#y'all better read this this is my first fic in like 2 months

[redsaurrce]

LOVE SHOT - TEASER

synopsis 💉 Where jk becomes the part of an experiment where he wasn't supposed to take the love shot but ends up taking it in high dose and gets obsessed with yn by mistake

pairing 💉 YANDERE Scientist!jeon jungkook x Scientist!fem reader

genre 💉 scientist!au , main fic contains HEAVY smut (minors DNI)

teaser word count 💉 1,580

warnings 💉 -- of the main fic-- kissing, profanity, jungkook is horny AF, cumming, overstimulation, fingering, cock warming, bathroom sex, BDSM, unhealthy obsession, hella possesive, jungkook whines like a fucking loser, he's in need of too much touch, boobplay, nippleplay, neck biting, manipulative man in da household y'all- like is it his fault?? huh??

💞Doses to be prescribed everyday

Dose 1 💉

Dose 2 💉

Dose 3 💉

Dose 4 💉

Dose 5

taglist 💉 @aajjks @effielumiere @dearsullix @canarystwin @yourslut16 @imwithurmother @perfectlyfangirling @pnibts @bloodline1632 @hopeonysus @roundedreluv12 @jub-jub @maqsxi @kooscameras @jungkooksleftbigtoe13 @thatblena @yawnyanii @viridiphile @milkxgukk @outro-kook @puppiliciouslove @mata0-0mata @pk-jimin @jungchanie @ziraspells @twisted-loved @lunaofsun @inlovewithallmusic @sassyfoxunknown @teugiie @hsaranghoe @jjhmk @mryuyux @xxoverthinkerxx @fandems @hollyverday @ohmygodddsblog @fly-on-the-wall @lookformyvoice @slutforwwh @shakashakaa @meikoo @emochicksasukeee @dearly-somber

@mymomsaid-no @madnesstaking0ver @miyoung23 @outofst1le @jiminstreble @kanvis @k3lynn @imagine-this-motherfucker @dontcallmeelle @jkbabiey @1-in-abillion @bangmechanpls @uarmyhore @devils-blackrose @hrndez2008 @azur3s @erennjim @cherryunie @vynmin @fragmentof-indifference (dm/ comment/ send an ask to be tagged)

"Divorce cases are increasing at an alarming rate among Koreans, young adults are facing heartbreak more than often. Love is no more in the air, it's the gloomy winds that are gushing past us." You stopped reading the newspaper and sighed, "See? Even my woman is feeling wary about our relationship." The man sitting on the couch in front of you commented.

"Chief, I told you that we are almost done with the formula, we are in the testing mode now." You said while folding the newspaper and keeping it aside.

"Yeah of course, you have been saying that since a month now." Your chief said with dissatisfaction. You pursed your lips, "Please don't worry, we know the project is getting delayed but chief, you know better than us how important testing before marketing is. As soon as we are ready to launch the product, you and your wife will be the very first couple to receive our sample." You said and stood up to leave after bowing. "Yeah whatever, but be quick." He waved his hand as he dismissed you from his office.

As soon as you got out from the office, you received a notification from Instagram. Ye Jun, your high school classmate had posted a pic.

When you opened it, it was a class reunion photo with your ex and his current girlfriend in the frame, you hurriedly liked it and shut close your phone. The breakup with your ex was bitter and you spent days pondering over why he would breakup with you. "It was awful dating you. Why don't you date your career instead?" Were his words.

All the times when he was busy preparing for his Civil service examinations, you stayed by his side even though he couldn't afford to give you much time, it was understandable. But when it came to your career building, why did he become a jerk then?

Even thinking about him makes your blood boil, what is the use of making artificial love doses if one's heart wants something else? You leaned against the wall, your breakup wasn't based on fading hormones due to the increase of pollution of all sorts. Then those like you, would they be able to keep their love intact with the love shots?

Maybe not. But those who are desperate to stay in love, maybe for them the love shot can grant them their wishes. You smiled slightly at the thought.

Ah! You almost forgot to check the testing that was going on in the lab so you thought of going back to the headquarters.

--

Meanwhile in the lab, scientist Jeon Jungkook and his assistant, Gi Shin-won were running the test.

The test include providing the subject a dose of love shot and made them look at the opposite gender or same if necessary. The shot only works under two conditions,

The first person they look at after taking the love shot will be the one they'll feel the feelings of love unravel.

Normally works better if they have feelings of infatuation or affection even in the slightest towards the person they're looking at.

for the shot to stay affective, they need to take it every fourteen days and once the relationship has been mended, they can stop taking it and their relationship will continue on the virtue of their true feelings.

As Jungkook and his assistant noted the observation, one of the female subjects raised her hand. "Yes how may I help you?" Jungkook asked.

"Uhm.. as you can see that we've already signed the contract where it says that the experiment we are taking part in, is entirely under our willingness and if anything goes wrong then you guys won't be held responsible. I know I shouldn't question this as I willfully signed the consent papers but .. still I'm kind of worried, you see?"

He nodded, "I completely understand your concern mam, the thing is the moment we are done taking the observations, we're also providing everyone with antidotes of this shot, so if you're worried about falling in love with a stranger, it will only last a few hours and then the symptoms will wear off with our antidote." He reassured.

"Uh.. I know that. Well, yesterday one of my friends took it and said that she felt hot and all, I'm actually worried because I have a child to take care of so..." She trailed off in doubt.

"Ah? So that is what was concerning you? You thought this might be fatal?" He asked with curiosity. "No no no.. I mean.." "it's okay, I get it. Wait let me then try it on, when we said that we have put our blood, sweat and tears in it, we weren't kidding." He chuckled as he sat down on the chair where the subjects for experiment were supposed to sit on.

He opened his lab coat and folded up the sleeves of his shirt exposing his forearm to take the injection, "Shin-won please inject the shot." He requested.

His assistant gulped, "But you were supposed to observe?"

"It's alright, I can just take the antidote and Y/N will be here soon so she will continue the observation along with you." He said with a confident smile as he closed his eyes.

Shin-won slowly nodded as he thought of giving in to his pleas, he connected the wires to Jungkook's scalp and then picked up a syringe and injected 5ml of the love shot in his arm. Then an attractive lady walked in front of him and Shin-won told him to open his eyes, when Jungkook looked at the said lady, he felt nothing, the brain waves also saw no change as Shin-won looked at the monitor.

Which was normal, usually when the subject shows no change in his hormones, another person is shown to them. If no real life person catches their attention then they are shown the photos of celebrities.

Because who doesnt have celebrity crushes?

So another lady appeared in front of him, still no change. This kept going until the sixth person he saw. Shin-won sighed, "Do you by-chance have any celebrity crushes or someone you have as a girlfriend slash boyfriend slash crush?" He asked.

"I don't." He gulped as he lied, he had his biggest and fattest crush on you.

But how could he take your name as his crush and practically reveal it to everyone thus blowing his chance off even before he could do anything? Shin-won was a loud mouth afterall.

He continued, "How about you increase the dose by 5 ml? It worked at 10ml in case of subject 067 right?" He asked. Shin-won raised his eyebrows, "nice memory huh? Wait then let me inject another 5ml. Close your eyes." And Jungkook closed his eyes as his assistant prepared a fresh syringe.

"There! Now open your eyes." He instructed.

In much disappointment, he still showed no hormonal changes, Shin-won clicked his tongue in frustration, "Are scientists supposed to be extra immune or what?" He gritted his teeth but just then he got an idea.

He unlocked his phone and searched for racy pics of Hollywood celebrities, "What about this?" Shin-won suddenly flashed the pic in front of Jungkook and Jungkook immediately gasped while closing his eyes in reflex, "remove that from my face you brat!"

Shin-won removed his phone with a defeated face, "at least this should have worked for you."

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked at him in disbelief, "Do you take me for a horny teenager or something? Nudes of white women? Seriously?" He raised his eyebrows, only if the wires weren't still connected he would've smacked his assistant.

Jungkook bit his lower lip, "Give me another 5ml." He commanded.

Shin-won's eyes became wide, "What? No way! No subject has ever taken this dose above 10 ml!" Jungkook shook his head, "Then let me be that subject alright? Hurry up now." He said as he shifted in his seat comfortably and closed his eyes.

"I'll be getting killed tonight by Y/N." He said while arranging a new syringe. "I'm sure she'll understand me, afterall we need to distribute to all sorts of people, who knows how much is a lot? Maybe through me, you all will find out?" He said with his eyes still closed.

"We are already 3 times above the safe limit, are you sure?" He asked Jungkook for the last time while pointing the injection towards his arm.

"Yes ofcourse, we need to also know how much antidote should be taken to counteract the effects of such a large portion of this dose." He answered.

"Fine." His assistant said and finally injected the shot.

Just then you entered the lab and got surprised as you saw Jungkook on the subject's seat, "What the hell?" You looked at them in shock. Jungkook involuntarily opened his eyes to look at you and Shin-won looked at you as well. But just when he was about to explain to you, a beep sound shifted all three of yours attention towards the screen.

The hormonal change graph was steepingly rising and Shin-won started to panic and started searching for the antidote while Jungkook started feeling hotter with each passing second. You quickly ran over towards him and disconnected all the wires. Just as you went near the monitor, you heard a large thud from behind.

Your eyes went wide as you saw Jungkook's collapsed body on the ground.

The last words he heard before going blank were his name being called repeatedly in your muffled voice slowly fading out.

--x

To be continued...

DOSE 1

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

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

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

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

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

The year moves too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens when you’re finally being served.

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

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

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

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

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

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

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

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

You compartmentalise.

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

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

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

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

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

A late night.

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

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

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

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

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

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

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

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

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

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

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

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

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

You just know its absence is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

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

His grip loosens, though slightly.

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

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you open the tap.

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

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

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

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

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

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

You don’t remember.

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

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

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

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

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

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

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

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

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

None of it arrives.

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

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

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

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

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

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

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

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

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

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

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

“But I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

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

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

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

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

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

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

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

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

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

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

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

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

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

“Good,” you reply.

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

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

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

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

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

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

He keeps his word.

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

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

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

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

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

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

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

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

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

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

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

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

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

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

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

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

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, then audibly reply.

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

The drive is quiet.

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

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

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

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

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

He’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

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

The clinic is bright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A confused sound leaves Javier.

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

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

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

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

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

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

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

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

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

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

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

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

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

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

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

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

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not pregnant.

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

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

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

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

Over your empty womb.

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

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

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

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

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

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

See, you know why he’s calling.

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

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

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

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

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

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

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

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

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

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

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

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

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

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

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s on the younger side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

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

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

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

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

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

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

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

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

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

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

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

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

You both gather some decorum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then two steps, which you also match.

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

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

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

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

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

That single action changes the game, entirely.

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

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

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

The grip tightens.

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

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

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

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

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

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

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

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

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

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

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

A picture of Javi, and you.

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

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

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

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

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

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

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

He does good to bring you back into the room.

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

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

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

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

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

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

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

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

The card is plucked out your hand.

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

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

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

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

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

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

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

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

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

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

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

A few seconds pass. 

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

You feel the air tickle your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

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

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

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

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

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

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

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

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

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

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

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

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

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’d catch you, if you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both crash and burn, together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

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

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

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

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

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

Lights, baubles, action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

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

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

“Some what?”

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

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

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

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

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

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

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

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

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

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

Until tonight.

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

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

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

He’d offered to take you home.

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

He squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

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

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

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

It’s not just Christmas.

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

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

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

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

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

It’s the part you look forward to most.

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

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

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

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

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

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

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

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

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

Hinted at it, slightly.

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

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

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

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

The whole room stops.

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

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

Fades to grey.

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

He knows.

Of course he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

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

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

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

You say you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javi plays it cool.

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

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

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

Well, better than anyone but you.

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

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

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

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

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

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

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

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

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

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

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

For a second, he just looks at you.

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

“Get home safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, just a little extra weight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

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

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

[albertasunrise]

Hope - No Hope

Masterlist

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (I am so sorry this has taken so long. As many of you know I am expecting my first baby and the little miracle has been draining the lift out of me 😂 but I am getting over that now and so I will be updating my fics over the coming weeks 🥰 hope you enjoy!)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2

One year later...

Weekends at yours with Alec grilling had become a tradition. Noah and Sarah still adored each other and were practically joined at the hip at this point. You'd been with Alec for over a year. Moving it with each other not long after getting together Joel had been left to try and pull himself out of the dark hole your leaving him and Sarah had left him in. Yet, despite the crippling jealousy that he felt towards the other man for capturing your heart, he could not hate him. Alec was the perfect gentleman. You and he flourished together and helped Joel whenever he needed it. It was impossible to be anything but happy for you both. 

"Sarah come." Said Noah as he took her hand and helped her waddle over to his jungle gym "Play princesses." 

Joel watched with fondness as his 18th-month daughter walked with the little boy, her legs still a little wobbly but getting stronger every week. He kept an eye on them both whilst listening in to the conversation that was flowing between the adults. Tommy laughed as he told them a story about one of his friends, the older brother smiling at how enthusiastically his brother spoke about his brothers in arms. 

"How's work been for you Joel?" You asked, pulling his gaze away from the kids and towards you as you smiled sweetly at him. 

"Business is good." Joel answered with a shrug "Can't complain really." 

"How did your date with that client's daughter go?" Tommy asked as he gave his brother a wink. 

"You had a date?" You practically squeaked, looking between the two brothers with giddy excitement. 

"Was fine." Joel shrugged "She was sweet but we just didn't click." Joel shrugged, looking down at the beer in his hand in hoping that you would drop it. 

"What really happened?" You pushed and he sighed, there was no hiding anything from you. 

"She uh... Well, she freaked out when I told her I had a kid." He answered honestly "Can't blame her. I'm 22 with a toddler. Not exactly what you expect or what from a relationship in your early twenties." 

"Joel..." 

"It's fine... Honestly, what 20-something What's a kid right?" 

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Unable to find the words to say to make him feel better. He was so young and yet he seemed so set that he was to face life alone. 

"Foods up" Stated Alec as he placed the plate of burgers down beside the salad you'd placed there a few minutes ago.

"KIDS." Joel shouted, smirking when just their heads appeared in the doorway of the fort "FOOD!" he finished, outright smirking at how their eyes widened before they scrambled over to the table. 

Lunch passed with ease. Noah found it exceedingly funny how his little friend pulled her burger apart so that she could eat it all in separate pieces. Then after the dishes were cleared away and the kids were out down for a nap the four of you sat in the garden and enjoyed the piece and quiet. The conversation flowed easily and everything was relaxed. 

Until you and Alec dropped your news. 

"We're real glad that the two of you were able to make it." Alec said as he glanced at you and smiled. 

"Why's that?" Tommy asked as he eyed you and Alec. 

"Well, we got some news." 

Joel's stomach dropped. 

"Y'all getting married?" Tommy fired at them and they chuckled.

"No... Although we have been discussing it." Alec chuckled. 

"What is it then?" Tommy pushed and Joel wished his brother wouldn't. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

"We're gonna have a baby." You gushed and Joel swore his heart stopped altogether.

"What?" 

Your brows pulled together at his question and he internally scorned himself for his reaction. He hadn't meant to say that out loud but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

You were pregnant? 

"What my brother meant to say was congrats." Tommy piped up, pulling Joel back to earth with a crash. 

"Yeah... Course I did... just caught me by surprise is all." Joel stated, giving you what he hoped was a convincing smile. 

"Yeah... we uh..." Alec chuckled as you both gazed at each other a moment and grinned "We were too. Would be lying if we said we planned this." 

That didn't make Joel feel any better. 

"We have one too many bottles of wine to thank for this." You sniggered as you placed your hand on the bump that Joel had completely missed before. 

"Well, we already know you're both gonna be ace parents." Tommy said as he jumped to his feet, bending down to hug both you and Alec. 

Joel's heart was in his throat. He had worked so hard to bury his feelings for you but this news had just dredged them from the depths and shoved them in his face. He felt like he was under a spotlight as you all turned to look at him, waiting for him to speak. Sarah crying down the baby monitor couldn't have come at a better time. 

The tearful daddies had him standing from his seat quickly and muttering a few nervous sorry's before he sprinted inside to his daughter. You couldn't help but be confused by Joel's reaction to your news. You'd thought he would be happy for you. 

Meanwhile, Joel was rocking his sniffly little girl as she settled in his arms, placing soft kisses on her head of curly hair as he whispered how it was okay to her whilst swallowing back his own tears. He soothed his little girl back to sleep, laying her back down in her cot before stumbling back onto the couch behind him, falling into it and throwing his head in his hands as he allowed his tears to flow. 

Something you watched from the shadows as your heart shattered for him. You weren't sure why he was so broken but you hated seeing him hurt. Little did you know that he was mourning the fact that you were completely and utterly lost to him now. He officially had no hope of sharing his life with the woman who had pulled him from the deepest pit and brought him into the light. The woman who had taught him that life was worth living. 

That everyone has a second chance at love.

...

Tommy watched his brother from the kitchen as the man finished cleaning away the mess Sarah had left from dinner. They had left a short while after you and Alec had made your announcement, Joel remaining quiet the rest of the time they were there. He knew something was up. His brother wasn't good at hiding his true feelings, he wore them on his sleeve and he felt conflicted about his sibling's reaction to your pregnancy. Part of him felt for Joel. Knowing that for longer than his older brother had realised, he'd had feelings for you and how this bombshell must have shattered him. The other part though was angry that Joel hadn't even tried to pretend that he was happy for you. 

"Joel." He called out when his brother's cleaning got more erratic "Joel!" He said a little louder when his first call fell on deaf ears. 

"What." The older man growled, coming to a stop and gripping the edges of the counter as he stared at the bottles now soaking in the sink. 

"You could have been nicer about her news." He said plainly, pulling Joel's gaze to him. 

"What?" He asked again, but his tone changed. 

"I get that you're probably feeling a bit bummed about this but-" 

"Bummed?" Joel snarled, stopping his brother in his tracks "You think I'm feeling bummed about this?"

"You know what I mean... I get you're disappointed but you could have at least pretended to be happy for her." 

Joel said nothing. 

His chest heaved as his brother's words whirled in his brain. Bummed... he thought to himself. BUMMED?? He hadn't meant to yell that last thought at his brother. 

"I am fucking devastated." Joel choked, taking his brother by surprise "A year and a half ago... I lost my wife on what should have been the happiest day of my life." 

Tommy flinched at the mention of Joel's dead wife. 

"I drove home alone... with this tiny person beside me and I honestly thought that my life was over..." He trailed off as he scraped a shaky hand over his face "And then I walk into that very lounge and there's this ray of light shining back at me. 

"She pulled me back from the brink and despite my brain telling me it was wrong... I fell for her. But my wife had just died and I had a new baby so I pushed it away... Pushed her away..." Joel was sobbing now, his cheeks glittering with the tears that tracked down them "I pushed her away and she stumbled into the arms of another man. A man that I can't even hate because he's so fucking perfect for her!" 

"But you are-"

"I'm a fucking wreck, Tommy." Joel interrupted "I am nothing but bad for her and my feeling devastated about her happy news just proves that." 

"Joel..." Tommy trailed off, his heart aching for his older brother now. 

"I fucked up." He finished, shrugging and leaving the room. 

As the weather grew a little more changeable, dinners at your home became more scarce. Instead, you had started to have Sarah over for a few hours in the evening as Joel's hours had gotten longer. He never stuck around when collecting her though and you knew he was avoiding you. You hadn't pushed the subject of witnessing him crying. You'd barely mentioned the pregnancy around him in the short moments you did share any conversation. One month merged into two. Two into three and you felt him grow more and more distant with each one. 

You ached to talk to him though. To try and understand why your happy news had affected him the way it had. You wondered if perhaps it had brought up the hurt of losing Ali. They had broken the news to you in a similar way. Dinner at there's with you and a few other close friends, they had announced that they were expecting. Perhaps it had brought up memories and feelings he'd not dwelt on for a while. 

He never gave you a chance to find out though. You would share a few words. Mostly about what Sarah had been up to at nursery and with you before discussing what she had for dinner and any other days he may need you to have her. Your friendship had become little more than a business transaction and it was breaking your heart... And Alec could see how much it was breaking you. 

He only allowed one more month of this to continue before he finally decided that enough was enough. 

...

Joel glanced up at the door, glancing at Tommy before pushing himself to his feet and walking up to answer it. He had no clue who would be at his door at 9 in the evening but if he had hazard a guess, he wouldn't have ever thought it was Alec. 

"Hey." Alec said as he gave the man a smile "Hope I'm not interrupting." 

"Tommy and I were just watching the game." Joel replied and Alec nodded "What can I do for you?" He asked as he glanced over the man's shoulder "Everything okay?" 

"Oh yeah." Alec nodded, giving Joel's arm a friendly pat "I just thought you and I could go for a drink. Catch up... It's been a while." 

"Oh, I don't know... Sarah-" 

"Can be sat by her uncle Tommy for a few hours." Piped up his younger sibling as he walked up behind him "Go, I can handle shit here for a while." 

"You referring to it as shit doesn't give me much confidence." Joel grumbled as he grabbed his jacket and followed Alec to his car "Page me if you need me." He threw over his shoulder as he turned his head to look at his brother who was waving him off from the front door. 

"Won't need ya, brother." 

...

Alec drove to a bar not far from Joel's. It was fairly busy but not so much so that they couldn't hear each other talk. The conversation had flowed surprisingly easily at first. Something that Joel had always admired about Alec was that the man loved to talk about his kid. He sat there and gushed about how well Noah and Sarah played together. How she seemed to hang off of his every action. 

"He's constantly talking to baby." Alec chuckled "Telling her all the games he wants to play and-" 

"Her?" Joel piped up and Alec grinned and nodded "Shit... yeah I wasn't supposed to say anything." He let out an awkward chuckle as he took a sip of his beer "We're having a girl." 

"Wow, that's... That's great." Joel replied, his tone turning flat as he took a large swig of his beer in the hope that it would mask his disappointment. 

"Yeah... We're excited." 

"I bet." 

An awkward silence fell over the duo a moment before Alec spoke again. Leaning forward in his chair and forcing himself into Joel's eyeline. 

"What's going on man?" He asked and Joel was surprised at how surprisingly soft his question was.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean that since we announced that we're having a baby you've been off." He stated plainly "I've been watching you break your friend's heart month by month as you grow more and more distant with her." 

"Alec-" Joel was stopped by a raised hand and he sighed. 

"I know our news must have dredged up some memories for you but you can't push your friends away." Alec pleaded "We're here to help you, Joel." 

"That's not... It didn't..." Joel couldn't string the words together but Alec knew what he was trying to say. 

"Well if it isn't that... the only other logical reason for your reaction is that you're..." He trailed off as he put two and two together. His eyes trailing up to Joel as the last puzzle piece falls into place. 

"You're in love with her... Aren't you?" 

Joel's eyes filled with tears as he nodded numbly. His eyes squeezed shut knocking a few of them free. Alec sat there in shock as he processed what he'd just learned. Joel's heart was in his throat as he watched the man work through everything he needed to. He had hoped that he would take this secret to his grave but in reality, he knew it had only been a matter of time before it came out. 

"Alec I'm sorry..." Joel choked, his eyes pleading with the man to believe him "I had feelings for her way before she met you but I was struggling with losing Ali and the fact I'd developed feelings for someone so soon after that I suppressed them and pushed her away and then she met you and I... Well, I was too late. You're good for her and I would never get in the way of you guys I just... I'm not good at handling this." 

This statement made Alec snort. He finally looked at Joel and the younger man readied himself for the verbal bashing he was undoubtedly about to receive. It never came. 

"I won't lie to you, man." Alec started with a sigh "This is not what I expected when I decided we needed to talk." 

Joel nodded, his eyes dropping to his beer bottle. 

"You need to buck up your ideas now though man." The man continued "She needs you... She needs Sarah. You're all she has left of Ali and she's been slowly killing herself trying to work out what she did wrong to make you so distant." 

"I didn't mean to hurt her." Joel mumbled and Alec nodded.

"I know man and I get why you've been behaving as you have. It's not gonna be easy learning the woman you love is having a baby with another man but we are your friends Joel and we can help you get through this. So let us." 

Joel nodded and gave the man a teary smile. 

They finished their beers before heading out of the bar and back to Alec's car. Joel had always admired the man's car. A black 66' Mustang that he had rebuilt with his dad as a kid. Alec had regaled the story fondly the first time Joel had set eyes on the car. 

"Wanna drive?" Alec asked as he waved the keys at Joel. 

The man's eyes widened as he nodded eagerly and Alec grinned as he tossed them to Joel as they swapped sides. To say Joel was excited did not do what he was feeling justice. He had been trying to think of a way to ask the man if he could take it for a spin since he met him, so to finally get the chance was beyond exciting. 

The straight six sitting under the bonnet roared to life and Joel and Alec both groaned before the younger man peeled out of the carpark and onto the main road. No words passed between them a while before Alec rolled his head to look at his friend, smiling at the giddy excitement plastered all over Joel. 

"I'm sorry you've been hurting man." He said simply "I want you to know that I genuinely care about you and I don't want to see you suffer." 

Joel shot him a smile, before returning his focus to the road. 

"We'll work this shit out." He finished, giving Joel's knee a friendly pat before turning his attention to the buildings that flew past his window. 

"Thank you." Joel said as he smiled over at Alec, his eyes then greeting the headlights of a truck that had just jumped a light. 

It was the last thing he said before the sound of metal being crushed rang in their ears. 

Then everything went black. 

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

status of babbit's life yeehaw

tl,dr: busy moving and a couple of other big life things that just complicate things, but well on the way to being back to normal! new fic chapters and better quality art coming soon.

tl,wr (too long, will read):

Helloooo what's up its me, Babbit. or Rabbit. or Bones. or Idiot Moron Menace Child, idk im not picky lol

i know a lot of you guys have been wondering wtf is up with my upload schedule lately and the extreme lack of even basic content and also i am extremely aware that i have not updated my fics in a few millennia and for that i am very, very sorry. this post is to answer a few questions you might have, if anyone was curious about the 'reason' instead of just the 'when.'

my family and i have had a hell of a year, y'all. like, jesus christ, i really hope things level out and calm down for a while once we're moved in to our new apartment bc god damn we are so tired. the list goes: 1. we got kicked out of the house we were renting-to-own bc we wouldn't be able to afford the new rate, so they gave us two months to find a new place to live (not long enough, it turns out) and then foreclosed to get us out. 75% of our belongings were still in the house when we had to leave. that includes all of our christmas ornaments- including the ones kept for decades, and the ones made by me and my siblings, and the fancy ones made from blown glass. 2. the first night out of the house, one of our dogs, freaked out by the strangeness of the situation, panicked and slipped her harness and ran off. that was over a year ago. we haven't seen her since. 3. my cat got very ill and became unable to eat. she passed away almost exactly a year ago. she had been 14-15, and had been my baby since i was maybe 8. 4. one of the tires on my dads car blew out. during the night, while it was parked on the curb so he could put the spare on in the morning, one of the in-tact tires was fucking stolen LMAO 5. we applied to rent at so many places and got rejected so, so many times. it costs money to apply, btw. we're talking like $200+. no, u don't get that money back. 6. i lost my job bc knowing i would have to work 8 hours at a job that stresses me out to the point of exhaustion (at a place where no one takes me seriously and would actively laugh at me when i try to express my need to step away for a minute) sometimes paralyzed me and made me sick to my stomach and made me feel unable to leave the house, and i called out one too many times. a day after my birthday, too! 7. just recently, like within the last week, my dad's car got fuckin totalled!!!!!

THE GOOD NEWS IS WE OFFICIALLY, FINALLY, AFTER A SOLID YEAR, HAVE AN APARTMENT!!!!! I'LL HAVE MY OWN ROOM AGAIN!!! THERE'S AN ENTIRE KITCHEN!!!!!!!

the 'oh god' news is we still have to move in, and replace a lot of the stuff that we just couldn't take with us when we moved out (mostly stuff like bookshelves, dining table, dressers, etc) AND get the few things we could cram into a storage center out and moved into the new place, which isn't a lot but at the same time is more than we can realistically handle on our own. and then, we have to get my mums cats (a pair of kitty sisters that we had to temporarily house with my aunt, who got tired of looking after them and let them outside to be outdoor cats a few months ago. yes, this was an extremely shitty thing to do, and we've been working hard to get them back safely) AND my gecko (who my cousin has been looking after, even tho feeding him worms freaks him out LMAO yes i plan on compensating him) moved in, as well... basically oh my god there is so much to worry about but at the same time it's nice to have to worry about it bc it means we're making progress sdkfhsjdkfhdsjfh

basically i am just so tired but so busy and also thinkin abt so much im so sorry for lack of stuff but i am so looking forward to being able to bounce back, pls stick with me, it'll be sorted out soon i think and then i'll hit y'all with some good stuff i promise!!!!!!!

anyway thank u guys i love u and appreciate u all for sticking around

[fandoms-writings]

EVENT CLOSED

Those of you wanting to submit a story for the writing challenge at the end of this post, I'm accepting submissions until the end of the year. I'm a slow writer myself and I want y'all to have as much time as you need to join in <3

Welcome to my neon milestone party!

It’s been a few months since I last did a celebration or writing challenge so why not kick off summer with both! I also hit another small milestone, so thank you so so much to all of you for your support 🤍

You must be 18+ to follow me, so you must be 18+ to participate!

We’re gonna have a summer long sleepover, mood boards, a writing challenge, and my requests are officially open for drabbles! 

The cut off is the last day in August!

Under the cut you’ll find all of the ask games and prompt lists and challenge rules! 

Have fun babes  🤍

💎 Rare gems

- Show some love to your fav fics and their authors by sending in some recommendations!

🗒 Ask the Author

- Ask me anything you want about something I’ve written!

📖 Book talk

- Tell me about your favorite book or what you’ve recently read, and why you enjoy it (or why you don’t)

🤫 Secret admirers

- Anonymously (or not) send a love letter to your favorite tumblr person!

🎶 Karaoke

- Send a song recommendation or I’ll put my liked songs on shuffle and send you which one played first!

🫘 Spill the Beans!

- Anonymously (or not) tell me a secret of yours.

🔍 Clue!

- Send me this emoji and I'll post a wip clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and you guys get to guess what it's about. 

🎩 Top 5!

- Another classic. Send me a category, and I'll tell you my top 5 choices within it. 

🙅🏻‍♀️ Never Have I Ever

- This one's pretty self explanatory I think. 

💌 Love letters (mutuals only) 

- I’ll write you a love letter 🥺

🎰 - Spin the Lottery! (mutuals only)

- send me a lil snippet about you (a hobby, your job, your music taste, etc) and a fandom (or not) I’ll pair you with a character from that fandom🤍

Send me a little something - a song, a character, a trope, a quote - anything to give me an idea, and I’ll make a mood board for you 🤍

If you need one for a story even! I’ll gladly help out 🤍

My requests are open for drabbles! Send me a character (it can be from one of my AUs! or not)  and one or two of the prompts from the list below, and I’ll whip up something small for you! As they get requested, they will be crossed off the list 🤍

Angst: 

"Don't go where I can't follow. . . I thought I lost you." (1/2)

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"  (2/2)

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself."  (1/2)

"You're a mess"/"I'm not a mess."/"I can tell you've been crying."  (1/2)

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right."  (2/2)

"What are we doing?"/"Why are you doing this?"  (1/2)

"I know you, how else do you think I found you so easily?"   (1/2)

"Choose me."  (2/2)

Fluff:

"You know my door is always open for you, right?"  (2/2)

"Will you taste this? Tell me if I'm missing anything?"  (1/2)

"Let me kiss it better."  (2/2)

"You're exhausted honey. Go back to sleep."  (1/2)

"Can I hold your hand?"  (2/2)

“Is that my shirt?” (2/2)

"Come get me? I miss you."  (2/2)

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."  (2/2)

Smut:

"stop staring." / "i can't, you're so pretty like this" (2/2)

"Keep your pretty eyes on me."  (2/2)

"You're already wet sweetheart."  (2/2)

"What if someone hears us?"  (0/2)

"Let me hear you make that sound again."  (2/2)

"We shouldn't be doing this."  (1/2)

Characters: (spice it up by adding an au in the ask 🤍)

Bucky Barnes 

Marc Spector / Stephen Grant

Miguel O’Hara

If you don’t see who you’d like me to write for, just ask me about them and I’ll let you know if I’m open to writing for them!

Just have fun with this one and follow the rules below! I'm not really making a theme or anything like that, but if you'd like a prompt from me, just ask and specify what kind of prompt! Also feel free to DM me and bounce around some ideas if you need to!

Rules: 

Use the 'read more' option if what you write is over 500 words. 

Properly list your warnings. 

Your story does not have to contain smut if you don't want it to. 

Dark stories are okay, just no non-con, scat, underage characters involved in sexual activity, DD/LG, bestiality, necrophilia, etc. 

Please use characters that I know, from fandoms I'm in. (If you aren't sure what all is on that list, because I don't post about all of them, just ask!)

Tag me! And use the tag #remisneonparty

Make sure it can be read as a stand alone piece. 

The cut off for this will be the last day of August. I sometimes take forever to write something and want to give you all ample time to submit your stories!

Moodboard and all dividers were made by me, but feel free to use them if you’d like 🤍

Tagging some friends (no pressure!)

@sweetdreamsbuck @shamevillain @pocolatte @perdidosbucky-yyo @treatbuckywkisses @foreverindreamlandd @historygeekfics @barnesafterglow @navybrat817​ @jessybarnes​ @buckysdior​ @honeybloomss​ @banana-cheese-cake​ @sparkledfirecracker​ @sidepartskinnyjeans​ @real-jane​ @archive-obsess​ @mutual-monsters​ @bucksangel​ @thepsychewrites​ @starchildbucky​ @nexusnyx​ @lofaewrites​ @thornsnvultures​ @aquariusbarnes​ @captainsimagines​ @writing-for-marvel​ @heavenlybarnes​ @matchamunson​ @buckybleu​ @boxofbonesfic​ @chloelucia13​ @snugglingbucky​

[almond-t0fu]

Ok ok imagine-

Dazai, his fiance, you and Chuuya.....

Hmmm 🤔

Continuation

Soo, 1- you were saved by the mafia at a young age and by the mafia i mean Dazai specifically.

2- it was like an instant love at first sight for you.

3- a small introduction convo happened between you two and he asked you to join the mafia and become his assistant.

(you don't have an ability btw)

4- for the first few days you did what he asked you to do, met some people (Chuuya)

5- so like after month(your workspace is in Dazai's office) a girl comes inside the office and just screams "OSAMU I MISSED YOU" and you're just there, sitting on your chair, hella confused 👁️👄👁️

6- That girl turned out to be his Fiance. They were engaged due to mafia buisness.

7- she was a sweet person to everyone including you (kind of loud but still a sweet person) tho you couldn't help but stay away from her because you're literally in love with something who's supposed to be marrying her.

8- *timeskip* y'all are 17 now, you have noticed how close Dazai, his fiance and Chuuya were. Like you will be working on you desk and those three would just be having their own little picnic (yep they forgot about you)

9- Dazai still talks with you, a lot actually, whenever you two are alone (or Chuuya is there) he would tell you about his days, his failed suicide attempts, how much he hates Chuuya etc.

10- you also noticed one more thing, Chuuya was fond of Dazai's Fiance (let's name her Yumi). Whenever they all are together, you could see how his eyes lit up when she laughs at his remarks or jokes.

11- you did feel lonely but looking at them laughing together also made you happy since you considered them as someone special in your life.

(i feel like I'm making the situation really sad for the reader)

Now-

It was a normal day, you were filling up some documents that Dazai told you about. The Soukoku duo were on a mission and Miss Yumi was at her home. Quite peaceful for you. You actually liked your job (unlike Ada Dazai) so once the documents were over you started to do the things that Dazai would've assigned you to the next day. You also knew if Dazai finds out about this, he would be upset since he didn't like it when you overwork but you didn't care since you wanted the next day to be free (also you knew if you apologised Dazai would forgive you)

The office doors opened and you almost fell from you chair. The person that just came in was Yumi and she looked pissed. She looked around and her eyes feel on you.

"where is he?"

"p-pardon?"

She inhaled and asked again, "where is Osamu?"

"uhm he's on a mission right now, it would probably take an hour for him to come back..." You replied in a soft tone. This was the first time you had seen her like this and that scared you a little bit.

"1 hour huh? Ok then miss assistant, l have something to talk about."

(I'll write the rest later. Hope y'all can understand what i wrote hehe

Here Yumi, is the same "similar to you" girl from the breakup idea, so yeah she's not a sweet person. Also she's my fic ideas punching bag. She's inspired by all of those manhwa white lotuses that i hate. But she's slightly smarter and better than them.

Y'all would kinda hate Chuuya here but what can we do? He's in love with the wrong person

Also if you're a writer and find this interesting, please make a fic like this. I'm not a writer so i can't really write any of the ideas that i have posted so far but if y'all have the time please write it

Thank you for reading this and byee hope you have nice a day/night~)

[rcmclachlan]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @microcomets. Thanks, friendo!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

71 currently. I've orphaned a bunch, though.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

526,242

3. What fandoms do you write for?

These days I write for whichever fandom strikes my fancy—it might be a new one, or it might be one that I fall back into every so often. My most recent fics have been a mix of new (Beyond Evil, Good Omens, Loki) and old (Cardcaptor Sakura).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Long Live The King (DBZ, bulma/vegeta)

Stopgap (Good Omens, crowley/aziraphale)

100 Zeni (DBZ, trunks/goten, bulma/vegeta)

Named (Supernatural, dean/castiel)

Solve for X (MCU, tony/loki)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I've gotten better at this! I now make sure to reply to every comment on my newer works (sometimes it's a bit overwhelming, but I think the effort is worth it).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Oneiori. Like, Cas gets a happy-ish ending, but it's not going to last. Womp womp.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

These days, I try to end all my fics on a happy note! The happiest that comes to mind is Heritage Site.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think I've gotten hate maybe twice since I started posting to AO3 in 2010? That's statistically negligible, which is kind of amazing!

9. Do you write smut?

Not often. I don't mind writing it, but it really needs to serve a purpose to the story for me to make the effort.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

Nah, not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, but I've had a fic's summary stolen! That was a trip.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I'm floored people like my work enough to put that kind of time and effort into translating it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I tried, but it ultimately didn't work out (mostly due to writer's block and scheduling issues).

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

This is like asking me which of my children I love more. It'd take me a month to answer this question and I'd need someone at CERN to check my work.

I will say Kakashi/Iruka is my most enduring fave; I started reading them in 2005 and fall back into them every 3 or so years. I'm currently in a kakairu cycle (as if y'all couldn't tell).

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Speaking of Kakashi/Iruka.... Hadopelagia. It was just far too big in scope for me to even think about finishing. I think I frightened myself out of it! For the best, though. I re-read it the other night and it's a MESS. This is why betas are so important, kids.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've gotten a lot of comments about how I use metaphor effectively, as well as comedy. I don't think I'm particularly funny compared to other writers, but it always fills me with joy when someone mentions my dumb sense of humor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely smut. There's nothing worse than trying to keep track of where everyone's legs are.

Me: "I used the word 'cock' fourteen times in this paragraph......... well, maybe no one will notice."

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I've done it! Named had a whole scene written in Spanish (I tried my hand at it and then had a native speaker edit it). I think when done well, it adds something really meaningful to a story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The first fanfic I ever wrote was before I even knew what fanfiction was. It was an Animorphs self-insert fic and I wrote it on a legal pad at my grandparents' house in like 1997. The first fandom I officially posted fic for was Fruits Basket in 2003, followed by QAF in 2004.

20. Favorite fic you have written?

Probably A Twist of the Knife. I had an absolute blast writing Nie Huaisang, and I'm really proud of the story as a whole (which is rare for me).

Tagging: @sonatine, @lemonistas, @stitchyblogs, @dadvans, @ataraxetta, @nandalorian, and anyone else who wants to get in on the action. :-D

[godlesslittlecreatures]

Creature’s Petyr x Catelyn Masterlist, Part I

I've read it all...so you don't have to. 

I was delighted to get back on this app and find that there was demand for something like this. Even in the time since I started compiling this list, I've seen a few other lists going around, which makes my previously-closeted-PxC-shipper heart fucking sing. Y'all, I am not exaggerating when I say I very well may have read every single fic ever written for this pairing. That's both a fool's errand and impossibly easy considering the sheer lack of content, as I'm sure you know yourself if you're reading this post. 

I have stirred the dust at the very edges of the internet in my desperate, months-long search for quality content for this pairing. And believe me you, I'm no stranger to the disappointment of seeing something tagged "Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark" (I encounter this issue more on AO3 than anywhere else, really), only for it either be an ancillary detail of the story, straight up nonconsensual, or an attempt by a butthurt ficwriter to punish two characters that so many people in the fandom seem to, at best, grievously misunderstand. Mistagging has caused me many an hour of eventual disappointment and cost me many a precious hour of my life that I will never get back.

But, even after wading chin-deep in all the shit this fandom has to offer, I have found gold. I'm here to prove it exists, if you only know where to look.

But Creature, what makes a fic good? How do you ascribe worth to something so subjective?

I've been told I'm a harsh critic, but this is less about literary merit than it is assessing quality as it pertains to the ship. Of course, many of these DO have some kind of literary merit, or, at least, are enjoyable to read. I grade a fic based on the following rubric, let's call it the Four Commandments of Petelyn Fic :

any acts of a sexual nature MUST - and I cannot stress this enough - be consensual. Do what you do, write what you write - I'm not here to police anyone's work. But don't put a pairing in the ship tag if anything that would earn it that slash between the characters' names is happening against either party's will. I simply will not read it. 

Petyr and Catelyn must have AT LEAST 2 face-to-face, one-on-one conversations. If you're going to use that damn slash, it doesn't have to be the principal element of the story, but it better feature in the foreground of the story, at least. It cannot just be a background detail that's mentioned once, off-handedly, at the end of a 63 chapter fic (true story, y'all). Better yet, it should have significant bearing on the plot, not unlike the way the relationship between the two does in canon - but that's a tall order, apparently. 

I alluded to this earlier. As an extensions of the first tenet - I do not want to feel the heat of the writer's hatred for the two characters through the story. So, SO often will people throw this pairing into some kind of canon divergent something or another and thrust them into each other's arms as a punishment for their Crimes in canon. Cat is Big Mean to Jon, so she gets the boot from Ned and ends up with Caricature of Petyr Who Lacks Any And All Nuance That Made The Character Interesting In The First Place to pay for Her Sins. I'm reading a fic because I like the characters, and I like the idea of them together (or, in many a case, him pining after her), not to stand beside someone on their moral high ground as they punish the two with each other. Again, not here to police anyone's work, so if you hate them both and want to take them to task by forcing them into some kind of relationship, be my guest! But don't expect to find your fic listed here. 

I have my own personal preferences (submissive Petyr, as I am not attracted to dominant men and genuinely don't think he would fill the dominant role in this relationship; I'll always prefer to read something requited, but that's even rarer a find; I'm not entirely crazy about AUs but can make exceptions, etc.) but I am trying to keep this as objective as possible. This list includes a pretty wide range of stuff, all of which I've enjoyed enough to reread at least once.

This may all seem like it goes without saying, but you'd be surprised. 

My credentials? A degree in TV and Film. I've read the books, and have studied the first three seasons of Thrones so closely that if I close my eyes I can watch full scenes in my head. I've been writing fic, fiction, television, and short films for 12 years, and reading and watching for nearly twice as long. And, most importantly, I'm a feral goblin who is batshit insane over these two. 

This list features fic from every corner of the internet - AO3, Tumblr, Live Journal. I unfortunately have been very hard-pressed to find anything that suits my fancy on FF.net, but if anybody has any recommendations (in line with the above), I intend for this list to be a living document.

And no, before anyone asks, I do NOT ship Petyr and Sansa. Respectfully, please keep that far the fuck away from me.

So, without further ado, here's a list of a very picky Petyr x Catelyn girlie's favorite fics.

An EXCELLENT starter kit. This is a three-part series that's currently updating. There are other things going on outside of them, but the relationship is essential to the story, thanks to the Cat POV chapters. This was the gateway drug for me way back when I still felt shame for shipping these two, and I love it still to this day. I love this series so much that, when I received the update notification for a particular Catelyn chapter in the middle of my college graduation, I dropped everything to read it. It moves fast, the political landscape is explored thoroughly, the divergence from canon is both plausible and interesting, and if you're not into smut, it's pretty fade-to-black.

Another one I read just after I'd taken the plunge down the rabbit hole. This is a notable exception to my general aversion to AUs - it works here, the real-world transpositions are not only believable, but clever! It features some pretty complex and subversive relationships between the characters; the PxC is certainly a critical, foreground element, but not always in the most immediately obvious way. Definitely had me Giggling and Kicking My Feet throughout. Refreshing is certainly a word. Obligatory smut advisory on this one, though.

Yes, I know, but hear me out. If you want to sample the best of the PxC wares the internet has to offer, you're gonna have to get down and dirty with Google's 'translate website' feature. This one is WORTH IT. I still tear up every time I read this. I have a particular soft spot for it because it reminds me of a short film I wrote/directed in college about my own experience with rejection and first love.

I believe this one is locked (meaning it requires an AO3 account to access), but making an account is both free and worth it. Yes, I know Winds is never coming out, but in my own delulu canon, this is it, this is the book. End series. Roll credits. 

Short as hell, you get the idea, but still fade-to-black if smut isn't your thing. It's hard to find good, dirty fic for this pairing. I do not currently have the mental bandwidth to be the change I wish to see in the world, but I will gladly support anyone with more patience than I.

Another locked one...oh no, I guess you'll just have to make an account.

Locked, again, but you know the drill. I believe it's by the same writer as the above. Always haunted by things that invoke Ewan McGregor's line in Moulin Rouge! - "thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love."

Not PWP but smut with themes, a favorite subgenre of mine.

Wholesome fluff to temper the fires of the above.

I think this may have been the very first one I ever read. Short and sweet, I revisit it pretty often.

Unfortunately, Tumblr only lets me add ten links at a time, so this is Part I of a multi-part series. I'll keep this post pinned at the top of my blog and add a link to succeeding parts in the comments.

I intend for this to be a living document - if you have any recommendations, my inbox is always open. Happy reading, my fellow PxC shippers :)

[here2bbtstrash]

your votes are in! part 2 survey results ✨

i asked, and y'all answered!!! 👀

as mentioned a few times before, the survey is not closed - i won't update it with new works moving forward, but i will keep an eye on it if anyone decides to run back and add votes! so please don't feel like it's too late, esp if you're new and still catching up on the porn (there is A LOT of porn. pls take your time and stay hydrated okay 😵‍💫)

but since it's been about a week, and new votes have slowed down, i thought it'd be fun to do a reveal of the top 10 results as things currently stand! sticking them below the cut - join me, won't you? 🍷

at #10, with 40 votes, we have... moving day! i was honestly surprised to see this one crack the top 10, but i should know better than to underestimate the yoongi hoes at this point. y'all love your delusional long-haired boyfie content, and who am i to deny you that??

at #9 (my lucky number 👀), with 42 votes, we have... it's sweet! shocked to see a fluff fic crack the top 10 honestly, but let's be real, the taehyung hoes are THIRSTY (anyone who follows jai already knows this 😂) - i promise i'll write more for y'all soon, and that the next one will actually feature smut!!!

at #8, with 43 votes, we have... park and ride! (and technically also its sequel, five minutes!) y'all really said give us a part three mother 😭 and jokes on you because i have an idea for a part three *and* a part four for these two. you'll never be free of them lmao!!

at #7, with 45 votes, we have... the spins! i'm happy to see this one here!! i love this couple and i've wanted to do a sequel for them for AGES, though i swear my idea for what i actually want to do changes every few months 😂 guess i gotta decide on one!!!

at #6, with 51 votes, we have... sunday! idk why i didn't expect this one to rank omg!! i don't feel like i write jin particularly well, and i especially thought that level of BDSM would be too much for some 🙈 but i have learned y'all are freaks who like crying during sex.... huh...... DULY NOTED 👀📝

halfway there, time for the big hitters! at #5, with 54 votes, we have... party on you! ahhhhh this one makes me happy to see 🥲 forever AMAZED and ECSTATIC that my most popular fic on this blog is a hoseok fic!!! i want to write a million billion more hobi things this year, and i will certainly see what i can do about circling back to these two cuties. at the very least there shall be more ass-eating in 2023!! 🎉🍑

at #4, with 58 votes, we have... deep end! joon hoes with TWO appearances on the board, we love to see it 👏 i loooove that y'all are down not only for period smut, but for some of the risks i took with using more flowery/poetic language in this one! i had so much fun trying something new, i'd love to revisit this couple and that writing style again!!

at #3, with 59 votes, we have... two in one! y'all. no. i'm shook. wig FLEW, wig in the STRATOSPHERE. say WHAT?!?!?! the first fic i ever posted on this blog, my most self-indulgent work (actually it might not be the Most lmfao but it's UP THERE) - i'm. NUMBER THREE?!?!??! okayokayokay 👀 i see y'all 👀 we're gonna have a verrrrry fun jihope month next month aren't we?!?! 😈

at #2, with 65 votes, we have... the shape of your body! oh man 🥺 i'm almost, like, emotional to see this one rank so high. this fic is so so personal and dear to me, and was a BIG leap for my writing in a lot of ways. the fact that the response has been so overwhelmingly positive, and that so many of y'all read all 24,000 words of that fic and said you want MORE. i can never put into words how much that means to me 🙇‍♀️ it's hard for me to think of a whole plot for a sequel - bc i wrote so damn much already 😂 but lemme see what i can do to at least cook up a drabble or two (if you have ideas, keep 'em in your back pocket for jihope month 👀)

and finally... at #1... with 70 votes... no one is surprised 😂 - it's drip! ahhhhh squirt god min yoongi. we meet again. i will never live this fic down lmfaoooo. and funny... doesn't he have a birthday coming up soon? i could've sworn... 👀💦💦💦

alright besties!!! i'd love to know your thoughts!!! any surprises? any you're happy to see?? anything that didn't make the list that you're about to get out the torches and pitchforks over??? i wanna hear it all, so drop me a comment or an ask and let me knoooow!! 🎤💜

(for me, it's babygirl missing out on the top 10 by two votes... but it's fine i'm fine... 😭)

also can i just say - look at y'all, getting ALL OF OT7 ON THE BOARD??? we fucking love to see it!!! equal opportunists on this blog! yaaaaaaas porn for everybody!!! 👏👏👏

[toms-cherry-trees]

Alright I am very nervous but here we go

First of all A MASSIVE THANK YOU to every single one of the 1500 followers I've gathered in this blog. I have been way too close to throwing it all away plenty of times but moments like this make it all worth it. I know I may not seem like i but I cherish every comment, reblog, like and ask I receive about my work, even thought I don't post often, I approeaciate those who still follow all my debaucheries

Now, I had never done a celebration before for any milestone so I am keeping it small and simple to not overwhelm myself. We are going to keep it nice and simple and hopefully people will want to join in.

Find the masterlist with all the celebrations fics here

1. Blurbs!!

I want to get my creative juices back into flow (that is some terrible terrible wording) so I want youto send me gifs to my askbox, plus what type you want (angst, smut, fluff) and I will write a short blurb about them (most likely under 1k words) about any of the Peaky males + Alfie and Luca + Polly or Ada

2. Fic Recs!!

I have been slacking deep in my reading, so I want you all to drop some of your fave writings of your own on my ask (you can also send in works from others but I want y'all to hype up yourselves) and I will write a fic rec with my favourites

3. Celebrate with me!!

I love you all like you are the reason I am alive so I want you all to celebrate with me. I would LOVE for you to write blurbs of your own for my celebration, any sort you like (fluff, angts, smut if you are of the right age) with just one prompt word in mind: autumn. (My fave season)

Some guidelines because it is better establishing limits rather than being sorry later

I don't write Mosley (I don't care if you think Sam Claflin is hot), nor any other "villain" aside Luca. I don't write Gina, Grace, Linda, Esme or Ada as I don't really vibe with them

I can write dark! characters if you specifically request it but I don't make any promises

This may take me time to write because my work is both time and energy draining but I will do my very best!

You don't have to follow me or be my mutual to participate! Everyone is more than welcome to join, I'd love to make some more friends through this

I will accept the gif requests and the fic recs up until April 16th. Submission blurbs (remember the prompt word ;)) I will accept them as long as it takes you! If you want to write but it will take you a month, bring it on!

Tagging some of my mutuals and peaky blogs who can help me get the word around since I am deadly shy: @runnning-outof-time @zablife @cillmequick @look-at-the-soul @there-goes-thefighter @theshelbyclan @shelbydelrey

[fleet-off]

Hi fleet! Since you asked me, it's only fair I ask you back :3 I would love to know your answers about 2, 3 and 7 <3

Hi Yujeong! I enjoyed reading your answers, thanks for asking back! I answered 7 first for post flow reasons.

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

Far too many! Here are the ones I'm actively trying to make headway on:

Lapping at the Edges, chapter 3. Unfortunately I opened the box labeled "Vegas's understanding of consent" and y'all would not believe the mess in here.

Breathing Space, the spaceship!Pete AU.

Stable Delusion, my resurrection AU. Pete and Vegas are living comfortably in a lakeside home postcanon...only Pete can't quite remember how they got there or why his reflection is missing, and Vegas seems determined not to tell him.

Menagerie. This section has been sitting at two sentences from done for at least a month. (This is an open invitation to come yell at me to finish and post it.)

Grotesque [working title]. The pipeline from intrusive thoughts to dirty talk turns out to be easier and more direct than either Vegas or Pete could have guessed. The vibes are less gory, more weird and somehow vore-adjacent?

Off the Handle.

Incidentally, it wouldn't take much coaxing for me to share snippets from any of these. My inbox is open!

2. Do you read/reread your own fics?

Constantly while editing. Not for the first month or so after I post them unless I'm responding to a detailed comment--I need a break to turn off my critique-y editor brain. After that, yes! I wrote them for the love of them, of course I'll reread them.

3. What's your favorite fic that you've written?

I can't even pick favorite colors or foods without feeling guilty for the unpicked ones, don't make me do that to my own fics!

Okay. On an execution level, I do think won't give up these ghosts is the most successful at what it's trying to do. The metaphors hew closer to the thematic intent. The rhetorical devices are better-targeted. The pacing does its job. And creating something weird brought me a lot of glee.

But really every story is dear to me. Lapping at the Edges puts me in a wonderful, awful headspace. A temporary abundance set my baseline for VegasPete postcanon (the first fic I write for any couple is often "what do they look like on a lazy morning when there is no plot to attend to?"). A Close Shave is where I found Vegas's POV, and it's received some of my favorite comments ever. Menagerie and Going with the Grain are such fun little escapes for me. And there are so many stories I have yet to finish!

In a very genuine way, I would say: every story I've written is my favorite, and my favorite is yet unwritten, and I'm always in the process of writing my favorite (even if I whine and drag my heels on the way there).

Ask me about my fic-writing!

[caixxa]

A1,A 2, B6, B9, BASICALLY ALL OF THE C QUESTIONS! PLS I WANT TO KNOW! (if you feel like responding lmao) thank you, love you and hope you are having a really nice day! <3

Sorry that it took so long to answer! I had a hellish day and we live on almost opposite time zones, so.

A1: When did you start reading fanfiction?

Summer 2016, after Euro 2016. As an adult, well past 30, I rediscovered the fun of being A Fan.

A2: How did you find your first fic?

I googled, learned new search phrases to google until I found the stuff I really liked. I think the first searches were like "Gareth Bale fan fiction" and the really effective one that I think finally led me to Ao3 (I have no idea what the first sites were) was more in the way of "Cristiano ronaldo gareth bale m/m slash" lol. I read only as a guest user for months, I didn't make my own account until I wanted to write and post my own work.

B6. What is your favourite story trope? Why?

Friends to lovers with sexual exploration on the way. Seductive younger man developing in a twisted power balance/imbalance relationship with an older man. Stuff with sexual tension and a vibe of something forbidden.

B9. Who is your OTP?

I'm such a multi-shipper! I always say it's Aho/TT because they are soulmates and the Finnish connection and two cherubs who share a brain on the ice and fly together and are stupid codependent bros. But I've come to think that the true OTP is Sepe/mentors and authority figures. I came to that conclusion when I heard on the Canes Corner podcast that in his first interviews, he always mentioned Ron Francis, and I couldn't but nod along. Of course he did. A franchise legend who drafted him, of course. He still mentioned him on the Siim Liivik podcast like last summer, you know. He loves Rod, he loves Pekka, he loves Justin Williams, he was so into Burns being traded to the Canes. He's a fireball on the ice but off the ice, his daddy kink can be seen from SPACE.

THe C section:

What trope are you tired of reading? Why? Self-harm or suicide as a romantic plot point. It should be self-explanatory, I detest all variations of the trope where romantic counterpart saves the protagonist from shit they should figure out with themselves first, especially if there is a "love as a miracle cure" element to it. I feel similarly about th "you deserve better, let me save you from your abusive relationship by making you mine". No. If this happens from a base of friendship and they develop love later, that works, but falling in love as a cure because The One Sees Your Beauty When Others Don't is yucky. Elaborate proposals in front of an audience gathered specifically to celebrate the occasion as peak romance is so weird too, maybe I just don't get American wedding culture. (These tropes are more present in m/f imagines than m/m rpf, tho)

What word or expression always makes you cringe when you read it? "Too" when it's supposed to be "to" is the only one of those that I often see in fic writing, but in general, "Their" when you mean "They're" or "it's" for "its" when native speakers do it... IT'S YOUR OWN LANGUAGE! HOW CAN YOU NOT GET THE EASY ONES RIGHT?

Is there anything that makes you nope out of a story? What is it? Double spacing between each paragraph. I know that it's mostly because the Ao3 rich text editor doesn't copy/paste google docs right. I will have to be REALLY drawn into the story and want to read it really bad to struggle through that.

What thing that fandom loves do you actually kind of hate? Why? Hockey fights. They're so unnecessary, they're just an example of the American fixation on violence and vigilante justice. It's okay to me that hockey is a rough game, cross checking and body checking is absolutely fine by me, but dropping the gloves.. it's such a stupid, primitive thing to do. Hockey does fine without it. I know this is unpopular bc y'all love violence. I see all the wrestling posts y'know, and all the "hot" tags in hockey fight posts. *points at all directions, staring judgementally*

What character that fandom loves are you just kinda “meh” about? Why? Hockey players: Anthony Beauvillier. This is just about his looks, I don't see what most people see, he looks so plain to me.

Is there anything in canon that made you want to quit the show? What was it? Why did you hate it? Are we still talking hockey/sports because all i read is sports rpf? Well, I used to like F1 but Ihave very little interest in it now. I just don't think that a motorsport that is done on vehicles for no other use than driving on these extensive tracks made of concrete and asphalt just for it is just gross. In rally, there is at least something organic (lol) and relatable. Also, the last Cristiano Ronaldo fic I read was after his transfer to Juventus, after that I think he's made a fool of himself.

Who is your NOTP? Sepe/Seth Jarvis, Sepe/Jordan Martinook. I think it's bc I have zero attraction to the other guy haha, plus Jarvy only gives me goofy little brother vibes, not ship vibes. Also, Cressi was the big ship when I entered football rpf and I could see the two superstars, rivals, el clasico etc etc intellectually but I just sensed no chemistry between cr7 and messi whatsoever so it's always been kinda NOTP for me.

What is one plot twist you wish people would stop using?  Do all the plot twists your heart desires, man, writing is supposed to be fun! But what I said in C1 counts here too.

What show did you really try to watch, but you just couldn’t? This happens with all the shows. I watch a few episodes but can't find the time to finish them. I also skipped a lot (most) of NHL games last season because I need to sleep.

What book could you just never get into, no matter how hard you tried? I don't try hard with my reading, if I don't like the book I quit. The hardest I've tried was probably War and Peace which I read so slowly that I eventually forgot what had happened before and kinda drifted off it after maybe 20%.

Thank you for the ask and have a super duper fine summer!!

(the ask game post is this)

[splishsplashyouropinionistrash]

hey everyone, I'm still alive! and! I have a writing update!

I haven't done any writing.

okok that's not totally true, I've done bits and pieces since I published 'i still talk to you' (link here, I had fun with that one) but I'm nowhere close to having anything ready to publish. Still, I figured I'd give y'all a (totally sober, for once) update on where I'm at in the stories I've promised.

So, okay, the big one first: TMHYHM. I've got about 3k of chapter 9 done, so we're about halfway through it. I'm starting school again in a few days (senior year, woohoo) and I always seem to write better at school, so we're keeping our fingers crossed that it'll get done in the next few weeks. About ten days from now is the one year anniversary of me 1: starting my AO3 account and 2: publishing chapter one of TMHYHM which is.... both exciting and a little sad? Genuinely didn't expect this story to take so long, but here we are.

A lovely commenter pointed out that I must put a lot into each chapter, and I honestly hadn't really thought much about it but they're right. I'm not gonna ramble about it for much longer, but every chapter takes a lot of time and energy. There was the re-read I did to write down the main plot points I wanted to hit every chapter, and then scouring the internet for quotes to put in once I decided I wanted to go that direction, and then I re-read each individual chapter twice; the first time to get more specific with what happens each chapter, finding places to put extra scenes etc. and a second time to figure out a chapter title. Actually writing the chapters is a lot too. I put a lot of myself and my experience into my interpretation of Andrew, and I feel like it fleshes him out more, but it also makes these chapters so much more mentally draining to write. Anyway, all that to say: happy early birthday to TMHYHM and thank you all for your patience.

Okay anyway, some of you may remember that I started teasing a hospital/amnesia fic (here, here, and here) a month ago during the AO3 outage, and I've almost got three chapters finished (halfway done !) I decided a few months ago that I wasn't going to post multi-part fics until after they're finished from now on, so as soon as I finish the whole thing it'll be up. I took a break from it for a little while, but when I came back and read through it today I genuinely cried a little? I'm evil guys why do I write these things??

Third: the minyard triplets. I'm going to be so honest here, I have not made any progress since last time I updated yall. Looking back at the story, I'm honestly kinda starting to hate it? I don't know, I still like parts of it but it just doesn't feel anywhere close to being my best work. I'll keep working on it and hopefully finish it soon, but I don't know when it'll be done. I had thought about turning it into a series, but I'm just not sure how attainable that is anymore.

Also, you may or may not have read my last fic, but if you did: I'm working on an alternate ending!!! I can't say much (cause spoilers) but I'm working very hard on it so keep an eye out for that one. Not sure if it'll be a separate fic or just a second chapter, but it's coming.

ok uhhhhhh.... i think that's it? TLDR: I don't have a lot of answers for y'all, but I'm working on things.

Oh, also? I'm writing a book. So fics might go on the backburner for a little bit lol. Let me know if that's something you'd like to hear more about though, I'm super excited.

Thank you for all your love and support <3

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

2022 Creator’s Self-Love Extravaganza

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2022. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love!

@thelionshymnal dug this one up and while they didn't tag me, I felt the tag in my heart. Therefore, I pulled out the original rules with a little under 24 hours before the calendar flips over to a new year, I think I am safe in saying that my word count for the year is complete.

I did not write a lot this year! Comparatively, at least.* A mere 25,682 words have gone to publish. But it's also been a very disruptive year in that I quit my job of 5+ years, got rid of ALL of my stuff that couldn't fit into a tiny car, drove seven days cross country to a New Better Shinier Job (while writing a final paper), rented a 10 x 10 room above a garage for several months where my cat was very kind by not murdering me, dropped everything to sit at my dad's deathbed, went right back to work the following Monday, finished yet another graduate degree, went on a trip to Maine with friends, moved AGAIN to a much larger much more private space, and uhhh... signed up for yet another degree program. Because I have a problem. Clearly. Oh and I also broke a bone for the first time in my life! It's in my foot! I haven't gone out to do ANYTHING other than get groceries for the last two weeks and it sucks!

2022 has been a lot! More good than bad and overall improvement of everything, but a lot! And I've wanted to write. I've thought a lot about it in the moments before falling asleep! But any progress is still progress and my body comes first these days because in this house we practice self-care.

That being said, what I have put out, I've been immensely proud of. So, in no particular order and without further ado...

On the Event of the Annual Lilias Recruit Hazing Final Exam (ans, gen)

I wrote third person limited! For the first time! It was weird but also a fun to write something where the audience only has the interactions and body language to read.

2. where mended hearts meet (obiyuki, 🍋)

While I haven't been writing proper most of the year, I have been obsessing over @onedivinemisfit's camboy!obi au. It's been my personal problem, like, ever since she first introduced the concept for it and I've been screaming about it every chance that I get. Part of me much much wants to write the whole thing, but also acknowledged that I did not have the time. But also also I knew I was not going to be productive about anything at ALL until I wrote at least a little smutty smut for it. I mean, two consenting adults who are very accommodating of one anothers kinks and traumas? Sign me the fuck up, let's do this.

3. Drabble-Drabble 2022 Challenge (multiple fandoms, multiple pairings, all ratings)

Perhaps because I haven't had a chance to really focus on my writing this year, I wanted to do something uncomplicated. I remember loving drabbles back in my livejournal days. Just being absolutely laid out by 100 words precisely. But I'd never tried it myself so I wanted to give it a shot! I asked and y'all sent in around 30 prompts and I answered 26! It was a blast, highly recommend to anyone out there that wants to try their hand at it.

4. Seven Nights, Night 7 (Hakuouki, Yamachi, 🍋)

I had a moment when I went to see the timestamps of the chapters I worked on this year and it was literally just Night 7 of Seven Nights. It's split into three chapters, but it's 14k words just leading up to the final night, I don't even know what to say, y'all. Yamazaki is just real shy and writing two virgins was a lot harder than I thought (and I already thought it was going to be difficult!). I do really love it, though, they're adorable.

5. Stone Soup (Spy x Family, Yor & Yuri)

I would be remiss if I didn't include the final posted fic of the year (and my first foray into the sxf fandom!). Not only did I write a child's pov, I got to incorporate some real mean food feels into it. All together a real good time! XD

Okay! I've done it! I've said the nice things about me! Now I shall tag people, hmmm... @spoonyglitteraunt @sabraeal @claudeng80 @onedivinemisfit @infinitelystrangemachinex and anyone else who wants a go!

*Word count by year since 2016:

2016- 97,273 2017- 167,645 2018- 138,769 2019- 130,429 2020- 126,435 2021- 91,014 2022- 25,682

[an-aura-about-you]

you ever have a fanfic you know you're not gonna write but the ideas keep bouncing around in your head so you gotta do an infodump somewhere?

that's what we're doing today so here we go: TMA fic I'll never write in which Somewhere Else is Lunar (during the events of Lunar 2)

(or "gee Leo, how come you get to hunt down two destroyers?")

-ngl I've been thinking about this ever since I started reading clutching a map of dreams, which is a fantastic Final Fantasy X fusion au and y'all should go read it even if you don't know a thing about ffx because the characterization and action is superb

-I likewise have some cherished RPGs from my youth and one in particular clicks with this like no other

-I'd start it out some time before canon gets going, but not too far out. just far enough that we've got a little bit of time for the boys to acclimate to the world they've found themselves in before the action starts.

-start with Jon, who wakes up and is surprised to do so. holy shit, he made it! they made it! wait where's Martin? wait is he in some kind of carriage?

-turns out Jon was found by the caravan that sets up the carnival in the Madoria Plains. This Causes Some Concern, at least until he realizes he's not restrained in any way and nobody's setting off Stranger Vibes.

-also Jon feels???? way better than he probably should have considering he just got stabbed???? and that's how he learns that magic (aka RPG mechanics) are in play

-(debating on whether he grows his ribs back or not. I'm inclined to say they did just because That Shit's Funny.)

-first big hurdle actually comes from learning Lunar is Lunar and not Earth. first time he goes outside and sees the Blue Star he nearly has a breakdown then and there. (that is the Earth that is the Earth in the sky I am looking at the Earth which means I'm NOT on Earth what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck)

-eventually he does manage to adjust and make friends with the musicians. operating on The Mechanisms were Jon's Band in Uni rules, he's able to contribute that way.

-he and Jean become sibling-like friends. (she's like, "Hey, I'm not the newest member anymore!") neither learns the full scope of the other's past until considerably later, though. (Once they do, they're like, "Hey, both of us were orphans that found our family later!")

-he discovers that he's retained some of his powers as an avatar of Beholding but under Lunar's magic system rules, as well as develop some new abilities such as making himself invisible. he's relieved that he has more control over whether he compels information out of others.

-(he's not entirely sure how he feels about Althena, but he would rather choose her over the Ceaseless Watcher as far as sources of power go.)

-so Jon's there with the caravan when our intrepid party of heroes show up having adjusted as well as one can over the course of, say, a few months.

-holy shit Lucia has the Lonely coming off of her in waves. Jon is seriously concerned that she might become a catalyst for some Forsaken ritual.

-Jon finds that baby dragons are utterly adorable and is grateful that he's not prone to baby-talk around cats and things that look like cats, thus earning Ruby's respect.

-after Jean leaves with the party, Jon decides to take his leave on his own, now confident enough in his abilities on Lunar to try to find Martin.

-except when everyone goes to town, they find some wanted posters. one for Lucia and her party, and one for Jon.

-"wtf why is Leo calling Jon a destroyer????" vs "how tf did he know I'm a destroyer?????"

-Jon gets captured by Leo and jailed in the Dragonship Destiny a couple of times as well as an attempt at Lemina's Magic Mansion and an encounter with Ghaleon, the last of these setting off all kinds of alarm bells because Ghaleon Very Much Should Be Dead. ("Is he connected to Terminus?")

-the last time Jon's captured by Leo, he breaks out of his cell and tries to escape at Azado, but That Doesn't Work Out What With The City Being On Fire. (fuck this reeks of Desolation)

-but also oh hey Jean, Lemina, and Lucia are tied up on the deck of the Dragonship Destiny what's up guys? oh cool, Leo went with Hiro, Ronfar, and Ruby to take care of the fire, that will give us time to escape.

-This doesn't get very far because it's not long after that when Mauri shows up for her confrontation. Then Leo and the rest of the party join in. AND THEY HAVE MARTIN WITH THEM!

-Jon is ecstatic! Whatever fight they have with Obvious Desolation Avatar Mauri, they can manage it now that he's found Martin! Except that Martin seems to know Leo? AND Mauri???? And HE was the one who told Althena's Guard that Jon is a destroyer???????

-Jon's got a lot to think about on the way to Pentagulia.

-But also they've got some time on a boat so it's time for stories to come out. (including Ronfar and Jon both being puzzled about how their SOs know each other and other members of the party thinking they have to explain homosexuality to Lucia but she's just confused about why they're bothering to explain this when no one's thought to explain heterosexuality to her.)

-this also means Jon's finally up to speed with what the player would know at this point: entity called Zophar trying to destroy Lunar, Lucia's here to stop him, the campaign Zophar engineered against Lucia, what's the deal with Althena's Chosen (with the additional sting of them informing Jon that Martin was wearing the garb of one of their priests)

-at some point there's a talk between Jon and Lucia and he ends up understanding what's at stake far better than Lucia anticipated he would. it's a nice little friendship moment.

-They arrive at Pentagulia and it's time to split up the party for everyone to make their appointments with their plot threads, which means Jon's semi-tagging along with Ronfar as they go to the Red Tower to confront Martin and Mauri respectively. It goes about as well as people who know the game expect it to, with Martin speaking to Jon as if everything is normal, that this is the way things have always been for them, and that nothing has changed between them. (but there was one moment with a break when Jon, as a last resort, compels Martin to tell him what's happening. In lieu of any actual answers, Martin gives him a horrified look and begs him to leave while he still can.)

-once that plot matter is wrapped up in the canon way (with Jon being courteous enough to not comment on how Mystere is obviously Leo), it's time to regroup and try a different approach. in this time, Jon receives a letter from Martin.

-let's back up to before the story begins one more time

-Martin wakes up in Raculi. only the problem is he was already up and moving when he comes to.

-turns out he was found by the Chosen and cleansed (that is, made to drink Zophar's blood) before he came to. and now he's working as an assistant to Lady Mauri

-he wakes up in time to hear himself tell Mauri about Jon and how he's already destroyed one world, fighting to stop himself but physically unable to.

-from this point on, Martin's been a prisoner in his own body, watching as he helps Mauri "cleanse" the sinful with fire and blood, struggling to get his body back under his own control. but it's no use. he's a vessel for Zophar.

-he writes down as much of this as he can in the letter to Jon in the brief moments he can actually control his hands, finishing it by telling Jon that he's sorry, he loves him, but should they meet again Jon should mercy kill him because otherwise he might not be able to stop his body from killing Jon.

-(the reason Martin's able to write and send it at all is because Zophar delights in that kind of torment)

-there would also be a scene with Jon discussing these things with Leo, who is more certain about taking fatal action if need be, and through compulsion Leo admits he is terrified at the idea of striking down Mauri because, even though they aren't as close as they were and she's done horrible things, she's still his sister and he still loves her.

-Jon goes to Raculi with Leo because Leo was ready to kill both Mauri and Martin, and Jon isn't sure if he can actually go through with it but tells Leo that if Martin must die then Jon should honor Martin's implied wish that it be by his hand.

-in a one-on-one fight that proves challenging since Martin is armed with a flail, Jon ends up non-fatally incapacitating Martin while the party fights Mauri's Id. by the time the fight is over, the effects of Zophar's blood wear off and Martin is back in control of himself. cue proper tearful reunion.

-with Mauri also free from the influence of Zophar's blood, she apologizes to Martin for what she did to him. having been in the same situation, Martin understands and forgives her.

-the three of them, Jon, Martin, and Mauri, all stay in Raculi as the party moves on to mount their attack against Zophar. when Zophar starts getting the upper hand, Jon is reasonably concerned it will become another Fear Apocalypse because everything about what he's told indicates that Zophar and the Fears are one and the same.

-in a fit of impulsiveness, Jon proposes to Martin in this time. ("I've already seen one apocalypse with you! I don't want to go through another with the regret of leaving that undone!") Mauri finds a couple of old bracelets of hers to stand in as wedding bands and marries them then and there.

-when the world is inevitably saved with the power of humanity, Jon and Martin get a nice little house in Dalton so they can be close to both where the carnival likes to set up and Raculi where Mauri and Ronfar live. (also there's a hot spring nearby, which, yeah, when you hit the age Jon and Martin are, you want to live by something like that)

-they go out on the occasional adventure, a much more peaceful prospect now that they no longer have the threat of Zophar or the Fears looming over them.

-Jon eventually brings Martin to meet everyone in the carnival, who properly give Jon shit for running off and getting married without telling them and tell Martin about all the pining Jon did for him.

-when they catch wind of Hiro wanting to go to the Blue Star to reunite with Lucia, they're like, "That's crazy but in good conscience we should encourage you because she's Lonely AF and her being the only person on the Blue Star isn't helping with that."

-and they all live happily ever after the end!

[loubouskz]

update on me(loubouskz) & my stories that are coming soon!

hey everyone! I hope y'all are doing well? How's winter doing you guys? I'm sorry I've been M.I.A(haha) for the last couple of months. That wasn't part of the plan at all. I was so ready to be posting stories on here more that I had planned. I was going to post my next one about I.N in October after I had gotten back from a concert bc I was so excited for it. but I got the flu the following week and when I get sick, which hardly ever happens, I get sick sick. bad sick. after all that, without going into too much. my mental state vanished and I was not in a good place at all, it still isn't. mainly bc of eating and body issues. so I haven't been on the internet of much, like I would pop on tumblr here and there. hardly got on twitter, insta, fb, etc. the only thing I have been on is youtube, watching Markiplier. I'm hoping next year, I'll finally get therapy like I've been wanting and needing. but I'm doing a little better, I feel a little better today. enough to start writing and posting again. I'm okay, I will be.

so on to the stories that have been in my drafts since the middle/end of this year. let me tell you about some of them. I have 4. and for the person who sent in a request with chan, don't worry, I saw it! It's coming and I love your request. and for anyone reading this, my requests are always open, even if it takes me a min to see. even if it is just a small one, I would love to write something for you. writing in general makes me happy.

1.) Yang Jeongin - it's called love for an angel. basically it's ab a guardian angel(i.n) that falls in love with the human their protecting(the reader), which isn't supposed to happen and isn't allowed. angels are supposed to be invisible, but one day the reader sees him and fall in love. and yeah, I don't want to spoil too much but I absolutely love it and is probably one of my favs that I've been working on.

2.) Lee Felix - it doesn't have a title yet, still thinking of one. it's where felix and the reader are best friends and roommates(and they were roommates. did anyone see the tiktok update ab that vine and the story broooo). oh wow, shocking! and the reader tells felix that she's hasn't had great sex and felix offers to try and maybe help her out. it's short, but I'm pretty sure I haven't written something smexy for felix yet. and if I did, I probably didn't post it...memory is kinda foggy still.

3.) Hwang Hyunjin - it's part 2 to it's gonna happen. I've only written a few sentences. It was the last thing I worked on before going M.I.A, so I didn't get that far. I have bullet points of what's going to happen in the story(and so I don't for forget what I was going to write) and from the looks of it wont be as long as the the first part. just kinda of any update of what happens next in this story. don't worry, I wrote down in one of the bullet points: "a lot a smut scenes" ehehe

and 4.) Lee Minho - the story that I've been working on for the longest time and so proud of. and that still doesn't have a name! 🫠 sadly, it is still not anywhere close to being finished. I really want it to be good so I'm taking my time with it. I'll give WIP updates about it soon. rn, it has 4k words. like I'm at the part where the reader and lino are having their first convertion...this fic is my baby. I love it so much bc it has space, and I love space and the stars. I'm fully ignoring my fear of heights and big metal objects that go in the air or under/on the water.😀

but yeh, that's it. guessing what fics are coming out soon. felix and jeongin's most likely. then hyunjin's then....maybe not the lino in space one. pffft. next year, I promise!