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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

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Playing Dangerous

part 2 of Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: sure, the fact that he’d schemed up an entire, elaborate ruse to get between your legs was upsetting. more upsetting was the fact that he refused to fess up, insisting that you needed to be protected (or at the very least—cautious) because your life was in ‘grave danger.’ most upsetting, however? that would be the fact that through it all and above everything else, you still wanted him—badly.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of reader having long hair; bratty!reader; brat-tamer!javi; alcohol consumption; smoking; pet names (baby, sweetheart, cariño, hermosa); some angst; dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, age gap).

word count: 10.7k (sorry again)

no use of y/n in this fic

hello here is part twooooo! thank you for all the love on Salvatore I absolutely love all of you so much. you don't rly need to read p1 to enjoy this, just know that: reader is the ambassador's secretary and is an asshole, Javi is also an asshole, they fucked for the first time a few days ago b/c he took her home after someone seemed to be after her life.

don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty; feedback, asks, comments, smoke signals and carrier pigeons always welcome. kisses. -em<3

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read part 3, Dark Paradise, here.

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Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer! - Playing Dangerous

“I am not speaking to you.”

Murphy’s eyes come alive with exasperation, a striking shift from their usual half-asleep, perpetually vacant gawp. Not quite at the point of impatience yet, his voice is soft when he responds.

“Please.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. An impassive sneer makes its way onto your expression.

Not a fucking chance.

Not only were you not planning on ever doing Steve Murphy—and especially, his asshole partner—even the smallest of favours throughout your remaining time on this godforsaken planet, you’d come to the conclusion (quite recently, in fact) that you’d rather dance barefoot on broken glass than be in the same room as either member of the pair.

And it was a shame, really.

After that (now regrettable, once incredible) night at Peña’s place, everything had been fine.

More than fine. Not even awkward.

For a glorious moment, waking up next to him, ruined and sore and bruised and satisfied, sharing a morning coffee and then a ride to work—peace (and the planted seeds of something else, too) had finally settled across the worn-in battlegrounds between you, solid roots spreading with each passing second spent not bickering. For crying out loud, when he’d gotten called away to Bogotá that very same day, you’d put yourself to work keeping his place clean, going so far as to anticipate his return.

Everything had been fine.

Until, of course, you’d gotten the old Chevy serviced.

“Car’s running fine, señorita. Put that missing part back, s’good to go.”

“Missing part?”

“The spark plug—wasn’t in there when we looked.”

And the missing pieces fell into place.

How he’d waltzed into your car earlier on in the day, running his fingers along the hard, hot plastic of the dash—analyzing, observing, and finally commenting on your shitty engine. Then, he’d been conveniently there, waiting for you in the middle of the night, watching you wrestle your hood open in the parking lot after work. Hell, he took you to his place after he’d told you he'd seen a shady truck parked in front of yours… and you’d trusted him.

Without bothering to check for yourself, you’d trusted him.

You had to hand it to the man; it was a clever plan. Wear you down during the day only to corner you while alone, vulnerable, and at night, with no possible avenues for escape.

All to get inside your pants.

God.

Murphy huffs, bringing you back down to Earth. “Listen,” he rubs his temples, exhaustion weighing down the curves of shoulders, “We just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to stay with him, either; Connie—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes in full view of his own. “I keep wondering, though... seeing as you're… thick as thieves, these days,” you lean forward over your desk, studying his swallow. “Was it you that shot off that gun? Or did he get someone else to participate in his little scheme?”

The agent tilts his head to the side, putting on the air of a wordless 'really, sweetheart?' before launching into a recitation of a sorely well-versed explanation.

But you cut him off, unforgiving in your suspicion. “Don’t bother, alright? Even if I did believe that, what, some 'cartel sicario'—” you emphasize the ridiculousness of the statement by tossing up a couple of well-timed air quotes “—was after me…?” and then you’re gesturing wildly to yourself, fingertips pointed straight to your heart. “I would rather die—really, seriously, die—than step foot into your home—or-or fucking Peña’s—Ever. Again.”

The mounting ire behind your breathless rambling finally wears him down; he surrenders his complexion to a look of genuine defeat. His arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp.

As you try to appear busy, fidgeting with the scattered papers and documents lying listlessly across your desk, Murphy turns on his heels, stooping toward the exit.

For a brief moment, he hesitates, coming to a slow halt halfway down his holy pilgrimage of freeing you from his fucking presence.

“Did you…” and he briefly trails off, anticipating your wrath with a wince. “Did you fill out that form?”

Irritation clouds your thoughts. Its manifestations in your body feel almost violent.

“What do you think, genius?”

You scare yourself with the aggression underpinning each and every word.

Inside the safety of your mind, your inner dialogue treats him even worse.

Go, motherfucker. Go, go, go, go, go or I’ll tear us both apart, I’ll explode, I’ll—

You hope that it’s Luck listening to your prayers (and not God), because as soon as your brain has time to register the nature of your wicked, near sacrilegious thoughts toward the man, Murphy’s yellow-dusted crown is drooping down in eventual resignation, leading the way as he trudges back to his corner.

A relief.

A short lived one.

Too short.

Because…

Well, because those fucking memories won’t stop replaying inside your mind, etched like crude Botticellis on the backs of your eyelids.

Overlaying the non-stop highlight reel of a vicious fight with Peña, just that morning—

“Well, I didn’t see a car. What I saw was you, whipping me over to your fuck-pad—and now? I see your whole... fucking masterplan to get me into bed.”

“You’re talking fuckin’ crazy. There’s no pussy in the world that’s worth pulling all that.”

—are flashes of his bare, glistening chest, an almost tangible haze of longing obscuring his eyes. You’d taken him in your mouth; you’d felt him all over: against you, with you, inside you.

And when you’re not seeing him, you’re forced to hear him, over and over and over again.

“You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

So, you push certain memories away by calling on certain others, repeating every cruel word you’d ever exchanged with each other like a mantra, an affirmation.

They remind you of the man that Javier Peña truly was.

“You are the worst person I’ve ever had the shit-luck of meeting, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too crazy about you, either. Got some serious growin’ up to do, sweetheart.”

A loud snap wrenches you back to your senses. You unfurl your fingers to reveal the broken remnants of a poor, innocent pencil you’d been white-knuckle-death-gripping.

What really had you ticking was that, after you’d hurled accusations and insults at him for the better part of an hour—totally monopolizing the space of the familiar, dusty old filing room—he’d had the nerve to continue on with his little act.

“You don’t have to stay with me—”

And his voice had been coated in poison, laced with the kind of fiery contempt that surely only a guilty man could achieve.

“—but do me a favour and just don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. It’s shit work, hiring new secretaries.”

He hadn’t waited around for an answer, leaving you alone with his final words and a mountain of your own unsaid ones.

So, you’d hissed a “fuck off” to the lingering ghost of his presence in the room, trying, in vain, to slow your shallow breaths.

You heave a sigh, forehead dropping to lay heavy against the desk.

If only you could take your brain out for the day. If only you could run it under cold water. Better yet, if only you could scrub it clean with bleach, put it in the dishwasher, run it with the damn laundry—anything to make it shiny and new and untainted.

Peña was lying.

He had to be lying.

What kind of shit sicario goes after secretaries who, beyond not knowing what they’re supposed to know about, don’t care enough to actually retain any of it?

Not a good sicario. Definitely not one who would still be alive in Medellìn, today.

It was all bullshit.

You weren’t the kind of person who attended work parties.

They always ran excruciatingly long. On top of that, you had to watch traumatized coworkers drink. A lot. Then, there was, of course, after-hours work-talk.

None of that had ever screamed 'best night ever!' to you.

Tonight, however, you hadn’t been given a choice: the ambassador had needed 'someone there, you know, just in case work stuff comes up’ which really meant that she was banking on you to give her a ride home at the end of the night.

Like that was happening. She hadn't been pleased when you'd made it clear to her that you were out of commission, off-the-clock, done-zo starting at fifteen to ten. You'd hoped that, at that point, she would've rescinded her original request.

She hadn't.

Still, Noonan had spent the week being remarkably kind to you—maybe her invitation was her (deeply misguided) way of trying to make up for the shit-storm she’d watched you face over past few days (whether she believed Peña’s dystopian, hitman fantasy was uncertain; either way, she’d witnessed your torment at his hands, and both realities seemed equally as emotionally taxing).

Despite all the hints you’d dropped about wanting the night off, she either hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, or thought you were just trying to be polite.

Come on.

She’d been your boss long enough to know there was no chance of you pussy-footing around out of politeness.

The event was meant to commemorate some big accomplishment—a narco sting gone right (or else, some big narco boss gone six-feet-under). The reason behind the festivities wasn’t of any importance to you—getting through the next few hours as quickly and as painlessly as possible took up all of the remaining (albeit limited) space in your head.

Because, afterwards? You were going out.

A good friend’s bachelorette, a shit-ton of dark tequila, and the warm lips of a total stranger.

God, you needed that. Every intimate spot on your body was in desperate need of a cleanse. Your tongue, the soft skin between your thighs, the peach-fuzz on your cheeks…

They remembered him.

They made sure you couldn’t forget him.

About half-way through serving your sentence in regulatory purgatory, someone turns on the stereo. A Queen song—the one that everyone knows. You’re looking around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It’s mostly administrative and political bodies crowding up the office's stuffy foyer. There’s an odd clink of glass meeting glass whenever someone new walks in, or else when a deal’s finally graduated beyond the negotiation stage.

It’s too highbrow, too boring and white-collar for restless DEA agents, you remind yourself.

Slowly, slowly the hours trickle by.

The music helps—every Diaz song has the minutes moving double-time.

And after what feels like centuries of excruciating small-talk, of brushing off endless, casual condescension, of staring at the clock hanging off the wall, finally, it’s time to go.

First, a last minute change (you’re not wearing a damn button-up to the bar—it’ll be a tight dress and cute shoes or absolutely nothing at all) and a quick refresher in the bathroom. Then, you’re trailing a bee-line towards the exit with 'home-free' on the tip of your tongue.

Keep your head down. Nod. A chagrined smile to each pair of gawking eyes.

‘Cause soon? You’ll be dancing.

You’re straddling the office doors, left foot in, right foot out when an authoritative voice calls your name from behind.

Christ Almighty.

Turning slowly, you find yourself triangulated between Noonan and…

Fucking Steve Murphy.

That one looks apprehensive. The former?

A bit red in the face.

“Murphy, here,” the ambassador gestures sloppily towards the agent’s uneasy form, “Tells me he needs something. Papers, right? Think we can get that to him before you leave for your… little soirée—what do you say?”

She doesn’t catch it, but he does; your unbridled, aversive stare pierces him right between his eyes. Forcing it down (and oh, does it ever burn your throat) you etch a reluctant smile, nodding wordlessly to your boss.

God, if only money were an object. This damn job would be a short paragraph on your resume, a blip in your timeline on this Earth.

Noonan slaps Murphy on the back, harrumphing as though she’d just solved world hunger. Quickly, she finds someone new to accost (or be accosted by), swept into a different, equally-boring conversation before you can even begin to feel angry at her for putting you into such a… distasteful position.

And you whir on him.

Before the rush of accusations gets a chance to part from your lips, Murphy interrupts you, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing.” He sounds serious, sincere. “Swear. She came up to me and just… knew all about it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Nonetheless, your fingernails slowly retreat from their burrows in the skin of your palm.

It’s not because of his earnestness.

No.

It’s because only a serious maniac would flaunt their under-the-table bullshit so publicly, flying it right under the ambassador’s nose. Whatever those records were for (and whatever the reason why Peña and Murphy so badly needed them), it was becoming increasingly clear that they were not intended to land in either of their hands.

Murphy hadn’t been nervous because of you. He’d been nervous because of her. A little less drink, a bit more curiosity, and Noonan would've been privy to whatever it was that the pair was up to.

“Fine.”

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, dropping like stones with the release.

Without another word, you make your way down the hall, charging toward the alcove harboring your desk. Murphy trails behind, five feet back at all times like a recently-scolded school-child.

Good.

It takes a few, long minutes to get the job done.

He waits around anxiously, fiddling with your stationary (until you slap his hand away from your beloved pens and planners) and pacing around the room.

When it's done, you don’t read the form, you don’t investigate. The less you know, the better.

And frankly?

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

As the papers slide out of the printer, you warn him: “You’re gonna need a signature from their side, you know. I can only get you so far.”

He nods, taking the precious sheets in hand. “Think we got that side covered.” Then, he’s reading them over, checking to make sure everything's in order. You stand with your hand on your hip, waiting impatiently for his goddamn approval. After an eternity (really—by the end of it you’re genuinely wondering whether the man should get tested for dyslexia), Murphy hums in satisfaction, giving you an awkward, “Thanks, again.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your half-exposed chest.

Didn’t even thank me a first time, asshole.

He spins around, aiming for the exit, when another body appears before him.

And the man stops Murphy in his tracks, deep-brown eyes trailing down to the packet of papers cradled between his partner's hands.

“Noonan came through, then.”

It’s all he says.

Your nostrils flare.

The skin on your face positively burns.

Of course it had been him. He was probably the entire reason behind the ambassador’s unusual tipsyness, too. Hell, he’d probably fed her Prosecco and half-compliments ‘til she’d been more than happy to do him a million favours.

Wasn’t that his M.O., anyways? ‘Get ‘em drunk and get my way?’

Three comfortable, familiar words find themselves sliding—easily—off your tongue.

“Fuck off, Peña.”

You surprise yourself with the cruelty of your tone, the biting emphasis of each word.

He settles his onyx eyes on you. They glaze over with hunger, with amusement, with danger.

Fuck.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart—I will in a minute,” and he nods at his partner, effectively dismissing him.

Murphy hesitates, eyes jumping between the stand-off taking place before him. Likely, he was trying to decide which one of you was going to murder the other first.

Finally, with his beloved form tucked under his arm, Murphy heaves a sigh of resignation, and then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with Peña.

The corners of his lips pull back into an arrogant smirk as his eyes rake over your body—done up, dressed down, and positively fuming in your little kitten heels.

“You look hot.”

It’s all he says.

Some girls would’ve killed to hear those words from him. You’d spent years watching their eyes trail his movements in the office, listening to their puling voices—'is Javi there?'—over the phone.

But it just makes you want to scream.

Fearing the actual possibility of that coming to fruition, you keep your mouth sealed shut. Tight.

Silence won’t do for Peña.

“What’d you tell me, once?” He muses softly, making his way towards your desk. “Somethin’ about this place not bein’ a… a what’d you call it? A brothel?”

Dog.

He yanks a retort from your lips as if he had full command over them. “I’m going out, asshole.”

His face twitches ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to catch the hint of emotion. Then, it’s gone.

“No, you’re not.”

Casual as ever, he does that thing: runs a finger from the corner of his bottom lip down the length of it, looks up at you through thick, dark eyebrows.

You bristle at the sheer, unwinding effect it has on you.

“Yes, I am.”

He raps his knuckles against the desk in irritation; nevertheless, his voice is soft, imploring as he persists. “C’mon, baby. I need you to listen to me, right now. It’s..." and he undresses you with a mere look, "It's not a good time for you to be goin’ to those kinds of places.”

Just like any other man.

Probably, Peña’s ego was so over-inflated that the mere thought of any of his conquests colluding with another man had him on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

Because God forbid you fuck anyone else.

God forbid you even think of touching anyone else.

And this strange, uncharacteristic possessiveness, this… need for control—it was wearing extremely thin.

The man had zero authority over you. He certainly didn’t get to preside over the choices you made during your free time.

“Don’t call me baby, Peña—I’m not your baby.” The snapped retort makes you sound so young, to the point where, for a moment, you understand why the agent had called you a brat so many times that one, fateful night.

Still, you soldier on, focussed on freeing yourself from yet another one of the evening's grueling set-backs. “And I’m not gonna ‘listen to you’ just ‘cause you think you’ve got some sort of… machismo claim over me.”

A deft muscle in his jaw tenses. He rounds the desk, moving just a half-foot closer to you; that alone is enough to jump-start your heart, and you’re almost sure he can hear it, jack-hammering away inside your chest. You both know that being the first to step away signified weakness—concession—so you stay put (even when your legs yield to a slight wobble).

And he’s almost crooning. “You can spread those legs for half the country, for all I care, baby.” A condescending look, cast down at you over the bridge of his nose. “Not what this is about.”

Yeah, right.

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Still working that angle?”

He takes a step forward. “Is it so crazy to think that I could just be tryna look out for you?” Meeting your gaze, he speaks earnestly—pleading through his irritation.

“I don’t need you to ‘look out for me’,” Your back grazes against the ambassador’s doors—you kick yourself internally for having subconsciously conceded to a back-step. “Especially not since the last time I thought that’s what this was?” your fingers gesture wildly between the (lack of) space separating your bodies, “You totally took advantage of me.”

A pause as the agent fluctuates from bafflement to genuine offense.

“Took adv—are you being serious?” he scoffs, shaking the coarse, dark hair on his crown. “I gave you, like, one drink.”

Victory courses through your veins at the sudden, intense flood of irritation marking his tone, the vein popping in his jaw.

Anything to get to him, to make him tick, to scratch that itch.

Dig. Dig. Dig.

A shrug. “Maybe you put something in it.”

His eyebrows jump up, eyes widening with the movement.

Just. So. Close.

“And… you know, I am a lot younger than you—”

“—okay, enough.”

Peña’s growled response has your voice fizzling out into nothingness. Closing what’s left of the distance between you, muscled form looming, he flattens you against the ambassador’s office doors. As one large hand slowly splays out next to your ear, the other comes up to grasp your chin. His fingers wrap around your jawbone, all the way from one ear to the other.

You’re stuck, frozen under the weight of that dominant leer.

“Y’know,” he muses, deep and low, “It’s really fuckin’ obvious what all this is actually about, sweetheart.” Trapped in his glare, you watch his eyes grow dark, his gravelly voice falling into a register you’d never before heard it descend to. And he’s so, so close to you, close enough that you can smell him: that distinct, earthy scent of man that never failed to have your head spinning, your arms weak. “This… highschool bullshit you’ve been pullin’ since I got back… accusin’ me of all kinds of shit—"

You deny yourself the pleasure of looking at his lips when his words withdraw into an almost-whisper.

“Makes you feel real innocent, doesn’t it?

You don’t respond, concentrating on stifling the growing ache in your core, the thump-thump-thumps inside your rib cage, the lump forming in your throat.

A rarity, a miracle, Jesus turning water into wine: words fail you.

“Know what I think, cariño?” His fingernails press into your cheeks, digging soft indents. Not to bruise—

To hold you steady.

To assure himself of his command over your full, devoted attention.

When he finally continues, his smoky breath raises the hairs along your exposed skin.

God, it must be, like, nine-hundred degrees in the room.

“I think”—and he’s toying with you, near-black eyes dancing with amusement—“You’re just embarrassed.”

Leaning in, his lips brush against the ridges of your ear, slow words washing over you in big, heavy waves. “‘Bout how easy it was for me to get between these legs.” Male, calloused fingers ghost over the skin of your thighs, creeping higher and higher up the length of your body.

“Remember how wet you got for me, cariño? Beggin’ me to fuck you so rough?”

And for a brief, suspended moment—

You do.

He leans back enough for you to watch his eyes harden, uttering an “I remember it all, baby,” as his thumb leaves your jaw to trace the highest point of your cheekbone.

And his tone turns to stone.

“Especially when you’re acting like you need a fuckin’ reminder.”

Your cheeks grow red-hot. The ground feels unsteady under your feet—and the spell breaks.

Pig.

“You’re fucking vile, Peña,” you spit, wrenching his grip off your face. “And also, dead wrong.” Slamming into his shoulder, you aim to storm out.

He catches your arm, twisting you back around to face him. “If you go out tonight,” the man near-growls, lecturing down at you like a damn parent, “You’re putting your life and everyone else's on the line.”

You tear your wrist from his fingers, shrugging off his empty warning with a dramatic spin on your heels.

Strutting out, you leave him with a poison-coated, “Say ‘hi’ to the whores for me.”

And you’re gone.

It’s loud. Your feet are sore from dancing in your heels. A different, unfamiliar body is in reach in every possible direction from your own.

It’s perfect.

Five shots in and you still feel like you could take more, if only to forget the exhausting events of the day.

Less than 48 hours ago you’d been prepared—dear God, longing—to hand yourself over to a man you were now quite happy to never see again. With your hands wrapped around a stranger’s neck, you’re determined to cleanse yourself of his lingering traces.

He’s gazing down at you, male, hungry eyes gunning for the taking. Local, you guess, or at the very least South-American. After a daring look, you grab him by the collar, brushing your starved lips against his.

“Want to get out of here?”

The pronunciation isn’t great—but it does the trick. He nods enthusiastically, allowing you to take his hand in your own without hesitation. Too easy. The hard part is weaving through the agitated, bustling crowd with your nameless partner in tow.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But God, is it ever necessary.

Escaping your friends at the start of the night had been child’s play, and they could be counted on to be too fucked-up at this hour to notice your absence, anyway.

Good.

Your act of desperation would be remembered solely by its participants.

A gentle evening wind swirls around your tingling body, the day’s heat hanging thick in the air as you step onto the street, the syncopated thumps of Latin music fading unwillingly into the background.

Pivoting abruptly, you flatten yourself against the wall outside, pulling the stranger in close by the fabric of his blue button-up.

“Yours or mine?”

He smirks, gentle lines forming by his golden eyes. Internally, you commend yourself: the catch was quite pretty.

“Here is okay, I think.”

Then, his lips are on yours, parting you open in a sloppy, drunk kiss.

This could work.

His traveling hands already seem to be numbing some of the tension simmering under your skin.

This could work.

His rough kisses overwhelm your senses, slowly filling the hollow ache lodged at the heart of your core.

Please, God—let this work.

Just as a hand reaches up to cradle the back of your neck—

(let this work, let this work, let this work)—

Just as a pleased moan travels from your lungs into his own—

Tires screech against the pavement, slamming you back into your body, wrenching you straight into the dire moment. Tearing your lips from the stranger’s, you peer over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of a black Camino screaming to a stop right before you. Time stops; the windows are down, and what you know to be the barrel of a hand-gun pokes out from the backseat.

“Get down!”

Maybe it's in your head (after all, it would make sense for your psyche to summon his voice in a moment so violent); or maybe it's real. Either way, you listen to the command, hitting the ground without any reservations. And those stupid heels—you stumble, face-planting onto the pavement, scraping every exposed part of your body against hot, rough cement.

A cry of terror rips from your throat as the sound of bullets punctuates the warm, summer night—Jesus, it’s louder than anything you’d ever heard before.

Somewhere along the chaos, the pretty stranger from the bar books it down the calle.

Everything happens so fast. A familiar Cherokee veers in the way, separating you from the attackers. The surrounding air becomes rife with lead, a terrified chorus of male and female voices joining the symphony, and you really can’t tell whether the pain in your chest is from the friction of your own harmonizing screams or if it’s bullets tearing through your body. From the ground, you watch your attackers’ vehicle take off down the street, haphazardly parting crowds of cowering civilians in its wake.

When it all stops, it doesn’t really stop.

Violence persists, ringing in your ears like a doomsday clock going off, an A-bomb alarm siren. The echoes are happy to prolong your torment.

The Jeep’s passenger door swings open. You scramble back, scampering down the pavement as adrenaline claims you in never-ending rushes.

“Get inside, now.”

You nearly sob with relief at the familiar voice. It hadn't all been in your head. Jumping up on unstable legs, you lunge into his car, jerking the door shut behind you.

Without sparing a moment, his white-knuckled hands yank the wheel to the side, veering onto a road just off the main strip.

Javier Peña’s never looked so stressed.

“You’re not gonna follow them?” It comes out as a cry, a desperate plea for retribution.

He doesn’t answer.

Which doesn’t stop you.

You want to see them punished for making you feel so helpless, and for the scrapes and bruises decorating your elbows, your knees, your palms.

“Javi,” a begging king of shout, “Why aren’t we following them?”

“‘Cause you’re in the fucking car!”

In the heat of the moment, the cutting edge of his harsh tone doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s gentle compared to the violent sensations stewing within your body and mind.

“So?”

He takes a sharp right, slamming your side against the Jeep’s hard interior.

“Been in enough…” He grits his teeth, trying to keep his irritation in check, “Compromising situations tonight, alright? Now, just shut up ‘n let me drive.”

You pipe down, not awfully interested in getting yelled at again in your fragile state.

At first, it feels like the full-body trembles wracking your entire being won’t ever cease. And yet, by the grace of God, after a few minutes, the thundering behind your ribcage slowly subsides.

It helps that you’re still a little buzzed.

It especially helps when his driving slows and the streets begin to empty—when the shops and houses become more and more recognizable, when the night grows more and more tame.

You know where he’s headed. The safety of the intended destination has you relaxing, finally level enough to take deep breaths.

Eventually, he stops the car, cutting the engine in full view of his building's front door.

The rumbling stops, and suddenly, it's very quiet. Javier groans, leaning back against his seat, bringing a hand up to his temples. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes closed behind the palm of his hand.

And oh.

He’s pissed.

“Go inside, lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.” His command, though dripping with ire, is underpinned with genuine concern. When you don’t respond, he finally shifts his gaze to meet yours, fixing you with an intimidating, severe kind of stare.

“Do you understand?”

At first, your impulse is to respond with a bitchy retort, to meet his intensity head-on with your own brand of unpleasantness. You stifle that reflex, taking stock of the situation at hand: Peña had just saved you from a flurry of bullets.

Peña… had just saved you…

And the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

He’d been telling the truth.

Someone was really after you. Twice, now, they'd tried to take your life.

And, still? Your addled brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea of Peña’s innocence. Your bursting question takes you both by surprise.

“So, you didn’t take my spark plug?”

He stares at you, full mouth parted in genuine bewilderment. Then, he scoffs, breathing an exhausted exhalation. “No, I didn’t take your damn spark plug, sweetheart. That’s what I’ve been saying. If you’d bothered to actually fuckin’ listen for once in your life…” he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “‘Could’ve avoided all… this.”

Shame tries its best to seep into your core. You resist it, scrambling for reasons to justify your actions to him.

To yourself.

You hated being wrong. That feeling had a tendency of overwhelming everything else—of overriding rationality, itself.

So, you turn to a classic defense, an ol' reliable: deflection. “After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, can you blame me for not, just like, blindly trusting you?”

He scowls, angling his shoulders to square off with your own.

“Never asked for you to ‘blindly trust’ shit, though, did I?” He huffs, “Jesus.”

You try not to wince as he continues on, as the truth of his words and the seriousness of his delivery render you mute. “You’re a secretary, sweetheart. This is my job—my life—okay? When I tell you to be careful, for the sake of your own damn good, you need to listen to me.”

There’s a long pause as his words tease out your final, entangled threads of resistance.

He was right. You’d been stupid in your denial, putting yourself and dozens of others in danger.

Putting Javi in danger.

It takes everything you have to fight the tears threatening to well along your lashes. But there's no sense in allowing yourself to mourn your mistakes—at least not at this very moment.

No, now was not the time to work through your shame.

Now was the time to seek forgiveness.

To make amends.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to catch his downcast eyes.

And it’s true.

Javi shakes his head, resisting your apology. He says nothing, and your heart aches for him.

Whatever this man was—he hadn’t deserved a fraction of the hell you’d given him.

The hell you’d given him because…

Because he’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to soften you, to see you in a way that not one single person had the right to. He’d been a novelty: the first man you’d trusted enough to be capable of handling the full breadth of yourself. And when that had started to feel volatile—as though he’d gained too much of you?

Well, you’d needed a reason to push him away. To wrench yourself back from him.

Because you’d been embarrassed.

Knowing that he’d been right about that, too, makes you feel so small, so young, and deeply naive.

Immature.

You lean over, crooning at his turned profile.

“I mean it, Javi.” His name is your weapon—you will it to wear him down—a reminder of what it sounds like leaving your lips. “I’m sorry.”

Again, silence.

It’s fucking unbearable.

Placing an unsteady hand on his knee, you trail it up his thigh—slowly. His chest hitches with the force of a deep, sharp inhale and yet, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

But you catch his reflection in the glass: a slight twinge of the eyebrows, a delicate parting of the lips, and a hint of longing within those furious eyes.

Wiggle room.

“Could you ever forgive me?” You ask timidly, seductively, fingers creeping towards the crease of his trousers and that big silver buckle looming right above it.

Finally, he turns, his expression meeting yours with a hungry (albeit still deeply annoyed) look.

That wanting you’d learned to recognize…

It excites you.

And as you tug at his belt, releasing it with tantalizing slowness, you keep your steady gaze on his undecided one, uttering a pleading, “I can make it up to you, baby.”

Wordlessly, he watches your fingers move to the button of his pants, then to his fly, working with dedication, with delicate care.

There’s movement as you reach your fingers underneath the fabric. He grows hard for you, burgeoning out of the fabric in a matter of seconds.

It’s all the invitation you could’ve possibly hoped for.

His skin is hot against your knuckles as they slide down his lower abdomen. Grasping the base of his cock, you use two hands to spring him free.

God, he’s even bigger than how you’d remembered him—bigger than even your guiltiest fantasies.

Javi groans softly when you pull him, releases a hot, shallow breath when you stroke him, and a low, breathy “fuuuck” when you finally, finally take him in your mouth.

He tastes like the salt of the ocean. This close, you can smell men's cologne mingling with sweat.

It’s heaven.

And you just don’t want him to be angry anymore. It’s all you can think about—lips cradled adoringly around his cock, tongue running up and down the long length of him—as he throws his head back in pleasure.

He eventually relaxes, conceding to the ecstasy you persuade him with. Almost drinking the uncertainty—the resistance—right out of him.

“Christ,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair, forcing you to take in every last inch of him. “Wanted to shut you up like this all fuckin’ day.”

It becomes a challenge to breathe, but air simply isn’t a priority with a man like him at your fingertips, as your responsibility. This, he knows, his heavy hand determining the slow, careful pace, the impossible depth, and the angle of your unspoken apology.

Growing wet and lightheaded at the same time, you loose a moan against his velvety skin.

Javi laughs, darkly. “Always got somethin’ to say, huh? Even with a mouth full of cock.”

You smile around him—taunts are good. Better than silence, anyways. “Mhmm.”

The sounds of his laughter rumbles soft and low throughout his middle—so different, so sweet and innocent compared to the wet, filthy ones produced by your mouth’s ministrations.

You give him everything you have, ignoring the droplets forming in the corners of your eyes and lips, the dull burning inside your lungs. When the tip of his cock lodges at the back of your throat, you keep him there.

Whatever Javi gives you, you take.

Happily.

Every last drop would find its home inside you, traveling down the length of your tongue and into all of your warmest places.

It was the least you could do for him.

But he has other plans. His hand bunches up your hair, tightening into a fist to pull you off of him. His cock pops out from between your lips; you’re guided up to face him.

He looks stern.

Dangerous.

Out of breath, tears sliding down your cheeks, lips glistening with the slick of your own spit—you’re a welcome sight to any man of his kind.

“Say it.”

He makes use of his free hand, wiping the coarse pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, clearing the string of saliva collecting there.

It’s not rocket science, figuring out what it is that the man wants to hear.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

Neither of you had ever known how much an apology could sound like a prayer.

“Yeah?” Despite the gentleness of his tone, his eyes darken with lust to the point that you feel genuinely nervous about his intentions. “What are you so sorry for, hermosa?”

Fuck, the pet-names... the way his voice changed when reverting to its native tongue—rolling with confidence. At such an awkward angle, you’re forced to grip onto his forearms to keep balance. They feel strong and unbending beneath your fingertips.

Everything… everything about him draws you in.

He just makes you crazy.

Crazy enough to smile, to turn your profile to the side, laying a long, careful kiss to his palm. Crazy enough to answer his question in a needy, whiney whisper: “for being such a brat.”

He almost smiles, near-black eyes dancing with hunger, with approval, with a playful kind of ire.

Jerking his head to the right, he gestures to the backseat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, cariño?”

You’re nodding before the question really even registers.

He releases his hold on you, deft fingers quickly untangling from your hair.

Victory. Victory. Victory.

Then, you’re stumbling out of the passenger side, opening the door to the backseat.

(You take a second to commend yourself for driving a man so wild, making him so impatient that he couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet required to fuck you inside his apartment. Or, maybe he just liked letting the neighbours watch.)

Before you can even step foot inside the car, you’re being hauled by your upper arms onto Javi’s lap. He manhandles you into his desired position, spreading your knees around his thighs until your dress is hitched up, only covering your ass half-way.

After snaking a hand between your bodies, the agent runs his thumb down the slick fabric of your underwear.

Already, you’re holding back a slew of pathetic whines.

“Next time you give me head”—God, the feeling of those fingers against your clit, the bliss of them pushing your panties to the side, assessing your readiness for him—“Wanna be able to see that pretty mouth while my dick’s inside it, sweetheart.”

His lust has him speaking a bit out of breath. It makes every crude, filthy word sound sweet, almost endearing to you.

Nodding in response, you work with him—lowering yourself onto his fingers as he pushes them between your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, head falling back in appreciation, “You’re soaked.”

His fingers curl up, pressing to please in all the right places. Your answer arrives between gasps: “You tasted good.”

That pleases him.

“Yeah?” and he’s dragging his digits out of you, letting them trail through your folds and along your heavy, sore clit before leaving you wanting, leaving that needy cunt clenching around nothing. “I bet you taste even better.”

Then, his grip is on your jaw, pressing damp spots into your skin under his index, middle, and ring fingers. With the pad of his thumb pressed firmly to your bottom lip (and the row of teeth behind it), Javi eases your mouth open, wider and wider and wider for him.

“Show me—show me how good you taste.”

His index crawls onto your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking him in until his fingernail scratches the back of your throat. He wants to be shown, so you show him: gazing intently into his eyes, you watch his brow furrow as he studies your every movement, as he drinks in your every moan.

“Fuckin' hell,” he groans, commending your efforts. “You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, hermosa?”

Your bottom teeth graze the undersides of his index as you pull off—“yes, Javi.” Almost instinctively, you’re reaching your hand down, letting it coast down the hardness of his chest to rub circles around the slick tip of his cock, still peeking out from his open fly.

“Not yet,” he clicks his tongue, pushing his index, and this time, his middle and ring, too, back through the opening of your lips, “Need to clean yourself off every one of these fingers, first—thaaat’s right.” You listen, obediently sucking everything he gives you. He instructs and praises, “easy—easy, cariño, there it is,” as he watches you glide up and down him in slow, big pulls, all the way down to his knuckles.

It’s fucking filthy, and he loves it, unable to keep that arrogant smirk off of his face.

He’s practically in paradise, coming up with a mental list of creative ways to shut you up.

Still, Javi allows you to multitask: all the while, your fingers continue to explore the exposed parts of his cock. Only when he’s satisfied, when his length couldn’t possibly get any harder—only then does he free your mouth, letting his damp fingers trail down the side of your neck.

The feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

Without warning, he yanks down the straps of your dress and bra, pulling them all the way down until you’re postured on his lap, chest fully exposed; his abrupt movement has you loosing a stunned "Javi!" He runs his palms over the most sensitive peaks of your breasts, a hungry smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Then, he shrugs. “Told you last time I wanted to see them. Got the prettiest fuckin’ tits, hermosa.”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes, to laugh, or to really even register the vulgarity of his words, nor the taunting, degrading way they’re delivered to you. Javi’s already holding both you and himself up in one arm (and, oh, how you’d simply ached for the feel of his strength) pulling down the waistband of his pants. He maneuvers you into the proper position to receive him in, two pairs of downcast eyes watching his cock spring free, tip curving in, grazing against the fabric of his shirt.

He rushes, but it still feels torturously slow. You’re craving, needing, as he uses the dark head of his cock to ease your ruined underwear to the side, guiding himself towards your dripping opening.

This time, he’s far too impatient to make you beg for it.

Ecstasy forces your back into an arch as he pushes himself between your walls, as you feel him filling you up, up, and up—wordless mouth falling open, your heavy head collapses aaall the way back.

Immediately, a hand is at the back of your skull, forcing your gaze back downwards. “No, no, no, baby, you let me see—let me see you when you ride,” and his voice is a little strained, a little desire-stricken, a little bit softer as he settles his every last inch inside your cunt.

Your irises could be forest fires as you set your sights on his own, seeing nothing, absolutely nothing but Javier in that moment.

Moving your hips in tandem, you set your pace.

Mother Mary—it’s hard, so fucking hard to keep your legs steady when he stretches you open—wide fucking open—and as his head grazes that spongy spot inside.

He doesn’t help, either. In fact, while your hands dig anchors into his shoulders (sometimes his chest, his neck, his waist) just to keep yourself upright, his own are trailing up to the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pack of smokes.

You mewl softly at the heat building inside your cunt, loosing an indignant whine as Javi neglects his responsibilities toward your climax.

“Gave me such a hard time today, baby,” he muses, placing a cigarette between his fingers and tossing the rest aside, “Wanna hear a fuckin’ ‘thank you Javi’ every time you come.”

His words dance around you like streetlights passing in the night, barely registering inside your disintegrating mind. How could they? With the feeling of his thighs grazing the undersides of your own, the buttons of his shirt nudging against your aching clit… how could anything else even exist?

All you can give him is an “Mhm.”

He pulls a lighter out, smirking. “‘Tough-talker ‘til this pussy’s all full, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, baby, I’m s-sorry.”

And he laughs. “Don’t say it, cariño,” he takes your hand, placing the light inside your fist. “Fuckin’ show me.”

He rolls his hips. Your weight collapses against his chest.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing you off, straightening you up before placing the cigarette between his lips, “Aaall you gotta do is light up the tip. You got it, sweetheart.”

His hands travel down to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before his fingers splay out. He spreads you open over his thighs, watching the etchings of your lust corrupt your expression as he fucks himself—slow, deep, hard strokes—inside you.

“Fu—please, Javi—I can’t, s’too much, baby—please—”

A smile, full lips parting around the dart. “S’wrong, baby?” The words are low, breathy, teasing, contorting around the smoke in his mouth. “Can’t focus?”

God, just make him happy.

It’s the only thought you seem to be able to form. His request doesn’t seem to be up for debate, either.

So, summoning every last bit of control still lingering inside you, you bring a trembling hand up to the unlit end, a string of moans and ‘Javi’s rising from your throat.

And fuck, he’s beautiful, brimming with playful passion, orange filter hanging off those pretty pink lips.

Trying to still yourself, you flick the lighter on—the flame dances between you, illuminating the expansive darkness lurking inside his gaze. It takes everything, everything you have left to light it for him, to make that white tip glow red hot, to stay steady enough, to keep from burning him.

And also, to hold your pace. That grip of steel wrapped around your hip serves as a constant reminder—

Keep taking it.

In those final moments, he picks up his pace, of course. Your simmering blood bubbles to a boil, the flutters inside your cunt graduating into pulsing throbs.

As the flame finally takes, you feel every muscle inside your core tense—when Javi inhales his first drag, you straddle the precipice of your orgasm.

Your weight falls onto his shoulder. One of his arms reaches up to ash the cigarette; the other wraps tightly around you, bouncing you against him as exhales a cloud of smoke into your hair.

“Baby—Javi, I’m coming, I’m coming, I'm c—”

Heat builds between your thighs, and as that bundle of nerves grows heavy, pulsing with the rush of your orgasm, his thrusts only deepen.

He pulls you in close.

“I know, cariño,” Javi coos, condescending into the shell of your ear, basking in the feel of your cunt near-strangling him in adoration. “Can feel you, y’know? Got such a grateful lil' pussy,” he places a kiss to the side of your neck, groaning against the soft skin. “Always lets me know how much you love having my cock buried inside it.”

As he speaks, you try to catch your breath. To come down from your high.

It doesn’t work. Not while his hips continue to grind against yours, not while cradled between his arms like his holy beloved, and especially not with his tip still pressing against every available, wanting spot on your walls.

Javi takes another long drag from the dart. “What do you say when you come, baby?”

A big, laboured inhale, and the words come out in one, rushed exhalation. “Thank you, Javi.”

He responds with a downright cocky laugh. “You’re welcome, cariño. Good girl.”

The praise… it makes you melt.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, nails grazing the skin of your scalp, he pulls you off of his chest. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the stale heat of the Jeep Cherokee.

You buck up, doing your best to keep pleasing him as he studies your devoted movements, as he leans back against the seat—groaning.

His hand—often glued to your rolling hip—provides you with only a mere hint of stability.

“That guy you were with,” he takes a drag from his cigarette, using his free hand to toy with one of your peaked nipples. “At the bar. You’d’ve done this for him?”

Your lips part, but no sound crosses the threshold of your lips. You’re dazed—still coming—and building to yet another peak. His unwillingness to move starts to ground you; the long length of every hard muscle beneath his arms, the round, bulging ridges of his shoulders… they become your salvation, places to lay your weight into. Riding him becomes second nature: you’re attuned to his rhythm and the desperate, commanding desires of your body.

Suddenly, you’re a part of him; when he exhales, the smoke creeps out of his lungs and into your own.

You burn right along with it.

He drops the still-smoking cigarette onto the seat next to your entangled bodies, bringing both his hands to rest against your dampened skin. One comes down hard, delivering a quick, harsh slap to your ass.

It would leave a mark.

“Tell me. Use that pretty mouth, hermosa. ‘Know you know how—used it—ran it all fuckin’ day.” Javi grunts, angling to bend over you, pushing into your guts as he wraps you in his arms, finally taking the burden of your weight off of your scraped up, wobbling knees. He continues on, “Tonight, too—been so easy, baby, lettin’ me put anything I want in there like a good lil' slut,” drinking in your cry of pleasure. He almost says it to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he reminisces, as your cunt begins to throb around his hardening cock once more. “You'd've done that for him, cariño?”

You swallow, trying to clear the stars dancing before your eyes, and that fuzzy sound of static. It muffles the symphony of Javi’s hoarse breaths, your own, helpless cries, and the filthy sound of skin colliding with—grinding against—skin.

He quickens, now, using you like a damn toy. Every rough thrust brings you closer to heaven; every ardent, breathtaking squeeze of his arms around your middle feels like angels sighing.

“No,” you breathe, closing your eyes. Your arms cling around his neck, fingers fanning through his thick hair—everything is him, him, him. He leans forward again, ducking down to kiss the hollow of your throat; you pull him in faithfully, moaning softly at the feel of his lips, his teeth under the valley under your jaw. “Only you.” It sounds like worship, sliding up an octave as that low ache worsens, as he compells a second climax out of your already-quivering body. “Only you, Javi.”

He growls, lips dragging up to your ear as the hairs of his mustache tease your cheekbone. “Prove it,” he breathes, deep thrusts growing even more erratic— needier, sloppier. You can barely hear him over your own noises, but he continues his gravelly coos inside your ear nonetheless. “Gimme another one, baby—wanna feel you comin' on my cock when I fill you up so fuckin' full, baby—show me that you’re mine—z’this pussy mine, hermosa?”

“Yesyesyes—oh God, y-yes—m’yours, Javi, y—”

Your legs seize as yet another release tears through your body. The skin of his neck anchors you in place, and you hang off of him like a rosary, digging your fingernails into the warmth of his flesh with every ounce of strength at your disposal.

He fucks you through your second climax, headed straight for his own.

“S-such a good girl, cariño—f-fuck—” Arms, wrapped around your waist, tighten enough to snap you in two as Javi crushes you against his chest, using the momentum of your entire, shaking body to finish himself off. He comes with a grunted “s-shit”—and you pay attention, wanting to commit the divine sound to memory. Swelling between your silken walls, Javi spills everything he could possibly give inside you.

A final, abrupt thrust, married with the non-stop, involuntary clench-and-release of your cunt works to cover every square inch of you with him.

When it’s over, the man refuses to let you part from him (not that you had any real desire to do so, anyway). A big, shaking hand keeps your head cradled in the firm crook of his neck, and he slowly, slowly softens inside you. He basks in the final, weak flutters of your cunt as you lose yourself in the smell of his cologne.

His heart hammers in his chest. You can hear it with your ear pressed to his neck. Going limp, your damp forehead rolls onto the hard roundness of his shoulder.

That aching, sore opening soaks the skin of his thighs. You shiver softly, dripping onto the base of his shaft.

“Say it, cariño,” Javi murmurs, laying a rough kiss to your temple. He runs his hands up and down your bare spine, fingers dancing along your sticky skin.

You loose a breathy laugh against his golden skin. “Thank you, Javi.”

And you pull back just in time to catch his genuine smile.

It fucking melts you. Adoration, pride… spreading like tree-roots under rich, forest soil throughout your still-heaving chest.

He rubs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, wiping clean some of the going-out makeup that had no-doubt become a total, leaking mess.

“‘Pretty when you’re nice, y'know,” he mutters, moving to cup your cheeks between his warm, hardened palms. And then he pauses, reconsidering his words. “But fuckin’ hot when you’re mean.”

A breathy giggle. “What can I say,” you whisper, trailing a few appreciative fingers up and down his forearms. “You bring out the very best in me, Peña.”

He scoffs, but smiles all the while.

Off in the distance, there’s music. Sounds of debauchery and excitement travel through the warm summer air, audible even through the closed windows. The night is alive for the rest of the city; somewhere far, far away, an engine growls, rubber tires squealing against the pull of hard pavement.

It takes him away.

Javi grasps your shoulders, pushing you up and back to effectively slide you off of his half-soft length. “I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he says, yanking his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Make sure you lock the door, alright?”

Pause.

What?

“You’re leaving?” You mirror him, hastily rearranging yourself—skinny straps find their way back above your shoulders, your short dress finds itself yanked down to its rightful place.

It’s awkward work, given the confines of the space.

The agent slips out from underneath you. He opens the door, rising from the backseat and straightening up with a groan. “Think I know where he was going,” he responds, mostly to himself. “I’m only, what…” a flip of his wrist as he checks the time, “Thiiiiiirty? Thirty-five minutes behind him?”

Before you know it, you’re bristling with irritation.

Again.

You throw your heels down on the street, unceremoniously shoving a cramping foot in each one. “Don’t be an idiot, Peña,” and you try your hand at standing, buckling slightly on a pair of Jell-o legs.

He comes around to your side, steadying you on your feet. Reflected in his deep-brown eyes is the same annoyance flashing across your own gaze. “D’you just expect me to be there, sweetheart? Z’that it? Every time your ass needs saving?”

Shame heats the soft skin of your cheeks. Your eyes trail down to the ground, volatile, incomprehensible emotions building with every passing second.

“It won’t happen again—I won’t-I won’t be so stupid, or-or—I won’t go out, anymore.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s nice 'n all, but it’s sure as shit not gonna change anything.”

When you don’t respond, when you don’t look up, his edges soften. “They went to your house, sweetheart.” With his hands on your shoulders, he implores you to see sense. “It’s either we get them or they… get you.”

You exhale, hard. “You’re being dramatic.”

That does it for him.

After an exasperated shake of his head, he’s grabbing your hands in his own, placing a set of keys in the cradle of your palm.

His tone is low, demanding, unbending. “Lock the doors.”

Then, he’s turning to leave, walking to the front of the Cherokee.

Before rounding the corner, he turns his hardened profile to the side. The glare of the building’s lights dance on his tanned skin, turning the whole scene into a sort of lucid dream.

“Y’know, you’re really starting to piss me off with this whole… utopian fantasy you’re livin’ in.” He barely even addresses you, mumbling the rest of his sentiment mostly to himself. “I’m fuckin’ tired of being the only one looking out for you.”

Utopian fantasy?

You try to dismiss him—to call him ridiculous, to throw yourself into the familiar task of poking holes in his arguments—but… you can’t. Over and over, his words rush you in waves: “the only one looking out for you” “utopian fantasy” “the only one looking out for you” “utopian—”

Suddenly, you’re on a different street. In the same clothes, and in the same body, but somewhere far, far away, facing a different man. It’s somewhere very loud, where tires and knees come to a screeching stop against cement, where the downbeat of every Latin measure is punctuated by the sound of a bullet, inscribed with your initials, ripping through the static summer air.

Panic hits you like a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t go away, either.

Not even once you’re back on Javi’s street, fossilized in amber, watching him move to the driver’s side of his Jeep.

All the fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel…

You’d forced him to shoulder it for you, instead.

But, inevitably, what goes around comes around. And he’s dropped your burden right back onto you with a few well-timed words.

Truth bares itself to you, settling heavy atop your bones like an ancient, primal wound. The result is a pair of unsteady legs, a perennial tremor in both, white-knuckled hands, and a crackling voice, resisting use.

“Javi…”

Only when you hear the sound of your own terror echoed back to you do you permit yourself to cry.

And there you stand. Disheveled, confused, broken—clothing misplaced, ruined, broken—

And you just don’t want him to leave.

Not now.

Not when you need him.

Not when you need someone.

Not when you think you’ve finally got it figured out, and especially not when you’re so damn close to speaking it into existence.

Realization. Acknowledgement. Expression.

It’s not a customary pattern, in your experience.

Javi stops in his tracks, stunned to a halt at the sheer emotion in your plea.

It stings when you clear your throat. “I just…” and you falter, strange, unfamiliar words sticking to your throat, sickly-sweet dried honey. Each vowel reverberates back to you, amplified by the acoustics of the empty street and their novelty.

Still, you’re not quite sure how he’s able to hear you, given that you can only bring yourself to speak a handful of decibels above a damn whisper.

“I’ve just never been important, Peña.”

You wipe a self-conscious hand across your face, clearing the sea-salt from below your downcast eyes.

Before you’re able to put a stop to it—it all comes rushing out. Averting his gaze, you ramble on in agitation.

“Not beyond being a-a pair of hands to make fucking photocopies—or as the butt of some sort of “prissy receptionist” joke or even just as some—as-as a kind of fucking challenge to men—men like you, Javier—because I… well, because I’m mean, and I-I guess it’s just fun for everyone to see how far they can take it before—before I…” You give your head a fervent shake, trying to reel yourself back in, trying to close off the monologue.

But the cracks had formed, and with nowhere to go, the mounting pressure of the seven seas washes away the rest of your weakened dam.

The agent can't even get a word in.

“Anyways, that’s-that's not the point. The point is that it just… it didn’t seem possible that anyone in this whole fucking country would even think twice about me—even if it was just to… to kill me…”

A lump forms, lodging behind your larynx.

You start to rush.

“So I really am sorry that I acted like such an asshole, but none of this makes a fucking lick of sense to me—I’m-I’m a secretary, for fuck’s sakes—I’m nothing, no one, I’m not—” and then you’re frantic—

The gunshots, the tires, the music, the spark plug, a Camino—

“Just please, don’t go, don’t—I-I know you’re mad, just—please, just don’t—”

It’s impossible to catch your breath. Every heaved sob racks your lungs, shaking you all the way down to your buckling knees.

You want to turn, to run and hide, to fling yourself into oncoming traffic—anything to end the interminable humiliation you couldn’t seem to keep from putting on display in front of Javier Peña.

And shit. No man could see a woman in the same way after this. No man would care for a woman like this, destroyed and pathetic and—

“Oh, cariño—”

And he’s there.

Those arms—so used to taking—they wrap you up, pulling you into the heat of his body, protecting you from the pointed echoes of laughter and song breezing through the night air. Those hands, the ones that bruised, slapped, grabbed—they hold—the right unburdens you of your oppressive weight, pressed flat against the small of your back. His left cradles the back of your head, laying your temple to the side of his throat.

“You’ve always been important to me, sweetheart.”

His soft murmurs tumble down your spine. That smoky breath envelops you; it reminds you of those blankets in the movies—the ones that the firemen hand out after the disaster’s over, the survivors rescued. In the denouement.

“S’okay, S’okay. I’m sorry, baby, alright? I’m not mad, cariño, it’s okay.”

Running his fingers through your hair, supporting your head like a delicate, sacred object, murmuring comforts against the softest parts of your neck—Javi goes on and on. Despite the frequent shifts between Spanish and English, you manage to catch the main gist of his crooning.

“I could never be mad at you, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad, cariño.”

“And I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

After an eternity, you feel calm enough to pull away. You’re a wreck, gazing up at him with big, silver-lined eyes.

And it’s then that you see him.

That you really see him.

The concern, the anguish, the affection… You’d punished him for doing the very thing that you were incapable of doing.

Protecting you.

Caring for you.

As tears continue to leak from your eyes, you take note of his beauty. Not just of his looks, but also in the sheer power radiating from him, towering like a knight over you. In those capable, caring hands—hands that had torn others apart, that had put you back together—there was beauty in them, too.

You wipe your face dry.

And you soften your tone, aiming to lighten the mood. “Stop trying to get in my pants, Peña." A sniffle. "I don’t sleep with cops.”

He rolls his eyes, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know,” he cups your face, drying the final, lingering remnants of your melt-down off your cheeks, “I waited outside that fuckin’ bar for hours tonight. Just in case.”

Oh.

God, you’d never even bothered to think about how he’d gotten to you so quickly.

Of course he’d been there.

That truth feels… warm.

He goes on. “Watched you… saw you with that guy.” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Had to look away when you came outside. S’why it… took a minute. To get there.”

That has your gaze trailing off, eyes cast down in shame, studying the worn-in rubber on the Jeep’s tires.

It would have never worked, anyway. There wasn’t a man on Earth who could ween your mind off of this one.

With the pad of his thumb against your chin, he brings you back to him. Javi commands your full attention with the just the sincerity of his stare.

“Even when you want nothin’ to do with me... I’m there, alright? I’m here, baby.”

Those eyes… softened with affection, hardened with conviction. Javier always had a way of straddling both worlds at once.

He waits for your signal, your quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then, he’s kissing you—softly. Fingers curling around his forearms, you borrow his strength to keep yourself from swooning. He holds your face as tenderly as he caresses your lips, and with every synced inhalation, he speaks yet another unspoken word into existence.

After giving you enough to make you feel whole again, he pulls away.

With his great-big-palm to your cheek, he says everything you need to hear.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

—

part 3

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmood @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @totallynotastanacc @dzaga890 @swedishscumfuck @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @jazzerbelle14

—

Officer Officer Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer No, I wouldn't do a thing like that, that's for sure The house was already on fire, I swear I'm not a liar (Well) I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking Tell me, do you always work alone so late? Gosh, I'm a little shy standing here in my night gown Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on?

Looking at me, then suddenly

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer You can ask me anything you want Anything, anything

Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger Well, that's interesting Have you ever thought of dating a singer?

The flames are getting higher So is my desire It's kind of exciting Don't you think?

Then suddenly he's uncuffing me

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I can be the bad girl I'm getting you so hot You can be the good guy Tell him please stop

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

You can be the good guy (Officer) I'm in love Tell him please Stop (Officer) (Officer) You can be the good good (Officer) I'm in love Love in a hurricane

—

#Javier Peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal smut #javier peña x y/n #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos

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kizzer55555 · 6 months

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DPxDC: Jarro Adopts an Alien

Ok, so Danny has a space obsession and a protection obsession (I headcanon that as a halfa, Danny has two obsessions like all Halfas do which makes them unique to other ghosts.) and so while he can get his fill protecting people in Amity, he struggles with his space obsession. Sure, he can look up everything he can about space and the stars on the internet. He can stay up until 2 am looking at the stars (who needs sleep? He’s a ghost, he can go days, or even weeks without sleep if he wants, same with a lack of air or food.) but it’s just not enough. He craves to learn more, see more. Just as Dani gets that itch to travel, Danny wonders. What would it be like to see the stars up close? Are they really as hot as a dragons fire breath? Hotter!? Or maybe they are so hot they are cold. What does it look like to see plasma dancing across the surface, or touch the gasses of Jupiter? Does Pluto have ice caves like the far frozen? How many planets are actually out there? What about Mars. There’s a whole species living there with a language and culture Danny can’t even fathom! Oh what he wouldn’t give to talk with martian manhunter or Superman.

And what’s stopping him from exploring this? He can fly. He doesn’t need air. He can go intangible if it gets too hot and he’s practically immune to the cold. He wants to touch a space rock! See if they are smooth because there is no wind or earth to rub against them and erode the surface. He wants to see what planets they come from. What minerals they might have. He wants to know if there are currents in space. All of these things are right there just above the atmosphere. Surely it couldn’t hurt to take a quick peek. So he does. During a particularly bad day Danny flies as fast as he can until the earth’s gravity looses its effects. Until his hair is floating as of it’s in water even more than normal. Until he can feel when breathing no longer became a choice (still not necessary though). And it…was beautiful. To be surrounded by space. To see the earth like this. Pictures just didn’t do it Justice. He flew across the solar system and as he passed planets, he longed to fly through them. To search every crevice and learn their secrets. But he had a bigger prize in mind at the moment. The crown jewel of their universe. The closest star he could find. The sun.

Danny was mesmerized. The plasma really did dance across the surface. Like a never ending performance of science and beauty. There were sparks that few in arcs. Danny flew down and played in them, making a game to see how many he could fly under. His ghost core purred in delight. His obsession had never been more satisfied. He spent hours out there. Just exploring what his solar system had to offer. So when he returned? He couldn’t just forget. Pictures and online science theories had nothing on the real thing. He wanted to explore some more. So he did. Every night he would go out and explore the cosmos. Flying from planet to planet. (Either the Martians were still around and Danny made friends with them, even learning their language, or he just looks at their ruins to learn as much as he can). And with both obsessions now being filled, Danny is more settled. More confident. And he can focus better. Everyone notices the change, even his teachers. They just think that he’s paying more attention to his education now. He’s even better during his ghost fights.

But Danny can fly awfully fast. And he soaks up information even faster. Soon his trips take longer and longer as he flies further out. Sometimes he can barely make it back in time for school. And he can't go every night. Sometimes the ghosts won’t wait for daytime so he has to make sure the town will be safe in his absence. Although he’s been able to take more trips ever since Valerie joined the vigilante ranks. But still, he’s getting farther and farther from earth each night. Until one day he’s visited every planet, every star, every comet or debris in their solar system. Which would be fine. He could deal with that if that was all there was. But it wasn’t. Danny saw the stars just out of reach. He saw places the Milky Way was leaning towards. He saw just the barest hints of new solar systems with new planets and stars. And he knew of legends from lanterns that they had posted online. Heard tales from some scientists that have made better telescopes. And his core itches. It aches to know more. See more. Yet he can't go further. And this puts him in a sort of depression. Suddenly he’s back to his old self. Lagging behind. Distracted. Zoning out. Crashing into a few more buildings during ghost attacks. Yet he tries so hard to be satisfied with what he has. He can still fulfill his obsession…it’s just more like chewing on a granola bar rather than eating a decent meal. He’s almost becoming lethargic.

So one day he goes to Frostbite to see if there’s anything he can do to lessen the effects. But the yeti just takes one look at him and gives him the infimap. And suddenly Danny is in a whole new universe in seconds. The planets are purple. The stars are blue. He’s pretty sure there are furry blob-like creatures living on one of those planets. And suddenly he gets that itch, but holding the infimap, he knows he had time, so he lets himself go.

And for a while it’s good. great even. Since he can’t keep asking the yetis for the infimap, he goes over to Wulf to see if he’s up for an adventure. Most of the time he is and they go exploring the galaxies together. And then Wulf had the genius idea of teaching Danny how to make portals. It took a long time but soon, he could concentrate the surrounding ectoplasm enough to weaken it and pull. It took a while since Danny didn’t have ecto claws and would have to use his pure will. But this would allow him to follow his obsession anytime, anywhere. So it was only a matter of time. And once he figured it out? It was like something was unlocked. Danny had never before understood how Ellie could travel so much. But now he did. That feeling when you discover something new. When you add to your reservoir of knowledge. When the patterns in the universe just click. There is nothing Danny could compare it to. And to explore that whenever he wanted? It was so freeing. While Wulf sometimes still joined Danny’s adventures, Danny did most of his explorations by himself.

He meets various planets and aliens. So many different cultures. He learns thousands of languages. Tries all kinds of foods (and it’s a good thing his ghost self has an iron stomach and he’s basically poison resistant.) even found a whole comet where blood blossoms grew. (Which he most definitely avoided). And wasn’t that fascinating? To find out they were from space.

And then during his travels one day he met a space alien starfish.

It was actually a funny story. A meteor shower was about to attack a planet of talking blue monkey creatures with 4 arms. Danny immediately started diverting them and was soon joined by some lantern corps (which his inner fanboy wanted to talk to so bad.). And a tiny starfish in a…Robin uniform? Oh and the starfish could apparently do martial arts which was interesting to watch him karate chop a meteor. He could also talk directly into Danny’s head which the halfa found more interesting. So they got to talking and apparently his name was Jarro. He seemed to be helping the lantern corps as a ‘proxy from earth’ to make better use of his skills.

Danny would run into Jarro a few more times. Sometimes he was with Lanterns and sometimes he would just be exploring the galaxies. They started forming a pretty strong friendship and Danny would start seeking out the starfish alien to travel with him. He knew all kinds of space facts. Apparently he had an eidetic memory. When they explored, sometimes Jarro would just stick to part of Danny. Wrapped around his arm, his waist, sometimes just sticking to his back like a strange backpack. But they always had fun.

So Danny was happy. He could fulfill both obsessions and got a space pal. Everything was great!

Until the GIW caught him.

It would probably be the worst day of his life. There was an explosion in the lab. Something set up by them after they realized Danny frequented that place often. So they set a trap and blew it up. Thankfully, Jazz was at college during this but both his parents were home. When the explosion went off, Danny had tried putting a Barrier around them all. It took everything he had to maintain it. That’s how they found out he was phantom. Danny had a few moments where his parents said they accepted him but he couldn’t hold the barrier for long. His parents said that they loved him and then everything went green. He woke up in a lab, tired and injured. His only saving grace being that he remained in phantom form. And he was determined to remain so.

Danny’s time at the GIW was a haze but eventually, he managed to escape. Bleeding, and tired, and still recovering from the burns in the explosion, Danny made a portal straight to Amity. Only when he got there, it was a ghost town. Streets were empty, buildings were boarded up. Even the Nasty Burger was deserted. As for his house, there was nothing but a crater left and some scattered debris. Danny looked everywhere but there was no one. No Jazz. No Sam. No Tucker. No one. and he was tired. And everything hurt, and he needed a friend. Someone he could trust. So in a daze he made a portal and tried to just project safe. Safe safe safe. Somewhere he knew he would be protected. And so Jarro got a surprise when his space buddy suddenly popped out of a green portal, bleeding green and clearly passed out. He didn't know what to do. He didn’t know how to help him. But Jarro knew someone who would.

So with a speed never before seen from a tiny starfish, he flew to earth. Bringing his friend straight to his father. Because surely batman could help!

And with his appearance, the green blood, the knowledge of space facts. The lack of wanting to talk about where he came from (and the nightmares crying out for his parents). This is how the bats became convinced that Jarro brought them an injured alien.

#Dpxdc #dcxdp #Kizzer55555 ideas #Danny has space and protection obsession.#Danny can make portals.#Good parents Fenton. But they die. (Sorry.)#Danny and Jarro are space brothers #The bats think Danny is an alien. Danny is unaware of this. Actually Danny is unconscious. He’s not aware of anything.#Danny is very confused why he wakes up in a mansion with a billionaire.#Amity Parkers have slowly been moving away because of ghost attacks. But at the time it was manageable.#When the Fentons house exploded and caused the first casualties everyone evacuated. Making Amity basically get shut down.#Amity becomes a literal ghost town.#Jazz Sam and Tucker think Danny died in the explosion.#Jazz was actually there. She got caught in the edge of the portal explosion which wasn’t as powerful as the core of the blast.#Instead of killing her it changed her into a halfa. So now she has to figure out new ghost powers while processing the death of her family.#(She is put into foster care where she meets a certain speedster that also has red hair.)#Ellie learns of Amity but keeps traveling. She hates staying in one place and focusing on her obsession helps her grieve.#(Her other obsession is family.)#Jazz has never met Ellie.

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orshii · 1 month

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☣︎Whispers of The Darkened Mist☣︎

☣︎ Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader ☣︎ Word count: 8,8 k ☣︎ Warnings ☣︎ - cursing, mentions of death, injury, mentions of blood, suggestive

☣︎ Summary: The world is shrouded in a dark, venomous mist that makes survival nearly impossible. Alone and hunted by other desperate survivors, you were on the brink of giving up. But then, Kim Hongjoong's fearsome crew found you. Though Hongjoong seemed intimidating and distant at first, he secretly cared for you, even if he didn’t show it. Now, in a world where betrayal could mean the difference between life and death, will you be able to trust each other enough to survive?

Or will hidden tensions tear you apart before the world does?

☣︎ A/N: I would've never thought I was going to write something like this lol. This is really the first time for me. This is totally new territory for me and I tried my best istg, idk it just happened. Actually, it started because I dreamt about this world and I woke up saying I have to write something with this. I don't know if it even makes sense but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing and I hope it's not so confusing, lmk. Also sorry for the mistakes I am really trying. I might return to this world with the other members *wink wink* (divider)

The world went quiet. Darkness embraced the streets and buildings, creating a bubble around the earth that whispered danger. The streets were empty along with the fields that were supposed to be full of wildflowers. But everything was black, it looked like hungry flames consumed the planet, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. The planet became more and more harder to survive for humans, they needed to adapt to the odd situation that came with not being able to breathe fresh air for too long.

The air was tainted with alchemical toxins, giving humans only a few minutes to find shelter where the air was filtered and cleaner than the toxic atmosphere outside.

It was tough, people's freedom was taken away the day when simultaneous terrorist attacks occurred worldwide. That we call the Black Day since. They filled the air with nuclear gas that came in the form of black smoke, which blinded the people immediately, because of how dense the smoke looked. Being too much in the smoke makes people feel dizzy, like they are a little drunk, feeling intoxicated from the venomous air spreading in their lungs like rivers all around a map. If the ones that were in the smoke for more than five minutes without a mask, their days ended for good. Specialized masks prevent the gas from getting into your lungs, but those are hard to get, and if you are not that lucky to somehow provide one for yourself, you are doomed. It's breaking into a lab that has a lot of these types of masks—but these are rare to find—or it's killing someone that has the mask.

This is the game of survivor. But this time it's not just a game.

It's already five years, five years of the world being in infinite darkness, the sun was already a forgotten phenomenon. More than half of the population was gone. No one could expect something like this. People who were still here were the strongest kind, it's not easy to survive five years in a world that was doomed for eternity. The world changed completely, it wasn't the type of survival where people needed to work to get money and to buy everyday necessities. It was the type of survival when people needed to fight for the things they needed, to search every inch of the cities that were ruined into specks of dust so they could find some supplies that they needed to survive.

If you were alone, you had no chance. People usually gathered together, because it was easier to survive along with others than being alone in the big and dark world that held only surprises for you. Being alone in the wild is like you are prey that has nowhere to run. People hunt for the lost ones because they have nothing better to do.

I had luck. A crew of random people found me on the top of a building unconscious, where I ran up to find shelter away from the smoke that was spreading through the air. In the beginning, there were places where the smoke still did not reach, it was spreading slowly, and after trying to survive for five months alone, being tired of the constant running away from the toxic air, that haunted me even in my nightmares. I stopped. I was on the verge of giving up. I was ready to let the fog consume me, to eat my soul and take me to a better place.

I was almost there, I could see the sun above me, which was beaming at me, embracing me in a tight and warm hug. I felt like finally I could rest and leave this world behind in peace.

But there was nothing like the sun above me and the warmth I felt was hands around me that pulled me up from the dirty ground on the top of a building that was so high, I could feel the warm beam of the sun.

That was the last time I felt the warmth of the sun. Since then, I had already forgotten how it felt and how the sky looked like when the sun was rising or setting down. The people who came to that exact building when I wanted to give up, slowly became my family. Felt like it was destiny. It needed to happen. It was a sign from life, that whispered I should fight until my last breath. And from that day, I decided I was not going to give up.

Kim Hongjoong was the leader of the crew. They saved me that day, Hongjoong lifted me into his arms and they took me to their base so I could survive. His sharp eyes were staring into mine when I was in a haze, trying to perceive what was happening. While I was recovering, I constantly saw his face in my dreams.

Surviving wasn't in my plan, those five months were torture, the worst days of my life, I had no food, and I needed to kill a little squirrel someday to get some strength from its meat. I needed to do a lot of things I could've never imagined I was capable of doing. The worst was when I needed to kill a woman, that had the mask I desperately needed.

This was life. To survive you need to do everything, and when our survivor instincts turn on, we can't turn them off. We become unstoppable and we lose our humanity. It drives us crazy until we can't think clearly. That was when I thought it was better if I gave up. But when they found me and did not let me die there, I realized, it wasn't my choice to die, if destiny wanted me to survive, then I was going to fight until my last breath. I owed my life to these people and one day I might get the opportunity to pay them back.

In theory, it was Kim Hongjoong who brought me to their base; it was his decision. But as the others later told me, he intended to leave me there to die. He argued that I wasn't their problem and wanted to abandon me. However, the others insisted on checking if I was still alive. Hongjoong was prepared to leave me behind, but the others refused, so he had no choice but to take me with them.

And since that day they became my family. Even though Hongjoong hated me for some reason, probably because he did not want someone new in their crew back then—especially a girl—he did some things that made me believe he did not hate me. For example, when they found me, he was the one who took me to their base in his arms—because he did not let anyone else do it.

Or times when it was my turn to explore an unknown sector of the city, Hongjoong never let me go alone. He always sent Wooyoung with me because of his exceptional archery skills—his arrows never missed their mark. Wooyoung was there to protect me if anything went wrong, and Hongjoong made sure I was safe at all times, even though he pretended not to care about me. At first, Hongjoong seemed unapproachable, with his strong charisma and the aura of a true leader. He was the reason everyone survived, always involving us in his plans and valuing our opinions. He was prepared for every possible outcome.

There were times when some strangers attacked our base because we had just been to collect the supplies along with some important masks we needed for survival. People knew about us; we were a strong unbreakable team and it was hard to break through.

And when they attacked us, it was a usual night. We were sleeping.

They managed to kill one of us. I am never going to forget that horrible day. It was a girl, who we saved just two weeks ago. I saw myself in her, he was as broken as me when they first found me on the top of that building. But when we found the girl, her eyes were shining and it was full of hope and with want of surviving, not like mine back then.

After the night they attacked us, we started to be more careful and did not trust anyone. People are here to survive; it was not a game where we could make allies with anyone. If you want to survive, you just destroy everything that comes your way. And that is why our world looks like it was destroyed by an army that looked never-ending, just to leave ashes behind.

Hongjoong always sent me out with Wooyoung, he was good at covering someone and letting you know if there were any dangers around you. Wooyoung's charisma was captivating and he radiated happiness in this sad empire. Wooyoung's nickname was The Hawk because he had eyes like a hawk. Sometimes when I wanted to tease him, I called him pigeon and he always pouted with his rosy lips with folded arms saying he is not a pigeon.

Wooyoung became my best friend since the first day Hongjoong sent us on a mission together. He taught me a lot of survival tactics and he even showed me how to use the bow. He was the closest to me, he was like my brother who I had not seen way before the Black Day, just like my family, and it hurt, it was like losing a piece of me, that belonged to my family. It is the worst when you don't know if they survived or not if they are in a better place or outside the cruel world trying to survive. I did not know which one was better.

We were in our bunker that was deep in the ground. This was the base of ours, where we could breathe, well—fresher air here than outside. It was built of concrete, the walls were huge and cold, and some pillars kept the weight of the building deep in the heart of the ground.

The huge hall where we were sitting, echoed the voice of Kim Hongjoong, our leader. He was standing in the middle of the room, us surrounding him. He was wearing his usual black fur coat, his black hair cut short, and his undercut as sharp as his jawline as I watched his side profile while he was speaking. With a lot of jewelry hanging from his ear, he looked intimidating and I would have given up instantly if I had run into him randomly on the empty streets. He was an interesting man. I have known him since they saved me, but he surprises me with every passing day. He was protective over his people; he would do anything for the ones who stood by him and followed him along this dark and bumpy road we were on.

I always respected him; five years is long. Our relationship was like a roller-coaster through the years. We had some times when we hated each other, and he made my stay a lot more difficult, as he always made me feel like I did not belong there. Like it was a mistake saving me. But also, there were times when he acted weird. This overprotectiveness of his came out a lot recently. And I did not know what to do with him. I couldn't yet figure him out. He was like a deep ocean full of secrets, some beasts lurking around in the dark. Kim Hongjoong was a monster and it was hard to quell him down. Especially if you betrayed him.

Like that one time, one year ago, when those people broke into our base and killed that innocent girl. It turned out there was a traitor between us. Someone betrayed us by allying with the enemy and revealing the location of our base—or so they thought. When we managed to eliminate them all, their leader, the last one standing, warned us to find Judas among us, then took his own life.

I have never seen Hongjoong like this. The veins on his forehead were visible, as he was shouting at us to tell him who betrayed us and whose fault was the girl's death. He was wearing his usual leather vest as he downed a glass of whiskey that flew down both sides of his neck, making him look like he was psychotic. His hands were still bloody from the fighting just like his face with some red stitches on it. He was furious, he trusted these people he called his family, but someone betrayed him and he went mad. Seonghwa, his best friend and our medic, tried to calm him down, but Hongjoong just pushed him away shouting at him to leave him alone. His best friend looked at him wide-eyed not recognizing the best friend he respected so much.

Seonghwa was already part of the crew when they took me in. He once saved Hongjoong's life, and ever since, Hongjoong promised to protect him if Seonghwa used his medical skills to help their people. Seonghwa was a calm and composed guy, never showing anger or sadness. He took his work very seriously and saved many of us over the years. Though he seemed cold, his charisma was rooted in deep care—his sole purpose was to save lives.

Then Hongjoong faced me. And I froze. It was like he was pointing a gun at me and I was just a little lost bunny in the depths of the forest.

"You," He pointed at me, his eyes shooting daggers right into my eyes, making them invisibly bleed. He slowly walked towards me. "You did this, didn't you?" He looked like a predator, and my heart started to beat fast afraid of getting caught. When he was standing in front of me, I avoided his gaze. If I had looked into his eyes, I might have started to cry, because I was terrified. Then I had no choice but to look into his eyes, because something sharp lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. It was his knife with a wooden handle.

I was just staring back at his eyes, and when I did not say anything, he pushed me into the room behind me with a force suddenly I saw black dots in my vision. And it wasn't better when he pushed me against the cold concrete wall, his veiny hands around my neck. The air was knocked out of my lungs and I tried to scrape his hands off my throat, but there was no point, he was much stronger than me.

"You have one second to explain, then I'm going to kill you with my bare hands." He hissed through his teeth, close to my face, his hands getting tighter around my throat.

I tried to breathe, but it was impossible, there was no way air could go through his hands that were chains around my neck. I tried to speak. "M-mfb" Some noises came out of my mouth but made no sense.

"Try harder, sweetheart." His hands squeezed more and my mouth fell open, his lips almost brushing mine. I looked at him wide-eyed, I was ready to die in between the arms that saved me.

But I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. "M-m my br-brother." The words stumbled out as a whisper, the air long gone from my lungs, his face close to mine was blurry as black dots appeared next to his black figure hovering over me.

Then a sudden wave of air hit me in the face like I was in the ocean and the waves crushed me against the sharp cliff that stubbed my lungs. I fell on the floor, on my knees, supporting myself with my hands, breathing heavily as I coughed blood on the floor. My lungs were full of air, yet I still couldn't breathe, I was on the verge of fainting. But I needed to explain.

"Th-they told me, they have my brother." I looked at the dusty ground I was kneeling on, as a tear fell from my eyes, the bloody dust getting wet from my teardrops. I looked up at him, I still felt his hands around my throat as he was standing further from me, leaning against a table. "But I did not tell them, where our base was, Hongjoong, please, believe me." My voice cracked as I looked up at him with begging eyes. "They must have followed me when we met at the bridge, I wasn't careful enough, forgive me." I tilted my head down; I couldn't look into his eyes full of disappointment and disgust.

He pushed himself off the table and approached my sobbing figure on the floor. I only saw his shoes in front of me. "I should kill you, sweetheart. How did you even believe them? Did I teach you to believe anything they say to you?" He kneeled, lifting my chin with his fingers.

I shook my head. "But I thought I saw him, that is why I followed them. I don’t even know what I was thinking, he could be dead, but I just hoped it was really him. And when they caught me, they promised they were going to let my brother choose if he wanted to come with me. But they wanted masks in exchange. I would do anything for my brother Hongjoong and you know that so well." I looked at him desperately.

“I know, you would even betray us,” He grabbed my cheeks and lifted my head straight to his face.

“No! I would never, just listen to me, please…” I looked up with tears in my eyes.

"What happened after?" His thumb traced over my cheek to wipe away my desperate tears.

"Then I told them I wanted to see my brother to make sure it was him—it wasn't him. So, I told them the deal was not valid anymore. They did not want to hear it, so they captured me and did not let me go. But I managed to escape, that was why I was late the other day from my exploring when you were so mad at me for staying out for so long…" I looked down at my hands on my lap, still kneeling on the floor, Hongjoong listening to me carefully, his expression getting softer but still angry. "I'm so sorry Hongjoong, you know I would never betray you and the others. You are my family, I know I made a big mistake, but for a moment I believed it was for real my brother, I was blinded by my feelings." Tears flowed down both my cheeks as I said with a weak voice, my gaze still on my hands.

"I'm glad we killed all of them." He said simply as I snapped my head up. "You should have told me though, you know you can tell me anything, sweetheart." He whispered cupping my cheeks.

"I-I know, but…I felt embarrassed of how naïve I was, they tricked me so easily, I don't want it to happen again." I wanted to be stronger, and the more I was with them, the stronger I became. "And that girl…she died because of me." I buried my face into my hands as I sobbed she was going to hunt me in my nightmares for eternity.

Hongjoong carefully withdrew my hands from my face to look into his eyes. "Sometimes we need sacrifices so we can learn from our mistakes. It happened, now we are moving forward, and you become stronger. Will you promise me?" His hands reached towards my black hair to tuck a string of hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing down on my red neck, his handprint fully visible on my skin, which is going to be red and blue reminding me of the mistake I made. I deserved it because an innocent girl died because of me.

I nodded. "I promise."

"Forgive me." He whispered suddenly. At first, I didn't know why he was apologizing but then his gaze was on my neck that mirrored perfectly the print of his hands around it.

"I deserved it," I whispered as he leaned down to kiss the redness.

"You deserve the world." He whispered in between warm pecks on my neck.

But the world was doomed anyway.

Since that day, I have become stronger. I did not let people fool me, to lead me towards the wrong way. Hongjoong's words echoed through my mind every time I needed strength, every time I felt like I might give up.

As we watched Hongjoong stand in the middle of the hall echoing his low voice, his black fur coat almost reaching the ground as he was wearing a black leather vest paired with black pants, the flashbacks from that night echoed through my mind as sometimes I still felt his hands around my long-healed neck. I always felt the urge to trace my fingers through my skin to calm myself down a little.

"We need to secure Sector 1 and Sector 2. Yesterday our exploring team said we are being watched again. We might have to move from here if we can't protect this base." Hongjoong turned around to look into every person's eye, who eagerly listened to Hongjoong's commanding words, then his eyes settled on mine and landed on my fingers that were on my neck. He must have noticed as it became a habit of mine and he seemed it bothered him. "Sectors 1 and 2 are around us, we need to set traps and even bombs, to slow the enemy." He averted his gaze quickly away from me as he continued.

It was funny how people were fighting against each other when it would be much easier to ally with each other and find a solution to this venomous fog that surrounds us all the time, like our nightmares that won't leave us since the Black Day.

"I can go to Sector 2 with Jongho!" San volunteered immediately.

"That sector is big, you are going to need help. I'm coming with you!" I said immediately as I knew that sector just as the back of my hand.

Hongjoong turned in my direction and looked at me sharply. "You are staying here!" He pointed at me.

"I explored that sector before; I can help them." I stepped closer to Hongjoong determined.

"We need you here on the base, Y/N! And this is my command!" His voice came out demanding as he hovered over me.

"Actually," I heard a voice coming from behind. "Y/N could really help us, we haven't been there once with Jongho, it's a new territory."

My eyes bored into Hongjoong's trying to convince him to let me go with them, as his eyes snapped between my eyes from left to right. "I want you to stay by my side, sweetheart." He whispered so the others wouldn't hear what he said his expressions seemed like he was worried.

"It's going to be okay; we did this a lot of times, we go out quickly, doing the usual and I'll come back to you, I promise. They need me out there Hongjoong." I looked up at him sounding confident, but deep down in my heart I was always afraid of going out, anything could go wrong.

He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair frustrated. "Okay, but Yunho is going with you!" He shouted so the others could hear him and they started to move to get ready. I wanted to turn to help the others pack but I felt a hand catching my wrist.

"It's not safe now out there, everyone wants our base and everything we have. Be quick, I need you here. I-I mean we—we need you here." He stuttered at the end as he scratched his nape a little shy. Wait a minute. The scary Kim Hongjoong who almost killed me, was shy?

"Oh, you need me, Kim Hongjoong?" I teased him as I bit my lower lip lifting my eyebrows.

"Shut up and go!" He said as his lips curved up barely visible.

"Now you want me to go or stay? I can't quite figure it out—" I said smiling at him pretending to be confused. I loved to tease him.

Then his hands were suddenly on my waist as he pulled me flash against his body. "I want you to go and come back to me." He whispered onto my parted lips his last word was like an arrow that landed right on my heart, making it bleed with a new feeling I had never felt before.

"Don't worry, you can't get rid of me that easily, Kim Hongjoong," I said close to his lips as I looked deeply into his eyes then pecked his right cheek and turned around leaving a stunned Hongjoong in the middle of the hall.

We started to pack some things we needed, especially weapons. Mingi was in charge of the weapons, he always knew what kind of gun or knife suited you. His charisma was always foolish a little, his eyes always bored into your soul and made you tell him everything. He was a reliable person. Yeosang on the other hand, who was responsible for the food, was a little cold, his charisma seemed nice, but I never had the chance to talk with him. He came with Mingi three years ago and he only opened up to him. Something very traumatic must have happened to them.

We were jumping over pieces of buildings and wrecked cars on the streets, our gas masks on as we were heading towards sector two. While discovering the sector with Yunho, San, and Jongho, we set off some traps so that if someone passes, they are doomed.

When we finished setting the traps we wandered a little out of that sector, and found ourselves in an unknown sector. We wanted to turn back immediately but then Yunho saw a 12-passenger plane. It was white and cute and Yunho wanted to drive it. He was not a pilot, in fact, he had no driver's license. But we somehow trusted in him and we knew it was a very important tool in discovering the city more. We needed it and Yunho was a guy, who was just naturally good at everything. His charisma was like sunshine that can turn into a storm rather quickly.

As he managed to turn it on without any difficulties, we pushed it to a clearing so it could fly, we settled into the seats and buckled in. I was sitting next to Yunho in the pilot seats, he checked the buttons if they were working or not, he was a very sweet guy.

Until some point.

He came with his lover, Hana, they were running away from the smoke when Hongjoong offered shelter for them. There was this one time when someone attacked his lover while we were out to explore the district we were in. As I said people are willing to kill for the masks we were wearing. They just wanted the mask and it happened to be Hana's.

The ones who attacked did not make it. Yunho killed all four of them with his bare hands until they couldn't move anymore. We had no chance to help, it happened in a blink of an eye.

Since that day I knew it wasn't good to play with Yunho's nerves. The girl was his weak point and he did anything to keep her safe.

Behind me in the passenger seats was San, who was a very buffed man, with wide shoulders and an intimidating charisma, everyone feared him who came his way, but in reality, he was just a cute guy, who loved to call Wooyoung pigeon as well. On the other side of the plane, Jongho, San's brother was sitting. He was also very muscular and carried a hammer as his weapon. Despite his imposing appearance, his charisma was sweeter than intimidating, unlike his brother's. Jongho was a man who did not speak a lot, he was similar to Yeosang, they both just observed from far away, but still coped with us easily.

The Choi brothers were unstoppable. They were the strongest links in the chain we created. Sometimes when the siblings bickered together it reminded me of my relationship with my brother and I felt jealous of them because they were there for each other, they could protect the other, but I just couldn't do it with my brother because I did not know where he was. Back then when I thought I saw my brother, hope blinded me until I was in danger. I could never let that happen. Not in this cruel world.

"It's pilot Yunho, welcome on board, we are getting off the ground in ten seconds," Yunho murmured into the microphone that was surprisingly working. We laughed at his bickering and breathed in when the machine started to move. The next thing I knew was us being up in the sky, flying through the black smog that was floating in the air constantly. My jaw dropped as I looked down, where I could barely get the shapes of the destroyed city, the buildings fallen apart, remains lying on the ground unmoving, the streets full of abandoned cars, and no living creatures in sight. I was in shock; it was totally a different point of view. As I looked further and further, as long as the fog let us. It looked horrible. Dystopian. Like it was a game where they dropped you into an abandoned city and you needed to survive. But sadly, it was not a game.

As we reached the end of the city heading towards our base, we spotted the ocean. We didn't even know we were next to an ocean the fog did not let us see it, it came in handy—maybe we could travel with ships, so we wouldn't meet with unpleasant people along the way.

Everyone was in silence as we tried to take in the view that wasn't the best in our lives. I looked down at the beach where I spotted a figure running, it looked like it was a girl, because her hair was flowing behind her and he was holding a gun wearing all black. I was so distracted watching her, that I did not notice the strange noises the plane made.

"What is happening?" San asked his voice getting worried.

"Don't worry, I can handle it," Yunho said as his face was focused, pushing some buttons on the console. He had no idea what he was doing.

"Oh my God we are going to die." Jongho's voice came from behind panicked.

I looked down, we were quite far away from the safe land, and my heart started to beat fast. There was no way it was going to end like this.

As Yunho pushed some buttons, it seemed the engine got to its full power again, and we released a sigh we all held on to that. But then suddenly the engine fully stopped and we didn't even have time to process what was happening. Only hold for our dear life, and pray to the Gods to save us. I looked at Yunho panicked who tried to control the plane to at least land in the ocean—which was safer than the dry land.

Then Yunho held my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to witness my own death. The next moment, I felt the collapse. It was overwhelming—an explosion of colors, and then everything went black.

The Black Day.

I was heading to my flat with my best friend from work after a tiring day when the chaos started. While we discussed with my best friend what kind of movie should we watch, that was the first time we heard the sirens. It was low and whispered danger. We did not pay much attention to it, as there were days when the city made some tests with these sirens.

But when we saw people run around panicked, my best friend held onto my arm, not wanting to let me go. Especially when the guards with scary big gas masks separated us, saying everyone needed to go to their district. I still remember the face of my best friend, when we cried trying to hold onto each other, she was heartbroken as we both cried, promising we were going to find each other. I never saw my best friend again.

When the guards told me to go home, I was lost. I wasn't in my hometown. My family lived miles away from me. I couldn't go home and see my family. I was a college student and it was my second year in university. I barely went home, because my family lived far away and I needed to work to pay my bills. It was hard not seeing my family only once a month.

But when I got close up with strange people in a crowded room, I have never felt that lost. I didn't know what to do and what was even happening. Then the people with the gas masks on came back and dragged us into a school bus to take us into an improvised survivor camp, where they only enlisted young and ambitious people. If there were children or old women, they transported them somewhere else and we never found out where they took them.

When the masked men told us what happened in the world and what are we doing there, I was full of anger and felt like I could burn the whole world down. Just as half of the population thought. And this is why the world now looked like it was in fact burned down.

The smoke was spreading unstoppably and no one knew how to stop it. So, people needed to adjust to this terrifying situation, they needed to survive. And in this survivor camp, they taught us how to do it. This was the reason I survived for five months alone. I was hoping somehow with a miracle happening I am going to meet with my family along the way. But I never saw my family again.

I was with my family; we were eating dinner. Everyone was smiling and laughing, my brother looked at me and said how proud he was of me. My mother held my hand and told me to keep going. Then I looked at my father whose face looked a little concerned, he opened his mouth to say something—wake up—but it wasn't his voice, it came from far away, I was confused as I still looked at my father's face.

WAKE UP! I heard again.

Y/N, WAKE UP!

Then I opened my eyes and sat up breathing heavily. My head was aching so bad I needed to close my eyes for a second, then I felt a painful stinging coming from my chest.

"Finally, Cinderella managed to wake up from her long beauty sleep." I heard a familiar voice that always made my heart relieved.

"Wooyoung!" I snapped my head up to look at him. His usual black framed glass was sitting on his tall nose, his sharp eyes were boring into mine, and he was wearing a light blue hoodie that hid his well-defined body well, paired with sweatpants. I hugged him close to me.

"Are you okay? Is everyone okay?" I asked starting to get panicked. I just realized I was in one of the base's rooms, where usually the injured ones were.

"The question is mine. Are you okay? You slept like a mummy, man. Seonghwa told us, you should wake up in a few hours but you just did not wake up, Y/N, you scared me…" His voice got low as he sat next to me on the bed. "You hit your head very bad and a few of your ribs are broken, but that should heal quickly now you are awake. Thank God." My best friend said as he looked down at his fidgeting hands, and I needed to smile at the fact of how worried he looked.

"I'm okay now, Woo," I said as I scooted closer to him and leaned my head against his as he turned towards me. Then I just hugged him again, because I loved him so much, I would burn the whole world down if needed, even though it was already burnt into ashes.

Then everything just flashed in images in front of my eyes. The plane. The falling. The crushing. The blackness.

I separated quickly from Wooyoung looking at him shocked. "W-what happened? Where are the others? Tell me they are okay Woo." Sudden emotions hit me and I was so scared something would happen with them.

"Hey, relax, Y/N. They are okay." He cupped my face into his hands as I sighed in relief. "Well…mostly."

"What do you mean?" I looked at him shocked, my heart rate at the highest.

"San and Jongho made it with smaller injuries. San broke his right arm and Jongho suffered a brain concussion, but it's slight so he is going to be okay." He said caressing my cheek to calm me down. "And Yunho…he is…he is in a coma. He hit his head severely and some nerves in his brain aren't functioning. It needs time to heal. It seems very serious but Seonghwa said let's not give up hope, he is a very strong guy, and he can fight this off." He wiped the tears away that escaped from my eyes.

We were so stupid; how could we think it was a good idea to take off a random plane without any knowledge of how to drive it? We were responsible for our lives and still, we just threw it away like it was garbage. I really hoped Yunho was going to be okay. No—not hoping, because I knew he was going to be okay.

"He is going to be okay, I'm sure." I nodded in determination as I said. "How's Hana?"

"She can barely keep up, but she is next to Yunho all the time."

"How did we get back here?"

"A girl found you and helped you. She said she was at the beach right when you crushed. You were lucky to crash into the ocean; it absorbed much of the impact. So, San was on the verge of fainting when she went to the plane to see if you made it. San told her where the base was and then she ran to our base to call us. But we were occupied a little back here." Wooyoung's face became frustrated.

"What happened here? The others?" One particular sharp face jumped into my mind and it seemed I couldn’t shake it off.

"Our base got attacked while you were away," Wooyoung said his expression getting sad.

"What? How? What the hell happened Woo?" I got up and ran my fingers through my hair stressed, ignoring the pain coming from my ribs.

"Some random people, who were well-armed, attacked our base and almost burned down the whole base. But we managed to fight them off. Oh my God, Y/N, I thought that's it. This is the end. But then these other guys came and helped us." He buried his face into his hands stressed.

"Who were they?" I asked feeling very thankful for those guys that saved my family.

"I don't know, they told us they came with good intentions and just wanted to ally with us. They call themselves Xikers or what, they are a bunch of kids but still helped us."

I felt relieved, if the base had been burnt down, that would have been the worst. And I was so thankful everyone was okay…well mostly okay. But I still didn't know one piece of information and it bothered me, boiling my veins with worry.

"Is-is Hongjoong okay?" I asked looking down at the ground as I needed to support myself on the table behind me.

Wooyoung stood up and walked towards me, he grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes with a sadness I had never seen before.

I shook my head. "Wooyoung don't do this." Tears appeared in my eyes.

"He's…" Wooyoung reached his hand towards my cheek to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Hongjoong is—"

Then I heard a door slam and I looked towards it and I saw him. Hongjoong was standing in the doorway with an angry expression that also showed clear signs of worry. He was wearing his black leather vest a black shirt under it paired with black pants, his hair messed up, and some black strings falling onto his forehead. I was speechless for a moment, but when I came to my senses, I let go of Wooyoung's hands and ran towards Hongjoong not letting him time to even blink I wrapped my hands around his neck and hugged him strongly.

"Hey, be careful, sweetheart, you’re injured," he murmured into the crook of my neck, his hands on my waist gently pulling me away to keep my broken ribs from pressing against him.

"I don't care, you are alive," I said into his ear almost tearing up.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked as he pulled away to look into my eyes caressing my cheeks with a frown.

"Wooyoung told me—well it seemed on his expression you were dead…" I looked next to me angrily, where Wooyoung was leaning against the table with a shit-eating grin.

"I didn't say he was dead, I'm just good at acting Y/N, I'm glad it worked." He giggled with a devil smile.

"Jung Wooyoung, I swear to God—you son of a pigeon." I escaped from Hongjoong's arms to chase Wooyoung and slapped him as he held an arm out as a shield.

"Okay, enough. Act yourself out Wooyoung." I heard Hongjoong's voice from behind me, his hands finding their way around my waist. I didn't see his expressions but seeing Wooyoung's told me enough as his smile faded quickly and he sprinted towards the door. I followed him with my eyes squinting my eyes at him. "Hongjoong got stabbed," Wooyoung shouted lastly before slamming the door.

I turned back to Hongjoong with wide eyes. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Hongjoong sighed. "It's not a big deal." He turned away and walked towards the table next to the bed. He always did this, he always turned away when something was about him. He always cared about the others but not about himself.

"How is it not a big deal when you got fucking stabbed?" My voice got higher. I just wanted to scream at his face to not turn away from me. I walked towards him, slowly approaching him. He supported himself on the table looking down at it, his wide back facing with me. I was next to him as I saw his face, his eyes closed, his undercut showing. He looked like he was in pain, not just physically.

I reached my hands towards his chin to slowly, carefully lift it. He looked so vulnerable I was scared I might break him. When he looked at me, I saw so much pain in his eyes. He went through a lot. His family died in front of his eyes. The smoke killed them and his family shouted at him to run and to survive. I knew this was what kept him going. But after five years, only their faded memory remained. What was the reason for him to keep going?

I caressed his cheek like my hands were a feather, scared his skin might fall apart. "Where did you get stabbed?" I whispered looking into his eyes that looked so divine, that I was ready to fall on my knees.

He looked away for a moment. "On my back," He scoffed. "It's so embarrassing, I can't watch my back for a second and this happens…"

I felt worried as I looked at his face it seemed he was really ashamed of it. "Hongjoong look at me," I tilted his head towards me to look into my eyes. "It's embarrassing for the person who did it. They couldn't face you because they knew they wouldn't make it alive if they did."

"Well, they didn't make it either way." His lips curved up a little and mine as well at that.

"Take it off!" I demanded holding his vest in my hands, feeling the leather material under my touch.

He just looked at me a little confused.

"I want to see your wound, Hong."

He just nodded and grabbed my hand to slowly take it off his body, so he could unbutton the vest, his sharp eyes never leaving mine. My heart was in my ears, I couldn’t hear the usual noises of the base coming from the other rooms. I only saw Kim Hongjoong in front of me as he unbuttoned his black shirt as well after throwing the vest on the floor. He slowly took off the shirt his upper body now fully on the sight. His abs were well-defined, his chest full of strength where a tattoo of a sneak's head was hissing at me. I reached my fingers towards the snake's head to trace the tattoo as I looked at it. Hongjoong's gaze still bored into mine. I followed the snake's figure with my finger as it came from his back, and then I walked behind him, still following the snake with my finger all over his back. My fingers traveled through the snake's length as I felt Hongjoong shiver under my touch. The snake circled all over Hongjoong's back, ending on his chest where the sneak’s head was.

I always admired the tattoo whenever I saw it, while he was working out or just changed. But I never got the opportunity to touch it, and that was one of my most wanted desires. Then there was the stab, it was stitched carefully, Seonghwa doing a good job as always, some white ointments were all over it, so it wouldn't get inflamed. I circled the wound with my finger as I heard him hissing. I leaned down a little to leave a healing kiss above it.

"So, it's going to heal faster," I whispered warmly onto his skin.

"Sweetheart," I heard his desperate voice coming from above.

I did not stop leaving kisses all around his back, following the line of the snake on his back, as I got up to his nape kissing it. My arms circled his abdomen as I left one last kiss on his neck, putting my chin on his wide shoulder. He leaned his head against mine as he kissed my temple. "Thank you," He whispered as he took my hands from his abdomen and turned around to cup one side of my cheek, his other hand on my waist pulling me close to him. I bit my lower lip as my body got hotter, my heart beating unstoppably. He looked into my eyes like I was his whole world, even though it was doomed into a speck of dust.

"I was so worried, Y/N, I thought you would never come back to me." His eyes were full of emotions and with tears.

"I said it's not easy to get rid of me." I smiled at him as I felt his fingers trace through my face.

He smiled at that too and traced his fingers through my temple, where I felt a little stinging, I didn’t even notice I got injured there as well. Then his warm lips were on my wound again.

"So, it's going to heal," His lips curved up into a sincere smile that I have never seen. It cured everything inside me, it didn’t matter if I was injured, his smile healed everything inside and outside of me. Then his hands traveled down to my waist and went under my T-shirt, touching my skin with his warm fingers.

"Let me see your wounds, Y/N," He whispered close to my lips, his eyes so genuine, that he made me trust him. I always did, since the day they found me on the top of that building.

I just nodded, signaling to him I trusted him. His fingers grabbed the hem of my oversized white T-shirt and lifted it very carefully, looking into my eyes the whole time. When he took it off, I was standing in front of him half-naked. We were now equal as both of us were standing in front of the other in a vulnerable state and were injured, yet full of passion that made our pain go away.

His eyes landed on my chest and on my ribs where a bandage was wrapped around my torso. There were a few black and blue marks under my ribs. Hongjoong traced his fingers through them carefully so as not to hurt me. Then he kneeled and looked up at me from there, his eyes questioning if he was allowed to touch me. I just nodded as words simply couldn't escape my mouth.

Hongjoong then leaned against my warm skin and left soft pecks on the blue marks. My chest was rising up and down quickly as I felt like I was in heaven. His lips traced above my ribs, on my chest, leaving healing kisses there, then he stood up and kissed my neck where once his hands were wrapped around when he almost sent me to the other world. Since then, he just couldn't stop apologizing for that move, saying it wasn't him and he would never hurt me. I forgave him because I truly deserved that and because he made me stronger, he made me keep going instead of my family. He was my family. They were my family.

“I’m jealous of Seonghwa because he got to see you like this before I did.” He whispered onto my lips in a possessive way and cupped my face.

As he caressed my cheeks I looked up into his eyes and after five years I felt like I was at home, home that gave me safeness and warmth in this cruel and cold world. When his warm lips met mine, it felt as if the world healed around us. The darkness faded away, and the sun emerged once more, casting warmth over a world that had been cold for five years.

The last time I felt this warm was when Hongjoong held me in his arms when I was on the verge of dying. That was the last time I felt the sun come out between the dark mist. He was my sun that we couldn't feel anymore.

His lips gave me warmth as they moved against mine, I wrapped my hands around his neck as he turned me around to lift me at the table. I wrapped my legs around his torso as he was holding me by my waist, squeezing it, making me let out a quiet moan as his hands squeezed a black mark on my stomach. My hands traveled down his chest and then to his back where I felt the snake as it almost circled my wrist. I felt his wound that I traced with my finger and he let out a hiss on that and sucked my lower lip between his teeth, making it almost bleed as I hissed at that too. He captured my lips in a deep possessive kiss, that made me part my lips and let his tongue dive into my mouth. Our tongues met with each other and danced along to our heartbeats as I let out a moan. I bit his lower lip as we fought for a little dominance, he let out a low groan at that, kissing me deeply like he was obsessed with me and could never get enough of me. I felt the same because I wanted to be with him in this dark and cruel world, to be his reason to keep going now that his family was just a memory. I wanted to be his reason to survive.

And he was mine.

When our eyes met again, his gaze was filled with desire and emotions that mirrored my own. Emotions that connected us, that made us feel like we belonged to each other in this cruel world, so we could fight together against the bad. That came in the form of a dark mist that always whispered you promises, promises that said it's going to be better if you die. But dying isn't the solution. Survival was the only solution here and it did not matter how long you needed to survive, you had to because there were people who counted on you, people who were the reason to survive.

Survival wasn’t about the world anymore. It was about the people you encountered along the way, those who became your family amidst the dark mist that whispered of unachievable desires. But if you fight for it, you can achieve anything. I was determined to stand with Hongjoong and the others, so we could save the world one day.

(Ateez masterlist)

Yunho's part-> Demons of The Darkened Mist

191 notes · View notes

probablyspooky · 1 year

Text

Traitor (2010 Predator X Fem! Reader) Pt.3 Final

Its Time girly Pops

Last

"Yes love?", you ask, sitting up from your nest of furs and pelts, your mate slowly lowers himself to you.

"We are leaving...", he mumbled, "This trip was not successful, I was wrong to bring you here, I will take you home, and then come back alone when I can get a second chance"

You sighed, cupping your mates face, giving him a gentle kiss on the armored mask.

"Very well," you agreed, getting up from your nest, packing your items and then eventually getting on the ship and taking off back home.

It was a short trip back, you felt back you had ruined the trip by basically getting kidnapped by the game. Berserker could sense your sadness and promised that when you returned back to the clan, he would have a young one go to Earth and bring you back some nice Earth things, so that you could see some of the things that hail from your home planet. You smiled at this thought and proceeded to snuggle into your mates chest as he sat in the command room.

The return home was uneventful, as you were usually allowed to walk around, the first couple weeks home you weren't feeling so well. Often spending your mornings vomiting outside in the bushes, sleeping till noon, and eating weird foods that were even considered odd in yautja culture.

Berserker got quite nervous when you started getting moody, you never seemed to lash out at him, as you were afraid of upsetting him, but now you were a bit more annoyed at his mating advances, often refusing to go along with him on small hunts.

Worried you may have caught a strong virus, he took you to the clans healers, and the news was wonderful.

You were pregnant.

Your mates mandibles clicked with joy, and he purred into you, his claws grazing over your stomach gently, happy with the news he threw together a hunting party and went off into the local wilderness to find the largest animal he could to serve to you, as per tradition (that I made up).

He returned victorious, slaying the beast and presenting its skull and spine to you. It now hangs over the area where you decided to put your younglings sleeping bed.

Eventually as things go, days become weeks, and weeks become months, soon you were very swollen with child, carrying a yautja pup was very hard on your body, as you progressed you slowly began to slow down, not going out to hunt, you stopped doing chores, tending to be on bedrest more often that usual.

One day, while you were in a heated herbal bath, Berserker came in and joined you, causing the water to swish over a bit, he swayed over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his large hands over your stomach.

"(y/n)", he whispered, taking in a breathe of your hair.

"Yes love?" you ask, turning your head to look at him closer.

"The hunting spot came up again...I wish to go, but I will not go if you find it unacceptable for me to go."

You thought for a moment, as it took so long for him to get the spot for himself the first time, and now here you were ready to pop at any moment. Not wanting to be selfish you agreed that he could go, and that you would be fine.

Watching him, Tusk, and Falcon leave was a little heart breaking, you spent the time alone, thinking of names for the baby, learning to write in their language, and learning how to read their machines, as soon you would have your one communicator bracelet, so that when your mate goes off planet, you could still talk to him while he was gone.

He wasn't gone very long this time, he returned after a few days, you were so happy when you heard the news you waited at the landing dock for him to return. When those ship doors opened, you saw him walk off full of pride, new trophies tied to his belt, mostly human, perhaps he had hunted those humans from before. You ran into his arms, and he hugged you back, taking you up from under your legs, holding you up with his great strength.

"Was the hunt honorable?", you asked, feeling his dreads with your hands.

He carried you back to his home.

"I have many trophies to give to you my mate," he purred, leaving Tusk and Falcon to unload the ship.

But with their arrival back, Tusk and Falcon were sought out by other yautja women, and left the ship unattended, not knowing of what they brought back with them to their home planet.

While the darkness of night overtook the sky, two people stepped off planet, truing not to be scene by the lights coming off of the ship, they quickly scurried to the Jungle Hunters Clan. Taking note of the buildings, they looked around for anyone that would be out of place, something that wouldn't be needed by full blood yautja.

These two humans who have stepped off the ship, were familiar faces that had met you before. Isabelle and Royce, they had snuck onto the ship while your mate was hunting the others, Edwin and Nikolai did not make it, but they did not seem, bothered all that much, their minds were preferably stuck on their own survival.

Quickly scanning the many homes, their eyes landed on the ones that had a set of very small shoes sat outside the door, feet too small for yautja, but big enough for an adult to wear outside to cover the soles of their feet from the spikey ground.

The two of them walked up to the door, and gently pushed it in, not having locks on doors were often common on this planet, as it was dishonorable to attack someone while they were asleep. It was a code of like that many did not dare to cross, as it would bring dishonor upon themselves and their clans.

Walking throughout the halls of the place you called home, Isabelle and Royce walked through the kitchen rea, taking note of the abundance of fruit and veggies, often things yautja do not eat frequently, then walking past a living area where they saw a CD player and some discs of random artists.

"She's definitely here.." Royce whispered, continuing the sweep of the house, his eyes landing on the back room, which its doorway was covered with a large cloth.

Royce took a few moments to sneak up to the curtain, slowly pupping it back. In the middle of the room he could see the floating nest where Berserker and you slept. The two forms sleeping away peacefully on the bed, you curled up in his arms, while his limbs danged off the sides of the nest, hovering in the air.

Royce raised his hand above your mouth about to wake you up and smother your gasp, but Isabelle quickly ran up and stopped him

"What?", he whispered, annoyed that he was stopped.

"Look at her!" Isabelle, gestured to your body, "She's pregnant! This isn't a good idea"

Royce rolled his eyes, going back to his original plans, smothering his hand over your mouth and then tapping you awake.

You jolted awake, about to scream, but you felt a warm hand covers your mouth. You looked over to the owner of the hands owner, you felt tears sting your eyes, realizing the possible predicaments you were in.

Royce signals to you to come on, and slowly eases you off the bed, and out of your mates arms, trying not to wake up, and then sneaking you out of your home, Royce dragged you to the ship and shoved you towards it, pointing a pistol at you.

"Fly us home." he ordered, pointing the gun at you,

"I do-I don't know how to fly," you stammered

"Bullshit" he snarled, pushing you inside the ship and then forcing you into the pilots seat.

You felt uneasy as you were placed in the captains chair, the familiar hologram screen appearing before you, you slowly began to type into the control console, hitting enter.

Royce looked at you expectantly, watching you push buttons with symbols that didn't make sense to him at all, watching you hit the enter key, hoping that soon the ship would take off and they would be on their way way home. Yet nothing happened.

"What the hell was that?" he yelled, shoving your shoulder

"I don't know how to fly!" you cried,

"Royce, c'mon" Isabelle remarked, placing hand on your shoulder

Royce stomped back and forth, and looking out the open door of the ship, he began to see lights turn on, as yautja began to run towards the ship, his brain clicked.

Grabbing you by the hair, he dragged you to the front of the doors and threw you on the ground, you fell to the ground shielding your stomach from the fall.

"She fucking alerted them" Royce growled, pointing the pistol at the back of your head.

You looked up to see Berserker run at you, behind him Tusk and Falcon followed, along with other blooded members of the tribe.

Royce fired a warning shot a few inches away from your head, forcing all the yautja to stop in their tracks.

"Fucking traitor to your race," Royce spit at you, looking up at the yautja who were staring him down.

"I want to go home!," he shouted, "If I don't get to go home, neither does she"

You half expected for Berserker to have some sort of plan in dealing with this, but instead he slowly popped off his armored helmet, dropped his utilities belt, and walked up slowly towards the three of you. Isabelle had her gun pointed at your mate the whole time.

Clicking can be heard coming from your mates mandibles, as he pointed towards the captains chair, he calmly walked onto the ship, and silently typed on the keyboard, the rumbling of the ship started, indicating it was taking off.

Berserker then walked back, and picked you up slowly, not taking his eyes off of Royce and Isabelle. The ships door began to slowly shut, and since their window was closing, the two of them quickly hopped aboard the ship, and it slowly made its way off of the ground, and then eventually was floating through the air. Its thrusters slowly increasing in power.

As the thrusters began to glow a bright orange, your mate held his arm out in front of you, a single symbol was on his wrist brand, you looked at him and then at the ship. Smiling while doing so, you pushed the button, and together you watched the ship prepare are for takeoff, and then self detonate in the sky.

The clan erupted with roars and growls, chanting at the death of these humans who dared try and hold you hostage on their turf.

A part of you felt bad, you had just murdered the nicest human you've ever known, the first few humans you had met who had actually been to earth. Maybe you were a traitor to your race, but you were reassured, as the next days you found yourself in labor, and after that, you held close to your chest a small suckling, who was identical to his father.

Having his wrapped to your chest constantly apparently was a weird sight, as most mother of yautja did not care for their children the same way you did, but you didn't care, as your instincts were different, you were different.

He was the Berserker predator, and you his mate, the two of you from different sides of the planet.

One a grand warrior to his people and his race, and the other a loving mother, traitor to hers.

They were happy

I don't know what else to put here

#predator #predator x reader #yautja

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dalliancekay · 8 months

Text

Crowley is not stupid, Aziraphale is not an idiot and other assorted thoughts

Or how nothing is black and white and my bullying home and religious trauma is a metaphor not a direct translation to what our immortals experience. And vice versa. -

I don't know what it's like to hang out on Earth since the beginning but I'm sure it is richer than we can imagine we could imagine.

Our two favourite, currently men shaped beings, are captured for our storytelling enjoyment when their time on the Green Planet is about to be cut off.

One has been thrown out from their family home ages ago, we are not sure for what misdemeanour exactly, and is now working for a dumpy place where they don't mind inflicting pain if you misbehave nor do they care whether a trial is fair. So, a mafia, basically. And our hero is tasked with collecting new additions to the unhappy family on top of that. He doesn't much care for it and seems to do the bare minimum only.

The other has been sent to the young planet to guard the indigenous humans and told something vague about an Ineffable Plan that will all work out when there's a War in a few thousand years, which 'our, the Good, side' will win and everyone will be happy. Just tell the humans to behave and if they don't kick up a fuss, we will welcome them Here.

And Here is a vast, empty place, well lit, with busy, lonely bees working and filing, and checking, making sure rules are in place and are followed as written and everything is ticking over; the higher ranks' punishments rare but swift. Everyone has learnt a lesson when half of them were unceremoniously fired when someone said some nasty things about the CEO. So things might not be perfect but at least if you stick to your tasks you will be left alone.

So, we meet demon Crowley, whose family threw him out as mentioned above and his job sucks and he hates it but it's not hard and his placement is rather a nice place so he does his best to not to lose the position. Sometimes he wonders what is the point of it all and that's when he runs into his adorable archenemy, the angel Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was sent to Earth and given a job, one that doesn't seem to quite work out (or does it?) as he follows his heart instead of the rules almost immediately but surprisingly is not punished for it by the CEO. So he spends his time helping the natives, following orders he receives as best as he can and when he runs into his archenemy the demon, he feels a certain strange tingle and flutter in his heart at the sight of the rulebreaker.

They have done a fair job of it for 6 millennia. They avoid getting fired and even manage to take on each other's tasks to lighten up the load and the (pointlessly) random business trips (does anyone Up or Down there ever heard of geography?)

When we meet our heroes in present day-ish, they've been told the End of the World sequence has been triggered and life as they know it is about to end.

How do they feel about this? Well. Our demon is appalled. He knew this was coming. But not really. It's just something to sort of work towards right? After all, the Earth has been developing rather nicely. The alcohol got better, the food for his Angel, the music got interesting, the clothes tighter... He's having a good time. Yes, he pushes his luck sometimes. Sleeps too long, gives in and saves someone instead of ruining them. He gets into all kinds of tangles to spend time with his crush. He is rash but he's not stupid. He knows what's at stake. But he's angry. And sometimes that's hard to contain. He does go too fast. But Aziraphale is always there to catch him. And if he can't, he waits and worries and is there when Crowley returns.

So about the angel? He knows he should dislike the demon. He knows he should follow his directives. He knows he should not meet or talk to Crowley. And what does he do? Gets himself arrested in his fanciest silks so they can have crepes when the world and humanity is bringing them down with their relentless hate towards each other. He puts on a magical performance when the demon fails to deliver some contraband liquor in the midst of the Blitz bombing.

And, now. Here's the funny bit. Angel has gotten himself a part time job in the past few centuries. He's had a few before, but not quite like this. He has a place he loves now. A safe, cluttered place where a demon is welcome. It's not much like his original home. You could say... it's rather quite the opposite of it. In any case, he never really got on with his managers but tbf he likes his job. It makes the humans happy and he loves the humans and loves making them happy.

He also does not want the world to end. But his fam has always told him that once this bit is over, an even better one will come along. What that bit is was never quite explained but then, asking questions was always frowned upon and rather vehemently so. He's noticed this from the get go... unlike a red headed angel he once knew...

What is my point?

That neither Crowley or Aziraphale are wrong. Or right. Doing the correct thing. Or not. Me. You. We come from broken families, we have been friends and lovers with bad people, we have escaped religions, cults, home countries. Lies. Rules. Hate. We have fought for our love to be recognised as love.

Crowley and Aziraphale live in a world where Heaven and Hell is real. Where Satan rules over a smelly place with mould on the walls and God is engrossed in her sci fi novels and seems to have forgotten about Her Earth project.

You can't call Aziraphale stupid for believing in God. She exists. Whether She has a plan is open to debate, sure. She seems to have claimed so at some point, but then, we all change don't we. Maybe She changed Her mind and forgot to tell the upper management. Maybe She thought She didn't need to spell out all the details to them so they kill Job's kids. Maybe She was vague on purpose much in the style of King Henry II and Thomas Beckett.. Anyway. Back to Aziraphale, our angel on Earth. He is kind, has hope, wants to believe after thousands, millions of years. And this is not stupid. Aziraphale does and is brave, courageous things. And he's slowly learning to trust himself more too. To know the difference. It started with the sword and his overthinking on the giving away of it. He made a decision to protect Job's children. Risked Falling for it. Trusted the demon over his bosses. Not because Heaven is WRONG. Yes, they are. But the thing is they don't care. And Aziraphale does. He cares about humanity. And he cares about Crowley.

Nobody noticed (or did they) how our two field agents fell in love (neither did they tbf) and how fiercely they guard the little secret they share. The smiles and the glances, the small flowers of hope that things can change one day.

And they did change. Plan A, War and Destruction, did not work out. The youngster they sent from Below decided he likes the new place and refused to ruin it. They both learned things. They are still learning. The demon how to trust again. The angel how to question things.

So what's next? The place Above is going to send their trusted agent. He followed the rules last time seamlessly. It did not quite work out but no problem, they'll send Him out again. With a rather more final arrangement.

In the meantime, the disgraced and rather troubling Earth agents have been lying low. Unsure of their places and overall safety, they went on with their lives as best as they could until the angel happened to help his former boss run away with his paramour from the other side and is visited by the Big Boss.

Big Boss wastes no time and suggests to our angel he should come back Upstairs and take the place of his disgraced superior. To use his skills. To be better looked after I suppose. New opportunities. To be close to the big upcoming decisions or - under a close watchful eye.

Aziraphale, not surprisingly, refuses. He does not want to put any of his 'skills' to any good causes but his own. But then. THEN. He is not so subtly made aware that his dangerous liaisons with the other side have been noted and his help in the latest Complication might not go unpunished if he's not careful.

And this job offer suddenly seems FAR more sinister than it did 15 minutes ago. Especially when it is handed over with a coffee (that he does not much like) from a place called Give Me Coffee Or Give me Death.

Our angel goes home to cautiously tell his demon about the trouble they are in and his world comes crashing down around him.

This post turned out to be completely different to what I originally wanted to write. Is there a point? You decide.

Aziraphale's decision makes complete sense, he loves the Earth, his home and Crowley over and above everything else. And he WILL fight for their safety. AND the humans in the process if he can.

This is my very first Tumblr post. Way to go me etc. Please be kind.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #neil gaiman #season 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #armageddon #shower thoughts #kaypost

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literary-illuminati · 8 months

Text

An Arbitrary Collection of Book Recommendations

(put together for a friend out of SFF I've read over the last couple of years)

Cli-Fi

Tusks of Extinction and/or The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. They’re pretty different books in a lot of ways – one is a novel about discovering a certain species of squid in the Pacific might have developed symbolic language and writing, the other a novella about a de-extinction initiative to restore mammoths to the Siberian taiga – but they share a pretty huge overlap in setting, tone and themes. Specifically, a deep and passionate preoccupation with animal conservation (and a rather despairing perspective on it), as well as a fascination with transhumanism and how technology can affect the nature of consciousness. Mountain is his first work, and far more substantial, but I’d call it a bit of a noble failure in achieving what it tries for. Tusks is much more limited and contained, but manages what it’s going for.

A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys. In a post-post-apocalyptic world that’s just about figured out how to rebuild itself from the climate disasters of the 21st century (but that’s still very much a work in progress), aliens descend from the sky and make First Contact. They’re a symbiotic civilization, and they’re overjoyed at the chance to welcome a third species into their little interstellar community – and consider it a mission of mercy besides, since every other species they’ve ever encountered destroyed themselves and their planet before escaping it. Awkwardly, our heroine and her whole society are actually pretty invested in Earth and the restoration thereof – and worried that a) the alien’s rescue effort might not care about their opinions and b) that other interest groups on earth might be more willing to give the hyper-advanced space-dwelling aliens the answers they want to hear. Basically 100% sociological worldbuilding and political intrigue, so take that as you will.

Throwback Sci Fi

Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky is possibly the only thing I’ve read published in decades to take the old cliche of ‘this generic-seeming fantasy world is actually the wreckage of a ruined space age civilization, and ‘magic’ and ‘monsters’ are the remnants of the technology’ and play it entirely straight. Specifically, it’s a two-POV novella, where half the story is told from the perspective of a runaway princess beseeching the ancient wizard who helped found her dynasty for help against a magical threat, and half is from the perspective form the last surviving member of a xeno-anthropology mission woken out of stasis by the consequences of the last time he broke the Prime Directive knocking on his ship tower door and asking for help. Generally just incredible fun.

Downbelow Station by C. J. Cherryh is, I think, the only thing on this list written before the turn of the millennium. It’s proper space opera, about a habitat orbiting an immensely valuable living world that’s the lynchpin of logistics for the functionally rogue Earth Fleet’s attempt to hold off or defeat rebelling and somewhat alien colonies further out. The plot is honestly hard to summarize, except that it captures the feel of being history better than very nearly any other spec fic I’ve ever read – a massive cast, none of them with a clear idea of what’s going on, clashing and contradictory agendas, random chance and communications delays playing key roles, lots of messy ending, not a single world-shaking heroes or satanic masterminds deforming the shape of things with their narrative gravity to be seen. Somewhat dated, but it all very impressively well done.

Pulpy Gay Urban Fantasy Period Piece Detective Stories Where Angels Play a Prominent Role

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark stars Fatma el-Sha’arawi, the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in Cairo, a couple of decades after magic returned to the world and entirely derailed the course of Victorian imperialism. There’s djinn and angels and crocodile gods, and also an impossible murder that needs solving! The mystery isn’t exactly intellectually taxing, but this is a very fun tropey whodunnit whose finale involves a giant robot.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk is significantly more restrained and grounded in its urban fantasy. It’s early 20th century Chicago, and a PI is doing one last job to top off the nest egg she’s leaving her girlfriend before the debt on her deal with the devil comes due. By what may or may not be coincidence, she stumbles across a particularly gruesome crime scene – and is offered a deal to earn back her soul by solving the mystery behind it. Very noir detective, with a setting that just oozes care and research and a satisfyingly tight plot.

High Concept Stuff That Loves Playing around With Format and the Idea of Narratives

Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente is a story about a famous documentarian vanishing on shoot amid mysterious and suspicious circumstances, as told by the recovered scraps of the footage she was filming, and different drafts of her (famous director) father’s attempt to dramatize the events as a memorial to her. It’s set in a solar system where every planet is habitable and most were colonized in the 19th century, and culturally humanity coasts on in an eternal Belle Epoque and (more importantly) Golden Age of Hollywood. Something like half the book is written as scripts and transcripts. This description should by now either have sold you or put you off entirely.

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez is the only classic-style epic fantasy on this list, I believe? The emperor and his three demigod sons hold subjugated in terror, but things are changing. The emperor, terrified of death, has ordered a great fleet assembled to carry him across the sea in pursuit of immortality. The day before he sets out on his grand pilgrimage to the coast, a guilt-ridden guard helps the goddess of the moon escape her binding beneath the palace. From there, things spiral rapidly out of anyone’s control. The story’s told through two or three (depending( different layers of narrative framing devices, and has immense amounts of fun playing with perspective and format and ideas about storytelling and legacy.

I Couldn’t Think of Any Categories That Included More Than One of These

All The Names They Used For God by Anjali Sachdeva is a collection of short stories, and probably the most literary thing on this list? The stories range wildly across setting and genre, but are each more or less about the intrusion of the numinous or transcendent or divine into a world that cracks and breaks trying to contain it. It is very easily the most artistically coherent short story collection I’ve ever read, which I found pretty fascinating to read – but honestly I’m mostly just including this on the strength of Killer of Kings, a story about an angel sent down to be John Milton’s muse as he writes Paradise Lost which is probably one of the best things I read last year period.

Last Exit by Max Gladstone – the Three Parts Dead and How You Lose the Time War guy – could be described as a deconstruction of ‘a bunch of teenagers/college kids discover magic and quest to save the world!’ stories, but honestly I’d say that obscures more than it reveals. Still, the story is set with that having happened a decade in the past, and the kids in question have thoroughly fucked up. Zelda, the protagonist, is kept from suicide by survivor’s guilt as much as anything, and now travels across America working poverty jobs and sleeping in her car as she hunts the monsters leaking in through the edges of a country rotting at the seams. Then there’s a monster growing in the cracks of the liberty bell, an in putting it down she gets a vision of someone she thought was dead is just trapped – or maybe changed. So it’s time to get the gang together again and save the world! This one’s hard to rec without spoiling a lot, but the prose and characterization are all just sublime. Oddly in conversation with the whole Delta Green cosmic horror monster hunting subgenre for a story with nothing to do with Lovecraft.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is a story about aliens destroying the earth, and growing up in the pseudo-fascist asteroid survivalist compound of the last bits of the human military that never surrendered. It stars a heroine whose genuinely indoctrinated for the first chunk of the book and just deeply endearing terrible and awful to interact with, and also has a plot that’s effectively impossible to describe without spoiling the big twist at the end of the first act. Possibly the only book I read last year which I actively wish was longer – which is both compliment and genuine complaint, for the record, the ending’s a bit messy. Still, genuinely meaty Big Ideas space opera with very well-done characterization and a plot that does hold together.

#meta #book recommendations #sff #sharing this mostly so I don't lose it next time my laptop dies #and also hey why not

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dairy-farmer · 6 months

Note

I just had a thought! :3c Multiverse+A/B/O/ shenanigans! And it goes on longer then I expected it too!

Consider!

Tim. Clever, ruthless, barely holding in there. Standing in the ruins of what once was Gotham, air tank running, filters On. The air of planet earth has finally passed the point of no return. The last human hold outs have finally fallen.

He was hoping it wouldn't come to this.

The Great Pyrrhic Victory.

Batman's Doomsday Vault. Buried deep under the rumble of Wayne Manor. With every last Fuck You, Batman ever found. All the "taking you with me" plans, laid out side by side. And Tim?

He needs the one at the very back.

Because this... THING. Won't stop. Not ever. And the Multiverse can't afford that. So Tim fights forward. Runs out of weapons. Bashes in those last few skulls with and empty air tank. And then he digs.

And digs.

He runs out of air tanks, day seventeen. But the rubble filters the poisoned air enough. It has to be enough. Three hours later he hits Vault. Uses the last of his wrist computer's battery to power the entry pad and door. He's in. At least the air is clean here, for now.

And there? In the back? Sits the plain black lock-box.

A sci-fi looking hand grenade with extra bits. The bomb that can Destroy Everything. Not just the world. But the entire universe. Tim's whole reality and everyone in it. He would never consider it, if there was anyone left. Any way to fix this. But there's not.

It's just him, a monster, and the bomb that can end all of this.

He doesn't bother to say good bye. Why give that THING a chance to stop him? He pulls the pin.

And let's go.

Aaaaand it works EXACTLY as it's creator designed it too. VERY big boom. Everything dead. Etc etc. Reality? Hard Deleted. No take backs. But! Creator dude was a coward and a scoundrel. Like FUCK was HE going to stick around and Die with you PEASANTS. Absolutely the fuck not! He just hated you! To death!

HE was gonna hop to a DIFFERENT reality! One that probably had blackjack and hookers! Appreciated his GENIUS! Or at least that had been the plan... until Batman Super DUPER broke his bones for threatening all of reality. As one does.

It was in the file.

Page 17.

Tim only bothered to read to page 15. Because he was short on time and the world was dying. He didn't give a shit about the assholes life story. He probably should have. Because if he HAD? He would have realized he wasn't going to die today.

Instead he's in the Vault.

THE Vault.

The Super Dangerous Batman's Final Fuck You Vault of DANGEROUS EXPLODING DOOM Vault(tm). He's not doing so hot. What with the hiking for days without rest, poisoned air, no food or water, and expecting to die. He's standing in front of THE "destroys the universe" bomb. Blinking dumbly down at it.

These many factors are probably why he fails to dodge.

WHAM!

Getting full body takled by a well rested, highly trained, adrenaline filled Alpha? BIG Ouch. But at least Tim get medical aid and an IV of fluids! Followed by everyone's FAVORITE gameshow~ Paranoid Bat Duel Interrogations, Code Word Exchanges, and General Angry Wet Cat Posturing!

The fact that Tim does not EXSIST here? Doesn't help. But his wrist computer DOES. The OTHER problem? Is this Reality has secondary genders? What? I mean, he HAS heard of planets like that. But...

It apparently trips them out just as much, that he only has one. But apparently Uncle Clark has the same problem. So he's given fake Beta pheromones to where.

He's... surprised they just let him stay. To be honest. But apparently "pack is pack", and HIS family may be gone, but so long as THIS version is alive? He has a home with them. Tim doesn't cry. It's dust. Sweat got in his eyes.

But! This wouldn't be a smutty Ask Thought if it stayed so wholesome, would it?

Because Tim is awkward. Clearly trying his best. But unsure of... how to? Bond. He doesn't HAVE the enhanced sense of smell. The scent glands. The instincts. He loved his family, but they didn't DO touch nearly as often as A/B/O/ packs need for healthy bonds. So really, he comes off as skittish. Jumpy. Abused almost.

In need of attention.

Bruce casually rubbing his shoulder. Clasping the back of his neck. Sitting near him. Duck tucking Tim's arm in his, resting his head on Tim's shoulder theatrically so he can rub his scent on him subtly. Jason slinging arms around him and using him as a leaning post.

And Damian. A child who never knew him as any sort of Rival or threat to his position, who sees him NOW as a battered and abused member joining the pack. A hero in his own right, Tim is no threat to Damian's long held position as Robin. Damian is out here legit RESEARCHING how to rehabilitate abused Betas and Omegas, trying to apply a hybrid approach.

Treating him like an easily spooked cat.

Tim starters getting used to being touched. Cuddled even. Pulled into laps and flopped upon. Honestly, even kinda LIKES this whole nest idea. It's pretty comfy.

But then it goes to shit. In the way it always seems to. Tim has started helping out. Building a record of Red Robin's presence LONG before Tim Wayne appears. Planning outings for when he CAN go out together with the others. Comparing realities. But then? Ivy. And ugly fight.

Heat inducer, straight to the face.

He calls it in. Already used a near by hose to get it off him. But... but he feels sick. Like, lose meal you ate as a four year old sick. Nightwing gets to him. Jabs him with the counter agent. Helps him back to the cave.

But not before a dangerously high fever starts to kick in. Blurred vision. Sever nausea. He's not REMOTELY aroused, but he IS being affected. They scramble to figure out what's happening.

The inducer is poisoning him.

The counter agent is helping, so another, STRONGER dose is applied. But that's all the can do. And even that, is incredibly rough in his liver. And he's still nauseous, still has a fever.

His body just doesn't have the proteins to break down the chemical of the inducer. Bruce sends everyone back out on patrol. He scoops Tim up. He'll tuck him into bed so he can rest. There really is nothing they can do.

But that's not true and they all know it. It's that none of them are willing to SAY it. To name the truth. There very much IS a way to get Tim the proteins he needs to break down the drug poisoning him. And with how deeply nauseous he is, it wouldn't be orally.

But they choke on it.

Eyes lingering on their other-reality pack mate. Frustrated, they leave to go take there anger out on some goons. Bruce himself tries not to think about it, as he carries Tim upstairs. As every jostle and sway makes Tim desperately suck in air to keep from hurling. As sweat catches the light. Making the younger man look like he'd just run a marathon.

He rests Tim on his bed. He's refusing to think about. Helps Tim out of his clothes. Isn't thinking about it. Goes, comes back, with cool water and a wash cloth. Most CERTAINLY not thinking about it.

Tim his thrown an arm over his eyes. To block out the light. Is pulling in even, practices breathes. Utterly miserable. When... when he doesn't have to be. Bruce wets the wash cloth and wipes him down. It's basicly with holding treatment.

Bruce's eyes stray the the sheet, lightly draped over Tim's hips. Only thing that covering him, now. He is horrifyingly glad Tim is scent blind. Tears his eyes away. Tells Tim that... technically... there IS one way to get the proteins into his system. If he doesn't want to wait this out.

For a long, terrifying, moment there is dead silence.

Bruce has ruined everything.

Tim hates him.

He's going to run away and never speak to him aga-

Bruce is pulled from his brooding panic spiral, by Tim dryly pointing out, that in CASE Bruce us unaware? He's fucking huge. And Tim is nauseous as shit right now. He WILL blow chunks. Not exactly sexy. Perfect timing as always, Bruce. Somethings truely ARE universal.

Bruce snorts. But Tim has a good point. This is hardly the most romantic situation. As sensual as sandpaper to the face. He promises to make it up to Tim. Feels that distinctly Alpha thrill at the prospect of GETTING to take care of someone. Tuck them close and provide for them.

For now, he massages. Gently. Careful not to rock. Slides his hand down to gently rub. Twirl his finger around and tease Tim's little cocklette clit, when things are wet enough, drift lower to slid in. Start to gently stretch his hole.

He doesn't have to fit. Today. Just has to get deep enough that no seed will slip out. A though occurs to him. They have heat aids, don't they? He bought them for Dick and Jason. They probably don't USE the smaller ones anymore, since they've grown. But that doesn't mean Alfred would have thrown them out.

Bruce leans down. Presses a kiss to Tim chest. And tells him he'll be right back. He's gonna get something that'll help.

Heads for the Heat/Rutt nest.

And yep. Right there on the high shelf in the back. The smaller plugs and toys. Grab that and a bottle of artificial slick, he's good to go. Back in short order.

The slick makes his fingers slide in so EASILY. He pulls back, picks up his favorite rutt sleeve from where he stashed in the box. And imagines what it will feel like, working himself inside that tight, fluttering hole. Brings himself to the edge with brutal efficiency, but doesn't let himself fall over. Sleave off, crawl forward.

Gently pushing. Still too tight. Tim gasping and gripping his arms, legs spread beneath him. He wants so BADLY to rock forward. To fuck into him. But he won't. Not Today. Just the tip, pushed just deep enough to gush inside, as he cums. He shudders, milking his cock into that body. Then grabs the cute little blue plug that'll keep it all inside him.

Rock it in.

It's impossible NOT to cuddle Tim after that. To wrap him in his scent and body. Instincts and hormones demand it.

His son's are of course FURIOUS. Mostly that he enticed Tim with out discussing it with them or with them there. His youngest, also being an Alpha, tries to stab him at breakfast. It's to be expected. The important thing is Tim feels better.

Tim is ALSO immediately hunted down by Damian, when maiming his father for sexing up Delicate Timothy failed. Scoundrel! Cad! Damian bets he wasn't even gentle and attentive! Barbarian! How could he!

So obviously, it's up to the ONLY Alpha in this household with ANY decency! To fix this! Which is how Tim starts the first day of MANY exciting days to come, by waking up to Damian eating him out like it's his mission in life. Fingers on a mission to find his g-spot or die trying. One overwhelming, if confused, and still waking up orgasm later?

Damian is tucking a pillow under his hips. Adjusting his grip. And..? Oh! Oh, big is genetic! Very full! And he hasn't even hit his final growth spurt yet. Holy shit. Then Damian pulls his hips back and snaps forward, and Tim's not thinking much of anything. Mostly just incoherent babbling and scrambling at the sheets.

Getting That Spot HAMMERED.

Shuddering apart.

Feeling something... different. Pressure. Stretch. Popping in and out, until it CANT and its just dragging the grind, just inside him. Damian shuddering, snapping his hips forward like he wants to FORCE it deep. Like a FIST inside him. Spraying his guts. Full! Oh god, full! It's grinding against everything that feels good. Amazing and like he's gonna die. Tim can SEE the little bulge of seed, from how full he's gotten.

He gets to learn EXACTLY how long it takes for a knot to go down.

"They" get caught Dick. Who hums and offers Tim advice. It CAN be a lot, can't it? Dick meanders over. Eyes trailing over Tim's straining and sweat soaked body. Where Damian is buried deep and knotted inside him. And leans down.

You know what always helps DICK when a knot is too much?

Tim knows that look in Dicks eyes. He does not trust that look. Tim doesn't want to know, Dick.

Too bad~☆! Says Robin number one, grining like a shark.

What helps HIM, is more orgasms, He informs, as his clever hand makes contact with Tim's clit. Tim jerks but can't escape. Pinching, twisting, tugging. Rubbing. Tim whines and jerks, coming apart while Dick watchs. Waits his turn.

It's a long morning.

Luckily, Omegas can't Knot. Unfortunately, that does NOTHING to stop them from bending you in half and railing you through the mattress. Pulling you up into their lap then up and down their cock like a sleeve. Kissing the air out of your lungs as they pin you to a wall, so they can get better leverage, fucking deep and hard like they want to permanently rearrange your insides.

Sometimes Omegas are ALSO Superhero acrobats.

Tim hides out in Jason's room, after he escapes Horny Devil and his beloved gremlin. Gets a shower. A nap. It's a mistaaaaake. Or not? Jason, at least, props him up in a comfy position before sliding home. Apparently stretched him A LOT while he slept, because frankly, the fullness feel nice instead of bloated.

He could almost go back to sleep.

Gentle rocking. Sweet praise being rumbled in his ear. Warm pressure covering him like a weighted blanket. The slow, building, hum of pleasure. 'S nice. Jason even arranged the pillows so Tim could slump face down and still breath just fine!

........you know what? He NEVER gets to sleep this easy. Go for it. This is nice. Unlike SOME people, at least Jason is being thoughtful. Have fun.

And Jason does have fun. Tim drifts in and out of a light snooze. Getting some sleep, getting some orgasms. Waking up to an absolutely GUSHING hole stuffed with cum. An exhausted Jason cuddled up next to him. The sheets may be beyond saving.

He has to shower, again.

Sticks to the walls. Hugs corners. As he keeps an eye out for Fuckwing the cuddler. Tim is HUNGRY damn it! He missed both breakfast AND lunch thanks to him! He eats quickly. Does not notice Alfred's exasperated look. The Beta can smell everything, after all.

And since HIS room is compromised. Tim, having learned nothing, decided to hide in Bruce's room. The perfect place to nap!

Which is obviously exactly where Bruce finds him. Smelling like bratty, young adult drama and jealousy, exhausted on his bed. Poor Tim. His kids fighting over Tim Time should NOT be taken out of Tim. They'll learn THAT the hard way, when he inevitably avoids them to rest.

Bruce, luckily, already learned all this in his playboy phase.

Want a massage? Some juice? Cuddles? I'm VERY non-threatening. Here if you ever feel horny. Let's get you all nested up, hmm?

And Tim's not even an Omega. He's not an ANYTHING. But damn if that's not effective. Bruce paying attention to him. Talking in that low, soothing rumble. Touching all soft and gentle. Not pushing or demand, just warm and smelling so GOOD and just.....

He's squirming out of his clothes and dragging Bruce down on top of him. Feeling incredibly decadent and kinda bratty. Pay attention to him. Fill him up and make him feel good. He's pouting and demanding and feeling clingy. And wonder of wonders?

Bruce doesn't scold him or scowl. But grins so indulgently, hums and hushs. Yes, yes. Of course. His little pillow princess, gonna get so full and knotted.

And Bruce is huge. But Jason stretched him so, SO much. So Bruce can rock into him now. Punch the air out of him, little by little, as he gets filled up. Whine and pant as his clit his teased. As Bruce fills him even when it feels like there should be no room left. Until he bottoms out. Grinds with little rocks of his hips.

Slides back and seems to take Tim's insides with him. Slowly. The more. In and out. Held still. Praised as his insides stretch out. As it starts to feel overwhelming good instead of just overwhelming. Faster. Harder. Whimpering and drooling as everything is pummeled by the snap of those hips. Fucked.

He's not even knotting him yet.

Bruce making him orgasm first. Almost dragging it out of him. So his body will relax enough to TAKE it. Then the pressure. The short, brutal little rutts against Tim's best spots. Made all the more sensitive having just orgasmed. Each one making Tim jolt and squeeze, milking that quickly expanding pressure. Having it GRIND, almost cruely, against where it feels best.

Unable to move, barely able to BREATHE, as he finally locks and begins to gush. Pumping deep. Filling and filling. Hot hands, rubbing to ease the strain. Or maybe just in fascination. He's been with Beta's but never someone who body straight out WASN'T designed for this sort of thing. Not poorly designed for. NOT designed for.

Tim looks almost pregnant. Not heavily. Just that tiny swell. But it's enough to wonder. Are they even compatible? He finds himself hoping the might be. Let's his hand drift down as he leans forward to press kisses to Tim's face. Works him up to another orgasm. See? Being knotted is nice. Feels good.

It's a bit awkward due to the angle, thanks to his own poor planning, but he is able to cuddle close to Tim. Who is finally getting used to it. Is nested in pillows, covered by Bruce, and filled to the brim. High as a kite on hormones thanks to the near but not quiet pain and repeated orgasms. There'll be no Red Robin on patrol tonight.

Tim of course, can barely walk the next day.

Which means he can not escape his brother's. Who love him VERY much and have multi-step plans to becoming THE favorite. Tim may soon become the stabby one, if they don't let him rest. Alfred is the favorite. He has food and doesn't keep Tim from his work.

(That's a lie. He loves all of them. But his fuck bruises have fuck bruises, so currently they're all BASTARDS. Dead to him! Hisssss!)

-🐼🐼🐼

!!! the angst of tim losing his universe but then ultimatly sent to another, an a/b/o one where he's the object of their desire but he can't fully handle it because his biology just isn't fully compatilble but that doesn't stop them from trying!!!

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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