#i mean the good news is that im not going through with the plan bc i have to at least live long enough to see MCR in october

[leclerced]

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

#ask #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 smut #🫀anon

[yourlocalstranger123]

Hello I luv your writing may I request a yandere Nanook (if you write for him) with a Aeon of wind reader who's like Venti

U don't have to write this if this makes you uncomfortable is it fine if it's fluff?

|\/|Xx×!¡《Nanook》¡!×xX|\/|

ofc! Also, i appreciate you putting what kind of theme you wanted, like fluff. Bc I sometimes I add angst to a fluff bc they didn't exactly tell me what kind of theme, so I just take it as a free for all...(I still feel guilty-)

Also, im not too familiar with the lore, aeon's, and stuff. Especially his personality, so I might get it wrong. So I'll just go with the typical yandere who goes softer with you? For the fluff and since you said reader who's like venti, I view him as free going, so there won't be too many dark things about him being a yandere (and since it's mostly fluff)

Why every time I read my own writing, I think of the wattpad 😨😱😭

Warning: Murder mention

×Beauty of destruction×

Xx×—' and life ♥︎ '—×xX

× He wasn't interested in you at first, only focusing on destroying things. He sees the creation of the universe as a mistake and sought to destroy everything. As he was busy with his own plans, he felt a gust of wind thrown at him. He turned around to see you playfully laugh.

× he scoffed in annoyance but didn't bother to kill you.... but your alluring chuckle caught his attention. Seeing you directly gift your blessing to the people who walked your path so easily... Smiling as if something new and wonderful has been newly created and brought upon the world. Why were you so...happy?

× his dead "heart" started thumping against his chest as he watched you... he never felt so intrigued with something or someone. Did you do something to him? Why is his heart beating so hard against his chest? It hurts....but it hurts so good

× he was bothered by this new feeling...it felt confusing. He wanted to hear your voice, touch you, embrace you... but the most cunfusing part for him is that he wants you to be his, his only, but he wants to be yours too... it's simple, really, but why..? Why does he want that? He wanted to know more

× He read books in his own time of how to approach you, and he tried many times, but he just... he couldn't. Like something was stopping him. Hesitance, perhaps? He wonders why. There wasn't any bad relationship between him and you, so why was he hesitating? He's been observing and made every preparation of trying to make a conversation with you for days, so why?

× While he was in the middle of his thoughts, he flinched and quickly turned around, then saw your startled face. He stood still, mind racing of what to say. His heart thumped against his chest painfully. He felt like he was suffocating. He wanted to clutch his chest and make it stop. Why did he feel this way?

× The feeling was soon replaced immediately the moment you touched his shoulder, asking if he was alright. He felt... free, felt as if all the burden on his shoulders were lifted off. He lifts his head up to see you, your gentle eyes gazing into his,,

× he was stiff while having a conversation with you; only replying with dry responses. (Dryer than the Atacama desert) He wasn't much of a talker, so he listened to your stories, your daily life, your complaints, anything honestly. He simply laid their with his head resting on his palm as he watched you talk.

♥︎ oh, how he was soooo new to these kinds of feelings. But don't worry! You're here with him for a reason :) You're gonna help him, right? You guided him through these complicated meanings of it, so of course you will! You're the one responsible for it so you should take the responsibility!

♥︎ He takes mental notes about you, even the smallest details like he always notice that whenever your presence is near, a slight wind blows around the area you are in. So, he is able to quickly notice your presence. (You didn't even notice it yourself until he told you-)

♥︎ He always accompanies you everywhere. Every. Single. Place. (Maybe even the place you rest at..) And if you ask him why, he always says that it's was quite a coincidence, purely luck for him to cross path with you. Or that he thought that you needed protection (sir...[name] is an Aeon, how does- nvm, hes just delulu) and etc...

♥︎ and if you say no? He'll try to convince you. If that doesn't work? He'll be sadden, frowning(pouting), and looks with you with teary eyes. (those be fake asf-) ah....what a wonderful way to guilt trap you because it definitely works.

♥︎ Oh, the first time he smiled at you? You were memorized. (But if someone else, they would think he was planning to finally destroy the world now...) you happily and giddily told the other Aeons about this, and they looked at you H.O.R.R.I.F.I.E.D. Like, what do you mean the most mass of destruction is smiling innocently? They decided to secretly watch you from afar.

♥︎ He brings you small little gifts like flowers that are shaped as a crown (Your his emperor/empress) or a ring (He wants to marry you since he thinks that marriage is a powerful contract of loyalty and love...and maybe wants to prove to you that he is worthy of that-)

♥︎ He softens whenever you're around. He feels like he's wrapped around a warm blanket whenever you praise him or comfort him in any way, so he always seeks for your approval (and attention). You are his world, his everything, his only reason to not already destroy this universe.

♥︎ Oh, how he's sooooo obsessed with you! It's like seeing a teenager obsessing over their crush! Whatever you give him, even if it's the most basic thing ever, he takes care of it and makes sure it's in its top shape and condition! And if anything or anyone dares to damage it or even touch it, he'll make sure they'll regret it... (Of course, if it's you, he doesn't mind! He can just simply try to put it back in shape, and if it doesn't work, he'll ask you for another one! He's even saying, please....)

♥︎ He even has a cute little (huge) shrine of you! He used something called a "camera" and took pictures every time you looked in high spirits like when you smiled, fascinated, grinned, etc. And of course, he took it with your consent....he doesn't want his love to be upset now, would he?

—Xx×《 ~♥︎~ 》×xX—

He was enjoying the feeling of resting his head on your lap, intertwining his hand with yours. He listened to your voice as you sing songs, stories, or even just humming. He really wants to hear your heartbeat, so he pokes your arm to catch your attention. As you looked down, you could see something no one could or ever believe.

His smile. He tapped lightly on the spot where your heart was. He savored the sound of your chuckle as you gently lift his head off your lap and made yourself comfortable before letting him lean closer and put his head on your chest. He closed his eyes as he nuzzled against you. He was like a little cat, how adorable.

He was always so jealous that when you shared your smile with others, he wanted to be the only one to see that. He wanted to keep you from others. He didn't like that your attention was ripped off from him when one of your followers prayed for you. He covered your eyes with his hand and snuggled against you. He huffed and frowned when you tried to get him off.

He glared when he heard the other Aeon trying to call you. Before you could even respond, he pushed you down and hugged you tightly. "Do you really have to go to.....that aeon right now? Can't you stay just this once? Please [name]?" He asks. He would've begged if you didn't respond quickly with a agreement. He smiles and bathes in your warmth once again.

(He's gets jealous quite easily)

He made a ring out of the flowers he found. He tried to secretly slide it onto your finger, which made you smile. You pretended not to know what he was doing and just played with his hair. Once he was done, you finally pretended to just notice it now. "Oh, did someone put this pretty ring on my finger? Oh, how I wonder who the handsome/beautiful person put this ring on me?"

You chuckled as he perked up. He snuggles against your hand that had the ring on it. "Mustn't I put a ring on yours too?" You played along as he blushed lightly. He could see you using the wind to gather up some flowers into your palm, making a ring for him too! His eyes light up as you put a ring on his finger.

He smiles once again. He's glad that he killed all of your suitors before they could even meet you....He should be the only one who you call "yours," and you should only be with him, you don't need anyone else...

He really loves and adores you. He will do anything to keep you with him

#nanook #hsr nanook #aeon of destruction #aeon x reader #nanook x reader #nanook x you #nanook x gn reader #nanook x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail nanook #nanook hsr #nanook honkai star rail #yandere nanook #male yandere #yandere male #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere character #x reader #honkai star rail

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

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

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

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

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

It’s something new to fidget with.

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

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

If you do, you’ll blame him.

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

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

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

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

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

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

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

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

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

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

There were usually three of them.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

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

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

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

Javier Peña was none of that.

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

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

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

It was like, nothing.

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

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

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

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

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

His hair, freshly cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you stumble to the elevator.

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

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

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

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

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

He catches you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thud against the nightstand.

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

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

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

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

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

He looks like he wants to.

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

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

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

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

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

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

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

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

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

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

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

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

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

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

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

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not in the mood.”

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

“I have an early flight.”

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

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

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

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

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

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

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

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

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

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

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

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

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

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

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

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

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

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

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

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

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

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

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

A broken earring.

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

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

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

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

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

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

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

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

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

The silence returns.

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

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

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

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

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

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

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

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

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

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

“I don’t underst-”

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

He’s stern.

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

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

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

Everything, you want to tell him.

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

“I just thought-”

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

I know, you mouth.

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

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

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

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

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

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

Kid.

That makes you angry.

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

“Don’t call me kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late, you want to say.

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

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

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

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

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

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

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

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

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

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

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

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

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

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

You let him invade your senses.

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

You pull back. He follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, you do trip over them.

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

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

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

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

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

Later with Javi never seems to come.

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

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

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

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

You’d never gotten those panties back.

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

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

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

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

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

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

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

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

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

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

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

A splotch of red stains your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

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

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

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

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

He’s rambling.

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

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

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

He chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

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

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

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

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

“What more could you have done?”

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

You whine out his name.

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

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

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

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

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

The words catch in your throat.

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

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

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

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

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

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

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

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

By July, things change.

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

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

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

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

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

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

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

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

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

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

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

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

Not right now.

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

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

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

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

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

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

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

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

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

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

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

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

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

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

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

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

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

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

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

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

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

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

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

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

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

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

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

You’re usually more careful.

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

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

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

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

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

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come up empty handed.

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

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

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

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

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

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

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I- What?” Confussion.

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

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

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Or both.

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

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

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

Your father’s voice.

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

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

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

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

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

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

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

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

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

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

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

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

You feel his eyes on you.

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

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

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her fault. You know.

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

Your dad is.

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

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

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

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

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

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

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

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

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

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

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

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

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

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

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

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

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

“London.”

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

All eyes snap to him.

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

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

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

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

That peaks your interest.

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

“Really?”

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

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

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

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

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

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

“Mr... Bond?”

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

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

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

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

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

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

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

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

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

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

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

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

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

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

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

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

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

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

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

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

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

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

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

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

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

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

And all because you heard his voice.

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

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

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

And a well-rounded belly.

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

You’ve never seen her before.

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

She’s a total stranger, to you.

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

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

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

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

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

You won’t let it fester.

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

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

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

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

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

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

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

Your heart’s palpitating.

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

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

Because, how could he do this to you?

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

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

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

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

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

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

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

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

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

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

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

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

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

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

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

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

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

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

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

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

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

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

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

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

Your breathing stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

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

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

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

You wake up early.

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

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

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

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

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

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

A quarter past six.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your ringtone is the culprit.

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

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

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

“Corazón.”

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

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

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

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

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

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

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

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

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

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

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

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

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

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

You sure felt alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For answers, for clarity, for closure

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

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

Even then, it kills you to do so.

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

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

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

“What answer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The image doesn’t quite form.

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

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

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

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

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

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

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

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

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

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of them have, really.

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

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

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

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

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

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

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

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

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

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

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

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

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

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

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

Immediately, you spot chicken.

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

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

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

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

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

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

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

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

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

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

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

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

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

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

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

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

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

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

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

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

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

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

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

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

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

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

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

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

“Was she a good cook?”

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

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

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

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

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what to say.

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

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

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

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

Both of you settle back in your seats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She would have liked you.”

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

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[shotokimchi]

When Their S/O Is a Seggs God

MINORS DNI

How would they react if their cute lover was like a succubus in bed LMAO Going through some hard stuff so wanted to drop this here to laugh a little JSDFHSDK-

A/N:Sorry for being inactive y'all i swear I'm not ignoring the requests, just preparing for an important exam this year, but I'll be back around Julyyyy

Little side note: Characters are aged up so don't come at me smh

part2 w/Dabi and Midoriya

Bakugo

So we all know that this man doesn't sleep around randomly. My guy dates the "one" for him he's planning to marry you so if you aren't planning about settling down...

Too bad for you missy (Lemme see your ring finger bitch you gonna get wifed up💍)

After taking you out to meet his parents, this chili oil literally falls in love with you (i mean he already did but when he saw how you treated his momma and papa- boy was CHOKING ON HIS HEART❤️) so he decides to take your relationship to the next level.

Needs and excuse to leave early so literally tells his parents that he has a bad case of diarrhea ( Do ya'll know that video LMAO) and drags you out to his car

Lemme tell you he ran over at least 5 red lights just to have sex with you-

And you are just confused about why he's suddenly acting like a rabid dog i mean he's always acting like one but this time-

"Suki, why is your mouth foaming?"

On the way to your apartment, you had an inner conflict about actually taking him to a vet, you aint planning on telling him that tho.

After finally throwing you onto the shared bed like a sack of flour mf flies for a second in the air like a bloodthirsty mosquito- (the only difference is he's thirsty for the ✨All-mighty pussy juice✨)

Dw tho man asks for your consent because he loves you a lot and doesn't want your first time to be scary and all-

Wait did i say first time?

YES MF THINKS YOU'RE A VIRGIN- but guess what he's about to find out...

Before he can start kissing you, you push him onto his back and rip off his pants and leave a small peck on his lips before riding him like you are in a horse race- Good news gurl you are about to win, no one can compare

Poor man is speechless bc you are literally singing on his dick like you are the headliner in a choir...

And while you are singing you are rhythmically bouncing too LMAO

IM👏GONNA👏PUMP👏EVERY👏SINGLE👏DROP👏OUT👏OF👏YOU

He aint scared no he just swallowed his tongue by accident- cuz you know...

HIS GIRL IS LITERALLY DOING THE DUCK WALK ON HIS DICK (🦆🦆🦆)

WALK THAT FUCKING DUCK Y/N QUACK QUACK QUACK

He decides to grab your hips to slow you down a little bc you are causing an earthquake with a magnitude of 6.9

but instead of slowing you down now you are making him jump on the bed with you too LMAOAOAOAOAO- imagine someone breaking in and seeing two floating figures on the bed

He's like "SLOW DOWN Y/N-"

But nuh uh you are too caught up in your own horny world so you continue to milk him (Fr tho calm down queen aren't those legs tired?🦵)

After cumming for the 5th time he tapped out LMAO-

You gave him a concussion bc of making him bounce for too long KSJFHJSDKFGSDKJHSD- POOR KATSUKI

He was laying there, unconscious with drool dripping down his mouth and it took you three full minutes to realise that he passed out (OMG I'm gone-)

Fly high Katsuki Bakugo 🕊️🕊️

Dw tho you made sure to pamper him the morning after, bringing him a breakfast tray filled with pancakes and a cup of coffee. A cute innocent smile plastered on your face

"Morning, baby!"

Needless to say, he was shocked ( pretty sure he thinks it was the hottest night ever but doesn't wanna hurt his own pride by telling you that)

"WHAT HAPPENED-"

Todoroki

BAHAHAHA OMG OK LISTEN-

So both of you are lovebirds obv because Todoroki would be the most caring boyfriend ever (i'll fight you about this one 🥊🥊🥊) so its impossible not to be in love with him

So pretty baby thinks it's going to be all about kisses, vanilla, sweet loving, him showing how much he cares about you etc.

AND HE IS A VIRGIN

Todoroki being a virgin is such a turn on he trusts you enough to give his first time to you (aw❤️🤍)

...but you didnt know that he was a virgin

I mean come on look at him how can he be a virgin while looking THAT PRETTY

So one time, while you guys were chilling on the couch watching Titanic and snacking on some strawberries together he decides to make the first move and gently holds your hand while whispering sweet things to your ear and then you hear the magical word (open sesame zimzalabim this coochie 🔮)

"Y/n, I wanna do it."

BIG MISTAKE SHOTO VERY BIG- So being the horny queen you are the wicked horny grin makes its way to your lips and baby is concerned Before he can say anything you immediately grab a strawberry and stuff it into his mouth and quickly try to get him off of his sweatpants

Then you work your magic on him by giving him the best and first head of his life ✨ and trust me he is enjoying it very much

Mmmm yes that famous glock glock 60000 GOBBLE UP BABES don't let em Santa Claus looking pubic hair get into your nose tho🎅

Pretty moans were filling the living room while his fingers lock with yours

But the baby was too lost in his own pleasure so he accidentally bit the strawberry and took it out of his mouth

But you noticed so you grabbed a new one and harshly shoved it into his mouth

"Dont. swallow. the. strawberry."

Babies eyes went wide

YOU SCARED HIM

AND IT WAS HIS FIRST TIME TOO

he %100 looked like this-

So now he was drowning in his own pool of saliva trying not to bite into the strawberry while his eyes were rolling at the back of his head (bc of your amazing tongue skills)

Spot the difference between your mouth and a vacuum cleaner

NONE

When i tell you, you were sucking him DRY

like the next Todoroki generation got to the point of extinction

at this point he was trying to pry you off of his dick bc the overstimulation was TOO much lolol

Poor baby accidentally covered the couch with small burns

when you lifted your head to check up on him you were met with a sobbing Shoto

BOY WAS GASPING

Literally thought of bringing him an oxygen tank but decided against it bc he calmed down after receiving your loving kisses You layed his head on your chest while combing through his locks with your fingers, you made sure to give him a great aftercare

"Are first times are this rough?"

You choked on Casper the ghosts dick

"WHAT-" Literally mourned for two hours bc of treating him so roughly LMAO

A/N: I'm done- sorry for the typos if i have any, i was too lazy to edit :p

#mha todoroki #mha kirishima #mha #mha x reader #mha smut #mha deku #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsukibakugou #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #shoto torodoki #kirishima eijiro #kirishima x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero acedamia #bnha fic

[hope-drunk]

ok hear me out.. Bully!Abby who reads through the readers diary and finds out about the readers crush on her?!?!!?... idk, i have no specifics im just infatuated with this plot LOLL also literally obsessed with ur wtiting *chefs kiss* 🤌

nooo bc... bc… (sorry in advance this is all over the place)

i can't see any of my faves as bullies because i’ll cry if they're mean to me BUT i think abby would definitely be rude to you if you were new to WLF.

like she sees this new sweet thing running around base and she’s complaining to manny like, “why’d she even get let in here?”

you’d get paired up with her for patrol and she’d just roll her eyes at you, preparing herself for the extra effort she's gonna have to put in, expecting you to not be able to hold your own.

once you're actually on patrol though, she realizes you aren't as bad as she's anticipating. you're not as good as her, of course, but you weren't terrible.

when you're going back to your own rooms after patrol, she gives you a quick, "good job today." and your heart just flips!!

you can't stop thinking about her after that. you try to stay cool because she very rarely even pays attention to you, but you can't help but talk about her in your diary. scribbling little hearts around her name when you write about your day.

and then one day... you're in the cafeteria, writing down the details of your patrol, and someone calls you across the room, so you walk over to them leaving your diary open on the table, not even thinking about it.

and abby, who was gonna come talk to you about the plans for a run tomorrow, sees your stuff and walks over to it. sits down next to where you've left your food and diary, and she can't help but peak at what you were writing. sits there in shock when she sees her name all over the place, but quickly gets her act together when you walk back over to her.

then she asks you if you’re free, asks you to come back to her room with her to discuss what the plan is for tomorrow. and obviously you agree, quickly packing the journal into your bag and following her to her room like a lost puppy. the whole walk there you can’t help but stare at her back, the way she walks with such determination, the way her shirt is hugging her arms a little too tightly. by the time you approach her door you’ve got yourself worked up, a gooey feeling in your stomach.

“listen, i saw what you wrote in your diary.”

your heart literally drops to your ass, you start profusely apologizing for making her uncomfortable, but she’s quick to cut you off.

“you’ve got a little crush on me, hm? you like when i’m all mean, don’t you?”

you just stare up at her with wide eyes, the embarrassment of being called out makes your cheeks turn red.

“yeah, i bet you do like it. just need someone to give you a firm hand, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

she swears she can see the thoughts leave your head as you slowly nod up at her. she can’t stop the smirk from spreading across her mouth as she realizes how much fun she’s gonna have messing with you </3.

#༉‧₊˚. 💌 #anons ! #abby ! #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson x reader

[farklelucas]

okay so. now that ive taken some time to breathe, compose myself, and gather my thoughts, lemme lay out why the teen wolf movie was a hot holy mess (besides, you know, the obvious) as a teen wolf enthusiast and expert.

a lot of the characters were really little more than set dressing. to be specific, i think liam could have been replaced by a mailbox with a hat and the movie would have been the same (and this is coming from a major liam fan). the same can be said for mason, malia, melissa, peter, and honestly even the sheriff (which i hate bc god he was such a core of the show). i think parrish was only useful in one specific instance and even that isn't enough to warrant him being in the film. the characters i loved felt like cardboard cutouts and that wasnt fair to me, to the characters, or to the actors. i would have rather they not been there at all tbh. like just leave liam out of this if youre gonna do him like that fr

a lot of the plot points felt... disjointed and weird. saraid said it felt like three different movies in one and i have to agree. derek and eli felt like its own thing, then scott and allison, and then everything else (whatever the hell parrish and malia had going on, the lydia and jackson buddy cop comedy, liam in... japan with a ramen shop i think? and some random girlfriend that happened to be a kitsune) kind of fell to the wayside in between.

this movie was truly so flat without kira. it was hard to make a nogitsune movie without stiles, but it was almost impossible to make without her. hikari unfortunately ended up just feeling like a woman they randomly shoved into all the plot points kira was supposed to be in. because she didnt have a character besides liams girlfriend (and because liam was barely a character himself), she just couldn't compare and so kiras lack of presence was really felt. she left a huge hole in the narrative. they didnt even mention her and you knew what was missing. if you had cut khylin and dylan sprayberrys checks entirely, im sure they would have had enough to pay her as much as the rest of her white coworkers :) but that's just my opinion xxx

this was supposed to be for fans of the original series, but really just felt like jeff davis's weird rare pair fanfiction. instead of focusing on the dynamics that already existed - melissa and the sheriff, malia and peter, scott and liam, derek and. anyone really - he ended up delving into all these new dynamics with only two hours to develop them. malia and parrish (which. i really had to mentally run through the show to see if those two had interacted before and i dont think they have), liam and hikari, and derek and eli. all of which had a shot at being interesting but because there were so many different plots going on, it all just felt. awkward and confusing.

that being said, im gonna move onto derek and eli generally. i like eli! i do. i thought he was funny, i thought the actor was super charming (although the timeline made no sense because if he was born fifteen years ago And allison died fifteen years ago he would be braedens and. hate to say it folks. thats not braedens baby. make him mixed jeff davis you fucking coward). really, i liked him. ... but not at the expense of dereks character. the derek i knew was an asshole. he was mean, he was sarcastic, he was a bastard (honorifically). its not to say that people cant change, but... the derek i saw in the movie was a complete 180 from the derek we last saw in the series. honestly, the derek i saw in the series probably wouldn't have made a good parent - we saw how he was with erica, isaac, and boyd. even with scott. derek was kind of a dick. i dont even think he would have wanted kids - i think he would raise them out of duty, and i think he would if a partner wanted him to. but i dont think kids were ever in his life plan. and i think that could have been super interesting to see with him and eli. i think making him a parent could have been really interesting and it just. crumbled.

i know i mentioned the timeline in that last bit but. the timeline. it hurts my head. when was eli born. what year is it. how long has it been since scott has been in beacon hills. im so confused.

lets talk about adrian harris. shall we. i have made a list of people who i think would have been a better villain reveal are you ready: allison, peter, theo, chris argent, kate argent (resurrected), matt daehler (resurrected), victoria argent (resurrected), kira herself, danny mahealani, rafe mccall, isaac's shit dad, coach, greenberg, me with a baseball bat filled with rusty nails, jeff davis in a wig. the list goes on. you could not have picked a more random and less memorable character to reveal as your villain. i almost felt like i was being mocked. "haha! you didnt expect it to be this guy? the chemistry teacher who also died fifteen years ago? who had almost nothing to do with the plot until season 3? stupid! idiot!" i have never been so mad in my life

speaking of villain. did they forget what a nogitsune is. it needs a host. its not some guy they can stab to death. its a concept, a feeling, a parasite. its a manifestation of mental illness. but no sorry excuse me i must be wrong bc now its also a werewolf??????? im sorry. am i the crazy one. give me void allison! give me allison as the host and shes being taken over and she has those bags under her eyes and that creepy void stare and grin! give me crystal reed emmy noms! while we're on the subject, heres some more questions about the nogitsune include: why was it in a jar? why was it with LIAM of all people (who didnt even know what that was)? why did its powers completely change? HOW was it a werewolf????????? i cant stop thinking about it.

i said it once and ill say it again: jackson fucking carried this movie. he was giving all season one jackson, he was bringing comic relief, he was even bringing up ethan when no one else would! king! he carried. but he shouldn't have had to. dont get me wrong, i think crystal reed ate and left no crumbs. this was allisons movie and it should have been. but when the other two standout characters imo were jackson (who arguably did nothing) and coach (who did even less)... you simply didnt use your characters well. i think i would put deaton up there and even chris, but... scott and lydia? this should have been their movie. but scott spent nearly the whole movie ignoring his friends, and lydia was reduced to 'woman whose plot was about a man,' again. it was horrible. lydia outgrew that song and dance by season two. and scott? hasnt been to beacon hills in twelve years? hasnt seen his mom or his friends? not the scott mccall i know.

this is not about shipping discourse this post will never be about shipping discourse so i say this as a completely objective party. that being said. st/dia was so strangely shoved in there at the end. how did harris even know about lydia leaving stiles. how did he know about her dream. how did it add to the plot. like yes the nogitsune feeds of chaos and strife but i think lydia was getting enough of that watching her friends get murdered. it felt like a weird way to explain why dob wasnt there and it simply didnt work. i would have rather they not said anything about stiles at all.

anyway, this is skipping over a lot of other little things that i thought were really bad (sexualizing malia who literally had the mentality of an eight year old for most of her life AGAIN, why was mason a fucking cop, peters lack of interaction with the hale family which is what made him interesting in the first place, the absolute insanity of allison coming back to life and just being absolutely okay even though shes been dead for fifteen years, died at the hands of her friend, and almost everyone she knew including stiles, isaac, and kira are all just gone now), but boy oh boy. for a while it was funny bad. like "oh this is bad but i can still enjoy this for what it is" bad. but those last ten minutes. what is actually absolutely wrong with jeff davis. there are very few times ive felt this betrayed by tv shows i held this close to my heart, but im there. im heartbroken. i wont go on about it here, bc honestly, it would need its own post considering how much i have to say. but if the rest of the movie was bad? that was shit was traumatizing.

anyway. so sorry this post is this long, and so sorry i couldnt come back with a positive review. this show died long ago; i think we should have just let it rest - nobody asked for a reunion, and now i can see that was with good reason. so the next time jeff davis opens up an email with a header titled 'sequel idea' and he ccs tyler posey, i think we should all just agree to ler arden cho beat him to death in a dennys parking lot instead.

#long post #teen wolf #teen wolf movie #twm #personal #shut your pie hole katie

[lovebvni]

things to look forward to + ways to move forward!! <3

hello, lovelies!! i’m finally doing a pick-a-pile on this blog… after about half a year of being active

this pap will be answering 2 questions, but they have multiple parts. what’s coming in (from what i can see) and ways to get to it.

disclaimer: this pac isn’t legal advice or what you should do in your life. it is just based off your current energy. and that can change. purely for entertainment purposes.

now please, close your eyes and take a deep breath. wait until you see a swirl of colour to exhale. let your breath and spirit guide you to a pile.

piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

pile 1 — find it inside

hello, pile 1! here’s your reading :)

how close is your reward?

your reward is very close. 6 of pentacles coming out makes me have the vision on a banker grabbing their papers being put together before handing the recipient, you! maybe there’s like two more things you have to sign, or bring those documents to someone else, but at most im getting that there’s about 3 more steps left in the process? 4 at most. but seriously, you are close!

the papers can be to finally get your new business started… are you starting something like a business pile one? material wealth is coming through. the justice card comes to mind — perhaps in a legal argument with someone? i think this is the success about to come. or at least a satisfactory agreement.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

being too ambitious. you’re almost toooo focused and driven. are you cutting people off or isolating yourself from people and friends? honey you need a support group. it’s not always good to do things alone. you aren’t in a cage. your tunnel vision is too stuck on this goal you’re trying to reach. you need a breath of fresh air. just take a moment to relax and have a fun time. even students need a break from school, why do you think we have weekends? you’re wearing yourself out.

what do you need to accept?

finishing touches make everything look better. this is the final steps. just because i’m saying “oh you have abt 3 more steps” didn’t mean those are big steps. those are teeny steps. but material wealth(or a legal win) is coming either way, no matter what you change in the end. just trust the process.

a new focus & what to reject

stick to your plan! don’t back out of it last minute because you don’t like how it’s turning out. you need a BREAK! take a step back! but this doesn’t mean let everyone get into your business. keep it to yourself for now. it’s gonna work out, though!

thanks for reading, pile one! i hope this resonates, and i wish you the best!! now go have fun! stop working yourself overtime!

confirmation/additional signs: “don’t compare yourself to others”, don’t let others control you, have your own path and stick to it, “have some sort of tunnel vision”, the colour red, “girl trip!”, painting, “i need you to take a step back before i knock you on your fucking ass” — elita’s mentally not here, 555.

pile 2 — gift from the gods

hello, pile two! this is your reading!

first off, i’m doing this reading with my friend nile (nile says hi bc nile always says hi 💯) and they said they REALLY felt the need to touch on ur overall energy. so here’s what they said!

“With the number of face cards that are in this spread, and the general theme I thought about while pulling out the cards, it seems like pile 2 is the type to ask others for 2nd and 3rd opinions alot? I mainly thought about family members but it could easily be like, friends, classmates, school counselors/teachers, etc. Pile 2 maybe feels like they're conflicted because they're getting way different opinions on something (or maybe that's the normal dynamic) and they aren't sure which one is good advice and which one isn't”

don’t second guess urself 😡😡 ur intuition is always right!

how close is your reward?

this idea is brand new, isn’t it? some something you just decided to try, to dabble in. to dip your toes in, maybe as a distraction? i feel like this is something you decided to do on a whim, so maybe you’re not that far along with it. i mean you aren’t even in the pool yet… how can you start swimming? so, i would say about a 1-3 out of ten.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

wow, fear of some sort of older male figure. you may have an older sibling, nile got a brother or a cousin. they have divine masculine energy. they may or may not be a male, though. they may be someone who reaches out when they need something from you. you need to learn to start saying no to them. i also think that this could be where your double and triple checking could come in. are you someone who asks “should i do this for them?” and most of your friends say no, but you only need that one yes and you’ll take it? why would you do that to urself :( it’s so harmful to give away your energy without gaining.

nile also brought up inner voices, “inner voices that has that sort of vibe, but this is the energy of a young, mean-spirited, holier-than-thou, smart-ass that moreso likes to spout their own ideals than to actually consider what is pile 2's idea of a 'reward'” and you know what i say to this energy? SUCK ON MY DICK!

sorry. that was out of pocket. but tell them to get a life, and cut them off !!

what do you need to accept?

have u had a romantic offer? or do you think someone’s attracted to you? grab them 🤭 get ur man!! this person may also be an important friend. maybe friends w benefits? that was js a side thought. but focus on them, accept them into your life, and allow them to make your life better! i also get the feeling they could have darker hair (dirty blonde at the lightest)!! masculine energy btw!

i got the need to ask if yall r gay but 💀💀 ok girl u slay!! i’m gay too!! dw!! nblm here girly 🤞🫶‼️

a new focus & what to reject

an older, calm spirit. they could be a father or grandfather — but they could also be the person in the romantic offer trying to support you. they may advice you to focus on the here and now rather than the future or the past. stay grounded in your truth and your faith. spend some time in nature, too! you really just need a minute to take a break.

is there a person with extroverted, wild energy? they may be an energy vampire. they could be a friend of a friend, and they might spread rumors around a lot. but don’t waste too much time with them. they could make you physically sick.

that’s all i have for you, pile two! i hope your messages resonated!! have fun :)

confirmation/additional signs: “on those we call”, rapunzel’s healing song, past lives, ancestors guidance, black panther, a calming energy, (air or water sign?), the colour purple (movie + colour), issues being grounded (root chakra?), Oh No! by Marina, knowing what you want but not knowing how to get there, knowing why you make actions you don’t want to, beating yourself up, spiritually, 555.

pile 3 — black cat, do you belong?

hello pile 3!! this is ur reading :)

how close is your reward?

i also heard goal, by the way, so this may have been something you’ve been working to for a while. your card was knight of wands. homestretch, almost. i keep thinking of soccer/football. that may be something you’re into, but i’m gonna use sports references now.

this is the final quarter, not even. there’s 3 minute left in the game. you know you can win this! i feel like you’re almost too carefree in this moment though. i mean you have a carefree spirit, so that’s good! but you need more focus. overall, i would rate you the highest of any pile, a 9! at the least it’s a 9, at the most you’re literally on the last step.

what do you need to remove from your energy?

nile and i both thought it was weird/important that ace of wands came out. this is a card that obviously symbolizes new beginnings, and it’s probably the most creative card too. it shows swiftness and excitement in a challenge. you need to remove your carefreeness just for a moment to be able to grab the ace of wands from the hand of the universe. i feel like you’re being a bit lazy, so don’t! reignite your passion!

this is what nile said btw (it genuinely made me laugh 💀)

“pile 3 shouldn't just think about what they want - they should act on it! I really don't have much else to say, maybe pile 3's guides think that there's no other way to say it - it's a one way or the other type of thing, you do it or you don't - chop chop”

what do you need to accept?

5 of wands is usually about fights and rivalry, but in this context nile got sports, and i totally agree.

i mean, sports already came up in this pile for you guys already, so i feel like spirit is saying join a club or do something with other people!! stop isolating yourself! you need to do something competitive, primarily because you like fighting in a friendly way (maybe sometimes a violent way! anger issues).

if there isn’t a sport you can join, maybe because of finances or time issues, be competitive! race against yourself! do something that makes you feel good!

“if not sports, then something at the very least that gives pile 3 a sense of competition; something that makes them feel like they have to put their best foot forward to reap the best rewards! this isn't something that will wait for them if they do things half-a-step, every once in awhile kind of pace or attitude.”

in other words — DONT GO SLOW, GIRL! ACT LIKE ITS THE LAST THING U GET TO DO!! RUN!

a new focus & what to reject

focus on relationships. i want to say i get the feeling most of u guys are shifter and shifting for someone, but i could just be biased and projecting bc this like really resonates and resembles me in a lot of ways — and it’s scary!

anyways, there’s some romance in this pile. someone who has a calm spirit, maybe cold on the outside but warm on the inside. they may have been sending you signs that you haven’t been picking up much. or maybe you have been picking them up but you aren’t making an effort to reach out or you just forget easily. i totally get that, by the way, but try to put some time and focus into this romantic offer! even if it’s not in this reality, or in your mind (be delulu, and may it become trululu). nile also got this person may not want a romantic offer, but idk abt that one. getting a strong sense this is a romantic offer.

ok, sports coming through again! maybe you’ve been thinking about them a lot, but for some reason it’s in the context of something to reject. maybe this is a coach or a controlling person in a sporting way? maybe someone from your past? someone who thinks with his head, not his heart. they aren’t very emotional, and they could be cruel to you.

“maybe pile 3 is getting offers for more than one team/group? if that's the case, then I think pile 3's guides is saying to avoid the one(s) that have no-nonsense, frownie face leaders, the type of person to cut down any chances of fun and straight-up running things like a marine. whoever this is, they're way too tough on everyone else and they're allergic to fun, their authoritative stance prevents the teammates from develop a bond with each other, and this energy would probably damper pile 3's motivation.”

i’m gonna be so for real, pile 3, i had to hold off posting this pick-a-card because of yall — it’s not bad, by the way! it’s just that something that i need to say to you guys — its a personal message, i believe. i was talking to a friend, sigyn (love u girl, even if you don’t see this), and she made me think about my own journey with shifting and breaking out of a shell. i said these words: “but man, even tho i’m scared, i don’t care, because my happiness… no, im worth more than fear.”

i feel like this was what i was missing no matter what happens, no matter how scared you are of success or messing up, you are worth more than fear. it cannot hold you. and, as i said before, do it with fear. be like miles morales, jump off that roof fucking BACKWARDS. fear cannot control you, you control it. omg i’m about to cry, but you guys, fear is not all. i promise you this. if you need to talk about fear and how to get over it, send me an ask and i’ll dm you. this is not the end of this journey, nah man, this is the beginning of your life. i love you pile 3.

that’s all i got for you, pile three! wishing you the best, and i rlly hope your work pays off before the new year :) i know how hard it is to keep motivation, and keep moving after such a long time of hard work, but know it will all pay off in the end. nothing {bad} can last forever, as all things must come to an end.

confirmation/additional signs: football, hockey, sports in general, Doja Cat, fire truck (victim of sa), food, especially salads or greens, “almost there”, “i can’t give up now; i have to prove them wrong,” getting back what you lost, anger issues, self doubt, the colour blue (throat chakra?), 2020 music 💀💀 (my heart went oops by tiagz came on…! and so did savage by megan thee stallion), chaos, thriving in chaos, not from the us, barbie, sia, black and white, contrasting colours, i know better by noahfinnce — “and i won’t stop running until i hear the sirens coming…”, not stopping until you get to your goal, “i’m just ken” — ryan gosling, 69, miles morales, impulsive decisions, 555, 999, alien blues.

thank yall for reading my first pac on this blog !! it was really fun, and i hope to do it again soon <3

#abyss .speaks #reality shifting #shiftblr #reality shift #shifting #desired reality #black shifters #shifting motivation #cartomancy #cartomancy reading #free tarot #pac tarot #pac reading #tarot pac #pac #pick an image #pick a pile #pick a photo #pick a pile reading #tarotcommunity #tarot pick a card #tarot pick a pile #tarot reading #tarotblr #timeless tarot #divination #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a card #signs

[causeitsagame]

Ok syke one more. Doesnt need to be a whole fic or anything (obviously you do whatever you want) but Fuyuhiko breaching the aforementioned torture subject with Hajime? Like hey bro you're gonna hate this but uh if anyone ever gets captured, you need to let me get tortured bc it's the safest thing for everyone. OK SORRY IM JUST EXCITED. -xoxo hajihiko

OKAY follow-up (or prequel, really?) to this one:

----

"I'm taking Kaz's plane and going."

Blinking, Hajime straightened from where he studied the radar. Most of them were edging into panic mode, and the only thing keeping things together was the collective trust they had in him to pull some sort of rabbit out of some sort of hat. "What?"

Fuyuhiko stared at him with a grim sort of calm. "He's going to set the plane to autopilot right toward them. You're going to get everyone else off the island in some other direction."

Well, it was some plan, at least. Grimacing, Hajime began, "I hate to give up that plane he put together, but if it can hold their attention for even a little while—"

"Hajime."

"I'll figure out a way to make it work."

Fuyuhiko stepped forward and gripped his wrist. "Fucking. Listen. To. Me."

Hajime stared back at him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. "I did. You said that you're sending Kaz's plane toward them."

"For fuck's sake, we don't have time for this." Fuyuhiko's grip tightened. "A plane is not bait. I am bait."

Heat washed across Hajime's face, and his mouth quivered. "No. This isn't how we're doing it."

"This is the only way to do this. We need someone who can slow them down. I can take whatever they throw at me—"

"God, are you serious?" Hajime cried, and wrenched his arm out of Fuyuhiko's grip. "Whatever they throw at you? You mean fucking torture?"

"Yes," Fuyuhiko said simply. "I can, and everyone else can't. They'd be fine with killing most of us, too, the second they get their hands on us. But not me or Sonia, 'cause we had the most information. They'd keep both of us alive to wring it out of us. Years' worth."

Hajime's vision went blurry with sudden tears.

"Who'd stand up to it better?" Fuyuhiko demanded. "Me or her?"

He couldn't swallow, suddenly. Gasping, Hajime turned away.

"I need you to promise me you'll get them away. Everyone." Fuyuhiko's voice wavered, and he coughed hard. "That'll make it all worth it."

"You… fuck. Fuck!" Hajime slammed his hand into a metal support post and turned back to Fuyuhiko as the post crumpled. "We'll come get you out. We won't leave you there."

"No, you fucking won't."

Hajime stepped toward him, eyes blazing, and leaned forward to put every bit of height he had on Fuyuhiko to good use. "We are not abandoning you, and fuck you for even asking."

"You are not rescuing me," Fuyuhiko spat. "If anyone else decides to try, I guess I can't stop them. They shouldn't; they'll just be caught and killed. But I can't stop them."

Hajime's jaw twitched. "You can't stop me, either."

Fuyuhiko reared up and caught Hajime's shirt in his fists, and gripped it with iron intensity. "They'd keep me 'n Sonia alive for some torture. They'd keep you for an entire lifetime of it. They want you more than anyone else on this island, and I'm not letting them get anywhere close."

"So you throw yourself at them, on purpose, but I'm not even supposed to try?!"

"What they'll do to me is nothing compared to you. If you come for me, you're throwing away every last thing I'm about to go through." Fuyuhiko's hands trembled before he shoved Hajime away. "If I see you again, I'll never forgive it. You got that?"

Stunned, Hajime rocked back on his heels. Tears dripped off his chin and splattered against the floor. "A… a week. It won't be me, fine. But a week, and we'll come for you."

"Don't be an idiot," Fuyuhiko muttered, and swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. "It'll be a damn year until you're settled in somewhere new. Settled in well enough to monitor intel, anyway."

"A month."

Fuyuhiko's eye closed. "Hajime, please…" He turned away, and for one vulnerable moment, emotion threatened to overcome him. "Please, don't."

"Two months. Final offer. Imposter and Peko, in and out." Hajime swallowed hard. He could play dirty, too. "If you don't want to accept that, then you have to tell Peko that she's not allowed to try to rescue you. If there's a way to do it, she'll figure it out. You have to tell her that she can't."

"She already knows." Fuyuhiko's gaze went very distant, and he had to shake his head before it re-focused on Hajime. "There's not going to be any point in an attempt, by then. Don't bother."

"Don't bother?" Hajime repeated in disbelief. "No point?"

"Peko knows the whole plan. She'll tell you… in two months." Fuyuhiko's eye filled with renewed purpose as he confirmed, "In two months, you'll hear why a rescue attempt won't be worth it."

"But—"

"We're out of time," Fuyuhiko said simply, and turned for the door. "You'd better get everyone out."

"Fuyuhiko!" Hajime pleaded, and ran to follow him.

A sure hand caught his wrist as he left. Hajime turned in surprise to Peko, who'd been waiting outside the door. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks blotchy, but her gaze was filled with grim acceptance. "Let him go," she whispered. "He's made his choice."

"But… I can't…"

"If we do not save everyone else, we will diminish that choice." Peko's jaw clenched, then released. "What we can do for him now is to not let his efforts be in vain."

Something about her grip on his wrist kept Hajime there, even as Fuyuhiko vanished into the distance alongside Kazuichi. "I'm supposed to ask you in two months," Hajime said with a shaking voice. "About a rescue attempt."

Peko slowly nodded.

"He said that, in two months, you'd think it wouldn't be worth it."

"I know why he said that," Peko softly confirmed. "I do not agree with him, but I know why." Her hand tightened until the nails began to dig into Hajime's skin, then suddenly released. "We should round up the others. I refuse to let any of them die."

"…Right," Hajime agreed, and felt his shoulders slump.

I'm sorry. But I'll save everyone. I promise.

Two months.

Everyone. Including you.

#Anonymous #fic prompts #my fic

[starsworldd]

hello!!! this is my first astrology post bc im bored af lol 🌸

please take these observations with a grain of salt!! they may resonate some may not :)) i put orbs (for conjunctions only) as suggestions but ofc feel free to use ur own interpretations and guidelines <3

general observations:

- mars trine pluto (specifically in fire signs)in men >>> the sex appeal is so **chefs kiss**

- 10th stelliums tend to care a lot about their image. they can attract a lot of online attention too!!

- pluto opposite ascendant or conjunct the midheaven attract a lot of toxicity from other people. pluto on the mc is on a broader scale regarding your reputation as a whole, but on the descendant i’ve noticed it affecting one on one relationships whether that be friends or partners.

- ^^ to add on to the pluto on the descendant observation, the native can also get really obsessive crushes on other ppl.

- i love pisces moons so much they’re really easy to talk to while also having depth and insight when needed <33 such a lovely placement.

- jupiter in 5th house natives tend to date a lot of ppl👀 could also be indicative of talent in the arts (i have this placement :p)

- neptune in the 6th house could have hypochondria or a lot of health anxiety

- people who have planets/asc in your fourth house tend to make really good friends :))

- aquarius venus tend to fall in love with ppl in their friend circles

- do NOT argue with pluto in third house people they will win oml they’re so dedicated

lunar return observations: (orbs: 1-3)

- this is gonna be an odd one but if you have saturn switching between conjuncting your ic/mc for 3-4 consecutive months it can show major adjustments in your home/private life or career for those months ahead.

- fifth house ruler in the fifth house or part of fortune can indicate talking to someone romantically for that month ;)) (ofc 5th house also rules over creativity so maybe as an alternate outcome, it can signify focus on creative endeavors too!!)

- part of fortune in 1st house can also bring confidence and overall good feelings about yourself

- pluto opposite the ascendant can bring a new person/people into your life or bring back an old friend group/friendship but can also indicate ending a connection with someone depending on context.

- pluto in 12th house can signify poor mental health for that month :(

- saturn in 12th can show major sleep deprivation for that month

- jupiter conjunct mc 🤝 achieving big goals for that month (and maybe getting some recognition for it too, but mostly ACHIEVING THOSE GOALS!!!)

- moon in the first house can mean crying yourself to sleep every night or feeling on top of the world (depending on planets in 1st house and aspects to moon for that month)

- neptune in 4th house can bring a really dreamy, “sleepy” and relaxing vibe in your home life.

- mars/chiron/mars conjunct chiron opposite the mc can mean a big fight at home might happen that month :(

solar return observations: (orbs: 1-3)

- moon in the 6th house can make it dififcult to be consistent with daily routines and doing work throughout the year

- uranus in 12th is sooooo difficult i had this last year and i was mentally so exhausted and stagnated

- venus opposite uranus may mean some sort of major break off with a close friend/partner or going through mutliple friend groups/friendships (like getting with one friend group then breaking off with them and joining another one and so on…if that makes sense?)

- mars opposite ascendant may make the native feel like another person or some sort of third party is getting in the way of their plans for the year. this is a really aggravating aspect, had these last year and i felt like school was getting in the way of my artistic goals but yet i still had to put the majority of my energy (mars) into something else (descendant) which was school for me in this case.

- pluto conjunct mc in the 9th house can indicate a major change in life direction. it may not manifest into reality but this is more of a mental change of where you want to go in life.

- sun conjunct mercury can mean a year with a lot of work ahead.

- sun square moon can mean big changes happening (whether that be home, school, career, etc..) but can also show a v stressful year

- pluto conjunct mc can also indícate divorce

- pay attention to where your part of fortune is!! whatever house it’s in may show which area of life will go really well for you (ofc depending on aspects)

- stelliums in houses can show reoccurring themes for that year.for example, i had a third house stellium for my 2019 solar return chart which was the year that i got serious about songwriting!! a lot of my energy was put into writing lyrics and music and also communicating with others too hehe.

i hope you’ve enjoyed reading these :) i think some of these observations are very obvious. maybe i’ll try and research some more insightful ones in the future <3 bye for now!🎀

#astrology #solar return #lunar return #pluto #midheaven #astrology observations #stellium #6th house #10th house #pisces #jupiter #neptune #aquarius #aquarius venus #saturn #uranus and neptune #venus opposite uranus #moon in 6th house #uranus aspects #pluto aspects

[gabessquishytum]

Wrote this in my notes first in case it gets lost, bc ive sent asks into ur box a couple of times before and i didnt think they sent? So;

Inspired by a pwp fic from the GO fandom, dub con where Dream's a hotshot CEO who's office is in the penthouse floor of the building, and Hob's the window washer.

Dream's got the whole exhibitionism thing, so imagine he regularly fucks himself in his office chair, legs spreads on the armrests facing the world. He's always assumed nobody could see him, I mean. No cameras in the office and hes on the 83rd floor on one of the highest skyscraper in the city, who's looking, right? He gets a kick out of the FEELING of being impossibly watched though, and it makes him cum harder than he ever could in any club or orgy. Hes usually so into it that hes not paying any actual attention to the wide open windows he's got his holes facing, so he doesnt notice when somebody...finally DOES see.

The exterior of the windows get washed on a twice every 3 months basis, on a rotation. Its a dangerous, expensive job, so theres not a lot of guys on hire and its usually the same ones. What Im trying to say is Hob's been doing this a long time and hes good at what he does. He usually gets to see Dream, even if the CEO doesnt notice him right back, and he has to admit he has a lil crush on the guy (I mean who wouldn't). Some new kid gets into a Fall and the schedule gets fucked up without Dream knowing and Hob gets the full Dream Holes treatment.

Dream doesnt notice him there practically the whole time. Hob's taken his phone out and he's recorded the almost the whole thing, every moan and orgasm and flex of muscle and flesh. He just plans to keep it to himself and jack off with it, but on the last second Dream opens his eyes and they lock eyes and he freezes like a cornered animal.

Hob raises his eyebrows. Mouths "dont let me stop you.", one hand holding a phone up and recording the other hand fondling the bulge on the front of his pants. Dream takes one look at the obscene tent the front of hsi pants and cums so hard he squirts and stains the windows. Hob smirks.

Something something Hob blackmails him with the video to let Hob fuck him on a regular basis. Maybe in the office itself. It'll certainly tick a kink off right both of their lists.

Omg hi!! So sorry your messages haven't been getting through before now, that's super annoying. Please feel free to message me at any time in the future if you're wondering whether I got your ask or not. I know it can feel a bit anxious wondering what happened to your message <3

Anyway: this is amazing and I am. EXTREMELY into it. I got a little happy wiggle thinking about Dream squirting onto the window, hoooly shit.

Hob is such a dirty bastard omg. Like he may clean those windows until they shine but he is FILTHY. He's got absolutely no qualms about filming that video in the first place, and then using it as blackmail material. He's just never seen such a pretty cunt, and he wants to remember it. And if Dream didn't want him to see those lovely holes then why'd he show them off like that?

Dream isn't going to admit it but he's enjoying this blackmail thing waaay more than he should. It's been a long time since he had a decent dick inside him, and he knew ever since he saw the bulge that Hob would be big. Dream takes great satisfaction in pushing Hob down into his leather desk chair and climbing onto his cock to ride. He's got a lot of frustration to work out and Hob is the perfect solution. His big hands go around Dream’s waist just right, and his cock hits places that no one else ever has. Plus he can be quiet. And he makes sure that Dream is quiet, too. Stuffs a pair of panties or a tie in his mouth if necessary.

Dream is working on persuading Hob to fuck him on the mechanical platform he uses for the window cleaning business. Hob argues that whole city could see them. Dream counters that that's the whole point.

#iprefertheterminsane #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw exhibitionism

[ccbunnv]

OMG JUST HAD ANOTHER villain bill idea, basically yn and him get together duhh but like yn wants him to change and it’s toxic bc u cant force someone to change. they have a whole convo ab it and bill’s like, “do you even like me for me?…” and yn is just speechless bc she thinks ab it and is like “…”

im scared of u !

˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 villain! bill x fem! reader angst -> fluff

you were determined to change Bill. to show him that there was something far better than levelling cities and destroying establishments. you loved him too much to let him be ridiculed and insulted on television.

he was a truly nice guy underneath, you knew it. he would buy you flowers and bring you out to nice dates. he took care of you at your worst and you wanted to bring that nice guy out to the open.

you believed that he was simply oppressed into being evil and ruin lives. you believed he had some gut wrenching trauma that led him to be this horrible to everyone else.

and today would be your day.

as you sat right opposite of him in the restaruant, he began talking with a smile, "you know, meine schatz? I thought up a new plan."

"really? what is it?" you asked, returning his smile. you hoped that all your talks with him had changed his mind and this plan would show how he had turned into a better person.

"I've found the area where an ancient relic is hidden and I--" he was cut off by a disappointed look forming on your face.

"that's great," you breathed in and out, trying to show a little bit of interest to his plan.

"what? is it not good enough?" he asked.

"no, it's a great idea, Bill." you sighed a little.

"you're bad at lying," he smiled, "maybe I should go for something bigger."

"no need, I think it's great, love, I..." you were cut off by him.

"how about I blow up the nearby orphanage?" he asked cheerily.

"what? no!" you said.

"I think that's even better!" he said, enthusiastic about his own idea.

"no, Bill!" you rubbed the inner corners of your eyes annoyedly.

"why not?" he asked, frowning.

"Bill, how do you think people would feel if you were to steal that ancient relic, even blow up the orphanage?" you asked, stopping your fork, "that isn't a nice thing to do."

"Maus, have you forgotten what I am?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "I'm a villain."

"but you don't have to be," you replied, "you can be more than that."

"what do you mean?" he frowned, "I want to be a villain."

"but it isn't you." you shook your head.

"it is me." he responded, "it has always been me. why do you always do this? can't you be happy for me just once?"

"because it's horrible to everyone!" you said, your eyebrows arching.

"so what?" he asked, "how is it horrible?"

"you're stealing a prized artefact that must've taken a group of people years to uncover--" you uttered.

"why do you keep saying people?" he asked, "why do you keep wanting to change me?"

"because I know you have more potential to be of aid to humanity." you replied, placing your utensils down.

"I don't want to." he sighed.

"that's selfi--" you were cut off by him staring right into your eyes.

"so what? you know what I am, I'm a villain, and I like being a villain." he said through gritted teeth, "why do you keep trying to change me? why can't you be supportive? do you even love me for who I am?"

that really got you silent.

yes, you loved him, right?

"you keep trying to control me, to turn me from what I like to do for what?" he asked, "I don't want to appeal to your damn society."

"B-Bill, I--" you stammered, but he simply stood. your heart broke as he didn't even spare you one last glance before he just left like that.

𓆩♱𓆪

that night, you found yourself thinking of his words. you couldn't even sleep. did you love him for him, or were you just trying to control him into someone he wasn't? were you just selfish, trying to make him into a normal civilian?

you gripped your blanket, your heart wrenched. you had read the situation entirely wrong. he wasn't someone with a sad backstory, he just had a passion for being a villain. but why? why would anyone be stoked to be someone everyone hates?

he was right, why couldn't you be supportive of him? you were his girlfriend, the only person he trusts to tell his plans.

you didn't know what to do, because you've fucked up.

the next morning, you decided to meet up with a few friends. you told them what happened, and each of them had the same reaction.

"he's just ungrateful," one said.

"can't he see that you're just trying to help him?" another one scoffed.

"you should just break up with him, y/n." another one sighed.

"maybe you should give up. he's a hopeless case! I know someone better who isn't mean." one of your friends winked.

"but I don't know," you said softly, "he's a nice guy."

"you shouldn't be with someone negative like him." another one of your friends said, "you need to be with someone positive."

"he can't even protect you, can he?" she asked, "he's a villain!"

their words didn't really reach you. they felt overexaggerated and dramatic. and more so, it felt wrong to even listen to.

you were just looking out for him. you wanted to change him for the better. days of not meeting him turned into weeks, and you used that time to think about yourself, what you had done.

one night, it kinda dawned on you that you were being a selfish bitch to him, trying to change him into something he wasn't to appease others. so you reached in and grabbed your phone, texting him if you both could meet up for a coffee. that you had something to tell him.

he didn't reply, but a day later, he responded with just an 'okay.'

that was good enough for you.

𓆩♱𓆪

you both met up in the cafe he would bring you to almost everyday at the start of your relationship with him. you did your best to look good and he noticed.

he sat opposite of you, remaining silent.

you breathed in and out, "Bill, how've you been?"

"fine." he mumbled.

"I'm glad to hear that," you responded, "are you hungry?"

"no." he shook his head, then he sat properly and looked at you, "what the hell do you want? I have to get back to my work."

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." you said truthfully.

that got him quiet. he looked over at you and waited for you to continue.

"I'm sorry for being such a bitch and trying to change you," you said, pursing your lips and bringing your eyes to meet his, "it's wrong, weird, and I'm sorry."

"you can say that all you want but I don't think I can forgive you," he said, "to think that you dated me just because you wanted to change me---"

"that wasn't what I thought," you shook your head, "I wanted to change you because I thought it'd be better that way."

"what? so I could fucking please the goddamn world?" he asked.

"no, so--" you were cut off by him.

"so you could show me off and say that you've changed me?" he sneered.

you kept quiet, knowing a half of you actually thought that.

"I'm sorry I'm not sort of trophy you can polish and show off to this world." he hissed.

"I know," you responded softly, "you're more than that."

you reached in and slowly held his hand, hoping he wouldn't flinch and pull away. he didn't, he kept his eyes on your hand.

he was conflicted, he didn't know what to do. he loved you still, though your actions left him heartbroken. he was so shocked when you asked him to meet up with you.

"you're better a villain than a civilian." you whispered, "and I'm sorry I never saw that before."

"...really?" he looked up at you hopefully.

you nodded, "I should've just been supportive of you."

he kept quiet, hoping you'd continue.

"I'm sorry again." you said softly, "even if you don't forgive me, I hope you'll at least accept my apology."

he sighed a little and said, "our morals are different, you know?"

you dreaded the worst, "...yeah?"

"but I love you," he said quietly, "and I want us to work."

you looked up at him, expectantly.

"so next time, maybe I'll resort to something a little more tame than blowing up an orphanage." he chuckled a little.

you smiled, "you can."

𓆩♱𓆪

#tokio hotel #y2k #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz fluff #angst

[solarwynd]

this is a little random but seeing how the contract negotiations for bp members went and that some of them are establishing their individual agencies made me realize something. for bp members, we know that they’ll likely have group endeavors that are few and far between, but we know that in the case of bts that is a risk that hybe cannot take by any means.

we’ve already unpacked a lot of the reasons why hybe was so intentional on providing jk with every possible tool and then some. i think an additional layer to that was likely related to them retaining the rights to the members solo endeavors. even if they failed to keep all of the members in-house for their solo gigs then at least they got to maintain their “biggest asset” which would calm investors’ concerns if any of the members decided to dip in the solo aspect. this also worked as a way to coerce the other members to continue their solo careers with hybe since it was very intentional that when the company is interested in investing in you there are “incredible” results. hence, their absolute lack of effort for any of the other members bc that would prove that the true determinant of success is the company’s full support.

i think manipulation is an inevitable part of any contract negotiation so it seems logical that the company, in order to mantain control over the members, would want to assert dominance/power over them. even if they’re not being manipulated they are in a relatively volatile position right now. all of them are used to a level of success and not many people would give that up for integrity 🥶. i don’t know if any of the other members would or wouldn’t go that route but im sure at least some of them would. i don’t know if i’d blame them either, it’s just business after all.

as we’ve established before, jimin did ruin a lot of their plans to show a stark difference between jk and the rest of the members, so they had to get heavy-handed with the mediaplay and imo they succeeded. jimin had as good a year as jk, new jeans, stray kids, seventeen, all of these kpop acts being super pushed in the media as the “next big thing” but for some reason he’s not getting half the press they are. 🤔

sorry, i went on a tangent in the end but its hard not to get on my soapbox when it comes to jimin lol

Yea I saw what went down with bp and it’s the best of both worlds for them because I feel like they’ve always been more interested in their solo endeavors than their work as a group. For BTS it’s trickier like you said because even the smallest hint of that something is afoot that would lead to them finding different labels for solo work would be be blown up by the media. Which in turn, cause investors to get skittish. Even that 2 month hiatus they first took back in 2019 had people claiming that they were disbanding and would follow 1D’s foot steps.

The lack of effort in the other members is ,like you said, because they wanted jk specifically to stand out since he’s the canidate those chose to do so. But Hybe’s main goal is to show investors that they can make a star through their resources. Bang even said along the lines of this in an interview because that’s what the music industry abides by at large. Billboard’s most recent rule change after like crazy hit #1 also came about this way because they said fans had too much power and it was the labels job to tell GP what the “next big thing” was gonna be. It’s why you see other kpop groups, even though they’ve possibly made a name for themselves, you still know the company they hail from first because the company is the driving force behind their rise to fame. Hybe wants to be a dominant force in the industry by their own name and not just because they’re known as the label that houses BTS. Still think if they wanted to show this they should’ve started with an up and coming and not a member of bts since that just defeats the purpose and is already showing people your dependent on that member’s pre existing fanbase but whatever.

Bang PD is a bastard, but I don’t think he’s trying to “control” BTS. At least not in the way SM does to his groups. I’m not giving him the benefit the doubt in this scenario, but I still fully believe BTS knows their worth and know that hybe is nothing without them. I’m sure there have been multiple instances where they probably had to compromise (the english trilogy for one) and they’ll probably be more in the future. I do agree with some of them being accustomed to a level of success, but it’s not that it’s because hybe is responsible for it. It’s off their own talent and armys backing them. So I doubt in the case if one of them was given an ultimatum of loosing that artistic integrity or going the route jk has (if offered) they’d get shelved, cause hybe still needs them. I know there’s always the possibility of that happening though. It’d be real annoying but I don’t think I’d be as irritated as I was with jk because I’ve seen and know what they’re capable of on their own. In contrast to jk where he just threw in the towel without trying (which is where 60% of my frustration at him comes from). As long as it’s still their print of music quality with their work ethic behind it. I could deal.

Jimin’s not getting as much press as those groups and jk, because hybe has made it so on their end. lol. That’s the entire act of suppression. They gave jimin the barest amount of congrats after FACE era as to not seem completely neglectful, but beyond that they didn’t go out their way to give him his flowers. So it’s not that the mediaplay was successful, hybe is just doing their best to ensure jk is the only one who’s talked about. But even that isn’t working because Jimin’s just too much of a talk point. You see these people on twitter with blue ticks constantly mention him for engagement money and whatever move he makes generates interest because he’s just a natural draw. Literally the worst member for hybe to try that tactic on tbh lmao.

[liquidstar]

Ok so, I have only ever watched one episode of Adventure Time, and it was on a hotel room TV, in terrible hindi dub, and I barely remember it on account of being 10(?) but it horrified me.

I remember the MCs trying to get Ice King a girlfriend or something, but he keeps being a gross asshole so they take him to a lake and point at some swans to try and explain love to him. They point to two swans kissing like ':D' and he's like 'ewww' and then the male swan suCKS IN AND EATS THE FEMALE and IK's like ':)))' while the boys stare in horror.

IDR how the episode ended or how much I watched, but I remember thinking 'wow american cartoons are hardcore. I'm sticking to pirated pokemon from now on.'

And you are telling me that show had lesbians in it leter????

oh my god im so sorry but imagining you watching that swan scene as a 10 year old is so fucking funny, i can understand why you stuck with pirated pokemon LOL

adventure time is absolutely very fucked up in a lot of different ways. the early seasons leaned into that type of absurd shit you just described a lot more especially. while the later ones actually started getting more existential and building on the worlds lore.

there wasnt exactly a focused plot, per say. i mean, there was, but it wasnt something methodical and planned out, it was played by ear. and i think it really worked. the way they did it turned out a really cool magic system (based on the idea that reality is just collective perception, and magic users are aware of this and can manipulate perception ergo reality. but the more cosmic knowledge you have the more insane or depressed you become etc especially if youre mortal), and also cool world building (it takes place in a post apocalypse after a nuclear war, now far into the future the face of the earth has completely changed but the horrors unleashed still impact it today), and also a lot of really amazing themes (the world is always changing and nothing is ever permanent, but no matter how things change things also stay the same, in a different way. especially where bonds and love are concerned. everything stays.)

and YEAH there are lesbians (i mean i always hc marcy as bi but still). and they also come from the shows improvisational nature. theres a lot of genuinely really amazing relationships and plotpoints born out of that to me. like, as the show starts to get a lot more thematically dense later on it can seem like a weird shift. some ppl say it got pretentious over time bc its not as goofy (its still pretty goofy lol), but i think it worked... like... perfectly.

because its a coming of age story where the main character actually ages, it actually feels so right that the world around him begins to seem different too. it makes sense that when he was 12 we were doing stupid goofy adventures, when he was 15 we were watching him deal with a lot of really fucked up trauma, and when he was 17 we watched him learn to grow as a person who thinks beyond simple terms of good and evil.

i know im tottaaallly rambling at this point but theres really an insane amount to talk about with adventure time. the timeline alone is ridiculous. but mostly i think my passion comes down to the fact that i was also growing up with the story, always around the same age as the mc going through similar stuff... even now, the story is focusing on a depressed 20-something trying to find whimsy in her life again. and technically the last episode timeline-wise is about accepting death lol

so like idk how exactly id recommend it to a new viewer, its really possible that a lot of ppl wont be able to really tolerate the early seasons as adults (i mean, i think theyre charming, but i have nostalgia goggles lol). that being said i think that its a series totally worth a shot for everyone... eventually. if it sounds interesting you just gotta accept the goofiness at first and trust that youre in for something wild in a totally different way later on. and totally unique and cool and special in a way nothing else has really been able to capture for me since.

TL;DR: no yeah the show was incredibly fucked up and that swan did eat that other swan. but it does have themes and also lesbians.

[aesterblaster]

Ik you said to send hot takes but what about your hot takes 👀👀

NYAHAHAHA THANKS FOR ASKING

*clears throat*

IsagiRin as a ship just doesn't work for me. Odk why just. Sorry I can NOT see your vision bestie. Half of the Blue Lock ships don't work for me especially when centered around Isagi because that boy switches side characters like they're pairs of shoes. In Blue Lock one or two sus or even sweet moments doesn't really amount to much to me because everyone has them here. That doesn't automatically mean date on a riverside resturant. On the other hand I totally could see Bachira x Isagi but I just think of them as really close friends because that's what gives me the most comfort being as some of the people who really saved my life were friends. I think it would be better if Bachira had a friend first and focused on himself before getting into any big relationship. Idk I guess that's more of a personal preferance

SPEAKING OF, I hate people who write Blue Lock smut w a burning passion. I'm not even gonna hit the whole iTS IMMorAL train it just usually sucks all the fun and personality out of the chosen character and is just trying to be as gross ans shocking as possible and twist them into somehow being pervs just bc they get all hyperactive when they play soccer. Like GET THERAPY. Half the time I go to the bllk tag im just scrolling like HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT.

The anime gets a lot of slack but like... It's very difficult to transfer things from one medium to the other especially things as philisophical as Blue Lock

Fandom interpretations of Shidou are usually weirdly ooc because they wittle him down to like how cray cray he is or whatever and completely ignore for example, his respect for people who are also creative and out of the box or his ability to deal with lonliness and being othered by everyone

Characters that shouldn't be hated nearly as much as they are: NOA NOEL. You heard it here folks. I genuinely believe he's just trying his best and honestly most coaches would've asked to drop half the player he has to deal with by now like cmon you got an emo gymrat who was forced to become like you, you got a playee whos EYESIGHT IS FAILING but will literally start falling apart if you bench him, you got..kaiser and his lapdog ass cronie who dont listen to your plans at all, you got an entire rift between new and old players. Like how do you even fix that when you can't send people home (i think)? He gives good advice sometimes ngl and they're winning games so like...

Cont. Sure he isn't as funny or amusing to read as Lavinho or Chris and he isn't as open as Snuffy but DAMN IT he's doing his job ok? And all the dad son moments between him and Isagi are to die for.

Naruhayas little miniarc is honestly has the saddest backstory implications to me. THERE I SAID IT. Rin's is indeed tragic and heartwrenching but can be fixed, he can move on and heal if he so chooses. Bachira...ok nvm bachira's ties with it. Hiori's is an absolute tear jerker but he is still in Blue Lock. He still has some time to grow. Naruhaya? There's nothing that could be done to fix his position or bring him up or cut him from the weights dragging him down. We see so many characters in the Blue Lock universe rise from their poverty through soccer but DAMN IT NARUHAYA EXISTED TO SHOW THAT THAT IS A LUCKY AND FEW 2 PERCENT. HE PROBABLY HAD TO GIVE UP ON EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HIS DREAMS JUST TO SUPPORT THE VERY FAMILY HE LOVES SO MUCH. HIS PARENTS LITERALLY DIED. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? BACHIRA STILL HAS HIS MOM, RIN AT LEAST HAS HOPES OF RECONCILING WITH HIS BROTHER AND HIORI MIGHT ONE DAY SAFELY CUT HIS PARENTS OFF BUT HIS ARE IMPLIED TO BE GOOD PEOPLE JUST..STRAIGHT UP DEAD. AND THE WAY HE STOLE FOOD ALL THE TIME???? IM GOING INSANE.

Ok thats all for now LMAO

#blue lock #bllk #asks #blue lock manga #yeah.

[chipjrwibignaturals]

I will say— i haven’t gotten to it yet, because im bad at this, but— i want to state my surface level thoughts when it comes to chip Dying

bc like to me chip has always been a cockroach. no matter what he goes through, it won’t kill him. in some ways as a cruel cosmic joke, a cyclic tragedy, he’s destined to forever exist. he’s been given an impossible task, to find arlin, and he’s not allowed to stop. he’ll just keep going and wallowing in it aimlessly forever, he’s not allowed even the decency of death. in the same way he breaths air, chip jrwi keeps on living — it’s just what he does, how he is.

and it felt extra validated with when he considered quitting while Gill was gone. he felt like his own presence was bringing down the people around him, that it was his fault gillion was gone— so he was going to leave to save them from himself and just… sail. he knows leaving means giving up his only real tangible lead to find arlin, what he wants, but he also can’t risk them so he’ll just take a boat and… wander listlessly. Hope for maybe something good to stumble upon. god has cursed him and his work is never finished, etc etc.

so when i first heard abt Chip’s situation i was admittedly… not super into it? definitely contributed to why i got so far behind tbh, i wasn’t looking forward to it. it crashed hard against my perception of chip’s character & his narrative. hes destined to be a tragedy and that tragedy is because he’s alive

and I’ll be the first to say depending on handling i still may dislike the choice BUT I’ve made my own way around to enjoying the choice (even if it wouldn’t be my first choice)

first off, in some ways i feel like chip was also of the belief that he would just… keep living. no matter what happened to him. he’d “have a plan” and find some way to slip out, then restart and try again. he knows the universe seems to love to watch him suffer, so he just…. doesnt really think he can die. at least not like that.

it’s the very violation of the expectations I established, experienced in and out of character. it feels abrupt, wrong. that’s not what was set up for him! …until you realize that he changed first.

since the black rose, chip was seated with the fate of forever searching and trying to capture a past he can’t have. but it’s only through his experiences with jay and gillion and his OWN crew that he… grows past that. he makes peace with what he’s lost, or at least starts to, and allows for new growth in that spot. he’s regained a family to rely on, he’s growing comfortable and moving on. he’s losing the tragedy-angle of his own life— so he dies. his fate is absolute and it is black, it is a tragedy no matter what. this is the narrative retaliating against him for trying for better than he was allotted.

it’s worse too because he’s so close to finding arlin, to being able to finally put all this behind him and get closure. it’s all salt in the wound. leading him on, letting him regain his hope, giving him peace… only to snatch it all away. what a cruel, cruel joke.

#jrwi spoilers #again. this is all my own brain bullshit I haven’t seen JACK of what im talking abt #im only done up to like 103 #but. too bad you get my Thought Vomit #riptide spoilers #anyway! tldr he can’t be killed Unless he’s actually happy #bc the universe is Fundamentally against him. they gave him a bad life and when he fixed it into a good life they took it from him #bc chip👏 isn’t👏 allowed👏 nice👏 things👏 #i mean he Can eventually. he fought for what he had before he showed he can go against the design #but he has to persevere against all the setbacks like this. he has to fully and totally Destroy Fate not just defy it

[dearweirdme]

you know I have always been one of the first in lines fighting to defend Tae from that rumor, I'm 100% positive that is mediaplay still but something shifted these days as in yes it was mediaplay but ultimately Tae did choose to take part in that paparazzi walk( albeit he didn't look happy at all I think I have reasons to believe that even if he was somehow coerced he probably was made to feel like he had some negotiation power too) and honestly I guess I felt more adamant to defend him bc i saw how much he tried to fight the tide and separate himself from all of that ( the wv live in the airport, these insta pic changes being the last example etc and seeing ppl disrespecting his agency and his right to state himself his own truth really pissed off me a lot ) but I started to think these last days what's the point in him doing all of that when he agreed to do that walk and he must know what would happen otherwise why did he even agreed, what is he even fighting himself doing little things to separate himself from being associated to this person when he will forever be associated,for the gp and fandom itself and as you said once this will be in the historial of his live forever? By doing all of that it's like he made us, the fans who cared for him and were paying attention to him fr want to defend him too and literally fight air because there is nothing to defend when he did that walk, when the purpose of that walk being met. I'm not saying he did any of that with the purpose of having fans fighting on his name at all, I don't think so but that's what happened, I guess I'm feeling disappointed these days bc i see no need for him to even fight against all of this when this issues reached the levels it did when he chose to do the walk. I'm also disappointed bc i think anything he might do that would have been considered brave and important about his identity before loses weight completely now, him smooching jk's cheek on the party and uploading it, him being bold etc bc no one but a small group of ppl considered delusional by everyone will see this for what it is. He can do a lot now only bc no one it's going to take him/it seriously.

I used to be pissed by Holland behavior that one time but I even kinda can get the frustration now. Tae is safe or at least has reduced the risk at a minimum now to do whatever bc everyone thinks he dates women. And some ppl be crowing him as an LGBT icon when some other idols have actually exposed themselves honestly to a lot more without any security plan to fall back into. And that actually feels like being brave and doing something. Not making everyone who supports you look like a delusional clown and make the thought of you being queer laughable to most ppl. Moonbyul being a pretty good example of someone who has been direct and brave.

Im sorry I really needed to vent, I have loved Tae for a lot of time ( not that i dont love him now but sometimes i cant shake the disappointment and the distaste of not being able to enjoy his content without seeing him being constantly related to ppl I don't like at all) and I'm open to anyone making me feel different about this situation

Hi anon!

Let me give you my perspective on this and maybe that will make you see things differently as well.

Tae is moving within certain boundaries. It is most likely that there are actual clauses in his contract that tell him what he can and cannot share publicly. That goes beyond plain saying that he is queer. That also goes for the level of queerness he can show through art and media. Basically I feel he is able to show queer media and art, but not adress it as such. Going beyond that would probably mean he’d be breaching his contract, which could lead to monetary penalties… and when it goes too far he could be kicked out of BTS (not that I think it would ever go that far). I think it’s possible that with this new contract, things have become more loose though. BH/Hybe doesn’t want to lose Tae, because he is one of the most popular members and losing any member would look bad. So I think there was some leverage there.

In my opinion it should not be underestimated how bad things still are for queer people in SK. Artists loose their careers over it stil. People like Holland are absolutely very brave and I hope within time there will be more and more like him. But you cannot compare one person’s choices with that of another’s. I think Tae possibly discovered his sexuality when he was already under contract with BH.. that would mean he had the choice to either hide, or to break his contract… leave BTS… and be left with a shitload of debt (because you don’t simply leave a contract). He would have no perspective of any career after that.. losing all his dreams and all chances of having any influence at all. It is an impossible choice maybe.. or maybe not.. I don’t know. Has he chosen to leave BH would his life have been easier, better? He would still have had to deal with severe homophobia. So I don’t think Tae had much options but to hide in the first case. It is not something he chose.. it was basically decided for him. Contracts are no fun anon, they basically chain them to the company in many many ways. I don’t think Tae ever had the option to be as open as Holland. And I think that is something he struggled with greatly. So if that walk was something he agreed to just because it would give him some more room to be authentic, I am absolutely not holding that against him. It doesn’t make him bad or whatever, it makes him someone who needs a bit of room to breathe.

In general I don’t feel Tae owes us much. Speaking for myself, I am here completely voluntarily and completely aware of forever being shit on by the rest of fandom. I’m of the opinion that both Tae and Jk aren’t actually fighting to be out and open.. so that probably makes my perspective on this different than yours. I think they’re just trying to live their lives and what we see of them is just stuff we pick up on.. because we pay attention. I always see myself as a bystander and not a participant in this. But.. that’s just me ofcourse.

So how did we end up here; Tae doing a walk with Jennie. Looking at it from a practical side, it was only one walk.. half an hour tops. If we assume he did agree to it and he wasn’t actually forced all the way, for him that was probably doable, and if he traded that for more freedom to be authentic.. to insert more queerness in his work (which is eventually what people will remember him by), then I think the trade probably looked worth it. Ultimately it wasn’t a fair choice ofcourse, because trading anything for freedom to be yourself is insane.. freedom should always be yours. But I do think the company possibly sold it that way.. and being used to having no freedom for years, maybe to Tae it did seem like a chance. It is ofcourse also possible they made him do this, but it’s not something I’m leaning towards personally.

It is not something Tae would’ve done/come up with himself. Tae didn’t go “yeah, I want to do a papwalk with Jennie for fame and attention”… people are right when they say he didn’t need that. He was not enthusiastic. And I think he was very over it all soon after.

The way I see it.. is that possibly Tae gave away a small part of himself to do something he felt is necessary in a broader way. His new mv is so important! To have such graphic display of queerness is so important! Especially from someone as famous as Tae. Imagine all the young queer fans he has seeing that! Tae knows what kind of influence he has. He has probably missed seeing representation like that himself when he was younger. I think this is what matters to him most and personally I just applaud him for that. Taennie will be nothing but a blimp on our radar in a few years, but his songs and mv’s… I think those will have an actual impact on many lives.

#Tae solo #i think i went all over with this #hope i made sense #not even sure if I responded to everything you said