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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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Starring Steve Harrington in a Leading Role as 'Mom Husband Disappointed in YOU PERSONALLY'

rating: teen tags: future fic, established relationship, Eddie commits a capital offense, bitchy Steve strikes again, Eddie loves him so much, married steddie, rockstar husbands ✨for @hbyrde36 at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: “I assume I deserve this, but can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

One look is all it really takes.

As in: Eddie doesn’t have to do more than pulls his key from the lock, kick the door closed behind him, open his mouth to spill his usual litany of adorations, multiple at least tenfold for the uncommon days—plural, two whole days—spent apart from his husband, from his beloved, from less his other half and more his entire whole, the soul and breath of him, the rhythm-maker of his heart entire, his—

Eddie gets so far as turning to start on spilling all the love he’s had to bottle up because Steve wasn’t next to him for a whole 63 hours, and voicemails are fine, phone calls are nice, texts are a gift from god but also the bane of his existence because they’re starting to pretend—as in, the wider-world-of-they—but they’re starting to pretend they’re sufficient, that they’re enough and, and…

Fucking never.

But Eddie’s been gone—label negotiations, shit they were digging their heels on being in person for no goddamn reason, as proven by the actual days in person—and now, as he takes in his husband at the island, sat on one of the bar stools, those legs danged low and crossed at the ankles, the fucking socks on him tantalizing, good goddamn, but he’s leans back from the waist and those…those arms. Crossed over his chest.

That’s never meant anything other than judgement. Than what the kids used to term Mom’s disappointed in you personally.

Except Steve is his partner. His til-death-do-us-part-and-then-some. And…

Oh. Oh, he’s got his glasses on when he’s not working—Eddie scans the countertop for papers, nothing obvious—which only enhances the effect of the look; gives it a whole new dimension of accusation as he looks over the tops of the frames and lets his gaze fucking…just sear into Eddie. Uncompromising. No mercy.

Eddie will not try to pretend his doesn’t fucking gulp, the violent motion of his throat around it undoubtedly obvious: but Steve doesn’t budge. Doesn’t grant him quarter.

Fuck. Right. Okay.

Diffusion tactics.

“I assume I deserve this,” Eddie starts, pitches the words to land gentle because, well, they’re honest. Steve’s a fucking drama queen, absolutely: but it’s never been without his reasons, and Eddie loves him with his everything, right, so he respects his reasons.

Even when they’re fucking absurd.

But there’s no evidence here yet either way, about the what, about the cause of the sheer fucking inferno blazing in those eyes, the venom that Eddie can almost taste in the air that seeps from his lips for just breathing, that could probably land a death blow on its own when he actually deigns to speak, and so: yeah.

Eddie does assume he deserves it, one way or another. Because Steve loves him with his everything, too, like for like and then some, both ways and all ways. So he doesn’t react quite like this; doesn’t pull this sort of shit lightly.

“But” and he’s still picking his way through the minefield, takes only the barest step closer palms open near his hips, plaintive-like as he…yeah, kinda he pleads:

“Can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

Steve—okay, so, in any other circumstance: the sounds Steve makes, the guttural fucking growl that rumbles from his chest: that’d be hot as shit.

In fact it’s still hot as shit, but: not the time. Because those eyes are still…like, third-degree-burn to the touch.

“You lied.”

Eddie blinks, because…he hears Steve’s words. They’re very simple, and very clear.

But they’re nonsensical.

“What?”

“You lied to me.” And then Steve’s grabbing something behind him, flinging it closer to where Eddie stands at the end of the island and oh, okay, a magazine and—

Oh. Oh.

Okay.

A magazine with Eddie on the front with some…

Wait.

“Stevie,” and Eddie’s not gonna be placating, he’s not going to be evasive or dismissive—Steve knows the other party hanging off Eddie in the photo, it’s Lance, the band’s media intern who has a not-so-secret infatuation with Steve of all people, and is about to be replace by a kid, Marvin maybe, in his senior year in PR and media studies who, honestly, Eddie suspects may have an even bigger infatuation with his husband, but that’s not a concern for right now; the concern for right now is that Steve’s looking at Eddie, glancing every half-second toward the photo again and looking…somewhere between enraged and betrayed.

And it’s so fucking sour in Eddie’s chest, god: he needs to fix it. He’s just, he’s got to fic it but—

He doesn’t know what the hell it even is.

“Baby, I would never, not ever lie to you. And you know Lance,” Eddie tries to point out soothing, rational, no hint of patronizing because he wouldn’t, he would never, especially not like this.

Steve’s scowl just depends, and he taps hard enough on the page to leave an indent, to score a line with his nail.

Right. Okay.

“Stevie—“

“You,” and Steve leans toward the far side, grabs something out of view before he points the something at Eddie almost threateningly:

“Lied.”

“Steve,” and Eddie’s eyeing the instrument leveled at him carefully before he notes what it actually is: a pen.

A red pen and oh. His Stevie. Always the consummate educator.

And Steve does the growling thing again, probably because Eddie’s face goes lax, all soft and shit in the face of Steve being all competent in his profession in the small, sweet ways that pop up all the time, that Eddie loves so deep, so hard, but then Steve’s scribbling and oh, it’s one of the fancy pens, more like a marker that’s bright against the magazine gloss and he’s circling, he’s making arrows, there’s no rhyme or reason—

“Lies!” Steve declares, definitive as he throws down the pen and shoves the marked-up photo toward Eddie so it’s skids across the island, so Eddie has to catch it, and he squint a second, tries to make sense of what’s circled over and again and—

“You fucking promised me,” and Steve…yeah.

Steve sounds like Mom’s disappointed in him personally to a fucking T.

But so much worse again: because this is his husband.

“I did—“

“No!” Steve cuts him off; “no more bullshit,” and oh, fuck, Eddie knows it’s serious, that word’s got a premium still in their household, and then Steve’s leaning closer pointing forcefully at the image, at the red-ringed offenders:

“That,” Steve snarls; “is fucking frizz, Edward,” and Steve looks up at him, again, some combination of livid and offended on principle; “why did I even bother to pack you the conditioner that you swore to me you’d use—“

“I did, Stevie!” Eddie protests, pleads for leniancy; “I did, I swear, my bag got delayed the first night, it was only that first night that I showered without it,” and fuck, how’d they even get that photo, how the fuck did it get to print and in Steve’s hands even, how—

“You cannot maintain your curl pattern without proper maintenance,” Steve grits through clenched teeth and yes, yes: Eddie knows. He’s learned, and learned again, and learned some more, for…for years.

He kinda loves it. But he’ll never love making his husband sad. So, because he’s skilled on his feet, he tries for a compromise. A Hail-Mary, in sports ball speak—or he thinks that’s the right thing to call it.

“Maybe you can salvage it,” Eddie proposes, damn-near begs, and yeah, yes: he means that wholehearted, too; “maybe we can go upstairs and you can save it?”

And Eddie’s not even trying to make his eyes big, knows Steve’s largely immune unless he chooses not to be, but his eyes are stinging for how wade they’re stretched, and he holds the gaze, stares pitifully at Steve, pleads so hard, and then—

Steve smacks Eddie’s forearm with the rolled-up magazine and makes to leave the room; Eddie just stands, a little frozen, a little bewildered, until—

“Well, get your ass up here,” he hears from the staircase; “you better hope I can work miracles, dipshit, else your photocalls are gonna be stringy and sad all goddamn week.”

And Eddie grins because like: he knows his husband—and the man himself is already kind of a miracle.

So miracle working is kinda his area of expertise.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690

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i-amm-mj · 8 months

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Breeding kink - smut to fluff

afabreader! x Katsuki Bakugo

⚠️ smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, creampie ⚠️

Katsuki doesn´t come from a big a family, so he doesn´t know where this craving for impregnate you with at least four of his kids is coming from. He woke up one day with you beside him, and saw your beautiful body sprawled on the mattress and he realized that you had awoken his most primal desires. He wanted to fuck you day and night until he got you pregnant; until he could see your belly all rounded and your breasts swelling and big from the milk that he was going to help you got out with his own mouth.

“That´s it, baby” he growled in your ear while pounding his dick in and out of your pussy “I´m gonna give you all of my cum and you´re gonna take it like the good girl you are, right?” You were so lost on the pleasure that the only thing you could do was dumbly nod.

“I´m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Going to give you as many kids as you want” he gulped hard when your walls pulsed around his dick “you´d like that, wouldn´t you?” you moaned. His sinful words and the way his hips moved against your own had your head spinning without a single coherent thought allowed to form.

“Yes, yes, please” you closed your eyes trying to enjoy the feeling starting to erupt in your lower belly.

“Please what?” He smirked while adjusting himself on the bed so he could lift your left ancle to his shoulder and have a better angle to that spot inside that had you curling your toes.

“Plea-please make me a mommy. I want your cum deep inside me” his breath hitched. Fucking hell, he loved when you responded to his dirty talk even with your mind all numb from the sex “Oh, fuck, I´m so close Kats, don´t stop” you said, and he inclined towards you to exchange a passionate kiss. It didn´t matter that it was all teeth and tongue because it was so fucking hot. You were fucking hot.

“Give it to me, gorgeous. Cum on my dick. Make a mess on me” He continued pounding into you so deliciously. You could feel every vein on his dick and the way it pulsed inside you wanting to explode right there.

“Cum with me, Kats. Please cum with me” you begged. A shiver went through his spine and his dick almost burst at the way your voice shook with every word.

“Fuck, I´m close too” he answered furrowing his brows, concentrating on the way your pussy sucked him in. You were so fucking wet that it slipped easily. He hissed.

“Right there. Right there” you cried out and Katsuki moved his thumb on your clit to amplify the sensations. That was all you needed to reach your peak. You moaned even harder and convulsed around his dick which made him cum at the same time. He spurted his cum in your pussy like he promised and then collapsed on top of you. You massaged his scalp, and he purred in contentment.

“I´m serious though” he murmured after giving your collarbones a light kiss.

“About what?” you asked a little confused.

“Knocking you up with my children” you giggled. He raised his head from your chest and pouted “What´s so funny idiot?”

“Aren´t we too young?”

“We´re 26”

“Exactly” you answered with a smile “Kids are a great responsibility and a very big investment.”

“I´m hero number 5 right now, and in a few years I´ll be number 1 if fucking Deku doesn´t beat me to it, but even if I´m number 2 for the rest of my career I´m sure I can provide even a family of ten. And I´m sure you´ll get promoted sooner or later too because you´re the fucking best at what you do.” He stated.

“Ten!? Omg, didn´t you say four!?”

“Plans change” he smirked playfully. You laughed softly but wholeheartedly. Katsuki loved your laugh. He loved everything about you.

“We are not even married Kats,” you caressed his face with a smile on your face “my mother would never forgive me having a child outside marriage.”

He considered his words for a few seconds, and you tried to guess what was going on in that pretty but stubborn head of his. He then looked you in the eye and without doubt said “Let´s get married then. What are we waiting for?”

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yerrmar · 13 days

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𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

Part one of the dancing queen series

Luke Castellan x Daughter of Circe Reader

Content: Swearing, nothing bad.

THE BEACH IS always your favourite place to go when you feel like getting away from everything. Away from all the chaos of Aeae, it was getting more overwhelming the closer it came to your 18th birthday. The Nymphs wouldn’t stop cooing over how much you’ve grown, “You’ve blossomed into such a beautiful lady.”, they’d poke and prod at you till your whole body felt like it was in flames due to embarrassment.

You’ve never actually been out at sea, but you love how comforting it feels. It was strange how you felt comforted in the grasp of the unknown.

You’ve never been anywhere but your mother’s little island and you didn’t care. Everything you ever needed was here on the island, it was here with your mother. Besides, without you, there’s no telling how quickly your mother would fall apart without you. She never knew how much she needed you till she had you. She never knew a man could bring something so pure into the world.

She never knew love till you came into her life.

And you love her more than breathing itself, Circe isn’t a goddess to you at all, she’s your mother and you will never leave her side.

She turned the island upside down making this last month of your “childish youth” as she claimed. Her flower is growing up too quickly for her liking, she just wanted you to stay hers forever. The island buzzed with excitement for the day of the party. Everyone was talking about it, the nymph's joyful giggles always echoed through the trees during their gossip sessions with them. They’d told you even some of the gods and goddesses from Olympus would be making an appearance.

You don’t like to brag, but you were adored by many. The whole island loves you like you were a goddess yourself, they worship and praise you along with your mother. Even some of the gods and goddesses enjoyed your company. You’re as radiating as the sun, and you’re as tender porcelain. Everything about you is perfectly pure as if you’d never sinned.

The sun covered your whole body as you soaked it up like a sponge with water. Your hair was submerged in the sea behind you moving in perfect sync with the rippling of the waves. A book of poetry rested on your face, you gave up on reading it when you felt your eyes get heavier by the minute. You definitely shouldn’t be falling asleep in the sun, just because it graced you with kisses doesn’t mean that you’re immune from heat stroke.

You wished you could live in this moment forever, where the world was silent for once. No chaos.

Till the sound of a loud crash echoed in the distance. Your head shot up quickly turning to the rocky mountains. You squinted your eyes as you saw what looked like planks of wood floating in the distance.

Oh, my gods! Does that belong to a boat?

A squeal of excitement escaped from your lips as you ran over you’re the supposed boat wreck had happened. You shouldn’t be this delighted to see a wreck but you loved meeting and greeting new people on the island, except for men. You didn’t share the same hatred as your mother, but you definitely didn’t like going through the exhausting process of turning them in or turning them into guinea pigs yourself.

Carefully, you climbed up one of the large rocks and peaked over, watching the three strangers swim up to land.

“Percy, you idiot!” Annabeth cursed the blonde curly-haired boy, he just had to have a go at steering the boat and he of course broke it! So now they were stuck on an island with no way of getting home after their very long quest.

“Hey! Don’t blame me, the wheel was faulty.” Percy huffed crossing his arms, looking over to Luke, who had just about enough of this stupid quest. He’d spent too long with Percy and Annabeth, with their bickering like an old married couple he just wanted to get back to camp and have the sleep he desperately needed.

“It wasn’t faulty when Luke was steering!” Annabeth snapped back bawling her fists, “Now we have no way of going home!”

Luke sighed and rubbed his face, please don’t let that be true. He couldn’t endure another minute of the two of them, now he was stuck with them till they found a way to get home. “Let’s not think like that right now, okay?” He turned to his sister in hopes that she’d calm down, the young girl hesitated before nodding.

The dark-haired boy looked around at their surroundings trying to find anything that would tell him where they were. But he couldn’t see anything but dark mountains and the golden sand. If he wasn’t so annoyed at their situation he’d comment on how beautiful it looked. “We need to look around for boats we can steal, or better yet if anyone can help us.”

You watched as the three strangers talked among each other, biting you lip at their comedic bickering. Two boys and one girl. Perfect. You wanted to smash your head against the rock you hid behind. As if you needed more chaos. Now you had two strange boys that just showed up, your poor mother.

She’s going to be extremely overwhelmed if you bring them to her, but you really weren’t in the mood for turning boys into guinea pigs especially if it meant leaving that young girl on her own. It was a tough decision to make:

Disobey your mother, but it would stop her from shattering due to stress

Turn them into guinea pigs and create more disturbance on the island, but you’d be making your mother proud.

Fuck it.

You swallowed down any hesitation you had. You ignored every doubt that tried to convince you to give in and do the right thing.

“Heard you needed help?” You moved from your hiding place and walked over to the trio. The sun had found you again, praising you with its beams of light.

The young girl drew her sword, even though she sensed no danger coming from you, it was better to be safe than sorry. She seemed young, like she couldn’t be older than fourteen, yet she seemed too mature to be so young.

“I assure you, there’s no need for that.” You smile softly at her, you stayed still though just in case she decided she wanted to start swinging her blade towards you, “I want to help you. But for me to do that I need you to trust me.”

A siren. Was Luke’s first initial thought as he watched you sway over to them, especially after hearing your voice that was laced with honey. The way you spoke, the way you moved had Luke enchanted.

“Who are you and where are we?” The sandy-haired boy demanded from beside the younger girl waving his sword at you threateningly, after seeing no movement coming from the older boy.

A light giggle left your pink lips at the boy’s ferocity, you told them your name-moving hair that had fallen in front of your face due to the strong breeze on this part of the island. “You’re on the island of Aeaea.”

Luke cursed running his hand through his hand again, their situation was getting worse and worse. Your eyes fixated on him for a while. You had seen boys before all of them were good-looking in different ways, but the boy in front of you was like a beauty you’d never seen before. And you’d like to keep him looking that way, rather than turning him into a furry little creature.

“The island of Aeaea.” The young boy butchered the name of your island, making you cringe, “As in Circe's island? The man-hating goddess?”

“Yep.” You nodded still smiling, “Welcome!”

The boy threw his arms up and scoffed. “That’s just perfect, we are going to be turned into pigs! By some crazy goddess!”

“Watch your mouth, that’s my mother you’re talking about.” Your smile had dropped into a scowl, and the trio's mouths dropped at your sentence. “Besides my mother doesn’t turn men into pigs anymore, she turns them into guinea pigs.”

Circe has a daughter? A demigod daughter!

“You’re lucky you crashed her this month. It’s my birthday soon and I’m in a very good mood, so I won’t be turning you in or turning you into a guinea pig myself.” You grinned, “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you?” The older boy finally spoke up, his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He reminded her of an angel. They’d always been described to be so beautiful that the world shook when they arrived on Earth. And Luke had just shaken yours.

And to Luke, you look like religion. Like every dark thought he’d ever had.

How could a stranger make someone feel this way? The feeling was strong, too strong. You wanted to shut everything thought about the unknown boy in front of you into a closet and lock it inside the darkness.

“So, help us then.” The blonde boy sassed, his hand was now on his hip and his foot tapped against the sand.

“First, what are your names?” You played with the light pink pearl that dangled on your chest, it was hung on a gold chain around your neck. Gold just complimented your skin so perfectly, you hated the way silver washed you out.

“Why should we tell you?” The older boy placed his hand over the young boy's mouth. Just because you said you’d help doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy, he knew better than to fall for a pretty face.

“Why would you have any reason not to trust me?” You frown. It was clear that the three had endured a lot due to how on edge they were, and from what you could see they had a lot of scars. “I have no weapons on me. And I have no reason to hurt you, I don’t even know you.”

The three looked at each other before huddling up to talk between themselves. You sigh and cross your arms in frustration, you could be basking in the sun right now or picking flowers from your garden, but no you’re here out of the goodness in your heart.

“She looks trustworthy,” Percy whispered looking behind him and watching as she kicked pebbles out of boredom. “She doesn’t look like a murderer to me.”

“And how’s that worked out for us so far? Trusting people just because they don’t look like killers?” Luke scoffed, remembering how they had constantly been fooled by wolves in sheep’s clothing.

“Luke’s right, but we don’t have any better options.” Annabeth sighed, the boys nodded in agreement not daring to disagree with her, she’s the wisest after all.

You watch as they nod to each other before turning back over to you. They were dragging out this silence and you didn’t like waiting. You played with the pearl, rolling it between your fingers. “So?”

“I’m Luke, this is Annabeth and Percy.” The pretty boy now had a name and you watched as he pointed over to the other two. He then returned his eyes to look at you, mainly fixating on the pearl that lay on your chest, “So pearl, how are you going to help us?”

A grin crawled onto your face as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “Follow me.”

Your mother wanted this birthday to be different, you were hitting a big age and she wanted the memory to stay with you forever. But this was far from what she had in mind.

Things can never stay the same, but you didn’t know how quickly they could change.

#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #imagine #luke castellan x reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x circe reader

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triassictriserratops · 14 days

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The art you just posted made me realize that Gale got to see peak Katniss and Peeta in bickering lover mode during Quell training.

At first he’s glad because it’s better for him but then he realized they’re not arguing like people mad at each other. When Katniss argues with him, she’s mad and lashing out. They’re arguing like a married couple. They’re too comfortable with each other and don’t tell me there wasn’t frustrated horny wrestling going on in front of Gale and Haymitch’s eyes. Also Katniss is oblivious enough that she thinks a lack of hugs and kisses is depriving her of affection but Peeta still is taking every opportunity to touch her when instructing.

Just give me Gale noticing that these two are flirty idiots even when arguing

i will never understand how he thought he was in the running after the way she was P O U T I N G about Coach Peeta. And the sexual tension wrestling??? you're so right??? I can't believe I had to read, with my actual eyeholes, like 10 straight pages about sperm whales from Herman Melville but I couldn't get like HALF a page about Coach Peeta teaching Katniss how to get out of pin maneuvers.

#peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark #the hunger games #thg series #thg #Little-LynxArt #Coach Peeta

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cvrnelians · 11 months

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smile like you mean it - chapters 1-3 (reupload)

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapter four // chapter five

music

You’re broken up.

Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.

You’re broken up.

Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.

But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.

Nothing.

Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—theRoman Roy? You? You?

Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.

And now you were suffering for it.

It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.

It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.

…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.

“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

🌃 Several years ago 🌃

Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.

There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.

But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.

In other words, your boss was a dork.

He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.

“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.

Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting.

As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.

“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.

Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”

“You got me coffee?”

“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”

“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.

“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”

“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.

He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.

“Is everything okay?”

Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”

You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.

He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”

“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.

“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.

“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.

You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.

Like his soul.

He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”

“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”

“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”

“So hire an assistant.”

“I am hiring an assistant.”

“Hire your own!”

“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”

In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life.

Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.

“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”

“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”

“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”

“It was in a mocking tone!”

“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”

“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”

Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”

“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.

“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”

The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.

“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.

Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.

And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

Hell was not some fiery, underground inner sanctum. It was sitting next to Roman Roy on a private jet (the Roys’ second private jet, which Roman affectionately deemed “Family Torture Chamber the Second”) en route to Herefordshire, England for Siobhan’s wedding.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”

Oh yes, I do.

You were only three months into being Roman’s personal assistant, and you already felt like he was taking years off of your life.

Today had been a rough day, to say the least. You were under the initial impression that you were going to board “Family Torture Chamber the First” (also known as, “If You’re Not First, You’re Last”) along with the rest of his miserable excuse for a family earlier that morning. But then Roman took it upon himself to inform you just as you were walking out onto the tarmac that they had all departed for England several days prior. He said some routine maintenance was being done on the jet, and a few seats were removed so that they could be repaired. As a result, there wasn’t enough room for two additional passengers. So here you sat, stranded alone with your boss in an unusually cushy torture chamber.

It was almost sad, the way you were actually kind of looking forward to the original travel plan. If you managed to shove your way into a seat next to Willa or Greg (who reminded you that normal people did, in fact, exist) it would’ve been a welcome reprieve from the world in which you lived, otherwise known as Roman’s world. It was kind of like Elmo’s World, except actually not at all.

Elmo’s World never made you contemplate throwing yourself off a bridge.

Roman’s world: a cruel reality in which everything was all about Roman, all the time. During your time served thus far, things had been—for lack of a better word—weird. It was bad, sure, but not quite in the way you had expected. You anticipated that you would be yelled at, talked down to, and forced to overhear things you would never be able to scrub from your memory. And there certainly was a bit of all of that.

But mostly, you felt…smothered.

At any given hour, it was rare that Roman didn’t have you practically glued to his side. If you weren’t readily available or even simply within eyeshot, he would make up some dramatic excuse to reel you back in. Everything that involved you doing something independently became a major issue. There was a never ending list of monotonous tasks he would create for you to complete.

“You’re gonna have to stay late again tonight. You might have to stay over, actually. I need you to fill out this paperwork I don’t feel like pretending to read.”

“I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable, just forge my fucking signature. I’m telling you you can. Oh wait, look, look! How about this? I’ll make it all better. I’m openly threatening to fire you if you don’t, so now you’re under duress. Not liable if shit hits the fan, unless you fuck me over and make me change my mind. Who’s even gonna know, a handwriting expert? What kind of maniac under sixty sits down and writes anymore, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s 2am, you’re tired. So is everyone. I need you to pick up some groceries for me. Yeah. Right now. I don’t trust someone from one of those delivery apps knowing where I live. Inevitably someone’s gonna tweet about how hot I am in person when I’m just trying to have a quiet night in, and you know how much I hate drawing attention to myself. Also, I’m kind of drunk right now, so…”

“I don’t pay you for nothing, beautiful. If I have to go for a run at disrespectful o’clock in the morning, so do you. Don’t be mad. We can get donuts after.”

Somehow, you had allowed things to cross the line from weird to downright ridiculous. The only time you spent away from him was to go home and sleep, and that didn’t always happen, either. He liked “working from home,” aka, leaving the office early and making you come to his house so you could work from his home. During that time, he would just sit and relax, or talk at you for hours until you became visibly agitated. Those seemed to be his two favorite hobbies as of late.

You would be answering emails and creating spreadsheets and doing god knows whatever else he asked you to do so late into the night that he just started letting you sleep there. Or rather, insisting that you sleep there, in one of several guest rooms of your choosing.

The first time you passed out on his couch—long after he had gone to bed himself—you were horrified. You had never once done that at Kendall’s house. But he always made sure to let you leave at a reasonable hour, and on the rare chance that you had to stay late, he would send for a company car to take you home.

Roman was totally unfazed when he found you that morning. You could vividly recall him waking you up by hitting you repeatedly with a $300 throw pillow.

You did all of this and more, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You were starting to feel like you sold your soul, and for what? A check? To live in an insanely expensive city without any friends, without any family, completely alone? Was sacrificing your dignity and virtually all of your free time really worth the money he paid you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to come home to, not even a cat or something. Your family lived out-of-state. What else were you going to do with your free time? Why not work 24/7, if anything, to distract yourself from how empty your life truly was?

You had been poor once, not long before you started working for Kendall. You could just barely afford basic necessities, sometimes having to live off of granola bars for weeks at a time. But you were determined to remain afloat. Leaving, going back home to a family that wasn’t much better than the Roys, would feel like giving up. It would feel like you had failed. Getting your degree, working multiple jobs, going through roommate after roommate, struggling for all those years just to return to the place you were so desperate to escape…it seemed like such a waste. It would’ve been all for nothing. You had become so rundown that you were prepared to lay down and die like that, prepared to surrender.

And then you got a job at Waystar Royco.

You weren’t afraid to quit under Kendall. You knew he would provide you with a glowing reference, as long as you left on good terms. Roman, though…

You would probably have to fabricate one. That is, if he hadn’t totally blacklisted you from being hired by everyone else in the industry if you even so much as hinted at quitting. And he certainly had the means to do that.

Given the amount of time he forced you to spend with him, if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought Roman actually liked you or something. But you weren’t an idiot. Roman didn’t like anyone. He was just, well…

He was a brat. Roman was a brat. There was no better word to describe him. It was that simple. As much as you tried to hide it, he knew you totally despised him. How could he not? You couldn’t tell if he kept you on such a short leash just because he enjoyed torturing you, or if he was genuinely that needy.

Kendall was sort of like that, too, in his own way. You figured it must’ve been a Roy thing.

Being trapped on a twelve hour flight together probably wasn’t helping to lessen your disdain for him. He sighed dramatically, slamming himself back against his seat. All was quiet for a few seconds until you felt him flick your ear.

“Ow! Roman, why?” you groaned, shoving his hand away. You leaned your head against the window, squinting your eyes shut. “Can you please let me get some rest? I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, figures. You’re probably not used to flying anything but coach. And believe me, I get it. For a wee commoner, I’m sure the plane that Dad only uses when he has no other option is just beyond. Dare I say comparable to, I don’t know, what’s something broke people think is opulent? The water mattress that your dad who only saw you once a year got you for your birthday when you were ten, or something. It’s like that to you. Am I right or am I right?”

If there was ever a time where you really wanted to punch him in the face—and there were many times in which you really wanted to punch him in the face—it was now.

“It’s comfortable, sure, but not comfortable enough to sleep on. Let’s be honest with each other. Who the fuck can fall asleep on a plane?”

“People fall asleep on planes all the time, Roman,” you sighed.

“Some people. Not you, though.”

“Apparently not.”

It was hopeless. There was no point in arguing. If there was one thing you had learned these last few months, it was that in order to get what you wanted from powerful people—powerful people that also just so happened to be awful people—you had to learn to pick your battles.

You were right on the verge of laying down and dying once again the morning after Roman hired you. That is, until he offered to drastically increase your salary. You were certain he did this to ensure you would stick around, not because he valued you as an employee, but because he wanted his brother to know that he won whatever weird little dick measuring competition they were having.

You opened your eyes and rolled your shoulders back.

Just a few more hours. You can do this. You can do this.

When you turned your head to look at him, Roman was leaning back in his seat, already looking at you.

“Oh my god! Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring your question. “It’s not like I would even try and bother you if you were awake. Which you have been, like, this entire time.”

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t try to bother me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly. The look on his face was a drastic shift from the expression he usually wore. Like with most unlikeable people, there were moments where the cracks would begin to show, where you would see an inkling of vulnerability beneath the surface. It was the strangest thing, how he could vacillate from sly fox to kicked puppy.

You wanted to cry. Did he really have the audacity to sound so sincere when he had been bothering you around the clock for three months straight? He had to have known how annoying he was. It was deliberate, wasn’t it? It was always deliberate with him.

You couldn’t even control sniping back.

“You literally just bothered me so that I would wake up and talk to you.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Once again, you were already awake, you little liar. And I don’t want you to talk to me. I want you to look at me and laugh at everything I say and hang onto my every word. See? That’s not talking. That’s listening. There’s a difference.”

“You know there are several other seats available for you to enjoy?” you asked, gesturing to the empty cabin. You wished that even just one of the other Roys had opted to fly with you. You silently prayed that one of them would somehow materialize, becoming an unwitting buffer between the two you. “You don’t have to sit directly next to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. See angel, I’m incredibly delicate in body and soul, meaning that I have the circulatory system of roughly an eighty year old man. Therefore I am fucking freezing in here. I basically have to exchange body heat with you or I’m going to die. And if I die, you don’t get paid, so you’ve kinda gotta weigh your options real carefully.”

Suddenly, the somewhat polite, professional resolve you had been trying your best to uphold had collapsed. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was impossible. You groaned and knocked your forehead against the seat in front of you, resting it there.

Roman let out a laugh. “Aw hey, come on. Cheer up. We only have…” he checked his watch. “Seven more hours to go! Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Your circulation is probably bad because you’re cold-blooded,” you said, your voice muffled against the leather seat.

“What, like a snake?”

You thought for a second, straightening back up. “No, you’re not that threatening. More of a lizard. Maybe a gecko.”

“Did you just…what the fuck?” He looked at you incredulously, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Did you just say that I look like a fucking gecko?”

“No, I said that you’re cold-blooded like a gecko.”

“Are…wait, are geckos cold-blooded?”

“I mean, they’re reptiles. I don’t know, Roman. I’m not a gecko expert.”

“Damn shame. And here I thought your knowledge and expertise knew no bounds, Bachelor’s degree,” he mocked.

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?”

“Didn’t you barely graduate high school?” he mimicked you, raising his voice an octave. “You don’t really have to when you’re fucking loaded. Hey, do you want some wine?”

He got up and grabbed a few bottles from the small wine rack in the corner—yes, a wine rack—and held them out in front of you. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you would think that he looked nice. He usually did, with his button up shirts and his blazers and his many, many coats. He had sharp features, always with dark circles under his eyes. You sometimes wondered if he was just as tired as you were. Even though he could be kind of lazy, it wasn’t hard to imagine that being part of the Roy family was no easy feat. Every once in a while, you wished he wasn’t the way that he was. If he wasn’t your employer and he wasn’t such a horrible human being, you could concede that Roman was really kind of handsome.

In his own weird, rude, cold, apparently gecko-like way.

“Bitter, disgusting liquid or bitter, disgusting liquid? Take your pick. You’re usually pretty predictable, but I cannot for the life of me decipher whether you’re a red wine person or a white wine person.”

You cringed at the thought of having a glass of wine with him. Although you could really stand to unwind, you had a brutal headache that didn’t seem like it was going away any time soon. You knew from experience that wine would only make it worse.

“Neither right now. Thanks, though.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m offering you ketamine or something. I’m being nice, I’m actually asking which kind you like before I give it to you. So what’s it gonna be, red or white?”

Being nice. Roman used that phrase a lot. “I’m being nice.” As if kindness was a rare, transactional behavior to be immediately acknowledged and rewarded. If he was “being nice,” then you had to be nice. Otherwise, he would make you pay for it.

And he could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be.

You wondered who he got that from, Caroline or Logan. Maybe both.

“Neither. I have a headache.”

“I will literally spit in your drink if you don’t tell me which one you like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you even—then I just won’t drink it.”

“Whatever,” he sighed, uncorking the red. He didn’t bother to grab a glass, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle as he sat down next to you. “More for me then.”

For a short while, things were eerily quiet. Roman was eerily quiet. Then again, he was steadily chugging wine, becoming more and more inebriated as the minutes ticked by. It was about an hour and a half until he finished it off. You were resting your head against the window again, willing yourself to sleep when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“So. You and my brother,” he said. “You guys…hang out ever?”

“Hang out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He nodded, all tired and glassy-eyed. “Yeah. You ever…” He looked like he was seriously thinking about what he was about to say next, but that might’ve just been the alcohol. “You ever hang out outside of the happiest place on earth?”

“You’re asking if I’ve ever met up with him outside of work?”

“Look at you, putting two and two together,” he exclaimed. His tone changed to one of a pet owner excitedly greeting their dog as they walked through the door. He moved his face closer to yours. “Who’s a smart girl? Who’s a smart girl?”

You placed your entire palm against his face and slowly pushed it away.

He laughed. “Ooooo. Y’know, I actually kind of like it when you do that.”

But you weren’t laughing. Not even a little.

“Are you insinuating that I’m hanging out—” you gestured with air quotes. “—with Kendall?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking a question so I can stop other people from insinuating. It’s all anybody ever talks about when you leave the room.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. People were talking about you? All this time you had been working your ass off, going the extra mile just so you could keep this stupid job and afford to live, and this was what you had to show for it? Your coworkers speculating that you were sleeping with your boss?

Well, former boss.

Why? Just because he was nice to you? And not just Roman nice. Actually nice.

You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“The way he looks at you sometimes, I mean. Yeah, I get it. The dude has eyes, but come on. How fucking obvious can you be?”

“You think I’m sleeping with Kendall.”

“I mean. Are you?”

He had that look on his face again, the weird one. The nervous one. Kicked puppy. The “I’m trying to get my point across but but I’m afraid of your reaction” face. It was always so jarring when he got like that. You almost preferred the snark. What did he have to be nervous about? Nothing was going on, and even if it was, how would that even slightly affect his life? Why did it matter?

“I think it goes without saying that I’m not.”

“Well that was convincing,” he said flatly.

“Think about it, Roman. When would I even have time to sleep with anyone? I work constantly. I’m literally always with you!”

“Before, though?” he asked. His voice was borderline whiny, like he was pleading. You had a gut feeling that you should get up and move further away from him, but you stayed put.

“Before?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m asking. Before you worked for me, were you fucking him?”

“No!” you snapped. “Roman, ew. Why do you even care? It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.”

He uncorked the other bottle of wine and took a drink. “Wanna hear another fun fact?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna hear it either way.”

“I’m warning you, though. You tell anyone, you die.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll make a blood oath.”

He smirked at you and shook his head, taking another drink. “Oh, you know I love me a blood oath. So glad you’re my assistant, by the way.”

“I really wish I could say the same.”

He placed his hand against his chest. “Ouch. You won’t even give me an inch, will you?”

“Just tell me the fact.”

“So demanding. Fine, since the anticipation is killing you. Fun fact, I’m a nervous flier. More than nervous, actually. Like, I’m more of a terrorized, traumatized, scared out of my mind flier.”

Okay. You were not expecting that admission.

“Really?” you asked. “You’re afraid to fly?”

“Yep. Like a little bitch boy.”

You snorted. “Being afraid of flying doesn’t make you a little bitch boy. Lots of people are afraid to fly.”

“Talking, though. Talking to someone during the flight?” he slurred, as if he was asking a question. “Talking helps me relax.”

Oh. So that was why he wasn’t letting you sleep.

“I’m honestly a little shocked that you’re a nervous flier. You fly places all the time.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he said, taking another swig.

You grabbed the bottle’s neck, trying to pry it from his fingers, but he wouldn’t budge. “I think you might want to slow down.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you took, oh, I don’t know, two seconds out of your day to ask me a single question about myself. And clearly you don’t wanna talk to me right now, so getting drunk is really my only other option for getting through this flight. But I’m cold-blooded, right?”

This whole interaction had taken a bizarre turn, and you had no clue how to react. You almost felt guilty, but you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to feel guilty for. Maybe you had been a bit cold when it came to Roman, but how else did he expect you to act? He was awful. Everyone knew that. And he was your employer, not your friend. You weren’t required to ask him about himself unless it pertained to what he wanted you to do. How were you even supposed to ask about something like that? How would it even come up in conversation?

There was a long, awkward silence after that. He kept drinking and you kept staring out the window, thinking of what to say next. Should you apologize? Should you move seats? Was there a way to create distance from him that wasn’t blatantly obvious?

“I–”

He waved his hand at you dismissively. “You’re sorry, you feel bad, blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t need you talking to me because you feel bad for me. Unlike my brother, I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just go to sleep.”

“Roman, I’m sorry. But don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“You wanted to go to sleep, so go to sleep. Keep acting like I’m not even here. Keep ignoring me, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not ignoring y—”

“Alright. You want to keep this pity party going? Fine by me. But while we’re at it, we’re just gonna nip this in the bud now, okay?” he said, exuding a false sense of cheerfulness. He stood up and stumbled a little ways down the aisle, raising his hand to lean against the overhead compartment as he turned towards you. “I’m sure you’re already well aware, but need I remind you that you’re a fucking coffee gopher? Because you are. You’re a run of the mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian. And you know what else? This is the best you’re ever gonna do. You need this job, and in order to keep it, you need me to like you. And in spite of what you’ve heard, in spite of what you’ve chosen to believe about me, I’m really not that bad.

“In fact, you should be thanking me up and down right now. Because right now, I’m essentially paying you to drink wine, and take a nap, and complain about how much you hate me, and talk about how much you miss working for my cokehead brother on my fucking dime. So if I were you, I would wipe that miserable look off your face and attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Unless, of course, you want to buy your own plane ticket home, which I’m telling you right now, is not gonna be cheap for someone like you.”

You felt like you had just been slapped. You might as well have been. Your chest was heavy, your breathing sporadic as your eyes welled up with angry tears. Your mind was racing as he stared at you, waiting for a response. He could be fairly ruthless, but you hadn’t experienced anything like this.

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying?” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.”

You were wondering when Roman’s “niceness” was going to reach its threshold.

There it was.

this is a reupload of a story i posted a little over a year ago. i'm really glad to be working on it again 😊 hope you enjoy

#roman roy x reader #roman roy #succession

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smite-the-metatron · 8 months

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crowley stomping in carrying his precious little plants while having a tantrum about loaning aziraphale the bentley is so funny. Peak Car Guy behaviour followed by a Married Couple Lore drop of "why don't you go by train? you love trains." I love when these idiots know Information (tm) about each other, and yet they refuse to admit that they are, in fact, married even after immediately adopting the lost angel that appears during this whole conversation. A+ scene

#good omens #ineffable husbands

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disasterofastory · 29 days

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Fate (Ivar x Reader)

Fate Ivar x Reader Warnings: smutty, but no sex

Summary: Wedding night.

A/N: You can read it as a part of The Wanderer and Valkyrie, but works as a standalone too.

The moon is bright and round at the top of the dark sky. It covers the city in a silvery hue, cascading down the roofs and highlighting the drunk idiots who found sleep in different places on the streets. They are lucky it's not cold enough to freeze them by morning. The weather is peaceful and clear, letting you see the stars glinting down at you as you pull the heavy doors shut.

The Great Hall is quiet and calm. The celebration is long over. The air is still heavy with smoke and ale. It fills your nostrils. The alcohol still pumps in your veins, making your chest light and your mind a bit dizzy. A lazy smile plays on your lips as your attention turns to the man sitting on his throne. He watches you too. The paint is smeared all over his face, but it is still not enough to hide the pink blush that spreads across his cheeks when your eyes meet. "I think I saw Hvitserk hugging a goat to himself outside," you tell him. "I hope it eats his hair," he replies, and you laugh. Ivar smiles at the melodic sound. "Don't be mean," you tell him. "He outdid himself today." Ivar can't argue with your statement. His brother really did everything to make your wedding memorable from the start to the drunk ending. "You are beautiful," he says instead. He didn't drink enough to admit his brother's surprisingly amazing wedding planner skills, but now as he looks over you, he starts to regret his decision. The smile you send his way is full of mischief. The white dress hides your curves but still shows off your breasts. He can see the hard peaks of your nipples. Necklaces hang from your neck, glinting in the dim lights. And the crown on your head fits among your braids perfectly. You really look like a queen. His queen. "What are you thinking?" You ask him. "A man who just married should look happier," you add, placing your thumb between his brows to smooth out the frown on his face. "I'm happy," he says. "I'm just... I still can't believe you chose me." "I told you, Ivar," you tell him. "Our future is written and sewed together by the Norns." He really wants to pay attention to what you say, but it gets harder and harder with every movement you make to get rid of your clothes. Soon, your dress pools around your legs, and you are bare in front of his roaming eyes. "Leave everything else," he says after you kick off your shoes. The blush deepens on his cheeks at his sudden order. Maybe he shouldn't give orders while clearly, you are the one who knows what you are doing. But he still doesn't wish you to get rid of the jewelry that adores your skin, highlights your eyes, and makes you so ethereal in his eyes. "Can I untie my hair?" You ask for his permission, smirking. "These braids are really tight." "I-I will do it," he says, clearing his throat. "If you come here." "How nice of you, my husband." The smirk is still on your face. You are mischievous, cheeky, and happy, while Ivar falls from awe to awe the whole time. Climbing up on his lap, you adjust your position above him until his hips are between your knees. "Is it okay?" You ask, letting some of your weight on his thighs. It's not enough to hurt him, but enough for you to be comfortable. "Yes," he croaks.

He is gentle and unsure. Your eyelids fall shut every now and again at the feeling of his massaging fingers on your scalp. You relax on his lap while Ivar is all tense and taut. His gaze wanders down your chest every time he is sure you don't watch him. He doesn't even know why he is so sneaky about it. He saw you naked several times, and you are his wife now. He can look at you all he wants. "Thank you," you sigh when he is done, and your wavy hair is free from the ties and decorations. The only thing he left in its place is the crown at the top of your head. "You are welcome." "How are your legs?" You ask him. You are so calm and content it almost drives him crazy. How can you be so collected while he falls apart with every passing minute? "They are fine," he replies. His every sense is so focused on you that he doubts he would notice if his legs were in pain. He doesn't care about his useless legs. He cares about your weight on him, your sweet smell, your soft touch, and the heat that radiates from you and cocoons him into relaxation. "What are you waiting for, Ivar?" You ask him, smiling. "Kiss your wife."

His kiss is familiar by now. His tongue traces the line between your lips until you open your mouth and let him in. His large hands land on your hips, squeezing your flesh while you nibble on his bottom lip before letting him push his tongue into your mouth again. Your chest is pressed against his. You can feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat. Your hands slip up on his arms, playing with the ends of the braids at the back of his neck. Your back arches to get closer to him. His low moan vibrates in your throat. "Wait," you giggle. Your word fan over his lips. "It tickles." "Sorry," he grunts, not knowing what else he should do with his hands. Your giggle turns into a smirk. "It's fine," you tell the man, grabbing his hands on your sides. "But here would be better," you add as you place his palms on your breasts. His fingers squeeze the globes in reflex. His eyes are wide as he watches his own hands. "You are so pretty," he says, flicking his thumb over your nipple before taking the hard peek between his fingers to pinch and pull on it. "Ivar," you gasp out his name, leaning against his shoulders. "Did I hurt you?" He asks with a hint of worry in his voice. "In a good way." Seeing the confusion on his face makes you smile again. "I will explain it later." Your lips meet in a kiss again. It's hurried and burning. His hands are still on your tits. They fit perfectly in his warm palms just as he thought they would. "What did I tell you once? When will we have sex?" You ask him. Your breath is hot against his lips, and he needs a few seconds to register your words in his mind. "We will be together when I know who you are." "And who am I, Ivar?" You ask, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Tell me." "You are my fate." Your lips meet again in a searing kiss.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless smut #vikings smut #vikings imagine #vikings x reader

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kiwisbell · 6 months

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Las Mañanas || Chapter 5 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader no longer has a shitty husband(!!), mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, oral sex (m and f receiving), guilt & shame, brief relationship angst, stakeouts, stechner is a dick, javi is an idiot for a while, premature ejaculation, makeup sex (actually makeup pussy-eating), chucho being peak dad, nightmares

word count: ~ 7.6k

a/n: communicate with your partners, people.

chapter five: love me until i love myself

They don't fight often. But when it happens, it's usually Javier’s fault. This time is no different.

You could hardly call them fights. Sometimes he forgets he's allowed to share things with her, that he doesn't need to stay silent and mope the way he was used to doing before they met. Sometimes he catches himself smoking by the window when she's asleep because he's woken up and can’t go back, no matter how warm and soft she is beside him. She’ll wake up, too, sensing his absence—then she'll sit by the window with him and give him a good stare until he realises he can talk. He can open up.

Sometimes he doesn't. It happens when he gets worked up, when he's been suffering through bureaucracy and red tape and evasive weasels. He doesn't want to burden her with that shit, so he buries it; he needs to feel it, to stew so he can get past it next time. But she doesn't take it.

“Be honest with me,” she said, softly, sliding onto his lap in the chair by the window. “Is there anything I’ve done to make you feel like you can't tell me these things?”

It wasn't a vindictive question. It was a real one, full of genuine curiosity. And it made him feel like a total asshole. “No, baby. Fuck no.”

She pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there. “We're partners,” she whispered against his skin. “It kills me to see you so down, honey. I know it's the job, but I hate knowing I can't help.”

Javier crushed his cigarette and pulled her in close, flush to his chest, while he blew out smoke. “You help me just by breathing, amor.”

“Talking takes breathing,” she said teasingly, nosing along his cheek. “You can talk to me, Javier. I know sometimes you don't want to, and that's okay, but what’s not okay is you shutting me out, ignoring me. I had enough of that when I was married.”

And that gentle scolding kicked some real fucking sense into him. “Shit,” he grunted, rubbing his hand over his face. “Shit, baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He cradled the back of her head and looked into her eyes. “I’ll talk.” He pulled her in and kissed her. She sighed into his mouth.

He was a complete dumbass. He didn't deserve the way her body curved into his or her soft moans melted his bones. He didn't deserve the kindness of her reprimands when he'd been so fucking stupid. But, like she sensed his self-loathing creeping up, she pulled away and said, “I love you. Nothing’s going to change that. You’re not like him and you will never be like him. Te amo, vaquero.” She kissed him hard. “Te amo.”

This time, it feels worse. Los Pepes have him on edge, worried about when they'll inevitably turn, deciding she's a good target if he makes a wrong move. He’s in bed with narcos, while he sleeps next to the love of his life. It's the stupidest decision he's made in a long time, and it's a decision he made to keep the streets safer.

He didn't know then that digging in deep would put her trust in him at risk.

“Los Pepes will serve him justice,” says Don Berna with a mirthless laugh. “Ever in your service, Agent Peña.”

Javier sniffs. “You're in your own service.”

Tomorrow morning, Los Pepes will raid the home of Rodolfo Vargas, a trafficker recently recruited by the Medellín cartel to move drugs through his auto body shop. They're effective and efficient, and they're bloody as all hell. More violence isn't what Medellín needs, but it's what they'll get if they want any chance at taking down the cartel. It's not a rosy job, and Javier hates himself more and more for it each visit he makes with Berna.

“Got a cigarette?”

It's a bait of a question. Javier’s clearly already smoking. It’s a test to see if he’s willing to stay and chat after their exchange. He isn't, but this means Berna’s got more to say.

Javier passes him a cigarette, but he lets the man light it on his own. “That's one beautiful woman you keep on your arm, Peña,” says Berna good-naturedly.

That gruff voice of his grates Javier’s ears and incites a vague panic. But his fury rings loud and clear. “I’ve seen many beautiful women in my life,” he says evenly.

Don't you dare fucking talk about her. Leave her out of this.

Berna’s laugh is a real goddamned smoker’s laugh. If Javier doesn't quit the way he’s been talking about, he'll sound like that before he’s forty. “It’s a nice little place she runs. Good coffee.” His eyes slide Javier's way. “Don't see a ring on her finger.”

“Do you have a point, Berna?” He can pass off the tightness in his jaw as his cheeks hollowing around his cigarette. But not for much longer. He's learned his limits when it comes to her; it doesn't take much taunting talk like this for him to show his hand. He needs to manoeuvre carefully.

“No point, my friend,” says Berna. “It's good to see men like you happy. And with a woman like her”—he whistled—“I can see why you smile. Do you do this for her?”

Javier scoffs like he couldn't be bothered for such unmanly talk. “I came out here to smoke alone, you know. I do this because it's my job.”

“That's good to know.” Berna takes another drag. “Los Pepes will make Medellín safer for your girl.”

Berna knows he's in Javier’s head. He's got the upper hand with the mention of her. He must have seen them together last night. Javier took her out to dinner. “Fuck you, and fuck your threats,” he says at last. “We have a deal, Berna. Aiming threats at her is the best way to break it.”

He crushes his cigarette and leaves in his truck. By the time he gets home, it's an hour later than he promised, and his body is tense enough to saw a plank of wood in half. She's still awake, as they promised so long ago, lounging on the couch while the TV drones a telenovela. She loves them. They're the kind of mindless drama she gets sucked into. The real-world shit has burned her one too many times.

“Hi,” she says softly, sitting up and yawning. “Everything okay?”

And she isn't angry. Of course she's not angry; it's their deal that they stay awake for one another so they won't go to bed upset. It's perfectly reasonable.

So Javier, like the moron he is, grunts and leaves for the bathroom without so much as a kiss hello.

He splashes water onto his face and stares in the mirror as the seconds tick by. He turns the shower hot, hot enough to scald, and stands underneath the stream. He doesn't even wash himself. He just drowns in self-loathing until enough time has passed that he can call it a shower.

When he leaves the bathroom, she's moved to the kitchen. He smells soup, and his stomach grumbles with hunger he didn't know he was feeling. He hasn't eaten since breakfast.

Neither of them speaks until she places a bowl in front of him and sits down. “You had a hard day,” she says, looking him in the eye even as he feels too ashamed to meet hers. “I understand. It's unfair of you to treat me like I don’t.”

He knows. Fuck, he knows. She doesn't deserve this. But his brain won't let him pry his mouth open to let her in. It's like someone’s put a lock in his own head. He feels tight inside, his stomach a coil that won't snap. It’s not you. It’s. Not. You. I just can't stop hating myself and the things I do. I love you so fucking much. I need you to be safe. Know that. Please.

He can't say any of it. “Everything’s fine,” he shoves out.

Her lips purse. “You're scaring me, Javier. You're coming home late, and you're acting like I’m not here, and you look out the windows every five minutes. Is there someone coming for us? Do I need to be worried?”

“I told you,” he bites, “everything’s fine. I just—”

“Had a hard day.” She nods slowly, but that pinch of irritation in her eyes doesn't leave. “But it isn't fine. I think you know by now that I know you better than anyone. So what makes you think I’m going to leave this alone?”

“Nothing,” he says, and it snaps harsher in the quiet air than he meant it to. “Nothing makes me believe you'll leave it alone, because you never leave anything alone. You keep digging and digging and I don't want to fucking talk. Talking doesn't solve shit. So just leave. It. Alone.”

He doesn't even mean it. And he certainly doesn't mean to say it all to her. Never her. But he can't take it back, and now he sounds just like her ex-husband.

Her face crumbles. She doesn't even look angry anymore; she just looks sad. She shuts down, pulls her hand back. “I’m going to eat downstairs with Connie,” she says, her voice breaking. “She’s alone tonight, too. I’ll let you think.”

When she stands, she lifts her hand like she wants to touch his cheek the way she usually does when they stand from the dinner table. Javier chokes on every word he wants to say. He wants to stand up and grab her and pull her close, and he wants to let everything fall out while he begs her to stay. I can’t lose you.

But he lets the door click softly shut behind him.

He feels the bed dip a little after midnight. He's still awake when he feels her lips against his cheek, but he keeps his eyes closed. He's definitely still awake when he hears her sniffle quietly beside him, the sound muffled. She's facing away from him.

They wake up at the same time, their eyes meeting in that slow, groggy way until they both remember where they are. Where they are.

He opens his mouth, but she scrambles out of bed like a bomb went off and heads to the bathroom.

“You should let me drive you,” he rasps when he leaves the bedroom to see her packing her purse for work. She's already dressed, fresh-faced and ready, but her eyes are sunken.

She fakes a smile, and he notices the way her eyes don't fully meet his. She just looks at a spot above his brow. “I’m okay,” she says, too brightly to be real. “I’ll be safe. Have a—” She catches herself before she can say Have a good day. “I’ll see you after work. Love you.”

She leaves without letting him return it. Without a kiss good-bye. He deserves it all. She deserves to shove a knife straight into his chest and twist. It would dull the pain that rests there now.

“I love you,” he says to the empty room.

I’m going to fucking kill you.

Nonono. Not him. Please, take me, not him. I love him. Please.

Not her. Leave her alone. I’ll fucking hunt you down. I’ll fucking kill you, I swear.

You’ll regret leaving me. I’ll make you watch him die. Then I’ll take you back. You’ll remember that you loved me.

She jolts awake from another nightmare. Her hand comes up to stifle her cries so she doesn't wake Javier.

Javier, who's lying next to her, his face gentle and serene with sleep, lips slightly parted, naked and holding her close. The morning light turns his face golden, and he's so peaceful she can't think to wake him just because she had a nightmare. So, she slips out from under his heavy arm, from his legs which are tangled with hers, and stumbles to the bathroom. She clicks the door gently shut and sinks to the floor so she can let herself cry.

Javier wakes when he feels her warmth slip away. He shuffles absentmindedly toward her side of the bed, eyes still closed, only to pout when her body isn't there for him to bury himself deep into. For a moment, he's just grumpy, but then he blinks himself awake and starts to feel uneasy. Like something is wrong.

The bathroom door is closed, but there are soft sniffles coming from within. Javier's heart spikes and he pushes open the door without thinking.

What he sees destroys him. She's sitting on the floor with her nightgown on, knees drawn up to her chest, leaning against the vanity. She scrambles to her feet when the door opens, wiping underneath her eyes aggressively. "Morning," she says weakly, trying to smile.

Javier smooths back her hair and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Baby, what's wrong? What happened?"

His mere touch seems to set her off again. She grasps his wrists hard and sobs shudder through her body. "Bad—" She hiccups. "Bad dream. I'm sorry, this is stupid. Didn't mean to wake you. It’s late."

"It's morning, honey." He doesn't like the way the corners of her mouth pull down, the way her eyes shine with such misery. He especially doesn’t like that he put that look on her face when he refused to let her in. "Talk to me," he says softly. "¿Sí?"

She sniffles. "He made me watch you die. He killed you. I couldn't even look. I just wanted to die, too. I'm sorry. I'm..." She buries her face in her hands and begins to cry again. Javier's heart snaps.

"Ven aquí, cielito, ven aquí." He keeps on muttering to her while she wraps her arms around him and holds on tight, her nails digging into his back. He doesn't mind. "I'm here, baby," he says into her hair. "I've got you. I'm here. Not going anywhere."

She presses her face so deep into his body it's like she's trying to make them one person. “Can't lose you.”

“Never gonna lose me,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Got a lot to stay alive for, hey?”

She sniffles and looks up at him. “I didn't deserve the way you talked to me that night.”

“No. You didn't. I’ve been a complete asshole.” He caresses her arms.

“Want to tell me why?” she offers.

The unbreachable safe inside his head cracks open when she places her hand over his heart. “Fuck, baby, I just—you’re my life.” He breathes in and surprises himself when it stings, when he feels the hot prick of tears behind his eyes. “I say it all the time, but I can't lose you. I can’t. It would kill me. And what I’m doing—it's dangerous and stupid. It's something I never should have done. But I’m in deep, and if I make a wrong move…”

He's crying before he knows it, but he doesn't try to stop. He buries himself in her, holding her close and wetting the crook of her neck while her hands rub soothing circles over his back, his neck. “Javi,” she whispers, her own voice choked with tears. “It’s okay. We're okay. I’m all yours.”

She's babbling just as much as he was, but it feels so good, uncoiling the tight wire around his heart. “I just want to know that you trust us both enough to talk to me. That you trust us to fix things when they're wrong.”

“Wanna keep you away from all of it,” he huffs into her hair, grabbing a chunk of it just because it’s so soft. “Never want you to see another fuckin’ second of pain.”

“Vaquero,” she coos. “I lived a tough life when I came here. Made bad choices. I’ve seen pain and I’ll see more. But you’re the one who brought me out. You helped when you never had to. I loved you all the way back then, and I’ll love you no matter what you have to do.”

“How…” He chokes on the words, but forces them out anyway. “How can you say that when you don’t know?”

What he’s done, what is yet to come. The laws he’s broken, the people he’s cut a deal with.

She shakes her head. “I trusted you enough to put my life in your hands. I trust that you’re good. That’s all I know, Javier. I know you’re good.”

Their kiss is wet and salty with tears, but it feels like a bridge has mended.

This is what happens when you love a person: you blame everyone in the world but them. You blame the world itself for opening up a rift between you. When it closes, you go to bed, and you rest your head upon their chest and feel the stitches where the edges were sewn back up. It will be okay.

Lying in bed with his head on her chest, he tells her everything about Los Pepes. Her stomach plummets and her lips press together, but when he's done, she keeps on stroking his hair and she whispers, “Thank you.”

She's terrified for him. But he feels strangely lighter, falling slowly asleep on her as she hums a song she used to sing to her sister. Los Pepes is a speck that he can wipe off the window. This, here, with her, is the only clarity he's ever had.

She's three orgasms in, and Javier just. Keeps. Going.

She's going to be late for work. The morning sun spills over the bed, warming her naked, sweating skin, but she’s lost track of time. She's twisting her fingers into the pillow she grabbed two orgasms ago, holding it to her face when he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks… making her come for a fourth fucking time.

Her scream is raw and practically noiseless. She can barely see with the tears clouding her vision, but she seeks his face out, trying to bring herself back to reality. Her whole body is limp and useless, her thighs twitching as she comes down.

He looks like he's in heaven. His eyes are open, their soft brown wide and seeking, making sure she's all right, not too stimulated. His hair is wild from her grip and his fingers are going to bruise her legs, but he looks so beautiful like this. He closes his eyes and groans when he tastes her cum, lapping around her clit and licking up into her, drinking it all down. She thinks she's going to black out.

She tells him as much. He chuckles, which only makes her yelp from the stimulation at her clit as he returns to it, licking in aching circles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries. “Fuck, Javi, I can't… Feels too good… Fuck!”

He just keeps working her up until her whole body is trembling, her mind lifting free of its shackles once again as she crashes into Earth like a meteor, no more body, no more bed. She floats.

She knows he's making up for the two days they barely spoke, but she can't be bothered to call him on it when she lost her ability to prod around her own brain hours ago.

To his credit, he's always loved eating her out. It's like a sport for him, an addiction. He loves making her squirm, holding her by the thighs while he sends her head soaring into space. He loves tasting her, soaking his face with her, making her cry and moan until her throat rips raw. He's obsessed with her, wants to be possessed by her. And he's so hard he's leaking a constant stream on the sheets, grinding into the mattress when it gets too agonising. This is about her.

It doesn't stop the wet, hot sensation underneath him as he sucks her clit into his mouth, a familiar shuddering crash knocking down each knob of his spine. He grunts, hips jerking into the bed.

She comes for a sixth time before she taps him frantically on the hand and he lifts his head, resting his cheek on her thigh. Her eyes are staring up at the ceiling, her mouth open, chest heaving. She's sweating and her hair is a halo around her head. She's a vision.

He shifts, crawling up the bed and rolling them over so she's on top of him, knowing she can barely support her own head. She hums on his chest but frowns when she wiggles her hips up against his.

“You…”

“Yeah.” He pulls her in and kisses her hard, helping her centre herself in the world again.

He came on the bed sheets. Without her touching him.

“Mi vaquero,” she mumbles, kissing all over his face, her lips grazing every square inch from his jaw to his temples. “So good to me.”

He hushes her at that, grabbing her jaw and kissing her on the mouth again. He doesn't want to hear that. He's been terrible, fucking awful to her. But she's different this morning, already visibility lighter as she chirps about the bedroom, pulling on a sundress. He's old enough that his refractory period isn't what it was as a teenager, but his cock is already growing interested again as he watches her move about, her ass a beautiful sight in that dress. When she walks close to the bed, he pulls her back down on top of him.

“I’m already late!” she laughs, playfully smacking his chest. He rolls over and pins her down, naked atop her. “Aye, viejo. You’ll hurt your back.”

“Don’t give a shit,” he murmurs, kissing down her jaw, throat, and collarbones with sloppy caresses of his tongue. “My fucking beautiful girl.”

She shrieks as his hands leave her wrists to drag down her waist. “Tickles!” She tangles her fingers in his hair and lifts his head up, grinning down at him with flushed cheeks. “Honey, if we don't get up now, we're not getting up at all.”

“Mmm.” He sinks his teeth playfully into her throat.

“Vampiro,” she huffs, but he can feel her getting worked up, rolling her hips against his naked cock even though she’s already come six times. They roll again, and she's on top. A soft growl sounds through his throat when he sees his precum stain the front of her dress. The friction is fucking good. Javier’s mouth falls open and he loses his grip on her involuntarily when she pulls down the straps of her dress and exposes her breasts to him while she rides. “You can come like this, can’t you?” she pants, grinding against him.

He’s nodding frantically, but he can’t even hold his head up once she starts rolling her hips harder. “Sh—shit,” he whispers, reaching out for her hips to help her along. She whimpers. “Fuck, baby. Fuck, keep going. So good. Shit, sweetheart…”

Her head falls back against her shoulders, and he admires the smooth column of her throat as her mouth drops open and she cries out. Freezing on his cock, her whole body shudders, and she comes. “That’s it,” he bites out, “take what you need, amor.”

She’s grinding on him again before she comes down all the way, planting her hands on his chest. It doesn’t take long for him to come, too, baring his teeth and barely choking out, “Coming.”

She slides down his body and takes his cock in her hand, pumping until he begins to spurt his cum over his chest. He slams his hand down on the mattress and twists the sheets in his hand, eyes squeezing shut. They fly open immediately once he feels her hot mouth wrap around his cock and take the last few spurts down her throat. The sight alone prolongs his orgasm until his cum spills out of her mouth, dribbling down her chin. She swipes it up with her thumb and swallows it all down. Even softening, his cock still twitches in her hand.

He swallows. “Christ.” His voice is raw. “I’m late.”

“We were late when you made me come the fourth time.” She kisses his cheek. “C’mon, viejo. Drive me to work—I’ll bring you something to eat on my break.”

She does. Javier is still looking down at his typewriter when Murphy cheers, lifting his coffee mug into the air. He’s on the phone. “Empanadas! Can I have some, sweetheart?”

Javier rips the receiver out of his hand. “Baby, why'd you call Steve instead of me?”

“You weren't answering your phone,” she says sweetly.

“My phone hasn't rung.”

“Maybe I just wanted to bug you.” She’s grinning wickedly from the sound of her voice. “I’m talking with Penny if you wanna see me.”

He really does. He tosses the receiver back at Murphy, who keeps on talking to her while Javier makes his way downstairs to the front desk. She's in a different outfit because he stained her dress when he finished on it: a pair of jeans that show off her ass in a way that makes his eye twitch and one of his polos, tucked into her waistband. He's surprised he manages to refrain from pouncing on her like a cat when he reaches her.

“Mi amor,” he whispers in her ear. “Long time, no see.”

She bites her lip, still holding the phone to her other ear. “Yeah, Steve. I’ll tell him. And you're both invited to dinner Saturday night. Yeah. No, no, don't worry about it. Yeah. Bye, Steve. Say hi to Connie for me.”

Javier holds her around the waist when he greets Penny, pushing his sunglasses down his nose and winking. The middle-aged receptionist blushes at him like she always does. His girl kisses him on the cheek and hands back the receiver to Penny. “Thank you, honey,” says the receptionist.

She hands Javier a paper bag that's warm to the touch. “Yeah,” he says lowly, kissing her because he can, “thank you, honey.”

She looks up at him with doe’s eyes. “I’ve got an hour.”

That's what he likes to hear. Javier takes her hand and guides her upstairs, hoping to find an empty conference room for the pair of them to eat away from prying eyes.

“Aren't you two a pair.”

Bill Stechner wanders out of the men’s bathroom and blocks their path down the hallway. She curls up close to Javier and wraps her hand around his arm. He's told her about this asshole. “Stechner. I've got lunch to eat.”

He doesn't budge. “So this is the infamous Señora Peña. Well, not yet, but I’m rooting for you. If only he would just get on with it, right?” His good-natured smile has a predatory gleam to it.

She smiles politely. “Mr. Stechner.”

No Nice to meet you, the way she usually greets people. The man doesn’t look at Javier, keeping his eyes on his girl instead; it’s enough to heat up Javier’s blood a couple degrees. “I’d like a word, Mr. Peña,” he says.

“Told you,” he bites out. “Busy.”

“Wasn’t a request. The pretty lady can manage five minutes alone, right?”

Javier feels his eye twitch.

“Honey,” she says, “I think I’d like a kiss.”

And she pulls Javier down by the back of his neck, kissing him hard enough to bruise, right in front of Stechner. She pulls the sunglasses off his nose while their mouths are connected and places them atop her own head. Lost in the addictive sweetness that surrounds her at all times, Javier slants his mouth over hers and slips his tongue past her teeth. It takes an obnoxiously loud cough from Stechner for her to break away, smiling up at him like she's innocent, like she didn't ride the soul out of Javier this morning.

“Your word with my husband can wait,” she tells Stechner. “I’m here on my lunch. Have a nice day, Mr. Stechner.”

She slips by him as he watches her with a vaguely amused sneer. Javier follows her, but Stechner claps him on the shoulder. “Good woman,” he says quietly. “Knows what's best for you. I’ll see you in my office when she's gone, yeah?” He walks down the hallway in the opposite direction, repeating the words “good woman” under his breath.

Javier scoops up her hand and takes her into the closest empty conference room he can find. “Javi,” she says softly, “your nostrils are flaring.”

“Yeah.” He barely gets the word out before he's on her mouth again, a bruising kiss that lets him push all his need, all his desperation and tension, into her lungs. He wants to consume her. His brave, strong girl. The whirlwind. The calm when the gale dies down. She's everything, and he kisses her like it.

He's devouring her, messy, sucking on her tongue and slipping his hands underneath her shirt. She stumbles against the table and he lifts her up onto it, staggering himself as he tries to find something to hold onto and chooses her instead: her face, her throat, her hips.

He only pulls away because she's panting, desperate to suck in air, and he won't have her struggling for breath just yet. “Shit,” she gasps, prodding her lips with her finger. “Shit, honey, I didn't know you liked other people watching us that much.”

He nudges his nose against her cheek. He can't move away from her; he just keeps shifting closer, one leg between both of hers, his torso flush to her chest. He wants to become part of her. “So fucking good,” he mutters. “Making him look like an idiot. Showing him who I fuckin' belong to.”

“Mmm.” She drags her nails up the base of his neck and he bares his teeth against her skin. “You like that, vaquero? Kissing me in front of that asshole?”

He shifts his hands to her thighs just so he can squeeze her. “Yeah, I do. Most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And all mine.”

“Siempre, Javier,” she breathes into his cheek.

He grins, biting her jaw. “Don't think I didn't catch that, baby.”

“Catch what?” she asks coyly, sending blood rushing to his cock.

“You called me your husband.”

“Did I?” She shrugs, wiggling against him and pulling him closer, somehow. “Oh, well. Felt like the right thing to say.”

He cannot cope with the amount of love inside him. It breaks him in two, cleaves him open at the chest and pulls his beating heart right out of it for her to see. To touch and hold and keep forever. He doesn't know how to tell her she owns the part of him that keeps him alive, so he kisses her again. “Mi amor,” he mumbles. “Mi esposa. Gonna marry you and keep you with me forever. Everyone’s gonna fuckin’ know it's you, baby.”

She giggles, a bit drunk from kissing him and bruising her lips. “Better work on that proposal, then, cowboy. My hour’s running out.”

“Not here,” he says. “I’m gonna do it properly. Romance you.”

She lifts a brow and places a hand on his chest. “Can’t do that on an empty stomach. Eat.”

They sit next to one another at the table and dig into her empanadas like they've never eaten a day in their lives. It feels true, given they missed breakfast to fuck. Her feet up on his lap, he rubs the bone of her ankle with his thumb. “He's a dick,” she says out of the blue. “He's entitled and he's dangerous. He's got too much power over you, Javi.”

He squeezes her ankle. “So do you, baby, but you don't see me complaining.”

She gives him a hard look. “I don't have anything to do with your job. He does.”

They can’t talk about Los Pepes here, not with the chance someone could overhear. But he knows her code, the way she knows his. Javier cups her cheek and traces her bottom lip with his thumb. “Wanna know what I know?” She nods, looking up at him with her softened, buttery eyes, the eyes that make his brain spout any nonsense as long as it makes her happy. “I know I don’t have shit if I don’t have you.”

She bites her lip to stop her smile. “Don’t let any of those guys out there hear you say that.”

“Those guys…” He leans forward slowly only to grab her thigh and pull her onto his lap. “… don’t have you. Don’t know how fuckin’ crazy you make a man.”

She hums, grasping his jaw in her hand. “Just one man.”

It makes him feel manic, primal, his head buzzing with desire. His blood is hot and his fingers squeeze her thighs hard enough to leave indents. He shifts to wrap his arm around her waist possessively. All of him feels possessive—he’s crawling with the itch to keep her close to him, bury himself in her, never let the world touch her the way it has before.

He breathes into her neck like it’s oxygen and he’s drowning. “Need to… Fuck, need…”

“Javi,” she says gently, her touch a cooling balm to his heated skin as she slips her hands under the collar of his shirt and presses down on his shoulders. It grounds him here, with her. “I need it, too, Javi. Need you all the time. But I have to go back to work.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse. Her hour’s almost up. So he reacts reasonably: he shoves his face into her hair and huffs like a grumpy old dog. She laughs, exasperated. “Drive me back.”

“It’s a block away, baby.” He’s still grumbling against her, the need for her so intense he refuses to peel himself away.

She lifts a brow at him like she can’t believe he would dare to refuse her offer. “Drive me back,” she says again, “and take the long way around.”

He perks up, the dog who knows he’s going to the park. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, sliding off him and offering her hand. “I forgot to wear panties.”

He’s certain every single person in the building knows why they’re leaving together, but he doesn’t give a shit. He keeps his hand on her lower back and when they find a side street, he spreads her across the bench of his truck and buries his cock deep inside her.

“Javi, your dad’s on the phone.”

He walks out of the shower with his hair still damp and shakes it over her when he meets her at the table. She yelps, smacking him on the shoulder. He just gets onto his knees so he’s at eye-level with her tits, on display in her unbuttoned blouse, and she has to grab hold of his hair to keep him away from them.

“No, Chucho, he’s just got out of the shower. Of course he wants to talk to you!” She grins into the receiver. “No, he hasn’t done it yet. Of course I’m going to say yes; él es el amor de mi vida.” She looks down at him and winks. “I’ll put him on for you.”

He sits his ass on the floor so he can rest his cheek on her inner thigh, happily sandwiched between her legs and deliciously close to her lacy panties. “Hi, Pop,” he says, grabbing a cigarette off the table while he wedges the phone between his ear and her thigh, close to purring with the way she brushes through his hair with her fingers.

“Tu amor sounds more and more beautiful every time I talk to her,” says Chucho. “It’s a shame I barely know what she looks like.”

His father has been pressing Javier like an embosser on paper to take a break, visit him in Laredo. He wants to meet his future daughter-in-law so badly he keeps saying it’ll kill him. Javier lights his cigarette. “Pop—”

“There's plenty of room on the ranch,” he cuts in. “I’ve got the guest room made up.”

Javier lazily meets his girl’s eye. Guest room, he mouths. She bites down on her lip and shimmies a bit, her tits shaking against the silk of her shirt. He elects not to look away. “Yeah, Pop,” he says vaguely. “We're gonna visit. Make a vacation out of it.”

She leans down to speak into the receiver. “Make sure you put him to work, Mr. Peña.”

Javier’s too busy taking the opportunity to take a nipple between his teeth to retort. She huffs, smacking him gently upside the head. “Why do you think I invite him?” says Chucho.

Javier asks about the calves and the crops (all thriving), and he asks how Chucho’s back is doing (about the same; back problems run in the family). She stands to make dinner while they're chatting about Laredo (the sheriff’s department's latest drug bust, the gossip about Chucho’s next-door neighbour a mile down the road and his latest affair). Javier follows her into the kitchen like a puppy, tucking the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he chops tomatoes. He’ll hand the phone to her when his father wants to talk to her, which is most of the time.

What's for dinner, mija? How’s your mother doing? Do you know how to milk a cow?

Javier smiles. They've been making friends with one another since the first time Chucho asked him to put her on the phone. She’s it for me, Pop.

Gonna give me grandkids?

He’ll just laugh and say, Talk to you next week.

It's not that they haven't talked about it. They have—at length. But if they're going to try, it won't be while he's working against the most dangerous people in Colombia.

When he sets down the phone, she slides her hand across his stomach. “That shirt,” she mutters.

He looks down at her, lifting his brow. “This shirt,” he prompts.

She slides her other hand up his arm, a ghost of a touch, and it's enough to send blood to his interested cock. It doesn't take much from her. “So sexy,” she hums, fisting the yellow polo by the collar.

She has a unique appreciation for his wardrobe. Always says he's stuck in the ‘70s, that he owns one too many loud patterns for his own good, that he sticks out in his tight jeans. But Christ, she likes it. “Sure it's not the body, baby?” he asks, low and deep, abandoning the cutting board to slide his hands beneath her silk blouse and pull her mostly naked body to him. “Worked hard for it. Running over rooftops all day.”

“Oh, it's the body, all right.” She lifts up the hem of his shirt. “You’re so handsome. So strong. All mine.”

He's putty in her hands when she tells him he's handsome. She can shower him with affection and words and he'll melt, butter, pliable as she has her way with him. He likes it: knowing she sees him as strong, good, capable. Sees him as someone she wants to bee seen with all the time.

And right now, she needs it. He's more than willing to give. She's hands and lips, feverish in the way she pulls his shirt up over his head and shucks her own blouse off. He has to brace his hands on the counter just so he doesn't keel over from the blood leaving his brain when she begins to kiss, lick, nibble all over. From his neck to his chest, all the way down to his stomach until she’s licking his aching hardness over his jeans. “Fuck,” he hisses, slamming his palm down on the countertop. He won't guide her. He wants her to take him the way she wants. But even like this, he's leaking, making a mess of himself. He goes white-blind for a moment when she takes his zipper between her teeth and tugs it down.

“Jesus,” he groans to himself. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

He tries not to let his eyes cross. He really does. But she takes him into her wet, hot mouth after shucking his pants down his thighs like they owe her money. And he chokes on his own tongue with how fucking good it feels, his hips stuttering and his hands white-knuckling the counter.

She slides her tongue around his head while she takes him down to her throat, licking along his veins and swallowing around his length. She sucks his cock as if she needs it to survive, and he just might die.

Her hands caress his thighs as she moans around him, and then they migrate to his balls, reaching around to squeeze his ass just because she loves to, because she knows he’ll let her do anything when he’s this far gone. His head is fuzzy and he can't form a sentence; he just curses and says her name and curses some more. She keeps her eyes on him so he keeps his on her, and they become the only two people in the world.

His hearing comes back in a rush, like emerging from underwater, when she takes him down to the base, her nose brushing the hairs at the base of his cock, and chokes in her excitement to swallow, to make him feel good.

The word good isn't in his vocabulary when it comes to this. This is ecstasy. Javier shuts his eyes and even stumbles a little when he comes. She holds onto his thighs, keeping her mouth locked around him as he spurts every drop of his cum inside her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Mmmhmm,” she groans, eyes watery, mascara dribbling black tears down her cheeks. He reaches out to tangle his fingers in her hair just to hold onto something so he doesn't fall over. He just keeps coming until her cheeks expand and she pulls off; the last of his cum drips out onto her bruised lips.

He wants to drop to his knees and propose right then and there when she opens her mouth to show the mess he made of her mouth, clearly awaiting his instructions. He collects himself enough to do two things: firstly, he remembers he cannot propose to her while her mouth is full of cum; second, he croaks out a barely-audible “Swallow.” She does.

“Fucking…” He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, hoping to clear his vision. “Fucking… baby, I—”

She shakes her head and kisses his softening cock gently. It makes him twitch, but he's too spent to go again. “I know,” she says, her voice a bit raspy and ruined. She leans her head against his thigh and sighs happily.

He helps her to her feet, tucks himself back into his jeans, and kisses her hard. He pants against her cheek when he's done nibbling at her lips. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“So handsome,” she whispers, like it's a sufficient answer for her. “Just love you so much.”

“You're so”—he kisses a path along her cheek to her jaw—“fucking”—he bites down on the curve of her throat—“good to me. So good to me. Fuckin’ love you, mi alma.”

Usually, she's a giggling mess when he bites her like this. Mi vampiro, she'll say, indulging him with a hand at the back of his head. Now, she moans, body curving up against him. “Javi,” she breathes out. “Want you to watch me.”

“Shit. Shit, honey, is it my fuckin’ birthday?” He slips his hand around her waist, but she pulls back and smiles wickedly.

“You can't touch.”

And there's the kicker.

He pouts down at her, and she presses her fingers to his lips before she slides them down her body, sweet and slow. It's rare they make dinner on time during nights like these. Tonight is no exception.

When Javier proposes, it's private.

He does it in their apartment because she doesn't like spectacles. Neither does he. It's just for them: the dinner he cooks, three courses he only knows how to perfect by being with her; the lilies he bought in bulk just to spread them around the place because she loves them so much; the way he tells her to close her eyes and she does, even though she's got a giddy grin on her face and knows what he's up to.

She opens them and begins to cry nonetheless, seeing him on one knee at her feet.

From the moment he walked into the café, he fell in love with her. He gained a friend and a partner in that little window of time that was only for them. He trusted her before he trusted himself. He feels like a teenager when he's with her, so excited to be in her company and giddy with the simplest touch; and he feels more like an adult than he ever has, knowing she’s the most important part of his life and he needs to cherish her, protect her. He loves her smile and her laugh. Her voice. Her eyes. Her kindness and her patience. Her smart mouth. The way she knows him long before he's figured it out himself. The way she can calm the storm in him with a whisper and a touch. He's difficult and grumpy, and she chooses him every time. He loves her so much it hurts.

He tells her all of this. And then he asks her if she'll marry him, since it's customary. Even though they’ve been organising their documents and ensuring everything is in order for months, he still asks. She deserves to hear him ask.

She says yes.

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#kiwisbell's fics #las mañanas #javier peña #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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i-am-mldy · 11 days

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As a long time nalu fan, I can't help but compare how Mashima wrote Rave Master how he's writing Fairy Tail, especially the relationship between the two leads of each manga.

The finale of Rave Master was so climatic! Heartrenching! Haru and Elie were separated for a year! She forgot who he was but everything fell into place once they saw each other again. Then they got married!

Then...I look at Natsu and Lucy.

Those two have one of the best male-female relationships in anime, but we can't deny we've sort of reached a plateau with them. Every new development never seems to go anywhere. I just can't help but feel frustrated cus looking at Rave Master, Mashima knows how to write romance! I guess he wants something different with them, but if that's the case, WHY does he keep teasing them but NEVER lets them develop into their potential? My guy, we've been suffering for yearssssssss.

Tartaros Arc had it. FT reached its emotional and narrative peak in that arc. No other arc compares. Then everything went downhill but that's a whole different conversation.

Edit: I can't believe I forgot to mention the other freaking FT ships! They're canon! They got development! Gray learned to be more open with his feelings for Juvia! Jellal finally learned to let go of his guilt and live for Erza! GAJEEL AND LEVY ARE PARENTS. WHY IS NATSU STILL AN IDIOT AND LUCY GETTING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AND CONSTANTLY MADE INTO A JOKE (EDOLAS DOESN'T FREAKING COUNT).

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail 100 years quest #fairy tail 100 yq

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inoreuct · 7 months

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I've been loving your ZoSan drabbles, they honestly make my day. I do have a potential drabble request if you'd like: I feel like these two idiots tease each other mercilessly for the dumbest things, like an old married couple. It's almost a game for the rest of the crew to how long it takes them to turn the teasing into either flirting or kissing. It's peak entertainment for the crew

thank you so much??$4!;7:)3 I’M SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT and yes. absolutely. I FLEW TO MY DOCS TO WRITE THIS AND IT WAS SO FUN. the tension is through the roof; not even with the bickering but the teasing. it’s playful and easy and they’re more fond than they should be and is an insult really an insult if it’s said with a smile? anyway. enjoy 😽

“Oho! The world’s greatest swordsman can’t handle a kitchen knife!” Sanji has his hands propped on his hips, faux-flabbergasted and crowing like a town crier. Zoro looks about three seconds away from chopping him up with said kitchen knife instead of the carrots on the countertop. Usopp fears for the cook’s safety.

“Do you think we should… do something?” he turns and whispers gingerly, leaning across his mug of tea so that Nami can hear him from where she’s seated across the table.

“Something like preventing a possible murder, or getting them to finally kiss? Because…” She takes a pointed slurp from her own mug, her amused gaze fixed on the way Zoro is now animatedly arguing back. “We could do both. Or neither. I’m entertained either way.”

Usopp turns back around, hiding his face in his drink as he eavesdrops shamelessly. He must have missed some conversation, because now Zoro’s sniping about Sanji’s hair, of all things. How they got so far from the original topic in such a short time? Usopp does not know.

“Well, at least I don’t spend an hour rubbing conditioner on my head,” Zoro scoffs, and Sanji gasps like the swordsman had just cussed out his entire family three generations up and down.

“And that, my dear marimo, is why it looks like a lawn,” he declares with a prim sniff, flicking the tap on with a flourish. “An untrimmed lawn. That a dog ran all over.”

“Wh—”

“No, no,” he laments, scrubbing at a dish in the most melodramatic way Usopp has seen in his life. “A pack of dogs. And they shat all over it, too.”

Zoro puffs up like an angry cat, clearly winding up to verbally throw down, and Usopp turns around to find Nami smirking at him with her eyebrows raised as if to say, see what I mean?

“This is incredible,” he whisper-shouts, amazed.

I know, she mouths delightedly, eyes shining like golden coins.

“What are we talking about,” Luffy hisses, and Usopp damn near jumps out of his skin.

“Great Mother Ocean, when did you get here?!” he nearly squawks, pulling his volume down at the last second, just in time to hear a victorious “and that is why no crab in its right mind would ever want to eat you!” from Zoro. He doesn’t even bother to question it anymore.

Luffy shrugs, biting into an apple with a satisfying crunch. “Like two seconds ago. Are Zoro and Sanji fighting again?”

“More like flirting,” Nami laughs, gesturing with her chin.

Usopp gives up on straining his neck and gets up to straddle the chair properly. The convo has somehow turned back to hair; Sanji has one hand plucking delicately at green strands, the other covered in soap.

“Keep talking shit about my brows and see if I will,” he says haughtily, and Usopp strains his ears for context as Zoro bares his teeth in a grin, his eye twitching.

“As if I want you to cut it. You’d probably make it all uneven.”

A dry ha! “That’d be an improvement.”

The sniper whips around wildly to look at Nami. Either he’s hearing things, or they sound almost… fond. The way their navigator’s sitting forward in her chair hints at the latter. Luffy bites into his apple again, mumbling, “Why haven’t they kissed yet?”

Usopp explodes into a flurry of desperate hand movements, mouthing exactly! Exactly! so enthusiastically that his cheeks hurt.

His captain smiles and then pauses, tilting his head. “Have they kissed yet?”

Usopp’s worldview shatters into shards that then start rearranging themselves because that is a very real possibility. Sanji and Zoro have been bickering ever since before the cook came aboard the Merry, but somewhere along the line it had turned to something more lighthearted, less I’m-gonna-gut-you-like-a-fish-and-have-your-entrails-for-breakfast and more you’re-so-damn-annoying-sit-down-and-let-me-help-you.

The three of them turn in unison to stare at how Sanji and Zoro are now nose to nose, Sanji peering down the scant half-inch he has above the swordsman in height with a smug smile and murmuring “—not what you were saying last week, marimo.”

Zoro tips his head, not backing down even as Sanji cooes at him and somehow, somehow, it doesn’t sound condescending. Usopp is losing his mind. “Never said that, curly-brow. You were the one who filled in the blanks.”

“You left blanks for me to fill in.”

“You’re delusional. There’s gas in your brain, that’s why your head’s so big.”

“Oh, yeah?” the cook grins, lazy and bright, eyebrows going up as Zoro steps into his space. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Zoro smirks and tilts his head back. “I don’t know. You tell me,” he murmurs, before pulling away and dropping a whole stack of dirty crockery into the sink. “Better get to washing, dish boy.”

Usopp’s eyes are bugging out of his head as Sanji yells and sprays Zoro with water from the pullout tap, sparking a whole new round of squabbling and ankle-kicking and wayward elbows.

“You’re seeing this, right?” he asks desperately, turning around in his seat and gripping the edge of the table. Gosh, he’s feeling light-headed. “I’m not going crazy?”

“Nope,” Nami sighs, popping the ‘p’. “Wanna bet?”

“On?” Luffy shuffles closer, grinning around his apple and she shrugs a shoulder, feigning disinterest.

“How long it takes dumb and dumber to get their shit together.”

Usopp really doesn’t know how much he’d be willing to put into this. The way that they fight’s more pigtail-pulling than anything, and that in and of itself is telling— Not to mention, again, how this has been going on for months. Sanji would give Zoro shit for being messy but then go to clean anyway, only to find Zoro’s things already packed. Zoro would snip at the cook for being rigid about dessert before dinner and then find a slice of sour raspberry tart on his bunk, way after teatime was over. Usopp had honestly thought they’d been doing it out of spite, but now…

Then again, with how repressed the both of them were? “…A hundred berry, one month,” he decides, and Nami wrinkles her nose.

“Stingy,” she complains, but she’s hiding a smile as she turns to their captain. “Luffy?”

The boy hums thoughtfully, twisting around. “Are you two kissing?” he yells, and Usopp’s heart fucking drops to the floorboards as the pair stares at them wide-eyed and bursts into protests.

“What— this idiot?”

“The hell? No! Why would you—”

“—on any planet would I ever—”

“Absolutely fucking not. His refined palate—”

“—His brains are in his biceps—”

“Okay,” Luffy says, shrugging as he finishes the last of his apple, core and all, and flings a singular seed into the tiny bin by the sink with startling precision. “Five hundred, two weeks.”

Usopp can’t help it. He bursts into laughter, smacking his forehead into the tabletop as he clutches at his stomach and the twinge in his ribs. He can hear Sanji’s panicked shouts of “what? What were you betting on? Usopp, tell me now—” and Zoro growling, “Luffy, I swear if this is what I think it is—” and oh.

The sniper grins into the table. Oho. Did that not imply that Zoro knew something was going on? He could be wrong, but— “Seven-fifty, one week.”

“A thousand!” Luffy counters immediately, and Usopp cackles helplessly because he knows that his captain’s just shouting out numbers now, Luffy doesn’t even have the money.

“How about we spill the beans on what the hell we’re betting on, and I make us all a special dinner, hm?” Sanji pleads, and it’s honestly funny how hard he’s trying to find out.

“Absolutely not,” Nami replies, her grin saccharine sweet. “A joint bet of one thousand, seven hundred and fifty berry for one week. Y’know,” she studies her cuticles, pursing her lips in an unbothered moue, “This is the one time that I’d be happy not to collect. Don’t let me down, hm?” She gets up and slides out the galley door, and they hear her laughing all the way down the hall.

Zoro looks like he’s about to have a conniption. Sanji has his hands buried in his hair, looking up at the ceiling and turning around like he’s begging for a divine answer. Usopp and Luffy share a gleeful look.

This is going to be a marvellously interesting week.

fin.

#zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #ronoroa zoro #black leg sanji #THESE FUCKING IDIOTS #this was hilarious to write #i love them so much #they’re so stupid #ALSO NAMI AND USOPP WOULD BE BESTIES PLEASE #THEY GOSSIP AND TALK SHIT!!#one piece zoro #one piece sanji #one piece #ask box #ino’s ask box

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livelovecaliforniadreams · 1 year

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wangxianficrecs · 1 month

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💙 Contingency Plan by krispy_kream

💙 Contingency Plan

by krispy_kream

M, 8k | 1,5h, Wangxian

Summary: “You’ll still love me when we’re old and ugly, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. “We’ll have each other while everyone else is busy with their kids and their dogs and annoying in-laws.” And Lan Wangji asks, "Why Wait?" Kay's comments: I don't have words, this story was just so incredibly funny and cute and it made me shriek in delight every other line. The absolute peak of idiots-to-lovers, never have I seen the trope written so well! Wangxian truly deserve each other! The way they get married for tax reasons and housing benefits and both just go: but we do this as friends obviously and my feelings will never be returned but that's fine because we're friends :) Just. Perfectionn. Also, the line in the excerpt about living with Wei Ying being like living with a pet is the best line ever period. Also, this story is also available as a podfic!! Excerpt: Living with Wei Ying is a lot like owning a pet. Not that Lan Wangji thinks of him as such, that would be inappropriate, but he demands attention in a similar fashion and Lan Wangji often finds him eating things he shouldn’t, so there are similarities. “I will cook,” Lan Wangji insists when he catches Wei Ying dipping doritos in cup noodles. “What, for both of us? You don’t have to do that—” Wei Ying tries, but Lan Wangji is already ripping open the fridge to keep himself from ripping the cup noodle from Wei Ying’s hand. “I seem to recall a contingency plan that involved me as acting housewife,” Lan Wangji says. “That wasn’t—!” Wei Ying splutters. “I didn’t say housewife.” “Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees with a small twist of amusement. “You used far more words.”

podfic available, podfic length: 1-1.5 hours, pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, idiots in love, getting together, marriage of convenience, friends to lovers, moving in together, marriage proposal, mutual pining, humor, fluff and humor

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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spideycatt · 9 months

Note

What’s the origin for the nickname “moss”?😭

Cat and Mouse Part 2 || 42!MM x R

Synopsis:

The aftermath of Meadow revealing your secret/ a backstory

Word count: 2.5K (lord)

Now playing: you know wassup // kehlani, angel // pinkpantheress

part 1!

Warnings: Reader is Black, this is pretty tame, cursing, weed in one part, Y/n / Ynnie is used, Fighting but it’s just described😸

Not rlly warnings: The flashbacks and what we tell the class isn’t exactly the same, just the more detailed version. Gwen is black in this universe just becuz, no superheroes or villains just a reg earth, college drama oooo, Reader was a goody two shoes before meeting Miles (Like… not knowing was weed looks like goody two shoes),

“So you guys are dating!!” Someone in the crowd shouted, everyone agreeing with them.

“Actually,” you said smiling, making your way over to Miles and Meadow. “We’re married. Since last year.” You finished, untucking a necklace from your shirt to reveal a ring on a necklace, making everyone go crazier.

“Dont even think about startin’ all that yappin’! Its time for class so get your butts to your seats. Quickly!” Miles shouted making everyone complain as they made their way into their respective classrooms. You shook your head making grabby hands to your daughter.

“Meymey stop being a daddy’s girl and come back to mommy! I miss you already!” You fake cried, pouting as Meadow laughed at you.

“Papá! Isn’t mommy being silly?”

Miles smirked down at you, quick to agree with the baby. “Yup, she is. You had her all day its my turn.” He stuck his tongue out at you, scurrying into his room before letting you talk, making you chuckle.

You go back into the classroom, sighing deeply when you see all your students looking at you expectantly.

“What?” You say, deeply confused as to what they want from you now.

“Sooo, you’re not gonna tell us how you guys met??” One of your students replied with a wide smile on his face.

“Uhm.. no?” You chuckled shaking your head. “Why would I tell you that?”

“You owe us for lying to everyone for the whole schoolyear!!”

“Yea!”

“Pleaseeee Ms.y/n! Or should we call you Mrs. Morales?”

Once again, a round of ‘ooo’s go around the classroom, but this time directed at you.

“Alright alright I’ll tell you guys, and no you don’t get to call me Mrs. Morales. What’s wrong with y’all..” You mutter the last part to yourself, dreading telling your kids how you met your husband.

—

“You gotta be kidding me…” You whisper to yourself, looking at your new roommates. Your dorm situation had been all over the place the whole semester, resulting in you having to room off campus with what looked like the meanest man you’ve ever seen, and the nicest girl ever.

“Your rooms over there, kitchens over there, oh!— me and you share a bathroom, hope you don’t mind! My room is right there if you need something! Or if you wanna hang out I don’t mind.” The girl, Gwendolyn if you remembered correctly, smiled brightly at you. The tall boy next to her nodded his head at you both and went to his room.

“What’s his deal?” You question, trying to peak into his room. You didn’t see anything but purple walls before he closed the door though.

“Ah, that’s Miles. He’s nice once to get him, don’t worry! Super cute though, don’t you think?” She smirked, bumping shoulders with you.

“Yea… I guess so.”

—

“So you guys were roommates? That’s so boringgg.” Someone in the back whined.

“If it’s so boring then I don’t need to finish my story, right?” You laugh, stretching back in your desk chair.

“Bro why the fuck did you say that?”

“Dont listen to this idiot, Miss!”

“What did Gwendolyn look like?”

You stop to think about the question, trying to remember since it’s been a couple years since you’ve seen her.

“She.. was a little taller than me. Really pretty girl, big eyes, and she had a gap I think. And she had all types of piercings, and she always got her hair done in the color blonde with pink ends for some reason.”

“So she black?”

“Yea, but she’s from the country part of new york pretty sure. Anyways let me continue..”

—

You and Gwen had become good friends over time. You learned some new, albeit boring, things about her.

You couldn’t say the same for Miles though. You never really talked to him after you realized you weren’t gonna get past a quiet nod in your direction. But even then, you found yourself liking his coy personality. You wanted to learn new things about him, even if it was boring. Only thing you learned about him was that he was also studying to get an Education Degree.

You made your way back home after a long day at school, ready to shower and fall face first into your bed. Unlocking the door, you chuck your bag on the entryway table, ignoring how Miles stared at you with a confused look on his face.

You were right by your door when Gwen called your name running up to you.

God you loved the girl but damn can you live?

“Ynnieee, how was classes?” She asked, twirling her blonde and pink braids with a finger.

“They was aight, I’m tired as hell.” You groan, rubbing your eyes.

“Oh well before you go! Theres this thing I’m going to next Saturday. Come with me?” She looked down at you expectantly. You found yourself fighting against the voice in your head. Part of you wants to say no and sleep for days, but the other part sees this as an opportunity to get out the apartment for something outside of school for once.

“Alright. I’ll go. Now leave me alone I wanna sleep forever.” You say, rushing into your room to shower and lay down. You’d felt a little bad for rushing away like that, but your shower was more important to you in the moment. And you didn’t see how Gwen reacted to your slight attitude, eyes squinting at your door hard enough to burn a hole through it.

Your shower and nap worked wonders. You woke up at around 2 in the morning, not healthy at all but aye, a good nap is a good nap. You sit up in your bed, feeling way better than you had when you got home. Feeling a little thirsty, you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to eat some noodles for dinner too.

“Why you up so late?” You heard a gruff voice behind you, making you almost jump out your skin. You whip around to see who was talking to you, and it was none other than your mysterious roommate Miles.

“Miles, what the fuck?” You whisper scream, putting your bowl of microwave noodles down.

“You ain’t answer my question, ma.” He smirked at your annoyed tone, leaning his back against the counter across from you. You roll your eyes, ignoring how the nickname made you feel.

“I just woke up and i’m hungry, obviously,” you said, gesturing to your noodles. “Why are you up, Mr. Morales?”

“Can’t sleep.” He sighed deeply, looking down at you like he wanted to ask something.

“What?” You said softly, slurping on some noodles as you look back at Miles.

“Nun.. just, wanna hang out in my room?”

“Uhh sure..”

“Your rooms so clean..” You say, analyzing the things around you. Movie posters and artwork that seems to be Miles’ are strung around the deep purple walls. Not a speck of dust on any of his things, only thing slightly messy was his bed. Probably from tossing and turning while trying to fall asleep.

“Are you saying you thought I lived like a pig?” He laughed at you, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling a folding tray close to him.

You shrugged, slurping up more noodles while standing. You didn’t really know what to do with yourself, this being the first time you actually talked to Miles.

“Why you still standing up? C’mon,” He beckoned you to sit next to him, taking a shoebox from under his bed. “You ever smoke a blunt before?”

—

“So you guys played games and talked till you fell asleep?”

“Yup! Don’t tell him I told you this but, he sucks at Mortal Kombat.”

—

“…Huh?”

This earned you a confused look from Miles.

“A blunt. A joint. Doja.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Like… the singer?”

“You gotta be kidding me.” He lays back on his bed, laughing at you like his life depended on it. “You telling me you don’t know what weed is?”

“Why didn’t you just say weed in the first place!” You say, hitting him lightly on the thigh.

“Because you’re old enough to know what a blunt is?” He chuckled, sitting back up to open the shoebox and take out some stuff. You watched silently as a he rolled the ‘blunt’ up, staring at him as he brought it up to his lips and lit it up.

“I’ve never seen weed before,” You mutter scooting farther into the bed till you hit the wall. “Why does it look like…”

“Like what?” Miles asked, smiling a little as he waited to see where this was going.

“Nah, you’re gonna make fun of me.”

“I won’t, ma. I promise.” He said turning to look at you as he inhaled and blew the smoke in your face, making you fan it away.

“I was going to say it kinda looks like moss.” You whisper, looking away in embarrassment as Miles guffawed at your cluelessness.

“Man I’m never letting you live that down.” He shook his head with a smirk. You laughed also, heart swelling at the fact that this might happen again, and Miles may start talking to you more.

—

“After that we became good friends yada yada yada. We hung out a lot, and sometimes had sleepovers in each others rooms,” You say as you filed some papers away. “And Gwen didn’t like that.”

“Oh my god did y’all fight?!” A kid in the back exclaimed, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“What? No, I don’t fight people. She did want to fight me though.”

Everyone made a disappointed noise at that, when the door opened with Meadow and Miles looking inside.

“What lies she telling y’all now?” Miles scoffed as Meadow ran into her mother’s arms. He walked up to you and gave you a small peck on your cheek, making the whole class gag.

“First of all, ew. Second of all, Mrs. Morales was telling us about how she didn’t fight Gwen cuz she don’t fight people.”

“Mrs. Morales?” Miles said looking at you as you shook your head and shrugged. “Man she really is lying to yall. She did fight Gwen, whooped her ass for real. And then she handed my ass to me too. I’m getting flashbacks.” He shuddered at the memory.

“Miles!” You shoved his arm, but you were drowned out by the class asking why and what happened.

—

“You gotta be kidding me.” You whisper as you get hit with a strong sense of deja vu. Weeks have passed since the first time you and Miles talked. And you’ve started to catch feelings. But obviously, your sweet little roommate, who wasn’t really sweet or little at all, didn’t like that. Despite her very obvious disliking you and Miles’ blooming relationship, she didn’t do anything to stop you two from becoming more than friends. Until now.

You sigh deeply as watch Gwen all up on Miles, talking his ear off and rubbing in him as they sat on the couch. Miles payed her no mind, scrolling on his phone as he waited for you to come home since he missed you all day. She looked up at you smiling her fake little smile as she rested her head on Miles’ shoulder. “Hey roomie!”

You look at her with a straight face, eyes moving to Miles who’d jumped up to talk to you.

“Ma it’s not what it looks-“

“Ok. I’m going to bed.” Interupting him, you march into your room, slamming the door behind you hoping your roommates would take the hint.

—

“Damnnnn Ms.y/n you got played by Mr. Morales? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now me personally I would never treat you like that-“

“Dont even start with that foolishness,” Miles rolled his eyes at the kid. “It was a lil misunderstanding thas it. Lemme continue.”

—

But of course. Gwen didn’t.

“Ynnie?” Gwen knocked on the door before she came in. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Hm?”

“You seem out of it are you ok..?” She asked quietly, she sounded so… sincere that you almost thought she was being genuine. Almost. But her behavior these past few weeks was enough to not trust her.

She leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Is it because I got to Miles before you could?”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Gwen with a confused look on your face.

“Y’know. Cause I’m better than you and all that.” She shrugged with a smirk on her face.

—

“And then BAM Ms. y/n was all on her, and I had to come in and separate them, Gwen tried to get me to feel bad for her too. She was like “Miles! Do something!” ‘N I looked at her like “Really?” And she went crying to her room, embarrassing.” He tutted. “When I looked at Ms. y/n she started yelling at me and punching my chest, shoot felt like I was Gwen for a second! I’m sure she had it worse though, cause she moved out two days after. Extra embarrassing.”

“Damnnnn!”

“Ms. y/n you kinda scare me now..”

“Is he lying Miss?”

You hesitated before speaking, “I mean, its a lil dramatic sure but it aint too far off.”

“Damnnnn!”

“You guys are so dramatic. We talked it out after like a week and everything was all good.” You shook your head in disbelief as you pack up your things. Miles’ class ended squeezing into your classroom in the middle of his rendition, but you decided against bothering them and got some work done while playing with Meadow. It was now the end of class and everyone was huddled up on your large carpet, like a bunch of children listening to someone read a book at the library.

“What happened after that, papà?” Meadow questioned, tugging on his pant leg as he leans against the front of your desk.

“Enough from Papà. He’s a bad storyteller,” You said putting on your jacket and grabbing your work bag. “We start dating, graduate college, get engaged, have you- my sweet sweet princess, get married when you were two, and end up here teaching these losers about art and science! The end!

“Yup. The end. Alright c’mon back to class guys,” Miles directed, turning to look back at you before he walked out the door. “Chinese for dinner?”

“Mhm, is that ok with you, MeyMey?” You coo at your daughter as she agrees with you.

—

“Miles?” You whisper, leaning your head on your husbands shoulder as you rub your stomach.

“Whats up, Ma?”

“You think I’ll be any good at this? Teaching the students and the being a mom, I mean.” You sigh, looking up at him.

“You’ll be the best,” He whispered back, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and kissing your forehead. “I’m sure the kids will love you, and I’m sure our daughter will love you even more.”

You chuckled at that, slowly drifting off to sleep as Miles rubs your side gently.

“Daughter?”

“Yea, and something tells me she’s gonna be a daddy’s girl. Can’t wait to spoil my pretty ladies forever.”

“Yea… yea that sounds nice.”

kkuet.

The moss thing is based on a true story yall, and i’m the victim 😞😭

Everyone who requested a part 2!

@ulovejayy @sukisprettyface @edgyficuselastica @snowspidey @hey-girl-hey @cumbermovels @ohsoprada @pinkfenti @heavisdelulu @kllovrj @laylasbunbunny @chickenalfredo1312

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asukaskerian · 3 months

Note

prompt 4 for moshang with the mood "incensed" would be hilarous i imagine

Mythology - Foretold by the gods - moshang

So he might have, maybe, at some point -- some late at night or maybe very early point -- tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.)

He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'.

There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!][Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

'System-bro, what the entire fuck!?!' Airplane screeched inside his heart of hearts; ass on the floor (bruising), clothes askew (from sleeping in them!!), and the most gorgeous, terrifying man he'd ever seen staring down at him from the bed they'd crashed into (Mobei-jun first, because unconscious, Airplane later, because idiot) the previous night.

Because he had expected being sneered at; being talked down to; being attacked on sight. Being haughtily ignored, after sufficient groveling at crotch level.

But his most perfect, most unattainable creation, that Himalayan peak made flesh, saying that --

The problem with Airplane was, he didn't trust people. He didn't trust them to share their feelings and decisions with him freely instead of leaving him reeling at yet another swerve of which he was merely collateral damage. He didn't trust them not to lie to themselves, or even know they were lying to themselves, so even if they did tell him what they thought or felt he assumed they were doing the polite 'the real reason is none of your business but telling you to fuck off is rude' thing at best.

So yes, his favorite game from childhood had been to pick someone in the crowd and tell himself stories about their life. This guy is a grandfather of seven and doesn't know the birthday of a single grandkid and his eldest son just pointed it out to him, but not even angrily which is worse because that's how low the bar he failed to clear was, that's why the fancy package and the gloomy expression. That girl just broke up -- she's so angry though -- he was fucking her sister. No wait, her nails are short, it was a girlfriend for sure; she fucked her brother, a double betrayal. It had evolved into telling himself stories about his classmates and his half-siblings and his parents, since they were never ever gonna bother to invite him to take a real glimpse inside, anyway.

He was fully aware that statistically speaking he was probably wrong a lot of the time, but 1. coming up with coherent narratives was satisfying enough to smother the jealousy and loneliness and 2. as far as he was concerned it was true until proved otherwise, which was never.

But a guy who gave him nothing to work with. That was a challenge. That was fascinating.

....

But a guy who greeted him by "You are to be my husband?" with a tone of dismay?!

What the fuck! What the fuck!! What the flying dick-flapping fuck!!!

He was so shocked, he forgot to kowtow.

"You uh. My king?" He hadn't made the guy so above it all that he landed straight back into a a naive ingenue, right? "Just sleeping on the same mattress doesn't -- people don't have to be married to share--"

The muggy air of the inn room went so cold so fast that condensation rolled cold drops down his back.

(The effect didn't last; there was a haze in the air, briefly, and then a suffocating breeze from outside ruined the surprise air-con.)

"You will not speak to me like an idiot child," Mobei-jun-to-be rumbled threateningly, and then ruined the cool by continuing in that wtf vein. "My husband will show respect to his wife or his wife shall reign as a widow."

Holy shit, now Mobei-jun was the wife???!?!??? What? What! Airplane was dead. Again. For good.

He stayed down there sitting on his ass, waiting for the world to make sense. It didn't happen. The man of his masochistic dreams had crossed his arms over his massive bara titties like a barricade and was now sulking up there like an offended wi-- no, he couldn't even think it.

"My -- my king? It's only, ah, your humble servant doesn't... recall... getting married...?"

Eyes as blue as the afterimage of a lightning strike speared him through, metaphorically.

"Not yet. But we must."

He let out a long sigh; and his face didn't twitch when he moved to aggravate his wound, but the way he stilled for a breath was telling. Shang not-yet-Qinghua winced in reflexive sympathy.

"There is a prophecy."

"... Ah?" A prophecy. About his king. That he hadn't put into the story. That he hadn't even scribbled into the margins or thought about. 'System?!'

[Yes, valued User?]

"There is a prophecy for each generation, and most of them don't matter," the ice demon using that shitty inn bed as his throne said with a bitter tone. "But the eleventh ruler of the Northern Desert will be heralded by his foretold spouse; that is how he is confirmed."

"Ohh," Airplane said intelligently and with characteristic eloquence.

"'You will know them by these things," his king quoted sourly, "first, they will heal you; second, share your bed; third, offer their hand, and service, and their soul."

'Their soul! Their soul!! I was offering my sneakiness and maybe my dick, ah?! System!!! Who told you to mess up my creation with made-up prophecies?!'

[The easter egg category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" belongs to the third rung of canon : Word of God.]

But he hadn't told anyone--

But he'd written it down, he remembered now. 'Cuz i said so.'

Oh god. Oh immortals ascended before him. Oh little ancestors in both and either worlds. Someone fix this for him. "My king. Haha. My king, that is -- so vague! So vague?! How can there not be a dozen candidates with criteria so -- so stupid? And if the prophecy is common knowledge then people knew them in advance?! How were you not sabotaged right and left--"

...Oh no. He was gorgeous when he smirked like this, slow and feline, satisfied. My king, so unfair.

"This prince has long since made it a point not to sleep where others may catch him." A delicate pause. "He has also made it a point to return misplaced agents to his most obstinate siblings's chambers at a time his elders may not miss them."

"--Oh. Disqualifying them for trying to disqualify you -- so smart, my king!" For a moment, he had gotten enthused. But then he remembered that they were discussing his sudden non-canon matrimony, and then he started poking it for plot holes. "But -- just anybody can share your bed."

"The language is old, and clear. The prophecy speaks of the only person to ever share this king's bed."

... Hhghhhk.

That stare. So hard. Offended. Those cheekbones. So cutting. That nose, regal; that hair.

"My king," Airplane said as he climbed up to his feet, eyes trained on the floor and his knees and the things spread on the table and anything else at all. "Have you ever thought that the 'sharing a bed' section was metaphorical?"

He met the demon's eyes then, incredulous and angry, buoyant with it. "You haven't even shown me your dick and you think I should be making recompense?! What the fuck! Passing out on the same shitty mattress doesn't mean getting deflowered! I didn't knock you up with a snowball ass egg, why the fuck should I--"

Oh, he was tall. Also wide. Especially wide. Flatten me daddy indeed.

Oh, he was angry.

"It is not. Metaphorical. Though if all you need is to see my body--"

His hand landed on his belt. Shang eventually-Qinghua stopped breathing, body hot and bubbling with too much emotion--

It read like one of his waifu plots, the Joan of Arc types, unconquerable holy virgins except via the pressure of greater good.

A vague scrying over some random-ass kingdom, a little prophecy and welp! Nothing to it, just gotta fuck it out for the marital bed and then never again. At least you getting lawfully reamed has saved Bumfucknowhereistan.

'System. Demerit if I say hell no?'

[The bonus Mobei-jun questline remains optional, and brings User no penalties on opt-out.]

'Great.'

Like hell he was jumping into marriage because he liked some guy's face and didn't want to be bothered by geriatric busybodies tittering over his lack of wedlock. Who was he, his mother?

"I'll pass. Sorry, my king, at least I'm ditching you long before the altar?"

And with a sweep of his hand, he dumped all his things off the table and into his qiankun pouch, and was jumping out the window and doing a sick flip trick on his trusty borrowed blade. Airplane over and out, bro!

Thanks for nothing. Now his spank bank was forever tainted.

Three days later he was still dealing with bursts of anger and anguish and other moronic emotions, which didn't help navigating his miraculous return to the sect ("I was so scared!" lost its impact if he broke a sneery judgmental Shixiong's ankle with a well-placed kick) or the medical peak's nosiness ("Who cares about the bruises, my biggest injury is my blue balls and broken heart, thanks!") or Shen not-quite-Quingqiu's scalpel eyes.

His king's eyes were prettier.

His king was never going to be his king. Optional quest line. Yeah. He vaguely wondered how the System planned to make him betray the sect, then, who for, and then decided it wasn't his problem. Fuck it. He was sure it could do blackout poetry with his notes and pull out some contrived justification that would amount for half as much incentive as Mobei-jun's everything.

His fierce determination, his fearlessness, his skill, his -- his body.

His body that was extremely too visible on Shang in-his-soul-Qinghua's disciple bed, shoulders draped in furs and bountiful meaty muscle on full frontal display.

"I will not," he growled low and quiet, "be discarded by my spouse."

"Hhg."

He had snow leopard rosettes on his flanks in dusky blue, secret patterns never appeared in any cover art Airplane had commissioned.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 2/536 discovered. Keep going!]

... Oh god, it turned out Shang Qinghua was exactly as stupid as Bing-ge's most ice-cold chaste wives. Because 'lie back and think of England?' Yeah, he was going to think of England and that dick.

#svsss #asuka writes #writing meme

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