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writing-with-gremworm · 7 months

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Train Wreck Pup, Adopted

Here's a little thing I wrote based on a TikTok I saw a while back. Crewel was the first character I thought of, so I decided to make a very indulgent fanfic chapter based on the concept. It's a modern AU and Ren, the Insert/reader, meets him on a train. This is probably the longest piece of singular writing I'll post for a long time, but oh well.

Notes:

Crewel is a platonic/filial Soft!Yandere

Epel, Vil, and Neige show up in the latter half.

Non-Canon characters feature prominently.

This follows Indulgent FanFic tropes

Non-Canon Yanderes are included

This Universe has a fairly high density of Yanderes even if they don't showcase such features in the segment of the story.

Inclusion of a character sibling

TW: Yandere (In the latter half), Swearing, Mild Violence

“An E-Mail? Was I denied entry into the event? … Woah, Woah! I got in!! I still need a few more designs, but I can start actually putting some of these looks together in the frenzy! This is so cool.” I hop up from my chair and twirl around a few times, stopping and excitedly shaking my hands. “Yay! Oh, shoot- I need to leave tonight- Thank you organizers for the free ticket. But aaaahhh rushed prep time!” I add after glancing back at the E-mail.

Before long I’m out the door with a suitcase in one hand and my sketchbook in the other ready to board the train. While waiting for the train I open my phone and glance at the rules for the Flash Forward Frenzy fashion event

“Oh right, I should message Vera later. I can do that on the train. Rules first.” I mumble.

The event surrounded using old materials to create new looks. Clothes that were maybe used once and thrown away were collected to be used and made into outfits we could wear. The event itself was a massive hit, it was always fun to watch people create incredible things out of the most unexpected materials. But it was an even more exciting time this year since the esteemed Divus Crewel, Vil Shoenheit, and Neige LeBlanche were going to be there as guest stars designing alongside smaller names like myself.

I am well aware of the fact that I’m unlikely to run into big-name figures like Divus or Vil, but I’m excited to see their works regardless. Vil is also a prominent actor, so I’m certain that his presentation of works will have an air of drama and intrigue. My designs aren’t going to be as glamorous, but they will be different and interesting. I’m confident that they’ll fill in someone else’s niche desires if nothing else. Luckily the rules don’t say anything again the use of magic to process fabrics. Given this, I can use my ability to create a base from the drawings I’ve already made and the necessary fabrics and thread, which are provided for the event. I can only do this once or twice per day for extremely complex ideas due to the amount of magic it takes. I don’t want to risk an over-blot from excess magic use on stage, so I’ll save magic for my most intricate piece.

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of the train. The ride is twelve hours with various stops between here and the Glamour Isle. Needless to say, I have plenty of time to work on more concepts while I’m on the train. After about two hours someone sits next to me, but I don’t look at them since I’m busy and that could be rude. At some point in time, I hear a familiar disapproving sigh from their general direction. I ignore it at first to finish my sketches and notes for a piece from my fantasy set.

“Why does it sound so familiar though?” I mumble to myself before glancing over to where I heard the sigh. It feels like my face should contort in surprise when I realize who it is, but surprisingly I just stare blankly for a moment before shaking my head.

“Ah sorry for staring.” I quickly mumble as Divus Crewel of all people looks back at me and smiles with a tinge of concern, “You must be on your way to Glamour Isle too then?” I mumble awkwardly. I already knew that he was going in that direction, but I didn’t know what else to say since I had already begun to engage in a, perhaps one-sided, conversation.

“You don’t plan on wearing something like that in Glamour Isle do you?” Divus asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, I mean I think this is fine? My work is going to be center stage with everyone else’s, I don’t really need to stand out, just my work does.”

“My my, and you have such an interesting design palette too. A pup like you would do well with proper grooming. No show dog looks scruffy on stage my dear, and neither should you.” Did he compare me to a show dog? Wait, he’s actually talking to me? I mean he’s belittling my pathetic messy dad aesthetic, but like, he’s talking to me?

“Ah- well. Yes. You’re correct, but in the case of show dogs, the stage is set for them to display their obedience, finesse, and beauty. I don’t see how this correlates to me specifically when a fashion show is about fashion and its resonance with the models and crowd. But I appreciate the compliment. I’m quite proud of my capabilities and I’m excited to share them.” I start a little nervous before settling into a matter-of-fact tone.

“Little pup, fashion is about far more than just aesthetics. Appearance has a larger impact than you may realize. As an aspiring designer, it’s important to note the politics as well.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Thank you for the advice. I’ll make sure to keep it in mind.” I say with a small smile. I look back at my work and sketch for a bit longer before giving my hands a break and doing quick hand exercises. I can’t help but glance over at Divus a couple of times after that just to see if he’s still judging my fashion or whatever caught his attention before. This was starting to feel like a dream. For one, no one was approaching Divus Crewel which is unusual, but he was sitting next to me to attend the same event which meant he might take a closer look at my work. Around the four-hour mark, Divus spoke to me again.

“It’s good to be serious about your work, but you still have a couple of days until the event takes full swing. For now, you should rest or you’ll be exhausted when you reach the Isle. Pups that exhaust themselves needlessly miss playing with their owners.” He chimes leaning back leisurely but still exuding elegance and an air of authority.

“I’ll be fine. But thank you for your concern.” I say after a small pause allowing me to process what just happened.

“There aren’t going to be many passengers in this train car. That can quell your concerns about taking up space or being a bother if that is what holds you back.” Divus states confidently.

“Ah, well that is one thing. But I’ve always had difficulties sleeping in moving vehicles. I can close my eyes and drift a bit, but any unusual movement or stop will jolt me awake. I’m not sure how much that little bit of rest would help haha.” I explain after a few moments of silence. I didn’t want to lie to him or come up with something that he could feasibly change for me that I just didn’t realize. I already felt like I was accruing debt by talking to him quite frankly.

“Have you ever ridden this train before? I think you’ll find that you can hardly tell when it has stopped.” I think back to earlier when the train stopped and Divus walked onto the train. He was right, it had not been super noticeable. In fact, it was so difficult to tell that I almost didn’t realize anyone got on until he sat next to me.

“Huh, I guess you’re right. I didn’t really notice when the train stopped to let you on. I mean, of course, the sound stopped, but there was enough other white noise from the lights and other cars that it didn’t register.” Though of course now I was far more worried about bothering the Divus Crewel rather than actually being tired. Naturally, I didn’t want to say that out loud though, it might be irritating. He must have noticed somehow though because his next words were:

“Don’t concern yourself with bothering me. I was the one who suggested you rest. You should simply follow my instructions like an obedient pup. I’ll even set an alarm for you if you’re a good boy.” What followed was an amused chuckle as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. I open my mouth to speak but instead let out a sigh and mumble a small thank you and smile before placing my sketchbook on my lap and leaning back in my seat. Divus stifles another laugh but the tapping indicates he really did set a timer for me. It’s strange to be so pampered by a celebrity. Though honestly, I doubt we’ll chat much after this, I didn’t even give him my name.

– Somehow I manage to fall asleep. I even begin to dream. Once in a while, I have vivid dreams that I recall after waking up. This already felt like one of them because I knew I was dreaming. “Oh good boy, you’re here on time. I wanted to introduce you to one of my students. I’m sure you’re well aware of who he is so there is no need for me to elaborate.” Divus states with a flourish of his hand gesturing to the Vil Shoenheit. “Ah, Vil Shoenheit, of course, why wouldn’t it be? It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Ren.” I mumble tiredly with a little wave. Vil crosses his arms and places a hand on his chin thoughtfully. “I see, I can salvage this, no, I will polish it into a diamond.” Vil nods lightly with an expression revealing he is already planning my demise. I mean my prettification. “Salvage? Polish? Wait- Divus- Sorry Crewel, did you want me to meet him to fix my wardrobe?” “You catch on quite quickly. But there’s a bit more to it than that. You’ll be working together on a project I have in mind. I expect only the best from you pups.” “Wait what?” Vil and I ask at the same time. Then the dream just ends. –

I wake up to the sound of quiet chatter and the alarm.

“Good evening,” I mumble groggily before sitting up. It takes me a moment to realize that sitting up means I either fell over or leaned over in my sleep, “Ah I’m sorry, I usually don’t move much in my sleep so I didn’t expect to fall over or anything.” I mumble apologetically.

“Perhaps you should have laid down from the beginning. You’d be less likely to hit your head that way. But you did sleep, so good boy. We’ll be arriving at the next stop in about half an hour.” Crewel informs me.

“Haha, yeah maybe. Ah, thank you.” I mumble before noticing my sketchbook isn’t in my hands, “Wait where did it go?” I mumble looking around before noticing that Crewel was holding it. I feel my face flush out of embarrassment. I doubt he looked through it, but I can’t help but feel a little bit flustered that he could have.

“I did look through a couple of designs,” Oh no, “They’re quite intriguing. I expect only the best from you during the event.” Oh no he looked through them. But he liked them so that’s good. But also why did he look through them? “I don’t think I caught your name earlier.” He adds with an expectant smile.

“Oh um- I’m Ren. I’m already familiar with you and your designs, it would be more surprising if I wasn’t. I’m glad you have such high expectations for me, it’s quite the compliment. Though I’m not sure I’ll match them. Thank you Crewel.” I say quickly, stumbling over my words a few times and rubbing the back of my neck.

“So that’s how you gathered I would be going to Glamour Isle as well. I’m a little surprised you didn’t ask for my autograph or bombard me with questions considering you ended up in my train car.”

“Wait- your train car?” I mumble before thinking things over, “Oh, OH, that’s why you said no one else would be here, no one else was supposed to be here. I can’t believe I just barged in I’m so sorry, you could have asked me to leave. I didn’t mean to invade your personal space.”

“Calm down little pup. Had I wanted you to leave I would have instructed you to do so. If you weren’t obedient I would have gotten them to take the rabid pup away.” Crewel states a bit amused, gesturing to the other figures in the train car.

“Ah right, they must have been your people then, or otherwise people with the association running the event to ensure your comfort. But I was here for two hours before you. Why didn’t they just ask me to leave then?”

“You’re not exactly intimidating, you’re also a child are you not?”

“Um … I’m not a child, actually I’m 20.”

“You are? Then you’re a bit older than most of my other pups, though your height wouldn’t give that away. You may be even shorter than Riddle. No matter, you weren’t a threat, and it’s clear you’re more interested in work than causing trouble.”

“Still though …” I start before thinking it over. Had they wanted me to leave this car they’d have taken me out. So I guess I had accidentally gotten permission to be here. Additionally, this chance encounter was going to be one of the most memorable meetings, so I’m not really upset about being here.

“Well since you were fine with it, thank you for letting me stay. It’s a lot quieter than the other cars would have been I’m sure.” I mumble with a small smile before opening my phone to review the E-Mail again. The organizers had established a room I would be staying in as well, which was awesome and unlike any other event I had attended.

“Do you know where the Glamrock Hotel is?” Crewel asks before I can look it up.

“Ah, no I’ve never been to Glamour Isle for an event before, so I don’t know where anything is actually,” I admit rubbing my neck again.

“Well as a teacher I suppose I should guide you,” Crewel states a bit amused with the strange logic he’d presented me.

“Uh- well I guess technically that would be accurate. You’re being quite generous. Hm, you said earlier to think about politics, what exactly do you gain from helping me? Not that there has to be an ulterior motive, but I am curious.”

“You catch on quite quickly little pup. Though I’m not asking for anything but your time at this moment. Additionally, If you meet my expectations like a well-trained pup, I’ll be in touch after the event.” Crewel says with an amused grin. I wasn’t sure why he was so amused, but I was certainly pumped to make the most beautiful set of outfits I could muster. The last half an hour felt like it flew by. Somehow I was making small talk with Divus Crewel in what I now knew was technically his private train car with trained mages around us. It was fantastical in nature and my heart was beating like crazy.

After we arrived on the Isle, Crewel accompanied me to the hotel because we were going to stay at the same hotel. It was strange but so cool. Admittedly if he was anyone else I would be wondering if he was trying to groom me, the negative kind, not taking care of myself grooming. But Crewel is well known to be skilled and generous, and his gestures were by no means romantic or sexual in nature, if anything it was like he was going to adopt a new puppy. Also, he had set up a number of events and attended even more as a guest and he did not tolerate nonsense. Had I bothered him, it’s possible I wouldn’t be in Glamour Isle, I’d be home.

Either way, when I made it to my room I smooshed my face into a pillow and let out sounds of pure excitement before pacing around my room and flapping my hands in excitement.

“Aaaahhh, I can’t believe the Divus Crewel spoke to me. This is awesome, I’m so nervous but excited for how this event is going to turn out oh my god.”

Since I slept on the train I wasn’t very tired so I decided to work on my designs a bit more and do some extra research before going to bed. When I did sleep I ended up having the same dream as before. I woke up early and reviewed the E-Mail again to make sure that I was keeping the dates organized in my head.

After taking a shower and changing into something slightly less dad-core, but still technically awful, I hear a knock on my door. I blink a few times before checking the peephole.

“!” I silently scream seeing the Divus Crewel on the other side. I quickly open the door before he knocks again and he grimaces upon seeing me.

“I couldn’t erase your disaster of a wardrobe from my mind, We’re going to fix … this. At least temporarily.” Crewel motions to all of me.

“Oh thanks, I’m so glad you remembered me for dressing like an unfashionable dad. But this is about the best I have in my suitcase. Wait, is this what you meant by asking for my time?” I admitted frowning a bit and looking over my outfit. It really wasn’t that bad, even normal one might say. Despite the dad-core vibes, it was definitely wearable.

“How astute an observation. Grab some of the clothes you aren’t attached to and come along little pup, this is going to be a very busy day.”

He was right of course. As soon as I followed him out of my hotel room I could tell he would be. He listed the plans for the day in order. It was kind of nice to be doted on in a weird sort of way. Though I was confused as to why I had Crewel’s attention at this point. There was no way he would actually keep in contact and introduce me to Vil Shoenheit after the event. It was just a weirdly realistic dream after all. Things are just weirdly lining up like that might be at all possible when I’m sure it is just Crewel being kind. Yes, just kindness.

Following that, our busy day started by heading to breakfast followed by a trip to the hair salon. After my hair was tidied up, though still the same hairstyle, we went to a number of different stores. All of them were sustainable and gave store credit for every item you traded in. Once he’s established the style I was comfortable with we found a few different outfits that looked good scattered throughout various stores. Each of the pieces could be rearranged, but they were notable on their own. Each pairing made a different feeling and it was very clear that some enhanced aesthetic while others undermined it. Some of the dark academia and cottage core pieces did not work well together.

After finding outfits and trading away my old clothes he took me to find accessories. I insisted that I should pay for everything, but he refused and simply stated that I can bring my ideas into reality well to pay him back. I can’t tell if that feels more like a compliment or a threat, but it’s certainly flattering. Somehow we fit all of that in before lunch and there was still more to do. By the end of everything I was exhausted, though extremely grateful.

“I’ll make the best version of my designs possible. That’s what you’re asking for in return right?” I ask on the trip back to the hotel.

“Good boy, you listen well. I’ll see what you can do in two days when it begins.” Crewel responds with a nod and a slight smile. – It's time for the event. We have two days to complete four outfits as a complete set using the magic tools and our own abilities to complete them as quickly but skillfully as possible. It's a challenge that many enjoy watching and admire. I’m a little nervous to be on TV, but I think that if I focus solely on my craft I can make it. Especially since I can essentially focus on one and use magic to create another since it's two separate days and I only need four outfits.

Now that I reviewed the game plan it feels less intimidating. The curtain opens to reveal the piles of clothes and materials we have access to before letting up find what we need. A few of the others sort through the pile with magic to locate exactly what they need. I sort through them by hand and feel the fabric textures before taking them back to my station where my assigned tools sit.

At the six-hour mark, we’re given an hour-long lunch and bathroom break. I definitely needed the food since I skipped breakfast. After the break, we get immediately back into work for the remaining six hours of that day. I finish the first piece two hours into the second half and use magic to form most of the second one before detailing it during the four remaining hours. By the time the timer goes off, I have two of the four outfits complete even. Additionally, I still have more fabric that can be used for parts of the first outfit for the next day set up at my station.

The next day I arrive early and notice that something is wrong with the more complicated outfit. Someone had cut it up. It was like a nightmare. It completely ruined my plan to make the clothes as efficiently as possible. Frustrated and upset I wanted to cry, but instead, I decided to improvise and alter the design slightly to include the visualization of the cuts rather than attempt careful and seamless mending. It takes two hours and I lose another hour finding more fabrics. So I decided to reorganize my magic use and create two bases with as much detail as I can manage before reaching my magic limit.

But the half point of the second day I’m exhausted but I manage to gain enough energy to finish and add the final details to the four outfits before the timer runs out. I stumble a bit feeling a bit nauseous now that the magic use and intense focus for twenty-four hours total were exhausting. After the timer goes off I sit down and wait for almost everyone else to leave before one of the people associated with the event walks over to me. I ask them to make sure that no one tampers with my outfits again overnight since someone had cut up mine and perhaps other people’s outfits the night before. They agree to tighten security and make sure that it was impossible for it to happen again. A bit uncertain of how successful they would be I start thinking of ways to justify asking to fix my outfits quickly before the show if I had to.

Using my magic to its fullest two days in a row was really pushing it. If I did so again I might end up sick. I don’t think that over-blots are supposed to make you sick. But it is convenient that I don’t go into a destructive frenzy overtaken by magic when I over-blot at least. I just almost die instead. Which I guess may be technically worse for me, but it is less awful for everyone else.

“Are you alright? I saw how tired you were earlier. I can get someone to help you back to your room, or you could stay in mine since it is on the first floor.” A familiar soft and slightly high-pitched voice asks. Looking at him I see it’s Neige LeBlanche.

“Ah I’m fine, thank you for your concern.” Why were all these celebrities so nice to me? I mean it has only been two so far, but that’s still a lot for me.

“Can I at least escort you to your room? You look a bit unsteady and I don’t want you to fall.” Neige voices his concern with a worried smile.

“There’s no need to go that far. I’m only on the second floor, so I’ll manage.” I say, though admittedly I was less confident about actually getting to the hotel than walking up a set of stairs.

“Then I’ll at least help you get to the hotel.” Neige insists.

“While that’s kind of you Neige, you don’t need to be concerned with them. I was already going to escort this pup back.” Crewel steps in unexpectedly. There’s no way that Crewel just told Neige LeBlanche that we were going to head back to the hotel together. It feels like a dad trying to keep a romantic interest away from his child. Which is funny because if anything he’s like a little brother. Well younger brother, he’s definitely a little taller than me.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Divus.” Neige comments a little surprised.

“Crewel.” Crewel corrects.

“Crewel. But were you really planning on walking back with him?” Neige asks with doubt lingering over his words.

“Yes, we agreed to meet after the event since we had a chance encounter before this,” I explain, technically not lying, though assuming that since he came to find me he was impressed with my work.

“Oh, if that’s the case then we should meet again at some point too. I really admire your ability to work through challenges. Here, one moment.” Neige takes out his business card and hands it to me, “I hope you rest well tonight. You were Ren, right? I heard your conversation with the security personnel before.” That definitely sounded like an excuse, though I guess it’s possible for Neige to admire me. Just unlikely.

“Ah- yes my name is Ren. Well-”

“Well thank you Neige, but we should probably head back since the reveals and show are tomorrow. We wouldn’t want to be too tired now would we?”

“Ah yes of course. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Ren, call the number on that card when you get the chance, I’ll see you around!” Neige leaves with his manager and a few guards.

“That was unexpected,” I mumble with a light sigh before remembering who was standing next to me.

“It was. Though I suppose he was right, you don’t look well. Perhaps I should carry you back.” Crewel muses.

“What? No there’s no need to carry me, I’ll be fi-” I begin before nearly falling over after another wave of exhaustion hits me. Crewel catches me.

“You’re small enough it won’t be an issue little pup. Besides which you look like you’re about to fall asleep. It would be unwise to travel on your own feet in that state. Tsk tsk, you really need to learn to take care of yourself.” He states picking me up bridal style.

“I- Thank you.” I conceded. I could tell he was right, I was exhausted. Even still I wanted to protest about how I didn’t want to owe him more, or how I didn’t think it was necessary. Despite those thoughts, my eyes were having trouble even staying open so I just closed them. – Before I knew it I was awake in my hotel bed, slightly disheveled and wearing my clothes from the night before.

“Oh. My. God. Did I fall asleep on Crewel again? Well I mean it wasn’t confirmed the first time but aaaahhh.” I immediately panic and place my hands over my face before realizing I need to get ready and look presentable for the showcase. “Ah, I don’t have time to panic,” I mumble before showering, dressing up, and eating an apple that was left on my bedside table with a small note not to skip breakfast in Crewel’s handwriting.

“Geeze, he really is like a dad at this point. It’s not like he adopted me as a pu- child though. It’s weirdly nice how comfortable he is to be around though.” I mumbled looking at the note with a bit of warmth filling my chest. It was nice to feel cared about.

With one big breath, I turn towards the door and head out. Though I had a weird feeling that something went wrong so I hurried to the venue where our outfits should be. I ask if I can check over my outfits quickly because they had been sabotaged before. Luckily I was let in since my outfits were all damaged in some way. It was devastating, and there wasn’t any fabric to fix them. Except for what I was wearing.

“I could use my coat and undershirt and still look mostly presentable while fixing them,” I mumble quietly, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to. Despite still feeling drained, I used my magic again, allowing it to flow through my fingertips to mend the fabric to the shape I desired it to with the fabric I was using in hand. It was a different colour, but the colour matched well enough that it looked intentional. Reaching the fourth outfit I could feel the strength in my legs waning, but I had to fix it.

Even if Crewel was already impressed, I wanted to fix this. To not let the stranger tampering with my work win. I needed to make them feel their efforts were wasted, that after everything I was fine. As my hands glided over the last portion that needed to be fixed a few people started coming in to check their outfits as well. Only mine had been tampered with. I felt my hands shaking as they let go of the now-mended fabric.

“Tsk tsk. What did I say regarding work and rest? Bad boy. You should ask for help if you’re in trouble.” Crewel scolds me before complimenting my handi-work, “It is well done, it looks intentional even. However, I can not condone overworking yourself because of the security’s lack of competence.”

“Haha, I remember. But I didn’t want to let whoever did this feel as if they’d won. I can’t let them feel like they’ve won. I don’t even know why they could be so upset with me.” Unless it is one of my old friends. They seemed to think the worst of me. But they wouldn’t do anything this devastating, would they? Well, Rachel might, but shockingly I didn’t see her here. I would have noticed someone I actively avoid.

“Hm, well your determination is a valuable asset. I suppose it’s a good thing I’m also a potions master. This will sustain you for the duration of the showcase, however, you must rest for the next couple of days.” Crewel states handing me a potion he had on hand, “Sigh. I can’t believe you used some of your only decent clothes because of this. I’ll have to start from square one training this pup. Don’t make this a habit.”

“Wait training?” I ask after downing the potion in one gulp.

“Yes, I’ll be taking you under my wing little pup. As you may have surmised you have impressed me. Though this still needs fixing.” Crewel again motioned to all of me. Suddenly I was reminded of my dream from the past few nights.

“Hey, this may sound weird. But by any chance is Vil Shoenheit also one of your pupils who happens to be the one who may or may not be responsible for fixing my self-care habits and everyday wear?” I ask before the potion fully kicks in.

“Oh? So the little pup is already aware. He must have spoiled the surprise, I’ll have to punish him later.”

“Ah, no, I’ve just had this weird recurring dream about meeting Vil Shoenheit under your tutelage. I wasn’t going to ask initially, I guess being tired made me voice my thoughts. But I haven’t actually met Vil yet.” I explain quickly. Crewel furrows his brows for a moment before an expression of realization covers the confusion.

“Ah, so you’re good at pattern recognition. It’s not uncommon knowledge that Vil is one of my pupils, and you took note of the fact I was treating you well. You’ll be an excellent student. If you pick up on things this quickly anyways. I expect only good things from you.” Crewel states with an almost proud smile before motioning me to come with him to his waiting room where a screen displaying the showcase was attached to the wall.

He discusses specifics with me while we wait for the showcase to reach the point where we all enter the stage and talk about our work and inspirations. Excluding Vil, Neige, and Crewel, the rest of us attending the event are lined up in order to head out second. The three notable guests head out to speak first.

“Sustainability in fashion is one of the greatest difficulties of this industry. But with the systems set up here in Glamour Isle, fashion waste is dwindling away and instead becoming fashion fuel. Isn’t that just incredible? Imagine all of the incredible things you can curate with such an array of fabrics, Imagine how much you can do exchanging materials and creating your personalized unique looks!” Neige starts, excitedly chattering about the benefits of sustainable fashion. Crewel and Vil both elaborate on this to varying degrees before everyone else is brought out and stood next to the models wearing their outfits.

I don’t notice the concerned look that Neige gives me. But I notice the fury of a familiar contestant near me. It was Dev-Ay. One of my ex-friends that happens to despise me. It shouldn’t be surprising that they’re here, they’ve always been skilled. But it does sting to think that they might have been so certain I was worth tormenting that they cut up my outfits. It also tells me that I probably didn’t notice people as much as I thought I would.

“I agree that sustainability and curating styles in this way are essential to bettering our society. It’s one of the reasons I was so excited to be a part of this project. Despite the unlikely mishaps, I had a blast creating designs influenced by the types of sustainable fabrics already being developed. It’s fascinating how through the use of orange peels or kelp beautiful sustainable fabrics can be created. My theme was Future Fantasy. Playing off of the alliteration of the event title, I wanted to curate looks that inspired the fantastical embrace of the future and the stories that such a future can hold. Imagine a sustainable world with glorious personalized fashion made for you. Fashion that makes you feel good and can aptly aid in your self-expression.” I begin as coherently as I can manage. Somehow my voice remains steady. Perhaps it is the desire to show Dev-Ay I am unaffected, or perhaps it was because I wanted to impress Crewel. But either way, I seemed to speak with a charisma I didn’t think I had. There was a prolonged moment of silence after I finished speaking before finally the live audience began to clap following Crewel’s and Neige’s examples. Their applause felt louder than any I had heard for me before and more impactful as it addressed my creations, it validated my ideas not some lame school speech. It was unexpected. Especially since afterward, the applause was noticeably quieter for the now flustered and disorganized Dev-Ay.

After the showcase, I felt my energy start to deplete rapidly. I figured that the potion was starting to wear off. Hopefully, I wouldn’t fall in front of Dev-Ay, I don’t want to give him fuel to berate me. While everyone else was chatting as the audience left and the models change, Dev-Ay approached me.

“Why? Why is it that you of all people did so well? Why couldn’t you just fold as you used to? Are you so proud now? Are you so proud after falsely accusing the one person that I love? You’ll never be anything but a pathetic liar who tears down other people. Are you upset because at least she liked being a girl? Were you mad that you couldn’t escape something that she accepted? Fuck you, fuck your whole fake-ass messaging. I despise you. I wish you would take a dive off the roof like you so badly wanted to before we were friends.” It took me a while to find the words I wanted to say. I didn’t know exactly what to say honestly. If he blamed me, then was there any way he would listen to me? Would he believe I was making excuses simply because I wanted to look good? Did he really want me to die because of this? Regardless I found my mouth moving before I could stop it.

“I don’t understand what my gender identity has to do with my distaste for Rachel. I was never upset at Rachel because she was cisgender. I think you of all people should understand that. Why are you so convinced that I lied to you? Do you love her so much you couldn’t see what she did to me? Has she never crossed your boundaries as she did to me? Or did you believe I actually withheld the information she conveniently forgot? That she claimed she forgot. I could be wrong. There is always the chance I misread her, but she hurt me and crossed my boundaries. I won’t go into the specifics again because you stopped listening to me years ago. But there’s no reason you should be this upset with me. The only way I hurt her was by telling her exactly what she had done and telling her that I couldn’t stay friends with her. I wasn’t wrong for standing up for myself like you never did for me. Your ability to trust seems like a blessing, but it may be a curse.” I respond with quiet, seething frustration, trying to remain as calm as possible but inevitably speaking poisonously. Before I know it I’m on the ground with blood pouring from my nose and a sore jaw. It takes me a moment to register what just happened. I try to get back up to my feet, but I can’t even move my legs to stand.

“Ren!” Neige called out with concern causing all eyes to turn toward Dev-Ay, Neige, and me. I bite my lip before trying desperately to tell my legs to move, but they simply shake beneath me on the floor as if they’re too scared to move. Too afraid that maybe they’re going to be hit next rather than my face.

“Dev-Ay. I was sincere when I told you I enjoyed being your friend and I was grateful for everything you had done for me.” I start, looking up at Dev-Ay who is clenching his hands into fists, “I don’t regret being friends with you, or stopping our friendship. I know that it was the right thing for me to do. I understand your anger. No, I understand that you are angry because you believe something I can not possibly fathom. But I never hated you. All I ask is that you let what happened to us remain in the past, it doesn’t benefit anyone to retain anger built on, at best, miscommunication.” I manage to say, smiling at Dev-Ay knowing it would make him angrier. Before he can respond Crewel and a few security officers walk over. The officers detain Dev-Ay who screams about how vile I truly am.

“That looks really bad Ren. Oh no, let me get some help.” Neige states with worry.

“I’ll take them to the nearest medic. You should calm the onlookers down.” Crewel states before picking me up again.

“Hah, I feel like a kid who got in a fight, and their overprotective dad came to pick them up,” I mumble in my exhausted delirium. The pain wasn’t even present anymore, I was just tired and numb.

“Haha, well I’ve taken a liking to you. Though next time someone punches you, bite back. Especially if it’s going to impact your precious face. You certainly have the charisma to back it up.”

“Aw, dad called me precious hehe. Thank you, you’ve really pampered me like a lil’ puppy while I was here. I feel weirdly comfortable with you. Man, I don’t want to fall asleep for a third time on you. It’s rude to use a celebrity like a pillow. And I’m not that charismatic, I’m just a bit silly.” I mumble with a yawn.

“You can fall asleep. You need it, and that potion, while good for a short time, does make you even more tired than before you use it. You did well, little pup. Though we have some training to do so you can do better in the future.”

“… Thank you,” I mumble quietly, avoiding leaning on Crewel with my bloody face as much as possible. I suppose he didn’t want the incompetent security to carry me this time, though I don’t know why he was compelled to carry me before. He really is like a father figure. I wish that I’d met him sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have run into Rachel then. But I guess if I met him earlier I may have just been another kid, not someone of note.

The rest of the trip to a medic is in silence. When we get there the lady is nice and heals me with the stipulation that I rest for a solid two days to regain my energy. She asks if I have a guardian, to which I say of course, and that I will be fine under their care. Though how much of that will be true when I go back home is left to be decided. I don’t stay awake for too much longer, though I do hear a vague murmur of Crewel’s voice and phone chatter before I drift off to sleep.

– “Oh wow! This is amazing. Ren, you have to work with me on the next partner event that comes up. I would love to work with you!” Neige states as the dream fades into view. “Thank you. I’m quite flattered. Your designs are excellent as well.” I comment with a small smile before explaining that while it would be nice to work together I had already promised to work with someone else for the next event. Before I hear Neige’s reaction the dream shifts suddenly and I am in a cage. “I still love you you know. I was really hurt that you lied to Dev-Ya like that my sweet, adorable, Renny bird.” Rachel states with a certain sadness before reaching into the birdcage and caressing my face with her cold bony hands. “Why am I here?” I ask shakily before coughing a bit. My throat feels dry and my body feels cold. “Oh Renny, you know I can’t have you run away again. You’ll spread more lies and hurt more people. Unless I help you. Let me help you, I know I can fix you. Piece together the shattered pieces of you. Come here, I’ll give you a hug, just like before. We can make everything okay again.” Rachel says, her sickly sweet voice bouncing between the bars of the birdcage. I can’t say anything, I just stare at her as her arms elongate and weave through the bars to reach me. To touch me. To keep me trapped in this birdcage. –

I wake up with a start and sit up quickly before someone pushes me back into bed.

“What happened to you? Did you trip over the stairs? I warned you those long pants would make you fall dummy.” My sister Vera comments before sitting back down next to me, “Seriously though I was worried when I got a call to home about you being sick again. Did you overuse your magic?”

“Like you’re any better. Who are you to ask if I tripped on the stairs, didn’t you fall up a ramp that one time?”

“Oh shush you. You didn’t answer my question. What happened?”

“Dev-Ya punched me. I don’t know if he tried to sabotage my outfits yet, but I strongly suspect he was related to that too. Sorry I didn’t tell you about getting into the fashion thing. You weren’t home for a while anyways right?” I justify just recalling the fact I was planning on messaging her before and just didn’t.

“Ren, I wasn’t home sure, but you still should have told me! I would have come to see your work if it lined up with my work schedule.”

“Oh Vera, you’ll never guess who I met.”

“Oh really? Try me.”

“I met Divus Crewel.”

“Yeah I know that much, he was the one who called me. Imagine my surprise when the Divus Crewel was calling about my older sibling needing someone to drive them home. Bro, he asked if I was your older sister, how goofy were you to warrant that question?”

“Bro- It’s not my fault though. I just accidentally didn’t realize I got on the wrong train car and dressed enough like a hobo that he assumed I was a child.”

“Bro.”

“I know bro.”

“Going back a bit, I thought Dev-ya cut contact with you after that gross nasty did the bad thing I shall not name.”

“Oh yes, thank you for not naming the bad thing. But yeah, I thought nothing would come of it, but apparently, he was really mad at me. I wonder if Rachel encouraged this. I don’t think he would have acted as extreme otherwise.”

“I mean yeah maybe. But he was always kind of ick though.”

“I know, you were right. You’re always right when it comes to people.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Hey Vera, can you hand me my phone?”

“No, I can’t.” They say handing me the phone anyways. I smile at them lightly and open up my phone to check a few things. Firstly, if I had been contacted by Crewel since apparently he had found out my sibling’s number he may have found my contacts. Specifically “home” or otherwise Vera called my phone, but I couldn’t pick up because I was deliriously exhausted.

“Oh right, I was supposed to tell the Crewel you woke up. He acts more like your dad than our actual dad did haha.”

“Yeah, right? I was thinking the same thing. If he was still alive I wonder if that would have changed at all. I mean, it was really mom who was the worse parent, at least dad had an excuse.”

“I guess. But whatever, not the time. Time to message your ‘new dad’ since you seemed to have picked one up out of nowhere. You better not abandon me for another family.” Vera states rolling her eyes.

“Thanks, dad, and of course I won’t, you’re the only blood-related family I want to stay in contact with at the moment,” I say playfully rolling my eyes back at her.

Vera messages Crewel and much more quickly than I had anticipated he is in the room with us. We talked about a few things. Who Dev-Ya was, why he was so upset, what relation it had to my outfits, and why I lied about having a parental figure at home.

“Come to think of it. You’re a celebrity designer, you’re quite busy. Why did you come here directly to talk to us?” Vera asks.

“Well, while Ren is a student of mine, I was thinking that I could provide you with a better job as well and a place much closer to my design studio. If you’re all the other has, it would be rather cruel for me to separate you for a lengthy period of time. Despite how my name sounds, I’m not unreasonable.”

“Okay dad, sure thing. You’ve been really soft with me though. I don’t see how you would be. You just have high expectations right?”

“Say what you will little pup. I’m sure you’ll find I’m not as lenient as you seem to think I am. Also, Ren. How is it that your sister dresses so fashionably and you dressed as you called it in ‘an unfashionable dad aesthetic’?” Crewel asks, raising a brow.

“I uh, make their clothes and they take care of their skin better than I do,” I mumble slowly looking away from Crewel.

“I told them I don’t need to look nice either, but they insist that I should wear nicer clothes. I’m not a seamstress like them, I’m a watercolour painter. So I can’t just make them nice clothes to wear as they do for me.”

“But you look so pretty though, you definitely deserve all the nice things.”

“No, I don’t, you do.”

“No, I refuse, you do.”

“It looks like two little pups in need of some retraining.” Crewel breaks up what was about to become a battle of the no-yous, “Anyways, after Ren fully recovers, I’ll take you to your new home and explain the job I have for you in greater detail. That should be suitable for you I presume?”

“Excuse me, but why would you help us? Did you just adopt my sibling and say I could tag along?” Vera asks a little skeptical about this sudden favor toward us.

“I mean it’s not like he doesn’t gain anything. We’re both skilled artists who could contribute to his business and we’re in a position where it would be best if we joined him to gain the benefits we would from this.”

“Okay, I get that, but I still don’t understand why us.”

“While I don’t need a reason and this little gremlin child would technically owe me under other circumstances, I have my personal reasons for this predicament. Also, I am deeply concerned by the fact you trusted me so quickly. I will tell you the rest eventually, but for the moment I’m sure good pups won’t question me further.”

“Oh, you’ve yet to see gremlin Ren my newly adopted father figure. Now that I’ve fallen asleep near you like three times, I think it’s safe to say you’ll see weirdness soon. You don’t seem like a bad person though? I mean, you’ve had plenty of chances to make my life significantly worse, but you didn’t.” I laugh a bit. Vera raises a brow at me like they were saying, ‘Do you have no sense of danger child?’

“Gremlin Ren? Like when you said ‘Aw, dad called me precious’? I suppose you may simply be a good judge of character, though I’d still be more careful.”

“Hebba debba ha- Shoosh, we don’t talk about deliriously tired Ren, and sure, I could be more careful I guess,” I respond quickly, waving my arms vaguely in his direction.

“Bro.” Vera vocalizes her surprise, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

“Since we haven’t yet, Ren, let us exchange numbers so that I can contact both of you if need be. I’d rather not call your sister every time.”

“Oh alright, yeah that’d be good, we won’t always be together, so that wouldn’t have worked out every time anyways,” I respond before remembering I had Neige’s number somewhere too. I completely forgot to mention him to Vera before, oh well I can bring him up later. For some reason, I don’t feel like I should mention him in front of Dadus Crewel.

We exchange numbers and chat a bit about my health, fashion, and my sibling’s art. Vera ends up being quite flustered but flattered by the compliments she receives. It’s quite cute actually. Eventually, Crewel leaves and I’m left to rest with Vera making sure that I don’t skip any meals. She knows that I won’t eat if I don’t feel like getting up.

There was a lot to think about laying down. What was going to happen with Dev-Ya and Rachel? Would I have to tell Crewel about Rachel? How was it going to be learning under Crewel? Would Vera finally meet her Idol since we were going to be in the fashion industry? What did the dream with Neige and Rachel mean? I could probably figure out a couple of them. My dreams tend to be tied to reality, though upsetting things always end up more abstracted or represented by different characters. The thing with Neige may actually happen, or something similar will occur if I don’t spoil the surprise again. The more abstract representation of Rachel means I might meet her again. There’s no way that I would actually be trapped in a birdcage right? That seems quite unlikely despite how unhinged Rachel can be. I’ll probably have to tell Crewel about Rachel if I notice anything off like with the outfits. Though given his resources I may not be the first one of us to bring it up. Maybe I’ll wait until he asks me about it.

Two days pass slowly with the occasional conversation with my sister and her excitement about having a potentially less dull job soon. We vaguely touch on the fact she might meet her idol and then she wonders if she’ll have to hide her fanart of him before remembering that the only art she gets is of fictional characters so it's fine. Besides which there’s no way that Epel Felmier would ever see her room anyways right? By the end of the second day, I feel energized enough to start packing things up. Though I take care to pack my clothes separately from everything else just in case they’ll be confiscated for use as scrap materials. Not that they would, but considering Crewel’s judgemental glances, I have a feeling it isn’t an unreasonable concern.

Vera convinces me to call Crewel this time since she had to do so last time and he arrives equally as quickly as before with a few people to help us pack up. He motions for us to follow him while the movers grab all of our stuff in storage containers of various sizes and random boxes. On the way, Crewel discusses Vera’s position on the creative team designated to Epel and she literally gasps.

That evening when Crewel isn’t within earshot Vera tells me they hope he doesn’t notice them because they would never be able to talk to him well and might even accidentally refer to him as “baby girl” which they know he doesn’t like.

Unexpectedly our conversation takes a pause when I receive a message from Dev-Ya. He had been the one to block me initially, so I couldn’t imagine anything good would come out of whatever message he sent me. Especially since the last time we spoke, he punched my face. I didn’t open the message, but I read the first bit of it that was displayed on my phone screen from the notification.

[I want to meet up to apologize to you properly.] It began. I had a feeling that he didn’t actually want to apologize. Though I could be wrong, it doesn’t feel like something he would do.

“What’cha lookin’ at?” Vera asks, breaking the silence.

“An unexpected message.” I say vaguely frowning at my phone before shutting it off entirely for the moment, “I don’t really want to look at it though.”

“Oh, did Elliot message you again?”

“Not this time, no. Also, I blocked Elliot, I won’t be receiving his messages unless he does something to get around being blocked.”

“You seem to have a lot of enemies,” Crewel adds walking into the room with a pointer that has two collars attached to the other end of it. He was usually depicted with it, so it’s weird he didn’t have it at the event.

“Well, when you’re a doormat you tend to attract people who want to use you. Not that I am as much anymore, but it does sometimes feel like it would be easier to be one again.”

“That’s why I told you not to deal with them in the first place dummy,” Vera mutters.

“Are you sure you’re not the older sibling Vera?”

“Oh come on. Besides Vera is taller than me which automatically makes her the younger sibling.” I say playfully gesturing dramatically to Vera.

“That was because you were malnourished, you’re taller than me now,” Vera comments in turn with a small frown.

“Well I was going to get right to business, but I have a feeling we should discuss what happened with Dev-Ya on Glamour Isle.”

“I would be totally cool with skipping over that for now. Business stuff ooh.” I point finger guns in Crewel’s general direction.

“Oh wait, was that who messaged you?” Vera cuts in.

“What lead you to that conclusion? But yes, Dev-Ya texted me.” I sigh lightly rubbing the back of my neck anxiously.

“Well, that is concerning. What did he say?” Crewel asks, looking at me pointedly.

“I didn’t want it to pop up read so I only looked at the part that popped up in the notification. I don’t know what the rest says, but apparently, he wants to apologize. I doubt he means to apologize given how volatile our last meeting was.” I explain tiredly, rubbing my eyes and sighing.

“Bro block him. Gross. I bet Rachel told him to apologize so she can try to get back on your good side after ‘that’.”

“I figured much the same … I guess I should tell you who Rachel is now that we’re staying in your care huh? You certainly picked a puppy with a lot of problems.” I say with a small laugh before taking a deep breath and thinking about how to start.

“You are by no means obligated to give me your life story simply because I’ve brought you here. Though it would be helpful to identify people to avoid or deal with later.” Crewel responds, mumbling the last part and hitting his pointer against his hand.

“I didn’t catch that last bit, but I still feel like I should anyways. I won’t go into specifics, but essentially I was in a relationship where I would give as much as I could to make Rachel happy, but she never listened to me or returned the affection I gave. It got particularly bad at one point, but I won’t get into that. It messed with a lot of my friendships though since that became my standard. Elliot, who was mentioned earlier, is similar, but worse in some ways. I’m lucky I found out who he was before I met him in person though.” I explain vaguely, pausing a few times, wondering if I should be telling Crewel all of this. He practically adopted us, I’m not even sure how things worked out this well, but I couldn’t help but feel like as soon as he knew more he was going to throw me away.

“It looks like you were surrounded by some pathetic mutts. I’ll make sure they don’t show up around you. For now, you should probably block any of them you’ve yet to and stay focused on something that won’t keep your anxiety up. I’m sure that all deeply impacted you. No one goes through upsetting events unscathed. I don’t really do hugs, but you two can speak to me about anything that is troubling you. It’s one of the responsibilities I signed up for taking you in as my students. A teacher's job is to make sure his students thrive in the learning environment.”

“You’re definitely acting like a dad now. You don’t do hugs? What's with carrying me to a medic instead of letting someone else do it?”

“I’m not sure actually.”

“Oh? You’re not sure? Sounds likely fatherly instincts ooh.”

“…” Crewel doesn’t reply, he simply places a hand to his chin thoughtfully, placing the hand with the pointer in it against his elbow.

“Hey, Ren you should block those nasties.” Vera points out before I can react to Crewel’s silence. I had already forgotten that blocking people was mentioned so my mouth forms an ‘oh yeah’ before I turn my phone back on. It flashes on a full brightness before returning to the lowest setting where I usually have it.

“Ow, my eyes,” I grumble before going through and blocking the numbers I had yet to block. It was Dev-Ya’s and some guy named Teiran I didn’t remember but had a negative feeling about for some reason. Rachel and Elliot were already blocked before so I didn’t have to worry about them for now.

“You came in here to talk business initially right? Let’s do that.” Vera states, taking a lead in the conversation. Probably in hopes that Crewel would leave as soon as he said what he planned to.

“Right, business. First of all, excuse me for barging in earlier. I can assure you this will not become a habit. I live separately from you and I’ll make sure to inform you if I need to speak with you both prior to my visits unless it's an emergency of course. Onto business, there is a large event surrounding new fashion coming up in six months, the Summer Unlimited Fibers Fresh and Economic Revolution annual event. You’ll be put into teams of at least three. Though these teams can be sorted out beforehand which is what we’re going to do. As you may have already guessed, I plan to assign you two to a team with Vil Shoenheit and Epel Felmier. Until then, however, we need to increase your prestige and credibility.”

“I’m mildly concerned by the fact it spells the out ‘suffer’ as the acronym, but I digress. So you mean you’ll be making sure we get into events to showcase our abilities? If this goes well, we’ll be working on one of the biggest events in the fashion world with some of the most well know fashion-related celebrities. But if you have other pupils, then why did you select us?”

“Oh, I suppose I should have specified. I’m also a teacher at Night Raven College. The students there are probably who you mean by my ‘other pupils’. As for why I chose you two, there are a few reasons. Most obviously, it brings diversity to the group. A non-binary gremlin with dark-academia vibes and a lady steeped in Ouji fashion pair well with the adorable Epel and glamorous monarch-esque Vil. It’s like a set of fantasy villains. Quite an eye-catching arrangement no? Additionally, you already work well together, I’m afraid some of my other students are too much like divas to work well as a group. Individually they all have strengths, but until they mesh, they’re like oil and water. While you have yet to work with Epel and Vil, you will be more willing to compromise with them when necessary.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. Diversity is an important note for intrigue. However, I’m under the impression that this is in part because of Neige’s potential group. Either they’re also trying to be diverse, or that group is going to essentially be a boy band right?”

“Correct. Given the previous year, it’s likely that Neige’s group is going to be more diverse. There was a lot of discourse surrounding some of the former members, though somehow that discourse gave Neige a popularity boost.” Crewel states, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Right, weren’t Neige and Vil placed on the same team as two newbies who ended up being a mess all things considered?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So you don’t want the hosts to make Neige and Vil part of the same team again? But you don’t have much time to locate some new talents, and those you could reach out to would make things more difficult.”

“Essentially.”

“Considering that you came here almost immediately. You have something in mind to get us started right?”

“Very good. Yes, I have a few events lined up for you. I’ll handle getting you in, you are going to need to focus on curating new designs. I have more for you after this event, so don’t burn yourself out like last time. Since security was so lax at the last location, I can promise you I’ll ensure more reliable security this time.”

“Can you tell us the specifics like dates and themes?”

“I’ll go over it with you another day, but for now I’ll be E-Mailing you all of the relevant information. Though I’ll need to give you your company E-Mails and their passwords before you can use them.”

“Company E-Mails? Wow- that’s fancy.”

“Oh, we had those at my previous job.” Vera mumbles.

“Good, then you should be familiar with professional E-Mail etiquette.”

“E-Mails have etiquette?”

“…” Vera and Crewel look at each other, perhaps wondering how I had made it this far without knowing that there was such a thing as E-Mail etiquette. Crewel ends up discussing specifics with us anyways before handing us our company E-Mail information. After he leaves Vera and I unpack a few more things while bouncing ideas off of each other for the first event.

We head to bed soon after and both wake up early. Getting used to a new space was going to take a little bit. Everything was so much cleaner than it ever had been. There’s only so much progress we were able to make at the old house with my studies and Vera’s work. Regardless, we had things to do and not much time to dilly-dally about new surroundings.

The next few days raced by and before we knew it we were presenting in front of a crowd. Though this one was notably smaller than the one from the Flash Forward Frenzy. Unexpectedly, Neige was one of the guest judges alongside Vil. After the show is over Neige approaches us.

“I didn’t expect to see you here! Wow, your designs are still so impressive. Oh, a pleasure to meet you, Vera, I’m Neige LeBlanche!” Neige starts excitedly grasping my hands, acknowledging my sister after a moment's pause.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m Vera, Ren’s sister.” Vera introduces, looking at Neige’s hands and then back to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Hello again! Also, I’m sorry, I completely misplaced your business card, so I wasn’t able to add your number to my contacts after everything.” I apologize, wondering if he was under the impression that I just didn’t like him.

“Oh no, well I suppose it’s not unexpected. You were in really bad shape after the Frenzy. I’m surprised you were on your feet this quickly. Hmm, why don’t I just add my number to your phone this time? There’s no way you’ll lose it that way!” He states with a wide smile befitting a prince.

“Sure! That would probably be better.” I reply before pulling out my phone. Vera blinks at me, ‘Seriously? You know that Vil and Neige are rivals, you really want to die on the hill of befriending everyone until you get hurt?’ I hand Neige my phone and he quickly types in his number. I stifle a laugh when I see that he’s oh-so graciously nicknamed himself for future reference.

“Do people call you Neggy?” I ask curiously, looking at the little heart emote he’d added at the end too. I mean it was distinct, I’d give him that, but it felt a little unnecessary.

“Only friends do. I’d like to think we’ll be friends though so you can call me Neggy too!” Neige explains still just as bubbly and excited as before.

“Okay, but I’ll still refer to you as Neige in public.” I smile a bit. He was cute if nothing else. It was like finding a little brother. Though Vera would always be my favorite sibling. Before I can give Neige my number in turn Vil joins us.

“Hello, Neige. Sorry to cut your conversation short, but these two have a prior engagement.” Vil states with a practiced smile, elegantly placing a hand on his chin. I wonder how much of the conversation he heard when walking over. Regardless Vera’s assessment that being friendly toward Neige would give me problems was probably going to be a little too accurate. Vil was already displeased, I couldn’t imagine that our trip to the meeting room with Crewel and Epel was going to be comfortable.

“Yes, unfortunately, we do have something else to tend to. I’m sure we’ll meet again given the industry. Let’s head out.” I add, looking at Vera who rolls her eyes at me and also confirms that we should leave.

“Ah, goodbye Ren. I hope we have a chance to talk more next time. Safe travels!” Neige says before saying farewell to Vera and Vil collectively. We walk in silence until we reach our transportation. After the door shuts Vil starts to speak.

“So you’re friendly with Neige LeBlanche?” He asks with a smile that conveyed his displeasure.

“Well, I don’t have a negative opinion of him as of the moment. But we’ve only spoken a few times so it’s difficult to say if I’d ever give him preference. Though to be frank, my main concern is being polite since unlike you, my clout isn’t very good.” I explain. It was true that I was fairly neutral towards Neige, he may be cute, but he’s not very memorable for anything but that. Given the choice, I’d rather be friends with Vil since that would make things less complicated and Vil is also more interesting. The media is divided on how to depict Vil as his fashion sense and acting career have cast him as a villain. Do they show him as tragic, cruel, or even secretly good?

“I see. I suppose that makes sense. Though I will remind you to avoid being too friendly with him. Even if you’re just being polite others will take your politeness as affection and twist your image.” Vil explains, a bit softer and less peeved than earlier. Was he worried about me? “I have to agree with Vil. Ren, you’re too careless with people.” Vera adds quietly, glancing at Vil before looking at me, “You shouldn’t have let Neige grab your hands either, what if there were paparazzi? Neige has the barrier of being the highest-ranking celebrity, you’re not safe from being slandered and defamed.” Vera adds with concern, her voice shaking.

“Vera- I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that the media is going to depict me as a playboy at this point. I mean, there’s no way that there aren’t pictures of Crewel carrying me circulating at the moment. With that, if there also end up being pictures of Neige holding my hands then I’ll be in trouble.” I apologize, sorting out my thoughts and realizing all at once just the predicament I had been put in.

“Usually Crewel is so careful about his image. But I suppose he has always had a soft spot for his students. Though he would never admit that.” Vil muses, “If you understand all of that, why aren’t you more guarded?” Vil adds with added annoyance.

“I- don’t have anything to say for myself. It’s just stupid.” I state looking down at my feet.

“We’ll discuss this with Crewel later. Vera, you weren’t at the Frenzy so I didn’t get to see your abilities in action before. I’m excited to see what you’ll do in the future. You seem quite promising, and perhaps wise.” Vil compliments Vera who smiles a bit before thanking Vil for his compliments. Eventually, it reaches the topic of understanding why Crewel said he’d need to fix my wardrobe.

“We already have plans to curate your wardrobe, unfortunately, there simply wasn’t time before this event, so you had to wear the ones from Glamour Isle. But no more. I shall make you shine like a diamond. And perhaps blind Neige.”

“What is it with people mumbling the last part of their sentences? I’m grateful for your time and efforts in this. I’ll try not to undermine your expectations.”

Eventually, we make our way to the meeting room where a few unfamiliar faces sit with Crewel and Epel. Most of them are dressed in business attire with some notes, but one of them looks completely different from the rest. Dressed in a dark feathered cloak with a crow mask and cane, the fae lounges at the head of the table. This also implies that he has a higher position than Crewel. Who is this guy?

“Ah! You’re all here. Yes, it is I. Crowley your beloved CEO and headmaster at NRC.” Yeah, I still have no idea who Crowley is.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley,” I say with a polite smile.

“Yes, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Crowley,” Vera says in turn.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you attend the meeting CEO,” Vil states with an elegant practiced smile.

“There is no need to be so formal with me! Just call me Crowley. After all, you all are important assets to our company.” Crowley states in a sing-song tone, “Oh right, feel free to sit anywhere, there’s no need to stand so stiffly.” He adds with the motion of his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” I say before sitting one seat away from Crewel so that Vera can be seated beside two people she knows. Vil sits beside Epel on the other side of the table and introductions of everyone at the table begin. The table consists of Crowley, Crewel, Epel, Vera, Vil, Trein, Vanrouge, and I. The meeting covers schedules, the clean up for Crewel’s sudden dadittude, and current media standings. Admittedly during the more budget-oriented pieces of the conversation, I was completely lost.

After the meeting ends Crowley leaves immediately followed by Vanrouge. Epel and Vil head out after speaking briefly to Crewel. Vera and I decide to follow Vil out for the moment. We weren’t stopped so we left the room. Vil notices us and motions for us to walk a bit closer to the two of them. I can almost hear Vera internally screaming being so close to Epel.

“We have more to discuss outside of the meeting since they didn’t cover everything. You’re probably wondering who Lillia Vanrouge and Mozus Trein are. They’re investors in the company that happen to be on good terms with most of us. Since they have such a big say in our company, they tend to appear in official meetings discussing budgets and plans for the company's future.”

“You realize that Crewel probably would have explained all of that to them right?”

“Yes, but the conversations between Trein and Crewel tend to be lengthy. We have to wait anyways, it makes for better discussion if the other parties aren’t preoccupied with something else.” Vil says motioning for everyone to sit down in what is probably a waiting room or lounge of some sort.

“Eh- Yeah okay. Ahem. Hello again, I’m Epel. It’s nice to meet you both.” Epel says with a sparkly smile.

“Wow, I didn’t realize that people could literally sparkle,” I mumble thoughtlessly. Vera covers my mouth before I finish.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Vera states simply, smiling politely but definitely freaking out internally. After a bit, she uncovers my mouth and I am free to speak again.

“I guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot more frequently right? So wouldn’t it be a good idea to figure out some baseline things to avoid doing? For example, eating sounds really bother me. If I dine with others, it is usually in a noisy place so I’m less overwhelmed by the eating noises but rather the environment.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right. Then I’ll state the obvious. Be more careful about your image and who you associate with. Additionally, do not needless contact Neige LeBlanche as that too could become problematic.”

“Ah, I get it, if anyone sees either party text the other, a deeper relationship will be assumed because it makes for a better story and more interesting gossip.”

“Exactly. I suppose that means you had no intentions of actually contacting him then?”

“Well, I was undecided initially, which is why I even mentioned the number again in the first place, but given this, it’s better to avoid contacting him. He’s been at the center of enough drama where everyone else ended up looking bad that I don’t really want to chance an ‘Oops, I didn’t realize they could see my screen lol’ moment.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

“I suppose if it's just us, avoid calling me cute or referring to me too fondly. I’d rather not be bombarded with those things outside of work too.” Epel adds, still sounding soft and polite.

“Ah, alright. If I had to add something, it would probably be along the lines of wariness around group chats or anything. I’ve had a friend or two in ‘secret’ group chats that were too careless about ensuring the excluded parties weren’t aware they were excluded.” Vera mentions with a brief explanation.

Before we could continue the conversation an announcement was made over the loudspeakers to find a place to hide while a situation was being dealt with.

“Well, that is concerning,” I mumble.

“What in tarnation? Concerning? That’s downright mortifying. What could possibly be happening?” Epel replies with a panicked expression.

“Let’s go into the nearest room. Now.” Vil states staying composed and ushering us all into a room that has a door that locks.

“It’s our first day here and something went wrong,” Vera mumbles, leaning on me and clutching their arms tightly.

“I’m not sure what’s happening, but it will be alright, we’ll just stay quiet. I’m right here.” I whisper as quietly as I can, placing a hand on Vera’s shoulder. The room stays silent after that. Outside of the room, we hear footsteps and a knock of metal on the floor.

Clack clack, clang, clack clack, clang

The person outside calls a name I don’t recognize, but Vil’s expression shifts into one of disturbed understanding.

“I know you’re here my love. Just come out and we can talk.” The voice calls out with a deranged laugh. ‘Ah, it’s someone’s crazy fan or ex.’ I think frowning a bit.

Clack clack, clang, clack clack BANG

The door shudders as a dent forms in it. It takes a moment to process that it was our door that had been hit until I see Epel standing before the door, magic circling his hands while he stands in front of us.

“Oh? Are those frightened breaths I hear? My my, you always were such a delicate thing weren’t you?” The voice exclaims, excitement dripping over their words as something crashes into the door again. I find myself wondering how this guy got here, how they possibly managed to get past security in this place.

BANG

The dent grows as the hinges cry out in pain.

BANG

The door squeals in agony.

BANG … Thonk

The door falls down slowly as an unfamiliar grinning figure peers into the room.

“Oh Icy, there you are!” The intruder exclaims looking at Vera. Vera looks confused and frightened. I find myself moving before I can think about it. I crash through the door we locked to get in here, pulling Vera behind me.

“GET BACK HERE!” They scream followed by the sound of fire crackling through the air followed by the whip of vines.

“Who the fuck is that?” Vera whisper screams, grabbing my hand tightly.

“I don’t know. But we need you to get out of here, or hide really well.” I say in reply, my voice sounding much calmer than the heart beating in my chest. My shoulder starts to throb.

“I-I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know who that is.” She says panicked.

“I know, I know, it’s not your fault, they’re just a creep.” I console them, starting to lead them toward another exit from the waiting room.

“Eugh- I won’t let you pass through here!” Epel shouts after a sound of pain. Before I can stop her, Vera barrels back into the previous room and punches the creepy stranger back through the doorway.

“No one hurts my friends,” Even she must not have known what came over her, but hearing her idol cry out in pain led her to punch the intruder with a force even she didn’t know she had. They fly through the doorway and crash through the door across the hallways.

“Agh- My sweet- why do you pain me so? I came all this way for you.” The stranger pleads. I feel useless as I watch Vil, Epel, and Vera.

“She wants nothing to do with you. Get that through your head or you won’t be left with just a few burns and scars.” Vil states with a venomous smile spreading over his lips.

“How did they get here? I don’t think they should have been able to. Is there anyone who would want to hurt Vera maybe? … Could it be Rachel again? Is she trying to destroy what I have left so I fall back into her arms?” I mumble to myself before hearing another crash. Vil had thrown the stranger through another door.

“That’s going to be a pain to replace.” Crowley comments walking towards the stranger, “Sorry, but who are you? And why are you bothering us on such an important day?” He adds with a certain detached annoyance like he was talking to a bug. It was then that I managed to walk back toward everyone to see what was happening.

“I’m just here to see my dearly beloved!” The intruder insists.

“That creep has nothing to do with my sister. But he thinks he is.” I state walking over, my heart beating loudly in my chest, “I was trying to be nice earlier.” I add with a practiced smile.

“How is taking my sweet Ice rose away from me a kindness? You just wanted her for yourself.” As they argue I catch a glance at their eyes, they’re cloudy. I stare at them for a moment before something clicks.

“You drank it,” I mutter.

“It’s a miracle thing, isn’t it? Oh, I was so close to holding my love. If you weren’t here- if I get rid of you-” The stranger realizes, rising despite their disfigured form.

“I don’t think so.” Crowley states bonking the stranger on the head with his hand knocking the fool out cold, “Now, I trust you’ll explain what you meant by ‘you drank it?’” Crowley asks motioning for some personnel to get rid of the creep.

“No, you mean they drank that?” Vera cuts in, “It’s- it’s a monstrous potion. It relieves you of all worldly pain, but you lose your ability to perceive right and wrong, as it eats away at you you start to decay and you’re susceptible to others' intentions. If they really drank that- then that means Rachel is involved.” She explains, rushing over as I lose my balance.

“This Rachel is going to be a much larger problem than I initially assumed.” Crewel comments, supporting me from behind as well, “But that doesn’t explain how that mangy mutt got in here in the first place.”

“If the only benefit of that potion was the elimination of pain it wouldn’t be as tempting. If you know which one it is you can probably piece together what happened. But one of the things the potion does is amplify your magic until you overblot. You either decay or overblot, and neither is a pleasant end.” I explain further, scratching at my arms as the ickiness settles into my skin.

“Why exactly do you know all of this?” Trein asks, walking over with a tap of his cane announcing his presence.

“… That’s how my best friend died,” I whisper with a small, pained, laugh.

“I’m sorry for your loss Ren. It is never easy to lose someone. I am too old now to guarantee your safety under my watch. But I will support you the best I can in other ways.” Trein states, looking between Vera and me.

“Hm, well given the dire circumstances I think I could keep an eye on them. Besides, it would be like adopting wor- children.” Crowley states, absolutely about to say workers instead of children before he corrected himself.

“There’s no need for that Crowley, I’m already taking care of their housing, so I’ll be the one to settle them into a safer space if need be,” Crewel states in turn.

“Hahahaha,” Vera starts laughing.

“I hardly think this is the time to be laughing child,” Crowley states.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just- you all barely know us but you’ve already accepted us more than our family ever did. It’s just kind of funny you know? Maybe I’m tired.” Vera states laughing a bit more while tearing up. She sniffles and tries to calm down her tears but Epel hugs her.

“There there.” He states, patting their back.

Crewel notices before I do that I’m crying too. He wipes away my tears with a handkerchief and sighs.

“You always seem to get hurt when something happens.” He says, placing a hand lightly on my injured shoulder causing me to flinch, “Let’s get you patched up, we’ll discuss what to do about your safety after that at least.” He adds.

Vil looks at Crewel as though he’d grown a second head.

“You’re not going to pick me up again are you?” I ask with a sniffle before turning my head to look up at Crewel. He smiles a bit.

“That depends, can you walk this time?” He asks though the answer was quickly found to be no, “Hm, well I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit still and be carried this time as well little pup.” He muses. I sigh and just let him carry me. Crowley joins Vil in his baffled stare at Crewel.

“What- is happening,” Vil asks furrowing his brows and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Dad instincts,” Vera mumbles through sniffles.

“I suppose he does have a habit of adopting promising children, or ‘pups’ as he calls you.” Trein muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Hah, this really is going to be quite expensive. You’ll need to deal with that Rachel person sooner rather than later.” Crowley comments before he takes his leave.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay for too much longer either. However, Vil, you have my number. I ask that you update me on the situation when you can.” Trein states leaving as well.

“I’m sorry, your jacket is soaked with tears,” Vera says seeing Epel’s now wet jacket.

“It’s fine. I don’t get the whole unsupportive family bit, but I’m all too familiar with being in an unexpected fight with someone you don’t know. NRC isn’t exactly full of friendly faces. ‘Sides, you were really something. I didn’t expect ya ta smack the bastard in gob like that.” Epel states, slipping into an unfamiliar accent. Usually, he sounds like a well-read nobleman.

“I just heard you get hurt and my body was already moving on its own. I can’t take too much credit for that. I’m not nearly as brave as it seems.” Vera explains quickly.

“Not many have such noble intentions. Well, I suppose you won’t be a burden despite the issues that seem to surround your sibling. Though my opinion is subject to change should you prove to be loutish.” Vil comments.

– “Ow- I didn’t think I’d dislocated it, it just felt numb at first,” I grumble, rubbing the arm where healing magic was applied.

“In an ideal world, you’d have time to rest, but for the moment we should discuss safety. Previously you would not be living with anyone but your sibling. Given the circumstances would you be more comfortable living in my house? Given my status, I have trained guards to deal with intruders like that person.”

“It would probably be safer to stay somewhere that secure. It’ll be a pain, yes, but I’m not going to deny any greater level of protection. Though I have my reservations about hired guards at this point.”

“That’s understandable. I can assure you, however, that my hired personnel will be much more reliable. Crowley and the owner of the organization that hosted the Frenzy prefer cost effectiveness to function.” Crewel grumbles.

“Da- Crewel! You shouldn’t say that in the building, slander the man later.”

“Pfft, but you don’t disagree.”

“Of course not, I’ve seen what happened- dude I was there. I mean last time was like two minutes ago. Eugh, I’m so tired now too.”

“You should get some rest here then. Would you prefer I stay here, or leave?”

“Thanks for that, do what you think is best.” I didn’t want to make him stay when there was going to be a lot of aftermath to sort out, and it was very unlikely that something would happen immediately after the last incident. Rachel doesn’t work like that, she eats away at you slowly until you give in to her.

Crewel ended up staying in the room, at least until I fell asleep.

– “Oh Ren, did you enjoy our game of hide and seek? I had so much fun finding you.” ‘No, I recognize that voice.’ “You were so difficult to get a hold of. Were you that confused my dear? It’s okay, I can help you now. Just trust in me.” ‘No. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with her here.’ “Come closer, little Ren. I’ll make sure you’re safe in my arms.” Rachel’s arms wrap around me and begin to constrict me, suffocating me. It feels like all of the air is being pushed out of my lungs as the cold arms continue to snake around me and hold me closer. “My adorable dear.”

–

TL;DR: Ren meets Crewel on a train after accidentally entering the wrong car and Crewel notices their distinct lack of fashion. From there Ren participates in a Speed Fashion contest with an unreasonable time limit and manages to prove their worth. Given this, Crewel takes in both Ren and their sister Vera to contribute to his team starring Vil and Epel. In the midst of this an old 'friend' from Ren's past resurfaces as an adversary.

#twisted wonderland #writing #fanfiction #divus crewel #twst crewel #We love the trope where someone just decides “You see this gremlin? This is my child now”#first post #It feels like I'm committing a crime.#I'm so sorry for this #Look #I know It's long #But It's fine #I'm totally mentally healthy #And not at all trying to escape reality #You should drink water #Also hi #Do you like it?#self indulgent

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flufflecat · 1 year

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Hi everyone. I just want you to know I’m thinking about crowley supernatural. Sorry. (◠ᴥ◕ʋ) (●__●) (ー_ー゛)

#crowley spn #i'm not that sorry actually #had an in depth discussion about his character and motivations and how the writers failed #took a nap #woke up and went back to contemplating him but with even more manic energy #now just you wait. i can justify this obsession #you see: i like him #:)#it's not my fault i'm a 10 #with great taste and no unresolved mental issues #i prommy i'm like soooooo mentally sound and you can tell bc i'm projecting on a totally respectable character to project on #no i promise it's fine #projecting on the gay homophobically mistreated constantly overlooked supernatural character is healthy actually #all i can say is that if /i/ wrote him he'd never be treated like this #and he'd be diagnosable with all the same issues i've got agfkahfkjajf #i'm healthy and great thnks for asking #i also go on monologues about being evil like once a month but i'm totally fine thx 4 asking #someone needs to make me a fictional character so i can be misinterpreted by the audience and be evil for funsies #i'm edgy. i could do it. you could put i can't decide by the scissor sisters on my playlist. i promise. i'm edgy.#anyway. bye lol #fluffle talks #also who wants to hear about how I can project my personal journey with aromanticism onto him #I don't think he's aro I just have a stunning ability to project

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lylahammar · 4 months

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People always talk about how Laios is a character who gives fat vibes even if he isn't technically fat in canon which is very true, and I have some thoughts on that!! (this will be a long post lol sorry)

There's a lot of material in the dunmeshi extras that show how fatness factors into dungeon exploration, which shows that only the most skilled adventurers are able to keep weight on while in the dungeon (thank you to @savaralyn2 for the translations! links to the individual posts these panels come from are added on the pics):

So we know, at the very least, that most of the characters are kept thinner than they would be naturally through the strain of death/revivification in the main dungeon. We also see that Laios has some fat on him, which through the text means that he's skilled enough to at least keep some of his weight (which makes sense, he doesn't die very often in canon).

(to be clear this ^ doesn't constitute as "fat," he is built as fuck here he just has some fat on his body which shows his prowess as a fighter in this universe) HOWEVER my personal little pet theory/headcanon is that Laios actually has a difficult relationship with food! I know that doesn't make much sense at first since he's shown to eat a lot in canon, but hear me out. In pre-canon, before he reunited with Falin, he's shown to be extremely gaunt:

But after partnering up with Falin, he gains weight and looks much more healthy very quickly. Part of this is definitely because of his unstable living situation/mental illness, but he and Falin still live in very poor conditions after this and he still manages to gain weight/get healthier, so I believe it's mainly due to her making sure he eats enough. We also know that Laios is. most certainly autistic. Nobody argue with me on that it's like pretty much widely accepted as canon for a lot of reasons lmao. So my theory is that he's actually food sensitive. He's shown to not really care about food that isn't monster-related. Even when he eats regular food, he's usually imagining it being a monster instead.

He has never eaten squid before, which is totally normal, but could also support my theory in a way :P it being a monster still can't save it from the autistic sensory bad experience in this case, though.

So I think that his adventurous eating during the course of the story isn't because he's actually an adventurous eater normally, it's purely because of his special interest (monsters, duh). During his journey to recover Falin, he's able to build up a healthier relationship with food through Senshi's guidance and the involvement of his special interest.

By the end of the story, after he's retired from dungeon exploration and living in comfort/safety, and with his newly healthy diet, he's finally able to gain a lot more weight. Imo, his is a story of someone who's naturally meant to be fat, but is only able to reach that point when in a stable and healthy environment.

(for the record I know he's not that fat in this post canon comic, but this is only a year and a bit after the end of the story so there's still time lol)

alright I'm goin back to drawing now just had to infodump for a minute ✌️ keep it sleazy

#lyla's talking again #this is all probably common fanon but I just wanted to type out my specific thoughts on it lol #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #laios touden #long post #CW disordered eating

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seat-safety-switch · 9 days

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One of the greatest joys in life is using your shitty old car to shut down a legitimately nice car. For any law enforcement folks reading this, I would never endorse street racing. Also, I think I heard someone shoplifting in the other room, and you should go check it out. The best kind of street racing is the street racing the other person doesn't know they're having.

Now, I've had nice cars in the past before. Once, I had a Mercury Cougar XR7 with most of its original paint. Come to think of it, I might still have it somewhere in the backyard. Hard to keep them all apart these days. Anyway, when you drive a nice car, you get this sort of ego boost every time you see a lesser vehicle. How dare you peasants not realize how inferior your base Corollae are? Only a connoisseur can truly appreciate the divine features of this fine automobile.

That kind of mentality is simply not healthy. All of us, each and every one of us, are just a few generations away from being shit-throwing apes. The fact that we managed to make a machine that gets us down the highway quickly is a total miracle, and it's not any more of one because we put a pretty logo on it and charged $20,000 extra to put precision-engineered butt manipulators in the seats. It is this problem that the very fast beater is meant to solve.

When you have a shitbox and that shitbox goes faster than a nice car, whether because of superior driving (not me) or a significant amount of horsepower (not me) or a lack of understanding of your imminent mortality (possibly me) it is a great feeling to shut down those rich folks tooling around in their "good cars." It knocks them down a peg, which keeps them from doing things like going into work and causing another housing crisis. In fact, I'm going to go out and gap some Porsches with an old rusty fire extinguisher filled with nitrous oxide right now. You should come too, so I can get a ride home after the cops bust me for shooting my engine block across four lanes of the highway.

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hoony2k · 27 days

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Call me Lovesick?

Tending to their significant other who's unwell due to flu season. How would they do it?

Pairing: hyung line

Genre: fluff/comfort

Word Count: 1282 (total)

Warnings: mentions of sickness (throwing up).

Note: hii <3 hope everyone's been well! I had this marinating half complete in my drafts, I had forgotten about it. but here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Heeseung:

He'd get so worried about you but at the same time, he's kind of giddy because he gets to take care of you even more than usual.

Tucks you in and helps you to the washroom even if you can stand. Will ignore your protests and continues to help, "I know you can but I'm here aren't I?"

Can not stop himself from brushing your hair out of your face and hand-feeding your soup, gently blowing on it. Tries the airplane hack and you give him a deadpan look but he laughs at his joke.

Definitely pulls the "I told you so card" every time you try to avoid medicine or eating because you feel too sick to do anything.

"I told you eating ice cream during a snow storm was a bad idea". "maybe there's a reason people don't eat from sketchy hidden vendors even if the prices are cheap!"

But either way, when he's not nagging your ears off, he's being the sweetest bf ever.

Very observant about your condition, and constantly checks your temperature to see if you're improving or not.

Entertains you by sharing silly childhood stories, messages the boys sent and sings you to sleep with his honey voice.

Rubs your back to help you sleep, the warmth that radiates from him is so soothing.

Jay:

For a second he's shocked that you're sick...like on his watch? How was he careless? 🤨

Activates his inner nurse and tends to you like a newborn kitten and you have to tell him to calm down. (even if you like the treatment and attention).

Makes you warm broth soup, thick creamy soup, rice porridge, slices sweet apples, ginger lemon grass tea and you wonder if you should get sick all the time if it’s going to be such a healthy and delicious experience.

It doesn't matter if you can't taste the flavours properly.

Places a trash can nearby with a tray of mouthwash and tissues in case. He wants to be prepared for anything!

Doesn’t allow himself to sleep unless you fall asleep first and ensures you lay on your side rather than on your back.

Tries his hardest to calm your humiliation when you throw up because it's normal! “Nothing to be ashamed about!” He keeps reminding you he doesn't see you differently even at this moment of vulnerability. Makes him instantly 100x more attractive.

Jay is a major act of service guy so when he’s not tending to you, he’s mentally planning ahead -> prepping your next week's outfits/irons them for when you get better soon, makes small portions of your favourite food and stores them in your fridge because he knows you’ll be on low energy even when you get better. Cleans the apartment for you.

Is so patient with you. During tantrums to avoid medicine he'll bribe you with kisses and if that doesn't work he'll just crush the tablet if you can’t swallow it to add in your food, becomes 100x times more creative. Though he sighs a lot he means well as he bribes you with juice as compensation for the disgusting taste. 😭

Jake:

So worried that the crease between his eyebrows doesn't leave until you recover. Each time you cough, his pout deepens and it's the cutest thing ever.

He hates how much pain you're in and wants to take it away, wants to endure it in your place but that's not possible so he pulls out his phone to search for the best ways to deal with sick loved ones.

Uses Wikihow, he does not care because your health comes before looking desperate. Willing to do every thing by the book until he sees your discomfort and almost...almost gives in but you need to eat to get better!

It kills a part of him when he forces you to take medicine or when you shiver as he wipes your heated arms/forehead with a wet cloth.

“I know it’s cold but you’ll feel so much better soon. I promise”.

He fears something awful will happen if he turns away so he never leaves your side even when you sleep. It's so comforting to wake up to his loving presence.

His eye bags are a depressing sight but Jake is stubborn and claims that he wants to do these things for you, it’s bittersweet but it’s love.

Massages your shoulders and legs to lull you into a deep sleep, hopes you might recover faster if your body recharges.

There are moments when he tries to cook a sick dish he’s never cooked before and it turns out awful. He can’t have his baby eating that so he whips up soup he’s made before and anticipates your reaction.

Tries to hand-feed you but gets too giddy and shy, covers his face with his hand when you make eye contact and you near yelp as he tilts the spoon. Never again.

Watches your favourite shows you’ve missed out on and narrates the episodes to you, there’s no way he’s letting your burnt-out eyes get a hint of screen that isn’t your text messages/calls. They’re more important than a show you can watch later.

Despite your worries about infecting him, he pulls you to rest on his chest as he plays with your hair and talks about all the places, he wants to take you out to in the future.

SUNGHOON:

He tries his best to convey an image of rationality but internally he’s panicking losing each sane fibre of being.

Can NOT stop thinking about horrible situations so he needs a small session where he's alone and hyping himself up and pretends safer and happier scenarios.

After that he immediately switches and becomes the poster caretaker, literally knowing exactly what to do.

Sunghoon pays keen interest to your expressions and body language, waiting for the next sign of discomfort or pain.

As an elder sibling, he has the urge to protect and has taken care of others before so this isn’t anything new but, it’s you. It’s not a friend or a family member, it’s the love of his life who needs his attentive help so, he has to approach you like you’re made out of glass.

Reminisces of days when he took care of his sister and almost tore up and you ask him what the hell was wrong and he's like "Oh how fast time flies by" like ??? Ok

Already had a cabinet stocked with flu/allergy medicine so he doesn’t need to worry about leaving you alone and buying medicine. Sunghoon would try to avoid strong medicine until it’s advised by a doctor. Definitely tries home remedies his parents used on him during his sick childhood years.

A firm believer in soul food healing so he orders it or makes it often.

Thinks back to all the ways this could have been avoided and the what-if situations make him recall all the fun you two would have together. Instead of sulking, he gets motivated to work harder to ease your pain.

Cramps? A heating pad is available. Back hurts? Will massage the pain away. Head and eyes hurt? Be ready to get serenaded to sleep by his voice.

Although he understands the importance of checking up on you, he knows how irritating it is to constantly hover around someone. So in instances where Sunghoon, can feel that you’re overwhelmed or want privacy, he’ll leave the room and do whatever he usually does. He’s ready to wait until you’re emotionally recharged and call for his company.

When Sunghoon returns, he’s beaming with a bright smile and a story to tell you.

Sickness or not, he’s still big on affection and ignores your worries for him as he hugs you, touches you or kisses your cheeks.

thank you for reading!

please do not edit/translate/copy.

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kira-fluff · 1 month

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reaction to finding out you have a chronic disease | fem!reader x haikyuu!!

this idea popped into my head in the shower. shower thoughts are the best. as a chronically ill person such as myself (mentally and physically, LOL!) i felt maybe I was a little qualified to write this. these are all diseases i experience! i can def write some that i am not diagnosed with :) i'm a biology nerd, so i love learning new things, especially about diseases! some of these are more serious than others. i tried to keep the disease symptoms/descriptions general so it can appeal to more diagnoses (for example, nosebleeds are indicative of several different diseases) that way more people can feel represented by what i write!

‼️warnings: mentions of blood, nekoma team being dorks, seizures, WAY too many ellipses (sorry I just love them), pointless bantering (oikawa), dramatic af, osamu described as "caked-up" (sorry not sorry), railing on atsumu for shits and giggles, deep hatred of the word moist

want to see a different haikyuu character's reaction? request here! also, if you want to read a specific disease represented, i can see if i can put it in there too :)

✿ kuroo tetsuro "hey when do you want to- OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?!" blood dripped from your nose onto the gymnasium floor. "oh. another nosebleed. my bad, I'll clean that up..." you said apathetically. "hey, this is sort of a big deal, ya know? shit... yaku, I need a towel or something!" he shouted. they really weren't anything serious. ever since you were little, you had frequent nosebleeds. your mom wrote it all off as the cold weather (even in summer), so it wasn't really that big of a deal to you either (until a few doctor visits later). still, the apathy you felt toward your predicament remained. yamamoto had already rushed over at his captain's call. "does she need an ice pack, too? fuck, I don't know what to do...." "aren't you supposed to tilt your head up?" one member asked. "no, no i think you're supposed to tilt your head down...." another muttered. "GUYS, GUYS I GOT IT. GOOGLE SAYS TO 'sit down and tilt your head forward, pinching the top part of your nose above the nostrils for like, 10 to 15 minutes.'" lev sat back proudly, phone in hand. "can't believe you were smart enough to look that up..." kenma whispered under his breath. "hey, hey, look at me. you still with us?" kuroo said, a hand on either side of your face. despite the towel against your nose, you couldn't help but laugh. "oh my god, guys! it's not like I'm dying! this happens all the time." "but that's not...normal. did you ever get it checked out?" kuroo stared at you inquisitively, his brow raised. his fellow teammates nodded. you sighed. "look, unless there's a lot of excessive gushing or anything like that, they said i should be okay. yes there's a whole disease behind it all with a long-ass name that no one can pronounce and yes there are sometimes other symptoms that could result in death, but I'm totally fine, okay? I'm perfectly healthy!" "you poor, fragile angel..." lev said, a hand on his chest, distraught. "that... does NOT make me feel more relieved. at all. in fact, I'm more worried. should we go to the hospital? that one looked a little... gush-y...." kuroo said, pacing back and forth before setting his eyes back on you. removing the towel from your nose, you shook your head. "no. look, bleeding nose already gone, see? I'm not going to the hospital. I'm completely fine. relax, kuroo." kuroo stared at you for another moment, taking in your expression, searching for any signs of discomfort. at last, he sighed. "ok. fine. I concede. but if you ever feel the littlest bit unwell, tell me or one of us, okay?" after your agreement, and several more minutes of doting from both your boyfriend and all the other team members, you at last parted ways. as you got out of the shower that night, your phone lit up with a notification. tetsu 💕 [11:23pm]: I'm serious about what I said back there. please talk to me when you aren't feeling good. you mean so much to me that I can't imagine what life would be like without you. sleep well, babe. love you.

✿ osamu miya "damn are you o-- OKAY, YEAH, NO. SHE'S NOT OKAY." it was your average day as a supportive, amazing, fantastic girlfriend watching your iconic, sexy, hot, caked-up boyfriend play volleyball with his piss-haired twin and the rest of the team of inarizaki. unfortunately for you (and the entire volleyball team), inarizaki had a recent issue with their air conditioning units. even more unfortunate was the fact that the fans in the gymnasium were practically there for decoration, that's how useless they were. despite it being late march (still quite cool outside), the players and spectators were drenched in sweat. still, you weren't about to let a little (lot) bit of sweat deter you from cheering for your mans! so, you remained in the stands, cheering as loudly as you could (except for the times when you couldn't because atsumu was once again on his I'm About To Serve Power Trip). it was finally nearing the end of the game, and thank GOD it was because you were starting to feel reaaalllly light-headed. at the final score of the match, you stood up, but oh, was that a mistake. suddenly, you legs started shaking. the lights suddenly seemed to dim down and black spots were popping up in your vision. maaaaybe you should sit back down. wait. where is "back down"? it suddenly occurred to you that at this point, you couldn't see anything. beginning to panic, you started reaching out to find something to hold onto, thankfully finding the stair railing of the bleachers in your grasp. slowly, you blindly fumbled your way down the steps of what you hoped were the bleachers steps. you heard someone shout something along the lines of, "you good?" you were far too panicked and far too focused to give a reply. don't fall down. don't fall down. don't faint. don't pass out. you chanted in your head like a mantra. you heard the squeak of shoes against the ground and voices talking back and forth around you when suddenly a steady hand grabbed ahold of you just above your elbow. guess that was all you needed before your consciousness flickered, then extinguished.

"....cold like ice...." "...pale as hell...." you could only hear snippets of sentences, and your eyelids felt heavy. "....have something....with sugar, preferably...." when you finally opened your eyes, you were no longer in the gym, but in inarizaki's nurse's office. "hey..." you turned, now noticing the other occupant of the otherwise empty room. "'samu... did I faint again?" his eyebrows rose. "again? like, you've done this before?" "yeah. happens a lot. 's fine though. was a little scary back there for a minute, though." "damn, I'll say. I've never seen someone so pale. and sweaty. and that's saying something, cuz post-practice 'tsumu is disgustingly moist." "'samu, I love you, but never say that fucking word again." "what, moist?" you cringed, grabbing at your ears, "ugh, yes! I'm already dying here and now you're nailing the final mark in the coffin." osamu gave his signature half-smile. "I thought you said you were fine?" you scoffed, "that was just to make you feel better. I'm gonna need lots of cuddles tonight to wave off my near-death experience." he let out a light-hearted laugh. "okay. plenty of that for you regardless of whether you're on death's door or not." he said, giving you a small peck. you pursed your lips. "I need you right now, though." his face split in a full grin as he slid next to you on the small bed. "anything for you darlin'."

✿ oikawa toru "please... please be okay..." you had been enjoying your regular weekday study session. it always went as follows: meet up after class, head off to aoba johsai's library, study (and perhaps get slightly off-topic over some vending machine snacks and drinks), and at last, go to volleyball practice (perks of being a manager!). "ok, ok, we should probably finally look at what we're supposed to know for our next english exam," oikawa said, still in between chuckles. "but toru... i can't go on without a drink..." you clutched your throat dramatically. "must... have.... beverage.... dying of.... thirst!" oikawa laughed again, "geez, fine!" he said, attempting to sound annoyed by your request (and failing miserably). "I'll go grab us something to drink. on me." he winked. "wow. what a gentleman. you really spare no expense, spoiling me with luxurious drinks from the beverage box of wonders! oh how lucky I am to have such a supportive boyfriend..." you leaned back on your chair, drying a fake tear of gratitude, while simultaneously stifling a giggle. "damn, ok. fork out the yen, then, babe." "nooooo~~~ I was kidding! I'm sorry you're the best ever in the whole wide world~~~ my little piglet oinkawa~" "ok now you're paying for my drink too." "I'm sorry!!!! I won't call you oinkawa ever again." "thank you-" "to your face." after at least 15 minutes of more bickering (and no studying) oikawa was off to the so-called beverage box of wonders, also known as a shitty-ass vending machine that was probably last refurbished in the '90s. oikawa was still laughing to himself as he rounded the corner to the library, drinks in his arms. "hey babe, are you finally studying?" he smirked, finally nearing your small alcoved study area.

- thud, thud. the long-forgotten drinks fell to the floor as oikawa rushed over to you. there you convulsed on the ground, your eyes white and pupil-less, and your mouth foaming, turning a slight twinge of pink. you let out small grunts, completely unresponsive. "oh my god, oh my god, hey, hey listen to me." oikawa was already in full-fledged panic mode, tapping your face with his hand. "oh my god, SOME PLEASE HELP HER!" the few left in the library looked over at oikawa, then at you, before beginning to run about. one was on their phone speaking to a 911 operator, another rushed out of the room. one kneeled alongside oikawa, checking helplessly for a pulse. "protect her head." a girl read out from her phone. oikawa immediately shed his jacket, placing it under your head which was hitting the ground rapidly to the incongruent rhythm of your convulsions. "check her bag, does she have any meds?" "SHE'S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND I THINK I'D KNOW IF SHE HAD MEDS!" oikawa shouted. he didn't mean to snap, but he felt so useless. were you hiding this from him? how did he not know you had seizures? were they always this bad? despite what he'd told the unnamed student, oikawa, jumped up, grabbing your bag and nearly ripping the zipper with the force he'd opened it with. no medication. "no meds." he said, quieter this time. a hand rested on his shoulder. "it's gonna be okay, man. look, she stopped." oikawa whipped his head over to you, chastising himself for removing his eyes from you for even a second. you were still breathing, but it was like you were in a deep slumber. by the time the EMTs arrived, however, you'd begun blinking your eyes lazily at your surroundings.

- "hey oikawa." you said, smiling. oikawa said nothing in return, his head in his hands. you sat there for a moment, taking in your surroundings. "wait a minute, where am i?" you felt a tickling inside your nose. at the touch of your hand, you realized you had a breathing tube hooked up you. another glance around the sterile hospital room showed your heart rate monitor and other cords wrapped up around the hospital bed. you laughed, "...and what's all this stuff on me?" "you had a seizure." oikawa said sharply, though not unkind. you stared at him once more in disbelief. "...really?" "yeah. I came back from getting our drinks when...when I found you lying on the ground, shaking. the doctor says you bit your tongue, which explains why the foam that was coming out of your mouth was pink. they want to do an MRI on you." "oh." you gazed down, then met his eyes again. "you... had to deal with that all by yourself?" "other people in the library helped me... though I don't think I was the nicest guy to be around. its sort of all of a blur." you smiled, "for me, too. I can barely remember what we were talking about before I woke up." oikawa's eyes widened, "really?" "yeah... but I think I'll be okay, as long as you're here." "this hasn't happened before, has it?" "no, not really. I mean, I've always gotten light-headed easily, which is sort of how I felt before I, ya know... went down... but never like that. I don't think. then again, if I wasn't here in a hospital bed, I think I would've just thought I fell asleep or something. it just feels like I took a long nap. still kind of tired, honestly." oikawa shook his head. "I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again." "oikawa, seriously. it's gonna be okay. I'm fine. nothing bad happened, right? I didn't die." "BUT YOU COULD'VE!" he shouted. "...you could've.." he said again in a whisper. suddenly, he got up. leaning over the hospital bed, he pressed his lips to your temple, leaving a soft kiss in its wake. "I just... I don't want to see you suffering. I don't want you to get hurt." "but you were there." "but what if I wasn't?" "but you were." you slid your hand over his own. "oikawa, it's gonna be okay, I promise. I'm a little scared, too, but... I know we'll figure something out, okay?" he let out a mix between a sigh and a laugh, "why does it feel like I was the one who had the seizure? some boyfriend I am, making you feel worse." "oikawa shush." you placed you index finger over his lips. "you're not allowed to talk about yourself in that way in my presence." he rolled his eyes, but his dimples popped out in a wary smile. "you're amazing, you know that?" you imitated deep-thought, your finger on your chin. "hmm... no, doesn't ring a bell." a full grin bloomed across his face now. "then I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you."

a/n: romanticize the source of your medical bills girlies 💕 it works wonders

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answer2jeff · 5 months

Text

Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.

PART 1/2.

warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)

a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!

You needed inspiration.

With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.

You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.

Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.

The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.

Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.

It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.

You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.

Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.

"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.

You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.

"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.

Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.

"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.

"Not really."

You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.

If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.

Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair

"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."

"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.

"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.

"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."

A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.

"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.

You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.

You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.

He changed you. You were softer, calmer.

And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.

Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.

It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.

You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.

#carmen berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #painter!reader x carmen #ugh i love this #angsty fluff #carmy is so cute i need him #sorry i haven't posted #depression is a bitch #uni is kicking my ass #like seriously #anyways yeah #enjoy this #love you guys mwah

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thelastofhyde · 7 days

Text

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

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 14.3k

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

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

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

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

The year moves too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens when you’re finally being served.

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

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

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

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

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

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

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

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

You compartmentalise.

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

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

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

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

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

A late night.

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

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

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

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

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

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

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

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

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

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

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

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

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

You just know its absence is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

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

His grip loosens, though slightly.

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

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you open the tap.

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

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

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

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

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

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

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

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

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

You don’t remember.

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

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

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

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

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

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

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

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

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

None of it arrives.

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

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

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

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

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

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

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

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

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

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

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

“But I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

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

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

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

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

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

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

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

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

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

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

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

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

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

“Good,” you reply.

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

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

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

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

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

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

He keeps his word.

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

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

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

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

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

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

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

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

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

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

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

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

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

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

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

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

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, then audibly reply.

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

The drive is quiet.

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

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

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

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

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

He’s right.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

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

The clinic is bright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A confused sound leaves Javier.

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

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

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

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

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

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

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

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

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

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

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

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

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

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

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

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

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not pregnant.

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

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

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

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

Over your empty womb.

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

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

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

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

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

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

See, you know why he’s calling.

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

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

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

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

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

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

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

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

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

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

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

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

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

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

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s on the younger side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

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

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

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

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

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

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

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

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

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

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

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

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

You both gather some decorum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then two steps, which you also match.

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

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

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

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

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

That single action changes the game, entirely.

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

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

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

The grip tightens.

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

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

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

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

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

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

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

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

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

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

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

A picture of Javi, and you.

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

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

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

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

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

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

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

He does good to bring you back into the room.

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

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

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

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

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

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

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

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

The card is plucked out your hand.

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

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

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

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

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

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

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

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

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

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

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

A few seconds pass.

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

You feel the air tickle your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

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

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

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

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

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

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

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

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

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

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

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

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

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

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

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

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

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

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

He’d catch you, if you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both crash and burn, together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

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

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

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

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

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

Lights, baubles, action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

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

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

“Some what?”

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

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

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

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

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

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

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

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

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

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

Until tonight.

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

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

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

He’d offered to take you home.

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

He squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

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

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

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

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

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

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

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

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

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

It’s not just Christmas.

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

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

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

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

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

It’s the part you look forward to most.

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

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

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

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

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

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

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

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

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

Hinted at it, slightly.

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

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

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

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

The whole room stops.

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

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

Fades to grey.

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

He knows.

Of course he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

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

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

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

You say you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javi plays it cool.

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

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

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

Well, better than anyone but you.

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

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

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

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

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

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

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

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

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

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

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

For a second, he just looks at you.

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

“Get home safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, just a little extra weight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

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

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

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 days

Note

Am I the asshole for refusing to lend a friend money? 🐱🐱🐱🐱<- (for finding later)

I (28nb) have a friend (28m) who has recently had some problems with employment. He lost his job but has since found another. He is in a living situation with his fianceé where he pays half the rent.

Today he sent me a message asking, very politely, if he could have $59 dollars to cover his half of their rent. He made it clear in his request that he had not discussed this with his fianceé yet.

I said no - one reason being we recently totalled our car and depleted our savings putting money down on a new one (and those interest rates....still ouch), the other being that we've lent almost 1000k to a different friend of ours over the last two years, and haven't been paid back despite multiple verbal agreements.

We are a two income household making a combined 100k a year, but the majority of our income is spent on rent and our student loans. I feel bad because it seems surface level, $59 dollars isn't really that much of an ask. But looking at our broad finances, we're more in-debt to the institutions our loans are paid to than our actual income. We do, however, live comfortably and are privlidged enough to save some money most months. We do donate to causes, and have in the past given our friends places to stay for months at a time when they have no where to go / are in bad financial situations.

When this friend lost his job, I did help him by brainstorming with him on jobs he could do that would suit his sensory needs, and didn't involve customer service. I did research on multiple places close to him that would also suit his transportation limitations and pay him well while accentuating his skillset, and compiled links to the job listings. He has since been hired and onboarded at one of those jobs; he's a very sweet, genuine individual and I'm truly happy because I was also supporting him emotionally during this time and could see how hard this situation was on his mental and physical health.

The other reason I said no was this - he is getting married in one week from the time I'm sending this in. He made it clear in his message he had not talked yet about how he was short for rent with his fianceé. They live together, and go half on rent. I felt very concerned that he was bringing this to me first, and not to his soon-to-be-wife, who deserves financial transparency from her partner (as do we all). I don't think he ever intended to not tell her, but in my opinion money-matters should always be discussed with your significant other first in a healthy relationship.

I discussed this with my wife and she agreed. I told him we couldn't lend him the money and he said he understood. I also encouraged him to talk to his fianceé because she's his best friend and support. I didn't include my p-o-v that he should discuss money matters with her first and foremost because of their relationship and housing arrangement, because I'm hoping that's a conversation they can have in the immediacy?

But I still feel like an asshole and I'm not sure if it's because I said "No," because I have provided financial / housing assistance in the past to others and didn't this time, or because I actually am an asshole.

So - what do you think?

TL;DR - A soon-to-be-married, recently unemployed and then re-employed friend asked for $59 to cover rent. I have helped other friends in the past with rent and housing but said no because we can't afford it right now (which is true, despite being dual income) and also he hasn't discussed being short on rent with his finaceé / housemate yet.

#aita #am i the asshole

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bougiebutchbitch · 3 months

Note

This is definitely hand me down info, and I can't be bother to check cause I'm not on Twitter. But apparently there was some discussion of a scene being cut that, according to Con, was removed because it made Ed 'irredeemable'. Season 2 already went some really dark places, so I'm wondering what your thoughts on it are?

I'm also asking you because the comments were full of people who would have loved to see it. Because to them, Ed is totally fine no matter how reprehensible and abusive his behaviour gets. And I just. You're one of the few non-brainrotted people here sometimes I like to get in touch with reality

I am...... so very intrigued and would love to see it. But I'm also very glad they did decide to cut it.

As much as I love Ed as he is in canon (i.e., dark, flawed, genuinely trying (sometimes), but selfish and occasionally cruel, with untreated severe childhood trauma and related mental health problems, and 0 healthy coping mechanisms to his name) I loathe with a vengeance every person who uses him as a platform to parrot their age-old victim-blaming bullshit of 'um, if you had a Sad Backstory you can abuse and torture people as much as you like! And you 'deserve' abuse if you are in any way an imperfect person. Yes, I believe this is a totally normal and correct stance to have about real life as well as fiction'

So as much as I would love Ed no matter what he did, because I think he's a multifaceted and fascinating character, the mere thought of the bullshit his die-hard stans would be spouting already makes me nauseous lmao

I am once again reminding people that it is totally okay to like characters who do bad 'irredeemable' things. No, you don't have to write essays justifying your love of that character. In fact, you don't need to justify shit to anyone.

Just....... maybe....... don't die on the hill of pretending abuse is okay if you don't like the victim/the victim said a mean thing once. It's that simple.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #our flag means death s2 #renew as a crew #not tagging characters because :)

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blondeboyfriend · 9 months

Text

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader x Zeke Yeager [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I basically wrote a bunch of vignettes and threw in some wordy headcanons. This is a repost. I wrote it in like 2022. [ SYNOPSIS ] You've just adopted two disasters, I mean dogboys. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.2k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, hybrids (duh), threesome (mmf), knotting, cigarettes (Zeke), voyeurism, exhibitionism, jerking off, fingering, teasing, nipple play, creampie, impact play (Zeke receiving), dacryphilia (Zeke’s the crybaby), panty sniffing, thick Yeager dick, cum play, Zeke has grey eyes because I'm addicted to the manga version of him, this fic is so ridiculous like don't take it seriously. Just enjoy the ride.

When you adopted Eren and Zeke you fully expected to get two normal dogs. The ad on Craigslist purported two mutts, related but not from the same litter. They were a bonded pair that could not be separated. It claimed they had all their shots and were totally healthy, but not neutered which was emphasized for some strange reason. You made a mental note to get that taken care of, if the dogs were to become yours.

You responded to the listing expressing interest. You listed off a few qualifications: you were an experienced dog owner, you had a large yard they could play in, and you didn’t smoke. You received a response almost immediately.

Yard sounds cool. The smoking shit doesn’t matter. Do you have cable or do you stream everything? Would appreciate a response asap k thnx.

You could not imagine why they needed such information, but regardless you responded.

Hi! I have basic cable and Hulu. Is that okay?

Your answer was deemed acceptable. Phone numbers were exchanged and you were asked to meet at a local park the next day. It was a great relief that they wanted to meet in a public place.

That night you couldn’t sleep. You were simply too damn excited. The sun couldn’t come up soon enough. It felt like it purposefully slowed down. Minutes felt like hours. It was unbearable. Of course by the time you were able to drift off, your alarm chimed and it was time to go get your dogs.

You arrived at the park right on time. There were a few kids running around with their parents trailing after them and two young men standing off in the distance, but not a single person with two dogs. You waited around for ten minutes until you got the nerve to call the person. It was perplexing to hear someone else’s phone ringing while you made the call.

“Yeah?”

You heard the voice through the phone and in the air.

“Uh… Wait, are you here? I think I see you.” You squinted and took a better look at the two men loitering. “Where are the dogs?”

One of the men pointed at you which caused the one on the phone to hang up and wave you over. You made eye contact with one of the parents, hoping that would be enough incentive to come to your aid if needed.

“Hi,” you said as you dropped a pin to a friend.

Someone, anyone, needed to know where you were lest you get the Law and Order: SVU treatment The two men looked normal enough. Both were rather tall and well built. One had long, silky chocolate-colored hair. The other was of the wavy, flaxen persuasion. You noted they were both wearing hats: the brunette wore a denim bucket hat and the blonde a nondescript baseball cap.

“Oh hey, sorry for hanging up. I figured since you’re here and my phone is running low on minutes,” the brunette said.

“That’s fine. Where are the dogs?”

The two men looked at each other and then back at you.

“You didn’t say anything about the hybrid thing in the ad, did you?” the blonde asked, hanging his head.

“Do you think anyone would’ve responded otherwise?”

“What hybrid thing?” you questioned.

The men redirected their attention towards you.

“We’re th—”

“We’re the dogs, alright!” the brunette exclaimed.

He dramatically pulled his hat off, revealing two brown button ears. He then proceeded to knock the baseball cap off the blonde by smacking the bill upwards. He too had little button ears. You were filled with conflicting emotions. You were attracted to their good looks and you thought their ears were cute. But you were also disappointed they weren’t normal dogs.

“Listen, we understand if—”

The brunette interrupted him again. “I don’t! Please take us home with you. I promise we’ll be good. Or I will at least. Honestly you can just take me in. I don’t even know who that guy is.”

“I’m his brother.”

“No he isn’t.”

You stared at them, debating whether or not you should take them in. You didn’t have the biggest home, but you could probably get creative and make it work. However there was still a twinge of paranoia. You weren’t certain you could trust them. But on the other hand you could use the company.

“You can both come live with me. The ad said you were a bonded pair so…”

“Eren, you said we were bonded?” the blonde asked, blushing and eyes sparkling.

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Uh, okay! You guys ready to go then?” you rallied, trying to prevent any conflict from brewing.

Their eyes lit up and their bushy tails started wagging. You were powerless against them. They were yours and you were theirs. You couldn’t wait to get them home and let them get cozy. And more importantly shower. They both looked a little rough around the edges.

On the way home you couldn’t help but stare at their ears, curious as to how they felt. You tried to resist the urge to pinch them, but it became too big of a burden to bear.

“Can I touch—”

“Yes,” they sighed.

Zeke was the more affectionate of the two, but only towards you and Eren. He was pleasant yet standoffish with others, keeping most people at an arm’s length. He had no issues wearing a collar and actually preferred it, unlike Eren. It gave Zeke a sense of security, something his life often lacked. He was incredibly intelligent, but prone to getting lost in his own thoughts. And he preferred spending his days in the yard sprawled out in a hammock with no shirt on, chain smoking and reading.

Eren was a bit of a wild one. He only wanted attention on his own terms, but was open to getting it from anyone he was friendly with. He tended to be a bit of a loner, spending most of his time outdoors. He liked being out in the woods, hiking on balmy days. He was significantly more active than Zeke though you suspected that had something to do with him being younger. Eren was also a bit more hardy than his brother, and lacked the seasonal allergies Zeke had been cursed with since he was a pup.

Since neither of them worked they tended to play housewife while you toiled away at work. Zeke was on laundry duty because Eren was a chronic clothes shrinker. Eren did the cooking, priding himself on his knife skills. He was constantly baking bread with a preference for sourdough. Zeke wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but he lacked the passion Eren exuded. He preferred to clean anyway. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up in the middle of the night to pee and find him scrubbing the toilet.

Depending on where you were in your menstrual cycle, they would both get incredibly clingy and flirtatious. If one of them was feeling particularly bold they’d rub their hard cock on you while you slept. It didn’t bother you much. You had developed a bit of a crush on them. Your sick enjoyment fed off of their desperation. Even the more traditionally annoying behaviors were still a turn on. Like how your underwear was prone to going missing. You’d find it crumpled up and stiff in the strangest places. You never bothered to ask because you didn’t want to embarrass them, or give them any incentive to stop.

Your first tryst with them couldn’t have happened under sillier circumstances. It was late one night. You and Eren had crawled into bed while Zeke stayed up watching the Planet Earth episode on caves. Eren fell asleep almost immediately after pulling you into his warm embrace. You nuzzled your face in his neck, letting your nose graze his Adam’s apple.

Just as you were about to drift off Zeke clumsily opened the door. He skulked around before hopping into bed. You were hoping he’d spoon you, putting you in a dogboy sandwich. But alas, he was going to sleep beside Eren.

Zeke yawned and snaked his arms around his brother. You struggled to hold back a laugh as he wriggled and pulled his brother close. Eren groaned and tried to shake Zeke off.

“Don’t be mean,” Zeke whined.

Zeke then proceeded to grope Eren’s chest.

“Oh… That’s not right,” he said, palming Eren’s pectoral muscle.

“I was waiting for you to notice. Can you please stop rubbing your dick on me?”

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“You couldn’t smell me?”

“You smelled like her shampoo. My—my allergies have been acting up. I can’t smell straight.”

“Makes sense considering there was nothing straight about what you just did.”

“You guys are too much,” you yawned, rolling over onto your back.

Eren fixed his verdant gaze on you. Zeke rested his chin on Eren’s head and did the same. They looked hungry, starved practically. Zeke reached out and booped your nose.

“What?” You asked, laughing.

“I’m bored,” Zeke sighed.

Eren nodded in agreement.

“It’s nighttime. Just fall asleep,” you muttered.

“I doubt he could fall asleep with that raging boner.”

Zeke immediately turned pink and rolled over, trying to mask his shame. He pulled the sheets over his head and sighed heavily.

“Maybe you should help him take care of it?” Eren purred.

“I wouldn’t be averse to that,” Zeke concurred, his voice muffled by cool cotton.

You cleared your throat. While you were very much aware your precious dogboys wanted to bury their noses in your cunt, you never actually considered sleeping with either of them. You weren’t even sure what that would entail.

“If you fuck Zeke, I get to watch.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Zeke said dreamily.

Eren grumbled. He wasn’t the best at accepting Zeke’s affection, especially when it was a bit too eager.

“I guess I’m up for it. I can’t remember the last time I fucked someone.”

“I’ll be gentle. Unless you, uh, don’t want me to be. I’m more than prepared to destroy you. I can make it so that no one will ever want you again after I’m through with you.”

“Criiiiiiiiinge,” Eren yawned.

“Be nice,” you chastised, pinching one of Eren’s velvety ears.

“So?” Zeke asked expectantly.

You could hear his tail thumping against the mattress. How could you deny such an excitable boy?

“I’m down.”

Zeke jumped out of bed and started getting undressed. You and Eren made eye contact and laughed.

“Desperate much?”

“He’s not desperate. Just dumb and eager,” you laughed.

Zeke pouted as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his god-like form. His chest was covered with hair, the same color as a fertile field of wheat. You never got used to seeing him shirtless even though he often went without one. Every time was like the first time, just you in utter awe of his beautiful body.

“You can get undressed faster than that,” Eren goaded.

Zeke pulled off his boxers and balled them up, beaning them at Eren.

“Happy?”

“Not as happy as you apparently,” you chuckled.

Zeke’s cock was hard as a rock, nearly sticking straight up. It was thick, veiny, and of average length which was a relief. Zeke glanced down at it and then made eye contact with you. It was clear he sought approval; he needed validation.

“Very nice, baby.”

“Baby? You never call me baby.”

“That’s because you’re not my baby, Eren.”

“Yeah, Eren, you’re not her baby.”

“Well, what are you two waiting for?” Eren asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He took the quilt with him, wrapping it around himself.

Zeke returned to the bed and got on top of you. He reached under your nightgown and peeled off your underwear. He sniffed them before he handed them to Eren who did the same. Zeke slipped his hand between your thighs and spread apart your folds. He pushed his rough fingers into your cunt and rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb. He maintained eye contact the entire time. His grey gaze was heavy with ardor. His face couldn’t have been closer to yours. You reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling his lush beard. He hummed happily and continued to finger you.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, curling his fingers inside you.

A “mhm” was all you could muster. It seemed to be enough for Zeke because he beamed and kissed you. To say you weren’t ready was an understatement. He pushed his tongue past your teeth and rolled it against yours. His lips were soft unlike Eren’s which tended to be chapped. A little, joyous whimper emanated from you as his breath lilted into your lungs. It tasted of tobacco and his overpriced, spearmint toothpaste. You wanted him to consume you.

“Can one of you make some noises or something? You guys are too quiet. It’s weird,” Eren heckled.

Zeke broke the kiss. “You do realize not everyone sounds like they’re in Bang Bros video, right?”

Eren was quiet.

“Maybe so. But c’mon. Do something interesting.”

Zeke placed his hands on the small of your back and lifted you forward. He flicked his tongue against your firm nipple. You draped your arms over his shoulders and dragged your nails down his back. You were careful not to dig too deep. You weren’t interested in drawing blood. Zeke was too delicate on an emotional level. His life had been hard enough. You knew he wanted to be pampered, not mangled.

He didn’t seem to hold you in the same regard because he began to bite your nipple. It wasn’t very hard, but still you yelped.

“Hey! Don’t hurt her, you dingus,” Eren teased.

He pulled on Zeke’s wagging tail.

“What good does hurting me do?” He asked ruefully.

You ran your fingers through his soft hair and gave it a tug.

“Not you too.”

“It’s not my fault it’s so fun to be a little mean to you… Do you want us to stop?”

“No,” Zeke mumbled. “I—I like it.”

Eren pulled on his tail again. Zeke groaned and buried his face into your neck. You patted his head and told him how good of a boy he was.

“How good?” He asked, nipping at your neck.

“The best.”

“What about me?” Eren asked.

“You’re a good boy too, I guess.”

Zeke smirked and began to stroke the length of his cock. He gently nudged you back down, leaving you supine. He rubbed his cocktip on your throbbing clit, leaving a few droplets of precum behind. Eren sighed and moved so that he was lying next to you.

“I needed a better view,” he admitted.

“Fair enough,” Zeke groaned as he slid his cock inside you.

Eren stuck his hand under his sweatpants and began to jerk off. You were ecstatic he wanted to watch Zeke split you in two.

Zeke’s thrusts were slow and deliberate. He let his cock gradually stretch out your tight cunt. You loved the fullness you felt, how his cock swelled inside you. It was a sensation you’d never been blessed with before. You felt like you were seeing stars as Zeke picked up the pace. His balls slapped against your taint, leaving a stinging pain in their wake.

“You can fuck her harder than that,” Eren heckled through gritted teeth.

His sweatpants had a sizable wet spot.

“Leave me alone,” Zeke mumbled.

You pinched his ear and gently pulled on it.

“Are you gonna cry, Zekey?”

“Please do not call me that. And what the? No, I’m not going to cry.”

“You do when you jerk off with her underwear,” Eren laughed.

Zeke lost his rhythm; his thrusts became erratic. His cock was hitting your cervix. You felt a dull ache in the depths of your cunt.

“That was one time. I don’t always cry after I come.”

You grabbed his ass and pulled his body closer to you. He let out a low groan as you dug your nails into his voluptuous ass.

“Come on. Cry for me, crybaby,” you teased.

Zeke knitted his brow and didn’t heed your remark. He just kept thrusting away. You felt your orgasm cresting the horizon. You bucked your hips against Zeke.

Eren moaned and ended up coming all over his hand. He licked his palm clean. You were disappointed he didn’t let you lap up his cum.

“Hey, Zeke,” Eren said, catching his breath.

Zeke asked, “What is it now?”

Eren got up and yanked on Zeke’s tail.

“Goddammit!”

“Pull on it again,” you moaned, digging your nails deeper into his plush ass.

Eren was more than happy to comply. A few tears fell from Zeke’s starry, grey eyes.

“Does it hurt, baby?”

“Nah,” he coughed out as Eren tugged on it again. “Maybe a little.”

“Should we g—go easier on you?” You stammered, trying to stave off your orgasm.

“No. Keep doing it.”

Eren moved one of your hands away from Zeke’s ass cheek and he gave it a firm spank.

“Eren!” Zeke yelped.

“Too hard?”

“Just a fucking little!”

You stroked Zeke’s beard, directing his attention on you. He sighed as you tightened around the length of his cock. He gritted his teeth as you writhed underneath him. Eren spanked his ass again, but this time it was gentler. It was inaudible and your little, flaxen dogboy didn’t cry out in pain.

“I’m gonna—“ You desperately moaned.

Zeke gazed down at you; his eyes were dark with lust. They were the color of clouds right before a thunderstorm. You wanted to get caught in his downpour. He fucked you harder than he had before. His cock continued to swell. Your juices flowed from your cunt, intermingling with Zeke’s precum.

“Is he crying?” Eren asked.

You were too caught up in your orgasm to humor Eren’s relentless teasing. Your toes curled and you saw white as you came.

“You look so pretty taking my co—Fuck! Eren!”

You glanced at Eren who had once again pulled on Zeke’s tail. You giggled as Zeke grunted. You used your thumb to wipe away the little tears that had collected in his lower lashes.

“Are you gonna come for me like a good boy?”

He nodded and bucked his hips. A steady stream of cum filled your cunt to the brim. You were stuffed full of its milky warmth and his throbbing knot. You held him close to your body as he finished. Eren, being the little shit he was, tugged on Zeke’s tail one last time. The blonde let out a few whimpers before he collapsed. He was careful not to put his full weight on you.

“Can I come for you like a good boy now?” Eren asked.

“You gotta w—wait a bit. I’m stuck in her for the time being.”

You rubbed Zeke’s ass and he nuzzled his face into your neck. He could be so affectionate. If you ever tried to tell anyone, they’d never believe you. The only people that ever saw this side of him were you and Eren.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get your turn,” you said, gesturing to Eren to cuddle up beside you.

Eren did and weaseled his way under your arm. You gave him a little peck on the cheek. It would only be a matter of time before Zeke could pull out and let Eren have his turn.