#so here i am. on tumblr. wanting dinner. not making dinner.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

"I'm so hungry," I say as I endlessly scroll through Tumblr instead of making dinner. Seriously the ingredients are in the fridge, the recipe is in front of me, please for the love of god

[surreal-duck]

letting me live alone was a bad idea i think

[sulliispeachy]

disappeared for a couple days but im back

heres the

New Plan

i bought a scale yesterday so i could weigh myself wo going through my mom first so this will make it easier for me to keep track of my weight

i must weigh myself EVERY morning after using the bathroom, with no clothes. if the weight has gone up i must fast for the next 24 hours

no calories for breakfast. only 0 cal drinks allowed. for lunch i can have a snack, idc what it is as long as its a SNACK, not a meal

for dinner i can eat whatever i want, this way i can avoid binging and satisfy my cravings while keeping my calories low

on my days off, i will work out for at least 30 minutes. idc what i do, dancing, walking, running, but i will spend 30 consecutive minutes burning calories

if i break any of these rules without approval for the next 30 days/before i reach my gw, i must either: sh (i dont want to do this anymore + ill be kicked out if i do so it helps me stick to my goals), be forced to leave my job (i love my job and i obviously dont want to quit) or no longer do any homework and slack on my schoolwork (dont want to fail my jr year of high school)

i also have rewards for all the lbs coming off. 130lbs: get my feet done. 125lbs: new perfume set. 120lbs: new jewelry and piercings. 115lbs: tattoo. 110lbs: new bikinis. <105lbs: $500 clothing shopping spree

to be approved to not follow one or more of these rules for the next 30 days, you must be approved by going through a checklist (see below). you must meet at least 1 of the requirements to be approved for a “cheat day”

by posting this to tumblr, i am electronically signing and agreeing to stick to this plan and all of the rules that come with it. if this contract is broken, i will have to pay $500 to anyone who likes this post (given that i have a way of paying)



cheat day checklist

🔳 weight has plateaued for 3 or more days

🔳 have an important exam or test tmrw (2 days)

🔳 need a break for your mental health

🔳 parents are forcing you to eat

note: this is just for me, please do not follow this, especially if you think it would be bad for your mental health. only posting here to hold myself accountable

block dont report

[lilislegacy]

Okay, I’ve been thinking about something lately

All the time I see people make statements about Percy that start with “Percy would never…”

Some examples I’ve seen: “percy would never kill someone/something in front of his mom” “percy would never yell at someone he loves” “percy would never get drunk” “percy would never let his child go to camp-half blood”

Now if you passionately believe one of those, hear me out. I’m not necessarily saying I disagree!

I’m saying… who would have ever thought Percy would torture a goddess and choke her on her own poison? And…. enjoy doing it? If someone had said that on tumblr pre-HoH, every single comment and reblog would have been “PERCY WOULD NEVER!!” I mean, who would have thought Percy would do a million things he’s done? He’s done some very not so ‘silly little guy’ stuff. He is an extremely complex character. In his own head and to some people, he’s sweet and fun and silly, but to many people he’s reckless and scary and dangerous. Some people see him as someone who’s very gentle and relaxed, but some people see him as someone who’s quick to get very angry and cause destruction. And the truth is, he’s all of it. It depends on his mood. Consistency does not apply to him in many aspects. He has consistent traits, like loyalty, humor, and bravery, but his actual actions and reactions are NOT consistent. I understand why we think Percy would never do certain things. We think we know based off of his past and his history with his mom, or with Gabe, or with Luke. And I’m not saying I think he would do those things, but unless he specifically states it, we can NOT, ever, infer what Percy Jackson might or might not do.

Like for instance, the drinking thing. I am not saying percy would be a big drinker, if one at all. And he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer because of how the apartment used to smell when he was young. But we have no evidence that Percy associates all alcohol with Gabe. Alcoholic drinks aren’t just foul smelling hard liquors. There are a million different forms that you can consume alcohol in - some of which don’t even smell like alcohol, and barely taste like it. And in The Chalice of the Gods, it’s said that Sally drinks a glass of wine every night. And Percy thinks Sally hangs the freaking moon. So if his mom drinks, he definitely doesn’t believe that alcoholic beverages = the enemy. And here’s the thing, if Annabeth and Piper and Leo were all drinking and having a good time, like college students do, and they go “Hey Percy, come sit and have a drink with us!” there’s a very good chance that he’s so comfortable with his best friends, and just wants to let loose and be a college kid, that he wouldn’t even think about Gabe. He’d just be like “Sounds fun! Count me in!” But I don’t know. That’s the point. I don’t know. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. I truly think it could go either way. And even if he does drink, maybe he never - not even once - gets drunk. Maybe he’d drink in college and as a young adult, but when he becomes a father one day, he decides he doesn’t want his children to ever smell so much as a drop of alcohol on his breath, and therefore completely stops drinking. Or maybe he doesn’t ever like it, even in college. Or maybe he’s like his mom, and he and Annabeth just have a glass of wine with dinner. Who knows?

Not us. That’s what I’m saying. WE don’t know.

I’m not saying we can’t have headcanons based on what we know about him. I have a million. But the point is, I feel like we can’t try to pretend like we actually know what Percy wouldn’t do. As a fandom, we analyze him and his choices WAY more than he ever thinks about a single choice. He definitely does not think about his life and his actions as much as we do. (I’m not saying that he’s dumb or doesn’t contemplate his life and his actions, but he doesn’t nearly do it to the degree that we do.) Us, we pretend like it’s simple math. (Our first mistake, since math is consistent and full of rules, which is the exact opposite of Percy’s character.) We go “okay luke did this and gabe did this so therefore percy would never do this.” But Percy doesn’t think that way most of the time, especially not in heat of the moment matters. The only thing we 100% know about Percy is that he will always be loyal to his loved ones. But even then, we don’t know what that loyalty will look like. Is it sacrificing himself for someone? Is it murdering the enemy? Is it manipulating someone else? Percy lives in the moment. He doesn’t often think too much before he acts. He just acts. Whether it’s in a life of death situation, or his after school activity for the day. He is unpredictable, like the ocean. It’s one of his defining traits.

Honestly, I think that’s why annabeth is so drawn to him. With everyone else, she can read them super easily and know their next move. But with Percy, she has no idea. Which is frustrating to her, but also exciting. It’s a big part of her initial attraction to him. It’s also why many of us like him so much. We don’t know what’s coming next, and we never know what he will do in a situation. Like, how could we possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when HE doesn’t even know? Half the time I don’t think Rick himself even knows.

We become so sure that Percy wouldn’t do something because we understand his character so well, right? But I think the truth is, the minute we become certain about what Percy would or wouldn’t do, is the minute we don’t understand his character at all.

Thank you for reading my analysis of Percy on why we can’t reliably analyze Percy

[jongseongsnudes]

fuck buddy

fwb!jake. 0.6k. 

“no offence mr sim... but you’re really bad at this.”

your comment only makes the man chuckle, obviously not fazed by it at all.

you couldn’t help but glance at the clock, seeing how you were gradually getting later and later for your dinner plans with friends. in fact you’ve been sitting on the bathroom counter with your legs hanging off the side for the past hour, letting jake ‘help’ you fix your make up after ruining it earlier in the bedroom.

but the poor man wasn’t doing a very good job, taking a whole half an hour to do your eyeliner... and he was still not done.

“i’m trying love, trying really hard.”

the little pout on his face has you wanting to kick your feet and squeal like a little girl, the mere sight being one of the many reasons why this man was so popular. jake sim was just so charming, so endearing, so ridiculously good looking that it constantly had you questioning how the man even became your fuck buddy in the first place.

but hey, you weren’t complaining, not when you got to see this face over and over.

“i know jake... that’s why i told you i can do it myself.”

“but i like helping you.”

the man was evidently struggling but you let him be, not having the heart to stop him anymore. you’re already late anyway.

“you’ve done my liner for me before. doesn’t usually take you this long,” you chuckle while watching him so focused on drawing your liner, the little furrow in his brows the cutest thing you've ever seen, “i’m starting to think you’re doing it bad on purpose.”

you were only kidding but the silence that follows, along with the sudden appearance of his cheeky grin tells you perhaps you weren’t all that wrong.

“maybe i am,” he smiles at you and leans in, his body now comfortably settled in between your spread legs. your own hands find a spot on his chest, your fingers softly playing with the material of his oversized shirt. the way his gaze falls to your lips definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you, something you naturally find yourself mirroring.

“and why would you do that?”

your words had barely left your lips when jake closes the gap between you and him completely, kissing you so gently that your heart immediately bursts into a million butterflies. the sound of your liner pencil hitting the floor echoes through the quiet bathroom but you couldn’t care less, especially not when he was kissing you.

his hands are quick to grab your waist, easily pulling your body flush against his as he deepens the kiss.

“so you don’t go to your dinner plans,” his voice is so soft against your lips, his low tone already doing wonders to your body, “stay with me tonight?”

“you should’ve just asked mr sim, we wasted an hour in here.”

“no such thing as a waste when it’s with you,” he leans in to place a cute kiss on the tip of your nose before carrying you up entirely into his arms, a familiar sweet smile now on his lips.

the very same sweet smile that always has your heart fluttering for your fuck buddy.

end.

2023 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.  

[peterman-spideyparker]

Labels (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hi! So, I've kinda put myself on a writing hiatus for a while and, in turn, have limited my time on Tumblr as of late. I was/still kind of am feeling uninspired in terms of writing and ideas, but this one came easily, and it needed to be written and shared before the excitement left me. I still have a million other stories and ideas I want to get going on, but for now, I hope you enjoy this one. :)

Summary: One evening when Matt tries to surprise you with a home cooked dinner date, he's stunned by something you've done for him.

Warnings: Sweet adorable fluff. No use of (Y/N), but it does refer to the reader being feminine/female-identifying

Other Characters: Karen Page

Word Count: 1,158

“Hello?” you say over the phone, very clearly distracted by whatever is in front of you.

“Hi, angel,” Matt smiles, feeling a weight off of his shoulders when he finally hears your voice when you pick up your desk phone.

“Matt.” The way you say his name lights him up inside. It’s alway so warm, so inviting, so smooth—like when butter spreads perfectly even on a piece of toast. The gentleness of each consonant and vowel that escapes your lips never fails to chip away and brush off the stress of whatever is weighing him down; from his day job to his nightly activities, you—every last bit of you, is his solace.

“I was half afraid that I’d get your answering machine,” he breathes as he leans back in his chair, listening to how you move the receiver from one ear to the other.

“I’m sorry, Matt. Today has just been hectic. Meetings, email approvals, we rearranged some furniture because no one was responding to emails—.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I do if it means I worried you. I mean, I must have missed calls and texts on my cell from you if you resorted to my landline.”

“No, not worried. I was just curious if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight. Maybe try that new Italian place that opened up a few blocks from your apartment.”

“I didn’t know there was a new restaurant opening.”

“Yeah,” he lies. “It’s a small place. Intimate, nice.”

“Well, I don’t know how I could say no to that. It sounds like the perfect thing to make me forget today.”

“Take deep breaths, sweetheart. You’ll get through it. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” you breathe. “Listen, I need to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Perfect. I love you, Matt.”

“Love you, too.”

You exchange soft goodbyes before hanging up the phone, Matt sliding his cell back into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hey, Karen?” he calls out.

“Yeah?” she responds, sounding as if she’s lost in thought with whatever is at hand.

“What time is it?”

She pauses. “Almost 2:30.”

“You think that you and Foggy will be okay for the rest of the day?”

“I think so.”

“Great,” he says with a smile, standing up and putting on the suit jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. “I’m heading out. I need to get some groceries to surprise my girlfriend.”

Matt undoes the last of your door’s locks as the bag of groceries rests on his hips, relieved when the heavy piece of wood starts to swing open. For as frustrating as your day was, Matt secretly hopes that you won’t come home early and catch him in the middle of his surprise; it took him a lot longer to get everything he needed at the store, throwing off his timing. He’d be lucky if he got everything plated by the time you got home. Matt lets out a deep breath as he places the bag of groceries on the counter and takes his glasses off, centering himself to focus on the plan and not let his race against the clock shake him too much. After hanging his jacket on the hooks by the door, he rolls up his sleeves and throws his tie over his shoulder before taking out his phone, tapping at the screen until he finds the recipe he saved for tonight.

As his phone reads off the list of ingredients, he feels over what he grabbed, cursing when he notices that he’s missing garlic powder.

“She has to have some,” he hums. He knows you like to cook, always eager to try new recipes that you find while scrolling on your phone, and therefore always getting new spices and ingredients to make sure your kitchen is stocked for whatever the next interesting dish brings. Lucky for Matt, you two are always over each other’s place, craving one another’s presence, so he knows your apartment almost as well as he knows his own. Turning around to the skinny cabinet where Matt knows you keep your spices, he opens it up and prepares his nose for the strong mix of smells that are about to hit him so he can sniff out what he needs. As his hand extends into the cabinet, what he doesn’t expect to find is small bumps over each and every label. It’s odd, but familiar. Grabbing one of the spices in the front, he carefully takes it off the shelf and runs his fingers over the bumps once more.

Nutmeg.

Matt lets out a shaky breath, tears stinging at his eyes. He reaches up for container after container, running his fingers over all of the labels, finding that he’s able to read them all. By the time Matt grabs the garlic powder, the cabinet is practically empty and he’s crying in the kitchen.

“Matt?” he hears you call tentatively. He didn’t even hear you come in, and now you’re at his side, wrapping him in a hug and holding him close to soothe him. God, he loves when you hold him. Call it being touch-starved, but nothing felt better to Matt than when you have your arms around him. Sure, being in your apartment is comforting—your smell surrounding him and engulfing his senses, but nothing was better than the actual thing, your body against his, skin to skin. “Matty, is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he sniffles, holding you close and kissing your forehead. “It’s just, uh, well this.”

You pull back slightly from his hug and wipe away some of his tears before peeking down to see what’s in his hands.

“Garlic powder?” you try. “Is it bad?”

“No, no,” he smiles, wiping away some stray tears with the heel of his hand. “It’s great.”

“I thought we were going out to dinner tonight. But with all my spices out, something tells me you might have fibbed.”

“I did fib. I wanted to surprise you with dinner, especially after hearing about your day, but you’re the one that surprised me.” Taking your hand, he gently guides your fingers over the label to where the braille is.

“Oh.” Matt listens to how the blood rushes to your cheeks and how your heart rate picks up. “The label.”

“The label,” he echos softly.

“I finally found a good braille label maker that I liked,” you begin to explain. “I mean, we’re always at each other’s place. I wanted to make my home feel a little more homey for you.”

“You really love me, huh?”

He listens to how you smile from ear to ear. “So much more than you’ll ever know, Matty.”

Putting the garlic powder down, he takes your face in his hands and pulls you in for a deep kiss, your arms happily snaking around him and holding him close.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

[takavasen]

Tumblr dashboard in Night Vale simulator

🧪homo-genius

Today's science fact:

Spiders have an open blood circulation system, which means they do not have veins and their blood is different from the blood of mammals. Unfortunately many healthcare professionals do not know this, which can lead to improper methods in...

Read more

🎙️voice_of_night_vale

Spiders are a valuable part of our community and deserve good healthcare.

But more importantly, I want everyone to know that Carlos the Scientist made this post, he is my husband and I love him very much! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

🪬a-thousand-fingernails Follow

Cecil everyone knows you and Carlos are married and most of us are happy for you but you don't need to tell this in every post you make

🎙️voice_of_night_vale

Wait have I mentioned it before?

809 notes

⭐sheriffofallarts

Hah saw some loser (@ marble-eyes) bring the same girl (@ mountainbeliever343 I think, couldn't see her face clearly from the cameras) home for the third time this week lol

cmon just say you are girlfriends already dont be shy

💎marble-eyes Follow

Hey you can't just share private information like that!! And besides that is not true, I haven't brought anyone home for a long time, I don't have time for that anymore!!!

🟡secretly-in-your-home

No. I can confirm that what Sam said is true. I was there. I am always there. Also, I put the rest of your cereal to your washing machine. They have been in the cupboard for a while now, I thought they were getting quite dusty and needed cleaning.

31 notes

🏀basketballpalmer Follow

We had an another great season with @nvwheelchairbasketball team again! Thank you everyone, it's an honor to be the captain of the team! See you guys next season <3

👍wallabyyy Follow

Aaaaa congratulations! I miss you guyssss

43 notes

☀️prophet-of-smiling-god

I just had the most delightful date with the most gorgeous theologist in Desert Bluffs Too!!! We had a lovely dinner at my house (some eyeball salad, mushed tarantulas and fried human fingers), watched some movies and of course made sure to serve our great Smiling God by making each other as happy as possible!! Unfortunately Charles said that it would make him unhappy if I shared the details, but I can confidently say that I have never been more joyful!!

🦷smiling-mayor Follow

Kevin, you missed a service in the Temple of Joy because of this. Surely you would remember doing that for an old friend, wouldn't you? 😊

☀️prophet-of-smiling-god

Oh, Lauren, of course I wouldn't ignore anything like that on purpose, you know how much I love tolerating you!!

98 notes

🪽not-an-angel Follow

Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?

You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link

🌟erikaaaaaaa Follow

Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?

You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link

💵ex-vanston Follow

Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?

You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link

💡erika-the-black-one Follow

Does anyone happen to have 10 bucks?

You can send them here: absolutely-not-a-scam-link

3 notes

😎violentfootstool-deactivated20230416

Hey guys, so I just spoke to the new scientist lady and found out I don't actually have three pairs of arms. The lower two were just robot limbs that I tried out when I was seven years old and forgot to take them off. So hows your day ://

🔬janet-lubelle

I am always happy to help with explaining your problems away.

🎀tinfoilforteeth

Hey bitch how is it going under the cow

754 notes

🎙️voice-of-night-vale

Alright, I'm going to say it. Steve Carlsberg does NOT know how to be a basketball coach. He knows nothing about any game structures, and he only allows one ball per game!! He talks too loud, except when you can't hear him. It will be ALL HIS FAULT if we end up losing this season!!!!!

🌠lines-in-the-sky Follow

:(

🎙️voice-of-night-vale

For everyone who finds this post now: I made this many years ago. Things have changed a lot. I'm very sorry, Steve. I couldn't hope for a better brother-in-law. You are my best friend, and I was the irrational one in this situation.

I have changed the way I look at people. I will not treat them the same way I used to treat Steve anymore.

1,642 notes

🎙️voice-of-night-vale

Alright, who let Susan Willman be in charge of anything? She is the absolute worst at making desicions, like, who asks an obelisk its NAME? She had an oppoturnity to ask almost anything, and that's what she chose?? She better stay away from our way for at least seven decades, and keep her "Huntokar"-nonsense with herself!!!

11 notes

[venmondiese]

New Year's Traditions.

In New Year, you have your traditions in order to assure a good year. You eat 12 grapes, and then watch the fireworks with your loved ones. Aemond might start his own traditions, in his own way.

✧Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, AFAB reader, P in V, exhibisionsm, praising kink, slight breeding kink, soft sex. ✧Word Count: 4008 ✧Author's note: hehe my first tumblr fanfic post lol, I KNOW that new year passed, but this idea came to me at 2 am after seeing the fireworks. enjoy!! ✧AO3 link: here

Aemond and you have shared many moments together. Birthdays, anniversaries, and one of your favourites was new year

It was a silly reason, to celebrate another day marked as the beginning of a new year, yet you liked how it meant a simple thing; starting a new year of your life with Aemond. And you liked that.

As Aemond hated going to his family’s mansion for these holidays, you remained in your apartment, cosy as ever and only you two. You, Aemond and Vhagar, is an old grumpy lady cat, that he adored more than everything, more than even you, you suspect sometimes. 

And you didn’t even do such a produced food this year, you ate some pretty good lasagna, with a second dish with shrimps and salad. It was nice, and it certainly was more like a fancy dinner between you two. Aemond loved to spoil you in any way he could, so every whim or idea you could have, he would make it reality. 

“Eating grapes is so stupid” Aemond says, as you pick out the grapes to leave it on a grape carefully.

“Stupid or not, I like grapes”  You state leaving the plate on the table in front of the TV. “And you are gonna eat them as well” 

“I am not” Aemond states, crossing his arms as he smirks. He was so amused by seeing you like this, worried about stupid little traditions that made no sense.

“Yes, you are. You have to eat one each time that stupid clock that you bought chimes” you say pointing at the stupid clock that he brought one day, out of nowhere, saying it was a relic from old Valyria, with little dragons details on the wood, a stupid grandfather’s clock that stood at the side of the couch, that chimes in each hour. 

At first, at night it kept you awake, and the sound was so deep, you jumped each time. So did Vhagar, annoyed by being awakened. Even at sex, when Aemond was so deep, readjusting your guts in the best of ways, his cock hitting so wonderfully inside you, and his sweet praises whispered in your ear… and the stupid clock chimes. You hated it.

“If you miss it, and do not get to eat all twelve on time, you’d have a year of bad luck” You state, wrinkling your nose teasingly. “And you can make a wish for each month”

“If it makes you happy…” He sighs, sitting on the couch, where Vhagar jumps quickly on his lap to lay there, always before you could cuddle up to him. She did it on purpose, and Aemond allowed his two girls, as he called you both, to fight over him and his attention and affections. 

“Come on, I always have done it. It is a tradition.” You say with a thoughtful nod, as you sit beside him. “And see where it ended… I am your girlfriend, and we have been together for two years now… You don’t want this one to be the last?” You ask dramatically, and he rolls his eyes as he leans his head back, but he chuckles amused.

“I have until midnight to think” He mumbles amused, moving his hand to caress your thigh sweetly. 

He has chosen the dress. He didn’t believe in the new year being something special, but if it was an opportunity to make you dress nicely, he’d take it in a heartbeat. He had his own taste when it came to your clothes, Aemond liked seeing you in special, tight dresses that made you stand out wherever you went. To brag that you were his, and he always took the time to braid your hair in the style of his ancestors, and he was meticulous about it. 

“Then you have until midnight to leave the apartment” You say in your best teasing tone, smiling smugly to him and his lips almost make a little pout.

“Don’t be like that” He says rubbing your thigh as he moves his head closer to you, still leaning on the back of the couch “At least you could grant me a goodbye sex?” He tries to plead using his best puppy eyes for teasing.

“Absolutely no” You state laughing at your little back and forth. 

Aemond was often perceived as quiet and a bit cold, at least you did the first time you met him. Little words came naturally from him, his answers were brief words and that was it. But he grew warmer as you two grew together, and he enjoyed teasing a bit too much, it amused him to no end. He just loved your reactions, and how you fought back, it was all worth it. 

He loved how you had a enmity with Vhagar, seeing who could get more affection from him, and who would he choose, sometimes he chose the cat on purpose just to get a raise out of you. He’d laugh every time, and make it up to you by eating you out like he was a starved man.

“I’ll eat the damn grapes” He mumbles smirking. “I feel like Persephone being forced to eat the pomegranate..”

“I am no Hades” You say mumbling.

“Mhm. I suppose if I eat only six of them I could live freely in the spring and summer without you?” He teases, totally amused.

“Careful. Too many jokes of leaving can break a girl’s heart” 

“I’d never break your heart” He mumbles going to hiss your chin and then your lips, almost too lazily for him. He does it gently, showing him the little pecks of his affection in your chin and lips. Aemond looks at you tenderly, as he speaks softly. You can hear the sound of the programmated count back for new year on the tv, but you look at him kissing you. “I’ll eat the grapes for you”

“Like Adam ate the apple for Eve?” You inquire, amused.

“Yes. I’ll follow you out of Eden once they expel us” He murmurs smiling, still his face close to yours, you could feel his soft breath, calm and it smells like the wine you two tasted earlier. His hand returns to rub your thigh softly, as he looks at your face as if wanting to remember each part of it, his eye moving to your tender eyes to your lips, and he has a little smile curling on his lips, involuntary, you can notice. 

“I’ll fetch the champagne” You murmur, breaking his gaze, standing up and walking to the kitchen. He hums, and sits back correctly. 

Once you are back, with two glasses and the bottle, he is caressing Vhagar’s back and moving his hand to pat slightly her bottom, which she appreciates a lot. 

“Stop spanking that ugly cat” You grumble leaving the two cups on the table in front of him.

“Jealous?” 

“No” You say looking at the hour. 23:57. Close enough. “Are you sure that we could see the fireworks through the balcony?”

“Yes. Mother said the apartment had a nice view to the Blackwater bay just nicely. We’ll watch all the fireworks from the safety and comfort of our balcony.” 

You hum, nodding a bit. “I love fireworks” You say excitedly, and Vhagar meow. “Vhagar likes them too”

“Vhagar can barely see” Aemond says in a laugh, “I’d be surprised if actually makes it to the balcony”

“You are being mean” You giggle caressing Vhagar’s furr, which she appreciates but gives you a stern look. 

“Give me a kiss before the year ends” Aemond urges looking at the clock, 23:58.

“I thought you didn’t believed in-” 

“Shut up and kiss me” He repeats, and before you respond, he leans to kiss you, moving you closer to him. Vhagar grumbles and gets off his lap, but Aemond doesn’t even notice. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips against your just for a bit, just enjoying the simpleness of a kiss. He doesn’t press it further, and his lips are tender against yours, soft and gentle, when he wants. His hand presses on your chin, and he swallows the slow hum that you give him. He smiles in the kiss, knowing that it couldn’t take all minutes, even if he wanted. Because you had your silly traditions, and if they made you happy…

“See? With one minute left” He says smugly. 

“How considerate is my boyfriend” You say standing up to extend him his bowl of grapes. “One each-”

“Yes” He says, groaning as he stands up. He smiles as he sees you so excited for this silly thing, eating grapes for a new year. He looks at his bowl and he has an amused smile, the things he does for love… 

As the new year strikes, the awful clock sounds for a bit, and he leans to steal a kiss from you. “Happy new year” He mumbles. 

“Happy new year” You murmur as you kiss.

After the chimes. He does as requested, just for you. He eats the grapes as the clock strikes twelve times at midnight. He has to laugh at your commitment, as the sound of people in other apartments can be heard, and you look at him smiling as you eat the twelve grapes. He does it for you, no doubt in it, just to see you smile as he eats the grapes. What he wouldn’t do for you, after all?

“See?” You say now, grapes finished just in time, and he rolls his eyes amused as he grabs Vhagar from the ground to caress her chin. You go to hug him, and mumble “Happy new year”

Vhagar meows, and Aemond laughs “See? She says happy new year too” 

“That is so silly” You say with a giggle, and you lean to kiss him sweetly, more properly this time, as you hug him. He has one hand on the small of your back, while the other still holds Vhagar. 

A little family of three, you always say, proud of being with him. He was always equally proud of you, always pampering you with love and gifts, no matter how tired he could be each day, he always came to be with you and be the doting boyfriend he always is.

“Now, shall we see the fireworks you were so eager for, hm?” He asks, smirking as your faces are close. “My sweet girl” He says softly, his adoring gaze looking at her.

You smile, and your cheeks blush a bit. He never manages to miss the chance to make you all flustered for him.

“Yeah, let’s go” You say, giving him a sweet peck on the lips, as he leaves Vhagar on the couch. 

You slide the door open for the balcony, and you can hear the loud cheers from people around, you have a nice view to Blackwater Bay, a bit far enough to see the fireworks from a nice view, and everything is already dark so the main focus was the fireworks.

Aemond lays on the balcony by your side, looking at the ground for a bit, and smirking. “I think they are about to start, do you have one of your silly traditions for fireworks too?”

“Oh, fuck off” You say pushing him a bit, and he laughs.

“It’s chilly” He comments a bit, and looks over at you in your dress “I’ll bring our jackets” He says going back to the apartment, and you remain there, looking at how the people in the streets were also expecting the pyrotechnic show. 

Aemond was right, it was a bit cold. But again, he likes to dress you up in pretty dresses. He often jokes how you are his ‘perfect doll’ and how he loves to show you off in the best makeup, dresses and hairstyles. He was just proud of it, that you allowed him to. 

“Aemond, it is starting!” You say loudly so he can hurry up, since he always takes too long for everything. 

The first fireworks start, the red explosion illuminates the darkness of the city, and you look in amazement, as a more yellow one follows. People cheer, also excited for the colours, and you hear Aemond closing the sliding door of the balcony.

“Here” He says, extending the jacket to you as he pushes Vhagar inside of the apartment. 

You thank him as you quickly put on the jacket, now looking at the purple ones exploding in a soft motion. 

“Don’t you think it is pretty?” You say to Aemond “The purple ones are better, but they don’t illuminate as good as the– Oh” 

Aemond passes his arms over your waist, hugging you from behind, and his chin is quickly pressed against your left shoulder as he snuggles into you.

“Very pretty” He murmurs.

“I mean the view” You say embarrassed. 

“Not as pretty as you” He adds smiling. 

He leans to kiss your lips, and you chuckle in his lips, as you hear more explosions from the fireworks go off, and you just know what comes next. Aemond wasn’t really subtle when he wanted you; when he wanted to devour you wholly, and now it wasn’t the exception. He did it on purpose, so you always know how much you entice him.

“Aemond, the fireworks..” You whine as he keeps insisting on kissing you. “It is only one time a year-”

“I know” He says, resigning and leaving you alone, as you leave a small kiss on his cheek as a thank you. 

The light blue explosions were quite nice, and combined with the purple ones did a pretty sight. Some minutes pass as you feel Aemond starting to kiss you neck again, slowly, but with more intention now, he wanted you and he was letting you know.

“Love-” You get interrupted by him.

“Watch your fireworks” He instructs you, moving his hands to your thighs, and he is quick to move them up as he speaks slowly to you. He moves his body a bit back, to watch yours as he does whatever he wants with you. “I’ll do my thing here…”

“We can surely do it once the show is over”

“I am afraid I cannot bear any longer. You eat grapes to celebrate a new turn in the sun, and I might start a new tradition for the new year.” He tells you, and moves your head to watch the fireworks. 

He moves his hands up, so your dress is all the way up, and accumulating in your waist, as he hums in delight. He moves your jacket to rest in your waist, anytime it could fall again. It was quick, but Aemond wanted you like he never did before.

“Anyone could see us” You say, the red firework exploding and you see the people in the street, below and so unaware of this. 

“Then let them see my pretty girl celebrating a new year” He murmurs, not caring about that. “Mmm… Red underwear. Is that another sweet tradition of yours? I think that one I might like” He teases kissing your shoulder as he pulls your underwear off. 

You feel aroused, from his sweet words and slightly more because of the embarrassment of this. Being fucked in your balcony, as the fireworks exploded in front of you, and the people around celebrated another year. As always, Aemond had to do everything in his own way, celebrating in his own way.

Hearing him undo his belt does it for you, the arousal makes your belly flutter, and you try to look back at him, but each time he pushes your head forward; watch the fireworks, it is his order.

Your hands grip a bit on the balcony railing, as you lean a bit forward, as if presenting you to him. His hands quickly go to your hips, and he leans closer to press a kiss on your neck, soft, wet kisses making their way to your jaw. 

“You are so divine like this, my sweet loving girl” He praises you slightly, his hands rubbing in circles on your hips for a few moments, you can feel his cock pressed on the curvature of your ass, and you whimper a bit impatient now. “So pretty, fuck, and all mine”

The mere thought of that drives him insane. His hand moves upfront, and he quickly finds his way to your pussy, aching and longing for him. You moan impatiently as you push your own throbbing core to his hand and fingers, and he chuckles a bit, without breath as the mere action aroused him to no end. 

“I’ll make you really wet and nice for me” He tells you, always so eloquent at the time of having sex. “You know my goals for this year? Make you my sweet wife…” He admits, moving his hand to your lower abdomen, pushing the dress to be a bit higher on your waist. He presses his hand there, his palm giving your cold body some heat. His fingers find your clit, and press against it so softly, giving you just the right stimulation to make you moan “And I’ll give you my baby, so your belly swells so full and nicely. Yeah, I’ll make you a mother… And then again, and again…” He starts rambling off a bit, his own lust talks for him, and you have to moan at these words. 

The mere thought of it makes your pussy clench in need, and you have to bite your lower lip because of it. Your head cannot properly focus on the pyrotechnic show ahead, but only in his words. You shoulder tense, and your head falls a bit as the lust is too much. You want, you need him inside. 

“Yeah, please, please…” You whine for him, wanting to get the clue and just fuck you, right there. 

“Let’s see, are you properly wet?” He says in his best smugly tone, and you know that tone. He wants to tease you.

Even if you cannot see him, the wet sounds give him away. He is fisting himself, at the sight of you, leaned in the balcony railing all at his mercy as the lights of the fireworks illuminate your figure, and while he inspects you, his fingers around your entrance to check how really wet you are. He takes the note, that if he wants to fuck you along with the pyrotechnic show, the moment was now.

He moves your legs to be apart, cursing in a low tone, as he takes your hips to accommodate you at his taste, and you have to shush your own moan once you feel the tip of his cock moving between your legs, all the way to your entrance. 

He pushes in, firmly and decided, yet still slow at first, as he always did. You assume that he takes his time, wanting to feel you opening at his length and he always groans lowly as if it was the best thing ever. 

You whimper, his cock as always moving inch by inch, slowly as if he wanted your walls to remember his shape, his hardness, every vein and how he throbs for you. 

“First time of the year, huh?” He cannot help but tease a bit, as his forehead was resting against your shoulder, and he looked how the sight of his cock disappeared as he pushed all the way in, and your ass against his crotch never fails to make him moan.  “Fuck..” 

With one arm wrapped around your waist, he moves the other one to caress your hip, as you moan impatiently for him to move.

“Focus on the fireworks” He insists, his tone shaky, and you both know that no one here cares for the damn fireworks right now.

He starts thrusting, slow at first, making you close your eyes in delight, and your breath is catching midway in your throat from how good it feels. He as well feels in pure delight, you always took him so well, you always were so tight that it made him fantasise about you always. 

“Just like that, baby” He says, increasing his thrusts, moving your hips to meet his pounding, and you start mewling, and it only seems to encourage him to move faster. His other hand finds the way to your hair, grabbing it to make your head look forward. “You wanted so badly to watch it, and now you don’t even care? Tsk, tsk…” 

You can hear the amusement of his tone, how he loves being the responsible of this, of making you melt under his touch, and thanks to his cock.

Entering you over and over, was probably the best way to start the year, and he marks this tradition as his own now, seeing the fireworks as he fuck you against the balcony railing. The idea pushes him into arousal even further, his forehead leaning on your shoulder again, and it makes so easy to hear his lascive sounds, his soft grunts as he keeps pushing your body to meet his, and wanting to make a mess out of you.

“Fuck!” There, he thinks smirking to himself, so buried into you, and he pushes away without any mercy. You let another mewl, lascive and filthy, driving him insane. “Aemond, fuck…” You moan, his cock deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot, and fitting so good inside you would never keep you quiet. 

You can see from the edge of you eyes the neighbors below, also in the balcony, but they were drinking champagne and unaware of how their upstairs neighbors were fucking like animals in the middle of the firework show.

“Are you close, sweet thing?” He asks kissing and nibbling below your ear, right where your jaw started. “Are you gonna cum– Gonna soak my cock, like the good girl you are?”

“Yes” You say breathing forcefully, letting out an exhale that feels more like a sob, and you nod frantically. His hand loose from your hand, and moves down to play, once again, with your pearl. 

At that, you have to move one of your own hands to your mouth not to shout in ectasis, as he does just the right thing. His cock deep inside you, thrusting and pounding into you, precum all over your walls, you are sure, and his fingers doing circles and rubbing your clitoris in the best way possible. 

It is no one’s surprise when you cum with a choked moan, your eyes closed as Aemond feels your walls clenching around you as your orgasm hits you. You don’t even seem to notice how the show keeps going, the palmer lake fireworks right in front of you, and you are too busy soaking his cock to notice.

He doesn’t last longer either, the sight and the feeling of you cumming around him, is enough to make him bury himself deep into you, and let out a moan as he fills you, his arm wrapped around you keeping you still so you don’t move as he cums inside you.

You both are out of breath, and you are too exhausted from the orgasm that hit you.

“Look” He murmurs, and you let out a little sound, not in the mood for his teasing. “Not, really, look; your favourites, the palmer ones..” He says pointing at them.

You look at the fireworks, explode so gracefully and then fall faintly. You chuckle a bit, as he hugs you from behind, kissing your cheek adoringly and tenderly.

“I love you” You say softly.

“I love you too” He says, as he pulls out, letting you enjoy the rest of the show. 

He pulls your dress down, and makes sure your jacket can warm you after all, and you thank him. He also fixes himself, and he takes you in his arms, kissing your forehead at the last, and more prettier fireworks are in the sky.

“I think that next year, you could ride me” He teases and you have to laugh at that. 

“I’ll do” you promise, curling in his hug and watching the sky full of colours.

It seems like a great year, already. 

[musings-of-a-rose]

Not Without You

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader (nickname: Poppy)

Word Count: 2800+ 

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. I saw that clip of him making out in The Uninvited. That's it. That's the explanation. This is not betad. This one is for the sluts.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Masterlist

--------

I get out of my car, staring up at the ridiculous mansion in front of me. The sound of the ocean, just out of sight behind the giant home, is soft and gentle in my ears, calming me. Giving me a little mental boost before I sigh, smoothing down my dress. I make my way to the front door, weaving between a few cars that were parked out front. Expensive cars.

It's not that I'm jealous of my childhood friend. Emilia deserves to be happy and she's happy that she married money. Some fancy producer out here in LA that fell for her big eyes and bright smile the second he saw her.

But that doesn't mean I wanted to come to one of her dinner parties, having to schmooze and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say. I've been here before, met the people, fucked the party boy actor that eventually broke me, and yet here I am, unable to say no to Emilia.

I raise my hand to knock, dreading what the evening will bring but the door flies open before my knuckles touch anything. Emilia stands before me, a few rollers still in her hair, stress all over her body.

"Poppy, you're early! Thank GOD!" She pulls me inside and hugs me, the door closing heavy behind me.

"I always come early because you need me," I smile as she chuckles, lightly punching my arm. "What can I do to help?"

"You're angel, I swear! Can you make sure the table settings are right? There's extra silverware in the-"

"I know, Emilia. Everything like normal?" I'd been to so many of her parties, I know exactly what the set up is.

She nods, her smile growing wider. "Keep it simple and classy. You know me!"

I nod. "So what kind of party is this one? Another schmooze for Mr.?"

She waves her hand. "Yeah something like that. He's meeting with a bunch of actors for some upcoming project. He's hand selected them."

"Cool."

Emilia thanks me again before running off to finish getting ready. I pause for a moment, looking around trying to remember where the dining room is. I head down the hall and into what I think is the dining room. It turns out I remembered correctly, my eyes roaming over the table and making small adjustments to the settings already there. I end up pulling out more silverware, fixing them to Emilia's standards. I hate that I know this stuff, but I've saved her ass more times than I can count at these things so it helps to know what to expect.

As I work, my mind goes back to all the parties past. The ones she brought me to when she first started dating the producer several years ago. She had been so nervous, as if the producer wasn't already head over heels for her. That's where I met-

No. Not going down that road again. I can't do that to myself.

I shake my head and finish the settings, adding some minor touches to the decorations and finally lighting the candles. A knock at the door brings me out of my head and I walk over to answer it. An older gentleman stands there, putting out a cigarette with his shoe. He introduces himself as the director. What an ego.

Several people arrive after him, a mix of actors and a screenwriter. They all mingle in the sitting room for a few minutes before Emilia and the producer make their way in, everyone doing introductions.

The producer claps his hands together, looking around. "We're still missing one, but I doubt he'd mind us getting started. Who's hungry?"

Everyone gives their approval but as they move towards the dining room, a knock raps on the front door.

"That should be him. Guess I tried to start too soon!" Polite laughter at the producer as Emilia moves to answer the door, a quick glance in my direction before she disappears down the hall. The producer is telling some little story about a prior movie he was involved in, one I've heard a zillion times. But his story is short and he motions behind me.

"Just in time! We were about to eat. Welcome, Lucien."

My back stiffens. The room starts to spin my chest heaving. He didn't say Lucien. Did he? Maybe it was another Lucien. It couldn't be my Lucien? No. He's not my Lucien. He made that very clear when he wanted to continue partying and I wanted to settle down.

"Perfect! I'm starving."

Fuck. There was no mistaking that voice, the one that sets my skin ablaze, makes warmth pool between my thighs, the one that told me he needed to focus on his career and couldn't be with me. Not in the way I wanted him.

A small hand on my elbow squeezes me and I know it's Emilia, gently guiding me towards the dining room.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. He invited him and I didn't make the connection until the last minute."

"You couldn't have given me a heads up?" I yank my arm from her grip and swallow hard. I can't let him see how he makes me feel. He doesn't deserve that. I turn, letting the others file past me until he stops in front of me.

"Poppy. I..I didn't know you'd be here."

I'm determined to show him how much better off I am, that he means nothing to me now. I look up into his eyes and all of my resolve goes completely out the window. Were his eyes always that big? That round? So soft? I want to yank him to me by the thin chain around his neck, press my lips to his and never let go.

Way to show him, Poppy.

"I didn't know you'd be here either."

A silence stretches between us, a heavy, loaded silence. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me and is that regret I see? No. I'm projecting. But then he offers me his arm, taking me completely by surprise.

"We can be adults. Shall we?"

Don't do it. Don't take his arm, Poppy. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

My fingers close on his offered up arm. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity for you."

Fuck, he's still warm. His skin smooth where my fingers touch him. Way to go, Poppy.

He escorts me into the dining room and I feel Emilia's eyes glued to us. He pulls out my chair and I sit, him scooting the chair in behind me before walking around the table, looking for his name card. Which was conveniently placed directly across from mine.

The producer clears his throat after everyone sits and starts making some speech about the project, about handpicking everyone here, blah blah blah. I zone out, trying to use my peripheral to steal glances at him. It's been several years since that night we split, the yelling match that had devolved into quite possibly the hottest sex I'd ever had. No, don't think about that. I need a better look so I turn my head to take a drink and chance a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, still with the soft eyes. I nearly choke on my drink, managing to swallow it and clear my throat.

He finishes his speech and everyone claps politely, starting to eat and talk amongst themselves. I sit, deciding to choose silence while eating but then Lucien looks directly at me.

"So, what do you think?"

"Uh what?"

Fuck him with those big, stupid eyes.

He gestures towards the producer with his fork. "The project."

"Oh. Well I'm not involved so," I shrug. "I'm just here for Emilia."

He chuckles. "How many rollers were in her hair this time?"

I laugh, my body betraying me. "Four."

"But seriously. A good project?"

"I think..I think it's an honor he hand picked you. I'm not sure what the project itself is, but I'm sure it would be great for your career."

His eyes study my face as I take a bite of my food. "It's not always about the career though."

Anger surges up through me. "Isn't it?"

"How are we doing over here?" Emilia had walked up, cutting off whatever Lucien was about to say to defend himself.

"Great, Em. I'm just going to get something from the kitchen." I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, Emilia giving me the smallest squeeze to my arm before I turn and head into the kitchen, the door closing behind me and effectively cutting off the sounds of the dinner party.

I lean over the kitchen island, my hands splayed out over the cool marble, trying to calm myself down. I hear the door open, the chatter from the party momentarily loud again before the door swings shut and it's quiet again.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. He just...caught me by surprise. I can hold it in."

"What if I don't want you to hold it in?"

My head snaps up, meeting his gaze, embarrassment making my skin heat up. "Oh. I thought you were Emilia."

Lucien takes a few steps towards me, the light glinting off the thing chain around his neck. "You didn't answer my question."

I stand up straight, crossing my arms. "We've done this dance before, Lucien. It didn't end well."

He smirks and I want to slap him. "I think it ended just fine. In the doorway, on the floor, in the front yard. I had to move my neighbors were too jealous."

My body betrays me with a small smile at the memory but then I reign it in. "I'm still not paying for that end table."

He's closer now. When did he move closer? Almost close enough to touch. His voice is low and raspy. "I'd destroy every end table on this planet if it meant having you under me again."

Fuck. Me.

I turn away from him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing what he does to me. "Flattering. But you made it very clear I was not number one in your life."

"I was stupid. I guess I needed to prove to you, to myself, that I could actually do this acting thing."

Finally composing myself, I turn to face him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

His eyebrows furrow together. "Have you not seen any of my films?"

I had. I had seen them all. I know I shouldn't have, that it wasn't helping me get over him. But Lucien has this pull, this hold on me I've never been able to fully shake.

"Some. But I'm asking your opinion. Off camera."

His jaw ticks a moment before he takes a swig from the glass I only just realized he was holding. "It brought me here."

I scoff. "Yeah, the producer hand picking you is actually a very high honor. I'd be-"

"No, you misunderstand." He shakes his head and sets his glass down on the counter. "I lied earlier."

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows. "When? You've lied to me a lot."

"Earlier, when I said I didn't know you'd be here. I knew, well...more like hoped you'd be here. Knew it was a long shot but the only way you'd talk to me again."

My heart was racing, nearly bouncing out of my chest as he takes another few steps right into my personal bubble, my lower back against the counter. "I already told you I'm not replacing that end table."

He's right in front of me, the warmth from his body radiating onto mine. "I was a fool, Poppy. I..I love you."

I've waited years to hear him say those words to me again, to hear him actually mean them. To hear them not sandwiched between things like "but I have to focus on my career".

His lips are so close to mine, his breath fanning over my face.

"You broke my heart, Lucien."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me put it back together."

"Lucien, I-" but he cuts me off with the softest touch of his lips I've ever felt, a whole slew of emotions flooding my body, including the one pooling between my legs.

"I can't do this without you, Poppy."

"Do this?"

"Life. I don't want to do it without you."

Fuck.

I grip that chain around his neck and pull him to me, our lips crashing together, his body pressing into mine. But then the counter scrapes across my spine and I jolt, breaking the kiss to gasp in pain. Lucien steps back, offering me his hand.

"Let's go somewhere where we won't break the furniture."

I shouldn't take his hand. I can still back out. But a small voice in the back of my head believes that he means it. That he wants a life with me, wants what I wanted all those years ago. And right now, I'm letting that voice win. I take his hand and he smiles, that smile that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world. He guides me out the back door, past the pool, past the changing tents between the pool and the beach, and down the walkway alongside the neighbors cement wall that leads down to the beach.

He spins me and I laugh, tasting the salty ocean air on my tongue. I back up towards the wall and he follows me, lowering himself to my level. His large hands wrap around my hips, gliding down to cup my ass, and I moan into his kiss, my hand gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it had so many times before. One hand still firmly on my ass, the other slides up my side, cupping my face so tenderly, full of love. He pulls back slightly and looks at me, like he's shocked I'm really here. That he's really kissing me.

"I love you, Poppy. I never should have let you go."

"Then don't let me go. I've always been yours."

He kisses me again, his hips pressing into mine and I can feel him hard, my cunt desperately throbbing, begging to feel him inside me again. Somewhere in my haze of desire, I hear myself begging, whispering pleas in his ear to take me, that I need him inside me before I die. His hands slide my dress up my thighs, reaching under and ripping my underwear in two, tucking them into his pocket. He had ruined so many good pairs of my underwear that way, but I honestly couldn't care less. My fingers fumble with his zipper, but I manage to get it down, reaching in to grip him, a sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around him, pumping him a few times. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me up as he presses me against the wall. He slides into me and the world stops moving, colors are brighter, and I finally feel right, like I'm actually here on this planet. Every thrust of his hips brings him deeper into me, holding me here, holding me to him. His breath comes out in short pants, desperate pleas of love and apologies between our moans as he fucks me against the wall.

And then the light blooming inside me breaks, my head pushing back, my nails digging into his skin, my entire body tingling as pleasure radiates out from where we connect. Lucien follows suit, moaning my name as he spills himself inside of me, pushing as deep as he can. We stay like that for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.

"I want to stay inside of you but my legs are fucking shaking."

I laugh and he yelps, quickly trying to pull out of me as my laughter contracts my body around him. He sets me on the ground and zips his pants as I smoothe out my dress, my laughter slowly fading. I look at him and he looks back at me, his eyes still soft and gentle. He tucks some hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek again.

"I wasn't kidding, Poppy. I was fucking stupied before. I need you next to me. When we're together, I feel...right. like I belong here. I don't think I can face this life without you."

I know it's a possibility this will end the same way it did before, but something in his eyes is different this time. He's had time to think, time to experience life without someone with him. Without me. He's grown, matured - well, matured some at least. But do I want to open my heart back up to him? Knowing that he could shatter it again at any moment?

"I'm still not replacing that end table."

He smiles and it lights up my entire world. "That's ok. I have plenty more furniture we can ruin with our love."

-------

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[writingstoraes]

total swiftie 🎶

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: this was requested but somehow i cant find it in my inbox :(( anyway i hope u like this, anon! happy the eras tour 🤍 sorry this took so long lol

about: it's your life mission to convert charles into a total swiftie.

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, isahernaez, carlossainz55, and 234,592 others

yourusername i once believed love would be burning red — but it's golden, like daylight 🌅

appreciation post for the personification of the lover album, songs and the entire english vocabulary are not enough to express how much i adore u 🤍

(ps. pls join me in being a swiftie baby)

tagged: charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc As much as I want to, I just can't grasp the folklore love triangle, amoúr

f1swift LMAO NOT THE FOLKLORE LOVE TRIANGLE??? Y/N SO REAL FOR THIS

lecsmidnight absolutely right queen charles is such a lover album

sainzz55 more like 1989???

pierregasly I caught Charles today watching the Bejeweled music video if it helps 😅

charles_leclerc MATE

yourusername awwww baby :((

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, lorenzotl, and 1,329,112 others

charles_leclerc Spontaneous adventure around the city at night + my passenger princess ❤️ (She races me for the AUX and blasts Taylor songs the whole ride in her efforts to convert me into a swiftie)

tagged: yourusername

yourusername anddd how am i doing so far?

charles_leclerc Getting close 😘

leclercs13 y/n converting charles into a swiftie is just so real of her

carlossainz55 Just be a swiftie Charles, Midnights is so good 😁

yourusername SEE YOU GET IT CARLOS

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, leclerc_pascale, lorenzotl, and 1,892,330 others

charles_leclerc How I masterminded my way into catching my girlfriend by surprise with the fact that I actually am a Swiftie:

1. Adore how passionate she becomes when talking about her favorite artist

2. Let her rant about album theories, which "Taylor's version" we get next, and finally listen properly when she explains the folklore love triangle

3. Learn Taylor Swift's entire discography, from debut until now

4. Pester the whole grid in helping me get The Eras front row tour tickets

5. Surprise her with the concert tickets and just watch her have the time of her life (surprised that I know the lyrics to the songs)

6. Just when she thinks the night ends at the concert, take her to a magnificent dinner and propose using a "Paper Rings" reference.

isahernaez Oh my god the big surprise is finally here! Congratulations, you two 🥂

lecs13 WHAT THE FUCK WAS THE LAST STEP IM GONNA RIP MY HAIR OUT

sainzzhero charles proposing what the actual FUCK I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING

danielricciardo ...I am so honored to be the one who got the tickets (me and my fast typing skills)

landonorris You only got those cause my computer lagged 😒

carlossainz55 You two arguing I was literally the first one on the website

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon23, pierregasly, and 507,991 others

yourusername i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings, charles_leclerc 💍

except you actually got me a real ring, but i would have said yes as long as it's you. je tàime, my love 🤍

charles_leclerc Excited to spend the rest of my life screaming Taylor Swift songs in the car with you, baby 😚

c2legends such goals im going to cry

charles1655 GOD ME WHEN

lewishamilton Congratulations, Y/N and Charles 🥂 Swiftie Charles is a refreshing new side of him hahaha

carlossainz55 Best wishes, you two! Please remember: I was the first on the ticket website. Don't believe whatever Daniel says 😁

arthur_leclerc Welcome to the family, Y/N! I also want tour tickets 🙏

--------

tagging: @slytherheign

notes: this took some time to make lol ANYWAYYYY thank you so much for reading and lmk what u guys think! 🤍 tumblr is giving me a hard time right now apparently the formatting is weird in ios devices 🥹 like the bold texts are all off n shit and it wont let me fix it 😭

[mrsbarnesxxx]

Hi! I loved your buddie x reader that you wrote and was wondering if you would be willing to write more? Maybe a protective buddie over reader? Thank you! 😊

A/N: Hello, darling, I am so so sorry this took so long! I'm not familiar with Tumblr and took a short break. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with this, but I gave it my best go. If this wasn't what you wanted, feel free to message me again and I'd be glad to redo it for you! Enjoy! ❤️

Warnings: buck and eddie being protective, slight possessiveness, fluff, alcohol mention/consumption, eddie speaking spanish, mention of burns.

Summary: the ways your boys try to protect you

They always have to have some part of them touching you, whether it be an arm, a leg or even just holding your hand, it makes them (especially buck) know that you're still here and nothing bad has happened to you.

You didn't know what else you expected from your boys, but as soon as they parked the car. Your boys were opening the door for you, grabbing you hand and guiding you out of the car, one hand resting on the top of your head so you don't hit it on the top of the car. Buck's arm wrapping around your waist as Eddie holds the restaurant door open for you. You guys were going to meet the firefam for drinks, and of course, the boys being the clingy boys they are, they asked you to come because they can't go anywhere without their best girl. So here you are being ushered into the restaurant, Buck's large hand resting on your lower back as you three make your way to the table.

"You two are always so clingy." You tease. "Just wanna make sure you're safe cariña." Eddie smiles.

You're greeted by the team as you all sit down. "What can I get for you?" A waitress asks walking over to you guys. "Oh, um I'd just like a gin martini please." I smile at her. The drinks arrive and you being talking to Hen about med school. "So you must be so excited." You start and then you drop your phone from your lap straight onto the floor. You bend down to reach it and suddenly a large hand is on the edge of the table that your head was about to collide with. You smile softly up at Buck, grabbing onto the table for support to sit up. Instead you grab your glass and almost knock it off of the table, but of course, Eddie is there to catch your drink, and Buck you. "Thanks." You mumble sheepishly.

They won't let strain pasta or do anything with hot water

"Hey hey hey!" Buck exclaims rushing in from the living room. "Here, I got that." He says easily picking up the pot and pouring it into the awaiting colander in the sink. "I can do it myself, Buck!" You whine. "We know you can," Eddie comments, pecking your temple. "But we don't want to risk you getting hurt." "It's just water!" "Boiling water!" Buck interjects. "Yes, love, boiling water. We're trying to help, so let us." Eddie says with a final peck to your head before he's serving the pasta Buck set back on the stove, greeting Buck in the same way he greeted you.

The same goes for chopping anything, vegetables for dinner? forget it! fruit for a picnic? nope.

"Buck it's an apple. I'm fully capable of cutting it myself." You protest as he easily takes the knife from you. "Again. I have no doubt that you can. That doesn't mean I want you to. Too many people I care about have gotten hurt, I can't have that happen to you too." Buck says. "I seriously doubt any of them from cutting an apple." You mumble irritated by the situation. "Listen. I know you think that Buck and I are babying you, but we're just trying to make sure you don't get hurt." Eddie explains calmly. Stiffling a laugh at your grumpy expression and crossed arms. "We just care about you. And as Buck said, too many people we know have gotten hurt, ourselves included, so yes it's overkill, but it helps us know you're safe, okay?" "Okay." You smile.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Sophie’s World

⋆ 18+ Only ⋆

All of my works contain dark themes, including dubcon, noncon (aka rape), abusive relationships, forced pregnancy, incest, and possibly more (each fanfic will have individual content warnings)

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THE ABOVE THEMES

Recent Fics

Number One Fan ch. V - Rafe tightens his control over you, continuing to shut you out from the rest of the world

Number One Fan ch. IV - your step brother can’t stand to watch you flirt with JJ Maybank, and he finally decides to take what he believes he’s owed.

After Hours Lesson - After class dinner, your professor, Coriolanus Snow, offers you a ride home

Faking It - Rafe gets pissed off after he realized you faked an orgasm

Love Plus One - After you get pregnant with your boyfriend of 3 years, you start to notice him becoming much more controlling of you

Silent Treatment - Your older step brother, Rafe, can’t stand being ignored by you

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act - After Rafe catches you texting your friend and saying that you want to break up with him, Rafe decides to remind you of your place

Equal Exchange - After accepting help from a stranger on a back road in the dead of night, you realize Rafe Cameron expects you to pay him back, one way or another

Keeping the Peace - Your life is uprooted after a cocky peacekeeper takes notice of you and decides to stake his claim. Also features dark!Sejanus Plinth

Crocodile Tears - You and Coryo are academy students who were both selected to mentor tributes in the Hunger Games. Coryo becomes competitive and refuses to realize that his unreturned affections have begun to affect his performance. Frustrated by what he perceives to be you leading him on, Coryo delves deeper into his obsession and eventually gives in to the desires he tried so hard to deny

Just This Once - stepbro!Rafe is sick of you being the perfect child in Rose and Ward’s eyes, so he decides to make you a disappointment too

About Me

I go by Sophie! I’m 23 years old and I use she/her pronouns.

I have been writing fanfiction since I was 14 (yes there is an incredibly cursed blog full of kpop fanfic that I wrote in middle school still floating around on tumblr to this day). I first got into reading dark fanfics when I was 19 or 20 and I’ve been writing and posting my own dark fanfics for about 2 years.

Who I Write For

Sophie’s Masterlist

I mostly write for Rafe Cameron and Coriolanus Snow, but I have written for Loki and Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) in the past.

In addition to my Rafe Cameron fics, I have also featured Topper Thorton as a character in a smut. I have one Coriolanus Snow fic that features Sejanus Plinth, and I am planning on having Sej come back in future Coriolanus fics.

Requests

Requests are allowed and encouraged but I can give no guarantee that I will get around to writing all of them. I currently have over 100 messages in my inbox, so if I don't end up taking your request, it's nothing personal, I just have a lot of them :)

Here is a list of what I will not write about

Recs!!!!!

I reblog many fics written by other authors onto this blog but here are just a couple of my favorite authors on tumblr that I have to rec

@cherienymphe

@rvfecamerons

@perlelune

@blueicequeen19

@quin-ns

@proactivetypaperson

@spideyhexx

@youaremyhome

[graysnetwork]

So I kinda gave up on running my story through Grammarly, so please bare with me here.

Also, I found the audio and listened to it as I wrote this to see how I would write the story, this is also my first time completely writing smut so pls don't be rude or I will delete 🙈

I will take yalls constructive criticism, so thanks ☺️

LEON KENNEDY x READER (smut..)

Read warnings pls

Info: when I check who posted the audio I will give them credits cuz they are the one who introduced me to... Audios I think

Edit: FOUND IT — I found it meiiioo’s acc (yes on tumblr)

Warnings: afab!reader, consensual‼️, pet names, spanking, praise, fingering, mating press, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, baby talk, creampie.

Summary— reader lost a bet and has to wear a bunny suit for the rest of the weekend, now their friend and roommate are sitting in his room getting ready to watch a show, but Leon is very annoying with all his teasing.

You were coming out of your room as Leon walked through the door, you hadn’t seen him this morning which you were grateful for.

“Hey I was gonna order takeout for dinner, do you-“ he was cut off by the sight of you, in a bunny costume “w-what in the world are you wearing?” He asks with a chuckle, this was odd to say the least; for the both of you. “A bunny costume” you say bluntly, it was embarrassing, and you were just hoping he wouldn’t make too much fun of you.

“I see that it’s a bunny costume, but, why?” He asks as he looks you up and down repeatedly, “I lost a bet with my friends” you admit, “no fucking way, since when do you take bets? Last time I checked, you pussied out of anything that needed any ounce of courage” he said and you pushed him.

“I’m just saying the truth, but, how long are you gonna have to wear it?” He asks, he was your roommate and your friend after all, so he was gonna be the one who would have to see you during this.

“The rest of the weekend..” you admit, situating the headband for what felt like the fifteenth time, “the rest of the weekend?” He almost didn’t believe you, he began laughing at you.

Making fun of you and asking if you’d like him to be your magician, you hit him again, lightly. He stopped the joke.

“Why don’t you just, not wear it? It’s not like your friends are gonna know” he suggests, “I pinky promised though” you tell him, he chuckles, “Why am I not surprised that you still do that?” He asks as he chuckles again.

—

“You can’t expect me to stop making fun of you” he says as the two of you lay on his bed, ready to watch a show, “stop it with the teasing Leon” you tell him, it was already beginning to annoy you.

“Or what? Your the least intimidating person in the entire apartment complex” he chuckles “It’s not like you could do anything about it” he says as he laughed a little more.

You kicked him a bit hard and he groaned but continued the teasing.

“Okay stop that, im serious” he said before you kicked him again and he got tired of it and grabbed you, and pinned you down, “you just had to be a fucking brat huh?” He asks you “what are you gonna do?” You ask as he keeps you pinned to the bed.

“I dunno bunny, what should I do?” He asks, a smirk appears on his face, you could feel his pants and how a bulge was beginning to appear in them and with how close he was, the bulge was right near your clit. You could feel it, and if you were being honest it didn't feel bad, you didn’t even think about it until he brought it up— “Why're you moving your hips like that bunny?” He asked.

His voice now sounded airy, and it took all of him to stop himself from moaning at your movements.

He flipped you over onto your stomach and laid you over his thighs, “never met a bunny, that is a brat” he said, dragging his hands down to your ass, “I know you want this bunny, tell me your okay with this..” he said, he waited for your answer.

You nodded and hummed a “mhm” for him, which made him happy, to hear you admit you wanted him.

“Listen, you just tell me when to stop..” he said trailing off and rubbing your ass more now.

“mmm’your ass, with this cute cotton tail, just looks so good” he said, “it’s fucking perfect..” he said, as his hand left your ass before he smacked it.

“Oh? Wasn’t expecting that huh bunny?” He asks almost in a mocking tone. “It’s what a brat like you deserves, no?” He asks as he smacks you ass again.

Your whimpers only made him like this more.

“how many..” you ask as you fix the headband again, “how many? However many I want bunny, plus your making such” he spanks you again, almost harder than the last one “pretty noises” he finishes as you whimper again.

He laughs at the sight of you, before rubbing your ass again, “oh bunny, look at how red your ass is..” he cooed as he kneaded it. “Your so beautiful huh?” He said, the change from his actions and praise could make you dizzy.

“My pretty bunny, yeah” he said before spanking you again, it caught you off guard, “your mine, y’not gonna let anyone else do this to you right?” He asked and nodded with a simple “yeah”

“Good bunny” he rubbed your ass, almost like a reward, before smacking you again, it seemed like a rhythm now. “My good, pretty bunny” with ever word he said aloud he smacked your ass each time, before kneading it.

“c’mere, it’s okay baby” he said, allowing you to get up and straddle him, which you did, almost out of fear he’d surprise you with another slap to your butt.

“You okay?” He asked and you nodded, “yeah, I’m okay” you said as his hands returned to your ass and he nodded before kissing you. “mm’ffuck you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that” he admitted as he pulled away from your lips.

“you’ve been wanting this?” You asked quietly, and he nodded as he kissed your neck, “been wanting this since the moment I saw you” he said returning his lips to your neck. If you were being honest, Leon was handsome, and you’d been wanting to make a move on him, so maybe this bunny costume wasn’t so bad.

“Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before baby” he admits as he kisses your collar bone, you shiver at the way his lips feel on your skin, the way he places wet kisses there.

“keep making those pretty noises” he says as he kisses the other side of your neck. “look at the way your nipples look against this fabric hon” he said staring at your chest. “just begging for my attention huh? I’ll give it to you” he says he tugs a bit at them.

You let out a whimper “sensitive huh?” He asks.

How could you forget?

It’s ovulation week.

Leon pulls you out of your thoughts when he tugs at your bunny suit. “This is a one piece, no?” He asks knowingly, sliding your arms out. “just perfect to give me access to everything..” he says, pulling the suit down your body.

Revealing everything to him, your chest, to your genitals, it felt very exposing, but at the same time you liked the way Leon stared at your body in awe.

He moved his fingers down to your pussy, and rubbed his thumb over your clit, “so wet, I’m only rubbing your clit baby..” he teased you as he leaned into kiss you again while rubbing more.

“Can I slide my finger in bunny?” He asked, he stared at you intently before you nodded, he slid his finger in as he kissed you again, he pulled away slightly after kissing you “mmm’fuck your so fuckin hot..” he admitted as he kissed you again, his breathing quickened as well with every movement of his fingers sliding in and out.

“You want two?” he asks, before you could give him a yes he slid his middle finger in as well, a quiet whimper escaped your lips once again. “Love the way your movin your hips baby” he mumbled against you.

“want more, we both do” he said and curled his fingers, moving quicker, “m’your so good, your a good bunny” he mumbled before kissing you again.

“mmmhm” he hummed as he stared your pussy. “yeah come all over my fingers, squirmy bunny..” he said as he felt you clench all around his fingers. “bet y’taste delicious” he said as he lowered himself to your cunt.

“can I taste you princess? I bet you wanna be cleaned, right?” He asked for permission, before you nodded “mkay” you muttered and he looked at you, staring into your eyes as he connected his lips to your pussy, lapping at it, sliding his tongue over the slit and sucking on your clit.

“mm’bunny, you want a pillow?” He asked nicely against your pussy, it was a contrast to what he was doing, sucking at your clit with all he could, you let out a quiet moan, and he pulled away from your pussy, you let out a dissatisfied noise before he lifted your head up gently and placed a pillow below you.

It was easy to forget how nice he was, especially with he was treating you and.. your ass. But the gentleness from his hands made you feel comforted.

“I want you now bunny… you see how hard I am?” He said unzipping his pants and pulling both his pants and boxers down to let his cock be visible to you. You could see the precum smeared on his boxers.

You almost didn’t notice him lower back to your pussy until he said— “yeah put your legs over my shoulders, I’ll make you feel good, y’trust me bunny?” He asked licking at your clit again.

You nod and mutter a “yeah, I trust you”

“Good, now can I get inside this perfect cunt?” He asked you as you nodded, “good girl, bunny” he said as he slid his cock in.

He gave you a minute to adjust to his size, and used that time to give you a few hickeys on your collarbone and neck.

He moved very slightly and heard you quietly ask if he could move now, he nodded for you and moaned as he started moving. “mm’ffuck bunny, you feel so good” he said as his skin slapped against you.

“Your so warm around me” he said kissing you “just take it” he put more weight on you to fuck deeper into you, “yeah take it bunny, that’s my sweet bunny, sweet n’sexy bunny” he said.

“Too much for you? too deep for my bunny to handle?” He asked, even if you said yes he probably wouldn’t have stopped, only if you asked him too, he could tell you enjoyed this, maybe even a bit more than him.

“You still okay baby?” He asked as he went quicker and harder into you “y-yeah” was all you could get out before he kissed you again. “Fuck that’s it, yeah..” he trailed off as he slammed harder, if that was even possible.

“My perfect bunny” he said, “y’close? Yeah?” He asked as you nodded at his first question, “me too, m’gonna come with you, yeah” he said kissing your cheek.

“That’s it, shit, if you keep squeezing me like that, I’ll come” “mm’ffuck” he started getting a little lost in it two, as he began whimpering and trying to go quicker for you to reach your high.

“You want me to come in you bunny?” He asked, “yeah you’d like the idea of having some kids with me after I fill you up, huh?” He asked again as he was on the verge of coming. “I’d love to fuck some bunnies in you” he muttered, you almost didn’t hear him.

He reaches down and starts playing with our clit, “yeah you love that baby, you should see your face” he says rubbing only a little bit faster, “want you to come with me” he said.

“fuck” he said softly as he came along with you, and kissed you gently, his movement didn’t stop he continued sliding his cock as deep as he could in you but he was slower now, more gentle almost.

He gave you a second to rest before he slid out of you slowly, making sure you’d feel all of him.

He groaned quietly at the sight of you, “it’s leaking out of you bunny” he said as he stared at your guy’s cum mixed together, “you look so… sexy” he said “wanna get a taste of what we’re like, together” he said as he lowered himself down to your cunt again.

“m’no, too sensitive right, right now” you mumbled as you pulled softly at his hair. He chuckled quietly at your attempts to pull his face away from your cunt.

“Your too sensitive? I know baby, I know” he cooed “you can come for me again bunny, you have one more left for me, no?” He asked with a soft tone, hoping it would help his chances.

You decided to nod, you wanted it, you’d wanted him for a while now so why would you turn down his offer down.

He lapped at your pussy, sucking at your clit and even kissing it at some point, it was all so much and you came faster than the last two times. Maybe it was because you were sensitive, or it could possibly be because he was the first guy in your life to be so good at eating pussy.

He pulled away and laid down next to you while pulling you to lay on your side to look at him.

“been wanting to do that for so long” he admitted and placed another kiss on your cheek, “me, me too” you said relaxing, and snuggling up closer to him for more warmth.

“Really, I guess you should’ve worn a bunny costume sooner huh?” He said chuckling, “maybe” you simply said as you smiled at him. “Hm, I think we should clean up” he suggested and you nodded, “we should talk about, us” he said.

Right, now that you’ve had sex with your roommate and long-ish time crush, you should establish what you two were now. “C’mon bunny, I’ll clean you up, I’m sure a shower together would be nice right?” He said, as he picked you up by the back of your thighs.

“Yeah, a shower does sound good” you said wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder.

“and, since my bed is a mess how about I sleep with you tonight, wouldn’t want you to get cold” he said as he carried you into the bathroom. “Yeah” you said.

“you didn’t actually mean what you said right? That you liked the idea of fucking me to have kids, or as you said bunnies” you asked, “ah, uh, well I don’t hate the idea of having some bunnies with you, don’t get me wrong you’d look, great, pregnant” he chuckled “but only if you want them too, I’ll stuff you full of my cum as much as want and need” he said in a reassuring way.

“I don’t know if, having kids in university is the best idea, but I’m not opposed to having your babies” you said, it caught him by surprise, he had to take a quick moment to collect his thoughts.

“Yeah, but, you would look hot pregnant”

—

The end 😊 (happy ever after idk)

[blahblahblees]

Hey there!!!

This is my first time requesting on Tumblr and I am not sure if you're accepting requests or not so if you aren't feel free to ignore it.

Can you please write a short drabble on Rodrick and the reader being neighbours and the reader liking him but not telling him because he likes Heather. And then everything happening at rodrick's party.

And all the drama can go according to your imagination!

I am sorry for my bad English.

Have a good day/night/evening/afternoon.

Thank you.

ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀─── make you mine ミ rodrick heffley

✎ ·˚ ༘ ─── reader has a crush on rodrick but his eyes seemed to be locked on heather hills, but when greg takes notice of rodrick’s lyrics, his perspective begins to change.

wc: 1,333

movie!rodrick heffley x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), the use of y/n (your name)

tw: kissing (?)

a/n: your english is wonderful :)

HEATHER HILLS. The way her name rolled off of the tongue made her seethed in ways she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t because she was jealous of her, she knew that Heather Hills was gorgeous, but she (herself) was also just as beautiful. She liked her hair, she liked her body, she liked her style, and she liked Rodrick Heffley.

But his eyes seemed to be locked on Heather Hills. He always talked about her long blonde hair and how her outfits just perfectly fit her. It was Heather Hills this and Heather Hills that… but she let him go on about her.

It was an awful thing to do to herself, but here she was, once again, sitting with him in his dining room as he explained his plan to her.

His band, Löded Diper, had somehow convinced Heather to perform at her birthday party. She didn't know how they convinced her to let them play or even why for that matter, but it was good enough for Rodrick.

Her eyes watched as Rodrick scribbled down songs for them to potentially play at her party along with some newer lyrics that would "tell her how much he loved her", which she didn't quite understand. Rodrick hadn't really known Heather for long, quite literally meeting her at school when he was picking up Greg.

"... So, what do you think?"

She looked up from Rodrick's notebook and towards him. She was so in her own mind that she hadn't realized that he'd been speaking to her.

"I'm sorry." She muttered. "What did you say?"

"I asked if the hook should be changed so it fits for the party..." He answered. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah... yeah." She answered, sitting upright in her seat. "Sorry." She apologized once more and quickly gathered her belongings.

"What's wrong?" Rodrick asked, his brows furrowed by her sudden movements. "Where are you going?"

"I should head home." She said. "My mom is expecting me soon and I have to help her with dinner tonight."

Rodrick nodded, slowly standing up and following the girl to the front door. "I'll see you at Heather's party tomorrow, right?"

She closed her eyes for a moment before turning, her hand resting on the doorknob as she looked at him. She really didn't want to go to Heather's party and had planned on it, in fact, she was pretty sure it was an invite-only party and she hadn't gotten an invitation from the girl.

But she was pretty sure that Rodrick was going to find a way for her to get inside, invite or not.

So, she took in a small breath and nodded. "See you there."

With that, she quickly shut the door behind her and headed towards her car, and sped out of the Heffley driveway.

"I can't believe some of the stuff you write in here."

Rodrick quickly turned at the sound of the voice. It was Greg. He was standing at the dining room table with his eyes locked on Rodrick's songbook.

"Is this what being in love is like for you?" Greg asked. "If so, she just went out the door without a kiss goodbye."

Rodrick quickly marched over towards him and grabbed the book before he quickly hit Greg with it. "What are you talking about, dork?"

Greg muttered something under his breath, rubbing his arm in the process. "That stuff... that stuff you call music. That's about Y/N, isn't it?"

"What?" Rodrick scoffed. "No. This is for Heather's birthday tomorrow."

"You're going to sing a love song to another girl at Heather's birthday party?" Greg chuckled. "Are you crazy?"

"You're going to be crazy dead if you don't shut up." Rodrick barked and held his book in the air once more, prepared to hit Greg with it, but the younger boy quickly ran off before anything else could happen.

Rodrick heavily sighed and sat back down at the table. He flipped his book open and tapped back and forth against the table as he went over the lyrics once more, just to make sure everything was perfect for...

But the more he looked at his lyrics, the more and more that he imagined her… he only saw her.

With a heavier sigh, he shut his songbook and slumped down into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face before stopping halfway and sitting up quickly.

He knew what he had to do.

HEATHER’S PARTY was in full swing.

People had been partying for quite some time before she arrived. She obviously wasn’t going to upstage Heather, she didn’t think that was possible with how outlandish Heather’s party had been, but still, she chose to dress up for the party and stay until Rodrick’s band called it for the night, which may take hours at the rate this party was going.

But as soon as Rodrick set eyes on her, he sat his guitar down and told his band to just go with the flow until he got back.

He took in a deep breath, and gently shook his hands to bring himself some comfort. He titled his head side to side before finally reaching her side by the punch bowl.

“You made it.” Rodrick smiled.

She turned at the sound of his voice and nodded, taking a small sip from her drink. “Yeah, of course.” She smiled. “Couldn’t miss the best band play their biggest gig.”

Rodrick smiled at her words, whether or not she meant what she said didn’t matter. She said them to make him feel good, to bring him comfort over the fact that he was about to tell Heather Hills that he liked her.

Or so she thought.

“Did I miss your love bomb to Heather?” She asked.

And she really hoped she had.

“Uh, not quite, no.”

She furrowed her brows at his response. “Everything okay?”

Rodrick's heart was racing as he looked at her. He knew he needed to tell her how he felt; he just didn't know how. But as he looked into her eyes, he found himself lost for words. All he wanted to do was kiss her.

Without warning, he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. It was a soft, gentle kiss, but it was filled with all the emotion he had been trying to hide from her.

When they pulled apart, he could see the surprise in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

She blinked. “You’re- You’re sorry? What- What-“ She stammered, her face growing red as she flustered her words. “What about Heather?”

“I don’t think- It was never Heather was into.” He said. “I mean, yeah, she’s hot, but she doesn’t make me feel the way I do when I’m with you. All those songs I was writing were never about her.”

As Rodrick spoke, she could feel her heart racing. Did he really just say what she thought he said? Could it be possible that he liked her as much as she liked him?

"Really?" she asked, her voice soft.

He nodded. "Really.”

Without hesitation, she leaned in and captured his lips with her own. It was a deep, passionate kiss, filled with all the emotions they had been holding back for so long. Her body melted into his as their lips moved in perfect harmony, each kiss taking them deeper and deeper into the moment.

When they finally pulled away, they were left breathless and dizzy with desire. She looked up at him with a shy smile, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

"I've loved you for so long," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, cupping her face in his hands. "I've loved you too, but I didn't have the courage to tell you until now."

She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. "I'm so glad you did," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

This would be the only time that Rodrick would be thankful of Greg.

— lucy has something to say !!

i think i’m gonna start using you and yours again lol

but regardless, my request are opened! check out my rules and such before requesting and check out my masterlist to see who i write for!

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15k

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

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

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

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

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

It’s something new to fidget with.

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

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

If you do, you’ll blame him.

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

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

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

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

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

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

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

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

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

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

There were usually three of them.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

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

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

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

Javier Peña was none of that.

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

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

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

It was like, nothing.

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

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

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

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

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

His hair, freshly cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you stumble to the elevator.

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

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

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

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

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

He catches you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thud against the nightstand.

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

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

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

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

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

He looks like he wants to.

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

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

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

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

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

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

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

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

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

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

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

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

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

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

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

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not in the mood.”

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

“I have an early flight.”

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

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

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

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

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

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

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

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

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

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

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

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

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

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

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

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

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

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

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

A broken earring.

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

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

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

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

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

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

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

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

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

The silence returns.

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

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

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

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

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

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

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

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

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

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

“I don’t underst-”

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

He’s stern.

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

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

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

Everything, you want to tell him.

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

“I just thought-”

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

I know, you mouth.

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

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

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

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

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

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

Kid.

That makes you angry.

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

“Don’t call me kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late, you want to say.

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

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

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

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

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

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

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

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

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

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

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

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

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

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

You let him invade your senses.

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

You pull back. He follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, you do trip over them.

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

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

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

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

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

Later with Javi never seems to come.

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

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

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

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

You’d never gotten those panties back.

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

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

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

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

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

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

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

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

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

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

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

A splotch of red stains your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

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

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

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

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

He’s rambling.

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

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

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

He chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

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

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

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

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

“What more could you have done?”

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

You whine out his name.

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

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

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

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

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

The words catch in your throat.

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

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

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

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

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

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

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

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

By July, things change.

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

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

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

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

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

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

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

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

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

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

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

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

Not right now.

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

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

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

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

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

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

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

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

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

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

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

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

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

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

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

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

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

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

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

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

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

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

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

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

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

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

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

You’re usually more careful.

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

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

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

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

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

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come up empty handed.

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

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

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

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

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

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

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I- What?” Confussion.

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

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

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Or both.

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

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

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

Your father’s voice.

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

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

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

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

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

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

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

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

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

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

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

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

You feel his eyes on you.

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

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her fault. You know.

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

Your dad is.

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

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

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

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

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

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

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

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

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

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

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

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

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

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

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

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

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

“London.”

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

All eyes snap to him.

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

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

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

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

That peaks your interest.

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

“Really?”

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

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

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

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

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

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

“Mr... Bond?”

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

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

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

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

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

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

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

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

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

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

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

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

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

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

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

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

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

[wonwoonlight]

Cheol secretly clearing your schedule for the week to take you on a surprise trip to Jeju 😌

IT'S THIS SEUNGCHEOL ACTUALLY

when you miss seungcheol but you're going on a trip to jeju without him

A/n: not proofread, just fluff!!! Short lol idk the wc bc i wrote it on tumblr. Thank u anon i love u for this, virtually kissing you on the mouth (with consent) for your big brain😗😗😗😗

The company has given you a month break on top of the first two weeks you were told to rest by your doctor.

Seungcheol tries to be there as much as he can, but between concert preparation and some other schedules, he can only squeeze in so much of his time between his overall schedules.

You've been recovering well, thankfully, and you’ve declared yourself too well rested that you're at the point where you're antsy and you just want to move. So you've been catching up with friends and family instead; meeting them over meals and desserts.

Obviously, Seungcheol can't come with you even though he would love to. He was going to join one of the dinner with your family, but one of his schedule got delayed for two hours so there goes his plan. Instead, he quickly sent your family a set of desserts as an apology like the good boyfriend that he is.

That said, you're on your last week of resting and you'll belatedly return to your schedule starting on Tuesday. Which you're kinda excited for because you miss your hectic schedules already, but it also kinda sucks because you've only gotten to see Seungcheol about four times for a few short hours throughout your break. It was such a good opportunity to finally spend time with him, but, then again, he has schedules to attend to and you understand.

Still, you were hoping you can finally just laze around with him even for a day.

"You're all packed?" Seungcheol asks lazily through the phone, his face filling your entire screen.

"Pretty much." You nod as you look through your luggages. "This is enough... right?

Seungcheol laughs incredulously, and you glare at him because you already know what he's going to say.

"Baby, you're--"

"--going on a three days trip, I know. But you don't know what's going to happen!"

He grins so hard his cheeks hurt, and it takes everything in him to hold back from telling you just how much he knows what's going to happen during your trip.

"Curse my cousin for asking me to go on a trip out of nowhere. She knows I'm the worst when it comes to packing. How could she ask me if I want to go to Jeju three days ago! Three!"

"But you're excited anyway, right?" He coaxes you softly, reminding you that it's been quite some time since you go on a trip that is not related to your schedule.

"I am." You admit, then drop the sundress you're going to put into the luggage (last minute because you're literally leaving to the airpory in an hour) before you take your phone and plops down the bed, looking at him through your screen. "I wish I could've gone with you, though."

"I know." He tries to sound as sad as possible, and he's thankful that you were too busy pouting to see the battle he's close to losing to fight a smile. "We'll go on a trip soon, I promise."

"Don't make promises like that." You say sternly; he knows just how much you hate promises like that, and he's learned not to say them carelessly, but of course he says that because he knows just how soon that actually is.

"I'm sorry, I just really want to go on a trip with you, too." He musters the most pitiful tone he can let out, and you roll your eyes before you tell him he's obligated to take you on a trip now that he's said it. "I will. It'll happen before you know it."

You're not playing with him anymore though, because you're suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of loneliness even though he's here with you on the phone almost everyday. You don't want to sound clingy, because you're grateful that Seungcheol always tries to spare the time to talk to you on the phone when he could; but it's actually been a month or so since you actually spend time to be with each other and you suddenly miss him so, so dearly.

"I miss you..." Seungcheol would've missed it had he not been staring at you, and he returns the sentiment before he winces at his manager telling him they've arrived at their destination. "Go. Your schedule is waiting."

"I'll see you very soon, okay? Promise me you'll have fun in Jeju?"

"I will if you're there with me."

Seungcheol laughs, which seems to help you smile also because you've always claimed you're his number one fan when it comes to that.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do about that."

"It's fine." You brush off his words, not wanting him to feel bad about it. "I love you. Do well on your schedule today."

"Love you too." He smiles before you hang up, not forgetting to remind you to eat properly.

You don't get to be dramatic and wail about your loneliness, because it's not even three minutes later that someone knocks on your door and you open it only to have your breath knocked out of your lungs.

"Surprise!" Seungcheol grins, his arms wide open, ready to wrap into your frame. "I heard you're all ready for Jeju?"