#also i'm still in s3 so just roll with this okay?

[cades-outsider]

Robby Keene X Reader

Warnings: None, it’s mainly just fluff! This is S3 because I am IN LOVE with S3 Robby!

Side Note: I am not stopping the Cobra Kai writings! I am going to be focusing on Milo Manheim characters as well, so if you like any of his characters, send in requests! I have a special Ryan Baker smut coming up! 😩🤚

Your heart raced as you walked down the halls of the juvenile detention center in which they were holding Robby, a guard escorting you to your destination. Going through two big white double doors, catching the attention of a bunch of juvie inmates.

A bunch of squared silver chairs and tables came into view, but it seemed as if time had stopped once you spotted Robby, his hands covering his mouth anxiously waiting. Bobby, one of Johnny's best friends sat beside him. He was the one who was able to get you in to see Robby so soon, apparently you weren't old enough to visit him by yourself. Which you thought was stupid.

With every walk towards Robby your body was shaking, you were nervous. Not because of what happened that led him in here, but because of how he would react to you wanting to see him.

Bobby's head perked up as he seen you, he waved you over with a soft smile causing Robby to turn around. His lips parted as he was in shock, surprised that you actually showed. But more importantly shocked that you actually wanted to see him after what happened.

Robby stood up slowly as you walked closer to him, you couldn't hug because of the no touching rule. But you wanted to, and by his reaction you knew he wanted to as well.

You smiled at Bobby as he led you to take a seat beside him, Robby turned back around and took his seat, lips still parted, too shocked to speak.

Bobby looked back and forth at you both awkwardly for a moment before pointing behind him "I'll let you guys.... catch up" He spoke before walking away.

"You're- you're here...." Robby said lowly, as if in disbelief. He wouldn't have blamed you for not coming.

"I'm always here for you Robby..." You placed your elbows on the silver table, resting your chin on your hand.

Your eyes couldn't escape his, you had missed him so much and you didn't want to look away. The slightest smile fell across Robby's lips as he cleared his throat.

"So... what have you been up too?" He questions, wanting to know if you've been okay.

"Missing you" You crack a smile with your answer.

Robby let's out a small chuckle, with a side smile "besides that..." He jokes lightly.

You sigh, pretending to think "nothing too interesting, everything's pretty much been quiet" Your tone changes with every word you speak. It's as if Robby sensed your emotions, he raised his eyebrows and looked down slightly, disappointed with himself.

"Is... is Miguel okay?" Robby questions nervously, bitting his fingernail as he looks up at you. Almost not wanting to know the answer to that question.

"He's okay Robby, he's healing" You tell him sincerely.

You could see the pure guilt written on his face, the regret. "Hey..." You grab his hand that was laying on the table, completely disregarding the rules.

"I don't blame you for any of it... I know you would take it all back in a heart beat if you could, but it'll be okay..." You said lovingly. But you also didn't quite know what to say, you hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

Robby's eyes bore into yours, you start rethinking your words for a moment until he nods his head, closing his eyes. A small tear rolling down his cheek.

Your hand finds its way to his right cheek, wiping the tear away gently. Your thumb runs over the purple and red bruise that lied there.

"What happened...?" You basically whisper.

"Just a couple of guys. No big deal" He tries to speak as convincing as possible, you could tell there was more to it but you decide not to push him further.

"I miss you Robby... a lot" You say, placing both of your hands on top of his free hand.

"I miss you too..." Robby says, his side smile starting to show.

Soon your sincere moment is broken up by Bobby placing his hand on your shoulder letting you know that your time was up. You nod letting him know you got the message, before turning back to Robby.

"I don't know when or if I'll be able to come back and visit you, but I'll be here to pick you up when you get out" You say, a small smile falling across your lips.

Robby nods his head in understanding, his heart leaping at such a promise. Though apart of him didn't expect you to keep it. Bobby and some of the guards lead you out of the waiting room, your eyes stayed glued to his as much as they could. You could feel Robby’s stare on you, and you knew that his eyes were still trained on the metal doors even when you were out of his sight.

*THREE MONTHS LATER*

Pulling up your car into one of the driveways at the detention center you spot both Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence at the doors, bickering. Daniel was your dad and Johnny was Robby's dad. You let out a sigh as you step out of your car, leaning on the side of it. You watched as Johnny and Daniel kept yelling at eachother.

"So you got it all under control?" Daniel interrogates.

"Yeah, I do." Johnny nods his head.

"Just like you had Kreese under control? Right?-" Daniel pauses. "-what did you think would happen when you summoned that devil back to earth?" He finishes, almost as if it was a rhetorical question.

"Kreese is my problem" Johnny states, tilting his head up.

"Not anymore. He's made it crystal clear that he's everyone's problem... as usual I'm gonna have to be the one that cleans up your mess" Daniel sighs.

"I clean up my own messes.... and I'm dealing with it" Johnny says louder, walking up to Daniel.

"Yeah and how exactly are you dealing with it? What are you gonna do, barge in there and beat him up. That worked real well with the guys at the chop-shop" Daniel smart mouths, using his hands as references.

"Those guys deserved it..." Johnny says.

"That's your problem Johnny..." Daniel starts, but before he could finish you drown them out, rolling your eyes at their antics, they acted like they were teenagers all over again.

"Seriously?" You hear a familiar voice interrupt the two kids.

You perk up leaning off your car and getting a good look at Robby, "Robby..." Daniel says, turning to look at him.

"Hey Robby" Johnny says as Robby takes a few steps closer to try and pass them, not yet spotting you.

Robby looks at Johnny "I told you i don't want you here." He says nodding his head upwards as if pointing to Johnny.

"You're my son, I wanted to be here" Johnny says 'as a matter of fact'.

"and so did I..." Daniel speaks up.

Robby turns to look at his and squints his eyes "Don't do me any favors, it's your fault I was in here" He blames.

"Listen I know you're upset but I was doing what was best for you...-" Daniel starts as Robby rolls his eyes, looking away "now that you're here I want you to know you'll always have a home at Miyagi Do." Daniel says sincerely.

Johnny steps up demandingly "you're with me." He says.

Robby looks back and forth at the two of them, pursing his lips, an angry expression on his face "both of you. Stay out of my life" He says before walking off.

He stops in his tracks as he makes eye contact with you, both Daniel and Johnny stop their staring contest with each other and turn towards you, just now noticing your presence. "Y/n? What the hell are you doing here?!" Daniel yells from afar.

"I came to pick up my boyfriend" You say as if it was a stupid question to ask. You see Robby let out a small side smile as you make eye contact with him once again, you smile and nod your head to your car. "You coming?" You question, a small smile placed on your face.

Robby nods his head as he walks over to the passengers side and takes his seat, you doing the same in the drivers side. You pass by Johnny and Daniel, both of them looking baffled. Daniel had a look of defeat and annoyance on his face, while Johnny’s face held a grin. He always liked you, despite your dads and his rivalry.

You make it down the road before looking over at Robby, "Thanks for coming Y/n..." He says as he sinks back in his seat.

"Of course babe, I wasn't gonna miss coming to get you" You smile, turning on a green light.

You look over for just a split second to catch Robby's side smile, "you hungry?" You question, looking back at him on a red light. "I could eat" He replies before resting his arm against the door, looking out the window.

You decided not to rush him into talking. You didn't want to overwhelm him, especially after what just happened moments before. Instead, you drove to In-n-Out.

You decided to drive to Miyagi Do, you knew nobody would be there at this time of day and you wanted a place to eat and talk alone with Robby. You parked your car horizontal to the dojo. You handed Robby his food and ate in silence for the first few minutes.

After Robby finished his food you decided to wrap the rest of yours up and put it back in the paper bag. You could feel Robby practically staring daggers into your head.

"Why did you come?" He finally spoke up.

You look up at him confused by his question, "what do you mean Robby?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"That day, with Bobby. Why did you come?" He clarifies.

"Because I love you Robby" You state, staring into his eyes that are scrunched up in confusion.

"Did you not want me to come...?" You couldn't help but ask.

"It's not that, I just... no one's ever showed up for me like that and I just wanted to know why.... especially after what I did" Robby says, breaking eye contact to look at the floorboard.

"Robby... what happened was horrible, but I'm always going to be in your corner. I'm always going to be there for you" You say, as Robby feels his heart skip a beat.

He finally manages to look you back in your eyes and when you get to see his face, his eyes are filled with tears that won't stop rushing down. The small bags under his eyes are slightly red, as he finally reveals his vulnerable self to you.

"I need you Y/n" He cries, and you take that as your sign to unbuckle your seat and place yourself in Robby's lap.

His hands hold onto your waist for dear life as he looks up, and into your eyes. You place your right hand against his face, rubbing your thumb back and forth on his soft skin.

Your legs wrap firmly around Robby's waist as you place your lips on his. His lips fight with yours as his tears fall against both of your lips, it becomes messy and filled with love.

Robby pulls away to lean his forehead against yours, both his hands now holding onto the sides of your face only for his lips to be back on yours "I love you" he mumbles against your lips.

"I love you Robby" Your voice comes out as a whisper against his lips.

You pull away from his lips, your eyes gazing over every inch of his face, Robby's eyes are still closed as another tear rolls down his face. You take that as your sign to tightly embrace him in a hug.

His arms wrap firmly around your waist, hands resting on your back as he lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his body starts shaking as he starts crying harder, holding onto you for dear life.

  You stay like that for a while, until his breathing calms down and his tears fade away. Still on his lap, you pull away from the hug while his hands drop down to your waist.

  Robby's glossy eyes meet yours "I have something for you" You say before lightly placing your lips on his for a brief moment before getting off his lap and returning back to the drivers seat.

  You don't give him a chance to speak before you're already driving away from Miyagi Do. A little while later you pull up to his old apartment building.

  Robby looks at the building and back to you with a confused look on his face as you park the car. "Come on, it's just in here" You give him a small, innocent smile.

  You both get out the car, grabbing Robby's hand you walk into the complex and in the elevator to his apartment door. You grab the keys out of your back pocket and unlock the door, letting Robby in first.

  "Y/n what is this?" Robby questions looking around the apartment, as he noticed how clean and kept up it looked.

  "Well... while you were in juvie I decided to fix it up for you, I got permission from your mom and everything's taken care of, the fridge is full of food and the rents payed off for a while, so you don't have to worry about anything" You explain while you close the apartment door. You knew your dad, Daniel, would have some words to say about it, but you didn’t care, Robby needed someone, he needed you.

  Robby takes in every detail of the apartment until you're his main focus, your nerves start to take over as he walks up to you. He brings his hand to your cheek, his thumb moves back and forth in slow motions. His eyes move back and forth to yours and your lips.

  He's lost for words, but he manages to speak "you didn't have to do this, I could've figured something out on my own..." Robby says. Every part of him wanted to reject the offer, fearing it was out of pity but he knew by the sweetness in your voice that you truly just wanted to be there for him. Help him.

  "I know, but now you don't have to worry about that" You give him a small smile as you speak.

You don't give him the chance to say anything before you speak again "I want to help you Robby, not because of pity or feeling like I have too, but because I love you an-" Your sentence is cut off by Robby's lips on yours.

Both of his hands are now grasping your face, his lips move against yours with so much love and compassion as he pushes you up against the door. Your right hand goes to his shoulder as your left hand rests on his jaw.

You both make out for a while, it wasn’t any regular heated make out. No…. It was filled with love, warmth, and desperation. This was Robby’s way of saying thank you. You didn’t know what would happen in the future, or where this teenage love would lead you both, but you were more than willing to love him with every fiber in your body.

You were willing to be there for him.

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

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

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

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

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

The year moves too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens when you’re finally being served.

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

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

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

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

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

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

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

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

You compartmentalise.

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

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

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

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

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

A late night.

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

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

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

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

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

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

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

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

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

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

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

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

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

You just know its absence is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

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

His grip loosens, though slightly.

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

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you open the tap.

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

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

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

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

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

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

You don’t remember.

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

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

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

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

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

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

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

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

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

None of it arrives.

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

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

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

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

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

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

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

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

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

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

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

“But I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

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

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

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

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

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

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

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

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

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

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

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

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

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

“Good,” you reply.

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

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

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

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

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

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

He keeps his word.

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

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

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

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

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

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

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

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

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

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

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

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

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

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

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

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

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, then audibly reply.

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

The drive is quiet.

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

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

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

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

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

He’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

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

The clinic is bright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A confused sound leaves Javier.

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

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

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

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

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

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

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

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

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

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

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

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

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

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

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

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

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not pregnant.

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

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

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

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

Over your empty womb.

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

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

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

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

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

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

See, you know why he’s calling.

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

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

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

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

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

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

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

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

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

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

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

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

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

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

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s on the younger side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

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

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

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

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

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

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

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

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

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

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

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

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

You both gather some decorum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then two steps, which you also match.

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

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

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

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

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

That single action changes the game, entirely.

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

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

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

The grip tightens.

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

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

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

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

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

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

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

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

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

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

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

A picture of Javi, and you.

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

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

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

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

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

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

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

He does good to bring you back into the room.

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

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

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

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

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

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

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

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

The card is plucked out your hand.

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

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

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

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

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

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

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

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

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

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

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

A few seconds pass. 

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

You feel the air tickle your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

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

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

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

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

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

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

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

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

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

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

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

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

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’d catch you, if you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both crash and burn, together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

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

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

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

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

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

Lights, baubles, action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

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

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

“Some what?”

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

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

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

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

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

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

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

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

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

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

Until tonight.

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

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

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

He’d offered to take you home.

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

He squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

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

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

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

It’s not just Christmas.

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

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

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

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

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

It’s the part you look forward to most.

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

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

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

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

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

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

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

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

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

Hinted at it, slightly.

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

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

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

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

The whole room stops.

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

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

Fades to grey.

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

He knows.

Of course he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

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

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

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

You say you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javi plays it cool.

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

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

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

Well, better than anyone but you.

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

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

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

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

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

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

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

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

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

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

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

For a second, he just looks at you.

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

“Get home safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, just a little extra weight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

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

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

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // twenty-two

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the last part of s2!! ahh i am so excited for s3 and i hope you guys too after this part :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

When you come to, the air is cold on your skin and it's mostly dark. You groan, feeling the sway of someone carrying you very quickly.

"Hey, love. Hey..." Coryo says, noticing you stirring in his arms. "We're almost home. Hold on, I'm gonna get you some water."

"O-okay..." You agree, reaching up to rub your eyes so you can better see where you are. It's still nighttime, and you're outside. Looking up, the stars have filled the clear sky.

Coryo looks down at you, and then up. "The stars are beautiful. You were right." He tells you and you smile.

"I know." You whisper. "I'm glad you got to see them."

"Me too."

You almost fell asleep in his arms on the way back to their house. You didn't ask why they didn't take you home- part of you didn't want to know. Every time you caught yourself trying to piece together what happened before you fainted, your heart rate increased again. It wasn't good- that was all you knew.

Sejanus opens the door and Coryo is quick to lay you in his bed, kissing you on the forehead and giving you a bottle of water before quickly leaving. You can hear him and Sejanus talking, but you can't make out what they're saying. It sounds like Sejanus is crying.

You want to get up and help, but you are just so tired. You end up falling asleep.

Coryo didn't sleep at all all night. He tried after getting Sejanus to finally go to bed he came and laid with you, but it was no use. What would they do with you? They couldn't just leave you here- whatever history you and Cole had would no doubt come to light very critically in the fallout of his death. He didn't know if anyone had seen you go in or seen you there that night. After the games, it would be so easy to point the finger at you and call you dangerous and insane.

The bottom line of his decision: he couldn't leave you behind in Twelve.

He had a tentative plan, and you didn't have much of a choice if you wanted to live, but the hard part would be convincing you to come back to the Capitol. Well, convincing your whole family to let you come back to the Capitol.

He waited as long as he could before he had to wake you up, getting up and packing all his things while Sejanus did the same. You looked so peaceful, so untouched by everything horrible that has happened to you in your short life. You didn't know he was about to ruin your life again.

Carefully, when he knew you didn't have another moment more to spare, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. "Y/N/N?" He whispers, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Love, you have to wake up. I'm sorry."

You hum in your sleep, rolling onto your back. Your eyes open, only slightly, and you smile. "Hi..." You mumble, trying to untangle your hands from the sheets to rub your eyes.

"Morning..." Coryo smiles slightly. You're so beautiful. It's almost easier for him to just scoop you up and bring you with him just like that- sleepy and untroubled. How he ever imagined leaving without you by his side he didn't know.

"What time is it?" You ask, voice raspy from having just woken up.

"Just past three, but we need to get moving. I'm so sorry, love."

You push yourself up, still rubbing at your eyes. "What? It's so early. What's going on?"

Coryo sighs, running a hand over his jaw. "Let's... Let's get you something to eat and then I'll explain, okay?"

You nod, yawning and he stands as you throw your legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh- oh my god." You mumble, quickly standing up from the old chair at their dining table. Coryo and Sejanus look at each other nervously.

"I didn't know that would happen, I didn't even know they were using the money to buy guns." Sejanus defends himself and you nod, hands placed over your face.

"I know." You reply, voice muffled by your hands. "I just... oh my god. I thought it was a nightmare. I thought I was just having another nightmare I-"

"I know, but it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

"His sword, death's stamp, where it did mark, it took. From face to foot he was a thing of blood, whose every motion was timed with dying cries..." You mumble to yourself, pacing now. "Deaths stamp. The reckoning."

Sejanus looks at his friend as you ramble, eyes wide.

"Y/N?" Coryo tries to grab your attention, but with how quickly you were clearly spiraling he didn't want to touch you. "None of what happened was your fault or ours. There is nothing we could have done."

"I know, I know, I know but I can't stop it either everything is falling apart and I am killing everyone and who is next?"

"No, hey, you didn't kill anyone. No one is next." He assures you quickly. "They can't charge anyone if they can't find the guns, no one can prove we were even there. We just have to act as if nothing happened."

You nod, shaking out your hands and trying to breathe. "Okay, yes. Yes." You press your hands onto your chest, clocking your heart rate. A panic attack wouldn't help. "I am having a panic attack." You state, looking toward the two of them.

Sejanus doesn't say anything, but looks quickly between you and Coryo.

"I know, love." Coryo replies. "But you're going to be okay. We're safe here, but we need to get moving so we have to relax. Okay?"

You take a deep breath in through your nose, closing your eyes. Everything is okay. You can't panic now, it will only make everything worse.

"I'm calm. I'm calm." You tell yourself, but it isn't working. Coryo chews his cheek. He still hasn't even told you that you'll need to come with them.

"What was that joke you told me? From that book?" Coryo asks, trying to distract you. "I think Sejanus would like it, would you mind telling him?"

"'I can see he is not in your good books' The messenger said," You recite mechanically. "No, and if he were I would burn my library.'" You furrow your brow, shaking your head. "No, that wasn't it. It was the one about Benedick and his horse."

"Yes, the horse." Coryo chuckles, trying to help you down. "Although, that is funny too."

"Okay, okay." You nod, taking another big gulping breath. "In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature."

You finish, and Coryo smacks Sejanus's arm when all he does is give you a confused look, trying to track what is meant to be a joke.

Sejanus looks at him and Coryo nods toward you. "Oh! That... yes, that's very funny." Sejanus chuckles nervously.

"She's saying that you can't tell him from his horse because he's just about as smart as it." You explain, knowing he wouldn't have understood. "Well, he would be if she didn't let him keep one of his wits."

And just like that, you're breathing almost normally.

"Feeling better?" Coryo asks, approaching you carefully.

You swallow and nod. "Yes. Thank you." He takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the back of it under his thumb.

"Okay, now, this is the hard part."

You had agreed through tears. The idea of even setting foot in the Capitol again almost set you off, but you made it through. You knew it would be hard, terrifying even, but you would have Coryo, and that would help.

The three of you made your way back to your house in the dark, preparing for you to pack up your whole life in order to move in a matter of hours.

You sneak inside, closing the door quietly behind the three of you.

"Just wait in the living room." You whisper. "I'll start packing."

"Y/N, honey, is that you?" Your dad's voice shocks you, and your eyes shoot over to the clock. He hadn't yet left for work.

"Pa?" You walk into the living room where he is sitting, having his morning coffee.

"What were you doing out so late? Did you have fun?" He asks, and then his eyes go past you to the boys. "Oh, hello. Can't say we were expectin' company this early. Or late, I suppose, for you guys."

Your lip starts to quiver as you walk over to the couch. "What's wrong?" Your dad frowns, eyes back on you now as he puts his coffee down quickly, reaching out to rub your arms. "Did something happen?" He looks over to the boys, but they don't dare move.

"Pa..." You cry, sitting down next to him and he pulls you into a hug.

"Honey, what happened?" He frowns, holding you close. You wouldn't see him for so long, and it was breaking your heart.

"I..." You sniff, quickly running over your agreed story. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving? You don't need to go, you're safe here, Honey..."

You look up at him, trying to smile. "Can you get Ma? I need to talk to you both." You say, chin still wobbling with tears.

"Okay, stay right here. I'll get her." He promises, getting up and patting your head.

"Can... can you guys wait outside?" You whisper and both Coryo and Sejanus quickly nod, passing you to wait out back.

"What's happening, Y/N/N?" Your mom asks, brow furrowed as she pulls her housecoat tight around herself. "Are you okay?"

You nod, swallowing as you refresh yourself on the story you came up with. Your parents sit down, all eyes on you. "I..." You start, but you can't get it out without a sob. "I have to go back to the Capitol."

"What?" Your dad asks, brow furrowed as your mom already begins to cry. "They can't take you back, you won. Fair and square, you're home now."

"They aren't." You shake your head. "Coryo helped me apply to the university there and I was accepted. Our train leaves in a few hours."

Both your parents stare at you, absolutely in shock.

"I... What?" Your father asks again and you nod.

"Yes." You laugh slightly.

"But... You can't go, where will you stay? We can't afford any kind of school or even the food there." Your father shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I know you're happy and this is amazing but... that just won't work."

You shake your head again. "No, we thought of that. I'll stay with Coryo, and he will cover my tuition." This wasn't a lie, that's how he talked you into it, in fact- though you hadn't wanted to accept.

"Look, it won't be all bad. You can come to school with us, get an education. It'll be so good for you and your family." Coryo says, holding your hands between his own. "You can stay with me, I'll pay for everything with money from the prize. You gave it to me, anyways. I owe you that much."

"I can't take that from you... I can't leave them."

"I owe it to you, love. Besides, it's not forever." He promises. "You can come visit, and we'll pay for them to get a phone installed so you can call whenever you'd like. They even have these really nice ones with cameras, we'll get you one of those."

"The school won't take me, I don't have a Capitol degree." You sniff.

"Of course they will- everyone there loves you. They know how smart you are. You'll just have to do some testing first, and then you can major in whatever you like. Even literature."

"I can?"

"Of course you can. Whatever you want to do, anything in the world."

"What are you taking?" You ask, wiping your eyes.

"Political Science."  He answers. "But you could do... art history, creative writing, journalism, anything you want, love. Hell, you could even take mathematics if that's what you want." Coryo smiles, squeezing your hands. "You'll change your family's lives, and we can be together."

"Oh, honey..." Your mother cries, pulling you into her arms.

"He said we'll get you a phone, a nice one with a camera and I can call every day." You tell them through your tears, hugging her back. "And then I'll come back for you, with my shiny new education and neither of you will ever have to work again if you don't want to."

"I... I don't know what to say." Your father admits.

You laugh slightly, leaning into your mother's arms. "I don't either... I don't know."

You laughed and cried together, but you knew you couldn't tell them why you really had to leave on such short notice. They had to be happy for you to let you go without fear. Knowing anything about the truth would put their lives at risk. You cried harder when your father had to leave for work not long later; it would be a long time before you would see him again.

"Well." Your mom takes a deep breath in after a few minutes of your father being gone. "We better get you packed." She pushes herself up, and you join her.

"Ma." You stop her as she goes to make her way to the kitchen, no doubt to put on some tea for the process.

She turns, looking at you expectantly with reddened eyes.

"Lennox is going to hate me, isn't he?"

She frowns, pulling you into another hug. "No, honey. Never." She shushes you. "He may not like it at first, but he loves you so much. He could never hate you."

"You promise?"

"Of course, honey. Don't you think on it for even a minute. He'll miss you, but we'll be waitin' on you to come home. We'll be right here." She assures you. "And we are so proud. Don't worry about us, okay?"

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." You sniff, laughing slightly against her shoulder.

"This time, it is." She chuckles. "Now, let those boys back in and we can get moving. We don't want you to miss that train."

Somehow, you managed to pack everything up without waking your brother. You don't know if that was a good thing or not.

The sun began to rise as you made your way to the train station. Sejanus hadn't said a word since you left their temporary home.

"Y/N." Coryo whispers, and you look up at him. He's carrying one of your bags along with his, while you focus on the makeshift carrier in your arms that contains your cat. "When we get up there, let me do the talking."

You just nod, swallowing back another wave of tears. The guilt you felt was immeasurable, especially now that you allowed yourself to be excited. What if you did get into their school? Your whole life was about to change, but this time, hopefully for the better. But if it was all because of the deaths of three more District kids, how dare you think it may be worth it. Even if Mayfair was vile and Billy Taupe had an insatiable habit of cheating on Lucy Gray.

Lucy Gray. You didn't even say goodbye to Lucy Gray.

She wouldn't handle his death well, you knew that. You would have to write her immediately. Maybe that's what you would do on the train.

You would miss her greatly, but she would understand. Same as your parents, she would be proud. And you'd tell her about their phone and you could call her anytime you wanted as well. It would all be okay.

The train was heavily guarded by peacekeepers- though it was likely less so than usual. All the others were probably out already searching for the guns that killed the Mayor's daughter as well as a peacekeeper. It was unlikely they cared about Billy Taupe. You wish you could have warned your family that peacekeepers may come knocking, but the less they knew the better.

When you see Lucy Gray standing back against the building, looking out seemingly for the boys, your heart feels heavier in your chest. You don't say anything to them before you run up to her. You call her name and she turns, smiling at you.

"Hi, Hun. I wanted you to come say goodbye with me but I couldn't find ya last night, you weren't home when I came by after the show or this morning. I was worried."

"Oh, sorry. I slept over at theirs." You nod back to the boys as they approach behind you.

She smiles, but something in it is sad. Her eyes are puffy, clearly she had been crying. It was about Billy Taupe, no doubt.

"Y/N, I got something to tell you." She says quietly, and you tilt your head at her. "Last night..." Her eyes well up with tears again. "Last night Billy Taupe was murdered. He was shot, at the Hob. And Cole was too. I'm so sorry."

Coryo just catches the tail end of it, stepping in next to you and carefully watching your reaction. Or, what you thought your reaction was supposed to be.

You're quickly handing your bag off to Coryo and pulling her into your arms. "Oh- I'm so sorry, Lucy Gray... I'm so sorry."

Coryo and Sejanus look at each other as she cries in your arms.

"I was mad at him... I was so mad at him and I never got to say that I'm sorry."

"I know... God, honey I'm so sorry." You rub her back as you speak, focussing purely on comforting her. You had been close with him too. You don't know if Lennox knows yet, but you know he will be devastated. Just because Billy Taupe was an awful boyfriend to her at times didn't mean he wasn't still like family. "Don't beat yourself up about it, okay? It's not your fault. He knows you love him, okay? He knows."

She sniffs and you can feel her nod against your shoulder. "Love is immortality." You tell her quietly, kissing the side of her head.

"Y/N." Coryo says, hating to interrupt but the train wouldn't wait for you.

"I know." You reply, nodding as you pull away and take her hands in yours. "Lucy Gray, I am so sorry but I have to go."

"Go?" She looks at the boys behind you and the bags they're holding, there are several more than what they had arrived with. "You're going with them?" Her voice breaks and you nod, swallowing back tears.

"Coryo helped me apply to the university and they accepted me. Classes start in a couple of weeks." You lie, you couldn't find it in your heart to tell her you were there when Billy Taupe was killed.

She looks confused, squeezing your hands tight. "I... why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to wait until we knew for sure. His cousin called last night and said the letter arrived, and it would have been so embarrassing if I didn't get in. I wish I could have told you sooner."

"You could tell me anything. You shouldn't have been embarrassed." She frowns, shaking her head. "I wish I had known- we could have had a goodbye party or something I just feel like you shouldn't be leaving just like this."

"It's okay, I don't need a party. You know that." You smile.

"I know." She sighs. "Well... I'm proud of you. I'm so proud of you. This is amazing."

"Thank you." You laugh slightly, realizing that the tears you were trying to hold back had started to fall. "I love you so much, I'll write you all every day and we're getting my house a phone so you'll be able to call too."

"Okay. We'll talk every day." Lucy Gray nods, sniffing. "I love you, Y/N." You give her another hug.

"It was so good to meet you, Lucy Gray. Thanks for everything." Coryo says as you let her go again. You take your bag back from him so he can hug her. "And I'm sorry about your friend..."

"Thank you... and of course, it was lovely to have some new faces here. I hope you'll come back sometime." She grins, wiping her eyes again as she pulls away.

When she looks at Sejanus who had been awfully quiet this whole time, you gently pull on Coryo's arm. "Let's give them a minute." You whisper and he nods, following you away. You can't look back, if you look at her again you aren't sure you'll be able to board the train at all.

"Excuse me." Coryo approaches the peacekeeper stationed by one of the train cars, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. "My friend and I have tickets, back to The Capitol."

The peacekeeper takes it, looking it over. "You live there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why did you come to Twelve?"

"Oh, our friend Y/N lives here. We came to get her, she is coming back with us." He explains, flashing a charming smile as he looks back over at you.

"There's only two tickets here, and neither of them has her name on them."

"Yes, so, we were hoping she could just tag along. She won't take up much room."

"No. District personnel can't just go to the Capitol, you should know better."

"I do, yeah." Coryo nods. "But maybe you'd recognize her, that's Y/N Y/L/N, Victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games. I was her mentor. Under the circumstances we were hoping you'd make an exception- we haven't been able to call home about her ticket but they need her back there. It's a new thing, they want to do a Victory tour, some interviews- that kind of thing. They're trying lots of new stuff this year."

The peacekeeper looks past him and eyes you skeptically. You smile, giving a slight wave as Tybalt squirms in the carrier. "Good morning, officer. How are you?"

"What's in the bag?" He asks, returning his attention to Coryo and completely ignoring your question.

"See, she really wanted to bring her cat. Since the games he's been a real comfort to her, Dr. Gaul, head of the war department and head gamemaker, said that the cat wouldn't be an issue as long as he's kept inside. He'll be an indoor cat only, officer."

"No animals." He shakes his head. "She can go, but a cat isn't necessary cargo."

"Okay, well..." Coryo sighs, looking back at you. You can see the panic shift in his eyes. There was no time to take Tybalt home, and you weren't going to set him loose here. Either Tybalt comes, or neither of you do, and that was hardly an option.

"Here," Sejanus mumbles as he rejoins you, digging in his pocket and walking past you and up to them. "No cat." He hands the peacekeeper a wad of cash so thick that it makes your eyes widen.

The officer chuckles, tucking the money into his own pocket. "No cat." He agrees. "Enjoy your ride."

Coryo smiles at you and motions for you to join him, helping you up the stairs onto the train with a hand on your back while you take another last look at the city you love so deeply.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Teenage Dirtbag - Eddie Munson

A/N: well, this keeps on working so far 😂😂😂 here's Eddie's story! and then is full Marauders, James, then Remus, and then Sirius! I hope you guys like it!

Request - lunamadhatter99 asked: I do have a request, my friend! I'm so happy requests are open😍 Anyway: Henderson!Reader x either Steve or Eddie (whoever works better for you), where the reader is very quiet, not necessarily shy, but still. She's targeted by the jocks too because she's the "loser" sister, you know, and maybe one day, one of their pranks went too far and she's very upset about it (maybe is the process a special possession of hers). Every time she gets bullied, Steve/Eddie helps her comfort her, especially because she doesn't want to tell his little brother, who thinks she is friends with them... does it make sense? I don't know, I'm sorry 😂👋

Warnings: mentions of sex; Billy being an asshole (also, this is kinda between s3 and 4 and Billy didn't die so Jason and Andy are his dumb friends I hope this makes sense) reader is kind of mean to Dustin (not really, she's just grumpy and a loner instead of shy, kind of like Kat in 10TIHAY)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Stranger Things :) gif isn’t mine :D  

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Teenage Dirtbag

'Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me, ooh

“DUSTIN! Hurry up! Steve is gonna be here any second! We’re gonna be late!” you smashed your hand against the bathroom door, yelling for your brother to get ready. You had been feeling anxious all day. Something inside you told you that today might not be a good day and, as much as you tried not to, you took it out on Dustin.

“I’m coming! Geez, calm down!”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the kitchen to finish your coffee and wash the dishes but you tripped over a bag full of garbage.

“Ugh! Dustin!” you yelled as he walked over to you.

“What? What did I do now?”

“The trash is your chore” you complained, grabbing the bag and handing it to him. “When I say take out the trash, I mean outside of the house. To the trashcan!”

“Maybe you can show me for next time” he laughed.

“Maybe I can give your Nintendo to goodwill” you smirked back, erasing the smirk off his face.

“Fine, sorry” he said, grabbing the bag and going outside.

“Let’s go!” you said as soon as you heard Steve’s car parking on your driveway.

“Wait, where’s lunch?”

“Oh, shit!” you said, grabbing some of the money you left near the door in case Dustin needed to order food. “Here” you said, grabbing $10 for yourself and giving Dustin $5.

“Why do you get $10 and I get $5?” Dustin complained.

“Take out the freaking trash!” you replied, mocking his exact same tone.

“Good morning, Hendersons!” Steve smiled as you got in the front and Dustin got in the back.

“Thanks for the ride, Steve” you said. “Robin still out of town?” you asked, confused to not see her there already.

“Yeah, she’s coming back next week-”

“Why are we even going this early? School doesn’t start for another hour!” Dustin asked on the ride to school. “And why do you always ride shotgun?”

“Because I’m Steve’s favorite Henderson” you smirked. “And Steve has an early shift, so I wasn’t going to make him wait for us” you explained. “Plus, I have to get together with Nancy for something about the school paper” you informed him.

“Well, I could have taken my bike-”

“Just say thank you, Dustin!”

“Thank you” he said, rolling his eyes a little.

“Hey, aren’t those your old friends?” Dustin asked as Steve drove into the parking lot. You looked to where he was pointing to see the basketball players hanging outside the school with some of the cheerleaders.

“No” both you and Steve replied at the same time.

“Are you sure?” Dustin asked, confused. He recognized some of them, although he had noticed you never talked to them anymore.

“I’m sure” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just… stay away from them, okay?”

“Okay” he said, unconvinced. “Um, are we having movie night?” he asked Steve.

“Yeah, my house” he nodded.

“Cool. I think we’re going to Mike’s after school, so I’ll see you there” he told them.

“Okay” you nodded. Dustin started opening his door but you stopped him. “Dusty” you said, making him look confused at you. You rarely called him that anymore. “Nothing… I’ll see you at Steve’s” you told him and he nodded before he got out.

You saw him make his way over to Mike, Will, Lucas, Max, and El and you heard him complain about you and all of them saying how you used to be fun and happy all the time. You let out a sigh of frustration, throwing your head back on the chair.

“You know, you could just… tell him” Steve shrugged.

“I’m good” you told him.

“Dustin’s just worried about you” he insisted. “And to be honest, so am I-”

“Harrington, I know my brother’s your best friend now-”

“That’s not true” he glared at you.

“But you were my friend first and you promised we wouldn’t discuss this with Dustin” you told him.

“I’m just… a little confused, okay? Why did you all of the sudden stop hanging out with them like, what, a year ago?”

“You did too!” you argued.

“Well, yeah, because they’re assholes-”

“Exactly” you told him.

“But, now you’re here alone, because I graduated, I just don’t want you to be alone-”

“I’m fine on my own” you shrugged. “Plus… Eddie’s my friend-”

“Oh, right… Munson. That’s another thing. I know something happened last Halloween, okay? You mysteriously stop hanging out with all of our friends, you started wearing darker clothes, darker makeup and you start hanging around with Eddie, the freak, Munson-”

“I told you to stop calling him that” you glared at him.

“Which you also hide from Dustin-”

“Well, I just don’t want him to think that the only reason he and his friends are in Hellfire is because I asked Eddie to look after them-”

“But you did-”

“Steve, it is too early in the morning to have this discussion” you said, rubbing your temple.

“Fine… I’ll drop it” he said. “For now” he added, making you glare at him a little. “You working today?”

“No, it’s my day off” you informed him.

“Cool, want me to pick you up after work?”

“You sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Nah, you’re my favorite Henderson after all” he smirked.

“I knew it!” you said, kissing his cheek before you opened the door. “See you later, Stevie” you said.

“Have a good day, kid” he waved at you.

He noticed you walking close to the group of jocks and they yelled something at you but you simply flipped them off and kept walking. Steve felt a bit uneasy about it but decided he would ask you about it when he picked you up. Sooner or later, you had to talk to him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Hey, princess” you felt a small smile, trying to contain the butterflies you felt in your stomach when you heard that voice. You turned around to see Eddie smiling at you.

“Munson, I thought you were standing me up today” you said as he sat at your usual table in the woods, past the bleachers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love” he said, sitting in front of you. “What do you got for me today?”

“I forgot to make lunch, so I had to grab something from the vending machine” you said, putting your cigarette out. “So, pretzels, or Reeses Pieces?”

“You just… happened to pick my two favorite things?” he smirked. “If I didn’t know any better, Henderson, I would think you like me” he mocked you.

“Uh-huh, is that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? And two cokes?” your sked, looking at his bag.

“Grape jelly. Your favorite” he winked at you.

“Huh, if I didn’t know any better, Munson, I would think you like me” you returned the smirk.

“Wanna split it?” he asked and you nodded as you split the three things between the two of you. “So, what are you working on?” he asked, about to grab your sketchbook.

“Nothing!” you quickly said, putting it away before he could get it.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound suspicious at all” he mocked you. “Come on, show me!”

“It’s just… a work in progress” you told him. “It’s not finished yet” you insisted.

“Fine, be all mysterious” he chuckled. “Hey, did you get new colored pencils?” he asked, grabbing one of them.

“Oh, um… y-yeah” you said nervously. “There was a discount at the store where I work and-”

“Really?” he raised his eyebrow at you. “Or were your old ones… broken?”

“Um… there may have been an… incident-”

“Who?” he asked, his tone turning angry.

“It doesn’t matter, Eddie-”

“Yes, it does! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want you to get into a fight and not graduate with me this year” you told him, making him laugh just barely. “Look, it’s fine. I really did get a discount and…” you said, looking through your bag. “I got markers too” you smiled brightly at him. “Look!”

You stood from your place and sat down on the table with your feet on the bench next to Eddie. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your knee, which was not an uncommon thing for you to do whenever you drew something on him but he felt his cheeks blushing. You quickly drew a small doodle of the Hellfire symbol using different colors and you smiled when you were done, showing it to him. Eddie rarely get to see that smile on you and he loved it when it happened.

“Holy shit!” he smiled, looking down at his hand. It looked cooler than the one in his shirt.

“Do you like it?” you asked, bashfully.

“I love it, princess! This is amazing!” he said, looking back at you. “You’re amazing” he smiled.

“Um, thanks” you said, looking down at his hand and feeling your cheeks burn. You could not ignore the butterflies in your stomach any longer. You grabbed his hand and stroked your thumb against your new drawing. “Uh, a-actually, what I didn’t want to show you is um… kind of… a surprise…” you admitted, not facing him.

You saw Eddie’s hand untangle from yours and make its way up to your chin, lifting your head gently and making you look into his beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes.

“A surprise?” he asked, smiling brightly. You simply nodded, unable to form any words by the way he was looking at you. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!” you chuckled. “I just want to finish it before I show it to you” you told him.

“Okay, fine” he said, as his hand suddenly found its way back to yours and you started playing with his rings. “But… you promise you’ll show it to me when it’s done?”

“I promise. I mean, it’s kind of… for you” you told him.

“Really?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah, it’s kind of… a thank you” you admitted. “For everything” you added. “Even for my brother and his friends. Thanks for letting them in Hellfire” you told him. “I know they're a bit weird but… I love them and I'm happy they found someone like you” you said.

“My pleasure, princess” he told you. “They’re cool kids” he chuckled. “Especially Dustin” he added. “Although he keeps asking me why I always have different doodles all over me” he chuckled.

“Yeah, he’s pretty smart” you laughed too. “I don’t think it’ll be long before he realizes about us” you said, without really thinking. “I m-mean uh-”

“Us?” Eddie smirked. “And exactly what would he realize?” he asked, getting up and towering a little over you, placing his hands on both your sides. “That we’re friends?” he asked, with the same smirk still plastered on his face.

“Y-yeah, I guess” you said innocently.

“Would he mind?”

“Um- I don’t think so, I just… don’t want him to think that you’re only his friend b-because of me” you explained.

“Oh, he wouldn’t think that” he assured you, as he gently brushed your hair away from your face. “And… what if he thinks there’s something else between us?”

“Is there?” you asked, as you felt him getting closer. And then the bell rang. The stupid bell rang. “Fuck!”

“Ignore that” he pleaded.

“No! We have a Math test” you said, pushing him away and gathering all of your things. “I told you, Eddie, you’re graduating this year, with me. Let’s go!” you threatened him.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart” he said, as you pulled him with you but he was stronger and he pulled you back. “To be continued?” he smirked.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you smiled. It was a different smile, one that you didn’t think you had in you anymore and you could see Eddie noticed it. You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“To be continued, Munson” you said, before you started pulling him towards the school despite his protests.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You were waiting in the parking lot for Steve. As much as you wanted, you were not able to be with Eddie alone the rest of the day. You were hoping to catch him at the end but, as a surprise to no one, he got detention, so here you were.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky day?”

You cursed under your breath, silently begging for Steve’s car to appear any moment now. But no such luck.

“Hargrove” you sighed. “Oh, if it isn’t Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum” you smirked at Jason and Andy, standing with Billy.

“Fancy meeting you here, babe” Billy smirked at you.

“Can’t say the same” you said, trying to walk away but he stepped in front of you. “What do you want, Hargrove?”

“See, I have a question for you” he said. “Andy here, says he saw you coming out of those woods with Eddie fucking Munson” he said, getting closer to you and making you take a step back. “Is that true?”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business, really” you glared at him.

“Well, for starters, I think Munson can do better” he said, making Andy and Jason laugh.

“Lovely” you rolled your eyes, trying to walk away again but they blocked your way.

“Aw, did I strike a nerve there? Do you have a crush on Munson?” he mocked you.

“Just, leave me alone, Billy-” you said, trying to leave but, you felt your sketchbook being taken from you.

“Oh, what is this?” Jason asked, opening the sketchbook. “Do you write your love letters to that freak here?” he laughed.

“Give that back!” you said, trying to get it back from him.

“Oh, it’s even better than that!” he said, showing your sketches to Billy and Andy who started laughing.

“Give me that!” you said as he tossed it to Billy.

“Looks like you’re a bit obsessed with him, babe” he said, looking at your drawings. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t want anything to happen to this, would you?” he said, tearing a few pages apart.

“Billy, give it back!” you yelled, but he pushed you back, making you fall to the ground, your hands aching when they hit the pavement.

“Whoops, clumsy me” he said, tossing your sketchbook on a nearby water puddle.

“Stop it!” you said, getting up and trying to get to it but Andy pushed you away.

“HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?”

“You want something, freak?” Jason yelled, smirking.

“Oh, speak of the devil” Billy smirked as Eddie approached all of you.

“Get the fuck away from her” he said, making his way over to Billy.

“Why don’t you keep walking and mind your business, freak?”

“You know, I gotta say, even for you, it’s pretty low, three guys against one girl” he smirked, erasing Billy’s.

“You really think it’s worth it? Standing up for that slut-?”

Before Billy could go on, Eddie quickly punched him in the face.

“Eddie!”

“You’re dead, freak!” Jason said, punching Eddie back while Billy got up, laughing.

“Looks, like you got some fire in you, Munson!” he yelled before he punched him too.

“Eddie!” you yelled, trying to get to him but Andy stopped you. “Stop it!”

“You having fun, Munson?” Billy smirked as he landed punches on Eddie before he grabbed him by his jacket. “No one tells me what to do!” he said before he pushed him to the ground again. He then threw himself at Eddie and started landing punch after punch, like a madman. The last time you had seen Billy like this was when he fought Steve and it shook you to your core.

“STOP IT! BILLY, STOP!”

“You really think you traded up, babe?” he smirked, looking at you. “He’s even worse than Harrington!”

“STOP IT, PLEASE!” you said, as tears started welling up in your eyes.

“Aw, you gonna cry, princess?” he said, mocking Eddie’s voice with the last word.

As if your prayers were finally answered, a car reeled in front of you, almost hitting Jason.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” he asked as Steve got out of the car.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Come join the party, Harrington” Billy smirked at him, finally letting go of Eddie. “Ready for round two?”

“Yeah, let me just get my friend here” Steve smirked, grabbing his bat out.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Andy said, letting go of you, and slowly walking away with Jason. You quickly ran over to Eddie, pushing Billy aside.

“Ready to go, Hargrove?” Steve said, walking closer to him as he and the other two stepped away.

“You know what? She’s not even fucking worth it” Billy said, throwing one last glare at you. “Let’s just go” he told Jason and Andy as they walked away.

“Eddie! Oh my God, Eddie! Can you hear me?”

“Do I have a concussion or did King Steve Harrington just save my ass?”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” you apologized, taking the cotton ball away.

You were now in Steve’s kitchen, cleaning Eddie up. You carefully pulled his hair up in a messy bun with your scrunchie so you could see him better. You placed your hand softly on his cheek and your heart broke seeing a big purple bruise printed on his left eye. He looked at you with his huge, deep brown puppy eyes and you had to take a deep breath to not lose it right there because you knew he needed you.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, worriedly.

“M-me? You’re asking if I’m okay? Eddie, Billy and Jason just beat the shit out of you, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

“First of all, I’d like to think that I handled that with dignity. Secondly, you fell to the ground and that idiot Andy was hurting you” he said, grabbing your hand and tracing his thumb gently on the bruises forming in your arms where Andy grabbed you.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie” you said, coming out in a whisper and tracing your thumb against the now fading drawing you made earlier on his hand. A small tear fell down your cheek and Eddie quickly wiped it away before he cupped your cheek.

“Princess, you have nothing to be sorry for” he assured you.

“Yes, I do! You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for me” you insisted.

“Hey” he said, pulling you closer to him. “I would do it all over again, love” he smiled at you.

“Hey, man” Steve said, coming into the kitchen and making you and Eddie jump apart. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I got some clean clothes for you” he said offering Eddie a shirt and some sweatpants.

“Thanks, man” Eddie smiled, grabbing the clothes from him. “I’m uh- gonna go change and I’ll get out of your way-”

“We’re having movie night” Steve blurted out of the sudden. “We’re ordering pizza and Dustin, Mike, and the rest are coming over. If you’d like to stay” he offered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, man-”

“You’re not intruding. It’s the least I can do after you got hit for me” you told him.

“You keep bruising my ego, Henderson” he smirked at you. “What are we watching?” Eddie asked, interested.

“Gremlins” you told him.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at Steve.

“Don’t look at me, man. It was her turn to choose the movie!” he said pointing at you.

“Shut up, you two. Gremlins is an awesome movie!”

“Isn’t that what you call your brother and his friends?” Eddie laughed. “I didn’t know that was your favorite movie, princess” he said. “Well, how can I say no to that masterpiece and pizza, I really can’t” he said, leaving the kitchen.

“So…” Steve started.

“So?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened today or are we just going to pretend nothing happened?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Well, you can choose between telling me why your sketchbook has smudgy drawings of Eddie” he said, opening your wet, torn, destroyed sketchbook. “Or why Hargrove and his friends were beating the shit out of him in the parking lot” he added.

“Steve, I don’t want to talk about it-”

“Well, tough. Look, we’ve been friends for a very long time now. I told you why I stopped talking to Tommy and Carol and all of our friends but you never told me why you did and somehow Munson knows!” he argued. “I get that you don’t tell Dustin everything because you want to protect him but what is so horrible that you couldn’t tell me?”

“You don’t want to know-”

“Yes, I do! You’re my best friend! You can tell me anything!”

“You’re gonna hate me!”

“What? No! I swear, okay? Nothing you say will make me hate you! We’ve been through enough shit that you should know that already-”

“I slept with Billy!” you blurted out.

“W-what?” Steve asked, hoping he hadn’t heard you right.

“What?” another voice asked, from another side of the kitchen. Dustin.

“Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me!” you said, feeling like you were going to throw up. “What are you doing here?”

“We all just got here, I was looking for you” he said, walking closer to you and Steve. “You slept with Billy Hargrove, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Dustin!” Steve warned.

“You know what? I don’t want to deal with this right now” you said, grabbing your damped sketchbook and walking out of the house to Steve’s backyard. Dustin was about to follow you but Steve stopped him.

“Look, I get that you’re upset but you’re not going out there if you’re only going to upset your sister more. She had a hard day-”

“Well, how would I know that, Steve? She doesn’t talk to me!”

“What’s with all the yelling?” Eddie said, coming back into the kitchen.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” Dustin asked confused. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Uh- I am…” he looked at Steve, unsure as to what to say.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on? And what are you two and my sister hiding from me?”

“We’re not hiding anything from you. You need to calm down and we can go sort this out, okay?”

“Fine” Dustin said, unconvinced.

“You promise you won’t snap at her like you just did” Steve glared at him a little.

“Okay” he sighed, rolling his eyes. The three of them walked outside to find you sitting on one of Steve’s pool chairs. Steve and Eddie sat next to you and Dustin sat on the edge of the one you were sitting in. “Uh, hey” he said, nervously. “Um-” he continued when both Steve and Eddie glared at him. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier” he muttered.

“It’s fine, Dusty” you said, sitting up and hugging your legs to you.

“Look, Dustin and I are just worried about you” Steve continued. “We don’t want to push you or anything, we just… want to know what’s going on with you” he added. You looked up at Eddie and he softly nodded at you. He really wanted to hold your hand but he figured Dustin might freak out about it too.

“Um…” you took a deep breath. “Look, I know that… I’ve kind of been pulling away” you started. “And I’m sorry, it’s just…” you sighed. “It was a stupid mistake and I didn’t want either one of you to hate me” you admitted.

“What- uh, when?” Dustin stuttered. “Um, no, y-you go” he said.

“It just happened once” you informed them.

“At… last year’s Halloween party?” Steve guessed and you nodded.

“Look, I was… really drunk and, dad had just left and… mom was kind of a mess and… I don’t know, I guess I was too” you said, sadly.

“Wait, I was there that night, why didn’t you tell me anything?” Steve asked, confused.

“You had your own shit going on” you reminded him. “With Nancy” you added. “So, after you left I got drunker and… then I don’t know, Billy was just there and… it happened” you sighed. “And after I felt so awful” you told them. “When I came down I ran into Eddie and he saw I was upset” you explained. “He drove me home and… he stayed with me and he made sure I was okay” you smiled. “That’s how we became friends-”

“You two are friends?” Dustin asked. “I knew I recognized your doodles” he said, looking at the metalhead.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you” you told Dustin. “I just… didn’t want to get into the whole thing and… it’s not really the conversation you have with your little brother” you admitted.

“I get that but… we used to talk about everything” Dustin said, sadly. “We were always kind of a team and for the past year it just felt like… you hated me” he said.

“Dusty” you said, sitting closer to him and hugging him. “I could never hate you” you assured him. “I am so sorry I pushed you away, I was just… so embarrassed about what happened and, I kind of wanted to forget the whole thing and I guess that in the midst of it all I just… ended up pushing everyone away” you explained.

“So, what happened today?” Dustin asked, confused.

“Well, I was waiting for Steve to pick me up and Billy and his friends just started being idiots” you told him. “Eddie saw and tried to help me” you continued. “And then Steve got there with his bat and they went away” you told him.

“So, that’s why you tell me to stay away from them? I mean, I always knew Billy was a dick but… all of your friends?”

“Well, yeah. I told Billy that if he ever said a word about what happened to anyone, I’d tell everyone he cried like a bitch and he had a small dick” you said, making the three of them laugh a little. “And then, either I just stopped talking to them or they would stop talking to me and… it wasn’t just Billy, you know? You were right” you said, looking at Steve. “They were all just… assholes” you admitted.

“I could have told you that a long time ago” Eddie chuckled.

“You okay?” Dustin asked you.

“Yeah” you smiled. “I’m sorry… about… everything” you told him. “Both of you” you said, looking at Steve.

“Don’t worry” Dustin smiled at you. “I love you dumb-dumb” he said, putting his fist so you would bump it.

“Love you too, dumb-dumb” you smiled back and bumped his fist. “No more lies” you promised and he nodded, smiling.

“It’s fine” Steve said, getting up and kissing your head. “C’mon little Henderson, let’s go set everything up” Steve said, patting Dustin on his back.

“Wait, why do I have to go?” he complained, still getting up.

“Just be nice to your sister, man, she’s been through a lot” Steve complained.

“What about me? I have been through a lot too!” he said, dramatically as they went inside, leaving you and Eddie alone.

“Hey” you smiled back at Eddie.

“Hi, princess” he said, moving over to take Dustin’s place in front of you. “How are you feeling?”

“Not so bad” you sighed. “I still would have preferred not to discuss my sex life with my little brother but… it is what it is” you chuckled.

“Sorry about your sketchbook, love” he said, looking at it on the floor.

“It’s okay” you sighed, going through the damped pages. “It just… might take me a little longer to finish your surprise now” you said, sadly.

“Wait, is that… is that me?” he asked, feeling his heart flutter.

“It… was supposed to be” you told him. “I mean, your D&D character” you muttered. “I… wanted to um… I was trying to get it right and I thought you m-might like it-”

“It’s perfect, princess” he smiled at you.

“It’s ruined, Eddie” you chuckled.

“Well, then I guess I need to get you another sketchbook, love” he said, grabbing it from you.

“You don’t have to get me one, Eddie” you smiled as he scootched closer to you.

“Jesus, Henderson would you just let me do something nice for you” he smiled, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“You do nothing but nice things for me, Munson” you smiled.

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me, sweetheart” he smiled back.

“Well, in that case, maybe you can do one more nice thing for me” you said, pulling him by his shirt, well, Steve’s shirt and he pulled you gently, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“Gladly, princess” he said, smiling before he finally connected his lips with yours. He felt you smiling against his lips as you started deepening the kiss before you were rudely interrupted.

“Hey guys, pizza’s here- what the fuck?” you jumped apart when you heard Dustin’s voice again, with Lucas, Will, and Max standing next to him, trying not to laugh. “You two are together? I thought there were no more lies!”

“Would you believe me that this literally just happened, Henderson?” 

The End

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A/N: hope you loves liked it! :D

[hausofmamadas]

SE LA ARRANCA A MORDIDAS | mystery of Amado's anonymous lady-hustlers, solved

⁂

Holy father who art in heaven, do I have some fucking cracked ass head-canon nonsense for us to👏🏽 day👏🏽 …………….. let’s get to it shall we??

so idk if anyone anyone being the largely nonexistent narcos fandom aka the void Im speaking into remembers that one scene from Narcos in S3 where sleazy!OG!Amado told that one story about those sex workers who robbed him blind, mid-mamadita?

anyone ..... no?

dwdwdw that's okay bc I brought some visual aids to assist in our collective remembrance of this glorious occasion

⁂

The scene starts like this: 👇

Okay, yeah, right? legendary? legendary. just truly legendary behavior skfjskj on all fronts. but the identities of these social justice warriors— no wait activists— no wait, crusad— er no, patriarchy demolishers? iconic crimies with a penchant for for mid-fellatic felonies like armed robbery have been completely anonymous thus far.

…………… until now.

Bc as always, Narcoverse papis Doug Miro, Andrés Baiz, and Carlo Bernard, never fail to fill in the blanks except when they do cause Griselda left a lot to be desired and this is arguably the best ep of the show which, yeah. it’s never ideal when the best ep of a 6ep limited series is the 2nd one si me entiendes😬😬😬 but we digress because im 99.99999999999999% sure if these two sex workers from Griselda aren’t also the two legends who hustled Amado’s dick money out his pants pockets without having to fire so much as a single shot, I’m fairly certain they’re at least inspired by and carrying the torch aka bottling and distilling that Big Dick Energy to perfection of those brave women.

What gave me this idea? So glad you asked dear reader you didn’t but we’ll just pretend you did cause this my haus KEKW…. No like even I rolled my eyes at my own self for that but i couldn’t refrain either.

It all happened when I was nursing my new obsession with a one, Mr. Darío Sepúlveda a name I would most certainly believe to be fucking fake were he not an irl human bean.

👇👇 THIS slice of sweet, cherry pie right tf here

And I stumbled upon this one specific part, where the look on this chick’s face is SO FUCKINGKDHDHDGWVE SIMILAR to Amado’s face, when he’s explaining 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇how the burgling commences when the gurgling is interrupted by with an uncomfortable silence, as this chick proceeds to, hog still in mouth, cease any and all throat activity and fuckingskdfjskl just stare. up. at. him.

all 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Like tell me homegirl’s face here👇👇 👇👇 doesn’t look just like it????????????

YOU CANTSJSHSJSHWUS YOU cANT. EVIDENCE IS IRREFUTABLE.

Anyway. Movingright along.

So, if aforementioned homegirl is the 🙇🏻‍♀️ from la historia del grande señor de los cielos, then that makes this ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️ ... homegirl’s accomplice

with the👇👇sidearm

and like the general only slightly subtle "I eat dicks like urs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack" vibes that this duo is serving throughout but esp below bc never will I ever not refer to a fuckboy as mancito from now until I'm in my grave alsdkjfa like MANCITO. THE WAY SHE SAYS IT WITH SUCH ALSKDJFKS CONTEMPT, CAN YOU STAND IT????? makes it so clear in my mind's eye how they could 100000000000%% be the unnamed heroes thieves from Amado's little story

also full 180 just on the low but can we all moment of silence for this 👇👇 FUCKINGSDLDFJ LOOK ON DARIO'S FACE WHEN SHE CORRECTS HIM, "quien te dijo eso? ... un mancito?" LIKE HE FUCKIGNSLDFKJSLKJ KNOWS, HE KNOWS HE HAS ERRED ON THIS PATH, HE KNOWS HE CANNOT PASS GO, CANNOT COLLECT 200 DOLLARS AND HE HAS THE GOOD SENSE TO BE GRACIOUS ABOUT IT AND IMAS;DFLIJA;LWEJF;KAJWE;FAKJ; SFUCKINGS DFKLJSLDF JA;K CRYING, SCREAMING, THROWING UP, INCONSOLABLE. LIKE LOOK. AT THIS. OKAY, THAT A MAN, NO MANCITO

*smacks own face, jiggles head back and forth, takes deep breath* anyway.... back to the story

and this is where this prob super unhinged really solidifies bc let's join hands class and pledge alliegance to the most impressive and noteworthy alpha but in the most non-cringe way assertion of dominance I have ever fucking witnessed in all my days. Like, legit the next time i'm into a dude the way i say this like it's not an 'if' bc RIP to my love life lbr fuck all that playing coy, fuck all that flirting. We just gonna get right to the point bc imma climb all over his lap, purr in his face, and ask about his hobbies like it's the 1978 equivalent of a Hinge profile SKSKKSK

and the next time I am spurned I will absolutely grab his junk in a naked hahahaksdjfk grab for a proper leash power to gain the upper hand in the situation and shame any and all menfolk who claim to not like me bc I'm not their 'type.' which like sksjsjsjs admittedly poor Dario just said that as a pretense to get the chisme from the chick who hates Grislenda bc the look of unconcealed regret on his face when Mistress Mamma Crotch Snatcher Morton gets up seems like a good indicator he would've paid to play with his balls

BUT LIKE SIDE BY SIDE WITH AMADO GETTING TO THE metaphorical CLIMAX bc I sincerely doubt they let him bust, mid-robbery OF HIS STORY, CAN WE NOT SEE HOW CLEARLY THESE TWO WOMEN WERE THE ONES WHO JACKED AMADO OFF– NO WAIT THEY DECIDEDLY DID NOT DO THAT ALL OF AMADO’S SHIT, LIKE CAUGHT PAPI WITH HIS ACTUAL PANTS DOWN SKSJSB

and lest any of us were convinced that Lady "Hijueputa Mandona Esa" who hates Griselda wasn't the one holding the gun on Toque, telling Amado she's gonna have her friend chew clear through his disco stick like some froot by the foot, please refer to exhibit B here ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️where she's manspreading for jesus in these fucking hot pants. I mean try to tell me that ain't power. c'mon

AND THEN THE WAY SHE FUCKINGSLDFKJSL HUSTLES DARIO FOR EXTRA CASH, ALL "you gotta pay me more than that pittance bc yeah, she were a mouthy bitch but I didn't hate her that bad" ensuring he had no choice but to leave a tip, just like our pobre mujeriego, himbo extraordinaire, Sleazy!OG!Amado

And if this isn't the most iconic reminder to tip your servers, folks which everyone should be doing already I truly don't know what is.

═

taglist: @ashlingnarcos @tofuwildcard @narcolini @drabbles-mc

[orpiknight]

OrpiKnight's FAQ FAQ

For the Neil Gaiman Tumblr FAQ

GO S3 was announced! Will you be updating the FAQ still? Yep! :)

--- Who? Vel (blog OrpiKnight)

Why? I'm excited about Good Omens 2, I was looking through the Asks on Neil Gaiman's blog anyway, and I like having a constructive outlet when I'm going through so much information. And there were a lot of repeat questions. I mainly made it for me and my friends for reference, but then decided to go ahead and throw it out into the Tumblr void, too.

*Are a lot of these questions really frequently asked? Well, this started out being called a "QnA" doc because I was compiling the Asks. Then everyone kept calling it a "FAQ". So I rolled with it. It keeps up with the current Asks as much as possible, though. (I have no way of knowing how many times he gets asked some questions. That's for his inbox to know.)

Will you be actively updating it with new questions/answers? Yes. I update in batches now, every month or so. For my sanity. *When I update things, I usually put the new questions at the bottom of their section, even if they might fit next to something else in it better. This is just to make new ones easier to find. Later on I might reorganize them.

Can you put it in a Tumblr post? No. It's too much information, it can hang out on docs (which is 30+ pages). I'm pretty sure I would hit a word limit if I put it on here. Or break my dash. Or accidentally delete it. *You don't need a Google account to access it. I have tested this signed out on non-Chrome browsers. (I use Firefox btw)

You missed some Asks. Yeah... there is no way I could get all of them. I had to draw the line somewhere.

Some of the questions are strange. Don't I know it. Edit: But I do like to put in all sorts of questions. Sometimes there are things that don't even occur to me to ask that Neil says he gets constant questions about (like the ice cream/ice lolly). Sometimes there are things that I don't realize need clarifying (like "two consenting bicycle repairmen"). One person can ask a creatively specific question that other people are quietly wondering about. I also like the funny ones.

I found an error (typo/link not going to where it's supposed to/accidentally wrong info/etc.)?

But seriously, it's okay to message me to let me know. It's very helpful.

Can I have shared editing access to your document? No.

About the fanfiction thing... Please end my suffering. (And Neil Gaiman's) Edit: I should probably clarify that I do like fanfiction.

I have personal opinions. Please be nice to me.

Can you add or change this, that, or whatever? I work irl, am usually tired, and don't have much time to constantly edit every little thing. Unless you're Neil Gaiman himself asking, it's likely I'm just going to leave it how I organized it. And I mean that in the politest way possible. Speaking of, if you would like to help me out at all with things like bills, medical costs, and food— here's my: Venmo: @ajgvel Ko-fi page (It says you're giving me ducks on there! :D)

It's not expected of course. Regardless, much love to everyone, and thanks for making a space where we can all have fun together about something we enjoy. ♡

Find me on Bluesky: OrpiKnight

[ladyloveandjustice]

Fall 2023 Anime Overview: 100 Girlfriends and Spy x Family S3

The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love You

Premise: Rentaro is approached by the god of love, who confesses that he accidentally gave him 100 soulmates. And unfortunately, if someone meets their soulmate and fails to be with them, they DIE. Thus Rentaro decides he will date all the girls who end up being his soulmate, and be the best possible boyfriend ever to all of them.

So yeah. I watched this. I'm not someone who really watches male-centric harem anime, but I'd heard this one was really funny and yeah, the first episode was indeed really funny. The way it exaggerated the tropes of the genre to parody them genuinely made me laugh. The first two girlfriend's gimmicks were that one (Akane) was secretly super thirsty and the other (Karane) was tsundere and it played those to the hilt for maximum laughs. Tsundere says she decided to take a piss in the school flower garden to avoid saying she was looking for the perfect flower for Rentaro and Rentaro's astonished "you realize that makes you sound WAY worse than telling the truth does" was great. Thirsty girl trying to pull the ~ooh you need to drink some of my drink~ to score an indirect kiss only to find Rentaro ridiculously prepared was also a fantastic gag.

All the girls are REALLY down bad for Rentaro and the premise of this would not work at all if the series didn't sell Rentaro as legitimately a great boyfriend who could reasonably attract 100 girl and be just as down bad for all of them. But Rentaro is no classic harem potato boy, he's superhumanly thoughtful and the ultimate wife guy. It makes him very static as a character compared to the flexibility the others have, but it's generally amusing. On top of that, the series handled neurodivergence in a surprisingly thoughtful way in episode 3 with Rentaro going all out to help his ladylove's way of expressing herself without talking be more accessible, rather than trying to "fix" her.  I also really like how the girls in the polycule are genuinely friends and don't compete with each other over Rentaro--and some even seem like they're pretty into each other too (though this is entirely played for laughs rather than actually explored, of course).

Yet at the same time...yeah, the premise began wearing thin for me as tropes I'm less willing to roll with popped up.

Karane's complex over being flat-chested wore thin quickly (even if Rentaro thinks she's perfect) since it's mainly used in gags to embarrass her. One girlfriend's thing is that she drugs a lot of people without their consent (fantasy type drugs that can do ridic things, but. they are drugs. some that melt clothes or make you lustful included), and the anime genuinely tries to make you think it's so sad that people didn't want to be friends with her because of this, and Rentaro magnanimously tells her she's okay the way she is...forgiving her for his girlfriends that she drugged. Yeah, she's annoying. (also her body turns into a child's sometimes because of course it does).

And then there's the Mom girlfriend. I mean of course there's gonna be a Mom girlfriend eventually, Milf-lovers can't be denied, but it happened quicker than expected! it being paired with her being initially abusive (to the point she drove her daughter to attempt suicide) and then fixed by Rentaro's love and motivational speech...along with the justifications for her being ridiculously young (likely to parody that trope, but still)...yeah, it was all a lot.

I don't know if I'll return for the (already announced) season 2 tbh. I appreciate that the show's intentionally trashy and silly, and it is still funny a lot of the time, but it's not really my kind of trash. But I don't regret the wild, often fun ride it was--maybe if I'm really bored that season or hear enough wild things I'll retry, but right now it seems likely me and the 100 girlfriends are never, ever, ever getting back together.

Spy x Family Season 3

See previous reviews for the premise and so on.

Spy x Family is pretty much staying the course from when we last checked in, though this season gives a lot more attention to Yor, and I love the cruise ship arc and all the ridiculous fights she gets into a lot! That arc contains some of my favorite gags of the series too (like Loid's attempts to be a cool dad). Otherwise, Spyfam has settled into being a largely episodic series that seems like it wants to be around for the long haul, so don't expect too much forward plot momentum. And Yuri (the man, not the genre) unfortunately still exists, and unfortunately we have to put up with an episode of him being a fascist supercop. Overall it was good season, though and remains a fun adaptation. Yor, please step on me.

[sflow-er]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you so much for the tag, @silvagrey!💜

How many works do you have on Ao3?

Eight.

What's your total Ao3 word count?

355,461 (that's a bit deceptive; one of my fics is 239k).

What fandoms do you write for?

Young Royals. I did write for other fandoms all through my teens, but those fics haven't been online for a long time now.

Top five fics by kudos:

Other people's secrets (1,215) Matters of adjustment (190) The real deal (180) Like you better (152) Last chance (126)

Do you respond to comments?

I respond to every comment on new fics and WIPs. Having discussions in the comments section is the best thing about sharing a story, and I love my little community of regular commenters!

However, I am currently learning not to beat myself up for not getting round to answering every backlogged comment on OPS. I still try my best, but I had to change my previous "always respond" policy when @willedeservesbetter left very long thought-provoking comments on the first 20+ chapters and I simply couldn't keep up... 😅 I'm trying to trust that people know life gets in the way sometimes.

That being said, I do reply to all comments where the reader has shared their personal thoughts on the ace rep! It may take me a while to get to them, but they never fall off my to-do list.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Årnäs, February 2016. I don't necessarily think the ending is "angsty", but it's a very bleak fic with no happy ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It's impossible to choose between all my Walty fics. Does the emotional payoff from all the angst make OPS the happiest ending? Or is it one of the fics that are sweet from start to finish?

Whichever one it is, I would like to think none of them are too sugary sweet. They are very happy on the romance front because I want them to be a comforting read, but there is usually at least something left for the characters to figure out on their own after the story with the insight/support/lessons they have gained.

Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no. There is one rudely worded public bookmark on OPS, but it doesn't qualify as hate. Also, I once got a comment calling a plot point "ridiculous :D", but the person didn't mean any harm.

Do you write smut?

I did write a couple of scenes in my teens for one fic, just emulating what I had read. The feedback was good.

I think I've mentioned this on here before, but I actually tried to write some as an exercise last year! From a "technical" standpoint, it turned out okay, but from an emotional standpoint, it just made me cringe and roll my eyes a lot. I don't know if it's a grey thing or a me thing, but I just can't buy into it at all. And I'm not interested in writing allo PWP, so unless I decide to write an explicit ace sex scene one day, the answer is no. I don't write smut.

Craziest crossover:

I'm not really a crossover person.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Well, I did enlist my "live-in expert" as a consultant on ÅFeb16 (to help me get child August's POV right and sign off on Carl Johan's characterisation and all the bad stuff bubbling under). I really enjoyed the collaboration - but I don't think actually co-writing a text with anyone would be a good fit for my process. I wouldn't even want a regular beta reader because it would only stress me out.

All-time favourite ship?

To write? I don't have an all-time favourite, but since I started up again, I would obviously have to say ace Henry/allo Walter.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've got two WIPs at the moment. One is an unfinished and unpublished S3-compliant Walty fic, and the other is The real deal. At present, I'm feeling a resurgence of motivation for TRD, so the other fic is shelved for now. I do plan to finish it, though!

What are your writing strengths?

My planning and research game is pretty strong, as are my grammar and language skills. I guess the overall quality of my writing is decent when I'm not too stressed or low on creative energy. Many readers seem to find my writing fairly engaging, and they have said nice things about the dialogue, my characterisations, and the relationships between the characters.

Oh, and I think I'm pretty good at writing kissing scenes.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Perfectionism, self-criticism, "compulsive editing syndrome." When I'm unhappy with a passage, I tend to get stuck in a rewriting loop until I either get it right or spiral into writer's block and severe self-doubt. I also have a tendency to get swept away to the point where I neglect my wellbeing and burn myself out, which affects both my update schedule and the quality of my writing.

If you want more tangible weaknesses, I'm too wordy, my teenagers are unrealistically mature, and I occasionally overuse exposition.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

This is only my personal opinion and others are welcome to disagree! I'm not judging or criticising anyone in any fandom for using dialogue in another language in their own stories!

As a translator, my day job is all about conveying the same message in another language, and I can't just turn that logic off for writing. If the characters all speak one language throughout the text, it doesn't make sense to me personally to render some bits of dialogue in that language and others in English (unless those bits are truly untranslatable).

Not to mention that languages work differently, from word choice and grammar rules to the underlying communicative conventions and even thought patterns. Many people feel that using some sentences in the language that is actually being spoken adds authenticity, and that's a valid opinion! But to me personally, it's the other way around. I feel that the dialogue can only be consistently fluent in one language at a time, and if I'm writing the story in English, my dialogue will be an English rendering of what the characters would be saying in their own language. Similar to a translated book, only without a source text.

Now, if someone in the story is actually speaking another language, that's another matter! Dialogue in that language could be used very effectively in different situations, as in @silvagrey's example of Linda switching to Spanish to talk to Simon and Sara.

Again, this is just my personal opinion that I apply to my own writing! It is not the only valid opinion!

First fandom you wrote in?

If writing in my English notebook in lower secondary school counts, it was Final Fantasy X. The first fic I ever posted online was in an obscure anime/manga fandom in high school (and yes, I did use Japanese greetings and such back then).

Favourite fic you've written?

Other people's secrets. It's one of the best stories I've written, the one and only reason I'm still writing now, and one of the most meaningful things I've done for myself and my own ace identity (and apparently for some others too, which absolutely blows my mind). Furthermore, it was my first fic in over a decade and the biggest creative project I'd ever undertaken, so even just finishing it in a way I could be proud of was a huge accomplishment.

.

Thanks again for the tag, I had a great time answering these! 💜

No pressure tags: I honestly don't think I know any writers whom I haven't seen tagged yet (not ones who usually blog about their writing anyway)! So I'm just going to say if anyone reads this far and wants to play along, please tag me in your post. Or if you want to be tagged first, just let me know!

[skayafair]

John, Lies and Trust, and the Dark World

Okay, okaaaayyyyy I'm so normal about all this you have no idea *exhaaaale*

This is basically John's character study after all the s4 finale's revelations. The post ended up being too long, and I know how we're all here either ND or just hate long walls of text, so I broke it down into a series of about 4-5 posts I'll put here gradually. The last (?) part, the parallels between s3 and 4, is still in progress, but others are completed.

There's goint to be a general introduction, then the Dark World, the deal, John's personality after the Dark World, and S3 &4 parallels. Enjoy! I'll be glad to discuss.

Introduction

So, I've relistened to s3 and the finale once again. I'm not feeling well, fellas. The more I think about this whole deal, the worse it gets.

What initially tripped me off was how lifeless Arthur sounded after he learned about John's deal with Kayne and how easily he agreed to Kayne's offer, like he suddenly lost all the fight he used to have in him - because John betrayed him with his lies, in Arthur's pov (probably). Now, I've listened to the finale about 3 or 4 times and still can't determine if The Great Divorce is waiting for us or not. There wasn't that much time for any interactions or processing, so while Arthur sounded shocked initially, it's also Kayne they're dealing with, and, moreover, ecstatic Kayne, which is worse, and he's just blew up one person's head and yeeted another gods know where. AND he hears John, so not much room for talking things out. Maybe Arthur was just being smart and cautious. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway, because the boys were getting MUCH better at communication and established a remarkable level of trust between them. And Arthur had all the hints at what was going on in general, so. Is he an investigator or what.

So that's not what I want to talk about but needed to get this out of my system, and it leads to the actual topic.

Trust.

Trust between these two has been something like a cornerstone since the very beginning, has been tested and broken and mended a number of times, but it becomes one of the most important and prominent topics as early as in season 2. We all remember the pits, thank you very much, right.

This was an important lesson for John to learn. He... that's a bit of a projection but it seems to me like he's finding out the limits of what's what (the good and the bad, acceptable and not, hurtful and healing, etc.) a bit like I do - by hitting the extremes and gradually coming to the happy middle, like a pendulum. Once the extreme is found, he'd try his best not to go there again unless it's really necessary in his opinion. Before the pits he learned that saying and doing some things was a no-go, and lying to Arthur was one of them.

Frankly, it's almost funny how bad he was at it almost since the beginning. He's supposed to be a great manipulator, and seemed to be pretty sucessful at it at first, but lost his cool too quickly, being too annoyed by Arthur and just grumbling the orders. Even so, when he started getting attached even in the slightest, lying immediately became more difficult for him. So this is one thing we learn rather early: John actually hates lying. He's really, really BAD at it when it comes to Arthur whom he cares about, even when he's not very sure about it yet. He lies so reluctantly that it's pretty easy to spot when something's off and you don't even have to be an investigator for that.

Could it be partly because the original King in Yellow is supposed to whisper the truths any sane person cannot bear, and not just manipulate them?

Right before the pits, when they agreed to trust each other and John rolled back to lying, it wasn't just for funsies or a vicious manipulation. And he didn't like what he was doing. But, in his opinion, it was necessary, it was useful and helped him - and them - in a precarious situation. He lied about the depiction of the KiY on the wall and some other things which seemed objectively dangerous and could trip Arthur off if mentioned, but didn't take anything away if stayed hidden. And the wall carving thing was simply about John's fear. I'm not sure what exactly he was scared of, but to me it seemed as if it was of losing Arthur's trust just when they established it. They arrived to the KiY's place, what if Arthur suspects John was plotting something (when he wasn't, but how does he prove it?!), so better not to mention this. It's just a carving, who cares, they'll be fine. It probably sounds irrational, but that's how I saw the situation. And it was irrational, because John panicked.

I can't remember which ficwriter said that John reverts to lying when he's scared (pls tell me I'll leave the credits here), but I think it's a very good observation that's never come across my mind before I read it.

So he was panicking and making things up as he went, and it backfired exactly with what he was trying to avoid.

Therefore:

John hates lying and isn't good at it

reverts to it when deeply scared

learned it was a very important point to never lie to Arthur, otherwise the trust will be lost (and John values this trust a lot)

It goes without saying that the no lying rule goes both ways as both boys hate being lied to.

And right after this newfound knowledge and determination to be better John promises to never forget Arthur (mutually), then promptly loses Arthur (not being sure if he's even alive) and gets pulled back to the King.

I was impressed to learn he stayed true to his word and fought the King tooth and nail every moment he could. Even Kayne confirmed that, so it's not just John's bravado.

He won. Actually this is a huge revelation in on itself, because it shows how just strong and big part of the King John is: he's beaten the King in a battle of wills in his own realm. Think about it, just think. No wonder he defeated Yellow, too.

I bet he thought he had nothing left to lose and was desperate not to lose himself. John actually wants to live really bad, I think, and not as a part of someone else, but as his own person. but definitely together with Arthur by the way he sounded in s3 and 4

And then he ended up in the Dark World, alone, just like he used to fear.

TBC

[half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk]

Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 10 omg and 10 days until s3 👀

Lets go batchers 🤟

The Bad Batch 1x06

I love reading the aurebesh signs hehe

Omega nearly takes out a stranger and literally goes "teehee oopsie" I love her sm

Echo teaching her how to shoot 🥺

HIS HAND ON HER SHOULDER 😭

Wrecker: "not exactly a natural is she" Hunter: *vague nod/shrug thing* 💀

I'd love to shoo cid out of the bar "scram" @ cid

Tech is playing arcade games !!!! 👀

"I assume you know what a tactical droid is" *3 voted yes, Omega voted no, Tech panicked*

I used to think cid telling the batch they work for her was a kinda funny scene but rewatching it now knowing what I know it just infuriates me 😡

"weak noodle arms" SHES JUST A BABY

"this old trick?" hehe like the one Han did in ESB 👀

"that's your plan? fly there, land, hope they don't spot us and walk in the door?" ~ Obi-Wan about Anakin's plan - me pretending Echo learned this from Anakin 🥺

poor Wrecker with heights, he's so brave fr I'm very proud 💕

"nighty night" 🤣

everyone is probably gonna hate me for saying this buuuuttt... I kinda wanna see more Martez sisters after this episode lol

Rafa: "grab a weapon" Omega: "I had one 😑"

y'all the banter between Hunter and Rafa 👀 the way he walks behind her with both blasters out

THE FLIP AND ROLL OMEGA DOES TO GRAB THE DROID HEAD !!!

"thanks" hehehe she's so cheeky

sibling banter

YOU'VE GOT THIS WRECKER 👑

Wrecker hits his head count: 7 👀

and he just got shot in the same place on his shoulder for the third time 🙃

"Good soldiers-" screaming sobbing exploding into another dimension

HELP HER TRACE

Omega screaming for Hunter 😭

plus Hunter's "hang on Omega!" *checking myself into therapy*

Hunter literally swinging in to save Omega like he's tarzan 👑

that "thank you" was SO sincere I'm going to go cry my eyes out forever

Trace grabbed Omega to pull her behind her 🥺

Rafa: "I still don't like you" Hunter: "I'm used to it" 🥲😂

okay but Wrecker fighting the chip, hearing Tech calling for him sounding so concerned, then Crosshair desperately saying "good soldiers follow orders" is incredibly painful to hear... but it's like he's hearing his brothers both desperately calling him to them, Crosshair's voice is like the chip trying to activate, he's frustrated and confused which is probably exactly how Wrecker feels right now, and Tech's voice is trying to bring Wrecker back away from the chip 🥲 like they're both tugging at his brain to go different directions or smth idk I'm emotional about them always

"is there an echo in here?" "Yes, I'm Echo" *salutes* he's just so silly and goofy and I know the domino squad is absolutely cackling rn 😂

Tech's little swirly flip of the datastick like Hunter does with his knife makes me think Tech can also use Hunter's knife and that is something I would love to see pls

Trace has her arm around Omega again! 🤲

Tech is so sneaky hehe

Omega: "it's all about tuning out distractions" SEE CID SHE TOOK ECHOS ADVICE AND NOW SHE'S FINE pfft "weak noodle arms" NO MA'AM

R7 💕💕💕

Omega is so excited about being in a seedy area lmaooo

Omega and Rafa waving at each other as they leave 🥺

Hunter talking about the right reasons I am feeling emotions again

hmm I wonder who this mysterious person on the holo could possibly be 🤔🤔🤔

yayyyy episide 6 done y'alls 💕 thanks for joining again ilysm

I'm going to be doing a lot more hehe because I was super busy for a few days and now my timing is off 🙃

see y'all next time for when the fit hits the shan 🤟

[dragontamerno3]

DS9 S3 E23 - Family Business (I'm back at it, took a break for mental health and personal stuff but here we go again lol)

I think we might be getting into the part of the show that I actually remember watching as a kid. Admittedly there were only some "deja vu" moments in this so I can't be sure if it wasn't just seeing some things from the internet or if its because I'm remember fragments of when I was a kid but they felt distant and foggy so I'm leaning towards the latter. I'm interested to see what else clicks into place as I continue.

Once again its easy to identify Jeffrey Combs and I always love seeing him in an episode.

Also, I want Moogie to adopt me, she's fucking amazing.

I know we're not at the part where Rom forms a union yet but between Moogie and Nog I'm starting to see where he grows the spine to do so. I mean this with love because Rom has grown on me but he's a bit weak at the moment and while I'm okay with that (aside from him enduring Quarks abuse) I know that he becomes more so I'm tracking that progress.

I am honestly surprised it took as long as it did for Quark to realize he could dip into Moogies profits. I get why he hesitated and all that cause it's Ferengi culture, but he's been a schemer since the day he took his first breath. But Rom, the one thats not supposed to have the lobes for business, knew how to handle these two.

I want to watch the Moogie show.

The B plot with Sisko and the lead up to his potential date was kinda cute. The fact that Jake basically told the whole station and everyone was excited for Sisko was adorable. Even he seemed to be a bit excited. What I love is how Kasidy was aware and rolled with it.

I'm cheating a little cause I am from the future, so to speak, so I know that Kasidy hangs around a bit or at least becomes slightly reoccurring, but if I didn't know that the baseball conversation would have convinced me. He acted like Christmas came early.

Side note, Sisko's facial hair is still bad but it is MUCH better now that its properly trimmed lol

8/10 - More Moogie please

[intothewickedwood]

🐈‍⬛ 🌻 😇 👥️ 🎶 for the ask game <3

Thank you so much for the asks! <3 :D

🐈‍⬛ animal

My favourite animal is a cheetah! I'm just so impressed by their speed and how they run. If I had a mutant power, I'd want it to be super speed. So I want them to teach me there ways!

😇 blorbo

Right now, my The Wilds hyperfixation is so strong I can think of practically nothing else (oopsie). But yes! I love all the Wilds girls but Toni Shalifoe is my favourite <3. Honestly, she might have taken the crown of favourite character of all time at this point. Just gaaah. Such a softie underneath all that understandable anger. Cares so much for those she loves. I love her and all the layers of her character.

Before I watched the Wilds I got really into Legacies again (by finally watching s3 and s4). Absolutely obsessed with Lizzie Saltzman! Very relatable in some regards. Absolutely hilarious! Has so much pain and so many deep insecurities.

Alice Jones from Once Upon A Time, (my beloved) <3! A silly who has suffered too much!!

Chelsea Daniels from That's So Raven. She's so endearing to me. The silliest of sillies. Raven is a very close second, though.

Natalie Goodman from Next To Normal. Relatable in an ansty way.

Peter Simmonds from Bare: A Pop Opera. So relatable. A Cinnamon Roll <3.

Kate Dalton from We Are The Tigers. Sarcasm queen.

Vincent Lin From Adamandi. They may be a murderous blorbo. But they're my murderous blorbo.

Circe from Epic: The Musical. She's just so cool.

Draculaura from Monster High. Again, so cool and I love how much she loves her friends.

Chloe Sullivan from Smallville. Big influence on me growing up. Though I probably shouldn't have been watching Smallville at 9. She just cared so much about those she loved.

Simon Tudor from Jeopardy. His character development is everything <3.

Cloe From Bratz. The biggest drama queen ever and I love her for it.

Kurt Wagner from X-Men Evolution (and just x-men in general). He's such a silly guy.

Shalimar Fox from Mutant X. The most badass, protective queen to ever.

And that's all I can think of, but they're in no particular order. Except Toni. Toni gets the number 1 blorbo badge.

🌻 flower

I don't know much about flowers but I really like the look of Plumeria.

👥️ otp

So many! I shall limit myself to one per show.

Shoni!! (from The Wilds). I think they have made it to number 1 otp status!

Snowing from Once Upon A Time. But also shout out to Curious Archer!

Mizzie from Legacies! Still can't believe they got to be endgame!! I thought it was just gonna be hopes and dreams but the way I screamed my head off!! I love an unrequited love storyline but I love it even more when it then becomes requited. He thought the world of her and then she realised she felt the same about him too and it was beautiful and I cried (and screamed).

Natalie x Henry from Next To Normal. He's just so supportive of her and would do anything to make sure she's okay and that makes me want to cry into my cereal.

Peter x Jason from Bare: A Pop Opera. Everything hurts. But their chemistry was of the charts and they were so in love and I am in pain.

Cheer Wives from We Are The Tigers. They were sooooo bad for each other but needed each other? It was a mess but I was so very there for it.

Quincent from Adamandi. I am once again in so much pain. I can't get over how beautiful the lyrics they sang were when referencing each other.

Freffy from Skins. The way he cared for Effy D,:. He would haved moved mountains just to make her smile. My heart will forever be broken over what happened to Freddie. He deserved so much better.

Dracudeen. Just the whole of 'This is Not How Or Story Goes.' There was no hetrosexual explanation for that and Clawdeen nearly died to save her!

Chlark from Smallville. Next to Simon x Chrissie, they were one of my first otps. No one did friendship like them. But I always wanted it to be more. That whole unrequited thing that was never really given a chance to become requited.

Edited to add: Chlavis! I now one cannot have 2 otps that include the same character but I always go back and forth between which I like best. Chlavis' story was so intense and traumatic but at least it ended up being requited this time around! Extremely requited!

Simon x Chrissie. Tfw the two most terrible people you'd never wanted to be stranded in the wilderness with have the most beautiful, unrushed character development and learn to care for people other than themselves as they slowly fall in love, when there was merely the shallowest one-sided crush you ever did see there before. The way they became heroes <3. And the way Simon just didn't know how to be without Chrissie but persisted in trying to save her when chances were beyond slim. I miss them so much and need to rewatch <3.

Harlan x Cyrus. They had so much chemistry and genuinely had a connection and now we'll never know what happened to them. I wish we got to know them better. Darn you Amazon!

Cloe x Jade from Bratz. It was more of a case of all the unwritten fanfiction I had in my head for them as an 11 year old. But I only let it get as gay as Monster High 2 at the time, which is actually very incredibly gay, so I don't know who my brain was trying to fool.

Lance x Kitty from X-Men Evolution. They had a really interesting connection and were drawn to each other.

🎶 musical artist

I mostly listen to musical theatre songs but my favourite band has always been S Club 7. I'm not sure I have an overall favourite solo artist. Maybe James Morrison!

Thank you again for the asks! They were such a blast to answer!

[jjxkiaraxpopexcleoxjohnbxsarah]

Lost in My Past

So i was rewatching OBX S3 and i went to ep 7 and i found something to write a fic about basically y'know the scene where Singh's men attack Professor Neville's house boat and JJ and John B are there. Well i decided to write about it

ENJOY

"Hey" John B sighs in annoyance as he turns to JJ. He's trying to convince Professor Neville into giving him any information to find his dad. And JJ isn't helping.

"WHAT?!WHAT IS GOI-"

JJ covers John B's mouth as he tells him to shut up.

It's then John B hears it.

A boat engine.

"Hey Neville how much traffic do you get on this river?" JJ asks.

"Nothi-"

"Neville! Neville Persaud!"

Suddenly bullets sliced through the boats window, shattering it into a shower of glass fragments

John B pushes JJ down as more bullets were fired.

JJ curls up on the floor and holds his knees. His breath grows shallow as blood pounded in his ears.

YOU STUPID WORTHLESS IDIOT

Not real not real not real-

JJ gasps for air as he tugs on his hair-

His dad's angry shouts merge with the gunshots.

YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR STUPID MOM

Why can't he breathe, he needs to breathe.

John B slowly rises from his position on the floor and turns to see JJ.

The blonde boy is practically hyperventilating on the ground, his shaking hands tugging at his hair whilst tears stream down his face.

Signs of a panic attack.

"JJ not now, c'mon" John B crouches over the Maybank boy and places his hands gently over JJ's. "You're okay, i swear everything's fine."

"JB"

John B smiles weakly, "Right here buddy, you're safe i promise"

"C-can't breathe" JJ sobs.

"You can I promise you can "

John B's heart breaks at the sight of his best friend on the floor crying and hurting because of an idiotic excuse of a dad. JJ never deserved any of this. John B closes his eyes as a tear rolls down his face. Even though he has witnessed JJ's attacks many times before it still hurts to see him like this.

JJ can't even close his eyes or else the frantic images of Luke's menacing face will flash in his mind.

I HATE YOU SO MUCH

JJ whimpers as he tries to control his breathing.

"JJ, breathe. Focus on my voice," John B urges, his eyes filled with concern. "You're safe here with me. C'mon Bubba"

John B holds JJ's hand as the panic starts to subside.

The bullets still echoed in the distance but Luke's voice isn't there anymore.

JJ sits up and collapses onto John B's chest. JB wraps his arm around him.

"It's over you're okay"

JJ takes in the familiar scent of his best friend- cedarwood and bergamot.

"Sorry, I'm so sor-"

"Stop apologising" John B whispers into his ear. He holds JJ closer, resting his chin on the blonde locks." It'll be fine"

JJ faintly realizes that the boat is moving.

Neville returns, his face ashen and tired.

"I managed to get rid of them at the last minute, that was a close call"

JJ just hides his face in John B's shoulder. He feels guilty- John B must be so stressed right now, what with his Dad all the way in South America with Singh and JJ isn't helping by having a panic attack and-

"JJ?"

"What?" JJ meant for it to sound strong but it comes out as a shaky whisper.

"You're okay"

JJ just nods.

He's so grateful for having John B by his side. Yeah he has a rubbish dad and a stupid chaotic life but John B has always been there for him, holding him, making sure he doesn't break and if he has John B will pick up the pieces and fix him.

John B is JJ's anchor.

JJ's anchor in a messy, crazy, wild ocean.

John B is JJ's home.

YOU CAN ALSO READ THIS AND MY OTHER STORIES ON A03

[pixiedust-poppers]

Okay I'm not sure what show this is, but should I start watching it? I'm seeing Peter pan and Captain hook stuff, so I'm guessing it's like, a Disney show?

Oh hello!! The show is Jake and the neverland pirates? It’s another extension of the Peter Pan franchise, made specifically for the Disney junior program. I’m pretty sure it was also made to introduce Peter Pan to a newer generation. It already had its debut in 2011 and for 4 seasons, it ended in 2016.

If you’re expecting EVERYONE to be there (like the the lost boys or native Americans or the other Disney fairies) they will NOT show up. Wendy, her brothers, Peter and tinkerbell are characters who show up in specials.

Should you watch it? You’re asking a person who watched every episode from beginning to end, so ofc I say yes lol! BUT. I need you to know going into it let me reiterate that this show is MADE for PRESCHOOLERS, the show is supposed to teach about basic morals and lessons like teaching others to share, don’t steal, counting, etc (this eventually stops near the end of season 2 and starts to be more about their adventures S3 and onwards) and they do try to be that interactive Dora the explorer type show for maybe 1-2 seasons. Season one is abit stiff but it’s just trying to get its barrings :(.

As for Hook (and smee too I guess) he his dumbed down BECAUSE this is once again for preschoolers so no he will not shoot the kids in broad daylight or smoke a cigar infront of their faces. He isn’t as cruel as his original but he is definitely still a major asshole to the kids and inhabitants as well.

Tdlr; Yes, you should if it interests you! It’s not mind blowing or anything but it’s still enjoyable show even if the on nose lessons will make you eye roll. You just have to be patient with it and remember when a solution comes up that is a little too morally good, that it was made for the preschool demographic back in 2011.

[theladyragnell]

Hi! Question for you once you've had a chance to finish S3 of Ted Lasso: I'd love to hear your perspective on how S3 could have unfolded in a more fulfilling way. No pressure, of course, but I enjoy reading your insights. :)

Okay! I am rolling up my sleeves.

EXPRESSING-OPINIONS-ON-THE-INTERNET CAVEAT: I am not a media critic, and not everything in this post will be cohesive, well-thought-out, and non-contradictory. I do not for a moment pretend that my opinions are Correct, they are merely my own.

SECOND CAVEAT: At this point, with where they left arcs, I'm about 80% sure that depending on how the WGA strike goes (crossing my fingers for them) and any corporate retaliation for that, there will be a spinoff or continuation sans Ted. More of their choices make sense if that is true, even if I don't love the thought (let shows end!!!), so this is all changes I would make assuming s3 is the final season.

The thing about this season, for me, is that any given episode or moment was largely really enjoyable for me! Sure, a few quibbles, and the whole Roy and Keeley thing we will get to in a moment, but if I ignored the fact that I was watching a season, most things worked for me. Looking at it as a season, though, it was too busy, in a way that meant the show dropped a lot of things I wanted to see more of.

So, when pondering this question, I think that there's no way to keep everything I love while getting rid of only the things that annoyed me or that didn't feel right to me. And in the end, I'd rather miss things that weren't there than be annoyed with things that are present, so my take on s3 would streamline a lot of things to engage with others.

Oh boy, this is already long, time for a cut.

Change #1: Roy and Keeley do not break up. There was simply no reason for this, and especially no reason for it to happen off-screen. They can still fight and have difficulties, and Roy can deal with his mental health, but it's just unnecessary drama and I never understood it. This also prevents Roy and Jamie's weird last-episode regression to fighting over her and forcing her into shitty positions.

Change #2: Most of Keeley's plotlines change. All of the KJPR plots and characters were interesting, but they also busied the season up too much. So I'd have her actually building up a one-woman business without Jack (or, tragically, Barbara), maybe doing the Shandy thing and grappling with that for longer, or her dealing with the Establishment the way Rebecca does so often, trying to make them see her as a businesswoman and not a footballer's girlfriend.

Change #3: Beard and Jane break up. We get to carry over the threads from s2 from the Beard episode and from Higgins expressing his concern, instead of treating the way Jane treats him as comedy. We also get to counteract this show's everyone-deserves-not-just-forgiveness-for-everything-but-also-to-be-in-your-life-again message with one instance of someone setting out a boundary and sticking to it.

Change #4: Many of Nate's plots change. As with Barbara, I would really regret losing Jade, but I think there are better uses of Nate's screentime--he was set up to be a real main character in s2 and I felt like I hardly saw him in s3. What I really wanted was for Nate to learn how to have power over people responsibly, I think? I'd have chosen either for him to grit his teeth and stay at West Ham (perhaps while joining the conspiracy to overthrow Rupert) or, when he left, for him to somehow end up coaching a kids' team, and learn gentleness in authority that way. It would pick up this show's really genuinely cool theme of "once one person makes a point of stepping out of the cycle of abuse and trauma it can ripple out around them" in interesting ways.

And while there are many other tweaks I'd make (more Sam, his last focus plot was SO goddamn miserable; eliminate everything about the psychic; goodbye to Rebecca's boat stranger), I'm going to finish with the last big one, which is

Change #5: Ted gets to do something besides reinvent total football, pine for his son, and make speeches that should have been edited down to a third of their length tops. He just seems so checked out this whole season, just talking about how none of the work he's done is on him, all focused on Henry in the wrong ways, so that going back to Kansas felt more like a horrible sacrifice than a choice that will bring him fulfillment or contentment. He was always going to go back to Kansas and his son, much as I wasn't wild about that, but it doesn't feel like a new beginning for him, just like he's going back to his old life with a little more knowledge of football and more knowledge of how to model good parenting and relationships for his kid (while not, from the way I interpreted that last expression, dealing any further with his own mental health). It felt weirdly dark for this show.

(Also I know this show loves its book theming, and I know it's The Wizard of Oz (see: a song from The Wiz playing over the credits to the penultimate episode), but have they considered that in subsequent Oz books Dorothy and her family move back to Oz? Things to consider.)

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Okay, so a couple days ago I rewatched the S3 episode of Lone Star where TK is in his hypothermia induced coma and we get to see what's going on in his head, and oh my GOD did it give me SUCH an amazing idea for an agere mulit-chapter fic!!!

Remember how in TK's coma dream he's back in his dad's house but with his mom and they bake cookies? And how TK tells Gwyn he'll always be her little boy, that he still is? Well Goddamn did all that get my writer brain going!

So, what if both Owen and Gwyn were there in TK's dream, and they were treating him like he was still a little boy? The way I'm picturing it is kind of like that episode of SPN when Sam and Dean go to heaven together and see each other's versions of it, and Dean has that one memory of Mary from when he was 3 or 4–dressed the part and being treated like a little boy despite him still looking and acting like his adult self to Sam and the viewers. That's how I imagine this going with TK.

He still looks like an adult and feels like one, and is incredibly confused by what's happening at first, but quickly begins to enjoy all their attention and babying. And soon, begins to feel like the little boy their treating him as. Like in the episode tho, it's Carlos speaking to him that still inevitably brings him back to waking reality.

However, almost as soon as they get the tube out of him, he's still panicking and begins to tearfully call for his mama and daddy. Carlos is freaking out but doing his best to calm him down before the nurses have to give him a sedative, reassuring him that he'll call and get his dad here as soon as possible, but in the end TK is too disoriented and scared, and at the doctor's order one of the nurses has to give him a mild sedative.

Carlos calls Owen as soon as TK is fully under the drugs affects and tells him he needs to get to the hospital quick, that TK woke up and was asking for him. By the time Owen arrives, TK is beginning to fight his way out of the sedative's clutches. As soon as he lays his eyes on Owen the waterworks start up all over again and he desperately reaches for him. Owen, while bewildered and worried, just rolls with it and does what any good father would: give his kid as much comfort as he needs.

Owen ends up climbing nto bed with TK (cautious of the cords and tubes still attached to him, of course), and TK eventually cries himself into an exhausted sleep in his arms. The doctor ends up making a return not long after that (Owen still in the bed, not daring to move and disturb his son's rest), and Owen immediately asks the burning question on both his and Carlos' mind; did TK suffer brain damage? The doctor tells the two of them that they can't know for certain until they run some tests on him, leaving Owen and Carlos to stress over the potential answer they'll receive in the next few hours.

As they'll soon find out, however, this has nothing to do with any physical damage to TK's brain, but instead has everything to do with his psyche.

I'm thinking that TK would probably stay regressed for most of the duration of the fic, but that even once he does start to come back to himself, he'll realize that while everything that's happened during that time feels embarrassing as all hell, it also feels right. Like something he's needed for a very long time, but just hadn't known until he got it.

Wow, hyperfixation really said, "Bitch you will write this shit. You may not know when, but you will."

Yet another idea saved in the backlog I keep in both my phone and brain lmaoooo. 😅🥲