#it feels wrong to draw him without his mustache…

[mica949]

T4T Copperright. RHM transitioned in his teens, while Reg didn’t know what being trans even was until meeting RHM

Obviously the only reaction to learning your girlfriend might want to be a boyfriend is to go steal some clothes for him

[avonne-writes]

Put that guy in a situation... Buck/Bucky Body swap mayhaps?

There's a sweet familiarity to the throbbing ache of a hangover, Bucky thinks as he turns to lie on his back in his cot. He can just sink into the misery of it, then chase it with the hair of the dog, let the poison make it better. That’s what he needs. Something to make getting up only three or four hours after he went to sleep worth it. And Gale. Yeah, Gale would already be there in the mess hall, waiting for him with one of his muted smiles.

Now, that's something that would get Bucky out of bed even if he was dying.

He rolls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed but a sharp, piercing pain slices through his thigh.

"Ugh, Jesus Christ." He hisses through gritted teeth, his hand tearing the thin army-issued blanket away to see what hurt him. "Fuck! What the fuck!"

There's a splotch of red spreading on his boxers. Cursing under his breath, he rucks up the material and finds a sizeable gash with the skin held together by stitches. His careless movements pulled at the edge of it wrong and made it bleed a little.

He can’t remember getting wounded there.

"What..." He blinks, confusion and panic settling in.

Those are not his legs. His muscular thighs have been replaced by ones much slimmer, the thick, dark coils seem to have vanished to give way to sparse blond hair, and where he's usually white as a sheet his skin now sports a pinkish hue. Small moles dot the limbs where there should be none.

Bucky's breathing so fast that he feels lightheaded. He racks his brain for an explanation, but the only plausible one is that the special brew he won off the goddamn Brits last night was spiked with something freaky. Of course, those pricks would pull something like this. He runs a hand through his hair to try calm himself down, but instead of the familiar pattern of his curls, he combs through straighter, silkier strands. He jerks his hand away to look at it and that's when he realizes -

These are Gale's hands. His hair, his skin, his slim legs. Even his voice, the low rumble of it, isn’t because Bucky sang himself hoarse last night. It’s Gale’s voice.

"Jesus Christ." Bucky repeats, whispering from the shock. He looks up and Marge's framed photo stares back at him from Gale’s bedside. And just across from him - "Shit!"

It's surreal to see his own body from the outside. For a moment, he fears that he’s dead, but his body stirs and curls up tighter on his side, his hands tucked under his pillow.

Like Gale's usually are when he's asleep.

Swallowing against the alarm making his head throb, Bucky pushes himself up to pad over to his body - to Gale, his heart knows - despite the pain lancing through his thigh and a stiffness in his back that shouldn't be there. Even through his racing thoughts, one stands out loud and clear. Gale has been hiding his wounds from him.

That hurts more than the physical pain.

With a shaking hand, he touches Gale's - his own - shoulder. Eyes Bucky only ever sees in the mirror snap open, widen, and without any further preamble, a fist swings out and clocks him in the face. The world goes dark again.

When Bucky wakes up again, he’s in the softest, warmest bed known to man, and someone's arm lies limp across his face, right where his nose throbs with a slowly fading pain. He gasps as his mind reconnects to the present and realizes that the war has long been over and he’s lying on the mattress he shares with Gale.

Relieved, he grabs for his own thigh and finds it unmarred under the duvet. It’s just as meaty as it should be, the hair on it familiar as he draws his palm over it. On his upper lip, his mustache covers the skin. He sighs as his heartbeat slows. Only his face hurts, and that's apparently because Gale swung his arm out in his sleep.

Carefully, he folds that arm back over Gale’s torso, then reaches under the covers. Gale moves with him, turning to his side in a way that suggests he thinks Bucky wants to spoon, but he grunts when Bucky’s hand smooths over his thigh to trace the old scar there.

"I had a weird dream." Bucky whispers, molding himself to the curve of Gale's body for comfort. "We were back in Thorpe and I was in your body."

Gale breathes in and out slowly. "'m not in the mood." He mumbles.

"No, I mean, I were you and you were me, Buck. We switched bodies. It was damn scary, let me tell ya. Then you punched me." When he gets no response, Bucky continues. "Imagine seeing yourself from the outside. Can't lie, it left me terrified."

Gale's hum rumbles in his chest where he presses Bucky's hand to his heart. "Sleep, hon."

Taking a deep breath, Bucky closes his eyes and tries to obey. He doubts that Gale will remember any of this conversation in the morning. He’ll tell him again during breakfast. It will earn him a smile, he’s sure.

[pure-garbage]

One Calm Moment... Lana's Carefully Planned Revenge

Zoro didn't see Lana again until the crew was reassembled on the Thousand Sunny. She didn't approach him until they were already under the water, but Zoro didn't feel like she was shunning him. Rather, he just assumed she was taking her time reuniting with the rest of the friends she hadn't seen in such a long time.

It had been a few days since he'd thought about the way she'd stormed away from him, but as she settled behind him, the incident came back to mind.

"What a great view," she sighed at his ear.

"Lots of fish," he said cautiously. 'Is she still angry? I'm not interested in walking on eggshells. Why does she have to be so high maintenance?'

"Hm. No surprise there," Lana said idly. "Think we'll see any shipwrecks?"

Her hands crept up to his shoulders while she spoke. He tensed at her touch at first, but his unease melted away as she began to massage him from behind. Lana could be petty and vengeful, but he sensed no trace of ill-will in her intentions. If anything, her mood seemed to border on playfulness. It also didn't hurt that her firm fingers felt absolutely heavenly as they dug skillfully into taut muscle and sinew.

He breathed a sigh that was equal parts relief and pleasure.

"Shipwrecks aren't that exciting," he yawned, concerns all but forgotten. 'So much for her 'giving me hell' for that little training exercise. She's all talk as usual.'

"Rotting wood, maybe a few old bones," Lana agreed. Brook wandered past, cracking jokes in passing.

"Yes, we can see enough bones aboard this vessel without any need for sinking. Yo-ho-ho-ho!" he chuckled, almost more to himself than the others. "Because... I'm nothing but bones, get it? D'you get it?"

"I get it!" Nami snapped at him.

Lana laughed a little, but didn't let her attention wander far from Zoro.

"How about sea monsters?" she proposed.

"We'll definitely see some monsters," he supposed aloud.

"Think Luffy'll try to eat them?" Lana went on.

"Either that or invite them to join the crew," Zoro grumbled. Their next thought was voiced in unison.

"Or both."

"Or both."

Lana's fingers brushed the back of Zoro's neck, resting on his skin.

'Now... calm-calm time out!'

He slumped bonelessly against her. She caught his limp form, a wicked smirk spreading across her features.

"Now, for my revenge!" she cackled deviously. "My hand still hurts, you big oaf! Did you think I would forget to give you hell for that little game of yours?"

He couldn't hear her, let alone respond, so she was effectively talking to herself. She reached into her pocket and whipped out a black marker. She flipped it skillfully between her fingers, tearing the cap off with her teeth while her left hand remained glued to the back of Zoro's neck.

She went to work drawing spiky horns on his forehead, then blocking over his eyebrows dramatically. She slapped a shakily traced pair of glasses around his eyes, then drew open triangles under them for good measure. She gave him kitty whiskers, a thick handlebar mustache and a sharply pointed goatee.

Nearly out of space, she took a moment to admire her handiwork. As an afterthought, she added a heart to the center of his forehead and jotted her initials inside.

Satisfied, Lana put the marker away and released Zoro from the hold of her devil fruit power. He picked up right where he'd left off, unaware that he'd missed so much as a beat of their conversation.

"I wouldn't mind some roasted sea king myself," he mused.

"Depends on the variety," Lana giggled, continuing to rub his shoulders as if nothing had happened. "Some taste better than others."

"You're not wrong."

Lana had gained an audience while she was doodling on Zoro. Brook, Franky and Chopper gaped at the pair, while Nami covered a giggle with her hand. The gawking wasn't lost on Zoro.

"You guys need something?" he prompted, baffled.

Behind him, Lana put a finger to her lips with a silent wink.

"Well?" Zoro demanded of their friends.

Their crewmates all burst out laughing, further puzzling Zoro.

"Maybe the atmospheric pressure down here is getting to them," Lana suggested slyly.

"Maybe," Zoro shrugged. "Ohh, Lana?"

"Mm?"

"Little harder, right there. Yeah... damn, I missed your back rubs."

____________________________________

"YOU IDIOTS!"

When Zoro, Luff and Sanji finally made it back aboard after fighting the kraken and being separated from the ship, no one was surprised that Nami had words for them. What was surprising, however, was the fact that Lana joined her in the lecture this time.

"Yeah, why couldn't you just take the damned rope?!" she berated the boys, brow twitching from stress that caught Zoro off guard.

"Come on, Lana, not you too!" he scoffed. "Don't tell me you didn't think we could take care of ourselves out there! We're back now and we're fine, so what's the problem?"

"I know you can take care of yourselves, moron!" Lana seethed. Nami focused her wrath on Sanji, apologizing with starry eyes, and Luffy, picking his nose and gazing idly into the far distance. "But this whole environment is out to kill us! It's not natural of us to be down here! Don't you get it?! What if your bubble popped, what then?! Or were you planning to slice the depths until you convinced them not to crush you to death or drown you?!"

Zoro grumbled, but couldn't deny she had a decent point.

"Fine, I'll take the rope next time, geez. Don't act so serious, you're turning into Nami. One worrywart aboard this ship is already more than enough," he acquiesced with a roll of his eyes. He still looked ridiculous, face covered in markings that made it hard for Lana to take the situation seriously, even though she was incredibly, unbelievably upset with the idiotic lapse of judgement. His next words were so hilariously oblivious that her anger couldn't hold up against the humor of the scene.

"Fix your face, why don't you," he went on. "Why does it always look like that?"

"Like what?" Lana asked, unable to stop herself from cracking a smile as he pinched her cheek hard.

"So damn stupid," he griped.

"You're one to talk," she giggled.

Even if his face wasn't still covered in the doodles that represented her vengeance, she knew she wouldn't have been able to stay mad at him.

_____________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[nomouthtospeakof]

trying to draw dorian without his mustache is so weird and jarring i stg. like, i look at his face and i’m like “.......does this not look like him at all or am i just used to seeing him with facial hair?” and i gotta do a lil scribbled goatee on him to check and then i’m like “Ah Yeah There He Is :)”

[infriga]

Seeing characters who usually have facial hair drawn without facial hair, or characters who usually don't have facial hair drawn with facial hair, always wigs me out a little bit, idk why. Maybe it's repressed trauma from that one time my dad spontaneously decided to shave his beard and mustache for the first time and I think my mom actually cried.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Reviews: ML Season 5 episode 17 Adoration

(Spoilers as this episode is out before other ones)

-Andre bonding with the child Audrey the supposed love of his life had with another man.

-I pity that man, changed everything about himself for love… it’s actually kind of sad. Because it’s clear he fell for the wrong person.

-Zoe got someone she is in love with. I’d say it’s Marinette, because she has LITERALLY no other people she has seen interacting with. But I doubt it will appear since this is an international show. So my bet is they will imply it without saying it, plus, Zoe doesn’t show the photo she was gonna bury.

-oh so Zoe is in 8th grade while Marinette is in 9th grade. So at least that conforms Audrey cheated on Andre AFTER having Chloe, Damn

-so those two are the reps. Also. Marc is a year younger than them. Interesting

-oh the zoenette is strong in this one

-The storage of all the gifts she made for Adrien, which needs cleaning out. Guess Marinette chilled out about things. Good on her.

-huh… this is the first time we actually get a full on tour of her room. (We see it a lot, but never knew how she divided her stuff up. Neat.

-Oh the hidden adrien simp board is new. Love the touch. (I love the little sticky drawings)

-That probably hurt Zoe more than she would let on.

-not gonna lie I know Andre isn’t his real name, but I get why he changed it. It’s a mouthful.

-the butlers name is Armand!?

-Zoe knows everyone in the hotel. Good. Glad that girl is respectful to the people that help run the place. (Zoe + 3 respect)

-And Chloe and Sabrina are there… what a shock (not really)

- Yea the show really just removed any and all character development they had for Chloe and squeezed it into Zoe. Points for Zoe standing up to Chloe.

-At least Audrey is still in character.

-Andre really be like (I prefer the daughter that was born from another man banging my wife than my own) points to the Simp mayor

-I take it back Anax as a nickname sounds kind of dope

-You ever just see a character on screen and hope a piano falls on him? Yes I’m talking about Gabriel that sterilized tampon

-now Nathalie here being the GOAT with only one line. Respect for Nathalie. Girl really gave up on her simp tendencies and decided to just be the mother Adrien needs

-Gabriel really be the worst. Looks like Lila gonna cook up something

-seems Zoe forgot about the photo is out. Which I bet will cause a misunderstanding with her hiding it.

-What exactly does Sabrina have morals in? Also side note, PUNCHING BAG?! Really?

-Yea, Chloe just be mustache twirling evil

-Vanisher is back and with Dog powers

-Lila literally plotted an akumatization.

-if I had a dollar for everytime Someone couldn’t tell Marinette they were in love with her. I’d have 2 nickles. Which isn’t a lot but weird it happened twice

-Marinette is pretty clever figuring out all the details… EXCEPT THE FACT THAT ITS HER!?

-Marinette shows she supports Love is Love.

-Op she thought it was a he, to bad Marinette you failed the game. Rip.

-wait did Marinette just condone polyamory? I might have read that wrong

-Marinette consulting Alya on the matter

-oh so that’s how Marinette gets the assumption it’s Adrien. To be fair, I’d have come to that conclusion at some point to.

-oh I can feel the awkward situation coming in 3…2….1….

-Zoe, thinking (wow I reall fell for a simp)

-ah yes the cringe is finally here, now to spend the next Hour trying to watch the episode.

-OOOO A MONTAGE, so how many items can be retrieved via one whistle blow

- They really replaced Luka with Nino. Wait… DOES THAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS! Was the truth finally revealed?!

-I get the plan now, they are framing her for stealing stuff. So basically what Lila did in the episode Ladybug. That’s not surprising but also kind of mid. I was expecting more pizzaz. Side note, Zoe was with her the whole time? Also why would she steal from her parents?

-The Chloe accusing her part was clever, because the motive of Chloe walking in to yell at Marinette is very believable

- okay I take it back, this plan has Pizzaz. But the fact everyone sort of just believes it even her own parents? Like come on? And with an akuma litterally anything is possible.

-And Marinette caught on, sees vanisher thanks to the flowers.

-Chloé legit has a Gold phone?!

-Zoe is taking the blame! Zoe no!?

-Oh! Vanisher can just call back whatever she wants. Proof is in the pudding. Good thing Marinette is ladybug. Piñata time!!! Viva piñata

-yum ladynoir crumbs

- Rip Luka’s guitar

-Chloe now getting stared down

-So confession time!

-Well she never outright say it… but She pretty much says it and Marinette confirms it though turns her down. I’m surprised they did that much

-I was complaining earlier about subtlety but this was tastefully done.

-I FUCKING KNEW SHE WAS DOWN BAD SINCE DAY ONE!

-Good on Zoe for encouraging Marinette. Even though she got turned down. But at least it was canon

-Oh damn Marinette is gonna confess

-SHE DID IT FOLKS! She fucking did it! And Adrien is receptive! Will we get a kiss!?

-GABRIEL YOU COCKBLOCKING FUCKING PIECE OF GARBAGE! I WILL END YOU!

-My heart breaks for Marinette

_________________________________________

7/10

It was a fine episode, I think a lot of it felt padded out, and while I enjoyed the first few minutes and the LAST few minutes were epic. The rest of the episode felt… meh.

Yea Adrien is a sentimonster. There is no denying it. Like I’m sorry for the hood outs. This episodes ending confirmed it completely. Which may be the reason I’m not gonna rate it higher.

[carnal-lnstinct]

Imagine Broly being needy, but in a G-Rated way. Like, he wants to just snuggle and talk about whatever is bothering him. He just strikes me as a guy who would do that.

Ah, Intimacy is what you're looking for and I agree with you! Who's looking at this face and not wanting to snuggle all his sorrows away?

10/10 would fall asleep in a snuggly bundle with Broly just to make sure he's getting a nice, restful sleep or stay up all night to be his confidant.

Unrelated, but he'd also be the worse to try to prank at a sleepover, he's too hypervigilant to prank in his sleep. Imagine trying to draw a mustache on him with a can of whipped cream and he just opens his mouth when the nozzle's pressed to eat the spray. Doesn't even open his eyes to see you in your shame, he just smelled something sweet under his nose and knew what was up.

But yes, without a doubt having intimacy is very important, especially for someone like Broly. He needs that opportunity to be vulnerable and feel safe in it. However I also feel he's no more talkative than usual, maybe even less talkative. Simply having the ability to be close to someone, and feel relaxed and unburdened around them is enough for him. Perhaps he doesn't wanna talk about the things that bother him yet, he just wants to be comforted from them until he can find the right words. But his s/o can always tell when something is bothering him by how tight he holds them, so it wouldn't hurt to try to get him to talk about it. If he "little spoons" them by cradling their head against his chest--shielding them away--then he's not ready to talk about it. If he smiles and continues to not say anything or just kinda shrug it off, then he just wants to be close

How talkative he is just depends on his mood, whether he just wants to unwind or actually discuss something that's been hanging on the tip of his tongue all day. I do believe a one-on-one conversation with Broly over something he wants to talk about could very well go on and on. He's used to speaking his thoughts very precisely and to the point, so to actually catch him rambling on is special. And having a chance to be open and honest with someone without hesitation is really important. There's safety in that with his s/o, he doesn't have to worry about backlash for speaking his mind, or mentally recoil if he actually regrets saying something he suspects would be wrong. As long as he doesn't feel forced into a conversation or uncomfortable in his silence, then his intimate needs are met. ♥

[alpineglowx]

Lagom | Pedro Pascal x Reader

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.5K

Warnings: Just fluff and some mild angst! One bed trope kind of??

Summary: Three months have flown by since you've been able to see your beloved Pedro in person, thanks to quarantine. Facetime and phone calls have never been the same as actually seeing him in person, but a surprise calls warrants more than a bit of excitement.

A/N: Lagom: not too much, not too little. just right.

***

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, sending you jolting forward. The waiter who had just brought your coffee blinked at you warmly before you shot him a small shrug.

“Sorry,” you murmured as you fished your phone from your pocket. “Just a phone call.”

You said a small thank you for the drink before quickly making your way back to your car, just as your eyes came in sight of who was calling.

“Mi amor” read the name in large white text, accompanied by a goofy picture of your boyfriend, his glasses twisted on his nose as you kissed his cheek. The picture had been taken months earlier, before quarantine had even begun and split you two apart. Life had been normal, practically perfect before... Now you were just trying to pick up the pieces.

You hesitated with your finger hovering over the phone before you finally answered, plopping down in the driver's seat of your car. It was quiet on the other end, but you couldn’t force yourself to speak first, not with the way your lip was trembling.

Pedro finally spoke. “Babe?”

Tears burst in your eyes, warmth growing in your face as you dug your fingers into your shirt sleeve.

“Hi,” you croaked, running a hand through your hair. When had you last spoken, a day, a week? You couldn’t remember exactly. The time spent apart had been long, that, you were sure of.

You had been apart when quarantine was first implemented, states away while Pedro had been filming for The Mandalorian. The strict rules had made it virtually impossible to see each other, the ones in your state and his. Hours were spent talking, sharing meals, and falling asleep together over the phone and FaceTime. It wasn’t the same, and it didn’t help ease the pain you felt when you were still so far away.

It had been three months since you had last seen him in person. Three months since you smelled him and felt his secure arms as he gave you the best hugs, three months without kissing him or holding him or just being with him. You had wanted to make it work, you made that clear to him. And he had wanted it to, to your greatest relief.

But it was difficult regardless.

“You doing alright?” He asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you managed. “Everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright,” Pedro said. “I was able to see my dad last night. He was able to come over and we got dinner.”

You beamed; you just wished he could see. “Oh, honey, that’s great. I’m really happy for you. How did it go? You guys make anything?”

“Ah, you know, the typical stuff. It was good though... I needed it.”

“I know,” you said, sitting back against the headrest. “... Pedro?”

“Yes, mi amor?”

Your lip trembled again just as tears fell down your cheeks, and you inhaled heavily. “I just miss you so much.”

“I... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Your heart suddenly thundered in your chest. “Um, okay... I didn’t do anything, did I? You’re not breaking up with me?”

Pedro laughed on the other end, lifting your spirits. “Are you kidding me? No! Honestly, you’ve been so great. More than great, like... Gosh, you know what I mean.”

“Damn, Pedro, you’re making me blush,” you giggled, wiping tears away. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m coming home.”

You shot up in your seat, clutching the armrest. “What? Are-are you actually serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Pedro, if you’re just joking with me, I swear-“

“I’m not, I’m not!” Pedro exclaimed, and he sounded genuine. “Really, love, I’m coming back. I’m coming to see you.”

Hand over your beating heart, you pressed your back into the seat. “When?”

“I’m just getting to the airport. I should see you in what, six, seven hours? Don’t come though... just wait at your place.”

“Okay,” you say, blushing and twisting your feet together in pure excitement. “I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Sooner that than, mi amor.”

. . . .

Hours ticked by, slower and slower until the clock finally struck 8, the time Pedro was supposed to show up. You had bit your nails raw, the ends of your hair still drying from your shower as you paced the foyer. He would be here any minute, with his sweet brown eyes and flirty grin and goofy disposition.

And suddenly...

The doorbell.

You raced forward, swinging it open so hard you could almost hear the crack of the wood breaking.

Pedro stood there, in his classic Fraggle Rock hoodie and jeans, his hair looking a little mussed, his brown eyes tired. But beautiful, he looked as beautiful as the first day you had met.

You couldn’t even move, couldn’t find the strength to form any words before he was suddenly sweeping towards you, his bags dropping and his arms coming to wrap around you. Breathless, you sank into him with a heavy sob, returning the hug as he moved to cup your head with one hand. You latched your arms around his neck as he released a sob of his own, his knees knocking into your legs as he tried to balance properly. You didn’t care if you fell, not even if it hurt. All you cared about was that Pedro was back in your arms after three long months. You could feel the way he was breathing heavily into your hair, setting your skin on fire.

“Is this real?” He breathed, a hand running up and down your spine.

“Gosh, I hope so,” you whispered before leaning back, taking his face in both of your hands to tug him down for a fierce kiss. He reciprocated immediately, fingers digging into your waist before sliding up to hug you around your neck. You could feel his mustache, the slight stubble on his chin even, rubbing on your own skin. You half-moaned, half-sobbed on his lips, too overcome with everything happening at once. He pulled away just to nuzzle into your neck, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Pedro, your bags,” you laughed, wiping at tears with your free hand.

“Oh!” Pedro exclaimed, quickly breaking away to retrieve his things from the porch. You laughed, hand on your chin as you watched him struggle before taking one of his bags in your hand, lugging it into the foyer. After he had set them down, he stood straight up again, dusting his hands on his jeans. His eyes flickered to yours hesitantly, as if he were shy. You cocked a brow, half-smiling at his strange expression.

“What?” You questioned.

His gaze traveled down to your neck and back up again. “It’s been a long time... I don’t really know what to say.”

You exhaled heavily. “Me either... How are you? How was the flight?”

He shrugged lightly. “The usual. A bit exhausting,” he said with a small eye roll, and his thumb rubbed your cheek. “But I’m better now.”

You blushed, brushing your knuckles against his hand. “Do you- do you want something to drink? Coffee, water?”

A slow smile grew on Pedro’s face, and he leaned forward, taking your hand. “Sure.”

Hand warm in his, you dragged him to the kitchen, letting him free as you dug through your cabinet, fishing out a glass. You had just turned around, nearly bumping into his chest and dropping the glass before his hand wrapped securely around the cup. He smiled widely, brown eyes warm.

“I got it, babe,” he said, taking the glass from your shaking hands and placing it on the counter behind him. His eyes glowed with something curious, something sneaky.

“What are you up to?” You asked, cocking a brow. You hadn’t seen him in three months; you wouldn’t be surprised if he kept you at an arm’s reach for the rest of the day, mouth on yours and hands tangled in your hair.

He stepped forward, making you back up until your lower back brushed the tip of the counter behind you. His hand found the lip of the granite, just resting beside your hips as he moved closer, a smirk on his lips. It had been three months of missing him, of having him this close, and it was sending fireworks up your veins.

“Pedro?” You giggled, drawing your fingers up his forearms. Goosebumps grew under your palms, raising them to grip his triceps. He felt stronger, more muscular than when he had left.

“Hm,” you mumbled. “They’re really putting you to work on that set, aren’t they?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and he bent forward, nose brushing against your chin as he nibbled at your skin, making you blush. He seemed hesitant, still shy, as his eyes flickered back to yours as if silently asking permission. Having him so close, his eyes inches from yours, his sweet face and even sweeter soul just within reach, made sudden tears spring to your eyes. He noticed immediately, his brows creasing as he pulled away, letting you free from his embrace against the counter.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Pedro asked, worry laced in his tone. “Are you alright?” His hand came up to your face, gently pushing your hair back behind your ear.

You swallowed hard, moving so you could touch his face, marveling at how he looked at you in pure awe.

“I just... I missed you so much,” you admitted through tears. “And I can’t believe you’re actually here, after all the craziness that’s been going on... This world is so crazy right now, love. I was so worried about not seeing you again and just imagining the rest of the year without you-“

You started to run over your words, shaky hands combing through your hair just before you noticed Pedro going to grab you wrists.

“Hey, hey, calm down, mi amor,” he said softly, turning your face to his. “I’m here, okay?”

“Everything’s so different now,” you sniffled.

“What? This-this isn’t different. We still have each other. I still care about you. I still want to be with you, babe.”

You heart soared. “I love you so much.”

His eyes practically sparkled. “I love you, too.”

Grinning softly, you leaned forward, pulling his face to yours so you could press your lips to his. You felt his shoulders sag, how he practically melted into you, letting out a pleased sigh as you kissed him. Only two seconds later his hands found your back, gently wrapping around your waist until pulling you flush to his chest. His facial hair, slightly ragged from not shaving from a few days, scratched against your chin as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft, his skin flushed a light pink. You smiled widely, running your thumbs over his cheekbones, perfectly happy.

“How long are you here for?” You asked.

A soft kiss on your nose. “As long as you need me.”

Your brows creased. “What? What about shooting?”

“Finished up last week, they won’t need me back for a couple of months... I was actually wondering if...”

“... Yes?”

His fingers gently trailed down to your wrist, thumb spinning in small circles. “If I could crash here for a while? If-if you’ll have me, that is. I don’t want to intrude or anything-”

You answered him by pulling gently on the strings of his hoodie, tugging him forward for a slow, passionate kiss, one that left your legs trembling when he reciprocated.

“So... Is that a yes?” He whispered against your mouth, nipping teasingly at your lower lip.

You winked slyly. “Sure... Why not. I’ve missed you anyway. I guess I can put up with you for a while.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, drawing away from you. “Come on, let’s go sit down. I want to hear about your day.”

Everytime he had said those words to you in the past three months had been over the phone. So you gladly let him pull you into the living room, plopping down on the couch beside him. You swung you legs over his, shoulder pressing into the back of the couch as you held his hand in yours.

You talked for hours, catching up and sharing the small moments of the day. Pedro was just as sweet, as flirty and kind as he always had been, asking you about your favorite shows and new daily routine and your favorite memories as a kid. At some point, sleep had tugged at the both of you, but the last thing you remembered was a blanket being drawn over your shoulder.

When you came to, and the house was quiet and the world dark and silent outside, you pushed your head up from the pillow. You were back in your bedroom, draped under your comforter and surrounded by pillows. A single lamp was on on the opposite side of the bed, but when you pushed yourself up, Pedro was nowhere to be found.

Panic pricked at your heart, and you shoved the blankets off your legs, making your way down the hall into the kitchen.

“Pedro?” You called softly, peeking around the corner to the living room.

Pedro was stretched out on the couch, tangled under a blanket and lying on his stomach. He was obviously asleep, eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he breathed softly. Seeing him like this, asleep, was one of your favorite things. He was calm, and gentle, not worrying about the events of the day or of the problems affecting his family or you. For mere moments, he was perfectly at peace. And your heart swelled to know he hadn’t left.

Moving slowly, you padded into the living room, coming to kneel beside him on the floor. In the dim light, you pulled back the blanket on Pedro’s face just as he stirred, blinking up at you groggily.

“Hi,” you whispered, unable to keep the smile off your face.

He blinked a few times before realizing it was you, and his pupils dilated even more in the dim light. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. “I... I thought you had left.”

His eyebrows creased slightly. “Why would you think that?”

“You weren’t in the bedroom.”

He swallowed hard. “I-I was just... Keeping our boundaries, I guess.”

You leaned back, sudden thankfulness washing over you. “Can I... Can I sleep here, too?” You asked, a shy tone creeping into your voice. “If that’s okay?”

His eyes flickered across your face for mere moments before he nodded, pulling the blanket open. You kissed his temple gently as you curled in beside him, curling your hands into his chest, making sure you were both covered by the blanket.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and felt his cheeks lift in a smile. Head tucked under his chin, one arm over your side, you closed your eyes again. Pedro breathed quietly above you, his heart beat soft against your ear. His hand moved gently up and down your back, fingers pressing into your spine.

“Love?” He said softly.

“Yes?”

“I would never leave you.”

[trashyswitch]

Day 2: The Anticipation

Roman and Remus are having a tickle fight. Janus joins, and Roman gets completely ruined.

Tickletober #2 baby! Let's keep it going!

Remus was tickling Roman on the couch, going at his little weak points to prove a specific point:

“You have a weakness!” Remus told him. “And any bad guy and dragonwitch can see it from a mile away~”

“DOHOHOHO NAHAHAHAT!” Roman yelled back.

“Ooooh reeeally?” Remus reacted, seeing right through his bullshit.

Remus grabbed onto Roman’s hips and….waited.

Roman giggled and looked down, looking to see what he was doing.

“Iiii’m gonna getcha!” Remus teased.

“No you won’t!” Roman spat. “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman immediately bursted out laughing and kicked his feet all over the place.

“Yes I will! And I will tickle you till you pee!” Remus told him.

Remus grabbed onto Roman’s hips, and PUSHED in. This made Roman’s laughter raise and raise in volume and pitch!

“STAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT’S SOHOHOHOOOO BAHAHAHAHAD!” Roman begged.

Remus then stopped the tickles and lifted Roman’s arm up. “Iiiii’m gonna getcha! Iiiiii’m gonna getcha!” Remus teased.

“Nohohoho!” Roman begged.

“All you gotta tell me is that yooouuuu…” Remus’s fingers got closer and closer. “...have a weakness.”

Roman shook his head. “Nohoho wahahahay!”

Remus sighed and brought his fingers inches closer to the armpits. “When will you ever learn?”

Remus finally skittered his fingers into Roman’s armpit. But the tickles only lasted a few seconds before stopping and moving his fingers back to inches from Roman’s armpit. They were still wiggling. “How about now? Ready to tell me now?” Remus asked.

Roman shook his head, and another bout of laughter filled the room for a few seconds before the laughter turned into giggles of anticipation.

“Neheheheveheheher!” Roman ordered.

Another fit of laughter filled the room as Remus tickled Roman’s armpit yet again.

“We can keep this up aaaallll day if you want to. Is that what you really want?” Remus warned.

“YOHOHOU ARE SOHOHO GOHOHONNA GEHEHEHET IHIHIT!” Roman shouted to him.

“Ooooh! I should be the one saying those words! You are so gonna get all the tickles coming your way!” Remus teased, tickling the armpit hairs to tease him further.

Roman whined and tried to hide his face in his raised arm. But the moment Remus noticed that, he tickled his armpit. Roman’s strong laughter filled the room yet again.

“Now: Do you have a weakness?” Remus asked before stopping.

“NOHohohoho!” Roman replied.

“Looks like this is gonna last a while then!” Remus started tickling him again, making Roman’s laughter fill the room for the millionth time that hour.

“STAHAHAHAHAP!”

“I’ll only stop if you tell me you have a weakness. You have to beat your ego in order to stop the torture!” Remus teased.

Janus showed up beside Remus and smiled with an apple in his hand. “Not bad Remus...not bad.”

“Thank you Jay!” Remus replied.

“Now: How about I hold the arms up while you tickle both?” Janus offered.

AW HELL NAW!

“NOHOHOHO DON’TYOUFUCKING DAHAHAHAHAHARE!” Roman shouted.

Remus stopped tickling and nodded. “Okay!”

Janus took his place above Roman and lifted up both of Roman’s arms. He held them down for Remus, while Remus summoned two electric toothbrushes and brought them closer to Roman’s armpits. But they weren’t quite touching...only inches away…

Roman shrieked like a 2 year old and shook his head and body around. “DON’T YOU FUHUCKING DAHAHAHARE!”

“Ohohoho, I dare! I dare dare dare to get closer! So that all you’re feeling is the vibrations of the brushes reeeaaaally close to your armpits~” Remus teased.

Remus really did just that: He brought the toothbrushes so close to his armpits that the armpit hairs were being tickled with the bristles. Roman squeaked and squealed, able to feel the tickles a little bit on his armpits.

“Iiiii’m gonna get closer~” Remus teased a little more, just to further drive him up the wall.

Roman was a big mess of giggles. He couldn’t stop himself from doing anything! “Stahahahahahahap thihihihis ihihihihis sohohohoho mehehehehehean!”

“Ohoho, I know, dear brother.” Remus teased. “But I’m just getting started! Just wait till I bring in the brushes! And the feathers! And the raspberries!”

Roman squealed. NO RASPBERRIES! ANYTHING BUT THE RASPBERRIES!

Remus leaned into Roman’s ab muscles and blew a raspberry.

“HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Roman begged.

“Okay!” Remus leaned in and…

Didn’t blow a raspberry.

Roman looked down at his belly and quickly squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t able to look!

Remus smirked and breathed in. Roman gasped and giggled, smiling brightly. But Remus didn’t raspberry. He pressed his lips to Roman’s abs and STILL didn’t raspberry! He even blew some air onto Roman’s abs and refused to raspberry yet.

Roman was dying of anticipation at this point. When the heck was he gonna-

“PBBBBBFFFFBBBFBBFBBFBFBF!”

“YEAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Roman pretty much DIED in that moment of laughter. It was like the world finally hit its peak of ultimate tickles! And Roman was experiencing ALL of it!

“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle! Kitchy kitchy kitchy kitchy kitchy kitchy koo!” Remus teased nonstop.

“NAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EHEHEHEVIHIHIHIL!”

Remus leaned in for another raspberry and waited. “Yes...that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be! Always evil! Always the bad one!”

Roman cackled loudly as Remus tickled his super sensitive ab muscles. Then, Remus started showing off his finger. “Hmmm...What’s the phone number again?”

Roman squealed and covered his face while Remus was stroking his mustache. “I think it was 185-” Remus poked the ab muscles in the right spot, and tickled him in the process. “4...9...5? No 3!” Remus reacted. “Damn...I gotta start all over again!” Remus restarted typing the numbers into the abdomen telephone grid.

“185, 495- Damn! It’s 493!” Remus reacted, ‘typing’ it wrong. “I have to start all over again!”

“REHEHEHEHEHE!” Roman was laughing and jumping at each and every poke. “STAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIT!”

“The safe word is tickle!” Remus told him.

TICKLE?! OF ALL THE WORDS TO MAKE THE SAFE WORD- His ego was not gonna survive this! No way his ego would survive anything like this!

Remus smiled and clicked the numbers on the abdomen keyboard. “185-493-1692.” Remus ‘picked up’ the phone. “Hellooooo?” Remus said eagerly. Remus poked his finger into Roman’s belly button and kept it there. “Uh huh~…”

Roman tried to move as little as possible as to not tickle himself with his own movements.

“No, I’m afraid Roman is NOT here at the moment. Want me to take a message?” Remus teased.

‘Um, EXCUSE ME?! YES I’M HERE!’ Roman thought out loud. Roman was about to speak up, but was stopped by Janus’s hand over his mouth. “He’s on the phone…” Janus mouthed to him.

Remus smiled and started wiggling his finger that was stuck inside the belly button. Roman widened his eyes and wiggled around a bit, desperate to get his belly button away from the finger. But Remus’s finger kept following the belly.

Roman giggled a little more under Janus’s gloved hand, and shook his head to try and get his hand off. BUt that was a big fat no go.

Remus smiled at this and grabbed a brush. “Now let’s put some makeup onto this belly of yours.” Remus decided.

Remus summoned some paint with his hands and squirted blobs of multicolored paints pretty much everywhere he could reach. Then, Remus readied his big fat wall brush, and started painting and blending all the paint together on his belly.

Roman squealed and giggled at how cold it was at first, and cackled the moment he felt the brush reach the sides of his belly. The sides of his belly was SUPER PLUS ULTRA SENSITIVE (yes, I really brought MHA into this), and couldn’t handle even the lightest touch most of the time. But now there were MILLIONS OF LITTLE BRISTLES tickling all over Roman’s poor belly.

Janus was totally not enjoying this...not one bit...No...He wasn’t enjoying this...He swears…

It would be at this moment that Logan would usually yell “FALSEHOOD” on the top of his lungs.

But Logan was kinda too busy to yell that at the moment.

Janus watched as Remus started booping his belly with yellow on the brush. He was trying to make stars on Roman’s belly. Every single few seconds of Remus thinking of where he wanted a star to be...was painful for Roman. Cause every little break was a different amount of seconds! It was too unpredictable to properly predict anything! And it drove Roman BONKERS.

“There! Now the moon!” Remus grabbed the white paint, and dabbed it on...to the belly button.

Then, he started drawing circles on the spot to spread the paint out a little more so it dried better. Roman cackled and wiggled around as the bruh tickled his belly button, making the moon look jagged and wobbly. “You’re ruining my moon!” Remus told him.

Roman giggled at this. “Yohohohohou’re ehehehevil!” Roman shot back.

“You told me that already!” Remus mentioned. “Now, if you really want this to stop, you’re gonna have to say the magic word~”

Roman growled through his laughter. “Tehehehehehe- tihihihihi- IHIHI CAHAHAHAN’T!” Roman whined.

“Yes you can! It’s just a word! It won’t kill ya!” Remus reminded him.

Roman struggled to say the word for another 10 minutes before finally getting farther in.

“Tihihick-tihihihihickle! Tihihihihicklehehehe! NOHOHOHOW STAHAHAHAHAP!”

Remus giggled. “Sorry bro! I need to hear it without laughing!” Remus told him as he lessened the tickles significantly.

“Whahahahahat?!” Roman reacted. “Buhuhuhuhut-”

“No butts~! Say the word, uninterrupted. Then, I’ll stop.” Remus told him.

“Fihihihihine!” Roman looked around and made sure only Janus and Remus were listening. When he was sure it was just the three of them there, Roman tried. “Tihihi- Tihickle! Tickle! I sahihaid ihihihit!” Roman told him.

“Ooooh! Not bad Ro-ro!” Remus stopped tickling just as he promised, and rubbed away the phantom tickles that were probably there. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Hahard on the ego, though…” Roman muttered, the butterflies in his stomach getting worse and worse.

Remus smiled and poked his belly one more time. “I gotta say: I like this painting! It’s a masterpiece!” Remus reacted.

Roman looked down and widened his eyes. There was a galaxy of many different colors on his belly! Blues, purples, and blacks with stars and a moon on his belly! It was gorgeous! “Wow!”

“I know, right?!” Remus reacted.

“I’m gonna keep this on my belly for the rest of the day.” Roman decided. “I have a galaxy tummy!” Roman declared.

“Galaxy tummy!” Remus declared as well.

Roman counted the stars, and even noticed that the big dipper was on his belly. He loved the painting and decided that maybe...just maybe...he did have a small weakness. But, it was a good weakness. Tickling isn’t really so bad of a weakness.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Nine / Café con Miel

W/C: 3k

Warnings: [in a dream: blood, violence, lots of scary nightmare stuff, guns, threats of violence], language, sexual innuendos and jokes, tears, angst, voices being raised

A/N: hi I wanted soft but also wanted angsty so here’s a good half and half mixture!! I have this plot point I SO want to get to but I want to show you more of their relationship so that’s what the next few chapters may be more of

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Cafe con Miel (Spanish Coffee With Honey) is made of espresso, honey, and whole milk then finished off with a heavy sprinkle of ground cinnamon.

“No, no,” Javi groans in his sleep. “Please.”

It’s dark. So dark, he can’t see anything, but what he can see is cast in red light. It’s almost like a medieval dungeon, wherever he is. He can’t smell but he knows the air is filled with something disgusting.

It’s a coke plant, that’s what it is. There are laborers upon laborers, working in this dark wherever-the-fuck-he-is, producing cocaine that he somehow knows is for Escobar. Dream logic. Escobar is still alive and he’s very much a threat.

Then there’s a weak cry. Dream-Javi spins to find you in the sweatshop. You’ve fallen to your knees, clinging to the table in front of you, and there stands who but the bastard himself, with a gun to your temple.

The red light emphasizes the blood dripping from your face, from where he can’t tell. There’s dirt and dust caked on your beautiful skin, on the cheekbones Javier traces his fingers over nightly now. There’s a wedding band on your finger and it matches his. It makes his eyes turn to your body and note the torn white gown on your figure- a wedding dress. The worst thing is the fear in your eyes, the agony with which you look at him.

Your voice is strained. Broken. Ruined from shouting. One word croaks from your lips. “Please.”

Then Escobar morphs into Tie Guy and then into Murphy for some goddamn reason, just smirking at Javier with the gun to your forehead. When he speaks, he’s the three men at once: “Not so fucking tough, huh?” He asks, cocking the pistol.

He can’t move. He wants to, he’s desperate to, but he can’t speak or move or breathe either: something is stuffed in his mouth and preventing it. “Javi,” you whimper, but it just makes Murphy-Escobar-Tie Guy crack the pistol down against the crown of your head.

The worst comes next: the man becomes Chucho. Javier’s own father, holding a pistol to your head. “Mijo,” the man says, his voice disappointed but soft. “What have you done? Bringing her here?”

Javier wants to shout at him, ask what he’s done because certainly this can’t be his fault, but of course it is. This is what would happen if Javier brought you to Colombia. A fate like this for you and for him.

Then your voice is strong again. “Javi. Javier. Hey, Javi-”

He gasps desperately, air filling his lungs and making him sit bolt upright. His breaths heave, drawing in as much of the cool oxygen as he can possibly take. He sounds like a drowned man arising from the water. His first sign that he’s gone from the sweatshop is the smell of your skin, of your lavender pillow spray in the room. Then it’s the fact that the room is cast with soft blue light, not with red. Then it’s you.

“Javi?” You ask, voice timid and quiet. “You were having a nightmare.”

Thank fucking God. Thank God it was a nightmare and not the terrible fate he’d been spinning in his own head. “Yeah,” he mumbles, lying back in bed.

Your hands, your warm fingertips, trace across his bare chest slowly, splaying your fingers over his racing heart. It grounds him, centers him to the fact that he’s here, you’re here, you’re okay. You kiss his skin softly, with soft lips that leave a trace of balm behind on his sweaty body. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

His breathing slowly comes down. His heart rate does too, as he plays the dream back in his head and deconstructs it all. You rest your head on his chest, fingers softly running up and down his sides, and it anchors him to reality. Your skin is clean and smooth, not broken or bleeding anywhere. Your hair smells fresh and warm and your chest rises and falls against his own. It’s a checklist of your vitals and you’re acing it.

When his heart rate resembles something closer to yours, you kiss his skin again. “You okay?”

He nods, swallowing hard. His face is tight, salty tears drying on his cheeks. “All good, yeah. Thanks for waking me,” he murmurs, his own voice strained.

You’re quiet, allowing him to breathe and recuperate and think it over. Your curiosity gets the best of you. “What happened?” You ask.

He takes a deep breath, in and out and then another, making himself think properly. “You were in one of Escobar’s coke plants, and you were all beat up and in pain. And I couldn’t move, or talk or breathe or anything.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur and nuzzle your face into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not real,” he assures both you and himself, “so it’s fine.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” You ask him, looking over at the clock to discover it’s about 4 A.M. He’s slept with you for four nights now, but he’s yet to wake you with a nightmare.

The sweat slowly dries, leaving his skin cooled and smooth again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

There’s not much more to say. You’re already tired, eyes drooping from the heavy sleep that encased you before Javier’s whines and moans woke you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, honestly and gently. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll try to avoid it,” you muse sleepily, mind floating into the melatonin haze. “Love you too, Javi.”

There’s a soft smile on your face, and it puts Javier at ease. You’re here, whole, safe and sound. He has you in his arms, and the both of you feel that nothing can go wrong when the two of you lay like this. It’s all over, that dream. It’s not a premonition or a memory; just a random stimulation of the sleeping brain that creates chaos.

Before long, you’re snoring softly on his chest, a circle of your gentle and warm breath passing through your parted lips onto his pec. It’s so relaxed and warm that Javier feels ready to sleep again too. Usually, he takes at least an hour or two to fall asleep after a nightmare, but you’ve soothed him more than any of his usual remedies can. With one last heavy breath, Javier drifts off to sleep again, hoping his rest is as peaceful as yours tonight.

-

You wake before him in the morning. It’s the first time such a thing has happened. You’ve rarely had the privilege of seeing him sleeping peacefully or sleeping at all, and you wish you could take a picture without disturbing him.

In your sleep, the position switched. You’re lying on your back with Javi’s head resting on your breasts, using you as a pillow. His mouth is slightly parted, his breath ruffling the lowest hairs of his mustache. His face holds none of the lines it usually does when he’s awake. He’s just Javier, resting, and he scoots closer to your body when you unintentionally move.

It’s hard not to be truly consumed by love. He’s so beautiful, and so trusting to fall asleep like this. You’ve never met Colombia Javi, never seen him in the heat of his job, but you’ve felt that he rarely lets his guard down. To see this is a symbol of how much he trusts you. You watch him with an adoring smile, your heart fluttering at the love it feels.

With your fingertips, you scratch at the nape of his neck softly, massaging his skin as he sleeps. Your fingers barely touch his skin, drifting across the surface and drawing little circles into him. With one finger, you write your signature on his upper shoulders, as if it can mark him as yours.

Time passes slowly like this, but you’re thankful. You want this to last as long as possible, so you can spend all the time you need with Javier cuddled into your side. Your mind wanders, watching Javier’s sleeping face. Wondering what the future holds for the two of you.

He’ll have to go back to Colombia. You know it. He knows it. A tiny bolt of panic races through your body at the fact that he’ll be down there, investigating another cartel and certainly putting himself in danger. The idea of him being hurt makes you terrified.

When he finally wakes, you kiss his forehead and brush his dark hair from his face. “Hi. Did you sleep better?” You ask him gently.

His eyes remain shut as he lets out a groan, rubbing his face. “Sorta. No dreams.”

“Good,” you mumble and stroke his cheek, tracing soft circles with your fingertips. “I found a fun place we can go tonight.”

Javi’s eyes flutter open to look at you, smiling softly. “I’m not really awake yet, querido.”

“Querido. I like that one,” you chuckle and kiss the bridge of his nose, feeling his sleep-warmed skin beneath your lips. “I might use that on you. I’m going to go make us coffee. Take your time waking up.”

Javier nods and rolls over, nestling into the blankets and pillows. You, on the other hand, get up from bed and do exactly that: make a pot of coffee.

The morning is spent lazily in bed, with breaks for coffee and bathroom runs. The apartment is warm to contrast the cold outside, the frost collecting on your windows visible even from bed. Javier doesn’t say much and neither do you; both of you have lots on your mind. As much as you want to talk with him about your thoughts, you figure he isn’t in the mood to talk or he’d be talking.

You drift in and out of sleep on Javier’s chest, your ear over his slowly beating heart. After a while, when you’re half asleep, Javier chuckles and wakes you. “You can fall asleep even after a cup of coffee, huh?” He teases, letting his fingertips brush across your face.

The noise that comes from your vocal chords is something between words and a hum. Basically, it’s a noise of affirmation. You cuddle closer to Javi and he kisses your head. “I love you,” he mumbles into your hair. You mumble it back, fully content in the moment. Whatever the future brings will be alright, because you have this now.

The afternoon is spent mainly in the same fashion, simply lazing around the apartment. Javier picks a Elton John vinyl from your closet and turns on the small record player in the living room. “Never pegged you as the Elton John kind,” you tease Javi from your position on the couch.

He just shrugs and looks the sleeve over, reading the contents. He removes one of the large, flat discs from the paper sleeve and sets it down, turning on the turntable and watching the record move.

The music that floats from it is soft and instrumental: Your Song. Javi turns back to you with a small smile and offers you a hand. “Let’s dance.”

Taking his hand, you stand and he wraps his arms around you. “Thought you’d be more of a sexy dancer,” you murmur into his ear, wrapping one arm over his shoulder while his hand takes yours.

“Shut up for once,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your face.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh and rest your forehead on his chest.

He sways along to the music, pulling you with him. To your surprise, he knows all of the words. His lips barely part as he sings them to you, in a low and raspy voice you can tell he doesn’t often use. The tenderness nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way he just buries his face in your hair and breathes in your scent.

“Querido,” you murmur, testing the name out. You like it, and so does Javier; he pulls you tighter against your chest as the music of the chorus swells and drops off. “What’s this all about, huh?” you ask in a whisper.

Javier takes a deep breath. You can feel it press against your chest then fade. “Just… needed to hold you.”

“Javi,” you chuckle and kiss his neck gently, innocently. “You did all night and all morning.”

He shakes his head. “Like this. It’s different.”

You nod too. You suppose you can understand it. The two of you have made a little circle around your living room, around the coffee table across from your couch. The song ends, four minutes of being pressed to Javier’s chest and feeling the full force of his love in the way his arms enveloped you.

Breaking away, your worries have escalated, the ones that kept you up after Javier’s nightmare last night. Swallowing hard, forcing yourself not to cry, you look into Javier’s eyes. His brow furrows and he immediately pulls you back into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

Shaking your head, you try to talk but it comes out as a watery squeak. “Nothing,” you whine.

“No, it’s not nothing,” Javier insists, leading you to the couch as Rocket Man begins from the record. He sets you down and sits next to you, both arms still around you. “Talk to me.”

The words just can’t come out, especially as the tears begin to fall from your eyes. You shake your head again and bury your face in Javier’s chest, letting them fall. You manage to finally whimper out your words a minute or so later. “I’m scared for you.”

Javier’s face falls and he lifts your head, forcing you to look at him. “Why?”

“Be-because, you’re going back to Colombia soon and you’ll be in more danger and I won’t be around and I know you, Javi, I know you put yourself in more trouble than you should, and-”

Javier cuts you off, speaking as he stares into your eyes. “Stop. Stop that thinking. It’s going to be okay. Escobar is dead.”

“But the new cartel you’re chasing isn’t, Javi!” you practically wail, body collapsing into his. “You’ll be in danger as long as you work in that damn job, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m just so scared. I’m scared for you.”

Javi takes a deep breath and nods, wiping the tears from your face. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Your eyes dart from his and Javier grips your chin a little tighter. “Listen. This new assignment is a new job. I’m going to be in the office a lot more. These men are nowhere near as violent as the Medellín ones. This is going to be much safer. If you want, I can call Steve and you can talk to him. He’ll tell you. I’m safe on the job and I’m about to be in less danger.”

The words sink in as he talks. “Okay,” you whimper, sniffling the tears back.

“And I promise that even when I’m in Colombia, you’ll be the only thing on my mind. We’ll get those motherfuckers and I’ll come back to the States, okay?” His voice is softer now. Gentler.

“Okay,” you repeat and let your body melt into his.

Javier’s mind wanders through the options. “We could live up here. In D.C., and I could work at DEA headquarters. Or we could move to Laredo, live there. My dad would love you. Or somewhere else entirely. When I get back, we can do whatever we want.”

His words are a hidden promise; I will come back, and we can get married and have a life. “You’d better not take too long then,” you try to joke, though your broken voice ruins it a bit.

“For you, I’ll get it done in two days flat.” It makes you laugh, and Javier kisses your head. “What did you say you wanted to do tonight?” He asks you.

“Th-there’s a Christmas market in town,” you sniffle. “Since that’s coming up. I thought we could go.”

Javier nods, wiping your tears and snot with his sleeve. “That sounds great.” He rests his head on top of yours, one arm draped over your shoulders. You nuzzle into his side, feeling somewhat relieved but far from entirely.

“You could bring me with you. To Colombia,” you shrug, looking up at him with big eyes.

Javier shakes his head. “No. It’s nowhere near as safe for you. We’ve been over this, I-”

“I can hold my own,” you protest, crossing your arms.

“Not against the Calí Cartel,” he refutes you, stroking your arm. “As much as I love you and would love to have you there, it’s not happening. It’s just… not feasible. Not a good idea.”

This makes you frown deeper and your body tense. Javier kisses your head, which negates some of the stiffness in your body. “Trust me. Please. It’s not worth the trouble we’d find. Plus, you wouldn’t like it.”

“I speak Spanish,” you try to argue.

“Classroom Spanish,” Javier reminds you. “Listen. You can’t make me change my mind on this.” While his words are somewhat harsh, his tone is gentle. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, but you’re not coming with me.”

Sighing, you nod. “Then we have, what, two or three weeks until you leave?” He nods. “Then we’ll make the best of them. Get your ass up, Agent Peña. We’re getting dressed and going to the Christmas market and then we’re going to come and you’re going to rail me,” you laugh, kissing him once he’s standing.

“That’s fine with me,” he chuckles before kissing you once more. -

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles @beskarboobs @wintermuteway @pintsizemama @punkerthanpascal @queridopascal

[uwuwriting]

Road trip w/ Kaminari, Shinsou and Bakugou

Request: Shinso, Kami, and Bakugou on a long trip/plane ride with their S/o? Happy holidays bb! - 🥐

I wish I could go on a trip. I need Christmas break to last longer, I’m not ready to go back to school and study for uni, I’m not emotionally capable. I hate it here.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: fluff

Kaminari Denki

-You have a mini fight about who gets to drive at first. 

-You don’t trust him because he is dumb and bisexual and he believes that you’ll fall asleep ont he wheel cuz you stayed up until like 2 am the previous day downloading music and making playlists for the journey. 

-He gets to drive the first shift and it goes relatively well.

-You get some extra sleep, he enjoys his time behind the wheel and boom you’re now at a gas station having brunch before hitting the road again.

-Karaoke driving. 

-I think that’s all I have to say about your road trip with this guy. 

-HE will ignore the playlists with the soft songs because he needs to vibe at first. 

-Kills it with the Shakira impressions like you start wondering what would happen if he suddenly decides to follow a music career like Jiro. 

-So many bathroom stops. 

-Does this man have a prostate problem because damn.

-He can’t go for more than an hour without stopping to pee. 

-The one time you ask to stop at a gas station for a bathroom break he suggests just stopping at the side of the road and you could pee there. 

- “I do it so you can too.” 

-Denki honey I don’t have a dick to wip out…...I need essentials. 

-May or may not have taken the wrong exit at some point and you took a thirty minute detour. 

-At least you got some nice photos out of it. 

-Speaking of photos. 

-Your camera roll will be filled with selfies, stupid videos of Kami hyping himself up at a red light. 

-Races with other cars at said red lights. 

-You fear for your life most of the time, grasping the door handle like your life depended on  it because in reality it kinda did. 

-You beg him to take over and drive for a little bit but he brushes you off. 

- “You seem tired baby, let me drive for a bit.” 

- “Nope I’m perfectly fine Y/N. Gonna get us to the hotel so fucking fast.” 

- “Denki no-”

-He calms down after a while, and he lets you put on your soft playlist so you could both just vibe. 

-His hand is resting on your thigh, giving it a few firm squeezes every now and then. 

-He likes drumming the beat of the song on your skin.

-You start random conversations about anything and everything and if you’re being honest you love these types of moments. 

-There are no villains to fight, no danger in the horizon *apart from his driving* and you get to enjoy the tranquility while enjoying the ride.

-Denki starts telling you about adopting a dog and you joke that he would be a horrible dog dad. 

- “Maybe cats are better for you babe.” 

-You are no longer heroes. 

-You are just a couple going on a road trip, away from all your troubles and worries just you and him. 

-You reach the hotel later than you expected though…..it was those damn bathroom breaks!!!

Shinsou Hitoshi

-The trip is spontaneous. 

-You were both chillin in your apartment when he popped the question. 

- “Wanna go on a trip? I’m bored.” 

-You never expected him to pick a place this far away, you weren’t complaining though. 

-Road trips with him are immaculate. 

-He helps you pack your bags in no time, picking your favorite outfits out and placing them in your travel bags along with a bunch of snacks and a fluffy blanket. 

-You hit the road in less than an hour.

-It’s still dark out when you start your trip and Hitoshi insists you take a nap, get your beauty sleep while he drives. 

- “Don’t worry we won’t crash, I hope.”

-You do take a nap eventually but not for long and you wake up just in time to watch the sunrise with your boyfriend. 

-He will pull over and take pictures with the sunrise as your background. 

-He says he needs a new wallpaper on his phone and there’s an empty picture frame at his desk back at work. 

-He needs to fill them somehow. 

-Around noon he brings the fluffy blanket in the front seat, wrapping it around you so you can snuggle and possibly fall asleep again. 

-In reality he wants to take more pictures of  you with drool dripping down your chin for blackmail purposes but you will not yield !!!

-The trip is mainly filled with music and low humming coming from the both of you. 

-Though when a love song that reminds him of you comes on he will lean over and grip your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, a blush blooming on his cheeks. 

-Makes many stops in spots that look great for photos or having an amazing view. 

-Definitely has prepared a picnic basket and before you know it you are munching down on some sandwiches he made while your feet are dangling over a small cliff you happened to come across. 

-Shares random facts about nature and animals with you. 

-Shinsou strikes me as a guy who watches a lot of documentaries and animal planet shows, so he has obtained random information and now he is explaining the mating cycle of penguins. 

-Would definitely prefer to sleep in the car and not rent a room. 

-He wants to stay outside looking at the stars for as long as possible and then snuggle up with you in the driver's seat, your head against his chest and his hand buried in your hair. 

-If you want to go to a hotel because you feel more comfortable, he won’t complain. 

-As long as he gets to cuddle you anything is fine in his book. 

-He puts on YOUR song while you are looking at the sky and invites you to dance with him. 

-Wraps his arms around your waist and slowly sways you back and forth, following the rhythm of the song as he looks into your eyes. 

-He loves capturing the moment so expect many photos to be taken and a bunch of videos of you two dancing. 

-He has his crackhead moments though so you can expect to be shoved into the water if you’re near a lake or at the beach. 

-He might draw a mustache on you while you sleep but don’t worry you get payback when he is asleep. 

Bakugou Katsuki 

-Whines while you back everything. 

-And when I say whines I mean he grumbles under his breath about this stupid shirt that he can’t seem to fold correctly.

-Anyways once you hit the road he is more relaxed than usual. 

-He keeps this tight, aggressive persona out in public you sometimes forget that this man, this amazing partner is also a pro hero who is known for his rough edges. 

-Sure, his explosive behavior doesn’t disappear when he is with you but he is a lot tamer and calm around you.

-During the car ride he makes small talk with you, sharing random events from his patrols and stupid shit his “squad” have done while out in public. 

-When he comes home every night he is just so tired that many details slip his mind as he recounts his day to you, seeing him right now a genuine smile gracing his lips as his only focus is the road in front of him really warms your heart. 

-He becomes more affectionate. 

-Hand gripping yours while he drives or his palm on your thigh, rubbing your soft skin as he hums along with the music. 

-Even if he needs to switch gears he won’t let go.

-Surprisingly he is the type to put on an audio book after a while. 

-Usually it's after your wedding song is over or soon after that. 

-Your song is like a trigger and suddenly sophisticated Bakugou emerges asking you to pick an audiobook from his collection and put it on. 

-Gets really invested in the story and pauses it every five minutes so you can discuss it. 

- “She could have escaped through the window why the fuck did she let herself get caught?” 

- “No Katsu!!! She needs to make sure the prince is alive!!” 

- “That’s fucking dumb!” 

-Let’s you take candid pictures of him and won’t complain when you coo over how pretty he looks with the sun behind him. 

-Don’t worry he is plotting to fill his gallery of pics of you sleeping. 

-When you actually fall asleep he will turn the radio down and hum softly under his breath. 

-If it starts raining heavily he will pull over and wait for it to calm down a bit. 

-My personal headcanon is that Katsuki has a car with a skylight *if that’s what its called* so he brings the seats down and you lay there admiring the rain falling onto the glass. 

-He likes talking about more serious matters when you are like this. 

-From your future to what pet your future kids could have. 

-If you get cold while waiting for the rain to calm down, he has a blanket on the ready. 

-He places you on his chest and drapes the blanket over you, enjoying your warmth and the filling of your pulse under his fingertips. 

-Might get a little emotional if a slow song is playing. 

-He is just too overwhelmed by his emotions at times like these, when he can hold you and feel the pure love and adoration flow between the two of you like water. 

-I love you’s are exchanged and many kisses. 

-When he starts driving again he is so refreshed, it’s like a completely different person. 

-Gas station stops and bathroom breaks are a nightmare cuz he keeps hyping himself up in order to go into Bakugou public mode. 

-You just want your Katsuki, the cuddly Katsuki. 

TAG TEAM AY: 

@the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez​ @storage11037​ @ezoyscorner​ @letscheereachotheron​ @wolfkid22​ @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses​ @threeamwriting​ @ysatrap​ @yashinosakura

[lamardeuse]

Just saw something about OFMD “drama” about fandom art and it’s funny bc I was just thinking about this - I’ve noticed how some artists are kind of drawing a brown white guy and apparently now some of them are upset that people aren’t educating them about this and speaking to them personally, and you know - uh, no, that’s not how it works. Yesterday, I saw some people commenting in tags that I’d goofed on Vico Ortiz’s identification as Latinx rather than Latine, which I hadn’t seen before, but immediately fixed in my original post without getting butthurt about it, and now I have learned something, and yeah, I should have researched before I posted to ensure that term was correct, and I own that mistake. The thing is, people have a right to feel whatever way they want when you get their representation/identity wrong, and no one owes you an education.  It does highlight something that the show explicitly addresses - that our image of the swashbuckling pirate is a certain type of person, and artists can sometimes be stuck in that image because it's very much part of the culture, we’re drowning in white dude pirates. Also, maybe people sometimes look at Taika with his Hawaiian shirts and his Kevin Kline mustache and interpret him some kind of way, but the dude is Indigenous and identifies as such. To want that depicted accurately isn't something that people should have to ask for politely, and yes, it’s something they should have a right to expect. Plus, you know, he looks beautiful (I mean, I’ve never thought the man was homely but Christ on a cracker the long hair and the costumes suit him down to the fucking ground) so why wouldn’t you want to get as close to that as possible?

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[industriallyinsecure]

After making Ghiaccio short-circuit with the tomato fact I wonder if the other La Squadra members also have a self-destruct topic in your opinion? Like... how do you get under Mr. Cheesy Easy-Going's skin? Would the Hee Hee Man even believe you if you claimed he had a grey hair? How do you even get under Risotto's skin? Would the Old Ham freeze up if you insulted his style? Is there even a way to stun Dr. Love Stand? I feel like Pesci.exe would stop responding if you gave him a compliment...

I didn’t expect someone to send in an ask about my stupid little meme lmao but it makes me smile when people indulge my shitposts :)

TW: bit of internalized homophobia in Formaggio’s bit, but nothing terrible (placed under cut and at the end so you can easily skip)

The purpose of telling Ghia about tomatoes is to make him shut up, and the only person who talks more than he does is Melone. The only problem here is that there’s no conceivable way to actually shut him up with words, so you’re better off kissing him on the lips or something. But Melone is a scientist first and foremost. His mindset would be, “Incessant speaking provoked intimate relations, will continue to pursue experiment to see if it elicits similar results.” Basically don’t kiss him unless you want him to be more annoying for another kiss. Or do, whatever works for you homie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

Illuso is also very hard to shut up. I don’t think he’s vain enough to drop dead if you told him he had a slight imperfection, he’s too proud to admit he has any in the first place. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make him laugh with some particularly funny insults. “Funhouse mirror lookin ass” is a personal favorite of his. If all else fails, draw on his face while he’s in the mirror world. That’s about the only thing you can do that will make him stop what he’s doing. Doodle a mustache on a mirror and he will go out of his way to erase it, and likely physically draw on your face later.

Okay but hear me out. I feel like Risotto is shit at small talk and when he first meets someone he’s like “Hello. Your blood makes up about seven percent of your body weight.” In my mind it’s pretty hard to phase him (especially since he has to listen to Melone’s scientific sex talk all the time). Unless you like hug him out of nowhere I don’t think you could make him blue screen, but don’t hug him without telling him because he’ll take that as a sign of aggression and accidentally punch you :/ consensual hugs only please

Prosciutto is also very hard to stun. Insult his style? Yeah right, like he’s gonna listen to a broke bitch like you. Eyebags? Excuse you, they’re Gucci. However, Prosciutto HATES the idea of being/looking old, which is ironic because of his stand. Get up close to him and say “oh, I think you have Crows’ Feet, Prosci,” and he’ll probably sit in silence while he goes through the five stages of grief. Pesci would probably blow up if you told him his fly was down (he doesn’t have a fly on his bodysuit but he’d still cry). Also if you insult Prosciutto he’ll probably break down, but in the HEY THATS MY COMFORT TEAMMATE >:,( type way. Aka how half of the La Squadra fuckers on here would react (including me)

Cheesy breezy beautiful will short circuit if you make him uncomfortable in any way. Don’t get me wrong, he absolutely would die for Sorb and Gel, but don’t talk about them having sex in front of him. He’s pretty open minded, but I feel he’s just macho enough to be uncomfortable when talking about gay sex. He also doesn’t like gross things. Not necessarily gore, but stuff like infections, toothpicks under fingernails, and other little yucky things will make him shut up very quickly.

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine: Part 3

In honor of the new photo, I think I will post this now. :)

Warnings:  Nothing, the reader remains a blank canvass.  Might have cursing.

Summary:  The reader is working undercover where she things the next heist will be, while trying to figure out the Thief's ways…

Note:  There really are diamonds in all these colors!  I spent way too much time looking it up.

“Joe F. Gambrel and Co., how may I direct your call?”  I shifted in my seat a little.  The chair was not that uncomfortable, but I felt like I was definitely out of my comfort zone.  I listened to the person on the other side, put them on hold.  Started an email to my boss.  Took them off hold.  “I am so sorry.  Mr. Larsen is in a meeting, may I take a message?”  I typed the message in the email, hung up, hit send.

This was the shape of my day.  Take messages for my reprobate boss, who was never in the office, and try to look like someone else.  Act like someone else.

And, most of all, case the joint.  I wondered, briefly, if the Thief ever called his work that…casing the joint.  Probably not.  He did not look like someone who used twenties gangster slang.

As I wandered the office suite, I hoped I was not wasting my time.  I was working for a high end antiquities firm.  If you wanted something, they got it for you.  They did not have a lot of staff, and the bosses seemed to be out of the office more than not.  The floors directly below me were home to a large business dedicated to restoration.

I’d been studying, and I was ninety nine percent sure that this was the next place the Thief would break into.  The crown was — just a crown.  Pretty, historied. I suspect he took it because he could, not because he wanted it.  After all, it had been right there.

No.  He had come for the Star.  Almost a half a year prior, someone had stolen The Golden Queen.  And now, if I had guessed right, he would be coming for a incredibly rare, beautiful pink diamond called The Compass Rose.

I went and looked at it, not for the first time. At the top floor of the high rise, the company — and Keith Larsen — kept the Compass Rose on display in an act of hubris that was sure, if Greek Myth was any indication, to anger some God eventually.  It was in a huge room, the ceiling was all glass that arched up to a sharp point that was illuminated at night.  The floor was marble, the walls a warm sandstone.  Four benches, one on each side of the pillar that held the diamond’s display case.  One wall held a fountain and greenery, meant to look like a small, exotic waterfall.  The water trickled softly as I went as close to the case as I dared.  And there.  The largest pink diamond that had ever been discovered in Australia, glittering deep rose.  It was one of a kind.

My thief was collecting a full set.  There were three diamonds, including this one, in Midas’s Rainbow that the thief had not stolen.

He could have gone after one of the other ones.  I could be wrong.

But I wasn’t.  I couldn’t be. I had bribed my way in, under a new name with a perfectly wrought set of identification papers, even a credit card.  I dyed my hair and carefully applied my make up so that I made my face a little different.  So if I ran into him, he wouldn’t immediately know it was me.  It was not, probably the best plan, but my training consisted of books and watching Leverage.

I was staring at it too long, the security guard peeked in.

“Miss?”  The security guard peeked in.  Older man, with warm, friendly eyes and a lovely voice that seemed not to match his age.  We’d spoken a few times on my daily check of the diamond.  No one was allowed to be in the room too long, and he was gently reminding me it was time to go.

I went out the door, leaned against the wall next to him, and asked the question that I’d been asking myself for weeks, since I started working here.  “If you were going to steal the Compass Rose, how would you go about it?”

He stared at me for so long I thought he was going to go report me.  “That’s not a smart question to be asking, around here.”

“There’s no harm, though.”  I said.  His voice bothered me.  I wanted more, if I could listen to it a little longer…

He shook his head and didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry if I offended.”

He gave me a gentle smile, touched his ear and pointed to a corner of the room.  Then he shooed me towards the door.

Back at my desk I snuck out my steno notebook from its hiding place in a stack of unused notebooks in my desk drawer.  It was where I kept my plans.  Layout of the building.  Everything I learned.  Since my purse could get searched at any time, I only had it at work.  One steno pad looks like all the others, right?  Locked in my drawer, under a box of tampons.

The fountain has to be the way in. There needs to be a way to service the pipes behind the wall.

If I could break something in the fountain without getting caught, someone would have to fix it.  Someone would have to open the door or the hatch, and I’d know how to get in.

And the thief always liked distractions. But what kind of distraction would he manage to create?

My work day ended, I grabbed my purse, made sure my desk was locked, and started out.

“Honey?”  The first front desk receptionist called after me.

I smiled and crossed over.

“I just wanted to remind you, tomorrow they are bussing in a bunch of high school students to tour the floors so they can see what it takes to restore old art.”  She smiled at me.  “You’ll want to make sure to get here early before they get here…it’s going to be a madhouse.”

Cue distraction.

The next day I went to see the madhouse for myself.  I wanted to see the teachers.  Most were women.  I didn’t discount them completely, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t shave his mustache if he could avoid it.  There.  Curly, dark hair.  Tweed jacket with elbow patches.  What century did he think this was?  I followed him as he ushered bored looking kids, careful not to let me see his face.  Finally I went around a dented suit of armor and managed to get face to face with him.  “Hey!”  I said cheerfully.

It wasn’t him. Eyes too far apart, nose too small, just not him.

I apologized and walked off just as one of the teachers asked, brightly, “Can we see the Compass Rose?”

“Well.  There’s no reason why not.  The public are allowed to go in, but only one at a time, I think?” The woman who had gotten stuck showing the group around said.  I hid as quickly as I could, not wanting to be pulled into the conversation.

I walked back to my office, hoping no one had noticed I’d slipped out, to be sadly disappointed.  My boss was sitting on the corner of my desk.

“Where were you?”  He asked me.

“Just wanted to see what all the noise was about.”  Behind him, the lady security guard who switched on and off with the one I usually saw stood, looking that part angry, part unamused way only a security guard could.

“Open your desk.”

“What is this about?”

“The Compass Rose.  It’s gone.  I want to know if you have it.  You spent enough time looking for it…made jokes about stealing it.  So.  Did you?”

I unlocked the desk and the guard pushed me aside, dumping the contents on my desk.  I held my breath when she flipped through the notebooks, but they all were empty.

Empty.  Oh, no.

I let her paw through everything I owned.  Let her pat me down.  “Unless she swallowed it, sir, I don’t think she has it.”

“I didn’t swallow it!”  I let panic creep into my voice.  It was not hard.

I let them x-ray me.  I did.  I admit it.  The lab tech a few floors down gave me sympathetic looks as I stood there, shivering, in my gown.

And then I let them fire me.  The frustrating thing was the lack of knowledge.  They refused to let me know anything.  What happened?  How?  Why?  Was a playing card left behind?  I wanted to know.

But most of all I wanted to know where my notebook was.

Two days later as I packed up my apartment, I received a package.  My name…my alias, rather, in quotes.  Quotes.  I grabbed a letter opener and ripped it open with more force than I needed.  I suspected, already, who would be cheeky enough to put quotation marks around my fake name.

My notebook.

The last page, there was a five of diamonds tucked in like a book mark. The back of the card the same as the one I carried with me wherever I went.

Across the last page he’d written, “A five star card for a five star effort.  Not bad for your first try.  I wish I’d thought of the fountain.  That was clever, if a bit damp.”  A couple of crabbed notes along side my own.  Suggestions.  Not actual plans.  No, I’d need to catch him to find out how he did his theft, if he could be convinced to tell me even then.

I sat down, hard.  He knew where I was.  Where I lived.  Knew I had a steno notebook, knew I’d hide it because I could have my belongings searched.  How?  How did he learn so much about me?  I thought over the people I had met, since getting that job.

I imagined large hands carefully drawing things out of my purse, lining them up neatly on the marble of the entry way desk.  “Sorry about this, miss.”  The guard’s voice said, as he went through my things.  Large, but graceful hands.  A warm voice that bothered me because I’d heard it before.  The security guard.  He’d been guarding the damned diamond all along.

“Five star effort? Oh, I’ll show you.  I’ll show you.”

I worried about telling my family of my failure, then I realized.  He’d given me a clue.  The cheeky bastard had given me a clue.  Because one of the other diamonds was kept in a five star hotel overlooking the Rhine.

He was telling me that he was going to steal the Heart of the Rhine, a mossy green diamond worth millions.  Now, if only I could believe him.

Thank you to you lovely people for being on my tag list, if you want added or dropped just let me know.  <3

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[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants. 

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme. 

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music. 

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.  

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called. 

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment." 

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy. 

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered. 

--

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine. 

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache. 

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it." 

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window. 

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?” 

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light. 

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have. 

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry. 

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read: 

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass. 

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

--

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch. 

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!” 

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

--

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