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joelscruff · 2 years

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name (javier peña/reader)

woke up with this idea in my head and had to write it. it's just a short little thing but hopefully the javi stans like it ~~ rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, doggystyle, dirty talk word count: 628 (this is just a drabble)

You don't even know his name.

He's got you bent over the edge of his bed, the tips of his fingers pressed firmly into the soft skin of your hips. You're completely naked, laid out in front of him bare while he towers over you still fully clothed, his cock hanging heavy through the zipper of his jeans and pressed ever so gently against your wet core. And you can't remember his name.

All you can remember is that he's a DEA agent and that he'd offered to pay you for some information. You'd spoken to him briefly at the bar for about twenty minutes, told him what he needed to know, tried not to be too obvious as your eyes scanned the length of him in the booth. He was a lot older than you, had a mysterious but friendly quality that made you feel safe with him. He smoked during the whole conversation and you'd been drawn to the way his lips wrapped around the filter of his cigarette, the way his gaze dropped to your mouth every so often as you answered his line of questioning.

He'd slipped what you were owed beneath the table then placed his hand, solid and firm, on your thigh.

"How about you come home with me for a little bit?" he'd murmured, tilting his head and stubbing out his cigarette, eyes dark.

And now here you are, hands gripping the sheets in his bed tightly as you feel the wet tip of his cock at your entrance, silently seeking permission as he leans down and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

"I d-don't remember your name," you gasp out as the head slips inside, wide and hot.

You feel him smile against your skin and he clicks his tongue, leaning back so he's standing over you, the end of his cock laying still inside your cunt.

"You don't remember my name," he echoes back, then slowly begins to slide his cock further inside you, long and thick.

Overwhelmed by his size, you bury your face in the fabric of his duvet, inhaling his masculine scent. You feel his hand on your back as he presses his palm flat against your spine, pushing you down further into the mattress.

"I've got my cock buried in your sweet little pussy and you don't know my name, huh?" he finds this funny, chuckling to himself as he continues to push inside.

"I f-forgot," you whimper, fisting the sheets.

He bottoms out then, his full length stilling inside of you. You moan at the fullness and release the material from your grip, upper body suddenly relaxing now that you've taken all he has to give you. He leans down again and kisses the tender spot behind your ear.

"My name is Javier," he whispers, "But you call me Javi when I'm fucking you good like this, yeah?"

You remember now, remember the way he shook your hand and told you what it was, but you'd been too distracted by how large his hand was compared to yours that you'd barely registered the name. Even then, in those first few seconds of meeting him, you somehow knew you'd end up in his bed.

"Please move," you whimper, shuffling back a bit and whining at the sensation of how stuffed you are with his cock, "Please."

"What's my name, baby?" he murmurs, hands gripping your waist as his thick fingers splay against your lower back, "Whose cock do you have deep inside this pretty pussy right now?"

"Javi," you breathe, closing your eyes.

"That's right," his hips suddenly snap back, cock leaving you completely before slamming back inside so deep that you see stars, "And Javi's gonna take care of you, baby."

#javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #pedro pascal fic #i wrote this so fast so i apologize if theres any mistakes and now im about to miss my bus lmao #*

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jolapeno · 11 months

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the angel + the devil

javier peña x f!reader | halloween fic for late night texts

summary: “You may be dressed like that,” he says, dropping his voice “But I know how dirty your halo is.”

chapter warnings: bonus chapter to late night texts, although you can still enjoy without reading. fluff. halloween costumes. reader does wear a dress and heels. javi flirting. office party vibes. sexy talk, alluding to smut, but no actual smut or anything (similar to most of the chapters in the series) romcom vibes ofc ✨ wordcount: 2.4k

an: i still cant believe how beloved this little series is. i hope you like this little hallow-shot of my fave pairing.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Don’t forget tonight is my works halloween party, if you’re still coming.

i haven’t forgotten baby

You say that but you forgot to bring milk the other day.

you told me you was wearing my shirt, naked

Thought high-pressured situations were your bag, baby.

well you do always know the way to bring me to my knees

Pocketing his wallet and keys, Javi stares up at your work building.

He’s picked you up from work plenty of times, but he’s never been inside. Not like this, anyway.

Over breakfast, dinners and more since the two of you have been dating—and then living together—he’s managed to collect snippets of information.

Been able to make collages from the pieces you hand him—a picture board with ribbons and string connecting things, concocting an image of what things must look like. From the place the copier is to what your desk looks like.

Tonight, he’ll get to see it himself. He’ll have the chance to see the photo strip from Houston there, a little cactus plant you’d named Randy and a set of trays (all filled with paperwork) that he’d helped you find in town.

The rest though, was blank. All fuzzy in his mind.

A puzzle, one needing to be solved.

It’s why his finger and thumb brush against themselves as he steps through the doors, the instructions you’d given him illuminated on his phone. It’s easy enough, especially with the decorations up the stairs, hearing himself being called to by the distinct sound of the Monster Mash that is floating to his ears, guiding him to you.

Maybe, he should have texted to say he was here.

You’d be waiting for him then. Likely hovering at the doorway, looking somewhat lost and nervous—it brings back memories of scribbled-out signs and bubbling apprehension at the airport.

But, if anything, that’s why he doesn't text—doesn’t announce or tell you he’s parked up and climbing the staircase two at a time to see you.

Because Javi wants to see you, capture a sight of you across the room, and give you another romantic moment to add to the ones that make the both of you so “movie-like”.

Except, as soon as he steps through the last doorway, and his eyes land on you, he realises the moment isn’t for you, but rather for him.

His stomach flutters, fingers halting in their previous nervousness, stretching out as his head tilts. He takes you in—trails his eyes from the heel of your white shoes to the nervous finger-tapping you’re doing on the red cup, before he reaches your face—flecks of glitter, painted lips.

And fuck are you pretty.

You’re more than an angel. You’re something else entirely.

Ethereal, captivating, irresistible.

The mere sight of you making his throat dry and his heart quicken all over again, just like it had done outside that airport. Just like you had done from the first text to the see you later you left him with this morning.

He pinches his thigh, just lightly—because again, he’s left with the thought, the realisation: you chose him.

A reminder that is forever there. One he normally buries in gratitude against your lips, or clutches your hand—

You tiring from an ex-DEA agent yet, cariño?

Not even a little bit, handsome.

You’d chosen him because of text messages, fallen for him because of phone calls, and fell further in a hotel room miles away. Him doing the same, re-falling each day all over again due to moments he never thought he’d get to enjoy.

Simple things, like you sewing a jacket on his Pop’s coat to the way you listened when he finally told you everything that happened in Colombia. Your face not shifting, not until the end, not until you ended up in his lap telling him how proud you were of him.

Something he believed.

Somehow, though, a small part of him still expects this to be a dream. A cruel joke from life, because you’re way too good to be true. You’re nothing but kind, generous. Doing everything to remind him continuously how much he deserves you. That he’s good, worthy, amazing.

He’s about to clear his throat, announce his arrival, when your laugh dies at something one of your colleagues says. Then, he watches in slowed time how your eyes sweep—a thing he suspects you’ve been doing since way before he arrived—before landing right on him.

It forces his heart to skip.

A smile, different than the one you’d given to your colleague, spreads and flowers across your face—the fairy and ceiling lights not holding a candle to the way it brightens up the room.

He finds himself mirroring it, letting it unfold, grow, spread, sliding up into his cheeks as he watches you excuse yourself, placing your cup down on a desk before you rush over to him.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Look at you, angel.”

His fingers slide across his jaw, half-tempted to ask you to twirl—witness how the white dress skims your knees, trailing his eyes up and down, drinking you in all over again.

If you mind, you say nothing, although he imagines your cheeks will be warm if he touches them. Your eyes dropping, fingers moving, sliding to adjust the straps of your feathered wings, before touching up the headband with your halo attached—the one he’d watched you glue the other night, tongue out, teeth perched near the tip.

“I’m glad you came.”

“You asked, cariño. Por supuesto que vendría por ti.”

Shrugging, you smile, shifting on your feet. “I know, but you still came, dressed as… wait—what are you dressed as?”

Putting his palms up at the side of him, he grins. His head dips, eyes following your path over his dark jeans and red shirt, as his fingers slide to his back pocket—pulling out a headband with little horns on, placing it on top of his head.

“A devil.”

“Of course,” you say, sliding your arms around his neck. “Very fitting.”

Smirking, he traces his teeth with his tongue, letting you stare at him in the same way he had been you, until you move closer, sliding your arms around his neck. Basking in the way you kiss him, so softly—almost innocently—but with a hidden agenda underneath you can’t display too much of in the centre of your workplace.

But, he still feels the tip of your tongue sweep over his bottom lip—even if to others it’s just a chaste kiss. He knows that in the back of your throat, there had been a little hum growing—the one he pulls from you when he greets you at home, when the decision to eat or “nap” first arises.

“You may be dressed like that,” he whispers, dropping his voice, mouth to your ear as he hugs you. “But I know how dirty your halo is.”

Stepping back, he watches as his words force your lips to part. You battle a smirk, toying with it, chewing it, before displaying an eye roll.

Then, Javi feels you slide your hand into his, bodies so close to being flush, your breath doing a dance over his jaw and neck.

“I think we can make it dirtier. Can’t we?”

Pausing, he tilts his head, brow arching—watching you just smirk, far more devilish than angelic.

And, Javi suddenly wishes his jeans weren’t as tight as they are.

where have you gone, one of your colleagues is eyeing me up

Well, maybe you should try being less good looking.

funny

I’ll be one second, got caught coming out the bathroom by someone from finance.

do you need rescuing

You gonna throw me over your shoulder?

if i do that i’ll be carrying you home

This is why you’re the devil and I’m the angel, my thoughts are pure.

if I put my fingers between your thighs i bet your body says otherwise

Javi!

Handing him a cup, you tap yours against his, shooting a wink.

He doesn’t miss the way you eye him—not at all in a way different to the one he’d been getting from your colleague earlier.

“¿Te estás divirtiendo?"

Sliding closer to him, you press a kiss on his cheek. Angling yourself, the front of your dress moving, shifting, forcing his eyes to drop to where some of the glitter has fallen across your collarbone and cleavage.

“Such a bad girl.”

Smirking, you take a sip. “Angels don’t just fall from heaven for anything, or anyone, Javi.”

There’s a retort brewing—readying on the tip of his tongue—but someone approaches. A snort escapes you before they call your name.

He’d met so many of the people he’s heard things about—having been able to stitch faces to names, to hear their actual voice, and not the one you adopt when you’re telling him stories about your day. But this person's name doesn’t come to him with ease, nodding, agreeing it was lovely to meet them too.

Javi listens to you wish them a good weekend, hugging them, your wings brushing against his side as you do.

Then, the two of you are alone once again.

The whole night, between speaking to people, the two of you have traded in whispered angel and devil jokes—deviousness coming to him with ease, your eyes sparkling, somewhat twinkling as you hear each of them. Sometimes, your retorts silence him, rendering him useless—forcing you to slide more in front of him, his fingers digging into your hip.

Fuck, he wants you on his lap now.

More so, as the punch thins out and the party dwindles—some excusing themselves for home, for better offers or fraternisation with other departments—and the two of you are left him to a corner.

We can go soon. If you want?

Your eyes meet his, hands stroking up and down his arm—soothing, calming, genuinely wanting him to choose.

We can go whenever you want.

The two of you standing, his hip flush with yours, the scent of your perfume doing a swirl in his nose, watching as you smirk against your cup.

It’s hard not to feel that familiar surge inside him as he watches your lips. Because he never tires of you, is never bored of just admiring and observing.

“What you thinking about, cariño?”

The look you shoot him is one of pretend innocence. He can tell. He’s become an expert in you—both in the subtle shifts in your expressions and the way your body talks to him.

“Just thinking, that if I’d thought about it more, you could have come as a pencil and I could be your crossword,” you smile. “Y’could have spent the evening filling me in then.”

He’s mid-drinking when it hits him, making him choke, and splutter.

Your smirk rises as you bring the cup to your lips. “Two can play that game, Peña.”

“Touché, baby.”

For a moment, he lets you be smug.

Let it grace across your features, teeth peering out, eyes twinkling under the unflattering fluorescent light—that you still manage to look stunning under.

“Or, I could have come as a vampire,” you continue, eyes averting, a smirk desperate to grow, “I am really good at sucking.”

He almost crunches the cup, his head tilting, eyes burning into you as his brain fills with thoughts—ones that almost ravage him. Smother over the purer ones he keeps forcing himself to manifest, innocent things he’s yanked up so he doesn’t get a hard-on in the middle of your work office party.

Because you’re dressed as a fucking angel.

“Did you want to see my desk, baby?”

“Is it far?”

Shaking your head, you drain your cup, placing the empty in a nearby trash bin as you offer your hand. Leading, guiding him, pointing out little things that offer some clarification to stories he’s listened attentively to when the two of you have eaten.

“It’s just in here,” you announce, pointing to a closed door before the two of you enter.

As soon as the door clicks shut, his palm is against the wall—caging you in, his body close. Your laugh light, airy, brushing over his face as your fingers slide up his cheeks.

The two of you are flush, but not so harshly against the wall to crush your wings. He wants them intact, needs them to be there later.

“You like my costume, baby?”

He groans, tightening his grip on your waist. The light from the hallway splays across your face—illuminating your eyes as you stare up at him. Noticing the usual flecks of lust and need that swirl whenever the two of you are like this.

“You thinking innocent thoughts, cariño?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Your fingers tangling into his hair, his hips light in their efforts to press you against the wall. The air tightening, anticipation building, and building. It all layering, more so as his fingers drop, tracing under the hem of your dress.

His lips curl, the tip of his tongue dragging across his lower lip. “I like your office.”

“Bring back memories for you?”

Snorting, he grins. “No. I didn’t… I didn’t do that.”

“You want to?”

He considers it. More so when your lips slant back across his, when you whimper lightly when the kiss deepens.

Javi traces his finger over your thigh, half-tempted to slide it further up, skate it over whatever fabric you’ve chosen to wear between your thighs.

But he stops himself, halts.

Instead, he slides his fingers back under your chin, tilting it up. “Rather take you home. To our home.”

He watches as your smile curls up, lips pursing, eyes flicking down before meeting his. “Take me home then.”

Your fingers lightly flutter along his cheek, the top of your nails scraping gently against his skin, into the hair above his ears.

“Not to be a devils advocate, but we don’t have to wait until we get home, do he?”

Smirking, he lets a soft laugh exit under his breath.

“Seven letters,” you whisper, teasing his hair in your fingers, “Highest point.”

He kisses you. Pressing his smirk against your lips, feeling yours emerge as he does.

“You’re a real fallen angel, aren’t you?”

Snorting, you slant your mouth over his, likely wanting one more before the sea of goodbyes and see you in a week have to be said.

“Fallen straight into you, though. No regrets from me,” you add.

Pressing a kiss to your lips, Javi mumbles, “Not from me either.” Hands sliding around your waist, stealing another moment. “Need you to keep the halo on.”

Tilting your head, you pull from his lips. Breaths dancing, shared between the two of you.

“Wanna see how long it takes until I can fuck it off your head, cariño.”

Grinning, your tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. The slightest of head shakes. “Think you knocked the real one off my head ages ago—when you made me moan your name down the phone.”

an: if you have any ideas of what our pairing can get up to, let me know. i can't promise I'll always write them, but you never know.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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kairiscorner · 1 year

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he is me and i am him (also i updated my masterlist, i put a jjk section !!)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he's so sorry he made you cry... kinda. – teen!satoru gojo x reader

summary: he was never a nice guy, you knew that, but even so... he does have a heart, a literal anatomical one; he's just never shown you how much you make it beat like crazy. pairing: teen!satoru gojo x reader genre: lil' bit of angst and a whole lot of comfort and fluff 🫶🫶🫶

satoru gojo is a little shit. well, a head and a half taller than you piece of shit, but who cares? you do, a little bit, but the fact he's so much taller than you isn't what bothered you—it's the fact that he effortlessly makes you feel shitty about yourself.

satoru gojo was the worst guy you ever met, and you've met all kinds of douchebags in your life—but he definitely takes the cake. he's insensitive, crass, lazy... he's everything you hate in a person. you had no idea how anybody could like him. the only reason you hang around him is because you're friends with shoko and geto, no other reason. you'd kick him out if you could, but you didn't wanna hurt the two of them so you just... had to bear him and his shitty attitude.

satoru gojo was so boisterous, he always filled the silence with his stupid jokes and gags that you were surprised anyone would laugh at. he was so noisy... it was like he wanted his voice to be remembered by everyone, especially you.

satoru gojo doesn't know when enough is enough when it comes to you, he assumes that your angry, annoyed face is a face you make when he's doing a good job at riling you up–and it is, but he's yet to understand just how mean he can really be towards you. he thinks that a lot of his jokes towards you always come across the way he wants them to; they're just harmless little jabs at you, no biggie... until he jabs you a little too hard that tears start falling from the corner of your eyes.

satoru gojo knows nothing, nothing, about comforting people when they're crying–he's unsure why you're even crying in the first place. if he wanted to make you cry, he'd've done much worse than just poke some fun at you and tease you for a few of your shortcomings, but he never meant to make you cry. he teased you that you were a crybaby, a sensitive little cutie that gets pissed about everything. turns out, he was partially right, you were indeed expressive with your emotions, but only when they reach the boiling point, and you just... can't take his bullshit anymore.

satoru gojo had never seen you so vulnerable before; he had always thought you were the type to not get so affected by some guy's unsolicited opinion, but he wasn't just some guy to you... he was satoru gojo for crying out loud; and you didn't care if he was some hotshot sorcerer or womanizer or anybody else important or well-known or liked–he was an asshole, he... he shouldn't have affected you this much. you weren't angry at him, at least not anymore, you were more angry at yourself for letting his words get to you.

satoru gojo felt awkward and a bit unsure of what to do as he watched you cry, with you trying your hardest to wipe your tears away amidst you sobbing a whole new batch of tears. it was like his words had cut so deep into your heart that you forgot how to close the faucet of your tears. you were so mad... how could a jerk like him get to you that well?

satoru gojo would've left you right then and there for you to deal with the aftermath of his overstepping, like hell did he want an earful from shoko and geto from his idiocy and insensitivity again, but there was just something about your pathetic little self that gojo felt compelled to deal with, to... console.

satoru gojo hates this feeling, he hates feeling responsible for feelings that aren't even his. you would think that for a guy who gets a lot of praise from people for his looks and abilities, he'd know how to deal with them and get them off his back–but he doesn't. he sighs as he looks away from you, his brows furrowed together in agitation as he tries to settle with himself that he shouldn't stay, he shouldn't try comforting you when he doesn't even have the faintest idea on how to even start.

satoru gojo sighs and groans loudly as he crouches to level with you, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to collect his thoughts. "oi, crybaby, look at me." he said to you in a snappy voice as you looked up at him with angry eyes, your vision being blurred as the tears obscured your sight. if your goal was to make gojo feel bad, well you were doing a semi-bad job; he doesn't yield to anybody's tears, or at least, he didn't until he became the reason you cried for the first time.

satoru gojo sighed again as he took off his sunglasses, wanting to face you fully, show you he isn't kidding around. you looked away from him again as you buried your face in your palms, your muffled sobs getting louder as gojo approached you. "c'mon now, crybaby... y'know i didn't really wanna make you weep–crying doesn't look good on you." he muttered as he gently grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from your face, seeing your eyes dripping with tears and your nostrils wet with snot.

satoru gojo chuckled as he saw your usually prim and proper face being all disheveled and wet, to believe he was the first guy in a long while to make you sob isn't that unbelievable–and though he felt a small pang in his chest that urged him to cheer you up, he kinda found this other side of you as... kinda adorable.

satoru gojo gently wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, chuckling lowly as he did; muttering how swollen your eyes look now, how they–despite him saying that crying didn't suit you–you looked really pretty with this more somber look on your face. "for a crybaby, you sure look kinda pretty after sobbing. it's pathetic, sure, but... kinda hot as well." he said in a hushed voice that was laced with mischief as he stuck his tongue out at you as you looked at him all angrily, as if you were about to hit him for what he said.

satoru gojo laughed loudly when you said you weren't a crybaby, you just... you just felt a little vulnerable. "yeah, yeah, say what you want to feel better, crybaby. and, so i can see you smile that impish little grin again..." he uttered as he leaned closer to you–his aquamarine blue eyes locking with your own as he stared into the pretty hue of your irises–and says with a wide smirk on his face: "i'm sorry..." and he blows a raspberry at your face and chuckles. "kinda." he ends as he pulls away from you, pinching your cheek all the while. he dons on his sunglasses as he pinches your cheeks again, noticing how bite-able they are. some things just never change, do they? well, at least you heard the satoru gojo speak an apology, even if it was fake, or semi-fake.

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niqhtlord01 · 8 months

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Humans are weird: When there is no honor to be had

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Vindi War had been the first intergalactic war humanity had faced while fighting alongside alien allies. Up until then humanity had chosen that while it had made several defensive pacts and alliances over the last several decades with other great powers they would not allow their military forces to be placed under the command of foreign powers. Yet the conflict with the Vindi had escalated to such an extent that human military might was no longer capable of winning the war alone.

So one by one several treaties were called up and the allies humanity had cultivated added their own forces to the progressing war. Things finally seemed to be turning around when the Vindi carried out an assassination against the Cargav leader Tul. The assassin had stowed aboard a Cargav transport as it docked with the flagship of the Cargav contingent and slit Tul’s throat while he was sleeping in his quarters. No one realized the commander was dead until long after the act had been carried out and the assassin had snuck back off the ship.

In the human mindset while the assassination of a leader could cripple a war there were procedures in place to limit the extent of the damage. The chain of command existed so that responsibilities would pass on to the next in command ensure that the human military was never without a leader. Tactics and strategies were taught to all commanders instead of being shared with only the top leaders. Even the diversifying of military branches made it so no one single leader was in command of all forces to allow for flexible reactions to situations.

The Cargav did not have any of this.

In their culture when a war leader was chosen they would be the sole voice of the war until the conflict ended. Their authority was unquestionable and every Cargavan who joined the campaign under their leader swore a blood oath to follow them into the jaws of hell itself if needed.

They had no concept of betrayal or power grabs; no dreams of launching violent coups or misusing military might for personal gain. To the Cargavan’s war was a sacred passage that one would follow for the betterment of all their people. So when Tul died every Cargavan, from lowest orderly to fleet captain felt an overwhelming sense of shame and failure. The death of their leader was seen as the darkest mark of shame their people could obtain and the only way they could undo it was by mass ritual suicide. In that way they would indeed follow their commander into the depths of hell were they could command them once more.

When the human commander Jarvis Lee heard of this he at first did not believe it was a real tradition. He had not done extensive background research on his allies aside from military tactics and could not believe that of the 300,000 Cargavan’s deployed to the campaign all of them would kill themselves.

This reality was finally accepted however when Lee was informed that all Cargavan forces had withdrawn from frontline activities and began donning ceremonial robes. A coalition broadcast soon went out not long after with the Cargavan second in command beginning a death chant of his people.

Realizing that the sudden loss of three hundred thousand allied combatants would cripple the war effort; Lee got on the fastest shuttle and flew directly to the Cargavan flagship after every transmission he sent was blocked.

With every Cargavan in the process of the death ritual Lee met no resistance with boarding the flagship. It took several minutes for Lee to orient himself with the ship’s layout and find the hold the death rite was being carried out in. He sprinted down the winding corridors hoping he would reach there before it was too late. ------------------------------

“Zem zull na, brea ka lu mo. Dea fra muz tah, sen bou nei ru.”

The rhythmic chanting was getting louder as Lee pounded through the alien corridors. His breathing was beyond labored and with each frantic sprint the grey shrouds circling his vision grew thicker; but he could not stop.

He did not care what significance a death ritual held for the Cargavan’s; only that with the sudden loss of the entire Cargavan contingent would mean for the campaign.

After what felt like an eternity Lee stumbled upon the central chamber the rite was being broadcast from. He swiped his access key across the nearby panel but the device merely blinked red and denied him entry. Through the thick metal doors Lee could hear the chanting growing louder and knew he had mere minutes to stop the ceremony but was powerless to get through the doors.

Just as he was about to give up hope he heard the sound of terran boots on deck plates and turned to see his honor guard finally catching up to him.

“Breaching charge, now!” Lee shouted at them.

“Sir?” the leader spoke as he caught his breath, but nonetheless reached down and pulled a small circular device from his belt before handing it to Lee.

Lee snatched the charge from the guard and slapped it on the door as his honor guard slowly began backing away. He spun the activation dial for ten seconds before activating the timer and running back down the corridor. The charge went off just as he turned the corner sending a shower of broken metal, fire, and smoke back after him missing him by mere inches.

Before the smoke had cleared Lee was storming back down the ruined corridor and leaping through the wreckage of what once was the door. Inside he was greeted by the heavy glares of some thousand or so Cargavan’s who had ceased chanting.

They stood gathered in ordered rows like a funeral and at the head of them lay their fallen leader and his second in command standing watch over his corpse with holy blade still in hand.

“YOU DARE!”

The second shouted as he stepped down from his platform and approached Lee. It was only now that it dawned on Lee that he did not actually have a plan on how to stop the ceremony itself. He’d been so focused on just reaching here before it completed that the plan had not fully formed; and now seeing the second in command now coming towards him with eyes full of murderous intent did he push his mind to the limit to concoct a plan. He was just about to open his mouth to address the second when he realized he had never learned their name to begin with. His dealings had always been through Tul and Tul had never introduced his second in command.

Pulling himself up and dusting off his uniform, Lee calmly addressed the gathered Cargavan’s with a voice that filled the entire chamber.

“I came here today to pay my respects to a fallen hero the likes of which will not shine again for generations.” Lee began as he decided to make his gamble. “Yet I am shocked to see his funeral attended by the likes of such cowards.”

The second in command stopped his approach and Lee could see the veins beneath his skin bulging. Lee pressed on knowing he only had one chance to stop the death rite and save his own skin.

“You’re commander is slain from right under your noses, and rather than hunting down the assassin down you all put the blade to your throats.”

Lee walked forward until he was standing before the second in command and looked up at them. They snarled through clenched teeth as they spoke.

“You know nothing of our ways.”

Lee frowned and looked around at the other gathered Cargavan’s.

“I know lazy soldiers when I see them.” Lee remarked. “Has the knife of one assassin cast such fear into you all!?”

He felt hands grabbing his uniform before he saw them and was hoisted into the air like a doll. The second gave an angry roar and threw him down towards the alter where their fallen leader lay. Lee landed heavily, a loud crunching sound informing him of his now broken shoulder, but rallied to his feet quickly.

“And you believe your soldiers would do any differently?” the second challenged as he resumed his death like pace towards Lee, “That they would suffer this injustice to their honor!?”

Lee spat out a glob of blood and looked at the alien, matching his death glare with one of his own. “They would morn my passing and then they would choose a new leader to take my place.” Lee admitted, “But before they did they would scour the worlds of the universe for my killer and bring him before my grave. They would boil the flesh from his body and grind his bones to fertilize the fields of my home, and then cast what remained into the void of oblivion!”

The words stopped the second in his place. No doubt he had not imagined humans capable of such a martial code and this was confirmed by the now interested looks of the surrounding warriors.

“Your leader is dead.” Lee continued as he pointed to Tul, “Yet you would meet him in the after without avenging his death? Did he mean so little to you all?!”

“We die today because he meant everything!” a random Cargavan shouted from the crowd and was met with supportive cheers.

“Then prove it!” Lee countered. “Tul’s enemies still yet live and his killer walks free thinking he has not only slain your leader but all of you as well!”

Lee stepped up on to the platform so everyone gathered could see him. “I ask you now to continue this war until it is won. And when the blood of Tul’s enemies has finally dried upon your blades you may then seek him in the after and present to him the monument of those you have killed in his name and proven your loyalty to him now, and forever!”

Raising his clenched fist high Lee shouted “Who will be Tul’s vengeance!?”

For a death breaking moment there was not a single sound; one could hear a pin drop from across the room. Lee looked over the crowd and debated if he had overplayed his hand when he saw the second raise his hand.

“Vengeance!” they shouted.

One by one the surrounding Cargavan’s began raising their hands as well and shouting the word. Over and over they shouted until the noise deafened Lee and he breathed a sigh of relief. In his eyes the crisis had been averted and the war could continue; little knowing the bloodbath of butchery he had stirred in the hearts of every Cargavan that would push them from noble warriors to genocidal war criminals.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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moonpie016 · 3 months

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Makes song into personified thing. :0

Sooooo, I did this. Cus I thought about doing it! And yeah. After listening to this song for too many times (it's catching on with me), I make this dude. Chonny but desaturated. Idk. Man's the personified version of anxiousness and always trying to be on time with things. With anything he plans on doing, he worries about it constantly until it's done.

But after looking at comments on the song, I thought. Dynamic needs to happen.

(this is probably akin to a coping mechanism to help you relax. That's what they are. Buddies.)

So. The constant struggle and ever worrying, with the free minded and generally cool dude. Fine (shortening so I don't have to repeat the song title) accompanies Dea on occasion. Mostly assuring him about his worries and that everything will be fine.

But, as the song says, he's not fine. He, as well as anxiety with also the constant use of reassurance to breathe. He has shortness of breath under intense stress. So Mr. Cool shades has to help. Did I put thought into this? Yes. Why? Idk. But I liked doing this.

Whenever he's not thinking too much about something, his color palette becomes more like the rest. (But that's rare). I would've put something to reference the appearances line, but nothing yet.

Uh. So. Here ya go. Fanart for this song! :D

(for fun)

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#chonny jash #chonny jash fanart #chonny jash fine im fine #chonny jash to toe deadlines #cj fine i'm fine #cj to toe deadlines

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automeris-io-moth · 5 months

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Short #2

Part #2

Part 1

Hero turned their back to the bathroom door, a beam of light peeking through the cracked door, the faint, almost muted sound of running water disturbing the idle radio-filled ambiance from before, a jazz song, some they had never heard before playing.

Villain had arrived then, and the routine would follow: silent steps for their blood-stained shoes were left at the door every night, shower, dinner, and after they would pretend to fight the want to lay besides Hero, only for a few minutes of play-pretend, of false stoicism before giving in, opening the covers an settle in bed.

Hero would take their arms in their own grasp after a while, feeling the embrace of the other tighten. To admit the fear they had both felt was senseless, it was only to make themselves look vulnerable and there was no point on that, they could communicate perfectly well though only touch, Hero huffed.

A hand on their shoulder.

"Are you awake?" Villain asked, Hero grunted in response "Come, join me in the shower."

With an opposing grunt, Hero walked behind them to the bathroom.

Hero had had a hard time keeping up with daily tasks after the event, they knew Villain was aware. Eating, showering, getting out of the room were then not so optional suggestions.

They did not think that as per their enemy's words, allowing Villain to do whatever they wanted was going to get them bickering about something as simple as eating an carrot. But it did.

When inside the room, it was apparent that the dirty clothes were already placed away, the steam from the hot water fogging the mirror.

"You already showered," they said.

"I wanna do it again,"

"How convenient."

Yet, despite their protests, Hero allowed themselves to be undressed, clothes two days old thrown to the designated basket.

Water was lukewarm, a negotiated middle ground from Hero's ice-cold showers, and Villain's burning-hot ones. Hero's muscles did distend at the touch of the water, and Villain's hands on their skin felt as a reassurance.

A rough hand, though with a soft touch, brushed over the scar dangerously close to Hero's heart, the middle of their chest, just slightly turned to the left.

"I'm sorry," Villain whispered.

"You’ve already apologised, it’s okay."

"It’s not, I could have lost you, you could have been dea…”

“Villain,” Hero interrupted, the concept of their very close encounter with death was still upsetting, they, some night, were still afraid “it’s okay.”

“What if one day is not, what if one day you wanna go back there, if you want to leave me and go there, what will I do then?”

“Maybe,” hero said, stopping to think about their answer, they did not know, then and there they could not imagine an scenario where they wished to go out, to get further from Villain than arm's length, yet, they knew a wrong answer could condemn them to stay “maybe then we’ll have healed, and you’ll be able to let me go.”

“Will I be able?” Villain answered, turning Hero’s face around with a firm grasp by their chin “Will I want to?”

And then, with Hero’s heart beating faster, abnormally so, why would it? if they knew Villain so well.

Then, they reciprocated a kiss.

Masterlist

I saw some requests for a continuation, and I really liked the first part too so I did it :D

#my writing #creative writing #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #short story #hero #writing wip #writing snippet #wips #villain #hero/villain #villain/hero #carewhumper #injured hero #scared hero #part2 #short2

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