#im honestly sobbing this means so much to me

[writeouswriter]

Reading a fic that's so well written I wish I could close my eyes and just let the descriptions and atmosphere wash over me, but the dilemma with closing my eyes is, well, I then would not be able to continue reading this fic, now would I.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reading #i don't read longform fic very often but this one is so good wow i'm in awe and clicking next chapter next chapter #the movie it's for I'm not even a particular major fan of itself but I am a fan of the character and the ideas and oh my god #they perfect it to a tee in every way even better than the movie could and yet keep their characterization spot on in line with the og #it's amazing the way they balance the humour and banter with the suspense/tension and drama/horror #and their descriptions are gorgeous/pick out just the right details #their follow-up is more canonical to me as a sequel than the actual official sequel which is wrong in so many ways #and I am in love with their writing style so much my god #i'll say the fic if asked probably will honestly make a rec post for it when I'm done just because wow but here i'm just vague posting #i mean it's 10 yrs old and I've been reading fic for 8-9 yrs and it is truly one of the best I've read in all of that #from all my tags I mean you can labour a guess for the fandom or fic and if you were to guess it wow good job I'd be impressed #but anyway !!! love finding masterpieces I hope this person decided to become an author in those 10 yrs almost *sobs* #I'm gonna say the fic anyway whatever it's From Out the Ocean Risen by Bluestar god it's good (for p/acific r/im)

[nordfjording]

.

#ik that ive come some ways and had some sobs since the whole #getting blocked for not having the mental sturdiness to educate myself on trans issues #ordeal #but goddamn it #if im not still skipping the hole trans/transition/theo storyline in sabrina because im #honestly just trying to get by and every time i #look too closely it shakes the ground on which im standing and im not #made to be a revolutionary im just trying to get by #and by and by and by #i spent so much time grieving who i wouldn't be and chipping away the things that didn't fit there's just not enough #left of me to start over. theres not enough #material to work with to melt into something else to withstand friction and to come out recognizable #as a person i mean #and all of that work would be for nothing. my world isn't made for people like me #and i built my entire life on being no one and dying quiet. #and you cant just. take someone's future away like that.

[intimidatingsqueak]

smapxsmap (1999.10.4)

im actually breakin’ my own heart over here

(read tags if you want a bit of a nonsensical ramble…😭)

#im interrupting the pussuma posts because im upset lol #like this has honestly been wrecking me ever since I watched the ep last night #and i apologize in advance because these tags are super vague… #…… #for the amount of shit takuya gave him this episode…THIS part was the reality #he wasn’t actually pissed/annoyed with him which was made clear a few times #but those were usually him just playing around with tsuyoshi which was v cute and funny #in this case tho…he genuinely looks sad and scared #like he was really fucking worried about him #(in my view obv because these men don’t talk FOR SHIT…again my view…but i mean…his eyes are telling a story) #(…just fucking tell him you’re scared and worried about him instead of telling him to be better for the fans or his duty) #(taking this tactic doesn’t work anyway…tough love doesn’t work here…) #(I’m not judging either of these guys AT ALL btw I couldn’t even begin to imagine being on either end…) #(but i just wonder if any of the guys expressed their personal concern or if they just deflected to other reasons) #(please actually correct me if I’m wrong because I haven’t watched much in the scheme of things lol) #also right before this takuya had to DRAG him up the stairs and its making me so…jeez actually fucking hurts lol #ugh okay im gonna go ugly-sob and overthink about this byeeee #more happy and silly pussuma gifs in the pipeline lol #on my soapbox #smapxsmap gifs

[noxtivagus]

bday dump cont. in tags 🫶🏼

LOOK AT THE PICS I TOOK OF MY WOL W THE GLAMS A FRIEND GIFTED 😭😭

#🌙.rambles #dude's like a big bro c: #the shirt isn't bought tho!!!! the hats n boots of my current glam is from songbird n #HONESTLY RECEIVING GIFTS IS SMTH IM REALLY SHY ABOUT? #i very much appreciate receiving stuff but i get too too shy if it's with money bcs i don't really use much of my own allowance 💀 #I LOVE ALL MY FRIENDS VVVV MUCH AAAAA #apo n i finally ended up playing a bit w one of those twt moots 🥺 #IM SO HAPPY.... we talked quite a lot today n i think! we def got closer!!!! #bcs we're all pretty Shy in our lil trio too but 🥺 we're more chill now i think #im really glad. it means a lot to me to be able to be closer with ppl #GOD WAIT APOLLO JUST COMPLIMENTED MY GLAM #I WILL COMBIST AHFJFJAKAKAKK ??????!/!: #GOD I SWEAR IM USUALLY MIRE COMPOSED BUT I REALLY JUST CRUMBLE W ANY SORT OF AFFECTION WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKKK #two of my friends from middle school greeted me in dms too on ig 🥺 #N. MY BEST FRIEND FROM GR4 I LOVE HERRRR she's in another school now w shs but #frienfs before high school i'd honestly consider a childhood friend! c: #god wait my mind is all over the place genuinely wait AAAAA #oh ffs everytime i hear something nice about me my brain just fries i think #i get too flustered everytime. i'm not good with affection. please stop. i hate you. SOB....... #OH I REMEMBER SMTH I WAS GNA RAMBLE ABOUT EARLIER #w friends i know purely online on stuff like tumblr twt yes i realize i tend to be really nice #i never force it tho it jsut comes really naturally 😭😭 wait wtf i just remembered smth #WHY AM I LIKE THIS...... it's either i'm super hyper like this! like a kid! emojis n emotes ^-^ n i look v sweet on text i would imagine #or the opposite. 'uwu' if you may then 'emo' ...... SO #SOB ???? 💀 theres smth really funny wbt it for me #god wait i got distracted i have sm thoughts i cld write on n on buti realize i naturally just end up hiding when it comes to #wait. wait wait wait no. i was abt to say smth but NO i will never ever rwmble abt that ever #y am i like this..... the very one topic i avoid! despite how personal it is for me #idk what i'm trying to say abt that but i hate lying but i often hide i think w certain stuff. i don't run but #actually no it wld be bad if i say anymore oh nooo i will never talk abt that! not even apollo knows abt that b i'll never ever EVer talk ab

[rene-darling]

TAKING- advantage of the strongest

He's been having a hard time lately, he's lost Suguru, his one and only, of course- you on the other hand are overjoyed at that fact.

It's annoying, after all, you've done for him, he calls out his name instead of yours, it's time you taught him a permanent lesson on manners.

P.s I TOLD YOU ITS NEVER GOJOVERRR RAHHH- [credits- __3aem on insta]

Also, follow my insta r3xni3 n text me, let's talk, im bored!!

...gojo Satoru...

Seeing Gojo with his head in his hands sitting at the edge of the school stairs wasn't a new sight for you, in fact for the past week you've been seeing him sitting there.

Crying, sobbing, or simply sitting in misery. He's always thinking of that damned suguru. Honestly, it was hard to get him to show you any affection with suguru around, and now that he's gone it's gotten even harder!

It's not that you hate suguru, you just love gojo, and seeing your gojo in pain annoys you, but. It also makes for the perfect opportunity to shove yourself in his life, when he's most vulnerable and make him rely on you

"what up 'toru?" Sitting down next to him gently touching his shoulder, you can't be too forward now. "..mhm, it's nothing." Hmm, well you knew it wouldn't be that easy, of course he wouldn't open up to you just yet! So you'll just keep trying- "come on satoru, this isn't like you, you're the strongest-"

"Can you leave? I'm not in the mood y/n." Running his hands through his hair he groaned as he hid his face. You got up without a word, it's fine, if he pushes you away you have many more ways to push back harder.

The continuing weeks during classes you would always make small talk, distracting his mind from geto. Then you'd buy him sweets saying that there was some buy one get one free offer, which is why you had brought one over for him there wasn't

You occupied him on the missions he'd usually go to alone, keeping him from feeling lonely. No matter how hard they were and no matter how much strain they put your body through you'd reassure him, you're fine!

He'd notice how you'd push yourself for him, it made him- feel. Feel something other than the constant sorrow due to Geto's absence.

He started reciprocating your 'kindness'. he would let you rest your head on his lap after a stressful mission and sometimes..he'd rests his own head on yours.

Shoving yourself in his life to replace the sorrows he felt didn't only include platonic relations. Every once in a while, whenever the feelings of loss came back too harshly, all he wanted was to forget. Get lost in pleasure, in anything, just- just please make him forget.

His tears which usually stained his face due to sorrow, now stained his face due to mind-numbing pleasure, his body was yours for the destroying, just please, please make him forget. Even if just for tonight!

" 'toru, use your words now, tell me what you want, hm?" You moved your hand ever so slowly, it hurt. "Just- just please, touch me, ruin me, do whatever you want. I'm yours, yours all yours- Suguru please.

Hah- fuck. He's so lucky he's Gojo Satoru. your gojo Satoru. You can feel yourself growing numb as you let out an unhinged chuckle "Sure Satoru." You try pronouncing his name with that same softness, to replicate that tone of pure love and kindness geto had, but alas, you never truly get it right.

Still, it's close enough for him. as he whines, bucking into your hand. You have half the mind to leave him like this, writhing on the bed, but you never do. This isn't the first time, and certainly isn't the last. You're sure every single fucking time you've seen satoru he's called out his name,

But, as you gaze down at him and as he stares up at you with his pretty blue eyes which spill with tears by the second, you can't help it. Perhaps you pity him, or perhaps you simply don't care if he's using you as a means to an end, since in return, you get to be the one fucking him dumb. And not Suguru, 'cause he's dead. But that's beside the point.

Rocking his world as his vision blanks, eyes rolling back as sweat covers him. You don't mind the pain of when he bites into your shoulder, you don't mind the fact that Suguru's name slips out of him more than your (can be fake) cock

But, for some reason you just can't take it today. Something takes over you, you swear, as you grab harshly onto his neck, gasps leave his throat as he huffs for air. "Wh- Ah pl- EAse- hah."

"say my name." "Wha- AHh-" pressing your hand down harder you're sure it'll leave marks. "Y/n. Fucking say it you dumb bitch." Tears fall down from his cheeks and onto your hand but it only seems to egg you on "Ah- mhm y-y/n please?" As you let go gits of his coughs fill the air as his pink chest rises up and down for air

Suddenly he gasps once more as you push against his prostate, you're far too pleased with him saying your name to let him rest, even to catch his breath.

His cries ring in your ear as his hands scratch onto your skin, leaving deep bloody marks in their wake he stares up at you with his tear stained eyes, mumbling only your name for the rest of the night.

You hope he's learned his lesson, and if not. You wouldn't mind teaching him another one.

#sub gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #sub gojo satoru #gojo satoru #getou suguru #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sub jjk #jjk #satoru x reader #x reader #top reader #dom reader #sub character #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #sub char #yandere reader #yanderer #redflag

[harrysfolklore]

idk if you’re still taking requests but you should do actress!yn who’s been a long time fan of harry since 1d and a fellow solo harrie and they’re the stars of this movie (maybe a romcom 🤔) and then y/n is so nervous around harry and he teases her?? then they realize they have so much in common and it’s just fluff everywhere 🥲

this is honestly one of my favorite blurbs i’ve ever done and i hope you love it as much as i do! enjoy and thank youuu for the request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by kaiagerber, harrystyles and 297,827 others

yourinstagram The Bear has been out for a week and you can watch it on Hulu if you haven’t already ok we love u and goodbye!!

view all 27,928 comments

ynfan1 SO SLAY

sza ❤️

ynfan2 ive been here since day one

harryfan1 HARRY LIKED THIS OMG

mtv We stan

harrystyles Amazing show and amazing work from everybody, love it x

↳ harryfan2 HARRY ???

↳harryfan3 his new show obsession now that succession is over

↳ ynfan2 YN IS A LONGTIME 1D FAN LOL I BET SHES CRYING

↳ yourinstagram omg this means a lot, thank you for watching and supporting !

TWITTER

//

liked by harrystyles, alexademie and 499,928 others

yourinstagram SEASON FINALE OF THE BEAR AIRS TODAY 🥲 thank you for all the love u all have my heart

view all 31,002 comments

ynfan1 SOBBING

zendaya Congratulations little angel 🤍

ynfan2 SHES THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS

harryfan1 IS THAT?

↳ harryfan2 IM PRETTY SURE IT IS

mtv Crying over the flowers and note 👀

harrystyles Love, love, love

↳ harryfan3 HARRYYYYY

↳ ynfan3 if this ain’t love then what is

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 9,028 others

harryupdates Harry and YN out in London today !

view all 209 comments

harryfan1 WEEEEEE

ynfan1 OH

harryfan2 COUPLE ALERT SO DAMN RIGJY

ynfan2 chill i bet they’re just friends

harryfan3 NO WAY

ynfan3 the pipeline from being a one direction fan to hanging out with (maybe dating??) harry i’m so here for it

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 10,028 others

theharrytea guysss deuxmoi posted this !! i think it might be about harry omg. thoughts ?

view all 216 comments

harryfan1 OOOOHHH

harryfan2 harry in a romcom i could DIE

harryfan3 PERIOD DRAMA YES YES

harryfan4 omg makes sense i hope it’s true we need ROMCOMRRY

liked by alexademie, harrystyles and 498,028 others

yourinstagram scripts coming in and i’m like:

view all 31,019 comments

ynfan1 YAYYYY

zendaya ❤️

harryfan1 harry liked thisssss

ynfan2 we need a movie now that the bear is over

dualipa LEGEND 🤍

harryfan2 harry what are you doing here

TWITTER

TEXT BETWEEN HARRY AND YN

//

liked by kaiagerber, harrystyles and 628,022 others

yourinstagram first day of filming check !! hiyaaaa costar ⭐️ @harrystyles

view all 38,927 comments

ynfan1 AHHH

jefezoff 🥰

harryfan1 ITS GETTING REAL

ynfan2 imagine going from one direction dan to harry’s co star

harrystyles Hiiiiiiii x

↳ harryfan2 he was giggling and kicking his feet while typing this

↳ ynfan3 they’re in love

gemmachan Love you both ❤️

liked by yourinstagram, sza and 5,927,027 others

harrystyles Which Brings Me to You. Coming Soon.

view all 77,827 comments

harryfan1 AHHHHH

annetwist ❤️

ynfan1 WHY DID HE CHOOSE THIS PIC

harryfan2 y’all it’s joever

alessando_michele 🍒🤍

harryfan3 those saying that they’re dating don’t know what a work relationship and friendship is

yourinstagram 🥹🥹🥹

ynfan2 i soooo ship this

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 16,927 others

harryupdates Harry and YN on set of Which Brings Me to You!

view all 1,102 comments

harryfan1 AHHH

ynfan1 i love them so bad

harryfan2 i can’t wait to see this movie GOD

ynfan2 MY FAIRYTALE COUPLE

harryfan3 FAVES

liked by harrystyles, oliviarodrigo and 872,927 others

yourinstagram today is the day !!! world premiere of which brings me to you 🥲🥲 love u all thanks for the support

picture by the costar, awkward pose by meeee

view all 41,029 comments

ynfan1 AHHH GO BESTIE

kaiagerber love you both sm 🤍

harryfan2 HARRY TOOK THIS I CANT

mtv This is my roman empire

ynfan2 no biggie just harry taking pictures of her

harrystyles Amazing photographer, amazing pose x

↳ harryfan2 are we interrupting something?

↳ynfan3 he’s in love

liked by yourinstagram, adele and 7,028,927 others

harrystyles Which Brings Me to You World Premiere. October, 2023.

view all 81,928 comments

harryfan1 BABY

jefezoff 🙌🏻

ynfan1 oh he hot

yourinstagram excuse me u get credits on my pic but i don’t ??

↳ harrystyles Picture by the costar, charming face by my mum x

↳ harryfan1 HARRY 😭

↳ harryfan2 I LOVE HIM SO BAD

INTERVIEWS

//

liked by harrystyles, sza and 882,967 others

yourinstagram press day ! be ready because tons of content from me and @harrystyles annoying you about our movie is coming sooooooon 🥰

view all 40,924 comments

ynfan1 this is the best day of my life

jefezoff I feel blessed

harryfan1 MY FAVORITE DUO ON EARTH

harrystyles We are charming, aren’t we?

↳ harryfan2 itsg harry has never been more active

annetwist ❤️

liked by yourinstagram, zendaya and 7,937,229 others

harrystyles We took a Lie Detector Test. The results were pretty interesting. You can watching it in Vanity Fair’s Youtube channel now.

view all 82,937 comments

harryfan1 HEEEELP

harryfan2 WHY DID HE CHOOSE THIS PIC HES SOOOOOO

annetwist ❤️

ynfan1 “have you ever had the hots for a co star before” THEY WEREN’T SNEAKY WITH THAT ONE

yourinstagram liar liar pants on fire

ynfan2 THEY’RE DEFINITELY DATING BYEEEEE

FANS VIA TWITTER

//

liked by harrystyles, zendaya and 1,028,002 others

yourinstagram in words of taylor swift: you’re my lover

comments on this post have been limited

liked by yourinstagram, bellahadid and 9,017,287 others

harrystyles

comments on this post have been limited

#harry styles fake instagram #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fake social media #harry styles fic rec #harrysfolklore #harry styles instagram concept #harry styles headcannon #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles anguilla

[leclercvsx]

FANBOY | SMAU

CHARLES LECLERC

pairings: Charles x singer!reader

summary: charles (and some other drivers) fanboy over y/n and her music.

faceclaim: Huh Yunjin (my wife xo)

warnings: none

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 1,824,264 others

yourusername: i can change everything about me to fit in

y/nfan: IS THIS A SONG LYRIC?!?!

y/nlover: i might cry like actually

fancyy/n: MOTHER IS MAKING A NEW ALBUM IM CALLING IT RIGHT NOW

luvy/n: UGH i need new music rn pls

y/nlover: no because actually

lilymhe: this album will make me sob won’t it

yourusername: maybe🤭

lilymhe: AH HELLO

riabish: so excited !!! 😭

liked by yourusername

loveyy/n: this album gonna be so relatable, i can just tell🫣

l0vey/n: release it already🫣

chae_yung: i heard it first😊

yourusername: don’t tease them😠

eun.7: y’all are about to lose your shit😹

liked by yourusername

—

y/n.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 2,836 others

y/n.jpg: opened the jpg account for a few minutes so welcome new people and old people 🙄

TAGGED: chae_yung and eun.7

lilymhe: i’m honored

chae_yung: i will smack that look off your face

y/n.jpg: girl be for real, i can take you in a fight😤

chae_yung: stfu

danielricciardo: made it just in time😰

y/n.jpg: please go back to redbull, i need it in my life😭

charles_leclerc: i barely made it🙄

y/n.jpg: leave ferrari !!! jk…unless🫣

y/nfan: MOTHER WHEN IS THE ALBUM BEING RELEASED

y/n.jpg: SOON VERY VERY SOON, MY CHILD

eun.7: ew

y/n.jpg: you’re my biggest hater

y/nlover: release the album now🤭

y/n.jpg: how about, no🤭

alex_albon: my girlfriend loves you more than me😔

y/n.jpg: your girlfriend is now my wife 🫶

lilymhe: YES I LOVE YOU

alex_albon: i love you too❤️

lilymhe: not you🙄

—

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 2,538,284 others

yourusername: my new album ‘folklore’ is finally out and available for streaming on ALL platforms!! I hope you guys enjoy this album as much i did making it.

This album means a lot to me and has a few of my favorite songs i’ve ever written on it. Such as ‘This Is Me Trying’, ‘mirrorball’, ‘seven’ and ‘the lakes’.

stream now !! 🫶

y/nfan: NO COS SHE ATE WITH THIS ALBUM

y/nlover: don’t mind me just sobbing over seven

fancyy/n: i BALLED listening to this whole album😭😭

lilymhe: my new favourite album, i love it so much☹️

yourusername: i love YOU so much🫶

charles_leclerc: honestly, one of your best albums.

yourusername: why thank you mr leclerc🤭

alex_albon: lily’s been crying nonstop over this🙄

yourusername: my poor wife :( i didn’t mean to make you cry 😔🫶

lilymhe: you’re forgiven babe❤️

alex_albon: leave MY GIRLFRIEND ALONE

eun.7: meh, it was alright

yourusername: 🙄

chae_yung: so proud of you🫶

yourusername: ily😭

l0vey/n: no cause seven’s chorus made me want to kms☹️

yourusername: please don’t !! 🫶

—

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 1,274,628 others

yourusername: in the words of sebastian vettel (my lover) “Everyone is a Ferrari fan. Even if they’re not, they’re a Ferrari fan” ❤️🏎️

TAGGED: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, ferrari and eun.7

ferrari: ❤️

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: it was great meeting you ❤️

yourusername: you too!! 🫶

carlossainz55: ❤️

liked by yourusername

lilymhe: meeting you has made my life complete btw😘

yourusername: AH MY WIFE I LOVE YOU

alex_albon: first you take my girlfriend and now you’re not even a williams fan🙄

yourusername: no one’s a williams fan 🫶

y/nfan: not eunchae wearing a CHECO hat

yourusername: don’t. we’ve had our discussion about THAT.

eun.7: it was so fun tho, even with you there x

yourusername: girl the only reason you were there was because of ME

—

y/n.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 1,728 others

y/n.jpg: currently falling in love with charles leclerc, don’t mind me x (the toto pic is off pinterest…dilf<3)

TAGGED: charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: im honoured love😉

y/n.jpg: on my knees rn

eun.7: obsessed much

y/n.jpg: i will literally fight you right now

chae_yung: i ship it 😚

y/n.jpg: 😙😙

lilymhe: i know something people don’t👀👀

y/n.jpg: shh now😉

y/nfan: new relationship = new music 🤪

y/nlover: f1 y/n is my fave y/n😫

eun.7: just realised, don’t you hate ferrari? 🤨

y/n.jpg: when they’re screwing my man over, yes.

—

y/n.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, eun.7 and 2,372 others

y/n.jpg: can i go, where you go❤️

feat freddie the horse cos i missed him sm and duke my not so little puppy 😙

TAGGED: charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: i love you ❤️

y/n.jpg: AH i love you too, so much😭😭

y/nfan: NEW SONG??? NEW BOYFRIEND?? IM GOING INSANE

y/nlover: omg an album about being in love💔💔💔

eun.7: why didn’t you take me with you to see freddie😔

y/n.jpg: you didn’t deserve to come x

charles_leclerc: i went with her instead🤭

eun.7: wow, i’ll remember this

lilymhe: HAHA I KNEW THIS FIRST🫶🫶

y/n.jpg: of course bby😘

chae_yung: happy for you!! ❤️

y/n.jpg: i love you so much😭🫶

—

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 875k others

charles_leclerc: stream y/n’s new album, lover ❤️

TAGGED: yourusername

yourusername: hehe, thank you baby😘

charles_leclerc: you’re very welcome sweetheart❤️

charlesfan: they’re adorable🙄

y/ncharles: he’s promoting her new album :((((

carlossainz55: i like the song cornelia street

yourusername: and the song cornelia street likes you, carlos <3

eun.7: makes no sense

yourusername: fuck off

y/nfan: thank you Mr leclerc for being an inspiration for mother to produce a new album🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

y/nlover: i need maathp shooting through my veins

ferrari: ❤️

sebastianvettel: congrats mate, the album is amazing too y/n!

charles_leclerc: thanks mate, but you made her cry of happiness😭

yourusername: i love you😭😭

danielricciardo: i was her fan first btw

yourusername: of course danny😘

ferrarifan: she’s already getting along with his friends😭i😭love😭them😭

i hope you all enjoyed this one shot! i loved making it! although he didn’t really fanboy over her but that’s fine lmao. Small reminder, requests are still open!! 🫶

masterlist | request

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #imagine #formula one #leclercvsc #f1 #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 one shot #cl16 x y/n #cl16 fluff #cl16 edit #charles lechair #charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #f1 smau #f1edit #f1 fic #f1 2023 #formula uno #formula 1 smau

[coolprettyleo]

maybe i will finally learn my lesson? - begin again au ☆

wc: 1.2k

tw: sad, angst, rejection, talks about sex. no actual smut tho. borderline alcoholic tbh

ryan leonard x hughes sister au!

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frankie fell back onto her bed with a soft thud as she tried to catch her breath. she looked at the boy beside her with a hopeful look hoping to gosh he would stay the night and cuddle her. she just needed some form of reassurance.

he never ever wanted to stay over though.

“i gotta go, the guys are going out tonight” he says as he gets out the bed acting like he was talking to some stranger. what frankie didn't realize was that they basically were.

“do you have to leave?” she says in a sad voice kneeling on the bed. she hated how he never wanted to stay and talk. was that so much for a girl to ask for these days?

“frankie, im all spent for right now, but i mean if im feeling it later on, i'll stop by”

is he fucking serious.

it had honestly been a while since frankie had felt that much rage. he really did only think of her as a fuck buddy.

she knew what she was getting herself into, when she agreed on their little agreement, but in the movies it always ends with the guys falling in love with you. right?

“oh my gosh. just leave. like actually” she said getting back in bed and turning her back to him. which left him dumbfounded. why would she be mad he had to leave?

“did i do something?” he asked confused as he finished putting his cloths on.

no answer.

that pissed drew off. she had no reason to be all pissy with him.

“are you mad because im going out with the boys? why would that bother you? were not anything, frankie. im allowed to go out” he said. still starring at her back.

“oh don’t worry. you’ve made that very clear to me drew” she says, her voice wavering due to the fact she just felt so foolish.

“whatever, you’re annoying me. talk to me when ur done being crazy” he said walking out and slamming her door in a fit of rage.

to say frankie took it totally fine would be dishonest. she sobbed in a fetal position all night. while blasting foolish one by taylor swift.

that woman really does have a song for every situation.

she had honestly never felt so alone.

of course she’s not actually alone; she just refuses to go to anyone and burden them with her problems. it’s not like she can call her parents and her brothers due to the fact she can’t lie to them. she knew they were going to ask something like 'how'd practice go?' and whatnot so she's been forwarding their calls since Wednesday when she quit the team.

she could also call her friends. or her ex teammates. did she even have friends?

she was alone.

___

she sits in her room finishing up and assignment when she felt like doing something. usually she would get drunk and go from there, but no. if the last week has taught her anything; it's that she's becoming a new person. and the new person wouldn't black out after every minor convenience.

so in the spur of the moment, she decided she was going to rearrange her room! which is what lead her to where she was right now; outside the freshman hockey house.

while moving her bed from one side to another, she found drews hoodie. so being the mature, new, amazing person she claimed to be... she decided to give him back his hoodie, as a form of ceasing the deal. this is a supposed to be a step forward is it three steps back?

frankie walked up the front steps and as she lifted her fist to knock she halts, when she hears multiple voices coming from inside. not wanting to end her and drews situationship in front of his teammates; to save them both the embarrassment. she quickly trashes her plan and decided to just head home.

but when she heard her name is when she decided against that.

"frankie?" she hears drew ask.

"yes dude. its actually so obvious she wants you after what your saying she did yesterday"

he told them about the argument?

well she couldn't really get mad, if frankie had best friends she would of probably told them too.

"well i dont want her like that and she knows that"

frankie felt her heart crack.

i mean she told herself he didn't like her back, but hearing him say it, is a whole different level of pain for someone who just oh so hoped to joke about their situationship one day over coffee as he watched the morning news while their kids got ready for school.

foolish one, frankie hughes.

"no way your gonna reject her, she's so hot. what the hell is there not to like" one of his stupid teammates said.

"I mean she's the nicest and one of the hottest girls I've ever got with dont get me wrong, but some of the shit she says makes me question if she's being for real or not" drew said not knowing the match he was lighting.

"I think I know what your talking about, is it when she said she thought denver was in texas?" one of his other teammates chimed in.

"bro yes. that actually left me speechless" he says. frankie felt like burning the house down at this point.

"she's lucky she's got hockey" another voice said.

"had'

the hoodie she had in her hands slipped through her fingers. just like the heart drew held. the heart he never wanted to hold.

she backed away from the door, never wanting to slash anyones tires more. she wanted to commit arson. the way they were talking about her, made her want to throw up.

she can take the fact he didn't like her back. thats okay. if he didn't feel the butterflies she felt it wasn't no one fault. but mine.

but the fact he stood their and called her stupid? who the fuck even knows geography like that? she felt so many emotions run through her veins and the one overcoming the rest was the one that held the power over her tears.

"frankie?" oh my god. no. why the hell did I not run home?

she turned her head to see ryan leonard standing there. one of drews friends. someone she had considered to be her friend. but if the rest talk about her like that, him, will, and gabe probably do too.

"you didn't see me here, ryan" she said as she covered her face trying to push past him.

"wha- hey! what's wrong? who did this?" he said grabbing her wrist and seeing her crying eyes. he knew who did it. he just needed to hear a confirmation before he went inside and beat his ass.

"nothing. let me go" she said wiping her tears.

"im not letting you leave here alone hughes, i know how you get when your this sad. I dont want to wake up tomorrow and hear that you got hit by a damn bus for gosh sake"

one thing ryan hated was when she would drink her feelings away because that meant she was going to be reckless. she honestly is reckless.

"well then do you want to come?"

I got tired so im done writing but I wanted to post this! also ! I have no hate towards drew, its all going to add up in the future when I start the other aus I have planned but for now drew is like anyone else and he's learning and growing. so bear with me!

#nhl imagine #frankie x ryan #ryan leonard #gabe perreault #nhl imagines #bc hockey #will smith hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #gabe perreault x reader #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine #jack hughes #hughes sister #luke hughes #quinn hughes #drew fortescue

[cinnamostar]

three dates to fall in love

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five (here). part six (coming soon).

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.5k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn , not proofread, nothing crazy :)

a/n : im back from my hiatus and omggg i graduated from my masters program wahoooo! here's part five. let me know what you think! theres not much going on here to be honest........ its pretty chill

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“Yo,” Changbin answers from the other end of the line, his heavy breaths echoing through the call.

“Are you still working out?” Hyunjin asks incredulously, pulling the phone back to check the time, “You said you were going to the gym two hours ago and you’re still there?”

“Gotta keep these bad boys in shape, ya know?” Changbin teases, a giggle ringing through as he is most, (and he is), checking himself out in the mirror, “What’s up though? Did you just get home?”

“At this point, you look more like a bodyguard than my manager.”

“I take that as a compliment! Thank you very much, but I believe you have something to discuss with me, hm?”

“I mean, it went well?” Hyunjin responds with uncertainty in his voice, causing Changbin to sigh from the other end of the line.

“Is that all..? Are you just going to call me every time to tell me only that?” Changbin asks with annoyance, unable to understand the actor’s unwillingness to share anything more about the arrangement he found himself in. “You know, I’ll just end up calling Chan and hearing it from him instead…”

“Huh?”

Changbin smirks to himself, knowing that would capture the younger’s attention, “Yeah, you know, Y/N has a lot to say. I know all about it. It’s the only way I know how things are going.”

“What do they say?”

“Why do you care?”

“I just do.”

“And I should tell you because…?”

Hyunjin frowns at the back-and-forth, feeling peeved Changbin, his manager, wasn’t divulging any information upfront, “Because I’m the one going on dates with them and I should probably know…?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how today went.”

“It went well, I already told you that.”

“Tough luck, buddy, that won’t do. How unfair, especially when Y/N has sooo much to say,” Changbin dramatically mocks a sob, “Yet you, oh, you have so little to offer. It’s like you’re not enjoying any of it.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at his antics, frustration bubbling within him, “I am enjoying it and it is going well. Is that good enough for you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

“Okay… So, can I hang up now?”

“No.”

“So you want me to stay on the phone in silence with you?” Changbin asks, a smirk still plastered on his face because he knew, eventually, Hyunjin would relent to Changbin’s teasing. It was always like this, Hyunjin was hard to read and never shared much with Changbin, which honestly makes his job as his manager a lot more difficult than he’d like. The only times Hyunjin would be transparent with him about his emotions was when he was complaining about something, or the time he panickedly called him after his very unfortunate date with you, and how he realized what a big mistake he had made. Other than that, Hyunjin lips were always sealed tight. Either because he was a private person or was bad at vocalizing his feelings, Channgbin didn’t know, but he was getting annoyed at Hyunjin calling him after every day with the same three words every time. ‘It went well.’ God, those words were pissing him off and he felt like his time was being wasted because now, he had to call Chan and find out from him what was going on. After another few moments of silence, Changbin sighs once more, “Okay, I’m hanging up now —”

“N-no, wait!” Hyunjin interrupts him, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Okay, now I’m waiting.”

“Today went well, and I know I already said that, let me finish,” rambles Hyunjin, the words slowly clawing their wait up his throat, “It’s just… it’s a lot nicer than I thought it would have been. They’re super kind and welcoming to me even though I was a complete asshole to them.”

Changbin smiles victoriously to himself, ecstatic to finally hear this simple, yet salient confession out of the younger boy, “Oh, that’s good then. Sounds like they’re doing their best to make it work.”

“Yes, but I also… feel really bad about it too,” Hyunjin grimaces at the guilt he had been trying to ignore, it sneaking up to the forefront of his mouth as he speaks, “I really don’t think I deserve any of this from them, but they’re treating me sorta like nothing ever happened before and it’s a little weird to get use to this side of them. The more I realize how wrong I was about them, the shittier I feel.”

“Man, I don’t blame you, but I think you gotta give yourself some credit. It sounds like you both are handling this weird situation the best you can. Have you told them this?”

“Yeah, and that’s what makes this feel worse. They were so sweet about it, they comforted me when I was the one who hurt them,” groans Hyunjin, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut, “And they… they said they need time to forgive me, which is fine! I get that entirely, but… I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself until they do?”

“Mhm, I understand what you’re feeling isn’t easy, but don’t you think you should at least try to be nicer to yourself? I mean… It sounds like Y/N cares about you enough, and if they want you to feel better about the situation, shouldn’t you try for their sake?”

“I guess, but it’s not that easy, Changbin –”

“I never said it was easy,” Changbin responds pointedly, “But wallowing up in guilt is no way to be living either, I’m sure Y/N knows that too and doesn’t want you beating yourself up this much about it when you’re both trying to move forward.”

“I don’t know…”

“Just give it a try, it won’t hurt. You can hold yourself accountable and still be nice to yourself. Alright, but I have to go now, so byeee!”

Hyunjin frowns, “Wait, no, you’re supposed to tell me–” only for him to be cut off by the sound of the call ending, “... what Y/N said…”

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Hyunjin decided to take both yours and Changbin’s advice to heart and do his very best to practice compassion, yet he forgot how terribly difficult that was until the next day arrived. In theory, it should be simple to just be nicer to himself, but his heart kept contorting and aching with guilt throughout the day, it becoming too much to bear as he tried to figure out how to control that emotion. He had to eventually learn to be in your presence without that harrowing, bottomless pit that would form in his stomach, especially if you two were going to be costars for the rest of filming.

So here he was, his face and ears tinged with red as he sat across you on a picnic blanket, an assortment of foods between you two, and a gentle breeze causing locks of your hair to dance. Despite the chilly weather, Hyunjin could feel himself being covered in what he can only describe as a cold sweat while his stomach flipped onto himself. He was nervous, anxious even, and he had zero clue on how to deal with what he called guilt, shame, humiliation. He wasn’t sure which word was the best descriptor for this very moment, but he could barely sit still, constantly fidgeting as he tried to turn his gaze away from you, hoping the blues of the lake would ease his nerves that had not stopped rapid firing since noon. 

“You okay?” You ask, lifting a sushi piece to your mouth as you eyed Hyunjin with a cocked up eyebrow.

He freezes up for a moment, before forcing a nervous smile with a nod, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine!” He tries to force his voice into a more cheery tone, but he can tell you could see right through him. Somehow, you could read the faintest microexpressions from him, but he’s thankful to see you shrug your shoulders and not press on any further. It was almost as if you had the ability to read his mind, knowing when it was right to question his behavior or just let him revel in his own thoughts.

“Well, you should eat some more! I need some help finishing all this food Changbin ordered for us,” you laugh, picking up a piece of sushi between your chopsticks and lifting it towards him, “Here, open up!” you say in a teasing tone.

He rolls his eyes, “You know, I can feed myself,” but he felt his stomach bubble up with inexorable nerves, his words almost getting caught in his throat. You playfully pout at his words, “Oh, c’mon, just eat it! I know you want to.” You wiggle the sushi in front of his face in some poor attempt to entice him, but it was only causing him to become uncomfortably warm as he did his best to look anywhere that wasn’t your face. “Fine, fine,” he responds, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as he opens his mouth as you plop the sushi into it, the beating of his heart thumping loudly in his ears. 

“Good, right?” You smile.

He nods his head, his eyes crinkling at the overwhelming flavor as hums in agreement, “Wow, yeah, which one was that?” 

“Mmm, I think that one is toro salmon? I’m not sure,” you giggle at his reaction, feeling pleased with yourself that you managed to whittle away at the awkwardness he wore around you. Hyunjin was constantly on edge around you, the nerves obvious in the frown lines of his forehead, and while you could understand why, you were hoping he would start to loosen up around you as time went on. Despite everything that has occurred over the past two years, you were starting to yearn for the friendship you and Hyunjin once had and wished to be able to return to that comforting time. 

However, it was never that simple, as your desire for his friendship was often overshadowed with memories of his cruel words, how easily he spat them out to you without a moment of hesitation. A moment of innocent banter could just take you back to that time because somehow, his banter and cruelty shared a similar inflection, just enough to cause your eyes to prick with tears if you noticed it. The lasting impact his words had on you was a stark reminder for you to not so easily forgive him, to not forget what he was once capable of. But no matter how hard you tried to look past it and solely focus on your friendship with him, there was this inexplicable rift between you two, a hurdle neither you could just quite jump over, though perhaps it was this mutual understanding that allowed you both to understand each others’ quietness. It was strange, you two had become strangers that understood the language your souls’ whispered, but neither retained that fluency and were struggling to recall the words you once spoke.

The silence returns, enveloping you both as the wind hushedly howls, the sounds of birds chirping filling in the empty pages of dialogue as you each continue to eat. Every now and then someone would comment on the food, how good it tasted and thanking God for letting Changbin set up such a delicious day, finishing the last bits of sashimi that was left on the plate.

“Oh jeez, I’m so full,” you mutter, sleepiness slowly creeping its way into your body, “Ah, but we gotta take pictures, I don’t wanna deal with a whiny Changbin.”

Hyunjin snorts, knowing all too well the fit his manager would throw if his date plans were not followed through, especially when he made it clear to the both of you that he wanted proof that you two actually did take those pictures. All he wanted was for each of you to take photos of the other, a mini photoshoot by the lake, while also insisting it would be a great post for either of your instagrams. “Yeah, let's not do that to ourselves.” He lifts himself up from the floor, anxiously offering a hand to help you up, quickly retracting after you stood while ignoring the electric nerves bouncing at the palm of his hands. 

“I’ll take your pictures first, okay?” You say, your phone already in hand as you gesture to him to stand in front of the lake, “Luckily, the sun is out, so maybe we will get some nice photos to post,” you add on. Meanwhile, Hyunjin, very stiffly, stood ahead of you, unsure what to do with his body and how to pose. Normally, he is good at this kind of stuff, he has done plenty of photoshoots in the past, but he was terrified at the thought of embarrassing himself in front of you. Before, he had never once had this concern, this worry, he didn’t know why these thoughts kept forming each time he thought of you. It clouded his mind, preventing him from seeing any logic or reason. “Alright, model boy, do your thing, I know you know how to work the camera,” you call out, snapping Hyunjin out of his trance. 

If he wasn’t sweating before, he most definitely was now as he body overheated under the sudden pressure he put onto himself as he robotically posed, and you, as always, couldn’t help but notice the lack of elegance he usually carried himself with. “Oh, c’mon, what’s up with you today?” 

“I… I don’t know, I’m just nervous… I think?”

“Well, I can see that,” you sigh, placing a hand on your hip, “But, you got no reason to be! It’s just me!”

“I think it being you is the issue,” he murmurs out, not really meaning for the words to slip out his mouth.

You press your lips into a straight line, “Right, I get that. Sooo, how about you pretend it’s not me taking the pictures, but Changbin?”

Hyunjin breathes out a sarcastic laugh, “Oh, yea, that will totally work, you make a very convincing Changbin.”

“Oh, right, let me just-” you roll up the sleeves of your shirt, exposing your biceps as you make a poor attempt to flex them, “How about now, is this working?”

Hyunjin found himself laughing loudly at your very sudden and unexpected antics, his stomach flipping onto itself as a flurry of affection rushed over him. You looked absolutely ridiculous, yet something about it was incredibly endearing despite the goofiness that radiated off of you. However, the sound of the camera shuttering from your phone quickly made him pause his laughter. “Hm, I think you look pretty cute in this,” you smile, turning the screen towards him to see you had captured a photo of him in the midst of his giddiness. He felt his cheek flush at your words, the shyness that had temporarily disappeared made its presence known. “I guess it’s not bad, just… a little different from what I usually post online.”

“Good different, right?” You ask, a smile still gracing features as the sun kisses your features, the wind gently brushing through your hair. 

“Definitely a good different.”

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taglist (closed): @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @cupidcures @sleepyxxhead @pinkpunkdynamite @kaiyaba @palindrome969 @aokiss @annybah @tigerroarsinthelight @bubbly-moon @nattisbored @jin-from-the-block @hyuneyeon

#cinnamostar writes #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz scenarios #skz hyunjin #stray kids scenarios

[lilisgardensblog]

Stream theory! time:

I am here to write my thoughts about the Neuvillette part of the stream/trailer, feel free to share yours too!

"The Melusines can't be trusted! That goes for Neuvillette too!"

So, first I have to say I'm heartbroken to hear that the Melusines and Neuvillette can't be trusted, but idc idc i trust them no matter what. And the Melusines saying: "I'm confident that we'll find the meaning of our existence one day" truly broke my heart.

To keep going with the Neuvillette angst we have The Chief of Justice himself saying: "I find it difficult to express my emotions, because I cannot fully understand myself" The struggle to deal with accusations from your own people that they don't trust you while being unable to show them how you really feel... and to add to that whatever rumours saying that u were born from calamity?? I'm so confused and sooo hyped to get the full lore.

'is this what justice means to u? answer me neuvillette!'

First, let me point out THE VOICE ACTING FOR THIS LINE IS CHEF KISS. It sends shivers down my spine every time I hear it. And every time I hear it I'm thinking, what verdict did Neuvillette come to for Wrio to deliver such a powerful line? Maybe it's about Lyney and Lynette? Because we hear Freminet asking Wrio about his siblings and I'm thinking that maybe Wrio goes and demands an explanation from Neuvillette?

"You will see much in the human world, from the delightful to the depressing and one day, when you have dwelt among humanity long enough, you will be placed to bring judgement over all, as the spokesperson for Fontaine's past"

Can't move on from this line without pointing out the informal addressing here. No Monsieur or anything. Straight up Neuvillette. I'm curious to see how close the characters are and why does Wrio sounds so hurt/betrayed.

edit: a lot of people told me the voice line is from an npc but im too tired to delete everything👍

THIS??? raised so many questions in my head it's crazy. it's unnecessary. The hold this last line has on me is absurd. I think it's directly addressed to Neuvillette and I'm curious why is he the one bringing judgement over all? why is he the one shown all alone in a grey and dull Fontaine?why not Furina? What does "spokesperson for Fontaine's past" suppose to mean??Like we already speculated about him being the Hydro Dragon, but this is *sniff* i smell GREAT storyline.

Genshin is about to drop heeeeavy lore and I'm here for it.

"its unnecessary to hold me in such high regard"

Last line in the trailer. Neuvillette said this right after being shown as one of the most powerful people in the whole nation really. He is either really modest or just tries to hide the fact that he's the most powerful in the nation. Or both. Honestly I'm not even sure of what to say about this, I just had to add it here because Neuvillette said it and I'm in whoo for him.

Him🤝Zhongli , fancy talking and acting like they don't have supreme power.

Last thought: this trailer was so powerful and sad over all. I'm expecting the archon quest to be an emotional rollercoaster with one or two emotional punches. I just know Neuvillette story will make me sob. Just look at him.

p.s. : I saw someone pointing out that the creators said that Neuvillette made a law so that the Melusines to be addressed as she/her and that fills my heart with joy. Neuvillette is shown to be oh so powerful and 'born from calamity' or whatever and yet he's one of the sweetest and kindest characters. 🫶🏼

Conclusion: i love neuvillette and idc about false accusations 😊🫶🏼

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin theory #genshin impact neuvillette #neuvilette x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley #genshin freminet #genshin lyney #genshin lynette #genshin melusine #genshin impact scenarios #genshin fluff #genshin angst

[choccy-milky]

me every time i get a seb & clora notif (i am okay i swear i just love your content sm SOBS)

AW TYY😭💖💖IM GLAD U LIKE THEM SO MUCH💖💖here, just for you 😍😍😍(be careful what you wish for)

YES OFC!! IDK WHICH RECENT FANART YOU MEAN BUT YES the answer is always yes absolutely 100% go ahead😭🙏

i defs wanna draw pics of clora and seb with their future kids! but id honestly just make my dad seb look the exact same LMAO since im not a fan of facial hair/dad bods, hed just be the same except older, BAHAHA SORRY

THANK YOU he was very intimidating to draw bc of his facial structure but im also happy with how he turned out!! (also another certain red-headed gryffindor shall be coming soon👀👀)

and last but not least, anything for you, anon

#and yes i have been working on it while at my moms for the holiday like a degenerate LMAO #ask #what she doesnt know wont hurt her

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ haikyuu boys as my breakup playlist pt.3

⟡ featuring: hinata, semi, iwaizumi, kenma

⟡ cw: angst, mentions of cheating, heart broken hinata my baby, these also might be longer than the last two whoops. also can you tell i was angry while writing kenma's? ps thank you for 200 followers mwah<3

⟡ an: its that time again (waterparks ((fandom)) edition bc im obsessed)

⟡ part one, part two

⟡ hinata shoyo: never bloom again - waterparks

You and Hinata dated for four years from your first year of high school to your first year of university. Honestly, it could have been a lifelong relationship if it weren’t for Brazil. Hinata told you he was leaving the week after graduation. After telling you, you cried and yelled at him, pounding at his chest while crying ‘how could you do this to me?’ in between sobs but after a while, you had calmed down and you agreed to try a long distance relationship. Hinata visited you whenever he could, holidays, your birthdays, any reason to see you but it wasn’t enough for you. Hinata would always be everything to you but you couldn’t bear the fact that he was so far away, and sure you both called and texted each other but the time difference between Brazil and Japan made it difficult and Hinata could see it in your eyes whenever he visited, whenever you sent him a picture of yourself, whenever you facetimed…you were tired. It got to the point where you would cry yourself to sleep almost every night because you missed him and just wanted to be by his side, so with so much hesitation, you called him one night and told Hinata you couldn’t do this anymore. You needed him, not his texts, not his calls, no matter how much you loved them, you needed him physically there with you. Hinata protested and said that he wold move back to Japan for you but you couldn’t let him do that, you knew how important it was for him to be in Brazil to better his volleyball skills, so he finally gave in and you broke up after a year of long distance. Another year later, Hinata moved back to Japan after two years of being in Brazil, meaning he could see you again, he hoped so at least. Hinata didn’t know what you’ve been up to as you broke off communication with each other after the break up to avoid the pain of being in eachother’s lives. Hinata had his hopes up and was telling Yachi and Yamaguchi his plan to win you back but quickly had them crushed when they told him you had moved to Europe to finish university so you could start a new life. You didn’t want to be in Japan anymore, stuck with all the memories the both of you had made. It was too painful. Now it was Hinata’s turn. He was surrounded by the memories, everything reminded him of you, every now and then he’d see someone from across the street and see your face only for it to not be you, just some stranger. Hinata was never the same, even if he seemed happy and well, he was breaking inside constantly like he would never be truly happy again.

⟡ eita semi: worst - waterparks

You and Semi have been dating since middle school, practically inseparable. you and Semi were both in your 20s now and life has not stopped a single bit. The both of you were currently in the music industry, with Semi and his band being one of the biggest groups rising to stardom in the world and with you being a songwriter. You’ve always been a behind-the-scenes type person so you never really went out to parties or to big events. Semi, however, was a social person…at least on the party scene. It was a chance for him to let loose and not let worries get in his way, and who are you to take that away from him? The trust you and Semi had for eachother was strong, after all, you guys have been dating for years so why wouldn’t you? With this being the case, you never had any doubt about him going on tour without you. You still had other clients to write for so you couldn’t go with him but you never once worried about what he would do. That was until you were hanging out with your friends, Tendou and Ushijima, and they mentioned how Semi seemed different, that he seemed more careless and emotionless. You assured them that there was nothing different about him but when you went home that night you kept thinking about everything and looked back at how life has been since Semi has gained fame…he hadn’t changed. No. He was still the same Semi you fell in love with all those years ago. Sure he had questionable friends that made you uncomfortable, but he wasn’t like them, he always had girls lining up for a chance with him but he never gave them a chance…at least you think so. Regardless, you’re sure everything was fine and plus you were going to surprise him at his show in Tokyo! Any worry that you have will be wiped away when you see him all you had to do was wait. So you did. The day of the Tokyo show finally came up and you were standing at his dressing room doorway with tears in your eyes as you look at the sight in front of you- Semi and some random girl all over each other. Semi knew you were there, but he didn’t even care, all he did was give you a side glance before going back to the other girl. After that, you went home and changed all of the locks, removed all the pictures of him, blocked him on everything, and wrote a song that was sure to ruin his reputation out of anger, but even after all of that, you were still stuck with a giant hole in your heart and you don’t think it could ever be filled.

⟡ iwaizumi hajime: i felt younger when we met - waterparks

It all started four years ago when Iwaizumi moved to California for college. You both had known each other for 2 years prior to graduating and it was pretty obvious to other people that you two had a thing for each other but it wasn’t until after he had moved that either of you said something. Iwaizumi was the first to say he liked you, infact he said he loved you. It didn’t take long for your young and dumb self to transfer to where he was studying. You were both in love and naive so neither of you really thought about this big change in depth. The first two years of your relationship were perfect, you both got good grades, you had moved into a small apartment together, and you were both happy, you really couldn’t ask for more. Even though you and Iwaizumi were living the ideal love life, everyone else in your lives thought you guys rushed into things. The two of you weren’t even that close to begin with, you were just classmates in high school who had kiddie crushes on each other. It really all came down to the honeymoon phase, nothing was ever wrong and you never argued. It wasn’t until your third year of dating that you both realized that your life goals were very different from each other and this of course caused a ripple in your relationship. Wanting to be supportive of each other and your dreams, you set your goals aside for now and planned to come up with a compromise when the time called for it. Things were kind of back to normal until you both started learning more about one another. Bad habits you each had, sense of humor you didn’t share, different views, really whatever you could think of you both would disagree with one another and you were starting to get on eachother’s nerves. Iwaizumi reached the end of his rope quicker than you did. He ended things in the middle of a heated argument of something you can’t even remember because the only thing you were worried about at that moment was him packing up all of his things and walking out that apartment door but at the same time, you didn’t care. You had officially fallen out of love with him even though you never thought you could. Now whenever you think of him, all you could think about was how you uprooted your life for him. You moved across the world and for what? Nothing but anger and disgust filled you whenever you thought of all the moments you shared with him. To think of how different everything could have been if you two had just taken your time and not rushed into the relationship.

⟡ kozume kenma: easy to hate you - waterparks

Honestly, Kenma got on your nerves quite often. It was nothing you weren’t used to though because it was always simple things like him not doing the dishes whenever he was done eating or him spending too much time playing video games. Your annoyance never came from anything serious, just simple relationship stuff. When his streaming career started taking off, you never really bothered him to do anything around your shared house. It was only fair since it generated enough income for you to quit your part time job as a waitress and focus on school more. This doesn’t mean that it still didn’t annoy you that Kenma would seemingly spend more time playing video games than spending time with you whenever you had free time. Sometimes he would invite you onto stream so you two could ‘bond’ but it never felt right, to you it felt like you were more of a prop for his audience, like he would spend time with you only because his fansloved watching the two of you interact. Still, you brushed it off because it was still nice to be able to make him laugh whenever you did something silly in a game or said something funny. It also didn’t hurt that sometimes he would get all lovey dovey on camera making you swoon, even if it did feel fake at times. In the end, you thought it was the best you and Kenma could do considering the circumstances, you being in college and streaming being Kenma’s full time job. Kenma had promised you that once you winter break started, that he would put a hold on streaming so the both of you could spend time together and it excited you so it was only natural that you were pissed off when winter break finally came and Kenma said that he had sponsorships to deal with on stream. He said it isn’t something that could be helped but you snapped back saying that he could have scheduled these sponsored streams during any other time. Kenma didn’t care about what you said and just stayed in his streaming room for most of the two weeks. You started to ease a bit though once he started streaming for shorter amounts of times and spent more time with you during the day. You were finally happy with your relationship after who knows how long but then he decided that you being on a break from school would be the perfect time to do a 48 hour subathon. All you wanted was to spend time with your boyfriend but instead he just used you to gain more viewers. Again. Still, you agreed to do it agreeing that it would be fun but really yo had a plan. Three hours into the stream you said you have an announcement and everyone, including Kenma thought it would be something happy and big, but really, you were about to publicly dump him. After your little speech on how selfish Kenma actually was, you called one of your best friends to come pick you up and told Kenma that you would be back for your stuff the next day. You were finally free from the one-sided relationship you should have left sooner but now Kenma was rethinking all his choices as he scrolls through tweets talking about the breakup stream. At least it made him go viral.

#𖦹°｡⋆ 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝒾 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu drabbles #hinata x reader #hinata x reader angst #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo x reader angst #semi eita x reader #semi eita x reader angst #semi x reader angst #semi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader angst #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader angst #kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #kenma x reader angst #kenma kozume x reader angst

[thelastofhyde]

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15k

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

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

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

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

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

It’s something new to fidget with.

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

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

If you do, you’ll blame him.

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

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

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

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

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

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

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

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

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

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

There were usually three of them.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

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

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

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

Javier Peña was none of that.

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

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

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

It was like, nothing.

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

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

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

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

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

His hair, freshly cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you stumble to the elevator.

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

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

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

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

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

He catches you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thud against the nightstand.

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

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

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

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

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

He looks like he wants to.

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

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

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

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

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

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

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

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

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

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

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

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

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

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

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

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not in the mood.”

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

“I have an early flight.”

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

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

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

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

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

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

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

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

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

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

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

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

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

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

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

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

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

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

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

A broken earring.

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

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

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

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

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

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

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

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

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

The silence returns.

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

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

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

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

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

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

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

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

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

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

“I don’t underst-”

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

He’s stern.

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

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

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

Everything, you want to tell him.

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

“I just thought-”

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

I know, you mouth.

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

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

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

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

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

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

Kid.

That makes you angry.

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

“Don’t call me kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late, you want to say.

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

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

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

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

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

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

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

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

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

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

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

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

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

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

You let him invade your senses.

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

You pull back. He follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, you do trip over them.

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

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

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

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

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

Later with Javi never seems to come.

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

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

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

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

You’d never gotten those panties back.

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

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

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

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

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

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

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

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

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

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

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

A splotch of red stains your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

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

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

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

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

He’s rambling.

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

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

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

He chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

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

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

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

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

“What more could you have done?”

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

You whine out his name.

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

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

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

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

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

The words catch in your throat.

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

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

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

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

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

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

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

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

By July, things change.

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

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

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

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

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

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

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

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

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

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

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

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

Not right now.

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

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

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

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

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

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

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

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

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

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

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

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

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

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

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

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

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

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

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

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

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

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

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

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

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

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

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

You’re usually more careful.

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

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

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

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

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

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come up empty handed.

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

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

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

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

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

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

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I- What?” Confussion.

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

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

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Or both.

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

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[heavenlyhischier]

yes! | joe burrow

part one part two

ynzegras

liked by teehiggins and others

ynzegras to the love of my life, i’m sorry for interrupting you with my ‘yes!’ before you could finish your speech, but there would never be a lifetime where i would say no to spending my life with you.

Comments on this post have been limited.

yourbff OH MY GOD CONGRATULATIONS I LOVE YOU BOTH SO MUCH I CANT WAIT FOR THIS

ynzegras THANK YOU IM SO HAPPY YOU WERE THERE I LOVE YOU

yourbff but does this mean it’s baby time??

→ ynzegras slow down there

avazegras i’m still sobbing

griffinzegras It’s true. she called me crying about it

→ avazegras you were crying too shut up

→ ynzegras i love you guys so much

colecaufield Joe i thought we had something 😓

yourusername you haven’t even met him yet

→colecaufield Whose fault is that?

_alexturcotte Dibs on maid of honor

ynzegras best i can do is flower girl

→_alexturcotte DEAL

colecaufield What about me??

→ yourusername uhh you guys can be a duo?

trevorzegras I am so so happy for you. I truly and honestly couldn’t have imagined a better man for you, sis. You deserve the happiness he brings you and so much more. I love you forever ❤️

ynzegras stfu i’m crying so hard right now. i love you ❤️❤️

→ joeyb_9 She’s crying harder than when i proposed

→ ynzegras yeah well you’re nice to me most of the time and trevor says one nice thing about me every five years (kidding. i love you)

joeyb_9 I cant imagine a better woman to spend my life with. I love you more than there are stars in the sky

ynzegras i am so in love with you

jackhughes Congrats! If anyone deserves to marry someone as cool as Joe, it’s you 💙

ynzegras i— thank you?

jackhughes I want to be the guy that marries you

ynzegras no. absolutely not. i’ve seen your media presence the most you’re doing is sitting down and looking pretty

jamiedrysdale So happy for you!

ynzegras jamie! will you be my maid of honor?

→ jamiedrysdale um, sure?

→ avazegras 🤨

→yourbff 🤨

ynzegras oh this is awkward 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

thezegrassister

liked by masonmctavish23 and others

thezegrassister now we know what the ring looks like wrapped around his

View all 72 comments

trevorzegras DELETE THIS

trevorzegras YOU ARE DISGUSTING

trevorzegras NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THIS

trevorzegras IM GAGGING

avazegras i can’t believe im saying this

avazegras but i agree with trevor. i’m just not THAT dramatic about it

_quinnhughes Gross but do it again so Trevor can freak out

trevorzegras WHY DONT YOU LIKE ME

jackhughes 😨

thezegrassister 🥸

→ jackhughes 🥴

→thezegrassister 🤪

griffinzegras I don’t understand the way you two communicate

→ yourbff You should see their text thread. It’s entirely emojis. They have their own language

lhughes_06 Not again 🥲

thezegrassister LUCAS JUST KEEP SCROLLING

yourbff Looks like that baby might me coming sooner than we thought!

liked by joeyb_9

thezegrassister JOE???

thezegrassister i was talking about his hand you weirdos

joeyb_9 No she wasn’t

#joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow instagram au #joe burrow insta edit #joe burrow x zegras sister

[mondaymelon]

MERRY CHRISTMAS !!! gifts ensue.

he really went. blep. hi user @ilyuu. im proud of this one so congrats wanderer takes home first gift wooo

lmao id like to apologise in advance as this was brought on because of me but I got super burnt out drawing like 20 of these over the course of 2 days... if you see the quality of the drawings declining ( which you will ) please don't mind it!! thank you.

@anonbinaryweirdo. sigh. i get whiplash whenever you're super nice and then in the span of the next three seconds immediately do something vile

@soleillunne. we don't talk much but from what I know you are such a sweet person omg !! and your works??? dies inside (in a good way). the way you write xiao maks me so. puddle like

@realkavehgf. we agree on one things (amongst others) and that is that kaveh is. kAVEH IS. MALFUNCTIONS PERISHES.

@emphasisondrvgs. you scare me. please take your ranpo and quietly see yourself out LMAO /j

@pjsk-writin. AMIMI ONE OF MY FIRST EVER MOOTS !!! im so proud of mikoto. sighs. straitjackets are smth else to draw .. BUT HES SO. MMMMMM !!!!

@circyexistforcontent AAAHHH HI PRECIOUS. I LIKE YOU BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE DILUC SO. TAKE THIS... quietly throws up

@whats-it-mean. puka puka. head empty. puka puka. please stop your affairs with my mother.

@falors. UGLY SOBS. UGLY CRIES. I LOVE YOU /P SM. WAAHHHH TEARS TEARS TEARS you are the most talented person ever I S T G gRAAAHHH YOU BETTER GET 18412409128410948 FOLLOWERS THIS YEAR OR I WILL RIOT. mwah.

@dustofthedailylife. omg. hi dust... tbh ive been so concerned for you recently with how much life is running you over with a pickup truck so wishing for your improved health soon !! alhaith is a smort guy what can I say

@the-white-void. DEAREST. literally one of the first people I ever interacted with on this platform and you're actually. like. literally one of the sweetest people I have ever met. KLEE IS SUCH A CUTIE FJSFJDK

@kaeffeinee. OMG. m..my kitten- woah WHO just said that. wild shit right there. have something you don't like?? have something that's been pestering you for far too long?? no worries. its the official nag seal of mendokusai !!!!

@lillonvia. sobs. I didn't do the man justice.loud sobs. DFSDDSF YOUR ART MAKES ME WANT TO LIKE DISENTAGRAT INTO GLOWING BALLS oF FUZZ AND FLOAT INTO THE HEAVENS I DONT KNOW HOW ELSE TO DESCRIBE IT. WE ARE SO DELULU oVER XIAO. FOAMS AT THE MOUTH

@absolutelyobsessedkiya. HELP WHY IS MINORI SO BRIGHT.... she's literally shining what. we need to talk more pspsspsp I just now found out that you're a fan of milgram!! remember like last year I was all 'whose that pretty pink person on their pfp??' AND NOW I FINALLY KNOW THATS ITS MUU RAHHHH

@auroratumbles. meow. cat. what a sweetie. I don't even know what my art style is doing here anymore Istg what even. what even BYE LETS TALK ABOUT XIAO LATER !!

@papiliotao. mwah. a kith for you. mWAH. ANOTHER KITH. SJFKSDJFLS GRAHHH YOU ARE THE SW E. E T E ST AND YOUR THE SWEETEST AND YOUR CAT IS THE SWEETEST AND YOUR VOICE IS MAKING ME WANT TO ELEVATE INTO THE CLOUDS AND YOURE SO SILLY EVEN THOUGH YOU DONT LIKE AKITIO SHINONOME

@yinyinggie. hihihi ying !! it honestly amazes me how you're able to juggle so many events and servers at once. im actually in awe. always look at xiao he's so emo and short

@solxima. GRAHHH HI. I DONT LIKE HOW JINGYUAN LOOKS IN THIS BUT. DLJFLSDJ DIES> I CANT DO THIS AN Y M O RE. your honor. hes so cat coded hes so cat coded he's so PERISHS

@yelshin. WAIIIIT NO YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF> iM SORRY. I don't know why he looks... so r e g a l in this but its definitely giving off oRAtRice MecAnIquE DAnAlySe CARdiNAle .

@vennnnn-diagram. LOUD SCREAMING N O . YOUR NAME GOT CUT OFF TOOOODJSKFLSD JGAIJFAD JKLJFD:LFS. anyways. I need to see nahida smiling more she deserves everything and then some. aranaras are so silly giggles

@lume-nosity. I hold the slightest bit of guilt for putting your angsty ish drawing right next to happy lil nahida buT AHAHAH IT MAKES IT HURT MORE IG. took some inspo from your blog title... mwah ily lume. I WAS SO SCARED TO TALK TO YOU AT FIRST WHEN I SENT YOU THAT MOOT ASK BUT I AM EVER SO HAPPY THAT I DID !!!

th end. im actually so dead lmao my fingers actually were starting to bleed afklsdjfaskdjfklsdjflkasdjflksjflkjowejtoij enjoy your Christmas gifts mooties !! if anyone asks why I haven't been posting fics as promised. this is why. ill be in a coffin for a while please let my soul rest

OH AND FORGOT TO MENTION I DREW THESE BASD ON THE MOOTIES THAT COMMNTED ON MY THINGY LIKE LAST WEEK WHICH ASKED WHICH CHARACTER THY WANTD I LOVE YOU ALL PSPS I PROMIS

#★ ˎˊ˗ melongallery! #genshin #genshin impact #my art #doodle #rkgk #my artwork #fanart #genshin impact fanart #genshin art #genshin impact art #art #illustration #genshinimpact #genshinimpactfanart #genshin fanart #digital art #digital illustration #digital drawing #drawing #artists on tumblr #christmas #wanderer #scaramouche #childe #kazuha #kaveh #ranpo #mikoto #diluc

[emo-trash101]

HELLO DARLING!

How are you? Did you miss me :3

Yours truly,the platonic asker,is back to ask for more!

Now,for the ask!

May I ask for Husk,Angel Dust and Lucifer (you can add Al and Vox,too! I don't want to overwhelm you, those three are the most wanted-) with a platonic!child!reader that isn't their child,but they have grown into a father-child relationship subconsciously,and one day,the child comes to them sobbing and calling for them as "dad" for the first time? How would they react? Would they comfort the child or confront them? Would they accept this new title?

Aaaand that's a wrap!

I hope you enjoy writing this as always! And don't forget to eat,drink and sleep well!

Stay proud,Onyx!

-Nina <33

OMG YES I MISSED YOU!! AND IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, BUT I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT <3

Husk, Angel Dust, and Lucifer x Child! Reader

THIS IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND SHOULD ONLY BE TAKEN AS SUCH

Pronouns: Second person

Tw: none that i can think of

Husk -

- So he is very convinced that he is a terrible father, no matter what anyone says.

- Like that doesn't stop him from trying his best, but he just doesn't think he's doing a good enough job.

- And this is really solidified by the fact that you never called him dad.

- So when you walk up to him, sobbing for whatever reason, he obviously panics slightly.

- But then his entire being swells when you grab for him and ask for "dada".

- He obviously spends time with you and calms you down, but he feels so much more confident now that you call him dad.

- Obviously he still has issues where he feels like he isn't a good enough dad, but knowing you think he is makes him feel so much better.

Angel Dust -

- He obviously knows that he isn't a great father figure in general.

- I mean he's a literal porn star who sold his soul, he isn't the best option.

- But he tries the hardest he can to keep you away from that part of his life.

- However, when you come up to him sobbing, he immediately thinks that something revolving around his other life found its way to you,

- But when you just reach for him and cry for "papa" every in him calms down.

- He just picks you up and tries to soothe you best he can.

- He honestly continues working the best he can to be a good dad, but now that he knows you view him as such, he puts in even more effort.

Lucifer -

- So he's already been a father to Charlie, and he knows he messed that up relatively bad.

- And he also knows that he doesn't want to do that with you.

- So he tries to put in the utmost effort to prevent that from happening

-And so when you come up to him crying, he immediately goes into dad mode.

- He almost completely misses you calling him dad, but the second he hears it he starts crying himself.

- He feels so accomplished and like he actually cared for you properly that he just starts crying.

- Eventually you both calm down and everything kinda goes back to how it usually is.

- But he doesn't ever forget the first time you called him dad

Idk why I auto did a little kid, but I hope you enjoyed it!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #husk hazbin hotel #platonic #hazbin hotel angel dust