroads of town.

His anger bubbles up, hot and unforgiving, at what Romeo had said to her; the same vile insult he had spat at her under the gazebo when he was trying to push her away.

To hear it come from her own father? He can’t even imagine how she must feel.

His jaw aches, a dull thudding reminder of the blow that had landed earlier. It’ll definitely bruise. Javier works it gingerly, lip throbbing from being split open.

It tears him apart inside. He would take a dozen more beatings, hell, a hundred, if it meant sparing her from any kind of hurt. He’d do anything— anything to take away her suffering, to replace it with the love and respect she deserves.

The radio in his cruiser crackles to life, pulling him back to the grim reality of his job. The voice of an officer comes through, tense and urgent. “Twenty-four-year-old Samantha Hardesty has just been reported missing by her parents. Window to her bedroom was left wide open. There are signs of a struggle.”

There it is. The threat that’s been looming over their heads, now taking a tangible, terrifying shape.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as a surge of adrenaline sharpens his senses. He calls out instructions over the radio, directing officers to the Hardesty home, dispatching others to canvas the surrounding areas. His heart pounds in sync with the rain tapping against the windshield, the urgency of the situation momentarily overshadowing Paloma.

The cruiser’s tires hum over the slick asphalt, carrying him further into the darkened outskirts of town. He’s crossing the abandoned railroad tracks when something catches his eye— a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder.

His gut lurches, a cold dread seeping into his veins.

Slowing down, Javier flips on the blue and red lights, the beams carving through the murky darkness.

He parks, his every nerve tingling with tension. There’s no movement inside the vehicle, no sign of anyone nearby. But his instincts are screaming at him that this isn’t just a coincidence.

He grabs his tactical vest from the passenger seat, slipping it on with practiced efficiency, the familiar weight a small comfort. With the vest secured, he steps out of the car, the rain immediately soaking into his uniform as he cautiously approaches the idle vehicle, his boots crunching against the gravelly road.

His hand moves instinctively to his sidearm, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol as he draws it, keeping it at the ready.

Brown eyes scan the surroundings, every shadow a potential threat, every sound amplified by his heightened senses. The soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant hum of the running engine of his cruiser.

Approaching the car from the rear, he announces himself in an authoritative tone, only to be met with silence. The windows are fogged over, making it difficult to see inside. He circles around to the driver’s side, gun pointed, when he notices the door is slightly ajar.

With a deep breath, Javier reaches out, nudging it open with the tip of his boot. It swings slowly, the creak of the hinges tears the silence like a scream. Inside, the car is empty, but the front seat is stained with something dark— blood.

“Fuck!”

He inspects further, the inside of the car is empty, offering no clues about the owner or what might have transpired here. Frustration gnaws at him as he quickly jogs back to his vehicle, grabbing the radio to request backup.

The nearest unit shouldn’t be too far out, but every second feels like an eternity as he waits. He shrugs on his windbreaker to shield himself from the downpour, the cold clinging to his clothes, chilling him to the bone.

The wind howls through, bringing with it the distant echoes of thunder, adding to the ominous ambiance.

Javier’s eyes continue scan the surrounding area, every sense on high alert. The soaked ground is uneven beneath his boots, the mud sucking at his feet as he moves cautiously.

Then he hears it— rustling. It’s faint, but unmistakable, and not the kind caused by an animal scurrying by or the rain brushing against the leaves. This sound is different, deliberate. His pulse quickens, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He swings the flashlight towards the source of the noise, his other hand steadying the grip on his pistol. The beam of light cuts through the rain, illuminating the thick brush ahead. His breath catches in his throat as he comes face to face with a tall man, a few years younger than himself, emerging from the shadows.

The man’s eyes gleam with a sinister calm, but it’s what he’s holding that sends a pang of terror through Javier. The girl— Samantha Hardesty— is clutched tightly in his arms, her face pale and streaked with tears, a large gash running across her stomach.

She trembles, barely able to stand on her own, and Javier’s eyes widen once he sees the gun pressed against her temple, the metal gleaming wickedly.

He knows he has to be careful— one wrong move, and she’s dead. The man’s expression is cold, calculating, as he watches Javier. The tension is so tense, it feels like a physical barrier.

Standing before the person who’s terrorized the community for so long feels almost surreal.

“Put the gun down,” Javier orders, low and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. His eyes flick to Samantha, her terrified gaze locked onto him, pleading silently for help. He takes a step closer, his movements cautious.

The rain pounds against them, the droplets like bullets hitting the ground. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the sound of her sobs and the assailant’s labored breathing.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Javier warns, trying to keep the man’s focus on him, to buy time until backup arrives. But the man doesn’t flinch, his grip on the girl tightening as he shifts the gun ever so slightly, pressing it harder against her temple.

“Let her go,” he continues, his tone coaxing, though every muscle in his body is coiled, ready to spring into action. “We can figure this out, she doesn’t need to get hurt.”

The man’s lips curl into an unsettling smile, and Javier’s stomach pinches. He’s seen that look before—the look of someone who’s already made up their mind, someone with nothing left to lose.

“Get back,” the man hisses, taking a step back. Javier can see the madness in his eyes, the wild, desperate edge that makes him dangerous, unpredictable.

Javier doesn’t move, doesn’t dare take his eyes off him. Every second that ticks by feels wasted. He can hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance, but he knows they’re still too far away to help. It’s up to him, right here, right now, to keep this situation from spiraling into tragedy.

The grip on the gun is unsteady and for a moment, it seems like he might surrender. But then, in a flash, the man makes his move.

The night explodes into chaos as the shot rings out like a cannon blast in the storm. The force of the bullet slams into Javier’s chest, knocking the wind out of him as he’s sent staggering backward. Pain radiates through his body, but it’s dulled by the protective padding of his tactical vest, which absorbs most of the impact.

He hits the ground hard, rain soaking into his clothes and mud splashing up around him. His vision blurs, and he presses a hand to his sternum.

Then, through the fog of shock, the adrenaline kicks in. His heart pounds in his ears, louder even than the rain or echoing gunshot. He gasps, drawing in a ragged breath, and forces himself to move. The man is running, dragging a terrified Samantha with him, and Javier knows he can’t let him get away.

He grits his teeth, pain shooting through his chest, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. There’s no time to dwell on it. He has to plow on, has to stop the man before it’s too late.

The beam of his flashlight flickers wildly as he races through the rain-soaked woods. Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the twisting branches overhead, casting jagged shadows on the path ahead.

Gunshots ring out through the trees, the man firing blindly behind him. The bullets whiz past Javier, too close for comfort, but he doesn’t falter. He fires back, his shots precise, but the man dodges them with maddening ease. The trees blur by, branches clawing at his face as he barrels through the undergrowth, the ground uneven and treacherous beneath his feet.

He can feel his frustration mounting with every step. Despite being so close, he can’t seem to close the gap between them. The man is quick, too quick, and the darkness only adds to the challenge.

His lungs burn with the effort. He thinks of all the cigarettes he’s ever smoked and curses himself for each and every single one of them, for every breath that now feels harder to catch.

Just as he’s starting to think the chase will never end, the man veers off the path, disappearing into a thicket of trees. Javier skids to a halt, eyes narrowing as he spots a faint light ahead. He follows, heart thudding, and emerges into a small clearing where an old, decrepit shed looms out of the darkness. The door hangs ajar, swaying slightly in the wind.

He’s methodical as he presses himself against the side of the structure, peering inside.

Nothing.

He doesn’t hesitate and kicks the door open. It’s empty, save for a few rusted tools and decaying wooden beams. But then his flashlight picks out a hatch in the floor, half-concealed by dirt and debris.

He hesitates, the radio on his belt crackling to life with the voices of his fellow officers. They will be here soon, but he doesn’t have the luxury of waiting. Every second counts. If the man gets away, or worse, if he decides to end the girl’s life down in that tunnel... Javier can’t live with that.

Bracing himself, he grips the hatch and heaves it open, descending into the darkness. The air is damp, the scent of earth and decay prominent. His light reveals narrow, dirt walls as he makes his way down the tunnel, every step echoing eerily in the confined space.

It’s quiet— too quiet— and that only makes his pulse race faster. The oppressive silence only broken by the sound of his own breathing.

Then he notices the glow of candles lighting the way ahead. The tunnel opens up into a larger chamber, and what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. The room is filled with religious iconography—crosses, statues, relics—but all twisted, defiled.

Candles flicker on every surface, casting long shadows across the walls, which are plastered in what looks like pages of the bible, the symbol he’s seen in the Rome files and on the scrap of flesh in the vomit of their earlier victim scribbled over them.

The air is thick with the stench of rot, and in the far corner, a large, stained cooler hooked up to a generator hums ominously.

Javier’s flashlight passes over a series of weapons laid out on a crude altar. The whole scene feels like something out of a horror movie, but this is no set. This is real.

And then he sees him. The man who led him here, standing on the other side, holding Samantha in front of him like a shield, the gun still pressed firmly to her head. Her eyes are wide with terror, her body trembling uncontrollably, blood seeping out of the wound on her torso.

Javier stops in his tracks, his gun trained on his target. They’re both panting, chests heaving as they stare each other down, drenched in rain and mud. The man’s eyes are feral, but there’s something else there too— something dark and fanatical, a madness that Javier knows he can’t reason with.

“Let her go,” Javier commands like he had in the woods, “I’m not going to tell you again.” The man doesn’t respond, a twisted smile playing on his chapped lips.

“One small move,” he grumbles, his voice low and menacing, “and her pretty little brains are goin’ to paint the fuckin’ walls.”

Javier’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t doubt him for a second, He knows what this fucker is capable of.

He can’t risk a shot— not with Samantha so close, not with the man ready to pull the trigger at the slightest provocation.

Then, in a move that catches Javier completely off guard, the man pulls the gun away from Samantha’s head and tosses her aside like a ragdoll.

Instead of dropping the weapon, he brings it up to his own temple, his sinister grin never faltering.

“Don’t!”

“It’s all for her,” the man mutters, almost to himself, as if Javier isn’t even there. Those three words confuse him, but then it all happens so fast— too fast for him to intervene, to stop it.

The man pulls the trigger.

The gunshot reverberates through the enclosed space. His lifeless body hitting the cold, damp floor. Blood pools around his head, mixing with the mud and grime.

Samantha lets out a broken sob, and Javier rushes forward, holstering his weapon as he drops to his knees beside her and shields her from the scene.

She’s shaking uncontrollably against him, her eyes wide and unseeing, her face as pale as death itself. Javier wraps his arms around her, pulling her close despite the ache from the bullet he took.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, though the words feel shallow in the face of what’s just happened. “You’re safe now.”

The heavy weight of the case can finally be shed— no more victims, no more suffering. But something about how it unfolded tonight doesn’t sit right with Javier. The way it all fell into place— it was too perfect, almost as if it was orchestrated just for him.

Officers swarm the area, flashlights illuminating the darkness as they descend into the tunnel. He directs them with sharp, clipped orders, ensuring the chamber is thoroughly searched and every piece of evidence is documented. The place is a nightmare— literally, and the cooler... God, the cooler.

Its contents are going to be a nightmare for the forensic team to identify— human remains, some fresh, others in varying states of decomposition.

Javier is all too familiar with the grotesque depths of human depravity. The narcos had brutally educated him on it, but still, it doesn’t make witnessing it any easier.

It will undoubtedly tie the now-deceased man to their and potentially other unsolved cases. And yet, there’s no satisfaction in the discovery, only a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of Javier’s stomach.

When he emerges from the tunnel, the scene outside has only grown more chaotic. Police, ambulances, and news reporters all converge by the abandoned tracks where everything set off. The press, hungry for details, hound the officers, their questions blending into a cacophony of noise that Javier tries to block out.

He stands off to the side in an attempt to finally catch his breath; chest heaving with the remnants of adrenaline. The rain has stopped, but the ground is a mess of mud and puddles, the dampness clinging to everything.

He watches as Samantha is loaded into the ambulance, her small frame dwarfed by the large stretcher. Her expression solemn, still reeling from what she’s faced. The paramedics speak in hushed tones, their movements quick and efficient, wrapping her in a thermal blanket before shutting the doors.

Javier winces slightly as he removes his vest, and a paramedic walking by stops, concern etched on her face. “You should get checked out too,” she says, gently guiding him to the back of another ambulance. He waves off her concern but doesn’t resist as she sits him down, shining a light into his eyes, checking his pulse.

“Everything looks fine,” she says after a moment, her tone professional but kind. “You’re going to have some serious bruising where that bullet hit— your vest took the brunt of it, so you’ll be sore for a while.”

He nods, hardly listening. His mind is somewhere else, his thoughts tangled. The weariness settles into his bones as the paramedic presses an ice pack into his hands, guiding them up to the spot he was hit at.

“You’re lucky,” she adds. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Javier grunts in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting when a cluster of reporters move from the officers and over to the sheriff when he makes his appearance, their cameras flashing, microphones extended towards him. He’s trying to answer their questions, his expression tight, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining composure.

Their exchanges over the radio have been minimal, strictly professional, with an edge of bitterness.

The tension between them is prominent, an unspoken rift that neither man seems willing to bridge. Javier catches a glance from Romeo, but it’s fleeting, their eyes barely meeting before the sheriff turns back to the reporters.

Exhaustion begins to nestle within his body. He’s done enough tonight— enough to get by, enough to wrap up the loose ends so that he can leave this hellish scene behind.

He stands up, handing the ice pack back to the paramedic with a nod of thanks. His eyes scan the scene once more— officers hauling the perpetrator’s dead body into the back of a coroner’s van, forensic teams combing through the area, the reporters still badgering Romeo for answers— but none of it holds his attention. His mind is already elsewhere, already focused on where he needs to be.

Only one thought remains clear. Paloma. He needs to be with her, hold her, to reassure that they’re okay, that she’s okay. The thought of her is the only thing that makes sense right now, the only thing that matters.

Without another word, he turns and starts walking, ignoring the looks from his colleagues, the murmured questions. He heads for his cruiser, slipping into the driver’s seat with a wince as his chest protests the movement. The rain has left the interior damp and cold, but he doesn’t care. He starts the engine and pulls away from the chaos.

Thoughts swirl in a disjointed mess that he cannot qualm, and it isn’t until he’s pulling into his driveway that he remembers— he didn’t call her. He should’ve checked in, caught her up on everything.

But the sight of her car parked in his driveway, the soft glow of light from his bedroom window, fills him with a wave of relief. She’s here. She’s safe.

He exhales a long breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension as he steps out of the car. His body aches with every move, but he preserves. He just needs to see her.

Javier is careful as he enters, muddy and wet, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He kicks off his boots by the door.

Calling out her name, his voice is rough from the night’s exertions.

“In here,” her voice beckons from the hallway, a honeyed reply that tugs at his heart. He follows, brows furrowing as he nears the bathroom. When he steps inside, he’s greeted by a sight that almost undoes him.

She is in the bathtub, bubbles covering her body, her hair piled into a messy bun with loose strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. The bathroom is warm and filled with the scent of lavender, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world he’s just come from.

She turns to look at him, her eyes widening as she takes in his disheveled appearance— his busted lip, the small cuts from twigs lashing at him during the chase, mud and rain still clinging to him.

“Javi, what happened?” she asks, concern lacing her words.

He steps closer, crouching, eyes tracing the lines of her face, taking in all her natural beauty. His gaze shifts to the mug on the edge of the tub, the scent of whiskey faint but unmistakable. He notices the glassy look in her eyes, the way she blinks slowly.

She’s drunk.

“Querida,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How much have you had to drink?”

Paloma narrows her eyes at him, her tone edged with defiance even in her inebriated state. “I asked you a question first.”

There’s a beat of silence, his throat bobbing. Finally, Javier lets out a sigh, slumping his shoulders as he answers. “It’s over. We got him.”

He explains what transpired and Paloma listens. Her eyes widen, her breath catches, disbelief and concern paint her expressions when he tells her about the tunnel, the chase, the way it all ended so abruptly.

She brings one hand from under the water to take hold of his, the warmth of her touch enough to settle his frayed nerves.

“It’s over,” he repeats, more for himself than for her. “No one else is going to get hurt.”

She nods softly, her fingers tightening around his before she slowly pulls away. “Join me,” she murmurs in a gentle invitation.

Javier chuckles, glancing skeptically at the small tub. “Baby, I don’t think I’d fit in there even if I tried.” His words are light, but the way her gaze holds his makes the excuse falter on his lips, the sentiment dying as quickly as it was born.

With a resigned sigh, he stands, the soft pop of his joints barely audible over the quiet splash of water. His hands move to undress, and when he gets to his shirt, the fabric falls away to reveal the dark, angry bruise on his chest. The instant Paloma’s eyes land on the mark, she gasps, her concern evident.

“Javi—”

“The bullet I took,” he brushes off her worry with a soft grunt. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

But the look etched across her face pulls him closer, and he bends down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, the contact lingering longer than intended. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She shifts to give him space when he steps into the tub, the water sloshing gently around his bigger frame. Despite the tight fit, they settle opposite each other, their legs brushing beneath the surface.

Once he’s seated, Javier reaches out, gently pulling her leg towards him. He presses a soft kiss to her ankle, his lips warm against her skin, before he begins to knead the tension from her calf with strong, skilled hands.

“Where the fuck did you get lavender-scented bubbles?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, aquiline nose grazing her wet skin as he trails soft kisses up to her knee.

Paloma lets out a light, drunken laugh, her head tipping back as she revels in his touch. “Tammy gave ‘em to me when I left her place. Told me to take a bath and that it’d make me feel better.”

“And?” he asks, his deep brown eyes flitting up to meet hers.

“Feelin’ better now,” she breathes, the contentment in her voice mirrored in her relaxed posture, reaching over for the cup.

Javier’s hands still momentarily as he repeats his earlier question, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dunno. Maybe like two mugs’ worth.” She hiccups, a small, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

His gaze moves to the mug she clutches like a treasure. “You know I have glasses specifically for that, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought this mug was quirky,” she says, holding it up for him to see, as if it wasn’t already familiar to him. It’s the one Steve had given him— a tacky gift after he had accidentally broken the one that usually sat on Javi’s desk back at the embassy.

He remembers his partner saying something about how Javier survived on coffee, cigarettes, and cunt— the Holy Trinity. Steve would always accompany this jab of his with a wink and a teasing grin.

He can’t help but laugh at the memory, shaking his head slightly, “Of course you did, hermosa.” His tone thickens with affection as he resumes his gentle massage, the tension in his own body beginning to ebb away as he focuses on her. Funny how that works.

A gentle silence envelops them, the kind that speaks of comfort. Paloma breaks it with a soft, but probing question, “Now that the case is closed… does that mean you’re leaving?”

The question manifests like a heavy mist, and Javier’s hands still on her leg, his fingers lingering before he slowly lowers it beneath the water.

He hadn’t wanted to face this moment, had told himself he wouldn’t think about his departure until it was staring him in the face. But now that it is, now that it’s here, he finds himself utterly uncertain.

Of course he wants to stay with her, to pursue this relationship that feels like it could be everything he’s ever wanted. But with the tangled mess of issues between them and Romeo, the barely restrained animosity that is bound to fester— it’s hard to see a clear path forward.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as his head tips back to rest against the cool tile of the wall.

Paloma shifts from her relaxed position, sitting up then setting the mug aside, and his heart skips a beat, worried he might have upset her.

“You don’t know…” Her brows knit together, confusion and a touch of hurt evident in her eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Javier takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You’re the only thing that’s keeping me here, palomita. I’d only stay for you. Fuck everything else.” His voice is tender, full of the raw truth of his feelings. Reaching out, he strokes her cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fluffy bubbles in their wake.

“You want the God honest truth?” She nods eagerly and he continues, “I go where you go. If you want to stay here, then I’ll stay here. If you want to leave, then I’ll leave.”

Warmth spreads through her chest, filling the space where doubt had started to creep in. She nuzzles into his hand, her eyes searching his, “You mean that?”

Javier’s gaze holds hers, steady and unwavering. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His sincerity makes her feel both cherished and understood. “So you would go anywhere? Just for me?”

He hums softly, nodding his head. There’s no hesitation, no hint of doubt in his eyes— just that familiar, endearing glint that always melts her heart, the one that tells her how much he loves her, how much he’s willing to do for her; even when his words can’t.

“I wanna leave Seminary,” she admits, statement spilling out with a quiet determination. It’s something she’s been feeling for a long, long time— more now after everything that’s happened with her father.

Javier isn’t surprised. “Yeah? And go where?”

She averts her gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips as a blush creeps up her cheeks. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Now why the hell would I do that?”

Paloma bites her lip, her fingers twiddling nervously beneath the water. “‘Cause it’s a little silly. Somethin’ I’ve been dreamin’ of since I was a teenager…”

He gives her a look that says keep going, I’m listening.

“Wanna head west, towards California,” she finally breathes out with a wistful longing. “Stop along the way. See the deserts and mountains. Have a house on the beach so every mornin’ I can walk outside and put my toes in the sand and work on my music. That’s my dream.”

He can see it so vividly— the two of them driving through vast and differing landscapes, the wind in her hair, her laughter filling the car, and the sun setting over the ocean as she strums her guitar on the beach. It’s a beautiful dream, one that tugs at his own restless spirit, one that makes him want to chase it right alongside her.

He leans in, brushing his lips softly against hers, tasting the promise of their future on her mouth. “Then let’s go.” he whispers in a tender vow. “I’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.”

She needs it as much as she needs him. Paloma’s eyes shine, a mix of joy and disbelief that he’s so willing, so ready to follow her wherever she wants to go. She kisses him, her heart soaring with the knowledge that she’s not alone in this, that wherever her aspirations take her, he’ll be right there by her side, loving her, supporting her, and making her dreams his own.

Javier feels a tide of emotions crashing over him as he sits there in the warm bath, her presence filling every corner of his being. The night has been brutal—his body aches with the bruises of the chase, his chest still sore from the angry bullet, but it’s the weight of everything that they’ve been through together that overwhelms him the most.

He looks at her now, tipsy and beautiful, bubbles clinging to her soft skin, her eyes half-lidded with affection, and it hits him just how much he loves her, how much he’s loved her since that moment on the ferris wheel.

They’ve overcome so much, so many hurdles he put in place that could’ve easily torn them apart, and yet here they are, in each other’s arms, in this intimate moment that feels like the culmination of… well, everything.

His nose grazes hers, his breath fanning over her face as he tries to find the words that suddenly feel so urgent to say. “Palomita…” he murmurs, tightening his hold on her, as if she might slip away if he doesn’t. “I was going to wait until after I talked to your dad and make it a whole big thing but…”

She stares at him expectantly, unsure of what he could possibly say.

“I want you to be my girl,” the statement is laden with weight of his feelings. “No more wondering, no more holding back. Just you and me, together.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, he fears he’s said too much, that he’s somehow scared her off.

But then her lips shift into a soft smile. “Your girl…” she likes the way that sounds. “There are worst things to be.” She jokes but her answer is clear as day. Of course she wants to be his.

The relief that floods through him is almost dizzying, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s slow and tender, a kiss that’s filled with the promise of everything they’re committing to.

As their lips meld together, the tenderness quickly ignites into something far more passionate. She tries to be mindful of the cut on his lip but he doesn’t seem to mind, the faint pulse all drowned out by the sweetness of her mouth.

He shifts his weight, adjusting their position as best as he can, sliding himself between her legs, the warm water swaying around them as he pushes her up a little further in the tub.

Javier’s hands slide down her body, fingers tracing the curves of her waist before finding her full breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples that peak under his touch. The feel of her soft, soapy skin beneath his calloused hands sends a shiver of need wracking right through him, and he feels his length stirring, poking against her thigh.

Paloma’s breath hitches, her lips parting with a soft moan as she presses herself closer to him, her own hands moving to cradle his jaw. Her kiss turns desperate, tongue sliding against his with a fervor that matches the growing heat between them. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, body instinctively seeking his in a way that leaves no doubt about what she wants.

His cock glides between her folds, hips twitching instinctively from the friction and her thighs clamp around his hips at the feeling.

“Javi,” she whimpers against his lips, “Need you to take me right here.”

His hands roam everywhere they can reach, squeezing and groping as he holds her steady. He doesn’t respond with words, just a deep grunt when she rocks her hips against him purposefully.

“We’re gonna make a mess,” he nips at her chin, moving his heated kisses down to her neck.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, as if to anchor herself to him. “Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

The bathwater spills out of the tub, as if proving his point, but neither of them get hung up on it, completely swept away by the lust that overcomes them.

Strong hands grip her hips as he lines himself against her entrance, the anticipation of sinking inside her making his dick twitch. He pauses for a moment, brown eyes locking with hers, wordlessly seeking her affirmation. And when she nods, her eyes dark with desire, he pushes into her, a low groan escaping his lips at the way her pussy clenches around his cock like she was made just for him.

Paloma’s mouth parts in a breathless gasp, eyes fluttering shut as her head tilts back, arching into him. The blissful sensation of him filling her leaving her utterly overwhelmed in the best way possible. Javier leans in, kissing along the column of her throat, his lips pressing against the pulse point that races beneath her skin before biting down, groaning at how sweet she tastes.

His movements are slow, savoring every second, every flutter of her sweet cunt and being so connected to the woman he loves.

Their rhythm builds, his pace increasing as their bodies move together in perfect harmony, soapy water splashing everywhere as they lose themselves in each other.

“You feel like fuckin’ heaven, my sweet girl.” He grunts against her, the praise having her walls viscerally clench around his girth, a whiney moan of his name getting stuck in her throat and he coaxes it out by snaking his fingers down between them to rub at her clit.

The atmosphere hums with the sound of their heated panting and moans, unbridled desire pours forth with every touch, every kiss, every stroke.

Javier’s hands are restless— caressing her breasts, gripping her hips, cradling her face as he kisses her deeply, passionately, desperately, like she’s the very air he needs to breathe. The sharp pang in his chest draws a wince, her eyes widening with concern, but he quickly dispels her worry by hiking her legs higher on his waist and driving into her deeper.

“Oh my god,” Paloma clings to him, her fingers threading through his hair, her nails raking down his back, pulling him even closer and deeper, until they’re both on the edge, teetering on the brink of an earth-shattering orgasm.

“So good, Javi, I’m about to come.”

He growls, her words fueling him to increase the intensity of his thrusts and bringing forth his own orgasm. His thick fingers to return to her swollen clit, trying to get her there so they can come together. “Good girl, give it to me. I’ve got you.”

And when they finally reach that peak, when the pleasure explodes at their cores like fireworks, it’s not just a release, it’s a culmination of everything they’ve become together.

He doesn’t pull out, burying himself to the hilt as her pussy milks every ribbon of cum from his throbbing cock.

It’s love in its purest form, raw and intense and beautiful, and as they come down from that high and hold each other in the aftermath, their hearts still pounding, their breaths still mingling— he knows it’s the only place he’d ever want to be.

“Really testing that birth control,” Javi murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his tongue glides across her jaw. He lingers there for a moment before his lips find the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sucking a possessive mark into the softness.

“You sure are,” she breathes out, feeling more intoxicated by him than by the whiskey she had earlier. “Told ya I was on it once ‘n you haven’t looked back since.”

He bites down gently on her collarbone, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. “Want me to stop?”

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, a mischievous expression on her face as she shifts beneath him, her body pliant and eager. “Love bein’ full of you.”

A satisfied smirk finds its way onto his mouth and he moves to kiss her. The cramped space of the bathtub and awkward angle finally begin to take their toll on him. His lower back spasms, but even that doesn’t get him to pull out of her. He loves the feeling of her warmth wrapped around him, it outweighs any of the discomfort.

“We made a big ‘ol mess,” she giggles, peering over the edge of the tub to see the water that’s splashed out, soaking the floor. The small disaster only adds to her delight, her laughter filling the small bathroom.

Javier chuckles, his breath warm against her neck as he shifts slightly, trying to ease the strain on his back. “Worth it,” his lips brush against her ear, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples.

Her laughter fades into a soft moan as she arches into his touch. Leave it to him to flip the mood from playful to horny.

He leans back just enough to catch her gaze, “Can’t get enough of you,” he admits, voice low and husky.

“Then don’t,” she retorts, her fingers trailing down his back, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shudder.

“Don’t think my back can handle another round in here.”

She opens her mouth, ready to make a teasing remark about his age, but he sees it coming, quickly bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. “Don’t,” he warns, a smile playing on his lips.

Her eyes narrow playfully, and she licks his palm, making him tut at her. His hand slips away, replacing it with his lips in a quick kiss as he eases his soft cock out of her which has them both letting out a breath.

They let the remaining bathwater swirl down the drain before starting the shower, the warm spray washing over them, actually bathing this time. Paloma’s fingers trail gently over Javier’s chest, lingering on the large bruise that has already begun to darken beneath his tanned skin.

Her eyes then travel up to the bruise on his jaw and the gash on his lip that she’d momentarily forgotten about in the heat of their fucking. A frown tugs at her lips as she reaches up to trace the wound with a feather-light touch. “I take it Daddy didn’t take the news of us very well,” she murmurs with resignation as she tries to picture the scene he must have caused at the station. She wonders how the hell he even found out.

Javier shrugs, his expression unreadable as his hands follow the curves of her body, moving with a tender reverence as he lathers the soap across her skin. “The ass beating was partially deserved,” he admits. “Would have been worse, but he stopped once he saw the pictures…” He pauses, studying her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t give him one. Her eyes flutter closed as he continues to wash her, the gentle motions of his hands soothing away the lingering tension.

“I shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. They weren’t necessary,” he continues, even though his mind tells him to shut the fuck up. “I was just pissed because of how things were between us at the time. I was chasing after August,” his voice hardens as he says the name, “trying to find something, anything, to tie him to what was going on. But that proved to be pointless real quick.”

Paloma hums softly, her expression indifferent as she lets the water cascade over her. “It’s okay, honey. Bygones are bygones. I wasn’t really myself while I was with him, anyway.”

Javier’s curiosity stirs, tempted to ask more, to dig deeper into the mystery of what exactly went on between her and August. He knows so little about the inner workings of his collective, only that it’s a group of troubled minds that reject traditional religion and never stay in one place for long. It explains their absence from town, how they disappeared without a trace after the Fourth of July celebration.

But he doesn’t press, not now at least. All he wants is to forget as much of today’s bullshit as he can and just enjoy her.

They work in quiet harmony, the sound of the soft patter of water against tile soothing. Once they’ve rinsed away the last of the suds, they reluctantly step out of the shower.

Paloma’s eyes trail over him, his toned back and firm ass catching her attention as he grabs towels for them. The sight of him is a welcome distraction, and she bites her lip, appreciating every inch of him as he moves.

They sidestep the water, making their way to his bedroom to find something to wear. She snatches one of his shirts from the closet, slipping it over her head. The fabric hangs loosely on her frame, but the way it falls just right on her curves makes Javier pause, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of affection and desire.

“C’mon,” she teases, breaking the spell once she slips her panties on, “we gotta clean up before we go to bed.”

With a playful groan, Javier nods, and they head back to the bathroom. They move around each other easily, laughing and joking as they clean up the floor, using his shitty mop and some of his other towels to get it done.

“You know,” he says with a grin, wringing out the mop, “if this law enforcement thing doesn’t work out, I could see us starting a cleaning business.”

Paloma smirks, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief. “Oh yeah? Javier Peña, professional crime fighter by day, janitor by night? Astronomer on the side?”

He chuckles, giving her a playful nudge with his hip. “Something like that.”

She shakes her head, her smile widening as she tosses another towel into the pile. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re pretty damn good with that mop.”

They continue their lighthearted banter, the task of cleaning becoming less of a chore. When they finally finish, the bathroom is restored to order, the floor dry and the towels piled up in the hamper. Javier leans against the doorframe, watching Paloma as she wipes her brow, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the shower and the exertion of their playful cleaning.

Without a word, he reaches out, tugging her gently towards his bedroom.

She follows willingly, her fingers entwined with his as they cross the threshold and slip into his bed. She lets her eyes scan over his handsome face and all the small wounds. Her smile falters slightly, eyes softening.

“I don’t wanna go back home. Not yet,” she confesses, voice small.

Javier pulls her into his lap and she straddles his hips. “You can stay here as long as you want. Take it one day at a time. If you need to go back for anything, I’ll go with you.”

“Playin’ house with you, huh? Sounds like fun.”

He chuckles softly, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how you feel after a few days of my cooking. Or my obnoxious snoring at night.”

The lightness of their conversation is a balm to her nerves, and she leans into him, pressing a kiss to his nose. “M’sure I’ll survive.”

Javier’s expression turns thoughtful, his mind not fully able to move on from today’s happenings. “I’ve got this weird feeling about tonight,” he admits, brows furrowing slightly. “The guy down there in that chamber… he said something. ‘It’s all for her.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

She tilts her head slightly, looping her arms around his neck loosely. “He was twisted, Javi. Don’t let him mess with your head. Whatever that meant— it’s irrelevant now. He’s dead. It’s over.”

He nods slowly, but the unease lingers in his eyes. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s just… something feels off.”

“Sleep on it,” Paloma offers, her fingers weaving through the curls at the nape of his neck as she tugs gently, her body not-so-subtly grinding down on his lap. The warmth between them begins to intensify. A slow, simmering desire. “Maybe you won’t feel this way tomorrow.”

Her words seem to pull him back from the edge of uncertainty, grounding him. The doubt that lingered in his mind begins to fade as his cock twitches against her, feeling the soft pressure of her body moving against him. “You’re just trying to shut me up so you can get some,” he teases, his lips brushing against her jaw, the scent of his body wash clinging to her skin and making his head spin.

She tilts her head back, offering more of her neck, her breath hitching as she keens beneath his touch. “Maybe… Is it a crime to want to fuck my boyfriend?” she replies in an airy breath. The title of boyfriend makes his heart jump and he’s all but ready to take here right here and now.

Their lips meet, the kiss deep and consuming as her tongue slips into his mouth, taking control in a way that makes him follow her lead. His hands find their way under the shirt she’s wearing, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her hips, pulling her closer.

When they break apart for air, Javier keeps her close, foreheads resting together. “I meant what I said about California, Paloma. I’ll go anywhere with you.” His voice is soft, but the conviction in it is unmistakable.

She smiles, heart swelling with so much affection she feels like it might burst. She knows there’s still so much shit that needs to be sorted out, especially with her father. The path ahead isn’t without its challenges.

But for the first time, the oppressive burden that’s weighed on her shoulders seems lighter. She feels the freedom to chase the aspirations she’s held onto for so long, the dreams that have lived quietly in the back of her mind.

Mother’s history be damned. Father’s control be damned.

She’s ready to step into her own future, to grow and blossom into the woman she’s always known she could be, with a man by her side who’s willing to go to the ends of the earth to make her happy. His own happiness is intertwined with hers, his satisfaction stemming from seeing her thrive.

“Okay,” she finally whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her words a soft echo of his own. “Then let’s go.”

#javier peña smut #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x ofc #pedro pascal fic #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos

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wayfinder · 1 year ago

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hello my fellow madoka enjoyers, i haven't posted about this show in a good few years but the trailer for the new film has me feeling delusional so i'm here to share some thoughts: i think this "false homura" is walpurgisnacht. (read more for theory crafting).

so the "homura is actually walpurgisnacht" idea has been floating around since the original season was airing -- rebellion discredited it quite a bit! the very existence of homulily makes things feels muddled. but hear me out, because this trailer tosses us a lot of bones (nevermind the literal title involving her name). first thing's first, we have two of homura in this trailer, and in the poster:

homura facing the viewer and smiling is who i'm going to call "false homura", and the one with her back to us is what i assume to be "normal" homura. technically homucifer. madoka is seemingly just madoka in the background, but interestingly, she is wearing her outfit from the concept film! i'll come back to this later because it's relevant; let's talk about false homu.

immediately we're greeted with this behind her, which is the tarot card 'XVIII' -- the moon. "the moon is a card of illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be." deception, fear, hidden things & confusion.

this outfit bares a lot of resemblence to walpurgisnacht. the large, ruffled dress. the mid section. the long bell sleeves with white at the ends... it's not subtle. the silhoutte is very apparent, even more so during this shot later:

^ worth noting that false homura's umbrella has the same, ruffled material as well. and her uniform is different! it seems to be an amalgamation of other school uniforms we see in the show.

walpurgisnacht is described as "the stage-constructing witch"...

... "it's nature is helplessness. it symbolizes the fool who continuously spins in circles. the witch's mysteries have been handed down through the course of history; its appellation is "walpurgisnacht." it will continue to rotate aimlessly throughout the world until it completely changes the whole of this age into a drama."

other descriptions of walpurgisnacht talk a lot about this "stage play", and how it is the ultimate end goal:

"she will flood the earth with magic, and take all of humankind into her play. a moving stage construction. if everything is a play, no unhappy things will exist. it may be a tragedy, but it'll all be part of the script. the play stops on walpurgisnacht, and the earth does not turn even once more. the story will not change. tomorrow, and the day after, is the night of walpurgis."

reading this with a rebellion pov is interesting -- after all, homura did exactly this. she rewrote the world, and everything is "happy" now for madoka, so she thinks. the earth does not turn even once more.

interesting that she drops this line at the end of this new trailer:

i also want to point out that the clara dolls we see in the trailer are not homura's usual clara dolls:

these designs are different & match none of the existing clara dolls. they're also missing the blue eyes they had in rebellion. the lower one in this image seems to have a tail of sorts? maybe a salamander tail..?

there was, however, one missing clara doll in rebellion... the 15th, known as "love".

i wonder if love will show up in this movie... (or if it's already here).

taking a small detour from false homura, there's another character in this trailer that's unaccounted for, and that's this girl who seems to be a mix of madoka and homura:

the bow homura uses at the end of the original show.

madoka's hair ribbons and back bow.

homura's skirt and diamond designs.

madoka's heels and puff sleeves.

her entire design is just. them. even the hair color is what you get when you mix madoka and homura's... so who is she? i keep thinking back to how walpurgisnacht is described as an "amalgamation" of other witches & magical girls... hm hm.

when madoka was having it's initial run, one of the series' designers, inucurry, said that "walpurgisnacht and kriemhild gretchen (madoka's witch) are meant to have pairing sillhouettes." when placed together, they form an hourglass -- or a sand timer. food for thought.

& back to the concept film real quick, because i said i'd mention: though it lacks any context, in the film, madoka is talking to some "fairies":

though we're never told what these fairies are, they reminded me a lot of walpurgisnacht's familiars:

i have to wonder if maybe these familiars and the clara dolls have any similarities...

anyways, there's a lot to unpack! lots to think about! it's very clear that walpurgisnacht and homura are linked, but to what extend we'll have to wait and see... though, one last thing about false homura: she is smiling every time we see her.

you wanna know who else is always smiling?

#puella magi madoka magica #walpurgisnacht rising #pmmm #madoka #well mutuals you may be thinking “ame never posts on this blog”#and to that i'm like “yea i don't” but if i didn't get this out i was going to combust. ten years later and we're back baby

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 2 years ago

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[XVIII - The Moon] ; What would they do if you felt insecure?

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Characters: Vergil, Nero, Dante

Relationships: character x gn!reader

Dante gets it. There were many times he drowned himself in shame and insecurity in his life. Whether because he couldn’t save somebody, thinking he wasn’t strong enough, or failing that nasty game called adulting. There was also insecurity regarding his love life. Being a part demon, he secretly worried whether or not will partners be repelled by some weird things that come with his messed-up heritage. He’ll always try to cheer you up, to dissuade the situation. Gives all the reasons why you’re the most amazing person and won’t go easy on the compliments. He has a talent for making people smile or get a thrill. Whether he’s telling the perfectly-timed joke, helping out when his friends are in a fix, or taking his family on an adventure. If it’s really bad, he even cancels his plans for the rest of the day and spends it making you feel better. He wants to remind you of the beauty every moment has to offer.

Vergil will give you solutions and plans for your problems rather than words of encouragement. It’s how he shows he cares. He’s skilled at creating effective ways to achieve goals (way too effective). He’ll give you a concise plan on how to fix to problem you’re currently having. Even though all you need is a kind word and someone to vent to. This may irritate you sometimes, but you have to admit that it led you to improve yourself in many aspects of your life. If you’re feeling overwhelmed and unsure of what to do, he looks at the situation objectively and makes a strategy that will fig you out of the hole you’re trapped in. Be careful though, because Vergil gives honesty when evaluating the situation you’re in.

Nero doesn’t need to be told there’s something wrong. He’s empathetic enough to see it in the small changes in your attitude and compassionate enough to act quickly in a crisis to make sure you’re ok. He may press you for answers when you’re not ready to give them and insist you solve things here and now. If you don’t he worries nonstop. He constantly thinks about you and what could it be that makes you so stressed out. When you finally express your insecurities, he tries to understand where they came from by gently asking you a few well-aimed questions. When he gets a satisfactory resolution he then fully focuses on making you feel better and helping you with whatever you’re struggling with in any way he can.

#dmc5 nero #nero x reader #nero imagine #devil may cry nero #dante x reader #dmc dante #dante devil may cry #devil may cry dante #dante x you #dante sparda #vergil x reader #dmc vergil #devil may cry vergil #vergil x you #vergil sparda

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wreckedhoney · 9 months ago

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A Killer Frequency Major Arcana Match-up! bc sometimes it's fun to match characters & setpieces from a story with the major arcana from the tarot deck. But some picks are better than others lol, I bolded the ones I like best. Feel free to share what/who you'd match with which, or what picks here stand out! Shared a bit of this on discord, so hello to anyone seeing this again! I added more since :)

0. The Fool - Jimmy. Curiosity, Optimism, Journeys, Trust (both deserved & misplaced), Above the opinions of others. Upside down: Agency, Responsibility, Don’t catastrophize/overthink.

I. The Magician - Carrie. Creativity, Invention, Transformative process, Art, Wisdom, Purity. Upside down: Ineffective old habits, Learn new tricks, Hard work, Change.

II. The High Priestess - KFAM Radio station. Welcoming, Mysterious, Fertile, Secrets, Clarity, Good surprises, Opportunity. Upside down: Actions over wishful thinking.

III. The Empress - Brian Ponty. Peace/Abundance, Love/Luxury. Upside down: Trouble in paradise, Collect yourself.

IV. The Emperor - John Hedges. Power/Authority, Responsibility, Self control, Self mastery. Upside down: Need for flexibility over rigidness.

V. The Hierophant - Forrest Nash. Wisdom, Rules, Choosing one’s battles, Conformity. Upside down: Independent paths/Isolation.

VI. The Lovers - George&Marie. Choices, Guided or controlled by emotions, Passion. Upside down: Emotional coldness, Hibernation, Complacency.

VII. The Chariot - 189.16, The Scream. Control over situations, Freedom, Risk of working oneself out of a good thing. Upside down: Moving forward.

VIII. Strength - Leslie Harper. Stamina, Perseverance. Upside down: Draw on hidden strengths, Reflect on strengths one forgets they have.

IX. The Hermit - Clive Elforth. Reflection, Soul searching, Learning by observation. Upside down: Consider sharing one’s wisdom with others.

X. Wheel of Fortune - Roller Ricky’s Roller Rink. Life is circular, Good times will come back, Keep working towards upsides. Upside down: Take a step back before things spin out of control.

XI. Justice - The Producer’s Booth. Fairness, Adherence to rules & consequences. Upside down: Karma for oneself also.

XII. The Hanged Man - Maurice Russell. Patience, Perspective over catastrophizing. Upside down: Patience is not always a virtue; act or retreat.

XIII. Death - George Barrow. Changes, Attempts to avoid conflict may be futile. Upside down: Pointless to resist; may make things worse. Avoid conflict if possible.

XIV. Temperance - Plunker/The Frat. Self restraint, Moderation, Satisfaction with balance, Going with the flow, Patience. Upside down: Reflect on life’s imbalances, Be wary of impulsiveness.

XV. The Devil - Marie Campbell. Base desires, Bound to self-destruction, Prone to temptation/beguiling, Potential to break free but unwilling. Upside down: Detach from self-destruction.

XVI. The Tower - Elis Point/Whistling Point. Sudden changes & chaos, Powerlessness, Humbleness and Brevity. Upside down: Little to no way to avoid inevitable, but it will be okay eventually.

XVII. The Star - Roller Ricky. Transformation, Growth, Healing & forgiveness, Success, Carrying on. Upside down: Lack of guidance, Work to move things to one’s benefit.

XVIII. The Moon - Edward Marshall Mooney. Clarity past distractions, Ego/stubbornness, Dreams & Intuition followed through. Upside down: Anxieties and unhappiness, though it will also pass.

XIX. The Sun - Peggy Weaver. Optimism, Joy, Creativity, Potential for power. Upside down: Use powers wisely, Avoid unneeded conflict, Reach out to others.

XX. Judgement - The DJ Booth. Judge oneself, Examine choices & actions, Reflect on present and goals. Upside down: Avoid overthinking (especially details) as it may cloud judgement.

XXI. The World - Henry Barrow. Completion, Satisfaction. Upside down: Incomplete feelings, Reflect on what was missing.

#killer frequency #so the Temperance one especially is a bit tongue in cheek lol but is the vibe there??? you tell me! some of these match-up's were hard #brian ponty?? but like does anyone have a better match? nothing really screamed The Empress out to me. Emperor too. was about to put Reggie #also to discord folks: yeah the devil was originally henry barrow and marie was the chariot! the new roles seem more fitting #henry's existence can feel “circular” storywise. and it's more “complete” with him coming at the end with the reveals. wdyt?#and death was originally just the whistling man costume (mask&knife). i still dig that but there are already So Many Whistling Men here lol

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arcanarubinaito · 10 months ago

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Short Story Taglist

I’ve been meaning to compile a list of content tags I will commonly use, and their meanings. This both gives me a handy reference to use when I’m finalizing everything to post—because honestly I blank out on how to tag it once I get to that point, lol—and I figure I’d post it as both a reference for my own readers and a potential resource for other minific authors here on Tumblr.

This list will be updated as needed; and if you have any tag you think should be added, please comment your suggestions!

I will not be adding tags for certain taboo subjects, as that content will never be on my blog and I’m sure those who write it already know how to properly tag it.

I will not be adding ship tags because frankly there are too many to add.

Please note that this list contains Content Warning tags.

Spoiler Warnings

Asra’s Route

Nadia’s Route

Julian’s Route

Muriel’s Route

Portia’s Route

Lucio’s Route

Tales (Insert Specific Tale Here)

Upright Ending

Neutral Ending

Content Warning Tags

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Gore

Suicidal Tendencies

Self-Harm

Torture

Sexually Explicit Content

Substance Abuse

Depictions of Alcohol

Mild/Mentioned Alcohol Use

Depictions of Drug Use

Mild/Mentioned Drug Use

General Content Tags

Platonic Relationship(s)

Romantic Relationship(s)

Comfort

Hurt/Comfort

Anxiety/Comfort

Hurt/No Comfort

Angst

Whump

Cuddles

Fluff

Major Character Death

Minor Character Death

Slow Burn

Series

Miscellaneous Tags

SFW (<18)

NSFW (18+)

[x] Words

Ask Box

Request

Commission

Gift

Character Tags

Reader/OC Tags

GN Reader

AFAB Reader

AMAB Reader

Nonbinary Reader

Female Reader

Male Reader

Transfem Reader

Transmasc Reader

Self Insert

Apprentice OC

Original Character(s)

Main Six

Asra Alnazar

Nadia Satrinava

Julian/Ilya Devorak

Muriel of the Kokhuri

Portia/Pasha Devorak

Lucio/Montag Morgasson

Familiars/Animals

Faust

Chandra

Malak

Inanna

Pepi

Mercedes & Melchior

Camio

Chimes & Flamel

Jaeger

Courtiers

Consul Valerius

Praetor Vlastomil

Procurator Volta

Pontifex Vulgora

Quaestor Valdemar

Side Characters

Aisha Alnazar

Salim Alnazar

Tasya/Anastasia Devorak

Lishka Devorak

Mazelinka

Halinka (A Warm Welcome)

Khamgalai of the Kokhuri

Morga Eirsdottir

The Satrinavas

Nasrin Satrinava

Namar Satrinava

Nafizah Satrinava

Nazali Satrinava

Navra Satrinava

Nahara Satrinava

Nasmira Satrinava

Natiqa Satrinava

Gavin (The Bazar Job)

Minor Characters

Chamberlain (One of the Palace servants. Unclear if ‘Chamberlain’ is his name or his title.)

Ludovico (Palace Guard)

Bludmila (Palace Guard)

Selasi (The Baker)

Saguaro (An acquaintance of Asra’s, from Nopal)

Tilde the Leech Monger (A leech merchant near Mazelinka’s house.)

Barth/Bartholomew (Bartender of The Rowdy Raven)

Aedile Velos (Once slept in the Palace’s haunted guest room.)

Major Arcana

The Fool (0)

The Magician (I)

The High Priestess (II)

The Empress (III)

The Emperor (IV)

The Hierophant (V)

The Lovers (VI)

The Chariot (VII)

Strength (VIII)

The Hermit (IX)

Wheel of Fortune (X)

Justice (XI)

The Hanged Man (XII)

Death (XIII)

Temperance (XIV)

The Devil (XV)

The Tower (XVI)

The Star (XVII)

The Moon (XVIII)

The Sun (XIX)

Judgment (XX)

The World (XXI)

#the arcana #the arcana game #arcanarubinaito #rubin rambles #rubin’s writing #taglist #tags #minific tags #fandom resource #tagging resource

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ordinorultor-if · 7 months ago

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Tarot pt.2

Okay I got distracted playing Mount & Blade yesterday, but here's part 2 of the tarot associations.

B/Bertie is XV - The Devil. The Devil is a card of ambition, sensation and temptation, oppression, and corrupting figures. I think of all the characters, B plays into the dualism between the Reversed and Upright meanings the most. B is jealous of MC, and I wouldn't put it past them to stage a coup if they feel MC is dealing with the Liege poorly, hence the ambition and temptation readings. However, they're probably the member of the Council most against the Liege, and the Reversed meaning of The Devil is all about freeing oneself from oppression and divorcing oneself from corrupting figures. And if MC gets a high enough relation with B, then B is able to (mostly) let go of their jealousy, letting go of their own internal temptations.

A/Alb is XVIII - The Moon. The Moon is a card of trickery, illusion, imagination, and the messages that can be found in one's dreams. Alb is MC's chancellor and diplomatic advisor, responsible for hosting other rulers and communicating with them, hence the association with dream messages. However, they're almost a second spymaster - extremely underhanded and willing to go behind everyone's backs if it furthers their family's goals and/or the deposition of the Liege.

M/Mel is XII - The Hanged Man. The Hanged man is a card of sacrifice, martyrdom, and knowledge. Mel, due to their issues, works themselves to the bone as MC's spymaster, dealing with a spy network that feeds them information from as far away as the capital of the empire or the northern border of Sayland. However, The Hanged Man in its Reversed position is specifically a card of pointless sacrifice, leading back to how the rest of the family would prefer if Mel chilled out.

E is a mix of V - The Hierophant and XVII - The Star. The Hierophant is a card of spiritual authority, conformity, and occasionally mercy, compassion, and education. The Star, meanwhile, is a card of 'the light at the end of the tunnel', joy and hope during a dark time. E, as MC's religious and legal advisor, has a link to the church, especially through their mentor, Bishop Rosalie. Personally, they are a source of great comfort to their family, and a good source of interpersonal advice.

P/P'enfant is XI - Justice. Justice is a card of... well, I don't think you need me to tell you. Once MC decides how to depose the Liege, P begins to become one of the Liege's most vicious opponents, constantly demanding justice for all of their crimes, representing the Upright meanings of karma and justice; additionally, P, as Akize's highest tax official, is the one dealing with the brunt of the Liege's pettiness and abuse of authority (aside from MC), and they also were there to find out when the Liege attacked one of MC's siblings, both of which represent well the Reversed meanings of abuse and miscarriage of justice. Admittedly, this is one of the shakier associations.

The Liege is IV - The Emperor. The Emperor is a card of temporal authority (contrasting with V - The Hierophant, which is similar but more spiritual), leadership, and control. However, the Liege is more associated with the card's Reversed meaning than its Upright meaning: they're a tyrant, they're petty and immature, they're domineering, they're stubborn - all things associated with The Reversed Emperor. There's also minor associations with XVI - The Tower in that by destroying them and upending the old order, MC paves the way for something better... probably.

#interactive fiction #ordinor ultor if #tarot #sibling b #sibling a #sibling m #sibling e #sibling p

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liminal-storage · 1 month ago

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XVIII-The Moon

Prompt: Bar

Characters: Soren Lessard

Warnings: Blood, death.

The scent of blood hangs heavy on the air.

The stark, white trunks of the surrounding birch trees break up the dark of night like slices of moonlight, each one passing in a blur as the man runs for his life. He pauses just long enough to catch his breath, propping himself up against the skinny trunk of one of those ghostly trees.

Something rustles nearby and he moves once more, a smear of a bloody handprint left behind on pale papery bark. He does not stop running until the landscape leaves him no choice, a tall rock face boxing him in at one side with the river on another. The only path leads back the way he came, right into the maw of the beast.

With nowhere left to run, his only option is to fight.

He thinks of his sword, lying abandoned on the forest floor after that creature tore it out of his grasp and tossed it aside. He thinks of the various vials full of powder and alchemical concoctions meant to give him an edge in a hunt like this, the entire collection sunken into the bottom of a lake. It's all gone. Every method of attacking or defending himself has been stripped away, taken and discarded by the hungry beast. All that remains are his own two hands.

He's trapped, desperately contemplating alternative means of escape, when he hears something like applause from the trees. He backs himself up against the rock face; a rookie mistake, really, as his quarry-turned-pursuer emerges from the woods.

Like so many of his kind, the creature is unnaturally beautiful. Long black hair shines like polished metal in the moonlight, blue eyes as bright as the ocean's waves. In the low light it's easy to mistake the ashen caste of his skin as something vaguely warm, and the red stain upon an otherwise pristine white shirt might be confused with wine in any other setting.

The applause stops.

"It was a good show, at least," the monster mocks. "I wasn't bored for even a moment."

In a feeble attempt, he lunges for the creature, only for his wrists to be captured in a deceptively powerful grasp. No way out. All paths barred. Caught in the jaws of inevitable death.

The monster called Soren seems almost sympathetic as he leans in close to speak.

"Your only real sin is being so damn inexperienced. Any good hunter knows that it's essential to study one's prey. You may well have had a chance, had you remembered that key tenet."

The man trembles, his pulse roaring through his veins and pumping adrenaline. Cornered like a rabbit, he's forgotten himself and his purpose. Soren scoffs.

"You tried to hunt a hunter. That was really your greatest mistake. I am very sorry to say that there will be no further learning opportunities for you."

Hands shift, and the hold the man finds himself in is almost intimate, sensual. Hands pinned behind his back, body pinned against the stone, and with a beautiful creature standing before him. Every mistake he made along the way screams through his head. He should have chosen easier prey. He should have had more practice first. His mentor will be beside himself when he learns of his fate...

"I'll make it quick," the beast promises, before the piercing pain of fangs tears his throat apart, and the mortal hunter knows regret and fear no more.

#my writing #ffxivwrite2024 #Soren Lessard #{once a hunter}

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nine-of-words · 1 year ago

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(Harpy + XVIII The Moon)

Trans M Harpy x M Reader

Wordcount: 2907

Content Warnings: Magical Disguise, Brief Description of Death, Public Sex, Cloacal Sex (Reader Tops)

I’m doing a little self-inflicted challenge using the monstertober prompt here. But also with tarot card pulls for additional RNG!

I’m not going to call this monstertober though, because there’s no way in hell I’m finishing all of these in October- knowing me, they're probably going to stretch out a few months. So, not sure what to call it: Autumnal monster one-shots? The name ultimately doesn’t matter.

The moon is full overhead, casting a dull, pale glow over everything.

The tall cedars and pines of the forest loom over you as far as your vision can go in the darkness, no familiar safety of guard towers anywhere in sight.

The sound of baying hounds has finally grown so distant that you feel like you can rest momentarily.

At least you and your fellow guard Kira managed to escape from the conflict relatively unharmed.

You still can't risk a fire, lest you be spotted by any pursuing bandits.

Kira sits perched on a nearby tall stone with the map, sitting in that peculiar way he favors; heel of his boots tucked to his ass. He doesn't seem to be looking at the map though, instead scanning the tree line. You’ve removed your armor, working to bandage the various scrapes you received from the scuffle with bandits on the toll road and the following sudden retreat through the undergrowth.

The adrenaline has finally begun to wear off, leaving you to sit and contemplate your failure.

The caravan you were escorting was attacked, that much is clear. But an ambush on the caravan? …Why?

There wasn’t anything particularly valuable in the caravan, past the everyday possessions of a nobleman. This toll road isn't even known for a high amount of bandit activity- It's why your employer chose to use it.

You grimace, growing tired of trying to sort out the reasons. Instead, your attention is drawn to your partner.

He looks the same as he always does: A slight, handsome male numan, with angular features, silky black hair with a near violet sheen depending on the light, cold pale skin and deeply curious, sharp grey eyes.

You’ve been in what could be called a romantic entanglement since shortly after he was hired on by your employer. You were tasked with training him as the senior guard on staff, though he didn’t need much training at all. Being paired together for guard shifts with someone you found blisteringly attractive only made the inevitable outcome happen sooner. While you’ve enjoyed the trysts, you’ve tried to keep them from interfering with doing your job.

He’s usually cool and collected under the pressure, even when things have gone wrong. But there’s some silent panic happening here, something shifty and out of character with what you’ve come to know.

But something isn't sitting right. Something… is off with him. Different.

You squint at him, getting to your feet with a grunt.

"...You're hiding something. I can tell."

"No, I'm not." He blatantly denies, dismissive and matter of fact. But you can hear it in his voice, and see it in the hunched way he’s sitting, trying to make himself look smaller. That, and he's been avoiding looking you in the eye since this whole doomed journey began.

You approach the rock he’s perched on, worried he’s concealing an injury from you; he shrinks back, so subtly you almost don’t notice it.

"Hey-" You grasp his face between your hands for emphasis, turning his gaze on you. Perhaps a bit too intimate for the moment, but it's been far too long, nearly a week since you could feel his skin under your fingers, so you indulge yourself. It's been nearly impossible to wedge in any alone time on the road to do so."Talk to me."

You're considering pressing your lips to his for the much needed comfort, when you stop short. The movement causes the hood of his cloak to slide back, just enough to reveal tiny blue-black feathers that have sprouted on the bridge between his eyes, and at the edges of his cheeks.

"...Feathers…?"

"L-Let go-" He brushes you off, turning his face away and drawing his hood back up. "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the time? You make everything ten times harder-"

"Don't change the subject!" You sputter, stepping back but not dropping it. "Feathers! What's happened to your fa-"

In backing away, you’ve given yourself room to see him clearly as a whole, and things seem to change right in front of your eyes.

Wide, shiny black wings hang down from his arms, nearly covering him, like a blanket draped from his shoulders.

Swathes of smaller feathers pepper his face, as well as chunkier feathers dispersed to form ear-like points, and a soft looking crest of plumage peeking out over his collar.

Ill fitting boots fall off and hit the ground with a hollow thunk. They're followed by the padded leggings more suited for less rounded, unfeathered thighs. He's left with just his long hooded tunic, looking almost comfortable.

The rock he’s sitting on certainly looks more like a perch now, between his wings and large scaled avian feet, each tipped with a glossy, blade-like talon.

“Huh.” You can only manage a surprised grunt, forgetting what you were even going to say- too busy taking in the new details of his appearance. Or at least- new to you.

“Glamour.” He laughs mirthlessly and pulls his hood all the way down in defeat. "Racist old fart only ever hired numen on."

"You're involved in this? But the others-" You conclude. Your fists clench, as does your jaw.

"The others aren't coming." He says, pointing a taloned finger towards the darkness of the woods. "And if they're smart, they ran instead of trying to fight. But that's on them."

"But… why?"

"Doesn't matter why, does it?" Kira sighs, shoulders falling as he seems to fully accept that he's been caught. "Someone’s why was big enough they paid a lot of gold for him to be dead. And so, now he's dead."

"I can't believe this-" You glare at him. The residual guilt from failing in your duties morphing into indignance of being lied to by someone you trusted. "You lied to me?"

Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your sword hanging from your belt for some feeling of security, but you only feel empty space- you’ve left it back in its scabbard, where you were sitting on the rocks.

"I did. So, is this where you valiantly avenge your dead employer in the name of loyalty?” There’s the sound of feathers rustling over fabric and claw scraping against stone, just barely there.

You simply stand there, nostrils flaring and teeth bared, ready to scrap for your life at the hint of violent intent.

“…I don't want to have to hurt you, love, but I'm not dying tonight- and we both know I'm the faster draw."

You don't need to have a clear view to know his hand is already on the hilt of a concealed blade somewhere on his person as he speaks. You've worked and lived and done other things with him long enough now to know.

Everything else- you should've known. Even appearing as a numan, everything about his movement, his way of handling weapons, even his mannerisms at times- screamed criminal. Concealment. Trickery. Deceit.

But you're not one to judge someone on their past, especially not when they're looking for honest work.

"...My loyalty to my employer only persists if he's still alive to pay my wages." You shake your head, recalling from the blurry memory of the tumult the sight of the old man getting a bolt to his neck and toppling from the gilded carriage. "That’s the risk you take hiring mercenaries as your personal guard… He was a sour old bastard, anyway."

The tightly wound tension, thick enough to cut with a knife, evaporates with your acknowledgement.

"And here I thought you just enjoyed playing the hero." His voice is already lighter, back to his normal, jovial tone, devoid now of the cold edge of necessity.

"I enjoy a job well done! That doesn't make me some paragon of virtue!"

"That's exactly something a paragon of virtue would say." He quips, feather bristling as he laughs his decidedly caw-like laugh at his own joke. You wonder how you never noticed that about Kira’s voice before, or if the magic downplayed that too.

You simply groan in response.

"I'll tell you one thing, I'm never buying from that miserable old hag over by the lake again." He spits on the ground in front of him in scorn. "Damned glamour didn't even last half as long as she claimed it would."

You can't hold back the laughter. The absurdity of the situation is too much, and you finally crack.

“I thought you were taking this a bit too well…” Kira mutters to himself.

You slide a calloused palm down your face, silencing yourself.

“I take it then,” You feel so foolish, that despite the calamity you just experienced, the idea of him faking his interest in you is what is truly bothering you about the situation. “That all of this was an act?”

"No! ‘Seduce handsome guard’ was not on the agenda." You feel him risk reaching out for you, the first time since the facade dropped. The familiar feeling of his hand on your forearm is comforting, but the addition of a claw scraping lightly across your skin is surprising. …Though not entirely unwelcome. “That part sort of… fell into place all on its own.”

“Right.” You continue looking at him, trying to discern if this too is a lie.

“You don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.” Kira says, mimicking hurt. Or maybe it’s sincere…?

"Why lead me out here then, if you knew? Distraction?”

"I wasn't about to let you die pointlessly in a little caravan scuffle. So, I was just… making sure you got out of the woods okay."

"You could've let me know ahead of time." You grumble.

"Ah yes, because that would've gone over flawlessly!"

You let out a resigned huff. You don't like this- but there's not much you can do about it now.

"Maybe I can make it up to you?" He says, voice suddenly suggestive and almost melodic. "For playing along so nicely."

You know that tone very well. Your body stirs on its own in response, without regard to your higher faculties.

A little subterfuge and a few feathers aren’t enough to eradicate your care for him, it seems.

Before you can think to object, he's hiked the hem of his tunic up, showing off the soft slope of the upper portion of his raised and spread avian legs. His taloned fingers part the plumage of short feathers between his legs, showing you the pinkish hole underneath, his tail feathers spread out against the rock below.

That’s new.

And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious…

"Well?"

You peel your eyes away and glance around pointedly with raised brow, not having to say out loud that you're out in the middle of the woods right now- and while you’re no stranger to making do in the wilderness when the need strikes, you have recently fled from an ambush within the last few hours.

“I told you, no one’s coming. It’ll be fine.” The hand on your forearm migrates to claw at the front of your tunic, encouraging you closer with a smirk on his face. “...No one else, at least.”

You can't resist anymore, one hand moving to hold him around the waist.

“There you are,” Kira coos in approval at the weight of your touch on the bunched fabric at his waist, taking your face in his hands to kiss you on the lips, then press a few in a trail down your neck. “You’ll have to make this angle work for you, I’m afraid. I'm not in the mood to roll about in the dirt tonight."

He reclines slightly, bracing himself against the surface of the rock and balancing himself, making it look easy.

Wasting no time, you bring your other hand up and probe two of your fingers experimentally into the opening. It's soft and warm as usual, but it’s already fully slicked and the way its ribbed edges are pulling at your fingers, like it’s trying to drag them inside, is a foreign sensation. You thought two fingers might be too much to start with, but you’re starting to think your whole hand could easily be swallowed up whole at this point with how deeply they’re sinking in, lost to the ribbed interior.

Your mind tries to make sense of the newness- you know you’ve been acquainted with this part of him before, because there are some things even glamoury can’t change, but the experience of it being different and yet so familiar is making your head spin.

It was a bit suspect that he always seemed to be lubed before you got down to business, despite how unlikely the scenario. It’s partly your reasoning behind thinking he was out to seduce you, but now you’re realizing that he was just telling the truth about genuinely finding you attractive the whole time- at least if the slippery fluid coating your fingers now is any indication.

“Aaah,” His bird-like feet clench in the air at your sides, grasping at nothing. He winces as he watches down his torso, half-lidded eyes focused on your hand working inside him. “Nnh-”

You thought you liked the sounds you could draw out of him before, but now they’re downright enchanting.

It doesn’t take much exploring before you’re burning up with lust under your clothes, unable to hold back any longer.

You wrap your hand around his thin scaled ankle, making enough room for yourself between his legs. Then you close the distance until your boot tips are nearly flush to the face of the stone, hastily rustling yourself just barely free between your breeches and your tunic, already painfully worked up and ready to go.

After a bit of somewhat blind searching, you manage to press your cock inside, his cloaca relatively in the same location that it’d be if he were still in numan form. The sweet crush of his vent is even better wrapped around your dick than on your fingers, to little surprise. Downy feather edges tickle the damp surface of the sensitive, just barely exposed skin on your pelvis.

Once you’re sure you’ve gotten where you need to be, you grip the other side of his waist as well. Your instincts kick in and you’re out the gate, already thrusting into the heat like your life depends on it.

Even the slightly unconventional staging isn’t enough to keep you from your goal. You’re well enough acquainted with what your partner needs to only need some minor adjustments to quickly find a familiar, if a bit harried, rhythm.

“Fucking hell,” You emphatically hiss through clenched teeth, over the wet, slightly muffled sounds of wet flesh and rustling feathers. “Does that feel good.”

“Glad it’s good for something- Nngh-”

You continue to rut into him like a wild beast, grunting and chasing down the growing tightness in your loins.

You want to hit every part you can reach, touch every part of him there is to touch, hammer out a permanent space for yourself.

It may be a change from what kind of hole you’re used to fucking, but you couldn’t care less at this point. The difference is inconsequential.

It’s still him.

Kira’s legs wrap around you like a set of arms embracing you, crossing over your lower back, holding you closer as he grinds back against your thrusts. His oversized talons dig into your flesh through the fabric like human fingers demanding more. The harder and faster you thrust, the closer you get to having the skin on your lumbar rended to shreds through your tunic, but you're too enamored to care.

He goes to cover his mouth with his feathered arm as his body starts to shudder, but you intercept with your own, pinning his wrist to the rock at his side.

If you went through all this trouble tonight- and find out the lover you’ve been fucking this whole time is a bird- you’re at least going to get to hear him sing.

“Uungh-” Kira lets out an interrupted noise in surprised approval, mouth agape in a pleased rictus. His vocalizations hit their highest, quivering pitch just as his vent constricts around your cock in the hardest squeeze. “Aah-Aaaah-”

His spine bends in an elegant arc and his sharp talons dig into your knuckles as their hand grips into yours where you have him caught. As his strangle hold on you lets up, a new wave of slickness coats you, making it hard to keep yourself together.

You’re dead on your feet by the time you unload inside of him, running only on pleasure and leftover vestiges of adrenaline. You unwind, senses overloaded and your thinking thoroughly dulled. All you are sure of before you sleep is that you managed to satisfy; both him and yourself.

In the morning, you wake to sunlight filtering through the trees above, flat on your back on a relatively evenly-faced slab of rock.

"What am I going to do now?" You wonder aloud and grind one of your palms on your grimy face. "I'm out a job and a place to live…"

Even if you go back now, your reputation is ruined. You won't be able to find work, and there will certainly be questions…

Pointed tips of clawed fingers brush through your hair from behind you, raising gooseflesh on the back of your arms.

"Well, as luck would have it, I know someone who's hiring."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #trans male monster #male reader #harpy #harpy x reader #monster x human #trans mlm #trans mxm #oc: kira #oc: bertram #tarot oneshots #nine of words

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