#the composition and the lighting killed me thanks
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NOBODY WANTS TO BE ALONE ON CHRISTMAS - A Javier Peña Christmas One Shot
Summary: You discover your boss Javi will be spending the night alone, working on the cartel case on Christmas Eve, so you extend a kind offer for him to join you for some Christmas dinner.
Pairing: Javier Pena x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)
Word Count: 6.1k
Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M receiving/fingering.
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: There's some sexy Javi Spanish, not a lot, so I've not provided translations. Feliz Navidad!
12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤
The yellowing fluorescent lights overhead cast a slightly harsh glow on the worn-out carpet that covers the office floor.
The colour, once a muted gray, bears the marks of countless footsteps and the occasional coffee spill.
The desks, a mishmash of transient styles, are strewn with stacks of files, half-empty coffee mugs, and a scattering of outdated office supplies, like typewriter ribbons and correctional fluid.
The air carries the distinct scent of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, a constant companion in the war rooms of the DEA office. Agents huddle around a communal pot, exchanging quick greetings and nods as they fuel up for the next round of investigations.
The walls are plastered with maps and charts tracking drug routes and cartel activities. Bulletin boards are covered with Polaroid pictures of suspects, illustrating the intricate web of criminal connections in Cali.
The faint hum of dial-up internet connections emanate from the few computers scattered around the office. The whirr of dot matrix printers echo intermittently, producing reports that will become integral parts of the ongoing investigations.
The agents, clad in power suits and shoulder-padded blazers work with a sense of determination etched on their faces. The sounds of phones ringing and typewriters clacking provide a constant background symphony, underscoring the urgency of their mission.
The office's ambiance is further accentuated by the occasional chatter in both English and Spanish, a linguistic blend reflective of the team's diverse composition.
Agents move purposefully between desks, exchanging information in hushed tones. The dated computer terminals emit a soft hum as agents navigate through databases filled with information on known traffickers and cartel activities.
In the midst of this utilitarian environment stands a small potted Christmas tree, perched on the edge of the desk of Javier Peña.
Placed there as a tiresome joke, created by the junior agents during a rare lighthearted moment he suspects, adding a touch of personal flair to the otherwise stern atmosphere.
He’s pushed it off his desk twice now and it keeps reappearing, a constant reminder of his own inward dismay for this time of year.
You glance at him over the top of your screen, hard not to on the regular, seeing as your desk is placed directly opposite his, your back to the window. Not a strategic decision but one you're thankful for when his dark cocoa bean eyes meet yours.
As Javier focuses on decoding messages or delving into the intricacies of ongoing investigations at his computer, that he types really slow on, tapping laboriously on the keys, his eyes will inevitably wander to the window.
There, amidst the rain-streaked glass and the rhythmic dance of palm leaves, he’ll always find you diligently working at your desk. Your concentration, juxtaposed against the vibrant outdoor scenery, often draws his attention.
In those fleeting moments, as your eyes lock across the narrow expanse of the office, the intensity of your work seems to momentarily fade away, replaced by an unspoken connection that hints at something beyond the professional facade.
It isn't just the shared pursuit of justice that binds you to Javier; it’s the exchange of glances, the uncharted territory of emotions that simmer beneath the surface.
At least on your part anyway.
Harbouring an attraction to your boss isn’t a wise move. A move that you’ve sat on relentlessly, trying to squash it into the soft foam of your office chair ever since you were transferred from the archives to real administration work in a real investigations office.
Javier is indifferent to you, looks upon with you a less-than-impressed, resting bitch face, but you’ve soon learned it’s the way his features have been moulded after years of chasing down hardened criminals in the dangerous territories this country harbours.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile.
But he always holds your gaze, far longer than you suspect he should. Just lingering looks that neither of you spiral into a verbal acknowledgement.
You bring him coffee with his reports on occasion, always making one for him when you get one for yourself; another unspoken routine you’ve found yourselves waltzing in. You know he needs at least three cups in the morning to function before the computer is even switched on.
You feel the gravitational pull of these unspoken moments. As you diligently work on your assignments, your eyes instinctively drift towards Javier's desk; a magnetised shift as you meet his eyes lancing back at you and you allow yourself to believe it could be a look of want, of some coveted desire he has for you as you squeeze your thighs together during the heated exchanges.
But of course, that’s wishful thinking.
You know that your crush is a pointless endeavour with no viable outcome. Javier Peña’s reputation precedes him. You’ve heard whispers from the team about the hookers in downtown Bogotá, even if they leave a heavy weight of disappointment and longing in your stomach.
Plus, there is that mantra of not shitting where you eat.
As the agents prepare for the holidays, Christmas Eve being where you find yourself, tapping away on your keyboard at a productive speed of seventy WPM, compared to Javier’s eight WPM - you know, you’ve counted - the potted Christmas tree standing lackadaisical on his desk serves not only as a festive ornament, but also as a reminder that even in the heart of a demanding and dangerous mission, camaraderie and the spirit of the season can find a place, however small, in the DEA office in Colombia.
Plans are exchanged and shared as your colleagues speak of them later on when they’ll clock off.
"I'm taking the kids to see the Christmas lights downtown. They've been pestering me about it for weeks." One says.
Another chimes in, "I'm heading to my parents' house for a big family gathering. It's chaotic, but I love it."
As the discussions continue like billowy rain clouds drifting around, Javier remains at his desk, seemingly engrossed in his work and you notice his obvious disengagement from the holiday chatter ebbing around him.
One of them dares to direct a comment towards him. “Plans, boss?”
Javier shakes his head and you’re certain you can hear a grunt. “Work. Something you clearly don’t understand the concept of, Ramirez.”
It’s enough to bring the team to an awkward hush as they settle back behind their screens murmuring to themselves indistinctly.
And the thought gnaws at you throughout the remainder of the day. The thought of Javier spending Christmas eve in the office alone, powering through, as the light from outside dims and he works by eventual lamplight on his desk.
You’ve seen it before, coming in the following morning to see him blinking tiredly into the stacks of paperwork that often drown him on his desk out of your view completely.
He’s known for practically living in the office like a hermit when he’s not out in the tacvest taking on the cartel's head first, or seeking solace in some hooker's cleavage, if you’re to believe those rumours that buzz around like flies over a festering pile of shit.
And that gnawing thought starts to bite harder in the late afternoon.
Hard enough for you to try and soothe the shredded skin around your nails having bitten at them for most of the day, as you find yourself hovering over his desk a little longer after gathering completed files for you to alphabetise.
He doesn’t look up at you, even though your shadow is still in his peripherals. The scent of him this close is intoxicating. Tobacco and a faint note of whiskey from the bottle you know he keeps in his drawer.
A swilling musk of sweat; the climate at this time of year is tropical and it ruminates inside the ill fitting jacket of his beige suit. A slight glean of it runs tracks down his throat and you lick your lips, trying not to focus on it too much as he swallows.
“Señor Peña-”
“Javi.” He corrects bluntly.
“-I couldn’t help but overhear you don’t have any plans for Christmas.” You begin, tactfully, keeping your voice low.
Javi finally glances up, a stoic expression on his face, "I'll be working. The case needs my attention."
“Surely it can wait for one evening?” You sway. “I’m sure the cartels will be celebrating and making merry. You should have a break, sir. It’s Christmas.”
“Just another day,” he swallows grittily.
The atmosphere in the office seems to thicken with a sudden tension. Javier, known for his abrupt stoicism, can't hide the defensive edge in his voice.
You sigh and gather the files in your arms. “You’re welcome at my place, if you want. A bit of dinner?”
"Christmas dinner? Mierda.” He scoffs. “You trying to play the good samaritan or something?" Javier says, his tone edging with a hint of spite.
His eyes, usually stern, carry an unusual flicker of irritation as they darken. “Did I miss the memo that we're suddenly one big, happy family in this office?”
You clock your colleagues, now silent and peering over their screens at the spectacle.
Javier, leaning back in his chair, retorts, "save the Hallmark moments. I'm perfectly capable of spending Christmas alone. I don't need company, especially not from someone who doesn't know when to mind their own business."
Your expression holds a mix of hurt and determination. "This isn't about charity, Señor Peña-”
“Javi.” He corrects again with gritted teeth.
“-We're a team, aren't we?"
Maintaining his composure, he brushes off the suggestion.
"Team or not, I don't need or want your pity, cariño. I've got work to do. And so do you." He stares up at you with a silent fury venting from his dark eyes.
You bite down on the inside of your cheek.
“It’s not pity.” You correct, stepping away; cheeks burning up with some humiliation brewing.
He watches you leave towards the file room, and tosses a glare at the others who immediately begin tapping and working again.
Growling inwardly, he shoves the potted Christmas tree off his desk again and hears it topple to the floor.
The empty office seems to echo with the ghosts of the day's activities, the remnants of conversations and shared jovial laughter hanging in the air to taunt him long after you’re all gone.
Javi is sitting alone, the harsh glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across his caramel skin and making his eyeballs ache.
His long fingers trace the edge of the whiskey glass, each sip a bitter reminder of the solitude he’s chosen. The rain outside, a constant drizzle against the windowpane, mirrors the melancholy that settles within his chest.
His thoughts drift towards you, your invitation lingering like an unanswered question in the quiet room.
The disappointment and hurt swelling in the moisture of your eyes as he fired venom and hostility at your attempt at festive kindness. He knows it wasn't pity you offered, not really.
It’s in the coffee you always have made for him in the mornings that's just the right amount of rich and sweet, despite being from a cheap packet.
Your good nature, although grating at times, is what he secretly finds admirable about you - you care.
It's the care in your work, the attention to detail. The care in your questioning of your colleagues’ weekends and how you listen, hanging on their every word with bright curious eyes.
As he sips the whiskey, the amber liquid burns with a bitterness that seems to match the regret pooling in his chest. The files on his desk, once symbols of purpose, now feel like burdens, heavy with the weight of his own inane stubbornness.
He can't shake the feeling that he's missed out on something important here, a chance for a connection that has slipped through his fingers.
The loneliness presses in on him, and for the first time, Javi questions the walls he has built around himself. The whiskey, usually a numbing agent, now accentuates the ache of regret. He finds himself replaying the words he’d spoken to you, realising the rooted cruelty of his own defences.
The night unfolds slowly, the hands of the clock ticking away the minutes as Javi works through unrelenting paperwork.
In the quiet solitude, his thoughts mutate into a tempest of introspection. Your words batter his skull, your face.
He glances up at your desk and you’re not there, looking back at him and feeling his chest and loins alike filling with a tightness that aches.
The rhythmic tap of raindrops against the window becomes a thundering metronome. Filling his mind with flashes of your naked body pressed against his, the sound of your pleads and gasps filling him up as he fills you with himself.
Growls at the ache hardening between his legs, growling at his own stupidity, feeling a lifeline he's let slip away.
He glances around the empty office, the shadows dancing along the walls like phantoms of missed chances, beacons of potential connection.
His silhouette and yours, fucking in every position known to him, and Javi growls.
The weight of his own words linger in the air, each one a sharp reminder of the distance he’s purposefully placed between himself and his colleagues, and he’s not sure why.
He bends and picks it up and sees there's a label stabbed into the back of it, one he never noticed before.
The whiskey, now a bitter residue in his glass, mirrors the lingering taste of remorse and as he gets up to attend to a task, he trips on something.
The potted tree that he tossed so carelessly off of his desk.
Unfurling it, he realises it's a gift and not a practical joke played by his colleagues who have nothing better to do than mock his authority and professionalism behind his back.
Feliz Navidad, Señor Peña x
Placing the tree back on his desk, he lingers on the guilt.
The hum of the lonely printer and the distant patter of rain becomes a backdrop to his internal dialogue. What if, he wonders, he has misunderstood your invitation? What if it isn't about pity, but a genuine desire for his companionship?
The barriers he’s erected around himself feel suddenly fragile; the stoicism that has defined him now seems like a self-imposed prison.
Has he really been so blind of your affections towards him?
In that moment, a decision crystallises in Javi's mind. He can't spend Christmas alone in the sterile glow of the fluorescent lamplight, drowning in whiskey and the silence of his regrets.
His fingers drum on the desk, a silent debate waging within him. As he grabs his creased jacket from hours of sitting on it, the decision solidifies with every step.
The office, with its empty corridors and the ghosts of his own stubbornness, seem to release him with a reluctant sigh. He can’t stay here tonight.
Not when he knows now that you want him.
“Javi… I mean, Señor Peña.”
You stand on the other side of the door. The intrepid concern for a late night knocker in a city like this, melts away into something else as you peer at him on the other side.
“Buenas noches, cariño.”
He’s wet, soaked through almost. His hair sticking to his forehead like an oil slick, and droplets caught in the prominent pencil moustache that you’ve always wondered if it would be soft or coarse against your skin.
“Javi, please.” He softens.
“What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you to...” You’re a little stunned actually. The gall and unpredictability of this man never ceases to amaze.
He holds out a bottle that he plucks from a brown bag, tequila.
“Call it a peace offering, or a Christmas gift. Either way, I'm sorry for snapping.” Javi says, and you can feel the sincerity and regret radiate from him, burning hotter than the sun.
“It’s okay.” You say, with a blooming smile at the corners of your lips.
He questions it. Relief? Are you as genuinely pleased to see him as you appear? And it stunts him, your instant forgiveness.
He nods slowly. “If it’s alright with you, querida, I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands?"
He extends the olive branch and you’re only too quick and eager to receive it.
“Sure. Come on in, Javi.” You smile with pertinent relief.
You fix him a plate, reheating leftovers, as he perches on the edge of your lumpy sofa, feeling that it could swallow him down into its gullet at any moment if he truly relaxes.
It’s a rental, probably more than you can afford, bland with peeling paint and a musty aroma that lingers under the scent of your floral perfume that pollutes his head daily at work.
He shuffles out of his wet jacket, large wet patches dye the beige of his pants darker at the thighs and knees. He takes in the frailty of your apartment. The emptiness of it.
How nothing here reflects the sparkling personality he knows you have.
The air carries a faint scent of scented candles, the flickering flames casting a soft ambiance as his eyes find them gloaming on the coffee table in clusters. The muted colours of the furniture and the strategically placed potted plants create a serene atmosphere, a stark departure from the chaos of the office.
The harsh absence of the expected holiday decorations strike him. There are no garlands draped along the walls, no twinkling lights casting a festive glow. A vast, empty space threatens the room where a Christmas tree should stand.
Instead, the void exudes a calm simplicity that feels like a deliberate choice rather than an oversight on your part.
Noticing his surprise, you offer a small smile. "Not what you were expecting, huh?”
Javi, still processing the unexpected interior, manages a nod. The realisation that your invitation wasn't an attempt to impress, but a genuine extension of your simple world, settles within him.
The apartment, with its quiet and dated elegance, feels like a reflection of your character - strong, resilient, and unassuming.
"I didn't expect this," he admits, gesturing around the room. "I thought there would be... I don't know, more Christmas shit."
You hum with a smile as you pass him a plate.
Javi tentatively asks, "so, why did you invite me here, if it wasn’t pity?"
Your eyes hold a glint of sincerity. "Because I sensed you needed it. Christmas alone in the office isn't how anyone should spend the holidays. You work too much."
He takes the plate gratefully. Then he watches as you slice into limes with a blunt knife and toss the segments into a chipped bowl.
Javi, caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, feels a pang of gratitude. The walls he had so meticulously built around himself were showing cracks, and your presence seems to widen those fractures, as you seat yourself beside him on the sofa bringing glasses and salt for the tequila.
You lean back, studying him as he replaces his picked at plate for the bottle, twisting off the cap.
“So, you really are a good samaritan?”
"No, I just don’t think we realise what we need until someone offers it, I guess.” You shrug.
“Is that so?” He asks, pouring out shots into the glasses.
“It's okay to accept help, Javi."
“Do you think I need rescuing?”
“You don’t want to know what I think.” You say.
“Humour me.” He tempts as he hands you a glass. You pick up the salt shaker sprinkling some on the base of your thumb.
“Well, you’re an asshole.”
Javi chokes immediately on his tequila, spluttering it over the rim of the glass as you grin.
Then he nods, wiping at his long since loosened tie. “I am.”
“And you’re grumpy and you’re mean.”
“Never proclaimed to be Christ.” He smirks.
“Is it true what they say about you?” You question, carefully.
“What do they say about me?” Javi asks with raised eyebrows.
“That you… you know, spend a lot of time in Bogotá with the uh…”
“Hookers. You can say it.” He scoffs.
“Yeah.” You say swallowing back the tequila hard.
“Sometimes a man has his vices.” He simply says, pouring out another. He catches your face, bitter from the lime you suck. Or maybe something else.
“What about you, no boyfriend?” He asks.
You shake your head. “No.” He watches as you frown and try to mask it.
“Thank you… for the tree.” He says after a few minutes of awkward silence have descended upon you both. “I didn’t realise it was from you.”
“It’s nothing.” you shrug.
“We both know that’s not true.”
You smile, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”
He turns your face back to him with a simple finger and thumb on your chin gently, dropping it when your eyes meet his again. You watch his eyes watch as you gnaw on your lip.
“Do you really think I’m an asshole?” He questions.
“Why do you care what I think, Javi?”
“Because I’d hate for you to think that about me.”
“Sometimes…" You admit. "But I just mostly think... that you’re sexy.”
His eyebrows raise. “Por que?”
“I mean-” You fluster. Shit. “Too much tequila,” you say quickly, feeling the heat abruptly flood into your face.
“You think I’m sexy, cariño?”
You reach for more tequila, but his hand, gently curling around your wrist, stops you.
“No.” You say, and he knows you're bluffing.
It’s out there now, that spoken want and desire growing limbs and becoming a solid form before you.
“That’s not what you said.” Javi, taken slightly aback by the depth of your admission, meets your twinkly gaze with a mix of curiosity and simmering.
“I should go,” he says, edging closer to you.
You bite down on your lip again, your eyes falling to his lips, pink and shiny as he runs his tongue on the bottom one.
A subtle drumming fills the silence between you until you realise it’s your heart beating frantically in your chest.
The air between Javi and you now crackles with a newfound tension, static that clings to your skin and makes all the hairs on your body stand tall.
“Stay.” You whisper, turning your body in and knocking against his knees with yours.
His hand around your wrist travels onto your thigh, moving up to your hip.
“If I stay, I’m going to fuck you, cariño. All night.” He husks, as your face draws near.
You can smell the honeyed agave on his breath. Feel it warm your eyelashes. He's so close.
“Stay, Javi.” Your hands climb the lapels of his damp shirt, twisting.
“Is that what you want?” He questions, dangerously close now.
You can feel both his hands circling your hips, kneading and squeezing gently, but firm. His forehead touching yours, lips so close to take in your teeth.
“I don’t want to be alone on Christmas. And neither do you.” You confirm.
The sharp citrus of the lime stings against your lips as he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your gasps.
You taste his tongue; a faint descry of smoke and distilled amber dances over your own. Javi’s large hands caress your back, pulling you closer, cradling you in his arms as your kiss becomes deeper, more desperate.
You explore the uncharted territory of him; exhilarated and emboldened by his mutual want of you. Gasps pelt into your mouth as you finger through his hair feeling the silk of it, nails scrape down his spine over the damp material of his shirt.
His hands do all the talking too as he strokes them over your body, feeling the hilts and curves. He winds up your stomach and gropes gently at your breast, pushing upwards so it spills over your cami.
He glances at you, watching him as he flicks his tongue across your nipple, and sucks it into his mouth. He frees the other one and alternates between running his tongue and mouth across them.
“Eres tan hermosa.” Javi mists over your skin. And it pulls the breath from you to know that he thinks you're beautiful.
This man that you’ve coveted for so long, in the secret, sordid confines of your imagination and your sheets as you fuck yourself with your fingers to orgasm, is running his lips over your nipples and sucking them into his mouth as though he can’t get enough of you.
You can only choke out a gasp at how good it feels, how absurd it still is that he’s actually here.
Javi tilts your head back, fingers wrapping gently around your jaw so he can kiss your throat. You feel the graze of his teeth as he pulls on the skin, marking you as your hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt.
Revealing caramel, tan skin, you trail kisses down his throat, tasting the sweat that lingers in with the indolence of his cologne, notes of spice barely hanging on as you wash them away with your tongue. His skin is warm, smooth as you kiss down his chest as he leans back into the sofa.
You feel his fingers fighting with his belt under the tendrils of your hair. You take over, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his svelte waist as you glance up at him; your mouth dangerously close to his cock, freed and swollen.
You’re surprised at his size, hidden and tucked away in those tight pants on the daily and unsure how you’ve never noticed this enormity before. It’s not like you haven’t looked at his crotch when he stands from his desk, it's in your direct line of sight.
You can smell it, smell that salted crystal of precum glistening at you as it bubbles on his head, soaking his pink engorged skin, and you brave yourself to lick it. To finally taste him.
He shudders, you know you want to take your time worshipping him, suckling gently around his swollen head as his hands coil inside your roots.
Savouring the taste for yourself, only ever being able to imagine what he would feel like inside your mouth. Alternating between sucks and licks, you tease the length of him, taking him deeper each time.
“Fuck,” Javi hisses as he watches your lips suction around him.
You let your lips slide up and down the thick girth of him, smooth and warm, listening as he hisses between his teeth, his fingers stroking at your face.
You jerk him as you go, hand sliding up and down and pulling the wet tracks from your mouth down his hard cock, as he glides effortlessly into your fist.
You keep licking the head until you take him inside again, cheeks hollowed out as you suck harder.
“So fucking good,” he grits at you, a visible strain in his throat.
You relax your throat, opening wider, taking him in deeper and he audibly groans.
Your eyes flick to his and his pupils have bled into the chocolatey irises; a dark hungry stare tossed back at you that makes your clit pull tight in response.
You hum in satisfaction around him, listening to him enjoying your mouth.
He reaches forward, “ven aquí,” pulling you to him and twisting so you’re on the couch.
He kisses over your skin as he reveals it, pulling off your clothes until you’re naked in his arms.
His hands leave a desolate carnage of tingles as he traverses your body, fingers trailing delicately across your navel as he sucks on your lip, nipping gently between his teeth. You feel him, digits slipping further to the swollen, wet bud of your clit.
You gasp into his mouth as he circles on it, slick movements as your inner thighs jerk and twitch. You clasp onto his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole before he pushes two of them inside.
“Javi,” you groan.
“That feel good, cariño?”
You nod. “So good.”
“So tight,” he groans as he slips his tongue in your mouth, the soft bristles of his moustache tickling deliciously against your lip. “Lay back for me.”
Withdrawing his fingers after a few teasing pumps, you lay back, Javi kneeling between your thighs and stroking himself. Spitting into his palm and coating himself with it as he watches your fingers rub quick, little circles around your clit.
His other hand strokes up your thigh and reaches for your breast; palming it and feeling your nipple pebble under the rough skin of his palm - rough and calloused from the constant handling of his Beretta as of late.
He kneels up slightly, running the tip of his cock inside your folds, greasing himself up with your slick. Tapping gently against your clit and you gasp as he squelches around you.
“So wet for me, are you always this wet?” He utters in praised disbelief.
You smirk, nodding. “For you I am.”
“Fuck,” he smirks back.
“You don’t want to know what you do to me…” You whisper.
“I want to know,” he says with deep hypnotic eyes. “I want to know everything. Dime que hago por ti, querida.”
Leaving forward over you, his hand splayed on the cushion above your head, Javi lines up, the thick head of him notching gently at your entrance.
"Tell me what you think about when you look at me over your desk," He urges.
Javi feels you flutter against him already, the desperation to suck him in as he bites down on his lip watching you. Watching your eyes flit from the centre of your legs, to his eyes.
“This," you breathe. "Want you, Javi,” you moan to him, trying to push yourself against him.
You move as he slips in, letting go of his cock and laying over you as his hips shunt forward in a smooth thrust, filling you full of him.
“Oh!” You gasp.
Your lips tear at his; your arms creeping around the back of his neck as he winds into you, grunting in your ear.
“Oh my God, Javi…”
The crest of his hips rattle against you, pushing you closer together as you wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his pert ass.
He moves with intention, every thrust well thought out to feel every inch of you, to make you feel every inch of him.
“You feel so good, so wet around my cock…” He grunts into you.
You can hear it, hear every lewd, wet squelch as he thrusts in and out. Louder than your mutual breathing and gasps.
He pushes your left leg up against the sofa and leans forward, closer into you as his hips continue to piston in.
His breath is heavier, ragged in the back of his throat as it scrapes across his tongue and out into your face.
He kisses you like he’s in love with you; gentle clicks of his lips against yours. Sucking gently around your tongue as he puffs through his nose.
He runs his chin up the side of your face, nuzzling. The moustache feels soft and silken; finally answering all your probing questions about it.
He hooks your legs against his shoulders and stays close to your face, his hips doing all the work now. Hitting that spot deep inside you as he fucks that bit harder, that bit more intense.
You can feel the flames licking at your skin, the heat suffocating the room. The tightness in your belly, the way your limbs begin to contort with the pressure.
“Oh, oh,” you whine. You can feel it brewing, feeling it rushing through your veins.
He presses his forehead to yours in an effort to ground you, pull you back to him, but it does the opposite, it makes you soar. Your gasps become throated grunts as it builds.
“Let it out,” Javi coaxes. “Let go, cariño. You feel so good around me like this. That’s it, come for me.”
He glances down, watching his cock disappear inside your swollen lips, and coming back out slick and shinier with each thrust. He pushes down on your thighs, your knees against your shoulders folding you up as he ploughs harder.
Each breath in the back of his throat punching out as though he’s running a marathon.
“Oh my God, yes… Javi!”
“Come for me,” he pleads again, moaning around each syllable in a soft tincture that punctures your lungs.
He can feel it when you contract, that moment you flood around him. He watches as you writhe and shudder, your voice losing it’s alto as you sigh and pant, losing yourself blind to your orgasm.
“Oh fuck… fuck yes!" He groans as he can feel you shaking on his cock.
“Hold on to me,” he says, pushing your hands to his neck where you wrap them around him.
He kneels, hooking his hands under your thighs to pull you upright onto him, and closer, and you feel him hit deeper as you cry out.
Javi slows his pace, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip for a second as he completely loses himself. Pussy drunk on you, buried so deep inside that he forgets where he is for a moment.
The sofa creaks in pain with his tempo, both his hands on your ass winding you back and forth over his cock.
The sweat shines at the bottom of your back; the room feels like a furnace, despite the rain outside cooling the night's air that seeps in from the open window.
“You’re gonna make me fucking come so hard…” He’s growling now, you can hear it. Those husked grunts ribbing at the back of his throat, lips curled up over his teeth as he plunders deeper into your cunt.
You move, flexing your hips back and forth as you fuck him slowly, and he groans coming back to you. His hands slip back down onto your hips as he moves you, faster, harder on his cock.
“Come inside me, Javi.”
“Oh fuck, mierda… Fuck!” It’s sweetly blasphemous as he comes, grunting and whimpering, his own body shaking and shuddering against yours. Sweat glueing you to one another.
He groans out as he comes, filling you with his thick spend as your tongue knots in his mouth.
“Querida,” he moans, as you peck gently over his face, his arms unrelenting, refusing to let go of you.
He lays back, taking you with him into the breach of the sofa. And you smile at his face regarding you back; big browns that are just mesmerised in some post-coital bliss by all those little nuances, up close and in his face.
You become mesmerised too, by the way his tongue glides over his teeth, usually to show mirth or derision in the office, but here it commands desire. Want.
How when he smiles, the left side of his top lip is the first to crook up into that beam that drags his cheeks up to reveal dimples either side of his face, marred usually by his moustache.
It takes you a moment to realise he’s smiling. Javier Peña is smiling for you, and it stuns you, tracing your fingers around the edges of it like a fine piece of art, the beauty of it etched forever in your memory.
“Que?” He asks, observing your awe.
“I’ve never seen you smile before.” You say, shaking your head. “You should do it more often.”
You think you spy a blush creep into the bronze sculpting of his cheeks. Small capillaries flooding with blood.
He slips out of you, but you feel his fingers reaching between your lips probing and slipping around gently in the silken feel of him starting to drip out of you.
He runs his nose across your face, nuzzling into you further. You feel him, sticky and softening under you, and you stroke through his hair, matted with sweat and smiling as he pecks at you still.
He kisses you, tonguing around your mouth as you feel his fingers sliding inside you, pushing his come back in. His thumb delicately stroking on your clit, barely ghosting it as your shudder and clutch onto him.
He softly strokes you to another orgasm as you pant inside his mouth.
You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, how he’ll treat you in the office after this.
If this could become a regular thing where he brings flowers and tequila, and takes a spare key and keeps some of his things here, and has dinner with you and showers with you.
You try to ponder on if it will make things tense or awkward. If he’ll regret it. If you’ll regret it. If he’ll see you as some easy conquest, another notch on his bedpost.
Or if this could become something more.
It doesn’t matter, because right now in this moment, as the clock rolls over into the early hours of Christmas morning in the torrential rain that sprays over Colombia, Javi kisses at your throat with a gentleness about him you couldn’t believe could have existed.
And it’s the best Christmas gift you ever could have wished for.
“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” You whisper into the hairs of his moustache.
“Feliz Navidad, cariño.” He whispers back.
12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
#javier pena x reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#javier pena#javier pena narcos#pedro pascal characters#javi p#javi pena smut#javi pena fic#javier peña#javi peña#javier pena x f!reader#javier pena x you#narcos fic#christmas stories#jett's writing
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could you write something about Caitlin based on so high school by Taylor?
literally same wavelength bc i was thinking abt writing this last night that’s crazy!!! i hope you like it! as always my reqs are open for you guys :) feel free to request any scenarios, hcs, prompts, etc <3
pairing: cc x reader
plot summary: caitlin gets asked a question about her girlfriend at a post game interview and it takes her back to her high school years with you.
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“So Caitlin,” an interviewer questions, “you were on fire tonight on the court. What gives you that drive and that power to keep pushing through?” Caitlin tightened her ponytail and cocked her head to the side, thinking of an answer.
“I couldn’t have done it without the support of my family, teammates and of course my Coach. But there’s something else, well someone else, that definitely has played a huge part into my success over the years. My beautiful girl Y/N. She’s supported me through everything, ever since I’ve known her. She’s just this ball of sunshine that’s just..just my everything. She’s been my biggest supporter and being around her just makes me feel like so..i don’t know so high school, I guess?” Caitlin chuckles at the end of her sentence, thinking back to get when first fell for you
I. I want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you.
It was your junior year of high school when you started to get close with Caitlin. You were a new student and had sat by her in her chem class. She took a liking to you immediately. You weren’t exactly the science type, your forte being more English and History; Language composition, Aristotle, socratic seminars, those were your thing. You came right as basketball season was starting and Caitlin saw this as a perfect opportunity to get closer with the pretty girl in her chem.
“Hey! Super random but are you a basketball fan?” Caitlin questioned you, “I have a game today if you want come”.
“I mean it’s not really my thing, but I’d love to come support you!” You replied cheerfully.
Fast forward to the game, your schools team won 58-67, thanks to Caitlin and her amazing skills.
Caitlin’s teammates surrounded her, but all she could think about was the pretty girl in her chemistry class that came to watch her. Just her. She searched for you in the crowd until she finally saw you. She was to scared for your eyes to meet, and quickly looked away. She hurried back to the locker room with her cheeks pink underneath the gymnasium’s twinkling lights. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and checked her phone.
Y/N💕
you were great tonight! thanks for the invite ;)
Caitlin buried her head in her hands. You were going to be the death of her.
2. I’ll drink what you think and I’m high
Later that year, Caitlin took you out to a house party. She thought it would be a great way to get you out of your shell and meeting new people. Not in a romantic sense of course, she already had dibs on you and everyone except her knew it.
At the party you both declined any drinks offered to you, wanting to stay clean and level headed for your first official “hangout” together. Despite staying sober, Caitlin was cracking up at every one of your jokes. You continued them just to see her smile.
“Wonder how much Cait’s had to drink.” One of her teammates said. “Not a drop,” another replied.
The latter was right. Caitlin Clark was simply drunk on love.
3. Are you gonna Marry, Kiss, or Kill me?
The end of your junior year, Caitlin took you to another party. You two were crushing and crushing hard, but hadn’t made anything official yet.
One of your mutual friends suggested you play a game of kiss, marry, kill and being bored out of your minds, you all complied. “So Y/N, kiss, marry, kill. Caitlin, Alexis, and Joshua.” You didn’t skip a beat and replied instantaneously.
“Easy peasy. Cait for all three.”
“WHAT?!” Caitlin shrieked, “You wanna kill me?!” looking at you with an expression of mock horror.
“Well, you can’t pick 2 and not the other. So technically I have no other choice.” You looked at her sweetly.
“Actually I think the point of the game is you assign one name to either kiss, marry, or kill.” Your mutual friend started, “But I’ll let it slide for you two lovebirds.”
4. Touch me while your boys play GTA.
It was your high school senior year. Caitlin’s basketball team was having a relaxed hangout at her house, playing video games. You had made your relationship official over the summer, and were excited to see what this school year had in store for you both.
You and Caitlin were snuggled up together under a blanket on her couch, while her teammates sat on the ground below playing Grand Theft Auto, a game you knew nothing about. You and Caitlin stared at each other intensely and suddenly you jumped in your seat. The hand on your thigh had shocked you, Caitlin had always seemed so PG to you. You looked up at her with an “are you crazy?!” look on your face. She used her free hand to put up her pointer finger to her mouth as if to shush you.
You weren’t quick ready to take things further than that, never having had anybody the way you’d had her before. She of course respected you and gave you a kiss on the forehead, and then proceeded to get up. “Okay guys, time for me to show you why Y/N calls me the Grand Theft Auto Annihilator.”
“Dude. I have never in my life thought about calling you that.”
5. I’m hearing voices, like a madman.
Freshman year of college and you both had committed to the University of Iowa. The two of you had, of course, decided to room together, and were happy and content with how everything had worked out for you too.
Living together proved to be somewhat challenging at first, with Caitlin being quite messy with her things. She was usually level-headed and wasn’t one to start fights, but God forbid you mention something about her not keeping her side of your room clean. Her D1 ego would not allow you to.
That day you two had bickered about Caitlin not doing the dishes like she’d promised to. “Caitlin. There’s literally 3 dishes in the sink, and you said you’d do them. C’mon man.” You said to her, half joking in an attempt to get her to listen without arguing. But Caitlin had already had a stressful morning and was not in the mood. “I’ll do them after,” She spoke curtly. “I have practice.” She jumped up, grabbed her bag, and stalked out of the dorm.
During practice, she was a mess. She kept missing shots. “Serves her right,” She thought to herself, “Little Miss ‘Oh I’m Y/N yes I’m so clean and proper lalalala-” Caitlin paused as she realized how absolutely ridiculous she sounded. She reminded herself of you whenever you did impressions of your dad. In an instant she busted into a fit of giggles, sharing her thought with her teammates so they could laugh too.
After practice, she came straight home to your shared dorm and spent the rest of the night making it up to you with a movie night filled with popcorn, candy, and most importantly a clean sink.
Caitlin snapped back into the present as the interviewer finished her thought, “It sure seems like your girlfriend Y/N has played a huge role in not only your life on the court but also off of it. How sweet! Where is she tonight?”
“She’s actually…” Caitlin turned around to look for you, and saw you walking past her to Kate wearing one of her jersey’s. She softly grabbed your arm and pulled you into the camera’s view. “She’s right here! Hi baby!” Caitlin gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before turning her attention back to the interview.
“So Y/N, in your eyes how do you think Caitlin did tonight?” The interviewer now questioned you.
You took a moment to think and then smiled, “Amazing as always. She’s always been amazing. Ever since high school where I met her.”
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“Death of Hyacinthus”
Out of jealousy, the west wind Zephyrus causes Apollo's discus to strike Hyacinthus and kill him. Apollo creates hyacinths from the prince's blood so that his soul lives on through the flowers.
For composition & characters, I took inspiration from Tiepolo’s “Death of Hyacinthus” and Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus.”
Follow-up piece from the Apollo/Hyacinthus I painted last year. Notes, process & closeups can be found below the cut
This is an experimental piece, where I wanted to make use of value, contrasting gradients, and shape to direct the composition.
Unfortunately, the drapery didn’t work out and I ended up having to get creative with enlarging Zephyrus’ wings and playing with the atmosphere & clouds behind him to get the same gestural movement within the painting. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing I didn’t paint the drapery, as it would have started getting repetitive with Apollo’s cape.
Also up to this point, everything was painted with an airbrush on one layer, because I wanted a good brushwork challenge. I think it should usually be the other way around, but my rendering is really poor on paper and even worse digitally lol;;
The soft airbrush step took about a week, and then I sat down for a day and put in the hard edges & finished rendering pretty quickly. I reckon it’s a pretty neat way to work lol
I have to thank Britt Snyder, who is awesome and gave me heaps of guidance for the composition in the initial stages, and in the final detailing. He introduced some really nice suggestions to the painting, which really makes the whole piece pop.
Zephyrus - neutral expression in the first few iterations, but this looks more interesting i reckon lol. I personally really liked the soft airbrush effect and the hard edge on the wing & felt pretty validated when Britt pointed it out too xD
Apollo and Hyacinthus - this is where I wanted the focal point to be. Transitioning from dark background -> light sun -> dark hair -> light skin -> dark features was a deliberate attempt to increase contrast in the area & draw the eye to it first. I think it was pretty successful?
Hyacinths growing out of the blood. I didn’t really want these to stand out too much.
ANYWAY thanks for reading, this is my first finished painting of 2023 and i’m pretty happy with it, DEFINITELY not perfect but with everything that’s happened this year? life is tough and bleak and i will take this small win xD
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i have been enabled to be autistic about emesis blue so i will now study the first scene that absolutely killed me and one of my personal favorites in regards to cinematography
(screen recording so you can watch it first)
are you ready? let's go!
the phone call ends and we are overwhelmed by an unnerving silence. a clock in the room amplifies the sense of dread. it's beat feeling almost like a heart, while also grounding the scene on real time
the static guides us as scout turns his head to look at something off screen. the shot positions him in a clear comparison with the pawn on the chess board, the only blue piece surrounded by unlit red ones on and off the board.
it is between the queen and king implying the lack of importance and agency he has. we can appreciate a triangular composition based on these pieces and scouts face, leading the eye of the viewer towards the aforementioned pawn. a couple of rocks help cementing the effect by filling in the negative space left in between scouts face and the pawn, while also adding to the idea that the blue figure being surrounded, as they stand parallel to the other red pieces
he sees something and we switch camera so we can see what he spotted. someone starts whitelisting hall of the mountain king
despite being able to see him, we are in an angle that alludes to scouts pov. the light cast by the lap burns his face making us ignore his features and guiding us directly to where his mother's face is peaking in front of the window, surrounding her by darkness.
as we keep hearing the song, it builds up tension like winding a jackbox, becoming uncanny as it suddenly cuts to come back again like a record player getting momentarily stuck.
scout watches as her head drops when an off screen figure drops it. when it hits the floor the whistling ends breaking the tension to then pan to the left side of the room where we see the shadow made by an intruder wielding a blunt object
the clock stops ticking
while we can see the figure standing on screen, on a first watch, our eyes will focus on the shadow as it is situated withing the only well lit area on screen, being also the place we are led to by the panning.
FINAL THOUGHTS:
this scene builds up tension in a way that misdirects the viewer to explore the uncomfortableness and terror of being frozen in place (fight/flight/freeze/fawn).
we know something is wrong and therefore, something is about to happen. so we expectantly wait, unable to do anything about it. then, as it is about to end, we are made aware that the danger we were waiting for, had been creeping up towards us, out of our sight while we were staring the opposite way.
this entire movie is incredibly crafted, but as a fan of cinema and a fan of horror, this scene is my favorite.
(thanks @hydepotions for giving me an excuse to be a little more autistic than usual)
#emesis blue is a love letter to animation and cinema and it has been at the back of my mind since the day it released#i am planning to do an even more in depth analysis of it#(maybe a video??? only time will tell)#emesis blue#tf2#film analysis
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let’s go everywhere together +18 (riri williams x reader) pt 2
it’s one of your first school breaks with riri and you’ve been trying to avoid any contact with your family for as long as possible, ignoring phone calls and not reading texts. riri notices this, and plans a couple of weeks away for you both, surprising you and accidentally causing some of the problems you wanted to avoid arise.
we’re back again folks. riri my love, i neeeddd you. y’all already know this is that little riri series i’m working on and i really hope you guys are liking it bc i don’t plan on stopping anytime soon! riri means the world to me (part one here!)
my usually warnings; overstim, strap on sex, crying, praise kink, pet names, light bullying, squirting, multiple orgasms, reader gets spoiled/ mild angst, homophobic family, unsupportive family, lesbianaphobia and harsh language, crying (for a different reason), supportive! riri, defensive! riri
song inspo : do you mind by evann mcintosh
tag list; thank you my loves for all the support!! @chidinma @rxcently @vlkyriesverse @verachii @widowmakker @mocha-aya @shuristan101 @dejaonline @supahst4r @no-oneelsebutnsu @an1meslvt @shuriszn @yamsthoughts @6-noir @g4yforu @adharaoaklyn @remwritess @lolas-bunny @msplayas @acommonwhor3
enjoy!! 💟
riri had been spoiling you lately. and you knew exactly why.
spring break was coming up, and the year had flown right past your eyes. your grades were good, you were good, so happy and content living your little life with riri on campus, but it was all coming to an end. in just one short week, your world was going to come crashing down. in one week you’d either have to decide to go back home for three weeks and face the wrath that is your extremely awful mother or nearly empty your already small bank account to rent an air bnb or hotel room long enough for the break.
you couldn’t fathom staying with your mother, it would practically kill you; her terrible, old ways and just all in all intensity was just so unpleasant to be around, but it was overall how much you knew she hated that you were a lesbian. it ate her up inside like she was dealing with her own demons about her sexuality of some sort, but you couldnt take three weeks of fighting, or her threatening to kick you out or end your phone plan or anything like that.
and those thoughts have been weighing on you, making you go quiet during conversations and having a lull in participation in even your favorite class. all your cakes in culinary were failing and your notes had become jumbled and useless to understand, so much so your professors pulled you aside to ask if there was any way they could help.
you always said, “yes, keep me in class over break so i don’t have to go home,” and they always laughed, even though you were completely serious.
riri was picking up on this too. she would constantly buy you things, you spent every single night in her dorm, or you were never in yours alone. she would be at your side, always trying to make you laugh in some way to ease your mind. and you appreciated it, of course you did, but thoughts like these weren’t just going to disappear anytime soon.
it was really weighing you down.
you were leaving your composition and design class, and in two short hours you’d literally be homeless, broke, or driven into insanity and the thought made your chest ache. you sighed as your phone rang in your pocket, you knew who it was, even though you had blocked her after her very disturbing comments on thanksgiving.
once the call dropped, you called riri, already feeling tears weld up in your eyes. she picks up almost immediately, “hey baby, class over?” and you whisper a small “yeah,” walking straight to her dorm with your head down and voice quiet. riri hears it though, “hey, it’s alright baby, she still calling?” and you nod even though you know she can’t see you, but she understands. “when you get home, i have a surprise okay, it’ll make you feel so much better i promise, okay? it’s already unlocked,” and you smiled, eyes still wet but your heart finally slowed, “thank you, baby,”
and you hear her smile, “anything for you,” your steps pick up a bit, and finally you’re at her building.
riri’s music is heard through her dorm room before you even get there and you smile to yourself, happy to know everything will get better the minute you open her door.
when you do, riri’s packing, most of her dorm already barren and empty and your heart sinks. right, you think, riri’s leaving. your mind reels for a second but riri sees you and comes up to you and rubs your arms, “hey, woah, whatever you’re thinking stop it because it’s not it, it’s alright,” and you nod, trying to hear her but your eyes are already getting wet again and you feel stupid and so over it—
and riri pulls up her phone, showing you her screen, and it says,
your two week air bnb has been booked! confirmation code 7HD89JKMA. CHECK IN: April, 4 2:00 pm under name, RIRI WILLIAMS, for destination myrtle beach, south carolina thank you!
you blink for a second, not actually understand the message until riri talks again, “i know you were really stressed about going home and all that shit for spring break, so i thought we could spend it together,” she says, smiling, and your heart swells and you smile, eyes now wet for a different reason, and you want to hug her but you think—
“oh my god, riri, how much was this? we can’t— you shouldn’t have—” and she cuts you off, “actually i didn’t even spend that much. turns out the owners are real but fans of ironheart, so, for a little fee of 10k, i gave them a lil prototype blaster i made,” she shrugs a bit when you laugh at her, shocked, “i honestly can’t believe they bought it, that thing was so useless,” she’s saying but you can’t hear her, your head is ringing and you’re filled with so much joy.
you nearly tackle her into a hug, much like she does you, and she laughs as you kiss all over her face, your lip gloss getting everywhere and you’re saying “thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over again and riri holds you close, rubbing your back and kissing you when your lips finally meet. she holds you there, a long, deep kiss, and you smile into it, holding on to her like she’s the only think that matters. you pull away, sighing, “i love you,” you whisper against her nose and she whispers it right back, looking deep into your eyes.
you’ve packed nearly everything you could think of, sunscreen, toothpaste, your hair products… you’re fumbling through your bad at the air port, checking one last time and riri comes back with your sandwhiches laughing. “babe, you’ve got it all, we checked like four times, it’s alright,” she says exasperated. you sigh out a laugh as she sits down, “i know, you’re right, okay. i’ll stop, which ones yours?” and she hands you your food and you both sit in comfortable silence.
you smile to yourself as the time passes, riri on her phone watching some show she’s tried to rope you into and you listening to music, head on her shoulder as you wait for your flight to board. you still couldn’t fathom that riri had done all this just for you, just so you could stop worrying and finally relaxing.
you sigh to yourself and glance at her slightly, her eyebrows down as her murder mystery plays. you chuckle and she looks at you, “what?” she says smirking, and you giggle, “no, nothing your show watching face is just so cute, you look so serious,” and she shoves you a bit, “man, look, i’m trying to figure who murder angela! and they keep talking about stupid shit, like i can’t, even the deceive is pissing me of like—,” and she’s rambling again, already eager to talk to you about her show, and you’ve heard a million times but it still makes you smile.
you feel your phone buzz in your pocket though, before riri can get too deep in it, and your heart sinks a bit. riri notices, “how many times is that today?” she says quietly, focusing all her attention on you now. you sigh once the call drops, “15,” whispering it out like it’s a secret. riri exhales right behind you, “fucking shit, that’s insane,” and you nod, leaning back into her shoulder. she wraps an arm around you, kissing your forehead lightly, “when we land you gonna turn your phone off?” she suggested still quiet, and you chew on your lip thinking. she had asked you beforehand, during your packing and you gave her an uneasy shrug.
“what if it’s an emergency? what if she needs me?” you said sadly, fulling sitting down and riri almost rolled her eyes at you, “baby, look at me, if it was an emergency there’s something called voicemail. and who cares?! she treated you like shit!” and you sigh,
“i know, it’s just,” you fold another pair of pants, “she’s my mom, i guess,” you whisper and riri walks over to you, titling your head up, “i know, mami, but look at how much this stresses you out. i just want you happy, baby, in anyway possible. so just, think about it okay?” and you nod and riri kisses you slowly, hands on your waist to pull you closer.
you put your hand in hers, sighing, “i might. i think i will,” you say quietly and she nods, licking her lips to hide her smile. you chuckle to yourself because you see it, she’s so obvious, and suddenly your flight number is up on the screen, the now boarding sign making you and riri jump up and collect your things, shoving a few more pieces of sandwich in your mouths. the plane boards quickly, everyone just like you and riri, rushing to get somewhere else for spring break. you sit once you’ve past all the security and riri, being the sweet girlfriend she is, gives you the window seat. you smile at her, a silent thank you, as the plane begins to take off.
riri’s checked every bed, bathroom, and beyond once you guys arrive to make sure everything is clean and ready to be used. you had gone to the master bedroom and god, it was gorgeous; long wall sized windows against the side that opened to a gorgeous balcony right above a small pool downstairs. the bed itself was huge, you and riri so used to the twin xl’s MIT provided had you both geeked. you’re on the balcony, breathing in and sighing once you hear the all clear from riri downstairs.
“so after we get all unpacked you wanna head to the beach, relax a bit before the sun sets, yeah?” she says behind you and turn to her, soft smile on your lips. she’s already changed, some shorts (god, look at her thighs) and a crop top, already changed for the warmer weather of south carolina. she smiles back at you when she sees you, “what?” her mouth quirking up to the sides, like she already knows and it’s likely she does.
you walk slowly to her, smiling and biting your lip, before you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her close, “thank you baby,” you whisper lowly and she gets the hint and smiles a bit harder too, leaning in with a, “youre welcome, my love,” whispered back before your mouth is finally on hers.
it starts slow, both you and riri just happy to feel each other and finally having some time outside of school to be in each other presence. you’ve already cut your phone off, riri almost begging you to once the plane lands and you do, agreeing you two should just spend some time together. she’s rubbing up and down your back, lightly groping your ass and you sigh against her mouth, enjoying the foreplay.
you feel riri start to lead you both back inside, walking backwards as you follow, your tongue melting against hers. she whines a bit, pulling away, “all of our stuff is downstairs, shit,” and you sigh, “you want me to get it?” and riri looks in your eyes, shaking her head, “no i can get it, you stay here and look pretty,” she says, all too close to your mouth, before she walks off, slapping your ass slightly earning a small yell of surprise from you.
you roll your eyes once she’s downstairs and sought after the bed, sighing and laying down once you hit the plush covers. riri was right for making you turn off your phone, you decide, your brain was clear and you heart was full; now all you thought about was making love with your girlfriend over and over and over again.
when she finally comes back, she had her boxers on and the small black bag from your luggage full of your sex toys. you sit up, leaning all your weight in your forearms and lowering your eyes. riri smiles a bit and walks towards you, finally on top of you again, setting the bag on your side and rubbing up your thighs under your dress, kissing you deeply. you moan slightly, moving your head in tandem with hers and she moves your dress up to your stomach, reveling your already soaking underwear.
you sigh into her mouth and she pulls away with a drag of your lip, “what do you want, mami? can you ask me?” she whispers agains your lips, hands right before your clothed clit and you whine, your mind fogged, “god, fuck me, riri, please, i need it,” you moan back against her and she smiles again, kissing you briefly before heading back to your neck, kissing you there and slowly taking off your underwear.
you whine and sigh, impatient, and riri grounds your thighs with her hands, “it’s alright baby, i got you.” and toss your head back once she finally adds some pressure to your clit, it’s cute but it’s not enough, “cmon riri, please… please, more, i— i need it—” you whine back desperately and riri sits up and nods, a quick “yeah okay, baby,” and finally moves your thighs around so she can twist your underwear off and you moan once the chilled air hits your lips and riri practically licks her at the sight of you: dress pulled up and pussy wet and pulsing. you feel yourself heat up under her gaze and it makes you try to cover yourself, “cmon, baby, hurry..” you emphasize and riri nearly scoffs.
“we got three weeks together baby, imma take my time with you, okay?” and she says it like she doesn’t care if you object. you moan, frustrated, but you feel her kiss at your thighs and it makes you sigh out in relief to some degree. she finally gets to your pussy and you feel her breathe and your thighs twitch.
“you have such a pretty pussy, mami, have i ever told you that? so fucking beautiful,” and you groan, closing your eyes at the praise and move your pussy closer to her mouth and riri laughs cruelly, “not yet baby, let me look at you,” she whispers and she takes two fingers to pull your lips apart, your entrance pulsing lowly and you jump, sighing and whining. “so wet for me, love, fuck,” she whispers lowly, moving in and kissing your clit; you moan at the suddenly contact, legs shaking a bit under her hand.
riri moans against you, pulling away slightly, “and you always taste so fucking good for me, baby,” and you moan once her whole mouth nearly swallows your clit, riri sucking heavily against you now, and you buck, your thighs threatening to close around her head as you moan out.
“unghhhfffffuuccckkk, ri, baby, right there, right thereeee—!” you squirm against her, riri’s hands holding your legs apart as her mouth works on you, sucking gently and soothing over your thighs, a silent “go ahead and let it out,” you’ve come to realize. and you always do, cursing, moaning, yelling, whatever you can as riri’s tongue opens you up.
your orgasm approaches fast— of course it does with all her teasing— and you sigh, moans changing in pitch as you thrust up in her mouth, whining out, “i’m cumming, god fuck, i’m cumming, baby, please don’t stop— FUCK, fuck, i’m cumming—!” and you feel riri nod against your clit. you yell out as you feel your orgasm trickle through your entire body, clit swelling and pulsing under her tongue as she eases you through it, hands soothing over your thighs as she continues to suck, gentler this time, until she hears you whine high pitched and overstimulated and riri pulls away, chin sticky and huffing.
you sigh once you see her, setting up in your elbows and coaxing her to come forward and riri does, climbing over your body and kissing her deeply, sighing into your mouth as you do too, tasting yourself on her lips. you pull her down completely, arms wrapped around her feeling all her weight on yours.
riri pulls away first, “i really wanna fuck you, baby,” and you giggle, spreading your legs a bit, “well then go ahead,” you tease at her and she laughs too, moving back to where she was, sitting up and toying with your pussy slightly, fingering you slowly, trying to open you and you gasp, still reeling from your last orgasm and she soothes over your thigh, shushing you, “so good, baby, just take it okay?” and you nod, feeling her fingers move in and out of you curling up occasionally to hit your g-spot.
you moan, “i’m — haa, i’m ready baby, please, cmon, ri please—” and riri nods, probably feeling more anxious than you and adjusts the strap against her boxers, taking her fingers out momentarily to grab the lube, lathering herself up and beginning to move against you. you sigh, ready and eager, and you feel her.
your eyes roll back and close as a low moan leaves you, her strap sliding inside you with ease and you feel your head toss back as riri comes forward, and she lets out her own, “fuck,” watching her enter you slowly, your pussy filling out as she reaches the hilt, her lower stomach right against yours, your clit brushing up against her boxers. you whine out once riri bottoms out, holding on her forearms and pulling her down for a kiss.
riri gives you no time to adjust after she feels you whine in her mouth and grind against her, she pulls out slowly and thrusts back in, the skin on skin contact echoing around the room. you disconnect your lips to moan, yelling out curses as she fucks into you. the strap on she’s using you can tell is the newer one; just a bit bigger with rubbed edges to make you feel everything. you’ve only used it maybe twice but, fuck, it’s becoming your favorite. you sigh out as riri leans down and attacks your neck, moving her hands against your breasts.
you gasp, “ohhhh, right there baby, pleaseeee fuck me fuck me right there—!” riri finally changes her angle and fucks deep on your g-spot, thrusts becoming sloppy once she hears how close you are. riri’s dick was always able to drive you over the edge even when you’ve just reached it. you toss your head back but riri says it before you can, still keeping her harsh pace, “gonna cum baby? yeah? ask me mami, ask me,” she grunts out and you claw at the sheets, pussy twitching and full of her dick.
“fuck— haaaffffuccccckk, riri baby, ri please please, PLEASE ughhh let me cum please, i’m so— i’m so close—!” and riri nods, your moans always driving her closer to her own orgasm, you’ve discovered. you feel her thighs shake a bit against yours and you moan once she nods, adding some pressure on your clit, “cum for me mami, let me see it, go ahead,” you sigh out a “thank you,” mumbling praises and such as you feel your pussy squeeze around riri, pulsing and twitching as your head tosses back and you feel your orgasm string though you, your whole body glowing.
riri’s right behind you, clit rubbing against the softness of her boxers being paired with your moans enough to drive her over. she curses lowly, still thrusting some like she’s trying to push her orgasm inside of you and the thought makes you twitch in excitement once your pussy finally calms down. riri sighs out and pulls out slowly, collecting her breath as you do the same. she gently falls next to you and you rub against her cheek with your hand, smiling. she smiles back at you, holding your hand in hers.
you close your eyes, slightly, sighing before you hear riri say, “one more?” and you gasp at her and shove her a bit, laughing and giggling, “sure, sure, cmon,” and she’s smiling once more when you open your eyes and leans over to kiss you. riri’s infamous “one more?” usually meant all night.
you both maneuver in a way that results in you on top of riri, sliding down slowly on her dick and you both sigh, riri watching you intensely and holding your dress up so she can get the full view, “you’re so pretty, baby,” she whispers kissing your knuckles. you’re holding on to her hands to ground yourself, body still quivering from your orgasm and you whine once your completely full again, the dildo rubbing against your walls.
riri thrusts up slightly, asking quietly, “you okay?” and you nod your head, eyes still shut trying to adjust. she sits up properly and captures your mouth, holding on to your back and you wrap your arms around her. she kisses you deeply, slowly thrusting and moving inside you and you gasp lowly against her mouth.
it’s a slow pace, mostly just because you want to feel each other and riri keeps it up until you start to get impatient, rutting against her more aggressively to get some stimulation on your clit. you sigh out once she takes the hint and lays you both down, thrusting up into and still leaving your mouth connected. you moan, separating for a bit, “ohhh, ri, love you—” you slut a bit, pushing back down on her in tandem with her thrusts. she whispers it back, dazed and sighing a bit, thrusts getting sloppier as both of your orgasms approached once more. “i’m— unnnhhhh in cumming baby, i feel it, ohhh ri— fuck, fuck—!” and you feel your orgasm ripple through you again, your brain buzzing lowly and your thighs flexing and twitching against hers. riri cums not a moment later, holding on to your back and moaning lowly in your chin, making you sigh and rub her arms as she pulses in her boxers.
you both fall over now, sighing and collecting yourselves. riri rubs all over your body and kisses your shoulders. you giggle, “i know you said you wanted go to the beach but i literally cannot move,” and she laughs behind you, “me neither, let’s go to bed,” and you laugh as she turns both of you over, slipping out of you and gathering all the toys together and putting them in the sink. you don’t miss how her legs wobble a bit. you joke, “you alright there?”
she’s faced away from you but her middle finger comes up, “fuck you,” she jokes right back and you laugh a bit, fixing your dress and sitting up properly, “you just did, babe, let’s get some rest please,”
and she comes back, different shirt on, still flicking you off. you sigh once she lays down, gathering you up in her arms, your dress now off leaving you in your undershirt. you sigh against her chest as she turns on the tv for some background noise, “i love you, you know that?” you whisper slightly and riri nods, “of course you do, i just got done fucking your brains out so yeah i hope you love me,” she jokes and you hit her chest lightly “oh whatever,” you say but you’re smiling, eyes shutting slightly as you relax in her arms. she whispers a soft, “goodnight,” into your scalp and sleep washes over you, you too content to fight it anymore.
riri takes you on a shopping spree the next afternoon after some quick shower sex. it ends with you steaming and jelly legged and riri walks out wobbling a bit too and you both laugh. the shower itself was huge enough for you both and then some, and you both felt refreshed and relaxed once more.
you wear a simple one piece, the florals of the romper coloring your skin nicely. a gold set matches your dress, one riri had bought for you for your birthday. riri wears another crop top and a small skirt, hugging everything just right and you can’t help but smack her ass once she walks by to get her hair clips. she slaps your hand away laughing out, “exactly why i never wear this shit,” but you know she likes the attention.
you both leave after a small quick breakfast, walking out in the sun and holding hands. you’re right on the boardwalk, thanks to riri’s haggling of her creation, and it’s between a museum, an aquarium, and some shopping centers. you’re already excited, phone still off and head still feeling clear, and you don’t even have to ask riri to follow you into some stores.
you shop for a bit, trying things on with riri and making her try some things on with you. she leaves the boutique with a nice new suit and you a new romper like you don’t already have 6, which is what riri says.
when you’re back on the boardwalk, you make simple conversation, holding bags and walking to the next boutique, “i think we should go shoe shopping next, yeah?” you suggest and riri perks up, her not-so-secret interest was shoes and she smiles a bit, the quirks of her mouth tilting, much like it does when she’s shying up, “yeah, that’s cool,” she plays it off but you smile anyways.
you smile a bit, really enjoying the moment until—
“y/n? holy shit is that really you?”
your stomach turns. it really couldn’t be, there’s no way. riri turns before you do, eyebrows down, making eye contact with a young girl, maybe a couple of years older than you, before turning you, “uh, who is that?”
you eyes feel wet, “girl, you really not gon say hi to your sister?!” riri gapes at you and you turn around before she can say anything more, “charmaine, hey girl!” you laugh out awkwardly and your sister smiles a bit harder, rings blinging in the sun and teeth nearly blinding you. she comes towards you and opens her arms, hugging her with your bags in hand.
“girllll, it’s been so long!! where you been?” fuck, you wanted to leave, but you laugh away your tears as she pulls away to look at you. “oh yknow, still MIT, remember?”
charmaine smacks her lips, “oh yeah, i remember that, you thought you was all that getting into that school, huh? didn’t tell nobody nothing!” you feel the heat in your stomach grow, you did tell them, you had told everyone and they acted like you were supposed to stay home and refused to help you and didn’t bat an eye when your mama kicked you out and— “yeah, i guess i just wanted to keep it to myself,” you mutter and charmaine laughs again, pulling out her phone.
riri’s watching you intensely, mostly because she knows you’re lying, she’s heard this story before— you wanted so badly for your family to be proud of you, and when the time came for affirmative action and you got into MIT early they had cast you out like they couldn’t fathom you leaving let alone so far away.
“and who is this? mama was talking about you being with somebody, but i ain’t know she meant a girl,” charmaine says the last part like it physically pains her to get it out, and you feel it all over again, everything you wanted to avoid, your memories flood back— thanksgiving, your senior year, charmaine telling you to suck it up and stop crying when your mama would yell and embarrass you every year—
“yeah, well, fuck you too,” riri mumbles only for you to hear, folding her arms. “my name is riri, and i think that’s our que to leave,” and she offers her hand to you and you stiffen, ready to go but hear charmaine’s voice, “oh my god, you’re really a dyke? like for real, holy shit no wonder you never call anybody,” charmaine doesn’t even pay attention to what riri had even said and you chuckle eyes still wet and heart still beating and she scoffs, “girl if you gon be smart be smart to my face, stop saying shit under your breath,”
“why are you here, charmaine?” you finally ask, looking up, tears spilling and you catch riri look at you for a second but your sister doesn’t miss a beat, “girl it’s spring break, you’re not the only one in school, yknow. i know you think you hot shit but i got classes and all that bullshit too,” and she’s already getting offensive, much like she always was, you’d ask a simple question and she’d treat it like an interrogation.
“okay, you’re right; it is spring break. but you’re here. the beach, of all places. and you hate the beach, remember? for my birthday all i wanted was to go to the beach and we left four days early because mama believed you when you lied about being allergic to fucking sand,” your voice is raising now, all the bottled feelings coming up in your throat and you feel riri put her hand in your back but it doesn’t settle you, “yeah, well that was forever ago—”
you cut her off, “and yet here you are, faux sand allergy and all, the day after i haven’t returned any of mamas calls, a week after you had texted me that you was really disappointed in the way i was acting, right? so, you, my sister who i havent seen in nearly five years with a hatred of the beach so big she ruined my birthday, are here, on the fucking beach. so i ask, why?”
charmaine opens her mouth to speak but you can’t stop whatever train your on, “why are you here when you told me that no one would ever love me? when mama kicked me out five years ago and you threw my stuff out with her? why are you here when last year you told me you were ‘proud to be an only child’? why the fuck are you here when i’m finally fucking happy and forgetting about the fucking shitty family i came from?!” you finally yell, a couple of onlookers walking by and staring but you don’t care, all the shyness you had felt are replaced by white hot rage, the feeling deep inside your stomach like a pit that’s been sat for too long.
charmaine sighs a bit, clearly not going to give you the answer you were looking for, and says, “mama was worried,” you laugh, a deep, cruel laugh that even shocks you a bit. “yeah if she was so fucking worried, she wouldn’t have kicked me out two fucking months before i started classes.” you spit out harshly and she’s about to retort but you remember what riri had told you, and get it out before she can stop you, “tell mama, if she calls me again, i’m calling the police for harassment. and if she ever sends you to follow me again, i’m reporting you both for stalking,”
you hear riri stifle a bit of a laugh, and charmaine is about to speak, but youre turning away before she can, picking up some of the bags your dropped and letting out a deep breath, riri coming to your side immediately. “are you okay?” she whispers as you both walk away and you feel everything you had been holding back in your throat once again, wet, hot tears burn at your eyes and you shake your head “no,” you whisper out and she nods, holding you close and walking away faster, trying to find a bench for something for you to sit on.
your mind is racing, heart still beating out of your chest and once your sat you sigh and riri stands up, wrapping her arms around your head and you rest your face in her stomach, sobbing quietly. you can hear riri, she’s whispering everything you need to hear, much like she always does, and it has you smiling despite your face wet and eyes still leaking. you were just happy to be alone with her again.
she pulls you back after a second, making you look into her eyes and she smiles, “you cried all your makeup off, oh no,” she says and you laugh a bit, “yeah and i got it all over your crop top, so, we’re even,” you say, sighing and wiping your face. riri chuckles again and sits next you, both of you facing the river banks outstretched on top of the sunset.
riri breaks the silent moment, “you okay?” she whispers once again, and you sigh, leaning back and settling into her shoulder, “yeah, i’m okay. i’m sorry i never told you about her,” you whisper the last part.
riri scoffs a bit, “i totally get why you didn’t, she fucking sucks,” and you laugh a bit again, sniffling some. riri speaks again, “no but seriously. you don’t have to tell me about your family if you don’t want to. every detail and like, who wronged you how, if you want me to know i’m here to listen but if you wanna forget and start over? i’m here for that too,” she whispers the last part, a sweet secret she wants you and you alone to know. you smile, face heating, even at your most honest, heartfelt moments riri could still make you shy up and blush like a little girl.
you sigh again, “i hate that she was here, but… i don’t want to talk about it anymore. i just wanna spend the rest of my break with you,” you say looking at her and she looks at you again, tilting your head with her fingers, leaning in, “me too,” she whispers back, closing the space between you.
riri fucks you deep and slow that night. she runs you a bath and you wear a silk nightgown to bed just to pull it over and nearly devour you like she hasn’t had you before. and you know why— riri takes the ability to put your mind on something else incredibly seriously like it’s her second job. and you love her for it.
“unnmmfffuckkkk—!” you’re gasping out, the third orgasm you’ve had racking through you as her left hand works on your clit and she fucks you from behind, a position you’d never admit to her was your favorite. she nods, hearing you completely fall apart, kissing your shoulder blades as you moan out, sighing when you feel your pussy squirt out a bit, legs clamping and thighs flexing. you sign once it’s done and done, falling on your forearms and gasping to catch your breath. she leans down against you totally now, kissing you all over.
she whispers against your skin, “you wanna go again?” and sigh and nod, and riri pulls out, a slick wet noise escaping you and she taps your thighs asking you to turn over. you sigh, moving on your back and she’s on top of you once more, capturing your mouth and rubbing over your breasts and your stomach. you feel her start to slide against you, the strap already covered in your cum and it makes you moan against her mouth.
she finally pushes inside again, startling you a bit and you whimper, feeling her again. riri moves away from your mouth, kissing your cheeks and ears as her thrusts start, whispering lowly in your ear, “i love you, baby,” and it makes your body nearly glow, you sigh out and claw at her back, the whisper in her voice enough to be stimulating. “riri, fuck— haaaa—”
and riri keeps talking, strap kissing your g-spot as her thrust grow faster and harsher, “you’re so perfect, mami, you know that? so good for me, i’m so happy you’re mine, my love,” and you can hear it all over your entire body it seems, your head is spinning and your legs feel locked under hers but your orgasm is approaching and you can feel it, whimpering and tossing your head back, claws deep into riri’s back, “i’m— fuck, riri, i’m cumming, i feel it, ohhh i’m cumming—! please, please baby,—!” and you don’t know what you’re begging for, her pace doesn’t slow and she doesn’t relent, kissing you and holding you open and your orgasm pulls through your body, your pussy clenching around her dick and your clit twitching once more, you moan unabashedly, tears spilling a bit as riri kisses and praises you through it.
you buck against her once you’re done, sighing as riri’s assault finally stops. she pulls out and lays next to you, sighing as you catch your breath again. you laugh a bit once you’re back to earth, “i’m sorry i know you wanted to go look at shoes, but i cannot move again,” you laugh out and she smiles and waves you off, “we’ll go tomorrow yeah? got three whole weeks remember?”
and you smile, three weeks and a lot more, you think and reply, “yeah, we do,” too happy beyond your own comprehension.
i changed my name just for this story ; i am now riri’s femme lesbian wife i love her sm i can’t deal with it
sorry if the homophobia and lesbianaphobia got a little too intense but i needed some angst because then we get protective and sweet riri and i fucking love it sm
anyways i’m in class again you guys so bear with me!! i promise i’m still writing but they got me in three studio courses back to back like all fucking week so just give me some time!!
i hope y’all have a good one byeeee🫡🤎
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He warned me. How many times did he tell me that he was a trap.
-Becoming Eden[The Whole Damn Forest]
Rambling about technical details/my thought process behind this piece below cut:
I knew I wanted to do something from either the end of [it’s me I’m trees] or the first chapter of [The Whole Damn Forest] because that was where the strongest imagery for a drawing was. I’m not a sequential artist at all so it was hard at first to pick a scene where I didn’t need the dialogue to make it clear what was going on. I had a bunch of quick thumbnails for the elevator scene and stuff with Zazie, but I initially started sketching for the part where Wolfwood is holding Vash in the last chapter of [it’s me I’m trees] and I was going to reference this knives panel:
But this one just kept turning out really boring. Then I started on the sketch that turned into the final composition. The composition is a blatant reference to The original trimax panel of Wolfwood contemplating killing Vash:
It’s one of my favorite panels from trimax and super easy shorthand to convey Wolfwood’s conflict in this scene. I switched his pose to be holding the punisher to comply with the fic scene.
For Vash, his plant/angel form is described as being very sea creature-like in Becoming Eden. I know Lilith’s Brood was an inspiration, but it’s been a while since I read it. So, I just went with an amalgam of sea creatures (I shrimped him). I really wanted the ‘wings’ to be lion fish fins and the tail is a scorpion tail. There’s also jellyfish and coral bits for fun. He’s got short hair for canon getting-melted-off reasons, but also I made it Knives’s trimax hair for juicy thematic reasons -Wolfwood is choosing whether or not to kill them both after all :)
The glass cracks nearly killed me; I could not get them to look convincing. I’m still not sure about it, but after fiddling for hours with them, I’m at least satisfied with the result. The problem with the whole thing was that I knew the lighting behind the glass was different than what we, the viewer are seeing from inside the tank. But making that clear meant it just kept standing out too much and breaking the believability of the cracks. I used some airbrushing to push the edges back and that helped.
Anyway, I had a fun time with this. @madnessmadness your fic rewired my brain, and I got to make this, so thanks!
#trigun#vash the stampede#trigun maximum#nicholas d. wolfwood#millions knives#trimax#trigun fanart#becoming eden
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The way you write book Erik is so perfect!
If you’re still taking requests would you be up for writing something involving a soft reader and his mask? The part you did for I think your first phantom post where it has him crying at his piano after they take his mask off left me wanting to hear more about how you thought it would play out.
Hopefully this is ok! ❤️❤️❤️
Taking Off the Phantom's Mask
Erik is quite paranoid: should anything happen that doesn't go according to his meticulous plans...
It suffices to say that he doesn't take it all that well
The moment you slip the mask from his face to bare his marred flesh, he explodes into rage
How could you be so horrible and so cruel to him? Your surprised face fueling his volatile emotions
So long as you know him only by his mask, Erik could have charmed you into voluntarily returning to him
But now, he has no hope of feigning a consensual relationship
In his rage, he thunders and shouts about his hideousness, his misery, pulling you back harshly if you try to ease away from his fury
But then just as consuming as his anger is, it subsides to self-pity and despair
Erik releases his vice grip on you and shrinks back to the corner, pitifully wailing as he hides away his face from your visage
Drowning in a nebula of his own self-hatred, self-pity, and anger, he stumbles (crawling if need be) to the only outlet he knows--music
Whether a raging improv that threatens the very ivory of the keys, or his own composition of the most raw misery, only a pre-meditated compositions suffice in such a vulnerable moment
While more classical pieces are pleasant to perform for you as light entertainment, he feels most secure and attached to his own pieces
I think from that night onward, you will find his "security" measures to be much more extreme
But maybe, just maybe, you can convince him to laxen his hold on you
Tell him you love him, that you find him to be beautiful, and he is yours forever, at your beck and call
As he sobs into the hem of your clothes and whispers your praises, know that you have your own personal guardian
One that will kill for you, sing your glory to the world, travel to the ends of the earth
He is yours for all eternity
---------
Thank you for being such a sweetie ❤️
#phantom of the opera#erik destler#erik phantom#yandere#obsessive#x reader#reader insert#gaston leroux
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day 15: lingerie
twice
1.4k words
gender neutral reader insert
Reader x Hirai Momo
suggestive/SFW
🖤 warnings: lots of staring, a secret lingerie kink, or maybe just a big crush on momo who even knows~🖤
kinktober masterlist
connect with me! / masterlist
You've never felt less professional in your life.
It's the very essence of your job to look at pretty people. Being an assistant DP means your life is full of spotless sets, glittering lights, and beautiful, beautiful people. And usually, it's all mundane.
People can get used to anything, after long enough. And you'd thought you were used to pretty people.
This shoot isn't even anything special.
You've done dozens of lingerie shoots. Even a few kink shoots for adult websites, with even less clothes than the models are wearing today. And usually, any twinge of interest in the people wearing those clothes is absolutely killed by the alternately boring and stressful demands of your job. It's hard to be horny when you need to hold reflectors for eight hours straight.
But this client is unbelievable.
She's independently famous, something outside of modeling, but you're pretty sure you've never seen her before today.
You wish you had, though, because she's stunning.
The line being advertised is some very expensive lingerie brand that you've also never heard of, delicate luxury fabrics that the wardrobe girls have already complained about. Apparently they're only allowed to use certain kinds of thread to tailor them up, something about weight and fabric pulling. The intricacies of fashion are above you, but that's fine. The models look great.
Especially this girl.
You're sure your face is extremely unprofessional, as she takes off the big teddy bear coat covering her outfit and steps onto the set.
Her abs catch your eye first. You don't see many models with visible abs that seem like they're the result of effort, rather than simply body composition.
Wouldn't matter to you, either way, because her face is equally as stunning, and you can't fake that. Intelligent eyes and a sneaky smile, glossy black hair with stair bangs.
Ridiculously pretty.
"Are you ready?" asks the director.
This girl nods. "Ready."
"Anything uncomfy?"
"No."
"Then let's get going."
It's a businesslike exchange, polite and short, and usually you'd be right there with everyone else. Your boss, the DP, who's calling lights and judging the placement of fake plants. The director nudging and complimenting the model into different spots on the tight set.
Usually, you'd be just as busy. But you're just kind of...watching.
Watching, as this girl in her thick garters and black bustier bends and smolders and tosses her hair for the camera.
Someone finally says her name, and it's the makeup artist, darting to the edge of the set between shots.
"Momo, can I fix your lipstick?"
You think her lipstick is perfect, personally, but whatever. The makeup artist smooths a little brush over the model's full bottom lip, taking away some imperceptible imperfections, and you just watch, like an idiot.
Really, you never thought you had a thing for lingerie.
It's part of your job to see it in detail, like this. It's part of life to see it at all. You're person in society. Clothes never really did it for you, even intimate clothes.
Must be the girl, then.
It must be.
"Let's do the warm light, next," the director decides. "Can I get the reflector in here?"
Shit. That means you.
The unwieldy gold fabric circle is admittedly pretty neat, a tool that reflects the studio lights back with a warm gold-colored tint. And this one is handheld, which means that someone has to stand next to the model and angle it just so, to get the perfect lighting.
That someone is you.
And in you go, hauling the reflector.
"Up close on the left, please. Her right," the director tells you. "Thanks."
You can't see any flaws in her lipstick up close, either. Momo gives you a very interesting, oddly knowing kind of smile, as you hover beside her with your reflector. It's a few moments of taking direction - a little right, a little up, closer...not that close you're in frame - and then just holding the pose until the director decides to let up.
Usually you'd be counting the seconds, as your muscles stiffen up from staying in the same awkward spot, praying for the shoot to end.
But right now, you're focused on not being super weird.
You need to watch her, to make sure that the light doesn't change. You need to be aware of the glare off the silvery hardware of her garters, to move the screen around if she changes poses. That, of course, means you kind of need to stare at her.
And Momo seems to like that you're staring at her.
Maybe you're reading into it, just wishful thinking. But every time she adjusts, and you adjust with her, trying to look at her just enough but not too much, Momo...looks at you.
It's a smirk, it's definitely a smirk. Not a smile. Sneakier than that. She's smirking at you.
That probably means that you're being obvious, and she can tell that you're interested in her. Or at least intrigued by her. She's so pretty, pretty enough that you probably wouldn't be brave enough to approach her at a party. Pretty enough that she's probably used to people reacting to her like this.
It doesn't help that she's only wearing lingerie.
"Anything else you wanna try?" the director asks.
This director is a nice lady, accommodating even when she has to rush through bookings like this to meet deadlines, so this is one of the usual questions. Letting the models suggest poses and concepts helps them take some control over their gigs, a rarity in the fashion world that moves so fast and objectifies so quickly. You usually appreciate it a lot.
But today, Momo hums her consideration, and looks at you.
"What do you think?" she asks.
You startle. "What?"
"Is there any position you think would look good?"
Momo is grinning at you, an innocent smile, but her eyes are glinting. She absolutely knows what she's doing, and she's doing it on purpose.
The director doesn't even blink. "Any ideas?"
"I mean, I-" you stammer. "No, everything has been good, yeah-"
"Then we're finished," the director decides.
Embarrassing, but you're safe now.
Or, you're safe for the next ten minutes.
Sets move fast, and it's only a matter of seconds before Momo has retreated to the greenroom with her manager, and the next girl is brought out. This girl is also very pretty, but you don't have the same brain-melting reaction to her. Which is a fucking relief, because it means that you didn't suddenly get weird.
As the next shoot starts, the DP calls you over.
"Can you go get the colored screens? We're gonna need red for this girl."
"Sure," you agree.
So you take the gold reflector, and the regular silver one, and walk to the supply racks to find the primary-colored ones. You'll grab red, and blue for good measure...
"You got a second?"
Oh, no.
You turn around, and there's Momo, wrapped in her teddy bear coat again, leaning against the doorway to her closet-sized greenroom.
"I guess," you say, nervous.
"I just wanted to know if you liked this outfit."
While you still have the presence of mind, you put the reflectors in their spot on the wheeled rack in the hallway.
That's a good call, too, because as soon as your eyes are on Momo again, she drops the coat.
And there's that lingerie set, again.
"It seemed like you liked it," she adds.
She's still standing like she's on set, posed against the doorframe, her fluffy coat piled at her feet. It's ridiculous that someone can be this hot. You're mesmerized by the dip of her skin around the tight band of the garters, the smooth lines of her cleavage over the top of the bustier, her abs...
"I liked it. I like it," you say.
You probably sound way too eager, but it's too late to try and fix yourself.
Momo tilts her head, looking purposefully, artfully curious. "Would you wanna touch it?"
You wheeze.
"The outfit, I mean," she says mildly. "Of course. It's really nice. You could touch it."
You're not entirely sure what's happening, or why, but there is some higher power smiling down on you right now, and you're not about to waste it.
Fingers of one hand tugging at the thigh strap of her garter, the other hand smoothing a path up the expensive silk and lace of her bustier. She's all but laughing at you and your eagerness, and she lets you crowd her backwards into her greenroom. You at least have the presence of mind to not want to get caught.
"This a normal thing for you?" Momo asks.
You relish the chance to answer. "No!"
"Huh." Her face is far too satisfied. "Must just be me, then."
The feeling of the delicate material of her lingerie under your hands does feel fantastic, but you think she's probably right.
#kinktober 2023#kpop kinktober#twice fanfic#twice momo fanfic#hirai momo fanfic#twice smut#twice momo smut#hirai momo smut#kpop fanfic#kpop fanfiction
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Christmas at 221B Baker Street
Sherlock isn't particularly fond of the whole concept of christmas. He finds it to be a pointless excuse of excessive buying, meaningless superficial shows of affections through materials - but wait why are you and John dragging a christmas tree upstairs?
"I think it'd look great in that corner don't you think?"
"We can't, it's part of Sherlock's silent treatment for when I ignore him and Mrs Hudson's gone. He looks outside while humming shsu to annoy me while I'm working I don't know what he'd do without"
"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock asks storming out of his bedroom only to find John in the ugliest christmas sweater to every be seen and you with a christmas headband on your head
"Decorating for Christmas of course"you said
"John I thought we agreed we wouldnt participate to such stupid thing"
"No, no you said that I was just nodding my head while zoning out. There is no way I'm skipping christmas''
"You can help us if you want. It can be fun as might not be that bad"
"I highly doubt that, but anyway I'd rather do anything else but this"
"Well if you don't want to you can sit somewhere quietly while me and Y/N do our thing"
So like a sulky child that isn't played by their friends he sits at his armchair opposite you two, pretending to be looking through one of his latest composition while stealing a few glances at you and John talking and giggling while setting up the tree completely unaware of his
And you know him he isn't the one to ask for attention much less admit that he's wrong (and well whatever you and john are doing surely looks interesting) so he sits there tutting or dry coughing anything really that could catch your attention and invite him again.of course the sxolia are frequent; "I wouldn't do it that way if I were you" " that color is dull, only a dog would choose it and that's because they are colourblind" "I don't think they go that way"
"Then why don't you come to do it better?"John says, sighing annoyed
"Who me?! No, no, no I couldn't care less"
"We should put on music!" You exclaim trying not to laugh with the two of them.
Eventually he comes to help you after five watching you struggling trying to put a tinsel that was too high for you to reach.
"Thanks for that."
"Come on don't be Grinch (i hope you get the pun) and have fun with us"
So it might have been very hard for you to convince him however here he is with a santa's cap sitting on the floor trying to untangle the christmas lights.
Of course you end up helping him escape after almost strangling himself
"For someone who calls themselves a genius you look like you're really struggling with this"
and then you are explaining why they should go around the tree and not vertically just because he finds it more practical.
"If you don't shut up i'll strangle you myself"
"But Y/N-!"
At some point you decide to make hot chocolate only to find there are no marshmallows in the house.
"Why would I have marshmallows? What am I? A child"
"You certainly act like one" you hear John mumble
"You don't put marshmallows in your chocolate? Why? You hate love?"
So you quickly run to buy some and coming hack ro the apartments you shove some snow down Sherlock's shirt that you picked outside.
"For God's sake you better run for your life Y/N because I swear-!" He yells running behind you but your loud giggles cover his voice as you start running, around the furniture and then from one room to another, jumping on the armchairs and the couch, the bed and maybe even on a table so he wouldn't catch you.
"If you kill me you'll be on the naughty list"
After that quick hunt and a 10 replays of all I want for christmas is you (you know that because after the ninths sherlock sweared it took just one time to hear that song before he rips his ears out and you wanted to see what would happen so you put it again) after all this the apartment looks like it came straight out of some cheesy christmas movie, with a gigantic tree and so many lights Sherlock swears the apartment might catch on fire.
The three of you are exhausted after all the fighting, caroling and decorating. You all sit with a cup of chocolate and your noses fogging the window's glass as you watch outside everything get all white from the snow.
"So if we're going to have a party I really don't want anderson to come" sherlock says
"Don't be cruel! You need to be good or santa won't come"
"Y/N you've been bringing this up worryingly too many times today for it to be a joke. I think there is something we should tell you"
#sherlock x you#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x you#dr strange x reader#benedict cumberbatch#sherlock bbc
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(you) restless son
Fandom: FFXIV
Ship: Nika/Artoirel
Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Minfilia Warde (mentioned)
Rating: Mature (direct references to sex, though the scene is fade to black)
Words: 1795
Spoilers: Heavensward spoilers
read on ao3
Nika’s visits to Ishgard have been few and far between recently, but every time he does go there, he makes sure to go straight to the Fortemps manor. It’s become something of a home, if you can count the presence of the few people he’s bonded with in this whole frozen hellhole. He hasn’t had a home in a long while, least of all in a person. It’s a strange feeling and something entirely too tender for Nika’s harsh hands, but it settled under his skin and it’s not going anywhere.
He can’t complain all that much, really, when it affords him unlimited access to Artoirel. He likes Emmanellain just fine, and Edmont makes for a nice dinner buddy when he isn’t being a horrible parent to his sons. But Artoirel is the heart of that whole oversized house for Nika; it’s his face rising amidst everyone else that makes his shoulders relax and his jaw unclench. When did he clench his jaw so much anyway? And more importantly, why is he noticing that?
No matter. What matters is that time after he settles in his room, after he eats dinner, or lunch, or whenever he happened to burst upon their door like a cannonball, when he and Artoirel go to the grand salon with the big piano, drinks in hand, and find comfortable places on one of the couches. What matters is the way Artoirel loosens his collar, opens his throat up a little, and Nika can’t help but look at the way it bobs ever so slightly under his gaze.
“Do I have something on my… throat?” Artoirel asks, confused, red in the face, and Nika looks at the glass in his hand.
“No,” he says and rubs the side of his neck. “I just think you look better without the cravat.”
“Such are the fashions of Ishgard, Nika.”
“Fuck the fashions of Ishgard, Artoirel.” Nika looks at his own shirt, open at the front, and the length of his white boots. Artoirel follows suit; his eyes linger on the exposed skin of Nika’s chest. “Some of them, anyway.”
“Not all of us can make that shirt look good,” Artoirel comments quietly. “You and Lord Stephanivien, perhaps. As for myself? The cravates are that much presentable.”
“Bah, you’re too prim and proper.” Nika puts a foot down. The heels echo in the otherwise silent room like a battle trumpet. It may be the drink he’s had, but his next words come out offensively shamelessly. “I like the way your collarbones look.”
Artoirel huffs amicably and shakes his head. “You may look at them as you please, then,” he replies, though his voice is colored by something Nika doesn’t dare name.
“Thank you for the permission.” Nika says as he downs the rest of his drink and pours himself another glass. “I will now proceed to indulge myself. At the grand piano, of course. Why would we go in the grand salon if not to play the fucking piano?”
“I did want to show you a composition I have been working on in my leisure time,” Artoirel says. He sounds almost uncertain, half the size he usually is on the battlefield, or in the political arena of Ishgard. “What?”
“You’re afraid I’m gonna hate it or something? Is that why you sound like you’re a kid meeting your idol for the first time?”
Artoirel laughs in disbelief. “Nika, do you realize even an inkling of what weight your opinion carries? You are the Warrior of Light, the slayer of Nidhogg. You rode into Ishgard on a dragon - the first individual to have done so in history. You are one of Eorzea’s best living bards. Compared to you, I am but playing pretend.”
Nika blinks. “Didn’t wanna be that hero you bring up,” he says. “If it was up to me, I’d be playing my little lute and singing about other people. But no, Minfilia had to use my arrow shooting prowess to kill a primal or two and now here I am.” The thought sticks to his skin even though he vehemently tries shaking it away. His heart aches for Minfilia still; the love he’s nursed for her feeds into his bloodstream. His knees will forever ache from kneeling at her feet, and the memories of her soft voice and gentle smiles and kind eyes will nurse them back to health.
But recently, in the midst of all the grief he wears around his neck like a collar, he’s found it in himself to be angry at her. Angry she didn’t stop sending him when he asked her to. Angry she kissed his tears away only to send him off to his potential death afterwards. Angry she never told him, no, stop loving me, not until she fucking died and stayed in the aether, and he had to go see fucking Hydaelyn herself just so he could hear it.
Artoirel does nothing of the sort. If anything, Nika feels like he’s stringing him along, pulling at his heart that wants nothing more than Nika’s presence. Artoirel never asked him to be the hero. Everything since he’s arrived in Ishgard has been Nika’s choice. Any hurt he feels about that shit he can lay at his own feet and use it to cut open his heart again.
Nika drowns the entirety of his glass in one chug. “You give yourself too little credit,” he says. “Too fucking little.” He curls a hand around Artoirel’s slender shoulders to run his fingers over those biteable collarbones.
“Nika,” Artoirel goes to stand up just as Nika’s hand bends around his shoulders, and the height difference makes Nika take a step forward and his hand slides down to Artoirel’s waist. He holds it anyway.
“Let’s go play the piano,” Nika says. His voice is gruff, stuffed to the brim with need and anger and yearning and the drunkenness of the whiskey and the warmth of Artoirel’s skin. “Let’s go play the fucking piano or I’m pinning you down on these overpriced floor covers.”
Artoirel’s mouth opens and the tips of his ears burn bright red. His hand folds in a fist and he tries to look down, avoid Nika’s eyes, but the fact he’s tall as all fuck bites him in the ass so hard that he just ends up looking where he didn’t want to. Or did he want to? He shifts his body closer to Nika’s, hip to waist, and Nika’s fingers play over his shirt.
“There’s a story,” he says. “I know of someone who supposedly had sex with her lovers in her grand salon and over the piano, specifically. That poor piano, I’d thought. Of course, I don’t normally follow that kind of rumor, but I’d overheard it and it stayed with me.”
“Piano sex? What happened to walls, floors, or even good old fashioned beds?” Nika feels his face burn. Must be the drink, he thinks, even if he has to admit that Artoirel’s words are only making whatever need that’s already been here stronger. He doesn’t even know what Artoirel’s lips feel like, but he does know he wants to kiss them, and that Artoirel wants to kiss him too.
It’s just never been this direct! Nika blames the whiskey, the open shirt, those delicious looking collarbones, Minfilia’s memory, Ishgard itself. He knows what it feels like - Estinien’s hands on his skin are a refreshed memory - but this is Artoirel; his Artoirel, the way Minfilia was never his, his to spend time with, his to kiss, his to enjoy, his to listen to him laugh. His to make Nika’s heart beat and warm up faster than any fire would.
“I suppose she has had enough of those options by that point,” Artoirel shrugs, but his cheeks are still red, his hair’s in disarray, his lips are slightly parted, thin and pink, and those fucking collarbones are still taunting Nika like it’s their one job.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Nika replies, as if that makes any sense to the prior conversation. “And I want to kiss you so, so badly.”
“I would very much like to kiss you too,” Artoirel replies, holding onto the edges of his self-control. Nika can feel his fingers ghost over the skin of his jaw and takes a deep breath not to groan from the way it sends sparks down his spine. The knowledge Artoirel wants him just as badly, right now, makes his belly tighten. “May I?”
“Yes,” Nika breathes and Artoirel’s facing him, tall, relaxed, hair a dark halo around his head. His eyes are impossibly wide, impossibly big, and Nika rises on his tip toes and wraps himself around Artoirel’s body, like he was made to be here. Maybe he was. Maybe he was made to share breath with Artoirel de Fortemps for torturously long moments before their lips meet, maybe he was made to bury his fingers in his hair and pull him down on the couch. His body soars and he’s shaking with need and his heart beats wildly in his chest.
And when their tongues touch, Nika claws at Artoirel’s back. I’m going to fuck this man tonight, he thinks, and it feels brash and crude but he can’t help himself. Artoirel moans into the kiss, and it only serves to make Nika’s skin even tighter.
“I wanna fuck you,” Nika says between kisses, pulls on Artoirel’s hair. “Stop me if you need to, fuck, Artoirel, I want to bite your chest, and I want to make you feel good, I want–”
“Yes,” Artoirel breathes out. His body’s shaking beneath Nika’s touch and Nika peppers his face with small kisses. “I want that too–”
“Glad we agree,” Nika replies and steals the rest of his sentence in a deep kiss. Artoirel’s hand wraps around Nika’s waist but Nika uses the leverage to drag him beneath him and settle on his hips. From this angle, he looks even better. A prim and proper lord, commander of men, count de Fortemps, beneath him, already hard, messy from kisses, and Nika can’t help but groan. It’s not like he’s any better himself. He then leans down and kisses him softly, the way he never got to kiss Minfilia.
But she isn’t here, is she? It’s just him and Artoirel, alive, in the flesh. And it’s an aching flesh, and Nika wants to kiss it senseless, and he wants to keep him close, keep him warm, safe, wants to make him happy and make him laugh.
“Artoirel,” Nika says, because he can’t say anything else. And Artoirel kisses him back, presses his hands against Nika’s back, and somehow, he feels like he got the message just fine.
Just like that, the rest of the world falls away.
#ffxiv#inspo birb has come to town#nika perseis#artoirel de fortemps#wolship#wol x artoirel#wol#warrior of light#hyur wol#ffxiv fic#ffxiv fanfic#now that housekeeping is done:#baby's first non-fluff is out to public pls be kind to me#this isn't smut but it's close#these two have eaten my braincells so this came to be#also not me posting at weird times. sad#heavensward spoilers#nika x artoirel#wolartoirel
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I'm immediately going to all of my favorite artists to compliment them after finding out how anonymous asks work. AND YOU'RE ONE OF THEM
I don't even know where to start, I have your twt open with your art on another window right now
The Etho killing Skizz art, I don't even have any words to describe it. THE SUN BEHIND ETHO IS SUCH A GREAT PART OF THE PIECE. IT BRINGS ATTENTION TO THE TOP AND POPS OUT. AND SKIZZ LOOKING SO CONTENT WITH HIS DECISION AND ACCEPTING OF ETHO BEING THE ONE TO TAKE HIM OUT T_T /POS
MARTYN'S LIMITED LIFE FINALE ART IS SO AMAZING AND DETAILED TOO. I LOVE HOW IN THE TOP RIGHT CORNER IT SPLITS AND HAS GEM & LIZZIE ALIGNED TO CLEO & PEARL'S FACES. THAT IS SO COOL
Also I just really wanted to point out the art of Bdubs kissing Impulse while stabbing Etho. I just really like that for no reason in particular (I really like Etho)
Impulse hugging Bdubs too, I love it so much. And the one with Etho just being like 😐 and the sparkles in the background
AND THE CLEO ART FOR MYRA'S DTIYS. THE LIGHTING AND HAIR IS AMAZING
The White Castle art of Etho as a Ghost and Impulse hugging Etho are probably two things that got me interested in White Castle. I didn't even THINK of them before. But now they're one of the duos I really like. Then again I love any Etho duo. BUT THEYRE DEFINITELY ONE OF MY TOP 5
The composition in your art is so amazing as well, it really highlights specific details really well and implies ideas VERY well
The art of Impulse with the cherry blossoms are so cute too. And BigB being all creepy makes it VERY unsettling /pos
You did an AMAZING job making BigB look as unsettling as possible
The weeping angel Etho art too <333
ALSO THE IMPULSE "LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR", IMPULSE WITH A STAR OVER HIS EYE, AS WELL AS THE VERY RECENT SCAR ART. THOSE ARE ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECES. EVERYTHING ABOUT THOSE ARE SO COOL AND AMAZING
THE VERY CLEAR IMPROVEMENT IN THE 2023 ART THREAD TOO. Your art from January is STILL VERY COOL AND AMAZING, but I love how your art very clearly improved from January to December. That's such an amazing accomplishment to do in 12 months
I hope you have a GREAT and amazing day/night! \o/
I just had this big ol smile on my face while reading that entire thing like oh my goodness gracious
just?? thank you?? for such kind words and for also keeping up with my art?? I feel so appreciated and seen and?? like I’m about to explode /pos??
I don’t even know how to respond I’m just all jumbled up and giddy and like wowzers!! just know that I REALLY appreciate everything you said like so so much it is making my brain go BOOM!! >_<
whenever I hear stuff like this, no matter how detailed or specific, it always makes me just so unbelievably happy. I love being reminded that I exist and can be perceived and people LIKE perceiving me.
thank you genuinely so much this brightened my day like a lot :]
also you’re welcome for getting you into white castle aka one of the best duos like ever because I say so B]
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There’s No Saying Goodbye To Me: Final Chapter
Chapter Nine; We Have A Lot To Talk About
I can’t believe I finally fucking finished this thing! It was a one shot for a challenge from @sherrybaby14 like... two years ago. Thank you all for your patience and your enthusiasm. I hope you feel like this is a fitting end for the story.
Thank you a thousand times to the beautiful and clever @dangertoozmanykids101 for this wonderful, WONDERFUL GIF she made for this story. I love you, sister!
18+ warnings for a metric fuck ton of sex, m/m/f, and tons of profanity.
The beautiful and brilliant @dangertoozmanykids101 just sent me the most magnificent song from this sultry, lounge-type singer who’s rather fabulous. She said she could hear this being sung during our girl’s final bout of sex with Steve and Bucky. Have a listen as you read...
Cara Emerald - I Belong To You
In which saving the world and killing a Tesseract is trickier than one might think...
“How does this work again?”
You were stumbling over the rocks in the cavern behind the waterfall, the gems above you still glowing with that unearthly sheen that didn’t seem to need a light source to reflect it. Bucky was holding your hand, helping you step over some of the more significant tripping hazards.
“We can’t use any of your electronics to contact our worl-” Steve hesitated, “-the old world. The frequency there is slower. But the stones act as a conduit and we can amplify the signal here.”
You eyed the setup- a suspiciously simple device that looked like a phone and a huge monitor. “Did you bring this over with you?”
Bucky chuckled, leading you over to the screen, which was glowing with the same soft hue as the gems. “No, we learned that lesson. Everything that’s not organic- flesh, cotton, leather- fritzed out and exploded. Two of the first parallels showed up mostly naked and with second-degree burns. This is all jerry-rigged, but it works.”
“This is so voodoo…” you mumbled as the glowing screen morphed into an image of Nicholas Fury, whose eyepatch was on his right eye, rather than his left.
“So you’re the one who’s been causing all the problems,” he growled, not even bothering to greet Bucky and Steve.
“Sorry, Commander… Captain…?” You looked over for help and Steve supplied “General.”
“General Fury,” you corrected, “but getting kidnapped and white-roomed wasn’t my idea of a honeymoon.” He leaned closer to the screen, an even larger scowl digging into his features and you waved your hand. “However, let’s not waste time.”
“If you think you have something we haven’t seen, this would be the time to share it.” He sounded cold and composed, like your Fury, but he was haggard, skin greyish and the room behind him was shabby, people in ragged uniforms or street clothes moving back and forth behind him, everyone with an air of urgency. Even the lighting seemed greyer.
“This came to mind after I understood that fire can take out the smoke entities. I’m sure you’ve tried every kind of flame and blast-based weaponry, but Steve-” you looked over to verify and he nodded, smiling at you, “-Steve told me they rebuild numbers by hiding in major bodies of water.”
“True,” Fury rubbed under his eyepatch with his thumb. “We tried chemical weapons, conventional weaponry, even wasted most of the Australian continent with a nuclear weapon, which poisoned the oceans up to Japan and through Malaysia and Indonesia. We launched nuclear weapons again in Russia at the biggest cluster of them we could target. Minimal damage. To the entities, at least. I’d like Stark to hear this but he’s rigging up an ariel explosion sequence right now.”
“Okay, hear me out, last month, I was reviewing some research documents for Director Fury about a new Thermite composition. Thermite is spectacular because it doesn’t need oxygen to burn-”
“Yes, yes,” Fury interrupted. “It has been extremely effective for us here, but since it forms its own vapor barrier, it cannot be used underwater.”
“There’s something new,” you cut in, and you could tell by his irritable face that people did not interrupt Fury. But you were all short on time. “The new Thermite research here utilized metastable intermolecular composites, which kept the high boiling point at 2887 Celsius. It burns underwater. You can set an endpoint by releasing nanothermites in a timed charge. I can access the research again- it’s not at such a high-security level that it will set off too many internal alarms. We can alter the composition by…what was it with Dr. Banner’s work? The key numbers were all exactly .05% off from our Earth’s formulas. I can correct the composition within minutes and I’m guessing you have all the metal components needed?”
There was something strange with Fury’s expression. On anyone else, you might assume it was cautious optimism, but you didn’t think he was familiar with that emotion. “We do.”
“General, if you can track the clusters, you can bomb the shit out of them from the air and block them from reproducing.” Your expression clouded, “But you will be superheating the body of water for about a mile around the detonation site. There’s going to be more marine life destruction. But… you have a chance.”
“I’ve never seen Fury speechless before,” Bucky whispered to Steve behind you. There was a low grunt which sounded like Steve had nailed him in the side with his elbow.
“How soon can you get it to us?” The general’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion. “Gentlemen, I don’t need to tell you how dire this is; the situation here has speeded up the Doomsday clock. You have to destroy the space fold and the vortex within the next twenty-four hours. Even if this new formula works, we can’t risk…”
You looked at this even harder, colder version of your Director Fury, you watched the emotionless expressions of the people passing behind them. Of course, Steve and Bucky were harsher, even cruel, of course the other Avengers were. Their entire lives were spent fighting against the inevitable end.
Bucky and Steve shared a look. “What about Tony and Natasha?”
“I’m getting them out of here within the next twelve hours, but we’re burning out the connection on our side. You have to be ready to handle it there. How big was the entity that got through the vortex?”
Bucky rubbed his face with both hands for a moment. “We got lucky. It was a baby. That must be how it slipped through the sensors.”
The men moved into some entity and astrophysics talk that you couldn’t follow with your exhausted brain already trying to put together the information you needed, so you jumped a little when Steve put an arm around you.
“Are you ready to head back to the house, sweetheart?”
And for the first time since he’d kidnapped you, that actually sounded like a good idea.
There was coffee, much coffee for the rest of the night, and you didn’t even notice the sun’s early rays washing the bay in front of the house with a golden sheen. You were lucky; they hadn’t changed your passwords in the Washington DC offices, which you personally thought was a little sloppy. But you got what you needed. The next meeting with Fury was terrifying. He was in a different location, and there were wounded being dragged by others who looked just as bad. He took the information you’d sent him and passed it to another aide without expression.
“Tony and Natasha will be paralleling as soon as he checks the numbers here. They’re the last.”
“How many more were you able to get out,” Bucky asked. He looked stoic, but you could see him gritting his teeth.
“Only another 120 or so,” Fury said.
“But- they thought they could parallel another couple thousand people at least!” Steve protested.
Fury chuckled in the most humorless way you could imagine. “We’re down to one platform, Rogers. The rest of them were overrun by the entities. The workers detonated the platforms - and themselves - to keep the entities from reaching them.” His single eye focused on you. “Thank you for your service,” he nodded.
You gave a wet little chuckle, the enormity of it all was finally slamming into you like a punch to the heart. “I wish our Director Fury could have met you. I can only imagine how incendiary that meeting would be. I… I wish you the best.” You nodded firmly. ”This can work. I’m absolutely certain.”
“I am afraid we will not be able to update you, but I hope you’re right.”
Walking on the edge of the waterfall, looking down you remembered jumping off the rock ledge with Steve and screaming on the way down, not entirely sure how you would land. Your entire life felt that way right now. Steve and Bucky were still talking to Fury in low tones, their faces grim.
But walking back to the house, they were silent, slowing down as they approached the location of the vortex, staring into the dark mass of trees and vines.
“C’mon,” Steve finally says, “we all need to shower and get ready to…” He exchanges a long glance with Bucky and you feel your stomach churn. The look they’re giving each other is the bleak one Fury wore during your last discussion.
“Get ready to what?” Their long legs are carrying them away and you trot after them. “To do what?”
By the time you reach the terrace, they’re both stripping down by the outside shower. Even though this place has been your prison, you instantly loved this set-up; a large space, glassed-in on three sides with a grey slate floor and multiple copper showerheads to flow in every direction.
Pausing, you can’t help admiring the sheer beauty of these two. They may be heartless bastards, but you can understand why they were so hard. They’re softening in their treatment toward you, which gives you hope that there’s some humanity left. Steve said he’d send you back to Washington DC, but you can’t go back now.
They’re both naked now, Bucky with his beautiful, bulky musculature and his glistening Vibraniam arm, and Steve with his perfectly sculpted body. His big, capable hands washing his hair, turning it darker from the water as the white suds slip over broad, tanned shoulders and down that chest you used to lick, trailing each abdominal muscle in his eight-pack with the tip of your tongue.
Shit. Your mouth is actually watering.
Marching over, you turn both showerheads to cold. It doesn’t even cause them to blink, still mechanically washing off the soot and filth from last night. “Okay…” you hiss, turning off the main switch to the outdoor system and blocking them from turning it back on. “Get ready to do what?” They share another glance and you yell this time. “Stop doing that having a conversation thingie with a mere glance! Tell me what the fuck is about to happen!”
Bucky’s long hair is dripping, and he pushes it out of his face. “Doll, we have to close the fold in space from our side here. And we have to destroy the vortex so nothing else can come through. It’s… Look, I think Steve is right to send you back to DC.”
“Well- well no, Bucky!” you spluttered, “it’s not right and I’m not going! I think I’ve proved that I can help with whatever the hell your earth is tossing into ours. If you two can get hurt, I can… I should be here, and I will help, so that-”
“Sweetheart.” Steve’s long-ass arms wrap around you from behind, and he bends his bulk over to rest his chin against your shoulder. “I was selfish to bring you here. I was stupid, trying to break you and wasting the time I might have had with you if I’d done this right. But the reality is, everything we planned on is gone. The entities are tearing through our defenses like tissue paper. We thought we had months, maybe years. It’s looking more like a few days.”
“But, I know the new Thermite composition will work! They can drive them back to the oceans and burn them inside out, it’ll work!”
His cheek brushed against yours as he spoke, and his golden stubble rasped against your cheek. “I know it will, sweetheart. It’s genius. But we’ll never know because we have to close any possible connection from here to there. And we don’t know if the detonations will…”
Steve’s voice drifted off, you’d never heard his firm, commanding voice weaken. He was never afraid to tell the harsh truth.
“Could this- could you two die trying to do this?” Your lungs felt like they were filled with lead, like it was impossible to draw a full breath.
Bucky sighed. “Yes.”
You don’t know what to say, so you turn the water back on, grab a big, soapy sponge and run it across Steve’s chest, swirling it around his nipples and down each sculpted arm. Lathering it up again, you wash Bucky’s back, putting a line of kisses against the thick knots of scar tissue where his shoulder meets his vibranium arm. Smiling at his impertinent grin, you run your fingers through his long hair, gently massaging his scalp and working the shampoo through each strand. Then, it’s back to Steve, soaping his exquisitely chiseled ass, squeezing each firm cheek with a little sigh. Long before you’d loved this man, you had loved this ass. Watching him run through the streets in Manhattan in those thin sweatpants? Oh, my god.
Wait. That wasn’t this Steve, that was my St-. No, that Steve was never mine. You were a placeholder. But this Steve traveled through a parallel fold in space which was still freaking you the fuck out and you would need a more detailed explanation later but…
You realize your hands have slowed during your extended mental ramble, and they’re both looking at you with little grins. Not big ones, the kind you would want to smack right off their faces. Just… small ones. Like they enjoyed your weird little quirks.
And then they take the soap, and the sponge, and their big, rough hands, and they clean you. Everywhere. Every crevice. You have never been so clean. You’re between them, pressed against Bucky’s chest, your head lolling against his shoulder. Steve is soapy, you’re soapy, and he’s rubbing himself hard against you. His thigh slides up between yours, and your knees instantly weaken, which… just pushes your center down on all those beautifully chiseled muscles.
Bucky, damn him, is kissing along your jaw, whispering filthy things. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now, your hips circling and pushing your pretty little pussy down hard on his leg.” You can feel him, hard and hot against the small of your back.
“You should probably kiss me,” you whisper to him even while having no idea why you’re whispering.
Bucky’s chest is shaking and you realize the little bastard is laughing. “Why are we whispering?” he whispers. His hands slide to your hips and he’s helping you move faster along the long, long thigh of Steve Rogers, who is currently cupping your breasts in his hands, rolling your nipples with the tips of his fingers and looking very interested.
“It's because my other boyfriend is right here,” you whisper back. “We wouldn’t want him to get jealous.’
Both these men pause, hardened, battle-tested, and fresh from the grim deathscape of their world. They look at you and just start howling. Laughing so hard that it squishes you even closer to them both and it feels wonderful.
“You’re right, doll,” Bucky wheezes, “we should get out of this shower and go make out in the bedroom. Maybe send Stevie here out for a gallon of milk or something.”
“I’m standing right here, asshole,” Steve points out, but he’s still laughing. And you can tell from the vague look of surprise on his beautiful face that it’s something that hasn’t happened for a long time. He takes the showerhead and rinses you all off, though he keeps it between your legs far longer than is necessary for actual cleanliness.
But when you’re all in the bedroom, naked and nobody’s laughing anymore. This could be your last time with one of them, or both. And the thought of it is somehow horrifying. You’d gone from hating and fearing them both to… you didn’t know… to at least understanding why they approached you the way they did.
Bucky slides in behind you, sitting up against the pillows and putting your legs over his long ones, which pulls them wider, running his hands along the soft skin of your inner thighs. He’s kissing your neck and whispering his dirty talk again, “Steve wants to worship your perfect pussy, see how hungry he is?”
Steve was, in fact, on his stomach and leaning in on his elbows, thick fingers spreading your lips wide as he blew gently on your exposed clitoris, making you yelp and try to pull away for a second. Wrapping his arms around your thighs - and Bucky’s, you have mentioned before Steve has the wingspan of a bald eagle - and you feel Bucky’s chest shake behind you.
“I did not say that out loud!” You’re trying to hide your face and close your knees at the same time and they’re laughing and keeping you from doing either thing.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I love how chatty you are in bed?” Steve chuckles, kissing the thin skin of your thigh before nuzzling into your center again. The tip of his perfectly-shaped nose is rubbing against your clit and his tongue is hot and just… oh, god now he’s tunneling it up inside you and growling. Like a beast and it sets you off embarrassingly quickly.
Bucky’s hands slide down to cup your breasts, idly running his thumbs over the sensitive skin in the crease where they meet your ribs. His hands enclose them completely, with room to spare and they’re so warm. You’re alternately turned on and then feeling nurtured and then back again. The second orgasm Steve is pulling out of you isn’t helping your complete lack of equilibrium as Bucky licks a line up your neck and murmurs to you about how beautiful you are when you come. How he wants to see it again, how your skin heats up like a furnace.
Then Steve moves over you to push inside, but he pauses, looking at you and Bucky. “Would you…” he looks at him and then at you again, “do you want Bucky to fuck you?”
The awareness that you were lying here, between these two men and that there was going to be sex involved made you freeze for a moment, and behind you, you could feel Bucky’s body stiffen, too. Carefully extricating yourself from Steve’s long grasp, you turned around to straddle Bucky, running your fingers through his lovely, long hair.
“I would love to fuck Bucky.”
He grins up at you with that shameless smirk of his, one hand sliding to your hip, the other holding his cock up. You don’t look down. You’re already certain that he’s as huge as Steve, and you don’t want to psyche yourself out of this little game you’re all playing, so you plant your lips on his luscious ones and he kisses you, helping you slide down the length of his cock. Every time you’re certain you’d reached the end of him, there was more, and the silky tip of him was pressing rather insistently against your cervix.
Seeing your slightly pinched expression, he laughs and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down again for a warm, slow kiss. “You tell me when you’re ready.”
There’s a warmth against your back and Steve’s hand snakes around as he puts two fingers on your clitoris, gently circling it over and over until you feel your slick making his fingers slide around, sloppy and stroking between your lips, stroking your strained flesh gripping Bucky’s cock and moving up again to gather more on his fingertips.
“You look so perfect, sweetheart, so gorgeous straddling his cock, your nipples are tight, and you’re gasping for breath. So fucking beautiful.”
Your hips move at the same speed as Steve’s fingers, circling and squeezing Bucky until he’s groaning like someone just shot him in the leg. “You’re terrorizing my dick, rolling your hips like that,” he wheezes, and you laugh, moving your hips counter-clockwise this time.
His sculpted thighs tense as he pushes them up, nearly bouncing you off your perch on his cock, grinding against you, slowly rotating to rub against your clit, making your heartbeat abruptly speed up and you manage to gasp out, “Please, g- go ahead, I’m ready.”
Was that a triumphant grin on his gorgeous face? That self-satisfied son of a bitch! Lifting you off his cock, you both feel the pull of your center against it, reluctantly releasing from him inside you with a lewd ‘pop!’
“Lie down, Stevie.”
Your blond giant does as Bucky asks, laying back and reaching up to center you over his cock. What the-? You thought nervously, “Is this some scary sharing thing that will freak me out and-”
“Ohhhh, my god.” Your voice is deep and guttural and so unlike you, but Steve is sliding your pussy against his cock, it’s slick and shining and you know that’s from you as your lips spread around him, your sensitive nub bumping against the head of his cock with each pass. This time, Bucky straddles his legs from behind and kisses you between your shoulder blades.
“I want to be back inside you, doll.” He bites your shoulder, hard enough to make you jump a little. “Are you okay?”
Your brain is still with your pussy, which is sliding along Steve’s glistening cock, so you nod vigorously, trying to communicate that yes indeed, you would like that. You all pause for a moment as he pushes back inside you, trying to go slow, but you’re guessing by his white knuckles that’s easier said than done.
“That’s it, doll,” Bucky whispers in your ear like the little devil he is, “open up. Let me in.”
You’re pressed between these two huge, beautiful men, sweating from their combined heat but not even noticing because everything outside the motions of the three of you no longer exists. Wet slicks, along your thighs and theirs, you’re lightly sucking on Steve’s nipples and he gives an involuntary bucking up of his hips, which presses your clit hard against him and you come, squeezing against Bucky, who swears loudly, pushing his feet against the foot of the bed to stay inside you.
“I’m not coming,” he groans, “this feels too good! Stop riling her up with your magical dick!”
And you all start laughing, everything pushing and squeezing and slicking over other things. You all come together, Steve’s warmth shooting up between you, all the way to your breasts. Bucky growling and biting down on your shoulder as his cock swells impossibly larger and his heat bathes you. Your last orgasm squeezes him tightly enough to hold him inside.
There’s perfect, blissful almost-silence for a moment, the soft sound of the waves against the sand, a plaintive seagull, and the gasps from the three of you, trying to catch your breath.
Finally, Steve sighs, “We gotta get up. If Tony parallels and finds us like this, he will never let us live it down.”
“Really?” you ask teasingly, resting your chin on his chest, Bucky’s weight heavy on your back and feeling perfect. “There’s actually something that makes Stern Steve Rogers shy?”
He puts a forearm over his eyes, it’s perfectly muscled and sun-bronzed. “You don’t know Tony, he’s just such a-”
“I don’t,” you said, suddenly sad. “Not really. By the time he made it back to Earth, he was in terrible shape. He didn’t mentally have room to handle more people, that’s what Pepper told me.”
They were silent, Steve’s thumb rubbing your cheek, and Bucky’s fingers threading through your tangled hair.
“Is your Tony not as… I dunno, not as fragile?”
“He’s kind of a bastard,” Bucky says thoughtfully.
It’s not like you can help it, bursting into laughter. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Then, they’re laughing, and all that slipping around makes them hard again and this time, they find a new way to worship you, Steve pounding inside you and Bucky giving you his dirty talk.
“I want to help!”
“Honey, I know you do.” Steve rubs your arms, “But this is all demolition. No one’s ever tried to destroy the Tesseract, it seems insane even thinking about it. And the quantum physics needed to implode the vortex, Bucky and Tony have to do this right.”
You’re thinking, a frown settling between your eyebrows. “I’m sure Tony has the right calculations for the other side, but did you allow for the .05% differential on this side?”
“Goddamnit,” groaned Bucky, “this shit is going to kill us, I swear.”
“It just might!” Steve snarled, “So stop joking around, this isn’t funny.”
“Okay, both of you stop, I’m squished between you again but this time it is not enjoyable.” You blew an errant bit of hair off your face. “Do you want to check with Tony or have me work the sequence code?”
No one is smiling now. This is a life-altering decision for not just one, but two Earths. And even with the Snap, yours has no fucking idea what was about to hit it if anything goes wrong.
Putting his hands behind his head and pacing, Steve said, “Let me contact Banner, he communicated with Tony last. Natasha and Tony are paralleling, I can’t reach them.”
You had been so disgusted with Dr. Banner, but knowing he wasn’t your Dr. Banner made it seem less of a betrayal when he refused to help you. This was all too confusing to hold a grudge.
The three of you paced, passing by each other and staring at the sunset. When it was time, Steve said, “Please stay here. Not because we want to keep you out of danger, because if something goes wrong with either of us - if Tony and Natasha can’t cross - it’s you. You’re our failsafe.”
You latched on to him, holding his beautiful face and kissing him fiercely. “Nothing will go wrong. You’re Steve and Bucky.” Turning to Bucky, you attacked him with the same zeal. “You both come back. Okay?” They cross the white sand beach and melt into the treeline, disappearing from view.
“Okay, okay, okay…” You’re mumbling to yourself, repeating all your instructions to keep from screaming. “If Bucky and Natasha don't come back, I have to set off the secondary particle accelerator. If Steve and Tony don’t come back, I… Oh, fuck.” Sitting down abruptly on the stone floor of the terrace, you stare out at the waves, made bloody by the crimson rays of the setting sun. It felt like the worst of bad omens. You were terrified of that stone hollow behind the waterfall, of the giant, eerie gemstones and that giant one squatting in the back of the cave like a particularly malevolent spider. The Infinity Stones here were something of incalculable power. They nearly killed Banner, even in his Hulk stage. They had killed Tony. The Tony from here.
“Fuck this is so confusing!” You’re shrieking up at the early stars, seagulls who stare at you disapprovingly.
You can feel it when the vortex is collapsing, the hum, that fucking hum that made the fillings in your teeth rattle, the hum that made you want to weep tears of blood- it gets stronger, and more shrill and then deeper and soon the stones of the terrace are rattling and you’re fucking terrified. Curling up with your hands over your ears, you rock back and forth desperately praying it’ll be over soon.
“...Sweet..rt…you… th..e …ple…” It’s Steve on the two-way radio, the static obscuring every other word.
Seizing the device, you press the button, “I’m here, I’m here, Steve are you okay?”
“...S… no… wor…ng…need …y…”
Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck… you think, delirious with terror. “I’m here,” you wheeze, “I’m coming!”
You’re flying across the sand, bare feet pounding and going faster than you can believe it, but that’s what acute terror and fear for your loved one’s life can do to you. You realize what you just said; love. I’ll think about that later, you nod, I’ll just put that on the back burner because I’m probably going to die right now.
Scrambling up the rocks, you can see the wild rotation of the light inside, oscillating from green to blue and back again, and then most concerningly, a sickly yellow, like something diseased and dripping pus. Scooting around the waterfall, you nearly scream as you trip over something. That something is Tony- the other Tony and his skin is sheet-white and there’s red sores blooming all over his face and hands, blood dripping from his ear.
‘Where’s Steve!” You put your hand under his head, trying to lift it. Another pulse of light shoots through the cavern and Tony screams soundlessly. His fingers are trembling, trying to point, and you see Steve.
His massive body looks like it’s… oh, fuck, like it’s bubbling? Parts are bulging, others are collapsing in and the red sores are blooming like malignant flowers on his skin. He’s still trying to reflect the nauseating glow of the Tesseract with gems he’s torn from the stone ceiling, and he collapses to his knees as you run over, sapphires dropping from his slack fingers.
“Steve, oh fuck honey, Steve what do I do?”
His eyes are swollen, so bloodshot the blue is gone, he tries to tell you, he tries but his eyes roll back and close with a terrifying finality.
You always operated better from fury than fear, or heartbreak.
“You motherfucker!” You scream at the square monstrosity, immovable and unharmed, feeling like it was waiting for you. “Fuck you, man! You need to go, you fucking asshole! You don’t belong here!” Mindlessly seizing precious stones from the rock, you throw them impotently at the cube, screaming your lungs out. You don’t seem to be getting torn up like the men were, and you hurl the sapphires with all your strength.
There’s a crack in the corner of the Tesseract, just a little one but the colors start rotating faster.
“A crack…” you wheeze as it feels like a goddamn lightbulb just lit up your terrified brain. “Fuck you and everything about you!” You’re prying out the biggest sapphires, ignoring your bleeding fingers and hurling them, one after another hitting the cube over and over, getting closer than you ever thought you’d be brave enough to do, gathering more and hitting it again, there’s more cracks now and the yellowish, sickly light is dripping - it looks like it’s dripping but not like liquid but at this point you have no fucking idea because you’re still screaming and throwing sapphires the size of your fist until the cracks in the Tesseract all glow with the monstrous yellow light and then the thing doesn’t explode all over the way you’d expect, it implodes - it squeezes inside itself and twists and folds until there’s nothing left.
But the spiteful little bitch does have a farewell “fuck you,” because chunks of rock are falling from the walls and the ceiling of the cave and a hand grabs you from behind.
Screaming, you whirl around with a chunk of sapphire held high to bludgeon whatever touched you but it’s Steve, and he looks so much better, like he’s healing right in front of you. And his mouth is moving.
“What?” you shout.
“WE HAVE TO GO NOW!” Steve’s shouting and you nod.
“Oh, okay.”
He slings one of Tony’s arms over his shoulder and the other over yours, and you all stagger out of the cave to find that the rock outcropping you use to climb is gone.
“I hope you can swim, Tony!” you shout, and you leap, still not knowing where you were going to land.
Natasha, ironically, is nice. Nicer in certain ways that this Earth’s Natasha wasn’t, but you had, and have a little girl crush going for both of them, then and now.
“Are you absorbing all of this?” Her red hair is glowing in the moonlight, her head tilted curiously.
“Yeah, I…” you shake your head, “no. I’m so freaked out that I can’t begin to put all the pieces together in the right order, but…”
You’re showered and clean, like Steve and Tony, who are both deeply asleep. Natasha examined them impassively and told you they’d be fine in the morning.
Bucky was showering now, and you could hear him singing.
“That fucking lunatic is singing?” Shaking your head, you marveled at his sheer insouciance. “Singing. After the vortex murder thing and how you two still have teeth left in your mouth I do not know.”
She chuckled, but the smile slipped from her lovely face. ‘Tony was so excited about your Thermite formula. Do you think it worked?”
Sipping from your wine glass, you nodded. “I think so. I believe it will. It was just right. That flame can chase those fuckers wherever they try to burrow.”
“Good,” she says with a savage sort of satisfaction.
“Why didn’t the Tesseract try to kill me the way it took down Tony and Steve?” You were still mulling that one over. You… and one of the most terrifying sources of power and you killed it by throwing stuff at it?
“I think I know.” Bucky plopped down next to you in only his towel, drops of water dripping off his broad chest. He threw an arm over your shoulder and Natasha rolled her eyes.
“I knew it. You are just-”
“Wait,” you held your hand up. “Bucky, finish what you were saying.”
“The Tesseract - our Tesseract, anyway - isn’t from here, and maybe that protected you. But I think you were the only one from either world who could have destroyed it.”
Your brow furrowed, “Why me?”
“You were the failsafe, doll,” he smiled tenderly at you. “You were our living, breathing failsafe, the only human who didn’t have a match on our Earth. You were the only thing not mirrored on our Earth.”
“I’ll be damned,” mused Natasha, “you are absolutely right.”
There’s some kind of alarm you haven’t heard before that’s suddenly shrieking at a really annoying intensity.
“What the fuck is that!” Shooting out of your deck chair, you turn in a circle. “Could the entities have found a new way in? Oh, fuck!”
“She says fuck a lot when she’s anxious,” Bucky explains to Natasha, who nods wisely. “Doll, it’s a perimeter alarm. Someone’s landed on the island.”
You sigh. “Fury. Has to be.”
You’re correct, and when Director Fury comes raging over the sand with a complement of operatives, you’re the only one standing on the terrace. “He will so shoot you at first glance,” you’d persuaded Bucky. “And he knows our Natasha is gone. Let me sort this out.”
Surprisingly, Bucky agrees with you and pulls Natasha inside the house.
“Finally!” Fury shouts at you. One might think he was ready to shoot you, but you knew this was his relieved shouting. “What the fuck is going on here!”
“Director, welcome to Half Moon Key,” you say, feeling sympathetic over his utter confusion. “Come and sit down, please. We have a lot to talk about.”
Alerting mutuals who I think might be interested, please let me know if you’d like on or off this list. Thank you!
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#Dark Steve#Dark Bucky#Grey Steve#Grey Bucky#Alternate universe#parallel world#hot and tender sex with Steve and Bucky like you'd say no to that#Post-Snap Avengers#kidnapping#apocalyptic things#Tesseract#creepy vortexes
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Happy birthday, Buster Keaton!
Today is Buster Keaton's 127th birthday. Usually, my birthday posts for Buster wax poetic about the impact he's had on me, but this year I've decided to talk about my favorite Keaton film-- which also happens to be my favorite movie of all time-- The General. Perfect time too, since I watched the film again recently to celebrate Keaton's big day.
Ever humble and practical, Keaton would have never called himself an artist, and yet The General is undoubtedly more than a gag machine. It's one of the most visually appealing movies ever made-- Keaton and his creative team took the greatest care to replicate the Civil War photography of Matthew Brady, resulting in gorgeous compositions, evocative lighting, and a strong sense of period accuracy that outdoes most "serious" historical dramas of its time (and hell, ours too).
The elegance of the visuals is reflected in the taut, symmetrical, perfectly paced story. Critic Imogen Smith once said of The General in her IMDB review, "The General's narrative structure is as strong and uncluttered as its look. Like a train, it stays on track, never meandering for the sake of a laugh or a stunt. All of the gags rise organically from the coherent and straightforward storyline." On this recent rewatch, I was stunned by how quickly Keaton cuts to the chase (no pun intended). It truly is action-packed from start to finish.
Though the thing about the action in The General is that it isn’t of the over the top variety. Keaton’s antics on that 100% real moving train are not faked and that is a thousand times more thrilling than any CG setpiece in any superhero movie made in the last twenty years. So much of what he does in this movie could have killed him even if he had made only the slightest error, and yet Keaton somehow makes it all seem effortless. He never seems to be showing off what he can do or how expensive this all was-- as Imogen Smith says, even the famous shot were Keaton trashes a real train is presented with absolute understatement, something most Hollywood filmmakers would be loathe to do, then or now.
This movie has everything you could want packed into 80 minutes-- comedy, suspense, and action. I gasp and laugh every time I see it, and it’s a treat to watch with newbies, even those who wouldn’t normally take a chance on a silent film. For me, it is the finest movie Keaton ever made, one of the finest of the silent era, and one of the best movies of all time.
Happy birthday Buster-- and thank you so much.
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Sister of the Giant Killer
“Hello?”
Jill's voice was swallowed in the dark of the now opened room. She was looking for Jack, her brother who hadn’t contacted her for months. The air that poured out through the door was stale and warm, and it stuck to her arm as she reached around the frame to flick on the lights.
A dim light fell from two of the three bulbs in the ceiling fan. Papers and takeout almost comically cluttered his desk, with a number of pens having rolled onto the floor. His old bookcase was now crammed with more than it was built for, with quite a few roughly handled composition notebooks filled with his chicken-scratch of handwriting. The bed looked a lot neater than Jill expected from her brother. Walking towards it she felt one of her steps get caught on the floor, and as she looked down she saw that the wood floors were gashed and scraped. It looked like the planks had become familiar with a cage being dragged over them, while whatever was inside seemed like it very much did not want to be there.
After an ample analysis of the damage, Jill traversed the room to the closet. At first glance from the laundry baskets and scattered clothes on the floor one would think the closet served no purpose, but as the door was pushed to the side the head of the Giant that Jack killed years back could be found in a jar. Jill knew about the giant, but not the other stuffed and mounted heads that were stockpiled here. She recognized the faces of some, and didn’t know the species of others.
It was much more than she expected, stumbling backwards Jill again tripped on the chewed up floor. As she hit the floor her head turned to the underside of the bed, where she saw the dried up corpse of something inhuman. Its dying moments now forever futile in the stale room, its desperate clawing for freedom only preserved by the splinters in its long dead fingers.
Jill just felt sick.
Howdy again! I've discovered I can change the font so this'll now be how I (Me [the Author]) talk to y'all. I'm gonna write a revised version of this story and post it here later, I'd love to see what y'all think of both, but first and foremost if you read this story, I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for your time! I'll explain my thought process behind what I'll change in the other post
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THE FEAST OF HARVEST HOME : Annals of Grumpy Goat : Part 1 of 4
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THE FEAST OF HARVEST HOME
a Grumpy Goat <tail>
Part 1 of 4
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
4499 words
© 2016 by Glen Ten-Eyck
Writing begun 11/20/16
All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.
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When I saw who it was toiling up the path to my cave, I took the trouble to cast a glamor of my original handsome self on my invisible spirit body.
It made me appear to be the nice piebald white, black and brown goat that I used to be before the bit of an accident that killed me. I am far more careful with my Non-Equine Magic now!
I waited to greet Applejack’s arrival. I did keep the everburning candle between my horns. It is handy as a reading light inside my cave, where it can get really dark, especially when the solid iron and steel door is shut.
I was delighted by Applejack’s double take when she saw me.
“Darn! Fer a second there, Ah thought Ah was in the wrong place! Then Ah noticed the candle! So how come Ah don’t rate the floatin’ skull an all that there stuff?”
I replied with honesty, “I was trying to make you feel more comfortable. The whole skull bit and all that goes with it is easily arranged if you want it. It is not often that one of the Mane Six shows up here at my cave. This is the first time, in fact.
“Princess Luna, Princess Celestia, even Duchess Red Hoof, yes. Mane Six, nope.
“If you would be so good as to come inside, we can talk privately.”
I bowed her into my cave and sealed the heavy iron and steel door behind us. Thanks to the everburning candle between my horns, we could still see a little. I waved a hoof. Other candles in sconces all about the chamber lit up, making the place far better lit and homey looking.
Turning to my guest a smile on my glamored face, I asked, “So, Applejack, what can I do for you?”
She pulled a long face. “We got a problem down to Sweet Apple Acres. The apples looks right for this time of year but something is off. Shouldn’t make you tummy sick, this far along, but they do. Ah got some right here.”
She laid out about a dozen nice looking but still just a bit green apples.
She sighed, “The hundred gold bits that you charge is gonna be a problem too. Ah got it along but we really needs it now, just before the harvest.”
I sat in my easy chair and steepled my hooves. “Before we just jump headlong into a contract that might not be set up right to actually solve your problem, it would be a good idea sort out what the problem actually is. What do YOU think it might be?”
AJ’s brow wrinkled under her forelock. “Ah don’t rightly know, mister Goat. None of us does. We been farming Sweet Apple Acres since Granny was young and Ponyville was only a settlement. None of us ever seen a problem like this ‘un.
“We uses only the best organic farming methods.”
I nodded, my candle making some of the room’s shadows dance, and suggested, “Then we may assume that it is neither the farming or the apples, that is at the root of the problem. Tell me, has any pony tried to BUY or obtain Sweet Apple Acres recently?”
AJ turned a troubled look at the innocent looking apples on my kitchen counter. “Sir Snobbin Realty made us a ridiculous low offer. What would that have to do with the problem of our apples not being right?”
Dry voiced, I pointed out, “Everything. You are stretched thin right now. If your crop fails, you could be forced to sell at a ruinous price.” I held up a hoof to forestall her outrage and went on, “If that is the case, it is easily proved.
“The form of the non equine magic that I use requires that I be paid for the spells that I do. They simply won’t work if I am not paid.
“A question that does bear on the problem. Do you supply Caramel Treat’s restaurant with apples or apple products?”
AJ snickered, “Of course! They are picky customers but only because they wants the best. Not only do they get it, they pays us the best prices for our apples, too. Always a pleasure to deal with them.”
I nodded briskly. “Good! I happen to be on a regular monthly retainer with them over certain security issues! That means that I am already paid for these tests! It is a matter of the safety of their customers.”
Since nearly all of my Non-Equine magic totally lacks flash and impressive stuff, I tend to follow a different book when using it. The Manual of Misdirection, Slight of Hoof and Showmanship! Makes for MUCH happier customers!
I got a large sheet of paper and then brought out a small kit. Using fun little rituals, I opened the kit. Taking a charcoal stick, I drew a nice pentacle around one of the apples. It had many little signs and sigils all around it between points and and in the rings surrounding it. Each line or rune had its own bit of ritual. I set small candles around the Pentacle.
Using a small wand of carved bone from the kit, I touched each candle in turn. They all flared to light. Then I sat back and waited.
“What happens now, Mr. Goat?” AJ wanted to know.
I pointed with the small wand. “Watch. It is already happening.”
The apple was starting to glow an unhealthy red.
TO BE CONTINUED
NEXT==>
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#THE FEAST OF HARVEST HOME#Part 1 of 4#MLP Fan Fiction#The Annals of Grumpy Goat#Written by De Writer
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Hi hi hello! For the art trademark thing, what sticks out to me is the sharp lineart and big shapes. The lines have so much feeling and show what's happening with a nice clarity. Your backgrounds are also really cool - the colors, lighting, and composition are always so pleasing <3
HHHHHHHHHHHH thankssss and thanks for pointing it out imma keep working at it :D my lineart kills me and the backgrounds are always tricky and im glad its sticking out more than some other stuff.
its good to know and i appreciate you tellin me hhhhhhhhh
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