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yeeterthek33per · 9 months

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Girls Like You (Katrina Gorry x Reader)

A/n y'all wanted part 2, so here she is 😊

Warnings: teeny mention of bad times. Little bit of mention of some violence, not much, though. Mentions of mental health. Some mention of illness.

Also, buckle in, guys. She's a long one.

Part one

Katrina was sure she'd left her favourite shirt on the top shelf. That way, it was away from grabby hands and accidental spillages. Of course, now that she actually needed it, it was missing.

Harper's sat on the bed, playing with an electronic drawing pad. (She made the mistake of giving her actual non-toxic markers one day. Never again.)

As she digs through the large pile of clothing now on the floor, there's a small knock at her bedroom door.

"Hey, Min, just me and Kyra, you need help with anything?"

She sighs softly, standing up again and walks to the door, pulling it open.

"Yeah, I can't find my favourite shirt. Have you guys seen it?"

Charlie thinks for a second.

"You mean that blue sleeveless one?"

"No, the white button-up."

Charlie frowns for a second.

"Don't you own like ten of those?"

Katrina shakes her head. "No, Harper keeps spilling things on them, and at the rate she's doing it, my washing machine can't keep up, so I'm pretty sure I'm down to one again."

She rubs at her face softly. This really wasn't helping her nerves now. Charlie sighs softly before pushing the girl to the bathroom.

"Just put on your other clothes, and get ready. I'll have a look while you finish up."

"Thanks Cha."

She waves her off and continues digging through the mess that she'd probably end up having to lock in the wardrobe and clean up when she got back.

She puts on a pair of blue denim shorts and a simple tank top, so she's not wearing nothing when she steps out.

Twenty minutes of makeup, and another twenty for hair, later, and she walks out of the bathroom.

She can see Charlie sitting on the bed beside Harper, chatting with the small girl, keeping her occupied while she draws as well.

"Oh wow, is that a soccer ball?"

The girl eagerly nods her head.

"That's so coool. I love it. Who'd you draw it for?"

"Mummy! Soccer makes her happy, I made it for her."

Katrina's heart just melts that little bit more. Charlie turns to Katrina with the same expression, hand over her chest.

"Any luck?"

"Yup, it was on the top shelf in the corner still."

She rolls her eyes, and Charlie tosses the shirt to her.

"Of course it was."

She puts the flowy white shirt on and checks her reflection, huffing slightly.

"Nerves?" She hears from behind her.

Charlie's watching her with a small smile.

"Little bit. Nothing I don't normally deal with. In theory, this should be the easiest thing I've done all week."

The blonde only leans her head into her palm. She knows that's not really the case.

"Buuuut?" She prompts gently.

"But.. ugh, I don't know. She makes me a little nervous, is all."

"A little? Min', you've been jittery all week. What's making you so nervous? She obviously has the hots for you, and she set this date up, despite the fact you asked her out, so she obviously wants to go out."

"I know, but like, what if I end up being a disappointing date or something?"

Charlie gives her a pointed look.

"You're kidding, right? Min', I love you and care about you, and I'm gonna say this in the nicest way possible while your child is currently crawling all over me." Harper grins up at the defender.

"You are the nicest, sweetest, protective, and most caring person and a brilliant mother and one heck of a footy player. If you're disappointing to her, she's losing out on a world of love that she won't ever find elsewhere."

Katrina looks down, fighting a small flush creeping up her neck.

"Okay, but what if the fact that I have a child scares her off?"

"Are you serious? You better not be."

Katrina only blushes more at that. Charlie sighs softly.

"Min', aside from the circumstances you both met in and the fact she met your child before meeting you. She said yes to a date, knowing full well you had a kid. In fact, she messaged you just yesterday, asking if the date went well enough, Could you both spend your second date doing something with Harper. It's been four days, and she already loves this little human being. And I certainly don't blame her."

She trails off, giving Harper a big kiss on the cheek, making the girl giggle.

"Yeah, okay, I get your point." A smile makes its way onto her lips at the sight.

"You better. I'm serious Min', you're too good for her not to know what she'd be missing."

She gives her a grateful smile.

The older woman sits back on the bed, and Harper jumps out of Charlie's arms and into her mother's.

"Hi!"

"Hello, little miss."

It makes her little one giggle again, and she hugs her tight, Harper is very much happy to do the same. She's so grateful to have her. She's been light in her life for the two years since she'd been born.

A ping on her phone pulls her back to reality. It's from you.

"Hey! I'm on my way, be about twenty minutes or so? Say hi to Harps for me.😊"

There's a tingle that runs through her when she reads the message.

Charlie just gives her the I-told-you-so look.

Katrina gives her a small shove and texts you back.

"Hey, all good 😊See you soon 😉. Also, will do!"

-------

"I'm still nervous, Ash, It's my first date in like four months. What if I fuck it?"

"Dude, just don't fuck HER on the first date and it's fine."

Your sister's voice plays over the speaker in your car. You'd called her the moment you left the house, nerves grating you down a bit.

You roll your eyes at her.

"Yeah, there's no chance of that happening on the first date. You forget she's got a kid that she still has to go home to. Plus, she doesn't seem like the type to have sex on the first date and take off."

"She doesn't have to stay the night for you both to-."

"Alright! Jesus, I get the point. But still, she seemed genuinely nervous about asking me out."

"Wait, so why are you arranging the date then?"

"I don't know? I messaged first, she was happy to let me take the lead on that one, I'm assuming she's just a little busy, that's why I jumped in. Figured it would be nice for someone to take her out."

She pauses for a second.

"You said she's a professional football player?"

"Yeah why?"

"What's her name again?"

"Ashley, I'm not letting you stalk her, you already scared my last date off, I'm not letting you scare this one off too."

She gets defensive.

"I was not going to stalk her, I was just curious where she plays is all."

"Uhuh, right. Thats exactly what you were looking for."

"You want my help or not?"

"Not if you're gonna internet stalk the poor woman."

"I'm just making sure she's genuine and not some serial killer."

"Oh my fucking god, Goodbye Ashley."

"I was just looki-."

You hit the hang up button. You were just about to pull up at Katrina's place anyway.

You pull over on the side of the road and quickly check yourself in the mirror.

You went with a rolled up white rolled see-through button up tucked into a pair of black jeans and a black bra underneath. That and a pair of your lucky white skate shoes.

You try and steel your nerves a bit, wiping your palms on your pants and spray a quick bit of mint breath freshener in your mouth.

You get out of the car and make your way to the door and hit the door bell.

----------

"Ooh, shes heerrreee." Charlie takes off down the stairs.

"Charlotte Layne Grant! Do not answer that door!"

By the time she tells Kyra to watch Harper and runs down the stairs she's already got the door open.

"Hey, Y/n! She's just coming down now. Now, no funny business, we want her home by no later than ten and- Hey!"

She gets shoved away from the door by a very annoyed looking Katrina.

You watch on, biting your lower lip to hide a laugh, flowers in hand.

You hear her scold the blonde mildly and then she returns to the door a little flustered.

Her hair is down straight but tucked back just over shoulders. The white flowy shirt, rolled back to just below her elbows, shows off her wrist tattoos and her collarbone. Your eyes trail over it before meeting her eye again with a small grin noticing her having done the same.

"Hey, you."

"Hi." She says it with a grin of her own.

You offer her the flowers, and she pulls you towards her into a hug. Your arms wrap around her, keeping the flowers from being crushed. She's only a little bit shorter than you, so you're able to rest your chin on her shoulder as her arms wrap around you.

It's a short embrace, but she leaves a lingering touch to your waist as she lets go looking up at you.

She takes them inside for a second while you wait and returns swiftly.

You step back, holding out your hand for her's.

"Ready?"

She takes it, her hand warm in yours.

"As ever."

As you both walk down the drive and you open the passenger side door for her to step in, she gives you a grateful smile and a small peck to the cheek. You hear one final yell from behind you.

It's Charlie at the door, sporting a glare. "Home by ten." And gives you an I'm-watching-you gesture. You chuckle and salute at the blonde while Katrina yells back.

"You better be watching my daughter, Charlotte Layne."

Charlie's eyes widen slightly, and the front door slams shut behind her when she takes off inside again.

You close the door once she's settled and return to the driver's seat.

"Alrighty, Clicked in? Let's go."

As you pull away, she watches you carefully, waiting for an explanation as to where you guys are headed.

You hum softly. "So, I wasn't sure entirely as to your preferences, so I've got a few places we're going to, if you agree that is, we don't have to go if-"

Her hand rests on yours, your arm having been leant on the centre console.

"I'll go where you've picked for us. Im not fussed, I'm just here with you."

You smile and nod, her fingers intertwining with yours for the rest of the ride. When you pull up in a spot beside a blank modern style building, there's a little confused look on her face that's adorable.

"C'mon, you'll see once we get inside."

You nod your head towards the place. Katrina raises a brow slightly but decides to trust you as you both step inside.

It suddenly makes sense to her as you both step into a crowded bar.

It's an open mic night. In a gay bar.

It's somewhere you're a regular at, to the point where the bartender, Aiden, yells out to you the moment you both step in the door.

"Ayyy, look who's here, ladies, theydies and gents!"

There's a few cheers around the bar as some of the locals spot you. The bar isn't packed, there's only maybe forty or so people in the room, but there's a stage and a mic setup where the current half tipsy singer has stopped to cheer as you come in as well.

Your face flushes as you turn back to Katrina, a really curious look on her face now. "I'm a bit of a regular... for the karaoke, that is." You rub the back of your neck.

"Well then, miss singer, sign me up, let's see what you've got."

You smile and lead her over to the bar.

"Ms L/n, the usual?"

You shake your head at Aiden.

"Virgin tonight, and another entry for, oh, Katrina, this is my best man, Aiden. He's the one who built this bar from the ground up."

He shakes his head as he fills a glass with some lime juice, sprite, mint, and a little soda water.

"Not on my own. Your girl here runs the place when I'm not in town."

Katrina raises her brows at that. You just smile sheepishly. It certainly explained why you were a regular then.

"Okay, I may have lied a little bit about only coming for the karaoke. But it definitely is a highlight, I swear."

She just gives you an amused look.

"What about you, love, anything to drink?"

"Just a soda water, thank you." He nods and pours her drink. He processes the drinks, but when you go to tap your card, his hand jumps in ahead of yours with another.

"Little bugger, you're gonna get me in trouble, man. Paying for my drinks."

"Who said I was paying for yours?"

He playfully winks at Katrina beside you, and you tut and whack him softly, knowing he's joking with you.

"Don't mind him. He can't keep a husband, so he steals my dates instead."

He puts his hand to his chest, giving you a mock offended look.

"How dare you? I'll have you know, it's husbands, not husband."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Too bad none of them could teach you to finance either."

He raises his hands in surrender, with a small laugh. "Got me there. What's getting added to the queue tonight ladies?"

You look at Katrina, but she just gestures for you to take your pick.

"You're the karaoke expert."

You raise your brow but take the tablet from Aiden. Putting in an intrumental that you know well enough and she'll probably know.

"Up for some gender bent Maroon 5?"

Katrina nods and you both grab your drinks.

You take a seat at one of the open tables.

As you both wait for the queue to progress, you talk about what led you to take over part ownership and what Katrina's life is like playing professionally.

"Honestly, he was desperate for someone to babysit the bar at the time. He knew me from back in Uni, knew I'd graduated with some certs in business management, finance, and accounting. So he calls me up and asks me to take over for a few weeks. I kind of latched onto the place after that, and now I do his yearly taxes for him in exchange for a few free drinks and a lifetime entry to the karaoke. What about you, what's the league like?"

"It gets kind of busy during the season, particularly during the summer months. I get asked to play in other spots, and it gets complicated. I play for the Brisbane Roar currently, so media duty is something I get asked to do regularly."

You raise a brow at that. You knew she played professionally, but to what level? You had no idea.

"That's really cool, and that's November through April, right?"

She nods.

"I was in Sweden for a bit with Harper, but I wanted to come home again. At least for a while."

You nod in understanding.

"I was actually in Sweden for about six months doing international work for a company I used to work for."

She tilts her head slightly.

"Really, when was that?"

She takes a drink.

"I came back about a year ago, so June through November."

"Was it meant to be that long?"

"No, it was supposed to be a permanent move, but I got homesick too quickly, didn't know anyone, and I was living on my own for five out of six months."

"So you told them to bring you back?"

"Ha, no, I just quit. They refused, so I left and never turned back. They were underpaying me anyway, I don't regret it whatsoever. Life is less stressful when you work for yourself."

"So what do you do now?"

"Well, when I'm not here doing Aiden's paperwork, I work as a freelance financial advisor/accountant, it pays decent but the residential market in Brisbane is kind of crap, so I live with my sister and her wife in the meantime, do you do anything between seasons?"

She kind of hesitates for a moment, but as she goes to speak, next in the queue is called up.

"That's us." You take a long sip of your drink and hold out your hand for Katrina to take.

She looks a little nervous, now suddenly overcome with a little stage fright.

"C'mon, these guys aren't scary, just drunk and happy to listen to us sing gay shit all night."

She puffs out her cheeks and takes your hand.

You lead her ip the stage and the small audience in the room cheers.

You take the mic for a second.

"Evening everybody, another night in for me. Bringing you Girls Like you by Maroon 5, covered by yours truly, aand."

You gesture to your date.

"Katrina, my new partner in crime."

You nod at Aiden to hit play.

It's a soft piano based melody compared to the usual guitar intro she's used to, but she knows the song.

Spent 24 hours

I need more hours with you

You spent the weekend

Getting even, ooh ooh

You start out singing, hoping to calm the girl's nerves and let her get used to the atmosphere as well.

She's pleasantly surprised by your singing voice, although given the cheers you got, she'd suspected you weren't exactly terrible either at that point.

We spent the late nights

Making things right, between us

But now it's all good, babe

Roll that Backwood babe

And play me close

You gesture the mic to her, grabbing her hand to pull her closer to you and nudge her to sing with you.

'Cause girls like you

Run around with gals like me

'Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

You grin when she sings into the mic with you. She's pretty good, actually. It shouldn't surprise you, though. The smoothness in her voice makes your heart jump a little.

Girls like you

Love fun, yeah me too

What I want when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

You start to sway a little, and her hand squeezes yours as you meet her gaze. You use the moment to watch her sing. Her blue eyes are sparkling under the orange-yellow lights. Her eyes crinkle slightly, and her nose scrunches when the guys in the audience cheer and whistle.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I need a girl like you

She blushes when the crowd cheers louder and lets you take over again.

I spent last night

On the last flight to you

Took a whole day up

Trying to get way up, ooh ooh

The mic stays in your hand this time, and Katrina steps back a little to watch you sing. The way you smile brightly while singing, the way your eyes close as you let the music take over you, it has her heart racing a little.

We spent the daylight

Trying to make things right between us

And now it's all good babe

Roll that Backwood babe

And play me close

You motion her back over and she bites her lip, hiding a smile as she shakes her head, wanting to hear you sing instead. You raise a brow as you continue, stepping and grabbing her hand to pull her back towards you.

'Cause girls like you

Run around with gals like me

'Til sundown, when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

You brush your shoulder with hers, your other hand settling on her back and you feel hers settle low on your hip, you turn and give her a wink as you continue.

Girls like you

Love fun, yeah me too

What I want when I come through

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

Your hand is warm on her back, and she can smell your vanilla perfume from her position beside you as it floods her senses. Your voice is soothing, calming her more energetic side and allows her to relax into you as she sings with you.

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you, yeah yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

I need a girl like you

The song rounds out and the audience applauds you both, whooping and clapping and you take a playful bow and turn to Katrina to applaud her as well, giving her a proud smile.

You both step down off the stage, a little hot from the heat of the lamps facing the stage.

"So we gonna talk about the athletically talented mother soccer player being able to sing?"

She coughs slightly and turns her head away. "Nope."

You try to meet her eye again, a small pout on your lips.

"No? Aw c'mon, you were so good up there."

Her face flushes as her head whips back to you.

"Says you. When was that gonna come out? Professional singing level talent."

You end up with a blush matching hers.

"I.. never really pursued it. Not worth it in my opinion."

A raised brow in your direction.

"What? Just not something I was interested in pursuing. Was never stable enough for people so.."

Her face softens, realizing exactly what you meant there.

When her hand grabs a hold of yours again, there's a small tingle that runs up your arm.

Instead of commenting further though, you nod your head at the door.

"You hungry?"

She knows you're avoiding it but she's not going to push, not on a first date. She could actually eat though, she hadn't had food since that morning, a little too stressed about the date and also making sure there no possible way for Charlie and Kyra to screw up looking after Harper again.

"Yes, who knew singing worked up an appetite?" It's said in a joking tone, and you laugh with her as you wave goodbye to Aiden and some of the others.

The moment you step outside, the warm afternoon air has set in with a light breeze. You jog over to the door when you get closer to the car again, opening it for her with a cute bow that makes her laugh. God, you could listen to that all day.

"Such a gentlewoman."

You grin and wink at her, before moving to get in yourself.

"Alright, where to next?"

"How's seafood sound?"

Katrina's face lights up.

"And you just became my favourite person. Seafood sounds perfect, lead the way."

Your laugh gives her butterflies and she swears her heart stutters for a second.

"Yes Ma'am."

And with that, you drive for about twenty-five minutes to a place closer to the water. A little restaurant you'd picked up on while out with your sister.

Katrina's hand is in yours the second you pull out onto the road, her fingers interlocking yours. You graze your thumb gently over the back of her hand. You talk about her early days as a player, her days in the academy and you almost get into her being asked to play somewhere when you pull into a spot.

The restaurant is a quaint little spot, beach themed, because of course it is, and a bar stands on the outside facing the water. Stools line the counter and the waft of cooked fish blows your way in the ocean breeze.

"This place is so good. I come out here when I need to process and just get away, even if it's not too far from home."

"Smells good too."

You wander up to the bar and take a seat behind one of the extended counters meant for two people with the bar window to your right and Katrina sits on the other side.

You order from the employee through the window and get your food without issue.

The woman's soft groan from her first bite makes this worth it.

You chuckle. "Good, right?" She covers her mouth slightly, cheeks reddening as she nods.

She swallows. "Seriously, where the heck do you find these places?"

You shrug, "Honestly, I have no idea, I like to think luck has something to do with it."

"Luck?"

"If, and this is gonna sound bad, I don't really do it so much anymore, but, if I'm having a rough day or I'm feeling lost or just, I need a breather, I tend to wander out into the world for a few hours. Furthest I've gone is like, four hours further inland. Exploring has always been my mental stabiliser. Keeps me cool, keeps me calm when I'm stressed. I don't crave it, and I don't expect it when it does happen but it just kind of happens."

"Where's the worst you've ended up?"

"Well, there's been a few and honestly in my younger years I was kind of stupid too, so I've ended up where I really shouldn't. I was down in Melbourne for four months when I was twenty. In the last month I was there, I ended up wondering somewhere on foot. Keep in mind, it was just a crap way to go about it."

You kind of look off into the waves as they crash.

"But, I ended up being fired that day by a contracting company, they decided they didn't like the fact I was so young and that I wanted more for my qualifications than 10 bucks an hour. So I just left my apartment. Ended up with a missing wallet and a black eye. Turns out my dumb ass had walked where it shouldn't have and pissed off some gang members. After that one, I moved back home again to just focus on my studies."

"I'm sorry that happened. What about the best place you've been?"

You wave her off.

"Honestly, I'm past that. That's nothing. I'm lucky, but it was definitely my dumb ass that got caught out. As for the best place? I mean, Aidan's place. We met while in Uni and I stumbled into the bar one night after a rough day about two years later. He picked me back up and we became buddies after that."

"Alright, what place surprised you the most?"

"The four hour one, I wasn't expecting to find much. I found something, though. I ended up going on a hike and found this amazing lake that just went down forever. Massive open mouth cave and a waterfall. It just looked so untouched and peaceful. It was so green and colourful and it just makes everything in the city feel so grey."

You push around your food. Take another bite and then gesture to Katrina.

"What about you? Before you had Harper, what was going on then?"

"Depends, which part?"

"Why have Harper?"

"I've always loved the idea of having kids. At first, I kind of wanted to wait until I found someone to have a child with, but in my profession, that just doesn't come easy enough. I ended up out injured and right before I came back. That was the moment where I was like, 'Screw it, with or without a partner, I want my own child.' So I walked into an IVF Clinic in Norway, picked the donor I wanted, and started right away. My timing was perfect, and the first try was a success, and now I have little Harps. There isn't a single day in my life where I ever regretted my decision."

Your hand slides across the table as she talks, her's sat unoccupied, and as you listen, you slowly grab it. Letting it sit in your palm and without much thought, she let's you.

You toy with her fingers, running the tip of your index down each one. And then half intertwine them. She squeezes your hands closed, and it settles you fully for the first time since you moved to Sweden and back. Or before that even.

"She's been a light in my life, I feel so lucky to be her mother, ya know, it's Harper's world, and I'm just living in it. The girls on the national team are so good with her."

Your head perks up at that. National team? You ask exactly that.

"National team?"

Katrina's expression winces, realizing her slip up.

"Oh yeah, that too. I've been playing with the national team since I got called up in 2012."

Your brows raise at that.

"As in..."

"Australia. For Australia."

Oh. That. Was. Not what you expected.

"Wow, that's really big. Congratulations..? Sorry, that sounded weird. That's amazing, though. I can't imagine how much hard work that is. I mean, for real, a kid right in the middle of that, and you come back to play. That must be some strength you've got."

Her head ducks slightly.

"Honestly, I'm just glad it worked out the way it has. Harper has twenty aunts and two unofficial sisters that look at her like she's hung the stars. That and achieving my dream is all I care about. Harper, more so. I think, if having Harper had taken me out. I would've okay with that. I'm perfectly happy with it, actually. If anything, having Harper actually saved me a bit, too."

"How so?"

"I ended up with an infection, and it ended up swelling up the muscles between my two pelvic points. The pregnancy actually completely took out the swelling entirely. The pain just stopped one day and never came back. Even after Harper was born."

"I really admire the level of resilience you have. To push back on any expectation, to say fuck it, if that's what you want, you'll make it happen. It's actually really attractive. I'm sorry you had to go through so much though."

She shaked her head, squeezing your hand.

"I wouldn't go back and change a thing about how it happened. It's turned me into the person and player I am. I don't regret any of it."

You smile, watching her eyes as they flick down to your lips for a second and then away. You don't know if she noticed she did it, but you did.

Your hand loosens from her grip, fingertips tracing her wrist up to the tattoo on her forearm and then back down to her palm. Her skin tingles with every touch.

It feels mildly intimate, and you realise she's been silent this whole time, watching you do this. You look up to meet her gaze, a small apologetic smile.

"Sorry, little distracted, I am listening though. Continue?"

She just gives you a soft smile in return.

"What about where you grew up?"

You ponder for a moment.

"I grew up in a small town in New South Wales, actually. We moved to Brissy later, but that's another story. A place like a couple hours south of Sydney. It's really gorgeous there, I haven't been since I was a teenager but the place was really nice. Most of the folks living there were friendly. The schools were kind of crap but that's just the public system. We had a place in the more urban side of the region. Small brick house, big gum tree in front. Good sized backyard. The town had yearly markets. They were okay. Mostly to bring in tourists, though. It worked, and the place ended up really busy right before we left. I loved it when storm season came around. The rain was always a relief to have after hot summers. I love thunderstorms. The rain always helps me sleep better, too. Just anything rain, honestly."

While you speak, she repeats your earlier actions, fingers trailing gently over the veins in your wrist or the slenderness of your fingers. They trace the once obvious scars left there. They're subtle, but they're there. Years of healing over the top of what she assumed was a particularly dark time for you. Your hands are soft but are mildly scarred in their own right. A small scar above your wrist. A big one across the back towards your thumb.

"The town was a part of a bigger community region. The next town over was known for the museum there for one of the more famous sports folk of Australian history. There was the cricket oval in town, too. Just an average joe half rural town to live in honestly."

Her fingers continue their path around your hand, tracing the creaselines in your palm and the callus that sits just on the inside of your left pinky.

"What about your home life? What are your parents like?"

"My parents were... okay. Not great to be real with you. Hence why I'm staying with my sister rather than my parents. Kicked me out at seventeen and haven't looked me in the eye since."

She feels a small amount of anger flare up in her chest.

"Why would they do that?"

"Same cliché as any. Found out I was into girls over guys. Tried to have me cured. My sister had already moved out when this was going on. She knew they were strictly homophobic and took off the first second she could. I don't blame her for that. When they realised I wouldn't conform to their bullshit, I was kicked out. To experience the cruel harsh world, they said. The assholes just realised their children wouldn't give them biological and 'natural' grandchildren."

You roll your eyes as you remember the disgust and disappointment in your birth-giver's eyes.

"What the hell kind of parents do that to their own child? The one they're supposed to love and protect. And care for. And-"

Your hand squeezes hers, and you push the now empty plates aside to grab it with the other.

"Hey, I'm okay. Im fine. I dont miss them, and they'll never get the chance to miss who I am. They'll never get to hear about who I meet or who I'm with. I'm dead to them for all I care."

Katrina takes a small breath and uses your grasp on her hand to calm a bit before shooting you an apologetic look.

It's the first date, dude. Chill pill. So she tells herself.

Your heart swells at her protectiveness. She really was born to be a good mother.

"I hope they never get to see this side of you. Or who you are and who you'll be in five or ten years."

You blush lightly.

"Thank you." It's a soft murmur, and you duck your head slightly.

She smiles softly, and her thumb rubs at your hand.

You gesture to the worker and hand back your plates, and move to the register to pay.

There's some bickering, but after a sneaky slip of the card to the worker, you end up paying for it. Though that does earn you a soft shove and a whine when she hears the eftpos machine beep.

You chuckle softly.

"We better get going. I've got one more place for us to go, and I want to be there before complete sundown." You say lightly joking.

"Well, come on then!" She jogs ahead with a grin on her face, dragging you with her.

You play your routine part of valet and it earns you a tip, consisting of a kiss to the cheek that's far too close to the corner of your mouth and it makes you freeze for a second. She just chuckles, and you shake your head lightly and shut the door.

"It's about a half hour there, so feel free to pirate the aux cord."

You dig it out of the console and offer it to her.

"Aye aye, captain." She gives you a wink while she plugs in her phone.

You hear a familiar tune, and you immediately shoot her an impressed look.

"You, Ma'am, have amazing taste."

She smirks and nods as she starts singing along to the lyrics.

The drive passes by quickly with both of you yelling to various songs.

There's a small beach cove that opens up to a really nice view of the ocean. And it allows the sun to come down on the majorly clear water with a nice sparkle, too. You'd only come across it about a month ago, but it was a regular spot for you.

There was something else you'd wanted to do for a bit of fun, but it seems stupid now, considering her profession.

When you pull in to the driveway leading up to the spot, she gives you a funny look.

The driveway is completely surrounded by shrubbery, so it doesn't really surprise you.

She makes a joke, "Is this where I'm supposed to find out you're secretly a serial killer?"

You roll your eyes good naturedly and give her a slight push as you get out. She jumps out with you, and you both make your way up the path.

The dirt path turns to sand, and you stop, starting to take your shoes off.

"It's only getting sandier from here, so you might wanna take your shoes off."

She nudges you softly and does the same.

"Yeah, I did have another thing for us to do, but I'm afraid you'll kick my butt if we do it."

She has a mischievous look on her face.

"It was beach soccer, wasn't it?"

You smile sheepishly and give her a slight nod.

"Oh, you're on now. Go get it."

You raise a brow at her and jog to go get the ball and some mini cones.

The sun's just starting to set as you return with the stuff and a bag slung over your shoulder that you'd forgotten to grab.

Katrina's standing there staring out at the water when you walk up again. You quietly set the stuff down on the sand and move to stand next to her.

"You find places like this all the time?"

"Sometimes, it's a hit or miss kind of thing. This one was pure luck because I hadn't even meant to come down this way. It was the next street over."

"It looks amazing out here."

"Water is pretty good too."

She raises a brow in your direction but doesn't say anything. You move to set up the cones and lay out the blanket that was in the bag you had.

The moment you start, you realise how physical playing with her is. You keep up for the most part, but at one point, she wraps her arms around your waist to try and steal the ball and you both topple over, her landing sitting on you, legs either side of your hips.

The smug grin she gives you makes your heart flutter, and you lean up on your elbows.

"You give up yet, newbie?"

You give her a mock offended expression and accept the hand up she offers when she stands.

"Surrender?" You think for a few seconds.

You stride over to her, a mischievous glint in your eye. You lean down slightly and whisper in her ear. Her head tilts slightly.

"I'll think about it." At that, you take off with the ball.

"Oi, little cheater."

You cackle and try as you might to keep the ball away. She ends up stealing it from you. Her foot sits on the ball, hands on her hips as she watches you. You're practically dying at this point, huffing. Man, you needed to hit the gym more.

"Surrender yet?"

You flop onto your back onto the sand and give her a pleading hands motion.

"I think I'm dying here."

She just shakes her head at your antics and drags the blanket over to you, leaving the ball by the cones.

You both settle on the blanket, the sun finally going down enough to enjoy the view fully.

You sit, leaning back on your hands, and she does the same beside you, legs crossed.

As your breathing calms and the late afternoon breeze sets in, the waves start to crash a little more than the tiny laps at the sand that they were.

Katrina sighs softly, taking in the feel of the open air and the salty wind and the smell of harsh greenery.

The serenity of the scene put her more at ease than she'd felt in a while. She sits up a bit and shuffles closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, and nudges you softly.

"Thanks for bringing me out tonight."

You smile, "Thank you for agreeing to come out with me."

"I feel like I should be saying that."

"Maybe, but I'm the one that planned."

"I still asked first." You poke your tongue out at her cheekily, and she just laughs.

"Goof."

You clutch at invisible pearls.

"So mean."

"Oh, I'm sorry." There's a jested look on her face, and she moves to straddle you. Her hands settle on your shoulders, and yours find her hips.

You playfully huff with a half smile.

"Better be."

Her eyes flicker down to your lips, gaze darkening as the air around you shifts, your brow raised slightly when she meets your gaze again. You let out a shaky breath as her hand slides up to cup your cheek.

"Kiss me?" It's mumbled, but she still hears it.

Your lips are parted slightly.

"Don't even have to ask."

She leans down and captures your mouth with her own, and your eyes drift shut. The noise around you drifts away as your lips move together.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging you closer to her, deepening the kiss slightly. One of your hands slips up to settle in the small of her back, holding her against you.

She pulls away from you with a playful nip to your bottom lip. You steal one more kiss, and her hands settle back on your shoulders, pushing you onto your back.

You raise a brow at the spark in her gaze, and she kisses you again, hands settled beside your head.

You stay there for a while. Until you're both breathless and have to come up for air.

Your pupils are dilated, and her hair is slightly mussed from you, having had your hands in it just seconds earlier. Her fingers are tracing at the hem of your shirt, just barely having dipped under the fabric to feel the skin beneath.

Her hands are cold, but they leave heated sensations where they travel along your stomach. It sends shivers down your spine, and you have to resist moving your hands where they probably shouldn't go. Not here or now, not yet.

She has the same thought and has to pull her hands back slightly, going back to settle beside your head.

Her teeth nip at your lower lip again. And you groan softly, going to kiss her again, only for her to pull away slightly, an amused look on her face.

"We're both gonna get in trouble if we stay out here any longer." You look around, noting the sun's gone down fully now, and the sky has cleared to stars, twinkling brightly.

"I forgot, we're both on curfew here."

She slaps your shoulder, a cute pout forming on her face. You kiss it away, and she groans, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket, and she pulls away again.

"Seriously, those two will kill me if I don't get home before ten. They hate being left alone with each other for too long, I have to play referee to keep them from fighting after a while. They love each other, but they get along about as well as sisters do. Plus, Harper is most likely loaded up on ten tonnes of sugar, so I'll be putting her to bed after that, too."

You chuckle, nodding in understanding.

"Mine's gonna report me missing if I don't get home soon too."

Katrina reluctantly gets off you, and you both pack up the gear and walk back to the car, shoes in hand.

The drive back is pretty quiet but peaceful. There's music playing softly in the background.

Your linked hands sit in her lap for most of the drive, and you get an occasional hum out of her as you sing softly along.

You get her home at about 9:30pm, having stopped halfway back to raid an ice cream freezer in a servo and some more kissing in the carpark. Almost reminding you of your teenage years, sneaking around kissing girls in the back of your parents' jeep.

Only this one feels a lot more passionate. Permanent. There's a lot more emotion behind each brush of her lips against yours, and it leaves you aching for more. To feel her pressed into you.

"I'd let you walk me to the door, but I'm afraid Charlie might actually interrogate us both."

It's only half joking this time. Knowing by now, that was well true.

"Let you out with a kiss goodnight instead?"

Her breath is ragged. "Please?"

Katrina's feels like she's addicted to your kisses at this point. A breath of fresh air. Your touch sends tingles through every nerve ending in her body.

You get out of the car, and when you open the door, she hops out and grabs you by the shirt, pulling you down into her, and smashes her lips on yours.

You steady the both of you, one arm leaning against the door frame, the other around her waist while her fingers tangle in your hair.

You finally pull away, leaving one last peck to her lips and a dazed look on both of you.

"Message me when you get home safe?"

"Of course."

She smiles and slowly steps away from you, hands slipping off your shoulders with a lingering squeeze.

"Good night, hot stuff."

"Good night, sleep well gorgeous. Give Harps a hug for me."

She nods and turns back to the house. The door slamming open makes her jump.

"Excuse me, young lady, you're one minute past ten 'o' clock. Why are you late?"

Her face flushes red, and she groans.

"Charlie, I swear to god."

The blonde just shakes her fist at you, still leaning against your car as you watch her go inside. A small smirk appears on your face as you wave to both of them and get back in, driving off.

Katrina brushes past the girl, and she calls out after her.

"You're so grounded"

She rolls her eyes, and as she goes upstairs to find Kyra and Harper, she can't drop the giddy grin on her face as she bids Kyra good night and puts Harper to bed.

Hot stuff❤️🥵

"Hey, made it home, alright. Sister might kill me though 😳😅😂"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"Yeah?"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Yeah, turns out she did some digging while I was out... I forget she's a soccer nut sometimes, annnd... well, you can probably guess. 👀"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"Tell her I'm happy to sign anything she wants as long as she leaves you alive. You're not getting away from me just yet."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"I'll arrange something, I like being alive."

Katrina 🔥❤️

"I like you being alive, too."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"I like you 👀"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"You better, I don't kiss just anyone on the first date."

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Does that mean I get a second one?"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"😉 Ask me"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Aboslutely beautiful, gorgeous, sweet Katrina, go on a date with me?"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"🤔"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"No"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

":("

Katrina 🔥❤️

"I'm kidding you dork, of course I will. Call me tomorrow too and I'll plan this time?"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Will do 🥰"

Hot stuff ❤️🥵

"Sleep tight, gorgeous 😘"

Katrina 🔥❤️

"You too 😘🥰"

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

#katrina gorry imagines #katrina gorry imagine #katrina gorry x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #Spotify

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starsomens · 4 months

Text

Warnings: Lab partners to lovers! Sex in a medical research lab, desk, PiV sex, spit in mouth(once), friends to lovers type, language, Noah goes from shy to dominant >:) and of course I had some inspiration help from @gretaswhore28 ✨

"uggghhhh" you groan leaning back from your microscope. You had been looking at sample all day trying to put together an explanation for the reaction it was having to certain medicines. You lean back in your chair and rub at your eyes

"You're gonna end up straining your vision you know," you lab partner, Noah chimes in

"I've been working on this for nearly 2 weeks! I keep getting the same results" you sigh "Maybe I should have a break"

"Oh wow she's actually taking my advice for once" he said sarcastically

You spin in your chair and stare at the tall man. His neck tattoos peeking up past his collar, his perfectly combed hair and dorky glasses. For someone who had his neck and hands covered in tattoos he tends to be quiet and shy. Almost all the other girls on the floor would try and flirt with him or try hitting on him, but the poor boy was just so shy, it honestly was very cute. You liked teasing him about just to see him all flustered

"hey I take you advice, you're the one who doesn't" you chuckle standing from your seat

"Oh yeah? Like what?" he asks leaning on his desk crossing his arms. You think for a moment

"hmmm....well...like how maybe you should roll your sleeve up because EVERYONE wants to know just how tattooed you are" you Walk to him and give him that knowing look

"Y/N, they could just ask and I have pictures,"

"yeah but in person, on the skin! It's different" he thinks for a second and takes his lab coat off leaving him in his button down baby blue shirt. You were smiling knowing you had gotten to him, that was until you felt something drilling into your head. Looking up you can see him just staring at you, once you caught his eyes you stare right back at him. Almost as if you froze in place.....his stare was....hypnotizing and....petrifying but.... alluring.

"Well, there you go. I take you advice so well," he lets his shirt fall to the floor leaving him in a white tank top “I did it on the spot”

“DAMN!” You didn’t mean to say it so loud, you hustled weren’t expecting to see him COVERED in tattoos “sorry I didn’t mean that they look….good..”

He holds his arm out “you can look closer if you want. You take a picture of his arm and start to trace some of the drawings on his skin. Whoever had tattooed him had done an amazing job. They were so detailed and beautiful. You hadn’t even realized that your touch was lingering on his skin.

“You like that princess?” He said in a hush voice

“Hu-?”

“ maybe I heard a couple things about you liking certain person here..” now it was his turn to tease you “ don’t think I haven’t noticed how you stare at me, or my hands whenever work, I noticed everything” he suddenly pushes your waist to the side and switches place with you. You were now against the desk and him in front of you.

"I-I....what? You're one to believe rumors Noah?" you asked clearly flustered

"I didn't but then I noticed your patterns. The way you'd dress, your perfume, how we always end up staying at work at the same times?" he smirks leaning into you "Am I right, princess?"

"I...I....it's just coincidence!" you defend yourself

"so why are you so red?" he leans into your ear, feeling his body heat radiating on to yours, you were just about to crack but as you were he pulls back and grabs his shirt from the floor

"But you're right, why should I believe rumors? Afterall it's people making things up because they're bored "he says as he puts his arms through the sleeves. Not only were you flustered and embarrassed now you were pissed.

"We should get packed up and head home for the night-" both your hands grab his loose collar and pull him to you and you look him dead in the eye

"You think I'd let you get away with that?" you crash your lips on his to which he returns the kiss. The kiss turns into something passionate and lust filled in just seconds. He lifts you on to the desk, knocking over a pen holder. His hands find your bare knees and push your skirt up your legs until the fabric sit over your hips. His lips trace down your face and to your neck, he rips open your shirt, causing the buttons to scatter on the floor

"Hey-"

"I'll buy you a new one" he kisses and nips at the valley of your breasts, making sure to leave a mark or two on them.

"You don't know....how long...I've wanted this" he says between kisses. Bring you to the edge of the desk, he stands between your legs And holds both your legs on either side of his body as he leans down against you.

" I can feel you soaking through your panties. You've been wanting this too, haven't you?" he chuckled

"Mmmm" his fingers, find your chin and make you look up at him

“Words princess,”

“Y-yes…” you can feel his bulge rubbing against you soon you were able to feel how wet you were yourself.

“That’s my good girl,” he kisses your nose “can I Y/N? Can I make you feel good?” He asks and you give him a shakes nod. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuckles his belt, and rips his pants enough to get himself out of his confinements. He pushes your panties aside and rubs the head of his cock up and down your slit.

“So wet…just for me,” his other hand, held your leg up by the back of your knee as he pushes himself in bottoming out in one go. You both sigh heavily from the feeling of him being inside you. A shiver ran through your body as he taking the situation. Here you were on your partners desk, leg spread, and his cock inside of you.

He pulls out nearly all the way and plunges back in again

“Oh fuck!” He starts to thrust into you at a rhythm. The quiet lap filled with erotic sounds of sex. Your head was thrown back as nose lips dig into the column of your neck. Nipping and licking at the skin.

“Good….so fucking good for me.” He huffs you had never seen this side of him before. “This pussy…is mine now. You got that?” He uses the desk for leverage as he fucks into you, Rasing your leg higher to go deeper into your pussy.

“Oh…god!” he was hitting all of the right spots, he was just the right size, and the right length. Everything was perfect down to the rhythm of his crust the way his hand was holding your body in place so he can fuck into you was also perfect.

“Nuh uh baby….” He huffs “no god here, only me…and you’ll call out only MY name!” He punctuates his words with deep thrusts

The desk rattles with every thrust he gives you. His lips leaving no area of your neck untouched. Maybe it was a silly little crush before but now you can say with full confidence that you would be his if he asked you to. Get on your knees for him….it was possible for just the pleasure to be corrupting you kind but he was right. You did like him. A whole lot…and now here you were.

Your nails claw at his back as he continues to thrust into you sporadically. Your legs tighten around his waist as his hands dig into your sides. There is a new look in his eye, one of lust and dominance. Completely opposite of the Noah that you were introduced to when he first started working here But this was such a turn on you can feel yourself posting around him the longer you looked in his eyes

His other hand rubbed tight circles on your clit, you can feel his cock twitch impulse inside of you. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue, pushing past your lips, and dancing with yours.

“ open your mouth baby” he huffs you follow his command, open your mouth slightly “stick that tongue out for me,”

Stick your tongue out, just enough for him to see

“Good girl,” he gathers a bit of spit and spits directly into your mouth. “Fucking swallow it,”

You swallow his spit feeling it washed down your throat. Your eyebrows knit together as you can feel a tight knot forming in the pit of your stomach. You can feel your head become light as your eyes roll to the back of your head. The way he rocked his body into you, the way his fingers worked at your clit, the way his lips traced over your skin, it all made you see stars.

“ are you going to cum baby? Cum all over this cock?” you taking a hold of your jaw, giving your face a slight squeeze every now and then if you broke eye contact with him. His glasses slipping down to the very tip of his nose, but still staying in place. The lenses became slightly foggy due to the activities you were currently partaking in. His combed hair starting to fall into his face. in those deep, dark eyes only pushed you further into your pleasure.

“You wanna cum so bad huh?” he teases as he slows down his rhythm just a bit. He could see your face, become slightly dissatisfied with his change and pace. “Oh my poor little slut, tell me what you want..”

“I-I wanna cum….please Noah…”

This pleased the scientist, as a large smile appears on his face. He takes a hold of your hips and studies his foot stamps. He stops for only moment, and begins to pound into faster and harder than before. He was coming to his end and you, but of course he knew the consequences if he did finish inside so he had to get you to finish first. He rubs your bundle of nerves faster as he feels tighten around him.

“That’s it baby, cum. Cum for me, cum all over this dick” and just as he commanded, you finish as your body is taken over by tremors he pulls out of you and pumps his fist along his cock. He finishes in spurts onto your chest. You’re both gasping and huffing messes. You feel his slender hands up your body pick up some of the cum left on your chest.

Brings the fingers up to your mouth and says

“Taste it Y/N,” hesitantly, open your mouth and allow him to stick his fingers inside, tasting his thick consistency on his fingers. It was slightly salty, but also drop of sweetness in there.

“You’re so good for me,” he smirks as he leans down close to you once again he kisses you once again, and pulls bad enough just to say “only for me,”

#noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #noah sebastian #noahsebastian #doctor noah sebastian #scientist noah sebastian

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eyesthatroll · 1 year

Text

how many drinks? | luke hughes

pairing; lh43 x fem!reader

warnings(s); none really, fluff? lowercase intended, not edited. also written in like 15 minutes so kinda bad (might rewrite/re-edit it at a later date idk)

word count; 0.6k (blurb!)

summary; luke approaches reader at wedding reception

"do you want to dance?" you lift your gaze from the game of candy crush that you were currently enthralled in.

a tall brunette is staring back at you. he looks down at you expectantly, rolling on the heels of his feet. "do i know you?"

the boys cheeks tinge pink, and he runs a hand through his slightly curly hair before speaking again. "n-no, i just, i don't know. you look bored."

his awkwardness brings a smile to your face. you ponder his offer for a moment, the song 'skin' by dijon playing through the speakers.

the dance floor had a few couples on it, the other guests scattered around the room, eating cake or loitering near the bar.

you flip your phone screen side down, and chug the rest of your drink. "sure pretty boy, let's dance."

you lift your hand up, and he take it in his, easily pulling you out of your chair. he leads you to a small corner of the dance floor.

your arms rest on his shoulders, hands crossed behind his neck. his hands finding home on the small of your back.

"i never got your name." you state, the two of you swaying softly.

"luke." he answers sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed that he hadn't already told you his name.

"so, which side are you here for, luke?" you asked, your fingers beginning to absentmindedly play with the hair that coiled at the nape of his neck.

"oh, um, the groom. he's on my team."

you brows raised in confusion. "i didn't know you were a player for the devils, not sure i've seen you on the ice. though, i've only watched maybe a few games so i could be completely wrong"

"i haven't-well not yet, at least. i just signed my contract a few weeks ago." he says.

"that's exciting," you begin. "leaving college, i presume?" you're not sure if your questions are too personal, but luke makes no moves to ward them off.

luke gives you a bittersweet, close lipped smile. "yeah."

"that's got to be hard, leaving your friends?"

he tilts his head, thinking a moment. "i mean, yeah, but i'll still see them. plus, i have jacky, and the rest of team-they've been pretty nice and welcoming."

you nod in understanding. "so jacky, she your girlfriend?"

" oh god no!" luke sputters, his cheeks painted crimson again. "that's my brother-jack. he plays for the devils, too."

your eyes widen, and you kick yourself internally for your assumption. why would he of asked you to dance if he was in a relationship?

" 'm sorry, i shouldn't have assumed." you apologize, shaking your head slightly to yourself.

"no, it's all good! i'm single, by the way."

"professional hockey player gets no bitches?" you tease, feeling more comfortable with him by the moment.

he lets out a breathy laugh, his hands tightening around your waist. "i think i do okay with..the ladies." he trails off.

you mouth an 'okay', and dramatically nod your head.

"just looking for the right girl, i guess." he finishes.

"that's understandable." you agree.

"and you?"

"looking for the right girl?"

you laugh at your own joke.

"no-no, i mean, beautiful girl like yourself must have..suitors."

luke's face contorts into one reminiscent of pain.

you followed suit, cringing at his choice of words. "suitors?"

you laugh at him shamelessly, a big bellied laugh that draws attention to the two of you on the floor, not that either of you noticed, too engrossed in your own world.

luke pulls you closer to him, burying his head in your shoulder. "stop laughing."

—

mari speaks! again, like mentioned in the preface, wrote this super quickly so not edited/kinda bad but i might re-do it or make a part 2 idk. also, luke’s playing in his first playoff game tmro so make sure to wish babyboy some luck <3

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #nj devils #new jersey devils #umich boys #umich hockey #hockey #nhl

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whatdudtheysay · 10 months

Text

Annoying Roommate Gojo - PT.2

Cw - 3sum (m,m,f), teasing, degradation n praise, oral n handjobs (male receiving),

Context - To get back at Gojo's acts, you decided to get help from a little friend of his...

A/n - thank you all so so much for the love I've received on my recent posts!! I appreciate it so muchh, hope you enjoy this! And so sorry if this is a bit shortt → part 1 , part 3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Gojo had almost forgotten about last week's events. I mean, you didn't mention it and acted surprisingly kind to him the following days so he figured you weren't pissed.

So, when he came back from a late night out with some friends, he was more than shocked to find you on his best friend's lap,a skimpy skirt bunched at your hips and your shirt pulled over your tits, his cock nestled deep inside you.

"Oh. Speak of the devil," getou acknowledged, his arms wrapping around your waist to still your movements momentarily.

"The fuck is going on here?" Gojo questioned, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his dick as he stared at you and Getou.

"Well, since you couldn't make me cum.." you huffed, moving your hips to gain friction to which getou squeezed the fat of your ass. "I decided to go to someone I knew that could."

Gojo narrowed his eyes at you, obviously knowing the game you were playing. But he couldn't deny the weird sense of jealousy as he watched Getou's hands grope your rear, moving your hips again.

He couldn't lie and say he wasn't aroused by the sight. You leaning back slightly, your hands on his knees to balance you as you bounced on his cock, your eyes closed whilst your mouth let out those same moans he'd been the cause of prior.

Getou locked eyes with Gojo and a smirk tugged against his lips, his hand moving to the nape of your neck, pulling you close. Gojo watched closely as Getou's thumb pushed against your bottom lip, opening your mouth for him to spit into, another explicit moan spreading throughout the room.

He was broken from his trance once he heard Getou's voice.

"Satoru. You're looking kinda lonely over there. Want a closer look?"

Gojo almost mentally slapped himself once he felt his leg twitch, his cock now pushing against its confinements.

"I'm sure y/n wouldn't mind, hm?" Getou teased, looking back at you before thrusting his hips deeply into your heat.

You shook your head, needily pushing against getou, your orgasm on the edge of falling over. Gojo once again mentally slapped himself once he found him walking towards the both of you, palming his erection.

You didn't bother hiding your smug smirk as you continued to ride Getou like your life depended on it, only taking a few glances to see Gojo's flushed face as he sat on the nearby armrest chair, his hand tugging at his clothes cock.

"Shit," getou sighed, enjoying the way your walls clamped onto you. "pussy's hugging me so good.."

Gojo watched as you wrapped your arms around Getou's neck, kissing him sloppily before moving to bite his neck, your hands venturing into his dark locs.

"Fuck," Gojo whispered, palming himself more as he watched you.

You lightly let your head tip back, your eyes lidded. "Getou, gonna cum-"

"Fuck, yes, baby. Give it to me," Getou urged, thrusting up into you faster to assist with your high.

Gojo watched as your eyes clamped shut, Getou easily bringing you to your peak. You moaned his name loudly, your hips still moving to milk and ride out your orgasm before you tiredly rested against Getou's chest, his hips still moving at a fast pace in an attempt to chase his own high.

"Shit, such a good girl for me," getou praised, rolling his hips up against you, his hand moving to grab your chin, pulling you into another kiss.

Gojo audibly groaned, his self control already running thin, wanting to show you he could make you feel better.

Getou roughly pushed his hips into you, drawing a strained whimper from you as he finally came inside you, making you shiver slightly.

You both calmed down from your eyes and finally, you looked at Gojo and he swore he almost came in his pants from your fucked out expression. Getou helped you stand, his seed leaking out of you.

"Aw, Gojo," you teased, pulling your skirt back up before readjusting your shirt, noticing the light trembling in your legs. "Sad to find out your one night stands faked their orgasms?"

Gojo swallowed thickly as he watched getou push his cock back into his jeans, getting up along with you so you could lead him to the entry way, annoyance swirling in his stomach as he watched you give getou a quick kiss before he left.

However, part of him wasn't worried since he knew he'd have you underneath him soon enough...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Tags - @hana-patata @pandoraium • thanks so much for the love on the last post ★ now I just wanna write another fic of them both sharing the reader 😫

#smut #jjk smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #getou suguru x you #geto smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader

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thelastofhyde · 6 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space. (1)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it made you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkept facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped upon your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,�� your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

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

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genericpuff · 4 months

Text

Scamlords is at it again.

A few nights ago, there was a sudden blow-up in the /r/webtoons server showing a new announcement from Snailords -

For anyone unaware, Death : Rescheduled has been on mid-season hiatus since October. And it's now, and only now, that Snailords has suddenly decided the comic is ending after it returns, but readers can get an extra 20 episodes... if they fork over $1k in merch sales.

Now, this could be a lot worse. They could be threatening not to return to the series at all unless their readers hand over money. But considering it's practically just one degree away from that, it's still pretty nasty. Not to mention, the further they divulged in their reasoning around this "idea", the more confusing it got.

They also even revived their @snailordsrant account on IG which, for those of you who were there and can recall, was the same account they used to put one of their own fans on blast over some very mild criticism.

None of this makes any actual sense, for several reasons:

1.) I literally fail to see how getting $1k in less than 24 hours is worth shoving in an extra mini arc of 10 episodes if you don't even have it planned out. Why do that to your audience or to yourself? Why drag things out just to scrounge up an emergency $1k? Why not just be honest with your audience and run a GoFundMe or just say , "Hey everyone, I've run into some financial troubles, I would really appreciate it if you could FastPass my newest episodes or donate to my Patreon or buy some merch so I can cover the costs". It's really telling that this shithead doesn't have enough confidence in themselves or their audience that practically worships them that they have to resort to this kind of underhanded shit to get the money they need. I wanna make it clear that this is NOT like a Kickstarter stretch goal or anything that incentivizes readers to support their work, they're instead holding the length and future of their series over their audiences' head (which they've done before) for money. That's not an incentive, it's an ultimatum.

2.) Maybe I'm misreading / being stupid (someone pls explain if I'm missing something here) but I literally don't see how their comment about working 50 hours a week explains why they're suddenly getting their fans to pay out $1k worth of merch in less than 24 hours. For anyone who doesn't know, $1k per episode is an example Webtoons uses in its post discussing how they pay out creators (this came after the platform got called out 2 years ago for paying creators too little, there are undoubtedly creators getting paid less). And yet for some reason $1k is apparently the difference between 10 episodes and 20? How does that add up? And is the bit about them wanting to buy boba supposed to be a joke? Where's the punchline here?

3.) They say they have writer's block and they want to use the money to "motivate them", but then just a few slides later they say 10-15 episodes is what would make them the "happiest" so which is it? Do they want to write 10 episodes or do they want people to pay them to write 20 episodes so they can draw the fluff scenes that they apparently want to draw? If you have an ending planned out, why rush it or drag it out depending on how this "fundraiser" goes? Why not just write the ending you want to write that will serve your story best? Why shove in an extra mini arc that you don't even have full confidence in writing and then try to compare it to a "super expensive cake"? What are you doing? Speaking as someone who's had trouble getting motivated in the past, suddenly getting a month's rent worth of money to do it doesn't necessarily solve that, it just turns up the pressure, and if you're not someone who deals with pressure well, then you're more likely to wind up just burning out entirely rather than fulfilling that goal.

4.) The fact that they did, in fact, hit their goal just makes it all the shittier to think about because their audience is mostly made up of teenagers who worship the ground that they walk on. It's horrifying that they keep pulling these stunts with their audience, and getting away with it to boot - and Webtoons, as a company, keeps enabling it by allowing it to happen by hosting and promoting people like this.

Anyways, there's already a lot going on here that's sketchy, but then... they went and deleted their posts. At the time of this happening (as I was there to witness it all play out in real time) I assumed this meant that they had hit their $1k goal - especially as they had been showing their progress on their IG and they were already at $900 after just a couple hours - but it gave me a sinking feeling seeing them delete it because they had also been called out by some brave readers telling them that it wasn't exactly a good look to essentially blackmail their audience through their own content into giving them money.

Snailords deleting it gave me a stronger impression of "burying the evidence", especially now that they had the money. By all accounts, they could do whatever they wanted now.

So what did they decide to do?

. . . Huh?

Okay, take a second to actually think about what Snailords has done here. Because I know some of you will go "oh, it was for charity all along! that was nice of them!" but . . . I don't know about the legalities of collecting donation funds under false pretenses, but morally speaking, it's a really shitty thing to do. They stripped away the choices - limiting them to three - of what their readers could donate to, and what I think their readers don't understand - due to being mostly teenagers - is that they're tax-exempt individuals and they just unknowingly gave Snailords an easy $1k tax write-off. You really, really shouldn't collect donation funds like this without being honest, it's just a shitty thing to do, especially after you've already collected the money. It mostly just comes across as damage control on Snailords' part to make it seem like they were always planning to donate to charity, when in reality, if they wanted to donate to charity, they would have been honest about that at the start. Again, even if they wanted to do that from the start, it goes to show how little confidence they have in themselves or their audience that they have to stoop to methods like these instead of just doing it honestly.

And do you really think Snailords will actually do those extra episodes? Or donate that money? This is the same asshole who has manipulated their readers for money not once but twice, and now seems intent on doing it a third time just for the charm. This is the same person who practically sabotaged their own comic, Freaking Romance, because they apparently didn't like the romance genre and may as well have only done it for clout / views / etc.

What was especially odd - and I found this out from folks who actually read Death : Rescheduled (I do not) - was finding out that it wouldn't make sense for D : R to end in as many as 25 episodes, because apparently, the plot has basically just gotten going.

So it does seem like this is foreshadowing that D : R will wind up just like Freaking Romance, rushed into an ending that wasn't expected. And this, of course, has the people who read their work confused because D : R was supposed to be Snailords' passion project, their magnum opus, the project they wanted to do. So them holding the timing of an ending that shouldn't even be happening yet for ransom contradicts that original intention. Really, it just goes to show that Snailords has no passion, they're just in it purely for the money, to a degree that I can't even cheer them on for being a hustler because it's missing the honesty and integrity.

And of course, every single time Snailords finds a way to backpedal and take his audience for a ride, they hop right in without a single thought for themselves.

And no, none of this is to hate on the readers directly, I hold Snailords entirely responsible for this - they have an audience of impressionable, naive, gullible teenagers, and they know it, and take advantage of it every chance they get. It's why they weren't just honest about wanting to collect money for charity from the start. It's why they resorted to basically holding their own comic's progression for ransom during its midseason hiatus. It's why the deadline was 24 hours and why the posts are now gone.

Thankfully the Internet does what it does - any evidence that Snailords was trying to bury is now all over reddit, and hey, just for good measure, here's a post on Tumblr that's been sitting in my drafts for days now, days after people have already seemingly stopped talking about it. Don't let anyone bury or forget about the stunts Snailords is pulling on their audience, with a platform that they've been consistently given by Webtoons, because that's what they want you to do.

#snailords #webtoon critical

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littlebitsalt · 4 months

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Hello can i request yandere catboy x reader, so the yandere is reader's cat (in cat form) but in school yandere is also reader's classmates (in his human form (so he can change his form to cat and something perfect human even human with ears & tail)) so automatically the knew each other as classmate (they're not close in school) but reader didnt know that their classmate is their cat too, the yandere its so obsessed with reader inside school and house, but he more clingy when he in his cat form because he can get patted and cuddled with reader, but one day when they're cudding together the cat turn into human which make reader shocked, the reader keep trying to get rid of him even start to ignore him in school where he suddenly being clingy ans touchy, the rest of the story i let you continue (≡^∇^≡)

Yandere catboy x reader

Note: longest fic I've written It got longer than I expected 😙

Summary: you find out your cat is actually your classmate.

drawing of yandere catboy 1

drawing of yandere catboy 2

Your friend stopped walking as an orange cat came into view.

"Oh- There's a cat over there!"

Before you could react, your friend dashed over to the cat.

"Aww... so cute."

"Come on, let's go home."

You said, standing beside your friend who is taking pictures of the cat.

"Wait- she's purring. I need to take a photo of this."

You sigh. Your friend was obsessed with cats and never missed any chances to watch them, take pictures of them and touch them. She also took photos of this orange cat just outside the school gate everyday.

"I don't have anything to feed you today.. but I'll buy some tomorrow, okay? Bye, Chesse."

After one last pat, your friend stood up.

"That cat has a name?"

You asked.

"Of course she does! Everyone in school calls her Cheese. Her soft fur is just like cheese."

Your friend proceeded to show you pictures on her social media. You had no choice but to look at her social media that is filled with pictures of cats.

You didn't hate cats, but you weren't a fan of them either. You've taken a few pictures of cats in the past, but admiring cats all day was not that interesting to you.

After saying goodbye to your friend, you went to your home.

"Mom, I'm home."

You shouted loud enough for your mom to hear.

Your mom was in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

"Hey mom- huh?"

You felt something cling to your leg. You immediately looked down to find a black and white cat.

"What is this?"

You said, confused. You tried to back away from the cat, but it was still clinging on to you. You turned to your mom to hear some kind of explanation.

"It's a cat from my office. I'm sure you've seen this cat a few times."

Your mom replied. Now that you think about it, you could remember this cat from a few days ago when you visited your mother's office.

"Is this cat the one staying at the back of your office building?"

"Yes it is! I made a simple bed for it to stay.. and I decided to just take it home-"

"What? Does dad know about this? What about my brother?"

"They seem pretty chill about it. Your brother liked the idea. You know the drawing he drew in his kindergarten? That kid likes cats."

"What if this cat already has an owner?"

"I checked it, and everyone around my office said this cat was alone for a few years. So it's fine, (y/n), don't worry."

"You could have asked if I'm fine though."

You looked back at the tuxedo cat. You didn't want to blame the cat, but getting a cat without your opinion was not the best feeling.

You patted the cat's head while it curled around your leg. This cat was acting like it's smart enough to comprehend your feelings. You felt the cat clinging to you more as you touched it.

"I'm sorry (y/n). I should've told you sooner, but I was busy. Plus, the person using the second floor starting next week is allergic to cat fur, so I had no choice to take the cat to home."

Your mom said. You nodded as a reply and looked at the cat again.

"Look, the cat likes you the most. That cat never warmed up to me like that. Why don't you name the cat, (y/n)?"

Your mother was true. You visited your mother's office a few times, and this cat only liked it when you touch it.

"I'm bad with names, and why don't you name it? It's you that brought it here anyway."

"Oh come on, (y/n). Don't be so harsh on the cat."

You ignored your mom and tried to go inside your room, but the black and white cat followed you inside your room without any presence.

"You really do like me.."

You murmured to yourself.

The cat still curled up to you between your legs. You had to pick up the cat and move it to your bed to unpack your school bag and change into comfortable clothes.

You crawled into your blankets and got your phone ready to watch videos before dinner. The black and white cat also crawled beside you, using your right arm as a pillow.

"Oh right.. I need to think of a name for you.."

You said as you scratched the cat.

"What about.. just Tux? That's pretty easy to pronounce."

You said as the cat digged into your chest.

"Do cats like their owners this much..?"

You mumbled.

"So Tux it is? Or do you want another name?"

Your cat ignored your mumbling and rubbed its face onto you.

"... okay then. Your name is Tux from now on."

Your cat, now named Tux, reacted to its new name, and it seemed quite pleased.

You spent time scrolling down social media with your cat beside you before your mother called for dinner. As you got up and walked to the kitchen, Tux followed you. At the kitchen, you found your little brother and your dad talking about their experience today in the playground.

"Where have you been?"

You asked your brother.

"In the playground with my friends... wait- that's the cat mom's talking about-!"

Your brother's attention darted to Tux immediately as he touched the cat. Tux didn't avoid the touch either.

"That cat's name is Tux. I named it."

You said, sitting on your chair and eating food your mom prepared.

"That's a.. intuitive name."

Your dad said, looking at Tux.

"... Anyways, why did you agree to raise a pet?"

You asked. Looking at your brother's wide smile, your dad answered,

"Didn't your mother tell you? Uh.. your brother likes cats, and why not?"

"... yeah whatever."

You ate dinner listening to your little brother talking about Tux. You felt good that your brother got a pet that he wanted. However, at the same time, you felt uncomfortable... having a pet all of a sudden. It felt like having a new family member without your permission.

You know that having a pet will feel like having a family member as time passes. Your friends told you about how their pets meant the world to them... But there was this uncomfortable feeling about Tux.

Maybe you were just mad about your family and wanted to leash your anger to Tux. You didn't know.

When you woke up the next day, you found Tux right beside you.

"How did you get in here..."

You went to sleep alone last night. You remembered that you closed the door before Tux gets in.

You shrugged it off since you had little time before you go to school. You walked around, brushing your hair and wearing your uniform.

"Where is it? Ugh.."

You mumbled as you searched for your earphones. You put them on last night, and the right one was missing.

"Hey- don't distract me."

You lifted up Tux from the bed sheets and searched to see if the bed sheets were covering your right earphone. You rummaged through your bed sheets but you couldn't find it. While you were busy lifting up bed sheets, Tux crawled under your bed.

"What are you doing?"

You also looked under the bed.

"Oh- You found it!"

Tux was playing with the right earphone you were desperately searching for. You grabbed your right earphone and put in the case as your cat tossed it to you.

You sighed in relief and looked at Tux.

"Thanks for your help... I would've died for boredom in school without your help."

You smiled at Tux and left your room, ready to go to school.

In your classroom, you talked about your new cat to your friend. As expected, your friend was excited about it, asking dozens of questions.

"How can you not have a picture of it?"

Your friend said.

"I didn't think of it. I'll send you a picture when I go back home."

Your friend rambled about how her mother would not allow her to have a pet. You listened to your friend quietly.

"Hey."

Someone poked your shoulder. You looked back to see who it was, and one of your classmates was standing right behind you.

"Huh?"

"You're sitting on my seat."

Your classmate said.

"Oh- sorry-!"

You stood up right after.

"Don't you think you and him have a lot of connections lately?"

Your friend said, eating a chocolate bar she bought in free time.

"Who are you talking about?"

"You sat in his seat in lunch time. How could you not remember?"

"Oh- are you talking about Blake?"

"Of course I am! Don't you think he likes you?"

You knew your friend loves setting people up and likes searching for possible couples, but this time, she's talking nonsense.

"I didn't even talk to him that much."

Your friend was eager to tell you what she has found.

"That's not the point- The important part is that he's constantly gazing at you during class. Also, how can you not notice that it's you he talks to!"

"He talks to plenty of people."

"Oh no, you're clueless. If you observe further, you'll definitely realize he only talks to certain people, or friends, and they all knew Blake even before highschool."

"How do you know that?"

"My eyes and ears are open."

"..."

Blake and you? That's such a confusing match.

"Your observations can't be the reason."

"See for yourself then. I'm sure. Blake has interest in you."

"..."

You didn't believe a word your friend said before Blake asked if he can join you on the way home.

It was awkward, walking with a classmate who you've barely talked to. Blake was quiet, and you didn't know how to start a conversation.

"I thought you go home with your friends."

You said.

"Oh- I moved recently. It seemed like you go home this way too, so... I thought it could be great having another friend to go home with."

Blake said. You could see he was a bit nervous... but why?

Not much conversation went by, and you waved goodbye to Blake in front of your house. You went into your house, throwing your book bag onto the bed and taking off your jacket.

You looked around to see if Tux was around, but you couldn't find it anywhere. You went into every room in your house but Tux wasn't in any of them. You went back to your room, wondering where that sneaky cat hid himself. You were unpacking your bag when you noticed something jumping over the fence. You looked at it to realize that it was your cat that was jumping over the fence and into your home.

You quickly opened the window facing the garden Tux was walking across and let it in your room.

This was strange. The doors were all locked, and you went out of the front door in the morning, so there's no way for Tux to get out. Your mother took your little brother to kindergarten and your father went to work after you left for school.. but they wouldn't have left Tux leave the house.

"Do you get out of the house when no one is watching?"

You said, in a surprised tone.

Was this cat extra smart, or were you mistaken about all the doors being closed?

Tux didn't seem to care that it got out of the house when everyone was outside.

You were skeptical but decided to ignore it and kept on unpacking your bag and organizing your clothes.

After a few hours, your mom came home with your brother.

"We're going to have dinner after an hour when your dad comes back from work-"

Your mom said loudly enough for you to hear.

In your room, you were studying while Tux was watching. You studied until your mother called you to eat dinner.

Your little brother was talking about his day in kindergarten like always, and your mother was setting food plates on the table.

You ate quietly as your brother went on about how his friend and him played some kind of game.

"Mom, today a classmate wanted go home together with me. The funny thing is.."

You said to your mom when your brother cooled down.

"Are you listening?"

You asked your mom.

"Oh- I am listening. Go on."

"The funny thing is that.. I've never talked to him properly yet."

You went on.

"And I beat Anthony- so I got a prize-!"

Your words were blocked with your brother's babbling.

You sighed. Everytime your brother blocked your words, it felt so frustrating.

"Can't you wait when I'm talking?"

You would've heard what your brother needed to say, but this time, you felt like speaking up.

"What?"

Your brother looked at you.

"I mean.. I want to talk too."

"But-"

"Your brother is thrilled he got a present today in kindergarten. Let him talk, he's feeling good today."

Your dad said.

"I think he talked enough though."

"You talked a lot more when you were young too."

Your mother said, smiling.

You were annoyed. Why was she smiling?

Your family wouldn't listen to you, and it was so frustrating to you.

"I ate a lot, I'm going back to my room."

You said.

"You haven't eaten half of it, why?"

Your mother asked.

"My stomach hurts today."

You stood up and walked to your room. Tux follwed you.

You couldn't understand it. You wanted to talk about your new friend too. You wanted to talk about how Blake suggested to go home with you.

You turned to your cat that was cuddling you, covered in your bed sheet. You scratched its fur as it purred.

You noticed that Tux followed you everywhere in the house. You also noticed that Tux only cuddled with you. That actually felt heart warming.

Tux jumped off the bed and crawled to a shelf you collected all your goods like small stuffed animals, and some figures you collected from before. It was usually goods from a few years ago.

"Is there something interesting?"

You looked at the shelf, confused.

"I don't see anything interesting... wait-"

The shelf was missing something.

Now you searched through all your goods to find there was a figure missing. And you also found some of your markers missing. You actually needed those markers for art class tomorrow.

The first thing that came up to your mind was your brother.

You thanked Tux and went out of your room, to the table where your family was eating dessert.

"Where's my figure and markers?"

You asked your mother.

"What do you mean by markers and a figure? The ones on your shelf?"

Your mother replied.

"Yes- where are they?"

"I gave it to your brother."

With your mother's answer, you went straight into your brother's room to find your figure on the corner of his shelf. You grabbed it and put it back on your shelf. Your mom watched with a confused expression.

But you couldn't find your marker still.

"Where's my marker?"

You asked your mother again. Your brother was quiet, staring at you now that he realized how irritated your voice was.

"Why?"

"I said multiple times that I needed my markers for my art project-"

You were shouting now.

"I gave it your brother because he had a drawing competition today, and your brother left it in kindergarten because it got damaged. You can draw with something else for your art project, right?"

Your mother said, annoyed too.

You tried to calm down, but this was too much. How can your whole family ignore your words?

"That's not the point here- why would you take my stuff without my permission?"

Your mother said nothing, but she was definitely baffled from your statement.

When your mother said nothing and your brother kept whining, you went into your room again, shutting the door roughly.

The next day, you were silent the whole time getting ready for school. You didn't have your marker, and you couldn't finish the art project how you wanted to because of that.

You walked to school with heavy footsteps.

Art class was after lunch, so you still had time to think about how to do your art project. But you didn't have good ideas on your mind. Also you have already done the sketch for the drawing, which makes it harder to think of other good ideas.

Time flew by fast and it was time for art. Unfortunately your friend didn't have markers, so she couldn't help you out.

The uneasy feeling went on. You had to decide whether to switch the concept of the drawing or find usable markers one way or another.

"You'll do good with or without markers..."

Your friend comforted you.

"Thanks..."

You decided to use watercolor the school had and walked over to the sink with a small yellow bucket.

"Hey."

You felt a poke on your shoulder.

It was Blake.

"Oh- hi."

".. I have markers.. if you want to use it."

"... wait- really?"

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

"Yeah.. you can take them and use it at your table. I use watercolor anyway."

"Thanks- you're a lifesaver."

Blake was a lifesaver, and that went on for a few weeks. He gave you stuff you really needed, which made your friend more invested in your relationship with Blake.

Your relationship with your family recovered a bit over a few weeks, but you were still in some kind of a cold war, and you were still angry at them. You didn't talk very much either, so it really didn't matter.

You went home with Blake a few times a week. Blake wasn't the funniest person to talk to, but Blake was sure a great listener. Just like Tux.

Blake listened to you, occasionally talking about how he thought. He was not like your family who ignored how your life was in school, and everytime Blake helped you out, you thought of your friend's words. Maybe your friend was an expert at reading people's feelings.

If Blake helped you out in school, Tux was your company in your home. When you went home alone, Tux was waiting for you behind the front door.

You felt uncomfortable around Tux at first, but now you warmed up to Tux. You spent all your days with Tux telling your worries and secrets that you wouldn't tell anyone.

Tux stayed right beside you curling its body into your arms.

Spending your time with Tux felt soothing, and you thought this would go on for sure.

However, despite your wish, it didn't last long.

It was Friday, and you walked home alone. You went home fast to see your cat waiting for you.

"I'm home-"

You shouted.

You didn't see your cat behind the front door, so you walked into your room to find your cat lying down on the bed.

It was unusual for you cat to be like this. Tux always tried to rub itself on you if it had the chance.

You sat beside Tux, worried if the cat is sick.

"Are you ok?"

You asked. You knew Tux won't understand what you're saying, but you wanted your cat to know you're worried by your tone.

You lay down on your bed with your school uniform on. There was no one in the house, so there was no one to scold you for not changing clothes.

You turned to your cat. Tux seemed to be struggling with something, and you didn't know why. You thought about calling your mom, but you knew she wouldn't answer when she's busy with some project of hers.

What if Tux needs to go to the hospital?

Several thoughts went by your head.

Tux was still in a bad state and you didn't know what to do.

You got your phone out and searched through the internet to find some clue after you messaged your father(hoping for him to message you back).

As you searched with your phone, you felt Tux slipping away.

Tux was slowly crawling away from you. It seemed he wanted to head out of your room.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You put one arm around your cat, confused.

"Do you need something? Where are you going all of a sudden?"

But your cat was desperate to get out.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

That was the moment you saw something so unbelievable.

With a blink of an eye, Tux was gone, replaced with a boy your age.

".... Blake?"

You couldn't believe what you just saw.

Tux was no where to be seen, and Blake, who said he was going home with his friends, was exactly in Tux's place, facing you.

Surprised and confused, you quicky removed your arm on Blake's body. Then you jumped out of bed before Blake could react.

"W.. wait-"

Blake grabbed your arm and yanked you back into the bed. You lost balance and fell back first to the bed while Blake grabbed your arms still.

"What the- what are you doing??"

You said as Blake's grip got stronger.

Blake was on top of you, facing you with his face red.

"I'll explain-"

You didn't want to believe it, but from the looks of it, Tux was actually Blake.

Blake's face came closer to yours, and you could hear Blake's heart beating fast.

You pushed off Blake and ran out of your room before Blake came any more closer. Blake followed you without hesitation, desperate to explain himself.

You maintained certain space between you as Blake tried to take a step closer to you.

"I can explain-"

Blake protested.

"Get out of my house.. I'll listen to your explanation later.."

"No- no- I didn't do anything wrong.. I just.. wanted to get closer and help you out."

"I messaged my dad and he'll come home soon. I'll tell him about you if you don't get out."

You said in a harsh tone. You wouldn't tell your dad that Tux is human, but you had to threaten Blake..

Blake's face clearly showed that he was not satisfied, but he left.

When your dad came home, you told him Tux was somehow escaped. Your little brother was upset. But you didn't care to notice him because Tux being Blake was the most important topic in your head for hours.

You've done some pretty embarrassing stuff in front of Blake in his cat form. You told him all your cringey moments, you showed him your true personality.. and you even changed clothes in front of his cat form. You basically showed every aspect of you.

You went to bed imagining how it will be meeting Blake in school again. You imagine yourself being awkward in front of Blake.

You hoped not, but the thought that Blake came to your house just to be beside you made you feel a bit frightened.

The whole situation was weird. Blake was weird. His actions only tell you that he's creepy.

Instead of confronting Blake, you avoided Blake in every was possible. You ran straight to home after school, hoping for Blake to lose sight of you.

"I'm home-"

You said. You find your mom sitting on the couch.

"(y/n)-! Tux came back!"

"..."

"Why, aren't you glad Tux came back without a scratch?"

"Can we just let him be a stray cat again?

You blurted out.

"How can you say that, (y/n)? We brought Tux here, so we have to take care of it."

"It was your choice- you brought him here- then don't let him in my room, okay?

"Why are you acting sensitive lately? Don't you think this is too much?"

You ignored your mother and walked back to your room. Blake tried to follow you, but you shut the door at his face.

Your mother noticed this right away. Irritated herself, she opened the door to your room and let the cat inside.

"Don't vent out your frustration on Tux, (y/n)."

With that, your mom closed the door and headed to the livingroom again.

You glared at the person pretending to be a stray cat. With the frustration that built up past few weeks, you couldn't stand someone deceiving you.

"Get out."

You said.

Blake was still in his cat form, standing still.

"Are you listening..?"

You said. Blake just stood there, staring at you.

"... I'll just go out then."

At that moment, Blake went back to his human form, grabbing your wrists.

"Don't go out."

Blake said.

"....why don't we cuddle like we always did?"

"Are you serious? Why would I-"

You tried to get his hand off your wrist, but he's grip only got stronger.

"You can't even force me out of your room."

"Can you at least let go of my wrist?"

"Oh-.."

Blake let go of your wrist, but he didn't move away from you.

Both you and Blake got quiet after. Your mother shouting from the livingroom broke the silence.

"Stay here."

You said, looking at Blake. Then you went to the livingroom.

"Why did you call me?"

You asked.

"Actually, I didn't buy eggs since I was busy with work. Can you buy them now? You didn't even change to comfortable clothes yet."

"I'm keeping the change."

"Okay. Just come back before I prepare dinner. Oh and we need something else too. I'll send you a list."

You got money from your mother and walked back to your room. Blake was waiting for you, sitting on your bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To buy groceries."

You looked away from Blake and picked up a bag to carry groceries.

You felt someone following you while you were walking to the supermarket.

You knew it was Blake.

"I know you're following me."

You said.

As expected, Blake came out of his cover. He was in his human form.

"I just wanted to see if.."

You ignored him and kept walking. Blake followed suit.

"I like you a lot.. I'm sure you know by now..."

You stayed silent. The whole situation was strange and you didn't quite process it.

"I actually liked you way before you knew me. I can move around more freely as a cat, you know?"

"..."

Blake held your hand and walked right beside you.

"It was hard for me to keep my distance from you in school... that's why I tried to be a stray cat. To get closer..."

"That's... uh..."

Blake suddenly wrapped his arms around you out of nowhere.

"What are you doing??"

You said, trying to push him away. Unfortunately Blake didn't budge. Instead he only got closer, which made your head spinning.

"What if someone sees us?? Stop-"

"Does that mean I can hug you in your room?"

"That's not what I meant.."

Blake laughed as you panicked and didn't know what to do.

"You should stop ignoring me in school. You liked Tux, why not treat me like it too?"

Blake said, holding your hand again.

"Uhm..."

Blake didn't do anything that would attract glances while buying groceries. He kept holding your hand, but he didn't do anything other than that.

You quickly bought the things your mother asked and went home with Blake. Blake transformed into Tux by the time you arrived home and everything went smoothly after that, like a normal day. Blake, in his cat form, watched you from afar as you ate dinner.

You went back inside your room and Blake quickly made his way inside before you could lock the door.

Blake changed back to his human self as soon as he closed the door to your room. Then he lead you to your bed, wrapping his arms from the back.

"I waited for this."

He said while digging into your neck.

"Hey- don't rub your face onto my neck-"

There was no use resisting because Blake had no intention of letting you go.

"I have to study. Let me go."

You said firmly.

"I know you don't study right away after dinner. Let's watch something together. Or we can just lay on bed together and sleep."

"What if my family finds out??"

"Then you should be quiet."

Blake smiled.

You were annoyed, but you kept quiet.

Blake pestered you so you couldn't do much of anything. It was soon late at night and all your family members went to sleep.

"I'm going to sleep."

You said, organizing your desk before bed.

"Really? Then we can sleep side by side. Cuddling each other."

"I'll get you bed sheets. You can sleep on the floor."

"What do you mean-"

"Or you can turn into a cat again."

"I- I'll turn into a cat."

Blake, in his cat form crawled beside you when you lay in bed, covered with blankets.

You heard the alarm and slowly opened your eyes to see Blake's face right in front of you. You screamed right that moment.

Your mother heard your scream and opened the door to check if anything's wrong.

"What's wrong here?"

Your mom asked.

You quickly hid Blake under your blankets, covering his face with your arms.

"Nothing- just a bad.. dream."

"Well, ok. Come eat breakfast in 10 minutes."

"Alright."

Your mom walked out of your room, still suspicious of your actions.

"What were you doing? We could've been caught-!"

You jumped up pushing Blake away.

"Are you going to change into your uniform?"

Blake asked, still lying down on the bed.

"What?"

"I mean.. uh..."

"..."

You grabbed your school uniform and changed your clothes in the bathroom.

"I can't believe you watched me all the time."

You said, leaving the house. Blake already prepared for school and waited for you at the front door.

"..."

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't ate since yesterday lunch."

"I go back to my house in night and stay there until it's time for you to wake up. I do regular things I missed at daytime."

"That explains why you're sleeping all day at school."

"Then will you let me sleep in your room with you? I want to beside you all day."

"All day? That's exhausting."

"It's not exhausting for me. I want to be beside you whether it's in school or home."

"I'll think about it.."

Blake held your hand.

"I know you'll accept it at some point."

Blake said with confidence.

Blake's words were oddly convincing to you.

He was beside you when you fought with your family and got upset. He listened to your words and helped you.

It's true that you liked Tux in your home, and Blake at school as well.

You like Blake's warm touch, but you'll have to think about Blake staying with you all day.

Part 2 here

#yandere #yandere boy #yandere oc #male yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere catboy #yandere imagines #yandere fic

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xenosagaepisodeone · 1 month

Text

For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.

Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").

And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.

Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.

Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.

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westviewtroubles · 2 years

Text

Across The Room

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Synopsis: Eddie finally gets to talk to the girl that he can't stop looking at.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff!

A/N: I might already have a second part planned for this... Let's take this great amount of activity as my belated one-year anniversary present for this account!

Part 2 is out now Part 3 is also out!

There was something about the girl sitting on the other side of the cafeteria that seemed to pull Eddie's gaze to her, like an opposite pole of a magnet would do. Her shoulders were usually slightly slouched, her eyes too occupied by the notebook he never saw her without. He'd never actually heard her talk, but from the way her lips moved, he'd bet his life on it being the most gorgeous sound one could be blessed to hear.

One time he had passed her in the hall, her head buried in a textbook. Dustin had been talking about their D&D campaign, but one word went in one ear and out the other, the boy too occupied with the smell of daisies that lingered when she passed by. He'd never really liked flowery scents, but after that, whenever he saw daisies, he couldn't help but smile.

He'd never admit it, but her smile was his favorite thing in the world. Whenever he saw her smile, he'd keep wondering what she was smiling over, wishing that he could be the one who made her smile.

Of course, she never saw him. But he desperately wished she did.

You were surrounded by your friends, half-heartedly listening to them talk about a movie that had just come out that they were excited to go see. Your neck had started to hurt from straining it, holding up the sketchbook in your lap, prepared to hide it from anyone that passed by.

There he was, sitting in the same spot he always sat at, on the other side of the cafeteria, talking to his friends. When he threw a cashew at one of his friends with a playful grin on his face, you chuckled to yourself quietly, trying to commit the image to your memory.

Looking down at your sketchbook, you smiled at the unfinished drawing of him, still in the middle of sketching his curly hair, and when he stood up, the light coming from the windows behind him made him look... ethereal.

Of course, he never saw you. But you desperately wished he did.

History was one of your strongest subjects, and when Mrs. Click had asked for volunteers to tutor other students, you'd been the first to sign up, but it had been so long, that you had already forgotten all about it until your teacher had asked you to stay after class.

"I saw that you'd signed up to tutor some other students." Mrs. Click said, not looking up from the tests that she was marking. "Are you still free?"

The thought of tutoring students wasn't exactly appealing to you, already dealing with piles of homework and starting essays to apply for colleges, but when she looked up at you with a demanding look, you couldn't help but nod. "Yes, of course."

"Great." She said, looking back down at her desk, "Your first lesson is with a repeating student, at three. I've reserved the library for your lesson, and you can agree with him on later lessons. That'll be all."

"Great." You muttered under your breath as soon as you got out of her classroom, internally cursing yourself for ever signing up.

"Look, Dustin, I have to do it or Click's gonna fail me again."

"Can't you do it any other day?" Dustin groaned, looking up at Eddie as he tried to keep up with his long strides. "I mean, we've been planning this campaign for weeks and we're supposed to start it today."

"I know, and we're going to. I just need to do this stupid tutoring thing, and as soon as it's over we'll start. It's probably like two hours, max. Tell the rest of Hellfire that I'll be there as soon as I can."

"We can just start without you."

"Don't you dare, Henderson." Eddie said, turning to Dustin with a pointed finger and raised brows. "I'll be there."

Eddie could hear the boy groan behind him, yet he walked away with determination, leaving Dustin behind.

Your gaze kept shifting between your wristwatch and the giant clock on the wall as you kept scribbling on your sketchbook, your foot tapping almost in rhythm to the ticking on your wrist.

It was almost three, and there was no one in sight. You'd already spent an hour in the library, catching up on your own homework, and now you were waiting for the person you were supposed to be tutoring without even knowing their name. You kept telling yourself that if they weren't there five minutes past three, you'd go home, and make up an excuse if Mrs. Click cared enough to ask.

But as if on cue, you heard the library door open, turning your head to see who it was.

He was standing there, his ring-clad hands gripping a history textbook, his eyes slightly widening when he saw you, the smile that slowly twisted on his lips causing you to react in a similar way.

The spell was broken when you heard a sudden clacking, only then realizing that he had dropped his book to the ground, and the boy quickly picked it up. You chuckled, turning back to your table and closing your sketchbook with a smile on your face.

He made his way to you briskly, looking at you up and down before settling to look at your face. "Are you my tutor?" He asked, and his voice was just as you'd imagined it to be, but better.

"Yeah, my name-"

"I know." He said, clearing his throat when he realized he had interrupted you. "I'm Ed-"

"I know, Eddie." You chuckled, quickly looking down at your feet before smiling up at him, "Do you wanna get started?"

"Sure."

"You can sit next to me or on the other side of the table, but it might be easier if you sit next to me so I can-"

He didn't even have to say anything to interrupt you, the boy already having pulled back the chair next to yours as you nodded, sitting down with him.

You started to go through the basics with him, telling Eddie about what would likely be on the test, the boy's eyes almost trained on you, the thought of it making blood rush to your cheeks. He kept nodding when you spoke, and you weren't sure if he was actually listening or doing it as a courtesy, but you hoped it was the former.

"So, Joan of Arc was..."

"She led the French army to victory over the English during the Hundreds' Year war. She was executed in 1431 for heresy at 19, and in 1920 canonized as a saint." He said, repeating what you said almost word-for-word, and when he looked to you for confirmation, you couldn't help the smile taking over your lips. "Did I get it right?"

"Yeah. Good job."

When you looked into each other's eyes with similar smiles on both your lips, no words were exchanged, but you knew. You finally saw one another.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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solarmorrigan · 5 days

Note

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

#this ended up being a lot of fun! thanks for the prompt!#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #platonic stobin #please don't look at this too hard though it will collapse under the weight of scrutiny #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 8 months

Text

Never Quite Enough

Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: Angst, insomnia, more angst.

"Can I confess something to you?" Matt asks.

You look up from your phone in surprise, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He's dressed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants, his jacket somewhere nearby.

He looks pristine, but you know you prefer his undressed look even more, the sight of his bare chest was a soothing balm on the open wound that was your life.

You wait patiently for his words.

"I think... he really likes you. Genuinely."

You let out a long sigh.

"That sounds like his problem. I am done with him." You say quickly, on a harsh breath.

"Are you?" He challenges, with a calm tone.

You swallow, honestly, you didn't know.

It's been weeks. Nearly a month and a half since you broke up with him, the same amount of time you'd been together.

Why was climbing out harder than falling in?

Something tugs in your chest, you let out a soft breath. You feel bad for letting one person comfort you for another person's actions.

"Matt." You say his name slowly, looking up at him, the space of his countertop between you.

You swallow.

"I'm sorry." You finally say.

"What for?"

"If I've- lead you on, or made you feel uncomfortable- please just tell me. I'd rather you tell me you're tired of me, than being forced to tolerate me."

He lets out a harsh breath, moves around the counter swiftly.

Before you can process it, your face is buried in his clothed chest.

He smells like the gentle lavender soap he uses, and you're too stunned to do anything other than breathe it in.

"You're not leading me on. I promise, and I'm not just tolerating you. I like you."

A little sob hiccups from your throat, the strength of his adoration pours into you, fills, overflows.

"I've been tolerated my whole life." You say into his chest, tears falling freely, "The first time I felt like I could exist was with him, and even that had been a lie." You grip the back of his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

He shushes you softly, his stubbled cheek pressed to the crown of your head.

His body tightens around you, it makes you feel worse, like you're forcing him to comfort you in some way. You cry harder.

Matt holds you through it, and when your violent shaking turns into little hiccups, he leans down to kiss your forehead, his thumb swiping at one cheek, to push your tears away.

"He's hurt you so badly, and It's up to you to decide whether that damage can be fixed or not. But you need to know that you're not tolerated, you're appreciated. By me...and by him."

"How do you know?" You protest, looking into his unfocused eyes.

"I heard him say it. To his friend, Frank, that day at the gala. I heard him tell Frank that he loves you."

You blink, drawing your head back in shock.

Love?

You sniffle, Matt's words have knocked the sadness right out of you, replacing it with surprise.

You reach for a tissue sitting on the countertop.

"That can't be right." You hum, wiping at your nose, and dabbing at your cheeks. You'd have to re-do today's makeup before work.

"His actions were awful, and the things he did do not deserve forgiveness. But his feelings now are genuine." Matt says.

Now?

Your shoulders drop.

They hadn't been genuine before?

When he'd offered you one of his shirts to sleep in, on the very first night you'd slept over, the hidden eager look in his eyes... that had been fake?

Of course it was, your mind supplies, you feel like you're sinking lower with each thought.

Like a full tub being emptied, you feel the emotion drain right out of you.

You spend a solid moment like that, in disbelief at the emotion just leaving you, rejecting Matt’s last words without another second of consideration.

You part your lips, finally sucking in a deep breath that doesn’t hurt.

Your mouth parts wider in relief.

For the first time, you feel true nothingness, and not the numbness of the refusal to process emotion that you were used to.

It's liberating, you close your eyes in bliss.

Somehow, you'd managed to turn your turbulent emotions off.

Like a switch, flipping inside you, centred around your confused feelings. Your brain doesn't know how to feel, so it stops feeling.

You know Matt wasn't the type of man to lie to you, it wasn't even in his nature to stretch the truth. He was a man that could only speak fact, and something said with this much surety could only be true.

But that didn’t mean you were capable of accepting his words. Instead you smile at him, wiping at your tears.

“I should get to work.” You respond, looking up at him with a small smile on your face.

The world around you is interesting, when you can’t feel a thing. Nothing matters, at all.

You smile at Dex easily, engaging him in conversation, a past version of you would probably be feeling absolutely hollow inside. Instead, you simply exist, only answering questions when you’re asked, smiling along to small talk.

There’s no sadness, or despair, or hate for yourself.

There’s nothing.

And nothing had to be better than everything all at once...right?

It’s peaceful now, your work gets done much faster, headphones on to help you focus, you feel like pushing yourself to see how much you’re capable of, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day.

It feels good, getting things done ahead of time, it makes you feel like you’re being efficient in a space you’ve only felt desolation for a long while.

You only realise how late it is when the night cleaning crew shows up.

Only then you decide to amble on home, a bowl of ramen in your arms, tucked into your couch in the dark of the night before bed.

You don’t see Matt that night, probably busy at his own job, and you’re okay with that, knowing that you shouldn’t be using him as any type of emotional crutch in the first place.

The problem comes when you try to go to sleep.

You find that you can’t, you don’t feel sleepy.

You toss and you turn and you sit up and you have tea and press the heels of your hands against your eyes and struggle with being awake when you should be asleep.

You have nothing to help you sleep, so you curl up in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you’re asleep until morning when your alarm goes off for work.

Silence and nothingness are your associates now, and however inconvenient, you prefer it to whatever was there before.

He loves you, your mind tries to interject during your morning routine, and you stop comically while brushing your teeth to stare dead ahead at yourself in the mirror.

Love… I barely know what that is, you answer.

You resume brushing your teeth.

You’re acutely aware that at some point, you’re probably going to crash. People aren’t made to be awake for long periods of time and feel this fine about it.

Being at work is pretty okay, and you don’t feel like ripping your hair out at the first inconvenience.

It’s your second day of working late, and you’re dealing with it well. You’ve put your phone on do not disturb and with your headphones in, you’re lost in your own world of report reading and analysis.

Really, you should have known that letting your guard drop would tempt fate too much. The fickle way life tended to work around you should have had your walls up permanently.

But in your exhausted state, leaning against the wall gripping your bag with one hand while waiting for the elevator, it was hard to keep any sort of defense up.

So when someone says your name in mild surprise, the only response you can give is a raise of your head.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, and you wonder if he sees something similar in you. His jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in his palm.

“Hey Mister Russo.” You say softly in greeting, straightening to take a step into the elevator.

He doesn’t say anything for a second as the doors close.

“It’s late.” He comments, and you turn your head to glance at him.

“Yes it is.” You agree, unable to stay steady on your feet, you lean against the wall of the elevator too.

“You look tired.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I’ll live.” You answer.

“We should talk.”

You groan, tilting your head back.

“You’re making me wish I’d taken another elevator.”

“Let me drive you home.” He answers as if you hadn’t just expressed your distaste for him.

You raise your head to look at him angrily.

There were so many things you wanted to say. Leave me alone. Take a hike. I don’t want to talk to you. I’d rather chew nails that get into a car with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you love me?

In the end, you say nothing, and the doors to the elevators slide open, and you step out without even a goodbye.

The lobby is quiet, dimly lit, very much somber and lacking the life that there usually is during the daylight.

You only get a few steps out of the elevator before he’s blocking your path with his tall frame.

You huff, looking up at him, willing him to go away.

“Can we please talk? Please?”

You were so irritated with having to experience him and his constant persistence of you. You blink, angrily clenching your teeth together.

“Why? Why should I even give you a chance, Billy? So you can lie to me more? Hurt me more? What’s it going to take for you to realise that we’re over?”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“We have something. You know we do. There’s a voice inside you that tells you we’re right for each other. I hear it too.”

“You’re wrong,” You answer softly, “There’s no voice.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t lie, don’t act like-” He cuts off, letting out a slow breath.

“Like what?” You prod.

“-Like you don’t care!” He hisses, “Stop acting like this was nothing.” He says, gesturing to the space between you.

“This was nothing.” You clarify.

He looks frustrated, all you can do is observe him with a casual tilt of your head.

“What you did was unforgivable. What could you possibly want from me now?” You follow up, after he’s unable to speak.

“Another chance.” He utters.

You raise your eyebrows.

“To do what?” You felt like you had to break this down for him like a child.

“To prove to you that my feelings were real,” He takes a step forward, getting closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep looking at him.

“To show you that I think you’re the best person on the planet. That we have something,” Billy’s hands raise to cup your face, his eyes dark, a void pulling you in, “worth fighting for.”

He leans in, and it only just registers in your tired brain that he’s going to kiss you.

“I have a boyfriend.” You whisper out in a rush in an effort to deter him.

His only response is a small smile.

“Break up with him.” he answers simply as his mouth meets your in a soft kiss.

It melts you, like it usually does. His bearded face creating tingles as it scratches against yours and for a moment you feel so whole.

And then you’re pushing him away, because you don’t deserve this, because you are not someone you believe is worth fighting for.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, “I just don’t believe in us the way you do.” You step to the side, and dodge his hand when he tries to grab your wrist.

He calls your name behind you as you leave, the sound is soft, pleading.

You don’t look back.

When he touches his lips, he can still feel you there.

Like you own his mouth, and now every kiss is yours, and every smile is for you.

He needs you, so badly that it hurts him.

There’s also a sober part of him that wishes he had the capacity to leave you alone, let you heal from him, leave him behind and move on with your life. But the selfish part of him, the part that fought for scraps in a house of too many people, that part of him clings to the love he has.

In many ways he’s still a child, he acknowledges, always quietly hoping that someone could want him, listen to him, talk to him about every useless topic on the planet.

He’d found that in you. Someone to listen to him, not just give a vacant smile when he spoke, or roll their eyes, exhausted at his small, unpracticed attempts at conversation.

He loved the little niche tidbits of information you knew, he was always learning something exciting, or something that made you light up when you spoke.

And then he’d- done that.

The little boy that never had anything, sabotaging his one chance at love because somewhere deep down inside, he didn’t know if he was really capable of it. Maybe he wasn’t. He’d never had it aimed in his direction really.

Who had loved him? Ever in his life?

Frank was the closest thing he had to a brother, Billy had no doubt that the Castles loved him.

And it was good, but it wasn’t enough.

Now more than ever he knew that, lying awake, fingers pressed to his mouth where he could still feel the softness of your lips. He knew what being enough to someone had felt like.

He knew he’d do anything to have that again.

You can’t sleep at all.

It’s way worse than before.

Things had been okay when you couldn’t feel anything, but one kiss had brought it all back. Now, you were just sad all over again.

Each time you kissed him, pulled you together, and each time you left him behind, you shattered even more.

Like glass that had been broken once, being hammered into splinters. You didn’t know how much of yourself had been damaged, beyond hope of repair already.

And yet still, you couldn’t forget him.

The soft heat of his touch, the sound of his breaths. You spend the entire night thinking about him, and wishing you could think about something, anything else.

There’s a box waiting on your desk when you get in the next morning.

It fits in your palm, wrapped in blue floral gift paper with a black bow on top. It screams Billy.

“That from Matt?” Dex asks, as he’s walking by and observes your handling of the gift.

“Probably.” You lie, tugging at the bow.

“Hope it’s something nice.” He wishes as he steps away, going back to whatever he was doing.

His wrapping is precise, no fold is haphazard, the bow sits right in the middle, perfectly equidistant from all edges.

It pulls a smile to your face. You almost don’t want to open it, the effort put into wrapping is a gift in itself.

You doubt Billy had given many gifts in his life- or even gotten them. He’d only mentioned it once that he didn’t have parents, and that he grew up in the system. You’d wanted to ask about it, but you’d never gotten a real chance.

You wanted to know how many gifts he'd gotten, how many happy birthdays.

You shouldn't care, it shouldn't matter to you, but it did.

You take the wrapping off carefully, wanting to preserve every bit of this, something that could be remembered later, savoured when you needed something to think of in the darkness of the night.

You tug the lid off the box quickly, eyes locking onto the shimmering gold in the box.

Your mouth parts in surprise.

It’s a simple present, butterfly hair clips in a gold colour. Each wing of the shiny butterfly is attached to the clip with a few small springs, it means that every slight movement makes the wings appear as though they’re fluttering.

All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, staring at similar clips in someone else’s hair. You gulp, looking around for a note, an explanation as to why.

You’d only asked your parents once for them, and then never again.

His note is lodged beneath the lid of the box, and you take your time prying it out, opening it.

‘Saw these and thought of you.

-Billy

x.'

You blink back tears, looking at the delicate clips once more.

You don’t take them out of the box, despite how badly you want to. You settle for just running a careful finger over the fluttering wings, a quiet appreciation of something you’d forgotten you wanted.

The clips are so shiny that they were bound to catch attention, which was the last thing you wanted here. Maybe later, after everyone was gone, you could indulge yourself in trying them on.

It was a brilliant gift, something small and seemingly unimportant, and yet, an item that he hadn’t known you’d desired from the moment you first saw them.

Warm, something trickling into the very depths of you, a feeling you want, a feeling you yearn for.

You reach for your phone, with calling him in mind, his extension seared to your memory and you just want to talk to him-

You slam the phone down just as fast. A few coworkers looking over at you in your peripherals.

Dread spills over inside of you, a paralysing fear that you were playing directly into his game, that this was a ploy, or even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t just go back to normal with him. He’d done something unforgivable, and you had to be rigid in your inability to absolve him of his actions.

He’d made a bet, with his friends, to see if he was capable of being in an exhausting relationship with you, because everyone thinks that you were annoying.

Because he thought that you were annoying.

You tuck his gift into the top drawer of your desk, letting the pain of his betrayal reorient you.

Billy Russo did not like you.

“Shit.” You curse, glancing at the time on your phone. You’d been so zoned into your computer that you hadn’t even noticed that the work day had been officially over for a while now.

You sigh, leaning back, opening your top drawer to grab a page marker for the document you just sent to print.

You spot the little gift box tucked into the back of the drawer and you can’t help the smile that pulls onto your face.

You drop everything you’re doing, reaching for the box happily.

You take your time, pinning one clip to either side of your head to pull some of your hair back, opening your front camera to admire the little fluttering clips.

You loved the little things, delicate in your hair, glittering with the movement and the lights and you make a mental note to avoid the possibility of getting it tangled in your hair as best as possible.

You get distracted by the sound of the printer beeping in the distance to signal your print was completed and you get up to grab the file.

A few hours later, you hear the elevator nearby make a small sound as it stops on your floor. You look up, alert and the awareness of how late it is makes you a little scared.

It’s him that rounds the corner, crisp suit, his jacket tucked under his arm. He pauses when he notices you, your eyes meeting, before a little smile pulls onto his face.

“I figured you’d be here.” He hums, approaching you.

You huff, glancing back at your computer screen.

“You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” You bite back.

When he’s quiet for too long, standing beside you, you turn to look up at him.

There’s a strange expression on his face, something that washes the coldness inside of you away with gentle warmth.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep your voice harsh.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty.” He answers.

You make a sound of annoyance, turning back to your computer to continue working on your excel sheet.

Do you love me?

Your fingers freeze on your keyboard when he kneels in your peripherals next to you.

What in God’s name was he doing?

You let out a harsh breath.

“Billy-”

His hand reaches to touch something in your hair, it’s only then you remember that you’re wearing the clips he gave you.

“-These look so much better on you than I’d imagined.” He whispers, turning a strand of your hair over between his fingers.

You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted them, since I was little. My parents fought a lot, and I could never work up the courage to ask for them. Then, when I got older, I could never find them.” You glance up at him for a moment before looking away, “Thank you, I love them, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”

His eyebrows pull together sadly, a reflectiveness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Do you love me?

“You should go home, it’s late.”

You give him a tired smile.

“Yeah, I know, I just have a little bit more to do.”

“Do it tomorrow. You shouldn’t be here so late.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” You mutter absentmindedly, “I’m making you money.”

He grips your chair, turning it quickly away from your computer until you face him.

You meet his gaze with an annoyed look of your own.

“I have enough money.” He answers with a teasing expression. The corner of your lip twitches in amusement.

“Whatever.” You say, trying to turn your chair back to your computer, but he only grips it tighter to keep you in place. His eyes dart to your desk, and then he reaches for something, grabbing it off your desk and moving away quickly.

When you look back at your desk you notice your wireless mouse is missing.

“Hey!” You stand, taking a few steps toward him. He mirrors your movement, taking a few steps back as well.

“Give that back, Russo.” You warn, approaching him again, this time he doesn’t move, encouraging you to try getting closer to him again.

When you’re within grabbing range, he grins, hiding his hands behind his back.

“Shut down your computer and go home.” He tries again.

“Or what?” You challenge, reaching around to grab at his hands. He shifts the mouse from his left to his right hand quickly, forcing you to get even closer to him, to try grabbing it.

“Or I throw this thing out the window and unplug your computer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You argue, gripping his fist in yours and trying to pry his fingers open.

He pulls his hand away from you easily, giving you an evil grin before raising his fist with your mouse above his head where you couldn’t possibly reach on your own.

You don’t even try to jump for it, only crossing your arms and looking up at him.

“I could knee you in the balls. I’d get it really quickly that way.” You threaten.

He tips his head back and laughs, and you find yourself smiling too. You take the chance, using the distraction to jump and grab his fist.

But your attempt seemed to be exactly what he wanted because in the next moment his hand is on your waist, using your own momentum against you to spin you, switching positions so that he can press you against the wall that was just behind him.

You gasp, looking up at him in bewilderment. His scent floods your nose, reigniting an ache inside of you, one that yearned for him.

He watches you carefully, doesn’t do anything more than uncurl his fingers, so that you can get the mouse sitting in the palm of his hand.

You look at the mouse, and then back into his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, wishing for something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you.” You say, taking the mouse from him, and ducking under his arm to slip out from between his body and the wall.

Sitting at your desk once again, you groan in annoyance as he grabs a chair from a nearby desk and sits himself near you.

“What now?” You ask, barely looking at him.

“I’m not leaving till you do.” He answers simply.

"For a CEO, you seem really bad at getting the message." You grunt out.

He sighs, leaning forward to prop his elbow onto your desk, and then after a moment, he rests his face in his hand, looking at you calmly.

"I'm sorry." He says softly.

"So I've heard." You answer, deciding to save your work before he actually unplug your computer.

"Have you been sleeping?" Billy asks on another soft breath.

"Yes." You lie.

"You haven't. It's why you're here so late. Because you go home, and you lie awake, staring at the ceiling." He says, and you get the feeling that he isn't only talking about you.

"Can you blame me?" You snipe, trying to focus on your screen so that you can pretend that this conversation isn't happening.

There's a long silence before he speaks again.

"I hate myself."

Your chest squeezes harshly, brain halting any thoughts of work. You stare at the computer screen, feeling pressure build behind your eyes.

You wipe an unsteady hand over your mouth for comfort.

"Yeah well, that makes both of us." You reply shakily.

"I've always kind of hated myself," he continues, and you peek a look over at him to find that he's shifted, his hands in his lap, bending a paperclip out of shape while he speaks, "Even when I was a kid, I told myself that there must be something very wrong with me for my mom to not want me."

You take a deep breath, listening to him, finally hearing him open up about himself for the first time.

"I almost got adopted once, interview with a family had gone well, they let me move in with them for a trial period. I almost had what I wanted most, and then-" He gives a shake of his head, to knock the memory loose and you want so badly to reach over and take his hand, to stop him from worrying the paperclip out of shape, only to try to reshape it again, "-I punched their son in the face for something so dumb I can barely remember it. They dropped me back the next morning without a goodbye."

You watch in your peripherals as he puts the paperclip back into shape, except it doesn't look quite right, a little misshapen after his touch.

"My therapist says I've always had a penchant for self sabotage. Always worried that something good will be taken away, so I ruin it, so that at least it's ruined on my terms." He grins, "What a nutjob."

"You? Or your therapist?" You ask.

He huffs out a surprised laugh, looking up at you for a second, watching you return his laugh with a wry smile of your own, before glancing away.

Do you love me, Billy Russo?

"Sorry. I don't mean to force your forgiveness with a shitty story of growing up in the system. I just- well- I was hoping it would help you… understand me a little more."

“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’re all just trying to heal from something.”

“What are you trying to heal from? Besides me?”

You turn away, unsure if you want to tell him, unsure if you can speak for so long without shutting down.

You rub your knuckles against your lips absentmindedly.

“It’s stupid.” You whisper.

“It’s not. I promise.”

You feel anxiety flutter in your stomach.

“I’ve always felt like I was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too unattractive. Like if I was just tolerated, everywhere I went. I made friends, and then after a while, they’d leave, without explanation and with the number of times it happened, I kept thinking to myself that it had to be my fault.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“It’s the only logical explanation, that I’m okay to befriend and talk to a little, but I’m not enough to maintain a friendship with. I’m not enough to be held on to.”

Why weren’t you enough?

You stop talking now, taking a deep breath and holding it to fight off your tears.

He reaches for your hand, and you let him, you can feel the paperclip pressed between your hands.

“I see how badly I fucked up now.” He says softly to you, “And I want you to know that every inch of you is worth fighting for, and I fully intend to show you that.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head with a sad smile.

“Billy-”

“-no buts, you’re about to see some of the most desperate grovelling of your life.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“You’re insane, Russo.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell my therapist.”

He wants to hold you so badly. Wrap his arms around you, and feel you lean against him.

In the elevator now, he keeps glancing at you, his eyes drawn to the little fluttering clips in your hair and his heart clenches so tightly in his chest that he swears it stops beating.

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, hoping that you’d let him, instead of taking a taxi at this hour of the night.

He watches the clips flutter more as you shake your head, a smile pulling onto his face at how adorable you look.

“We’re not there yet, Russo.” You respond.

Yet? He thinks hopefully.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #never quite enough #fanfic #angst

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