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macfrog · 7 months

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if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)

long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different

warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 9.8k

terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍

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“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.

You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –

Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.

He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.

Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.

Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.

His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.

He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.

That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.

But now he has it. Now he has you.

And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.

The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.

When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.

I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –

Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.

His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.

So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.

He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.

When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.

His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.

This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.

The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.

He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.

So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.

And then he’d bolt them back up.

Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.

He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.

“Joel? You down there?”

The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”

“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”

He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.

Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.

“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”

He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.

He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”

“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”

“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.

“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?

“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.

The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.

“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.

He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.

“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.

----------

He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.

The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.

There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –

I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.

He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.

Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.

He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.

The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.

He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.

But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.

Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.

And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.

He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.

You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.

He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –

You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.

“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.

He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.

This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?

And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.

So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.

He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.

But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.

No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –

You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.

You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.

“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.

“Then what’s your point?”

He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.

He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.

And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.

He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.

And then he leaves.

----------

Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.

He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.

Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?

He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.

Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.

He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.

And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.

His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.

She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.

She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?

And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”

He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.

No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”

“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.

She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.

The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.

The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.

You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.

He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.

His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.

But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.

Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.

“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”

“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”

She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.

Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.

“Not for you, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”

“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.

“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”

“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”

Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”

He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”

His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”

She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”

Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.

But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.

“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”

“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”

Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.

Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”

Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.

You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.

His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.

Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.

He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.

He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”

“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.

She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.

He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.

Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”

----------

He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!

His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.

He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.

“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”

Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”

“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”

“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”

Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”

“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”

His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”

It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?

Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”

He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.

He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.

But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.

And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.

His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.

----------

You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.

“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”

He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”

You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.

It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.

You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.

The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?

You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”

There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.

Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.

“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.

You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.”

It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.

“Don’t.”

There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.

Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.

You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.

Joel might not be done, but you are.

He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.

He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.

He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.

He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.

And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.

Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.

And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.

And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.

But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.

He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.

He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.

He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.

Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.

She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.

“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”

She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”

Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”

“Ha! No.”

She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.

“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”

He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”

Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”

“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”

It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.

Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”

“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.

Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.

His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”

He shakes his head again.

Nothing happened.

He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.

She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.

Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.

They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.

There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.

His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.

It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.

It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.

And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.

On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.

She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”

“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.

Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”

“Right. Right.”

“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”

Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.

Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”

“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”

She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”

“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”

“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”

Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.

----------

Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.

He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel’s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.

Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.

Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.

When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.

He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.

But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.

It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.

“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”

“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”

It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –

“Where is she?”

“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”

“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”

“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”

“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”

Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.

“He – say that again?”

“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”

“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.

Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”

He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.

“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.

He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?

There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.

He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.

----------

His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.

He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.

But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.

You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.

Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.

You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.

He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.

In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.

He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.

He’d love you. And you’d let him.

Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.

It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.

And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.

He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?

He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?

His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.

“Hello?” he murmurs.

“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”

He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”

“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”

Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”

He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.

He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”

“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”

Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.

The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.

He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.

He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.

In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.

His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.

Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.

He closes the front door gently on his way out.

----------

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amhrosina · 1 year

Text

Feelings are Fatal (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: omg whatttttt amhrosina writing a fic about someone not in a marvel show/movie???? whatttt???? the people who know me in person (& one of my fav mutuals) knew this was coming. what can I say? it’s pedro fucking pascal and i've been in love with him since GOT lol enjoy this angst fest!

request: rosi i noticed that you added pedro pascal to your writing list so im requesting a fic with javi comforting dea reader after a family member/friend dies. soft javi, maybe reader is drinking and theres an established but secret relationship. feel free not to write it if you dont like it but i saw your authors note about pedro and figured i would ask

Summary: Javi comforts reader after she gets terrible news and is forced to confront the depth of his feelings for her. Steve confronts Javi about his secret relationship.

(Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, minor injuries, alcohol, Javi is a grump but is a soft!boy w reader, cursing, lots of cigarettes lol, feelings are hard for javi)

The second you heard the receiver click on the other end of the line, the bulky phone slipped from your hand and tumbled to the floor. The booming crack of the plastic smacking the tile, followed by the trinkle of the pieces cascading across the floor, were the only sounds you could hear in the bullpen. You tried to find something to focus on, eyes glazing over as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You scanned the area around you, skipping over Murphy’s concerned gaze and landing on Javi’s empty chair.

Mierda. (Shit.) He was still chasing a lead in Cali, and he wasn’t supposed to be home until early tomorrow morning. It’s not like he would be able to do anything for you right now anyways, considering you were surrounded by people who would out your relationship in half a second if it meant their career might be boosted because of it, but his reassuring presence was something you sorely needed at the moment.

Your chest tightened as you processed what your dad had just murmured through the phone. You had been sitting when you answered the phone, but at some point, you must’ve stood, because you were currently white knuckling the back of your chair.

Murphy rolled his chair into your eyeline, waving his hands in the air. Everything around you sounded muffled, almost like you were under water, and you couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a few seconds. You ran through the tricks you knew off the top of your head to stave off a panic attack. You tried to take a deep breath, you counted the tiles on the floor, hell, you even tried to find five things you could see, but the rapidly rising pace of your heartbeat, and the shallow breaths you could barely manage told you your panic attack was in full swing already.

A gentle presence on your wrist sent a shock through you so prevalent that you snapped to attention and the world suddenly got very loud. Murphy was standing in front of you with wide eyes, murmuring your name, while the lucky few agents that happened to be in the bullpen when your phone rang stood a few feet back, observing you with keen interest. You weren’t stupid enough to believe they cared about your wellbeing. Nosy fuckers.

Your hands clenched into fists, shaking slightly. The indent of your nails pressing into your palm was a steady ache, one that you absolutely needed if you were going to walk out of the office without incident. And you knew that was where you needed to go. Away from here, away from the DEA’s bullshit bureaucracy, away from Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. You stumbled away from Murphy, turning on your heels when you reached the lip of the bottom stair. You would explain everything to everyone later, when you could think again. ‘If you still have a job later, pendeja (asshole/idiot),’ you thought miserably.

You barely remember jumping into your front seat, nor starting the car, nor pulling out of the police headquarters lot. You had a vague awareness that you arrived home when you unlocked your front door, but you were stuck in autopilot, and couldn’t bear to think about why you were stuck in autopilot.

You eyed the bottle of liquor Javi had left in your kitchen the last time he was here and sighed. Yes, you thought, that’s perfect.

Javi was driving like a maniac, and he didn’t give two shits about it. When Steve had called earlier, he hadn’t been able to give any details about their partner’s bizarre behavior, other than her hasty departure from DEA headquarters after a strange phone call. Steve was puzzled, but otherwise not too concerned about her. Javi, on the other hand, had carefully untangled himself from his business in Cali and hopped on the next available and inconspicuous flight home he could manage.

He could feel in his gut that something was wrong, and he couldn’t leave his girl hanging, job or no job. He wasn’t any closer to capturing Escobar anyways and had already determined that his trip to Cali was a colossal waste of time and resources before Steve had called him.

He’d been pulled away from DEA headquarters for long enough, and this was the perfect excuse for him to high tail it out of Cali and come home. He was tired, and he missed his conejita (bunny – term of endearment), and even though he’d never admit it, he missed Murphy’s early morning grumblings too.

He peeled into the nearest parking spot he could find to the apartment building and hurdled himself out of the driver’s seat. When he entered the building, he eyed the door at the top of the stairs. Dark – either Murphy was still at the office, asleep, or sitting in his apartment in complete darkness. His apartment was also dark, but a soft glow emitted from under his conejita’s door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He considered using the key she had given him for emergencies. Did this count as an emergency? He sure thought so, but he didn’t want to startle her, so he knocked on the door with anxious trepidation. He waited, straining to listen through the door for any sign of life inside the apartment. There was nothing, and then there was the loud crash of something glass hitting the floor, and Javi was through the door before she could let out a yelp.

She was on her hands and knees, hunched on the floor by her couch. Broken glass was all over the floor around her, though Javi couldn’t tell what she’d broken. He was more concerned for her palms and kneecaps, all of which were being pushed into the broken glass shards with little resistance on her end. He rushed to her side, lifting her off of the glass and into his arms.

“Javi?” She slurred, raising her chin in a defiant gesture.

“Cariño (honey), what happened?” He noted the way she slurred her words and the fact that her cheeks were tinted pink. “Have you been drinking?”

“Have you been drinking, Agent Grumpy?” She pouted, trying to mimic the way Javi’s lips would poke out when he was upset about something.

Clearly, she’d been drinking, but Javi couldn’t figure out what might’ve spurred this behavior. Out of him, Murphy, and her, she was the most levelheaded of the trio, and the least likely to drown her sorrows in a bottle of liquor. Dread coiled in his gut. Something awful must’ve gone down while he was gone, and he couldn’t help but feel like the idiot that couldn’t keep up.

“Baby,” he murmured, carefully navigating through the millions of tiny glass shards all over her living room floor, “¿Que paso (what happened)?”

“I dropped the bottle.” She breathed, clutching onto his shirt with her bloody hands. He didn’t care. He’d use a hundred of his shirts to stop her bleeding. He carefully set her down in a kitchen chair, untangling his limbs from hers. She seemed more alert now, more awake than when he’d busted through the door moments before. The cuts on her hands and knees were probably to blame for that, but Javi couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. First, he had to find a first aid kit.

Every agent was trained in basic first aid, and if they felt like being kiss-asses, they could take classes to get certified in trauma response. Javi hadn’t felt like being a kiss-ass, but he knew he way around a first aid kit. As he poked around her kitchen and bathroom cabinets, he stuck his head in the hallway every few seconds, checking on her. She was waiting patiently at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but she’d adopted a look that could only be described as “far away”, and his concern was growing by the minute.

Javi couldn’t figure it out. When they’d talked on the phone this morning, she was fine, chipper even. She was excited that he’d be home soon, and he had promised that he’d make up for the nights they’d lost while he was working in Cali. When her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she revealed that Murphy had just walked into the bullpen thirty minutes early, his breath had hitched in his throat as he almost let the words “I love you” slip from between his lips.

Javi wasn’t inexperienced with women, but he was sure that she was the only woman in the world that could get him that tongue tied. When the receiver clicked, indicating that she'd hung up, Javi had spent entirely too long staring at the phone in his hands, listening to the dial tone drone on and on as he searched his brain for wherever the hell that had come from.

But that couldn’t be what was bothering her. Steve had mentioned a phone call, but she’d hung up the phone with him before 8am, and she didn’t start acting weird until almost ten hours later. There had to be someone, something bothering her, and Javi’s chest ached with rage about it. The only person allowed to bother her was him, and he took that job very seriously.

“Bebé (Baby),” he sighed, propping the medical kit open on the kitchen table, “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

She swallowed thickly, sighing as he pulled up a chair in front of her. He gently lifted her hands to the light so he could see the cuts. They were shallow, but hands always bled a lot, so both of her palms were stained a deep crimson. She watched him as he began to remove pieces of glass from the cuts, and he waited patiently for her to explain herself. He’d wait for as long as she needed him to.

The stinging sensation hadn’t left your trembling hands, but you wanted to be tough in front of Javi, so you watched quietly as he wrapped your hands in thick gauze. He’d lit a cigarette two minutes ago, puffing smoke in the air at regular intervals as he worked. When he finally moved on to your knees, which had stopped bleeding ten minutes ago, you tried to figure out exactly what to say to him.

It wasn’t every day that your significant other’s mom suddenly and inexplicably dies during an evening nap, leaving everyone, especially your significant other, baffled and choked by her loss. His mom had quietly passed away earlier the year before, and he was only gone for two days before returning to Colombia. He hadn’t broached the topic since then, and you weren’t as comfortable with him then as you were now. You could confidently say that you had no idea how this was going to go.

You took a breath, and before you could talk yourself out of it, mumbled the same words your dad had spoken hours before, causing your world to crumble around you.

“Mi mamá está muerta. (My mom is dead.)”

Javi sucked in a breath, lifting his gaze towards yours with a pitiful expression. Tears welled in your eyes, and for the first time since you’d heard the horrible news, you allowed yourself to cry. Javi dropped the gauze on the table and wrapped his muscular arms around your neck, pulling you into his chest.

“Oh, Cariño,” he cooed, kissing your hair as you sobbed into his shirt, “Lo siento, bebé. (I’m sorry, baby.)”

His shirt was sure to be irreparably stained now that your blood and tears were soaked into it, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stroked your back, kissed your head, and held you close while you cried and cried into his chest. He’d never seen you so vulnerable before, and a rush of fear shot through you at the thought of him scaring away because of that, but every time you tried to push away from him, he’d tighten his hold on you and urge you to let it out.

When you finally got a handle on your sobs, Javi pulled back, searching your expression for any further breakage. He’d weather it, this awful storm, for as long as you needed him to. You knew that, and even still, when he began to put the pieces of you back together again, your heart melted at the thought of him.

Javier Peña was not the guy that women came crying to in the middle of the night. He was the guy you picked up for the one-night stand, the one you’d talk about for years afterwards, the one you’d think about as ‘the one that got away’ until you were too old to remember his name and where he came from. That was Javier Peña, and yet, he was in your kitchen, cleaning up your wounds, healing the part of you that was inexplicably broken. If only Murphy could see you guys now.

“Cuando es el funeral? (When is the funeral?)” He asked, blotting at the scabs on your knees.

“Next weekend.” You murmured, wincing as he taped gauze over a particularly deep cut.

“When mi mamá died,” he started, and you stopped breathing, unwilling to be the one to fuck this conversation up before it even started, “I didn’t let myself mourn the way I should have. I tried to sweep it under the rug, ‘ya know?”

You nodded, remembering the weeks after his return from Texas. He had thrown himself into his work, which made yours and Murphy’s lives a little easier for a while, though neither of you preferred it that way.

“Let yourself mourn, Cariño. It’s my biggest regret.”

“Okay.” You nodded, though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant by that. You spoke before you could stop yourself. “You can still mourn her. There’s not a time limit on grief.”

It sort of felt like the air was sucked out of the room. You’d never said something so bold to Javi, especially not about his personal life. You were five seconds away from blaming your brashness on the alcohol you’d consumed, even though you’d sobered up fairly quickly once he’d arrived, when he nodded.

“That’s true, Cariño.”

You blinked. You must really look like shit if Javi wasn’t actively building walls around himself. Sure, he’d opened up a little throughout the relationship, but he was still working on being vulnerable with you, and he had a lot of work left to do. You knew he was plagued by nightmares – you were too, and who, working this job, wouldn’t be? – but he wouldn’t talk about them with anyone. Instead, he’d pull you closer, kiss you harder, and make you forget why he’d woken in the first place. It was a coping mechanism that both of you recognized as ‘not actually coping’ but neither of you had the resources or the energy to work through that trauma. At least, not yet.

He lit another cigarette, and you watched him breathe in the smoke deeply. He lifted it toward you, and you eagerly parted your lips, taking a much needed drag. Before Colombia, before Javi, you hadn’t touched a cigarette in your life. After being assigned to team Murphy-Peña, you felt like you had a perpetual cloud of smoke hovering over you at all times.

Javi brushed his hands together and threw the remaining unused gauze back in the first aid kit. He gently pulled you from your seat, and the slight movement sent a sting through your legs. You were already regretting the alcohol and your hangover hadn’t even started yet.

“Let’s sleep at my place tonight, Cariño. We’ll clean this up tomorrow.”

You nodded, teary eyed again. You didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or next week, or any time in the future that didn’t include your mom. If Javi noticed your tears, he didn’t say anything about them, and you were grateful for his wherewithal. He always knew exactly how to handle you, and that was part of the reason you’d fallen in love with him.

Love. You blanched. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

You shrugged the thought away as Javi lifted you bridal style in his arms. Javier Peña didn’t fall in love, and you certainly weren’t going to be the woman to challenge that.

Bonus Scene: Steve confronting Javi about his secret relationship with you.

“Are you fucking stupid? You’ve got to be, to pull this bullshit.”

Javi watched Steve pace across his living room. Again. He’d been walking a hole in the rug for half an hour, and Javi wasn’t sure Steve would be stopping his rant anytime soon.

Technically, Javi deserved this. Everything Steve was saying was true. He was jeopardizing not only his career, but hers too. The integrity of the investigation against Escobar would be questioned if word got out that two of the three agents assigned to his case were fucking each other. Not to mention how quickly procedure would be thrown out the window if either of them were in danger. There’s a reason why those rules existed.

But like most things, it wasn’t that simple. Javi hadn’t been able to offer an excuse for when Steve caught him carrying her into his apartment, taped to high hell with gauze and tipsy as all get out. He’d simply shrugged, unlocked the door, and carried her through the frame without a second glance.

Now, Steve wasn’t stupid, but he chalked up that incident to her being overwhelmed with grief. What friend wouldn’t offer their couch up to their drunk, mourning partner when she needed it? What he didn’t know was how often she slept at Javi’s already. She even had a toothbrush in his bathroom and a stack of books piled on one of the nightstands in his bedroom.

Steve’s suspicions might’ve grown a little the weekend that she went home to Oceanside for her mother’s funeral. Weekends meant little to the DEA agents working Escobar’s case – every day was another day they could possibly learn information that may or may not give them someone who might know something about Escobar, or not – but Javi was especially fidgety the two days she was off on leave.

Steve finally demanded to know what the hell was bothering Javi when he caught him staring at her empty seat for the third time in an hour. Javi brushed it off, claiming he hadn’t been sleeping well, but Steve wasn’t so easily persuaded to look the other way again.

The final straw, the one that prompted the yelling and the insults and the pacing, made Javi’s relationship with her so obvious that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could talk his way out of it. Steve, being the hero best buddy that he was, had heard an alarming thump from Javi’s apartment, and taken it upon himself to investigate. What he hadn’t been expecting to find was his two partners, tangled in each other’s limbs, going at it on the kitchen counter like rabbits.

Hence, the yelling.

“I mean, seriously Javi? You could fuck any woman in the world, and you chose the one woman that’s off limits!”

“Listen, man. I-”

Javi tried again to interrupt Steve’s rant, to explain himself and what he felt for her. Steve was missing the bigger picture. Javi wasn’t just fucking her, he loved her. He couldn’t figure out if that would make Steve more or less angry about it.

“You what, man? You what?!” Steve threw his hands in the air, beckoning an excuse that might help him understand why his partners would be such idiots.

Javi struggled to translate his feelings into words. He hadn’t even told her yet exactly how he felt and saying it now felt weirdly similar to a trial run. He searched his head for the right words to describe what she was to him.

“I’ve been sleeping.” Javi rested his hands on his hips and sighed, eyes flickering across the ceiling as he realized how incredibly stupid that sounded outside of his brain. “I know I love her, because I can sleep after I’ve talked to her.”

Steve studied Javi, searching for any signs of deception. He narrowed his eyes when he couldn’t find any.

“What do you mean you ‘love’ her?”

“I mean, I fucking love her, man. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Javi was growing restless, tugging at the neckline of his button-down shirt. Conversations like these always made him antsy, and he could feel the temperature in his cheeks rising.

“You.” Steve cocked a grin, “Javier Peña. In love? I’m not buying it man.”

“Well, I’m not going to try and convince you.” It was Javi’s turn to throw his hands in the air in distress. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“You actually care about her?” Steve’s expression morphed from disbelief to genuine shock. Javi wished he could take a picture to savor the moment.

“Are you going to say anything to anyone?”

Javi would normally never be so obvious about his fears, but he was thinking about her, back in her apartment, probably walking a hole into her rug as she waited for Steve and Javi to hash their shit out. The look on her face when Steve started yelling was enough to make Javi panic, and he was not above begging if it meant keeping her out of trouble.

“Nah, man.” Steve shook his head, plopping down on Javi’s couch. Javi sagged with relief. “Just don’t make it so obvious. I was suspicious before I walked in on you two.”

“Yeah, man.” Javi took another drag of his cigarette.

“Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” Javi couldn’t keep the bite from his tone.

“That you love her.”

Javi envied the ease that Steve managed when he talked about love. Before she’d been transferred to Colombia, Javi had never, in his life, been able to understand why anyone would choose to fall in love. He recognized the signs of it from the years of watching his parents interact, but he’d never experienced it before. When Steve talked about Connie, whether it was a complaint or not, there was always an underlying tone of love in his words. When she showed up, everything Javi had ever thought about love was scrambled, and it terrified him.

“No.” He blew out a slow trail of smoke.

Steve nodded slowly in understanding. If anyone in the world could comprehend Javi’s mindset right now, it was the guy he’d spent hours and hours with every day for years.

“Maybe you should.”

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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grogusmum · 2 months

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THRO BACK THURSDAY IS BACK, Y'ALL!

You know what that means! Hazel's fic recs!!

Okay, I heard from some lovelies!

I haven't had time this week to read them (by Tuesday, I was already having A Week!) but am looking forward to lighting a fire, getting cozy, and digging in!

And, of course, I will be reblogging as I go! Because we want to hold up our beautiful writers, artists, and creators in our fandom!

So please check these out, and if you enjoyed them, give them more than a "like", give them some love with a reblog, and a comment or reaction pic or gif.

So here we go:

Let's start off with a self rec @burnwater13 , Thank you, mdear!! (WRITERS SHOW YOUR OWN FIC LOVE!!) Berni is a WONDERFUL fellow Grogu pov writer, and here is one found on Ao3:

The Passenger as told to Ta'lan Bet by Grogu

Next up, an offering by the delightful @tinytinymenace is

The Margay by @ohforficsakelibrary

(This is already on my TBR list! So thanks for the push!!💚)

Here's what she says about it:

It's an ongoing series with Frankie Morales and sniper OFC Audrey Goddard. I devoured the entire thing and am gradually reblogging it (because I can be slow with the comments). I've been trying to be articulate about why I love this series when all I really want to do is smash my keyboard. The characters feel right. Everyone is competent. I find this version of Frankie interesting. There are these phrases scattered throughout that are just chef's kiss. Like describing Frankie laughing: "Offers her his back teeth." So good! And the smut is smoking hot!

Our final submission from the lovely @ghostofaboy is the masterlist of @elvenmother

For throwback Thursday - I really feel like @elvenmother's fics don't get enough love. She has three that I adore and love to go back and read. But they all came out before the Last of Us boom, I think.

Context and Perspective - Marcus Moreno and Supervillian Reader which is really touching.

Art of Crossed Wires - Marcus Pike cute meet filled with misunderstandings.

Shattered - Agent Whiskey angst fest that broke my heart (in a good way).

Thank you for sending in fics!

Finally, in the interest of doing what I tell others to do, give my own fic some love!

My self rec:

Hechizado

JAVI G x AMERICAN WITCH OFC

A little Bewitched stylr hijinx, and much ado about nothing! Kelly's visiting Mallorca with her familiar, who runs off, and Javi finds him. Sparks fly of the amorous kind when her cat is returned to her, but she fears magic is the culprit!

#hazel's thro-back thursday fic recs #pedro pascal character fics #marcus pike #jack daniels #frankie morales #marcus moreno #pedro pascal #din and grogu #din djarin #grogu #javi gutiérrez #javi g

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x-authorship-x · 9 months

Note

if you were to make a vampire au for shisui, how'd you think you'd do it?

would vampires be something well known? would they be rumored but dismissed? (im personally fond of aus where the mc suffers in silence)

Would it be before or after shisui's death? How would he deal with the sun?(if your vampires have that issue) If he's in the village, how would he source blood? would he be in denial at first? terrified of what he's becoming? Would he pretend to be the same? would he pull away? would others notice?

sorry for word vomiting sometimes i just Have Thoughts and I wanted to share them with you

Please don't apologize! I'm busy most days rn but don't be discouraged if it takes a while for me to respond, I love chatting in my askbox haha

This AU is so 🤌🤌🤌 scrumptious ✨

Honestly my first thought was (slightly cracky) that Shisui's Mangekyou is just... !Vampire! 😅 Like wow nice Genjutsu eyes, my Mangekyou makes me drink blood and get sunburn but I think I'm immoral now anyway so~

Or it could be a really taboo Uchiha bloodline failsafe! It's how Madara has stayed alive, changing him was how he saved Obito, and Obito fished Shisui from the river and bit him to keep the legacy and have an 'inside man' in konoha (plus working alongside Kakashi) only for Shisui to absolutely not get the memo that Konoha itself is supposed to be his enemy, not that his weird cousin Obito (totally living in the woods, which is fucked up, but also valid because the family is in shambles and Shisui can sympathize with extreme escapism) did him a solid by patching him up to enable Shisui to go and rip out all the problems and fix the village... It's handy that Danzo can't kill him again tho lmao

On another tangent... Maybe Fire Country turned against the 'monster families' like the Uchiha Vampires (Kakashi werewolf, need I say more?) And so the Senju Dryads made a new settlement, Konoha, with the Uchiha and boom! Monster-ville! The problem for Naruto can either be just general distaste for overpowered and mischievous foxes or it could be that the Kyuubi attack threatened to expose them to humans and now the whole village is blaming Naruto for the spike in persecution etc etc... Interesting things to think on....

The angst fest? Well I tried but then I got to "shisui, neck deep in self loathing and denial, is starving for blood on a mission and ends up gorging on their enemies and is terrified of Kakashi's reaction but Kakashi is just straight up horny lmao" and it all derailed lmaooooo

Great AU idea, anon! And Shisui's so pretty and Tenzo so emotionally awkward that we could even recreate a Twilight AU spoof with this lmaoooo

#torship #torship talks #ask #anon #shisui #shisui au #vampire au #vampire shisui #werewolf kakashi #dryad senju #obito #madara #tenzo #shisui x Kakashi #shisui x tenzo

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darth-sonny · 1 year

Note

WAIT BIG SISTER IS THE PREQUEL??

YOU'VE PLANNED THIS FROM THE START

yknow what now it makes so much more sense why you made Leo being stuck in the prison demension for weeks and his injuries being so severe

yep, pretty much

around the third?? fourth?? chapter I think, I got the idea for the Prime Leo au, although back then it used to be the typical "Leo gets Kraangified while in the prison dimension" and not the psychological horror angst porn fest that it is now

I legit also got the idea to make Prime and Subprime when I saw fanart of the 12 series and went "oh right they have a system!!" and boom. the bitch was born

#i will finish big sister mark my words #sonny answers #big sister #prime leo au

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codingpoodle · 1 year

Text

Blushing Tide

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Locked onto the brainwashed Inkling performing on Octavio’s Octobot, Marie releases the trigger, hitting Callie square in the face.

“Aaaah!” shrieked Callie, hypno shades lying shattered at her feet.

The lowtide ink was clearly working, though it was going to take some time before the effects fully hit. Callie swayed to and fro, almost drunkenly.

Below, the ink was flying in a ferocious flurry fending off the Octobot’s golden fists. A wild orchestration of Callie’s single “Bomb Rush Blush” blared through the arena, nearly deafening.

Whether it was the bass or white hot rage at Octavio, she wasn’t sure, but something powerful pulsed through Marie’s chest. “MAKE OCTAVIO PAY!” she bellowed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“BOOM!”

340-360. There was an actual number that represents her inferiority. An icedrop-like chill creeped through her heart, and everything started to fuzz over. She was happy for Marie, of course! But this Splatfest was different from the others -- those were fun little topics of contention and fandom. This... this was personal. Not like it was either of their choices. Management was trying to get engagement back up, so naturally the best way to make a splash was to pit the beloved Callie and Marie against each other. Who doesn’t like to watch some in-fighting?

Her mind went blank as she said the obligatory thanks...

Callie was the extroverted one while Marie was always the quiet but relatable introvert. Their voices seemed to reflect that as well; Callie’s being upbeat and sharp while Marie’s was soft in tone and had a flow that touched on some traditional techniques. Together, they had a unique harmony that propelled them to stardom.

That wasn’t to say they couldn’t find success on their own. After the final Fest, Callie plunged herself into work, be it music or acting. Marie had a rocking solo career, her final victory sailing her to the top.

She was happy for the white-ink woman -- carp, she was her biggest fan, but she’d be lying to herself if the loss didn’t sting. Her loss is directly tied to her this time, and she will always carry that knowledge.

It was selfish to keep coming back to these thoughts. She has a good life, and it’s not like she wasn’t able to find her own success. Not everyone can have as fresh a time as she’s been lucky to have.

But these intrusive thoughts haunted her, to the point it was reflected in her work. She took darker, angrier roles and her music’s tone became resentful. It resonated with the young Inklings who just discovered teenage angst, but she was no teen.

Callie couldn’t help it. Ever since she and Marie parted ways -- they had a good run, but it was tie for a change -- the Final Fest results crept up to taunt her. It came up in every interview, even when Marie had nothing to do with her current project.

It was exhausting.

One day, Callie needed a change in scenery. She found herself on the outskirts of Octo Valley. Maybe this barren scape could give her some new inspiration. At the very least the acoustics were great. Her voice echoed hypnotically as she belted her lungs out.

Callie didn’t know how long she’d been out in the valley. Her eyes stung from the dust, or perhaps something else. She heaved in and out, exhausted from freestyling but at least her chest felt lighter. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so private. A thick putter trailed behind her.

“Hey.”

She whipped around, eyes bulging, and gagged a few times (her throat was dry from the singing and acrid air).

Octavio, tentacles crossed and brows furrowed, stared her down. “What brings the better half of the Squid Sisters out to these lands?”

“How the kelp did you get out here?” Callie sneered.

The giant octopus shook his head. “I’m not here to pick a fight. In fact, I heard your little session.”

Callie flushed.

“I may be, as those Inklings may say, not the freshest, but I know talent when I hear it.”

“Can it. I’m going to put you back where you belong!” Callie reached into her bag and was about to draw her roller--

“There’s no need for that. I know how to drop beats, and you’ve been plateauing for some time. Yes, I’ve heard,” Octavio drawled, smirking at Callie’s embarrassed expression. “They say you’re getting stale. I can help you.”

“And why would I let you? You’re an enemy to society. I may be a bit out there, but I’m not dumb.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Shut up,” spat Callie, hiking the roller over her head.

“Your kind have the Zapfish. So be it.”

“Eh?” Callie dropped the shoulder, its weight making her lose her footing.

“It’s the cycle of our cursed world, but I accept it.” “You’re full of carp.”

“Not necessarily. I have something even better planned. Something that doesn’t require the Great Zapfish. It only requires your talent.”

Callie crossed her arms. “Oh really now.”

“Drop the act. I know you’re looking for something fresh. You would’ve splatted me by now if you weren’t interested.”

Her ears betrayed her, twitching in anticipation.

“Do I have your undivided attention?” He waited until Callie nodded. “You and me. Inkling and Octarian. It would cause quite the stir, would it not?”

Callie sighed. “Ok, fine. I’ll hear you out.”

#Splatoon #Splatoon Callie #Splatoon Marie #Splatoon 2 #Squid Sisters

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cap-ironman · 1 year

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1872 Month: Cap-IM Universe Medley Fest

It's the 15th, so welcome to the next month of Cap-IM's Universe Medley fest! You can create as many works as you like across as many different mediums as you like! This is a no-pressure, low commitment challenge to encourage you to try something new, stretch your creativity, and check out other versions of Steve and Tony. For our full fest guidelines, including our annual schedule, please click here.

Coming up, 1872 Month!

Four short issues make up this terrific comic, which was part of the Marvel-wide Battleworld event in 2015. No stress about back-reading, though—1872 works easily as a standalone run. Set in the Wild West, 1872 gave us the honourable Sheriff Rogers and drunkard Blacksmith Tony Stark. It has everything a Western fan could hope for! A boom town oppressed by a corrupt mayor, shootouts, drunken serenades for the Sheriff, Tony goin' West to escape his past, tragedy and vengeance. A word of warning: Steven Rogers dies in issue #2. But read on to see his death avenged and Iron Man make his first appearance in Timely. We adore 1872 for its angst potential and the special Steve and Tony moments. It's the perfect setting for vast desert vistas; dusty streets and wooden houses; saloons, horses and trains; missing friends and haunting pasts; tabula rasa; and makin' time with the Sheriff. Take this chance to create a fix-it or wallow in anguish (or both 😉). Explore post-run scenarios, delve into the pre-1872 story of Steve and Tony, and most of all, have fun with this setting. Ride on, cowboy!

WAYS TO PARTICIPATE

If you would like to earn a badge for 1872 Month, you must submit your work before the end of 15th February. UNIVERSE MEDLEY: If you post a Stevetony work set in 1872 canon in the next month, congratulations! Share it on a Cap-IM community platform, add it to the AO3 Collection and BAM! You've participated! UNIVERSE THEMED PROMPT FEST: Got inspiration? Fill out our prompt form to inspire creators! You can also come along and fill a prompt for the universe of the month, or two, or three… the sky's the limit! We have plenty of past prompt lists to browse through. Don't forget to share your work with us, and post in the AO3 Collection! RUN A MINI-CHALLENGE: Love a universe with all your heart and have an idea for a flash challenge? Let's do it! Get in touch with the mods to claim a month (or contact us on discord in the #universe-medley-challenges channel) and you can run it on cap_ironman's community platforms! The cap-im mods can also support you in setting up and/or modding the mini-challenge.

CLAIM YOUR PRIZE!

This is a fest encouraging fun exploration in various Marvel universes, and we'd like to invite you to share your milestones with us! Badge Milestones

I created a work this month!

I created my very first work in this universe!

I created something for each of the 12 months!

I participated for the second year!

I hosted a mini-challenge!

I submitted a amnesty fanwork!

If you do any of the above this month, let us know by filling out our Prize Claims form.

If you have any questions or comments, read our event guidelines, email us at [email protected], or get in touch on tumblr, on contact us on discord in the #universe-medley-challenges channel.

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #capimuniversemedley #capimevents

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meili-sheep · 2 years

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Just saw this post while definitely not procrastinating my work and immediately had the urge-- to make-- dOMESTIC BULLY THE FATUI HCS GIHDNSHFKSJF

Because yes chaos, but sometimes chaos needs some chill too :))

I feel like diluc would be really good at baking. Specifically cookies and bread. Just those two things. I imagine bread since its just rlly easy to make it, just slap some flour and water together, put it somewhere hot, wait and boom you got something edible. He probably had to learn in his 4 year angst fest since i do imagine him being lost in the wilderness or at least away from civilization for long periods of time and the easiest thing to make was bread made of just water and flour. Mans couldnt flavor it, so the next best thing he could do was make sure its cooked properly, using his pyro vision to keep the fire stable for long amounts of time. I imagine that over time his control over the heat gets so precise that he strategically toasts it for more flavor. The cookies part i imagine would be when he finally got back to mond, and that was the first real sweet thing he had back in mond. Sprinkle in some "i love adelinde, she is my surrogate mom", some past memories of late night cookies when he was a child, and a bit of the crippling realization that adelinde wont stay young forever oh god mORTALITY-- and hed be immediately learning the "family recipe".

I imagine yelan would be really good at sewing. Specifically, anything that had to do with string or yarn, and not the making clothes kind of sewing. Cats cradle, crochet, knitting, making tiny charms made of line and twine and string, etc. I legitimately forgot that her entire thing has to deal with string but im too far deep so wERE JUST GONNA KEEP GOING. I imagine she first got into it as a small child via the cats cradle game. She had and still has extremely dexterous fingers and hands, very useful for gambling and cats cradle. She did grow up kind of lonely though, so there werent a lot of people she could play with or just properly interact with like a child. So she just started learning and playing all by her lonesome. After she mastered single person cats cradle, she moved on to other things like the one handed rubber band game (i never figured out how to make the star and i am still sO PISSED ABOUT THAT after all these years), ayatori (hehe ayato), rainbow loom (war flashbacks), and so on. But as time went on, people slowly started to notice the rapidly declining supply of string they had so she had to quickly change her string thievery and games. Meaning, she learned how to sew. She started knitting little squares and shapes, she started embroidering blobs of colors on spare cloth, crocheting lines upon lines of thread on handkerchiefs as practice and so on. She kept the hobby up since apparently knowing how to sew cloth helps with sewing wounds shut. Its also very calming, helps with keeping her sticky fingers sticky.

Ayato i can see being an expert at paper folding-- paper games and origami. As the head of the yashiro commission, he has to have encyclopedic knowledge on his countrys culture and history to properly prepare, celebrate and respect the festivals and events it has. I imagine hed come across it while personally overseeing preparations for a festival or doing personal research. Maybe he sees the people putting up homemade paper decor like paper lamps, kites, the weird star thing they always require us to make during christmas, maybe he comes across a short snippet talking about its importance. Eitherway, hes alerted to its existence and is intrigued. His rich boi self is amazed at the ingenuity of the not as well off people, and sets off to learn to ensure that the next years festivals and events are a little more connected to the people and showcase a little more of their rich culture and history. He starts off learning how to make paper decor, expertly folded and made stars and squares and paper lamps and slowly but surely snowballs from there. He starts making more than shapes, little paper airplanes and cranes and fortune tellers. He was actually caught by thoma once playing paper football surrounded by folded pieces of paper. He said he was "doing research on the "commonfolk" and their games". Hes not exactly wrong but hes not exactly right either. It got to the point where thoma had to drag him away from the paper walls since he wanted to replace them with his own paper. His totally normal interest and definitely not weird kind of obsession does have its high points though, as he personally made and painted the paper fan his dearest sister ayaka uses. He got it right after 50 tries.

Idk just-- fisbdbdsfhksdkkd domestic bully the fatui ganggggg

Also hhhhhh i am seeing a trend with the length of my asks-- AHAHA sorry if its too much :,))

Don't worry about length! I have a tts reader just for such a reason. (I mean it's because i have dyslexia and reading is hard but I love the ideas)

I will refute bread being easy to make though. I'm a hobbyist baker and bread is one of those sneaky recipes. Simple ingredients but knowing the right texture and how long to leave it out rise. How many times it needs to rise and what is the best temperature for rising at. And then of course baking itself. I've yet to get a good bread out. It's yet to raise enough but I now I have a bread hook so I might try again. Ah but I sidetrack. I'm sure diluc might would be able to get an edible version out for himself.

But I like to think when he was young like before he started training with the knights he really hung around Adelinde and he baked with her. Which he took up once again when he returned home. He also gardens to get fresh ingredients for baking with Adelinde. It really is the closest he gets to feeling like he actually has a mother and a family.

I do love Yelan sewing, knitting and crocheting. I think it's what she does when She actually gets to go home. It's super relaxing but keeps her hands busy. I also like the idea of her knitting this for Diluc and Ayato.

I also think Ayato well good with paper folding and calligraphy. He actually also good with hair. Having helped Ayaka with her hair for years. So he'd happily braid Diluc's hair or help trim Yelan's

But domestic bullies are so sweet man I just want them to have a little house and just take a nice vacation together.

#Bully the Fatui Brigade #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #kamisato ayato #ayato #yelan #yelan genshin impact

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bleakqblake · 2 years

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Imagine having like a zombie apocalypse universe where instead of zombies it’s just everyone needing to kill the people they care about,

Like family and friends

And only a very small few aren’t infected, like they have strong minds and immune systems

Now imagine that in your fav wholesome fictional friend group

Boom. Angst fest

I have a small story I’ve been thinking about writing with this! (With my ocs)

#writing #mines ninjago #when I tell you this has been on my mind

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knightfuryvawannabee · 2 years

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TES Summer Fest Day 4. Sacrifice

Yeah so sorry for forgetting yesterday. I was low on spoons after work so I wasn’t able to do anything. 😅

Prompts by @tes-summer-fest

Anyways take some angst.

Shoda was just barely keeping her husband upright as Shodara and Brynjolf towed behind.

“Hurry! Before he brings it down on all of us!”

They knew the exit was close. They could hear wind rushing on the right side of the wall. The energy coming from the chamber with the Black Boom still rang loud in Shoda’s and Shodara’s head.

Brynjolf had to catch Shodara from falling over with pain.

“How much further?!”

“We’re almost there, just keep her upright!”

Brynjolf decided to just carry his lover on his back at that point. It was easier than trying to struggling with her wobbling about.

Farkas was barely keeping on his feet with the wound in his side. Even if the weapon wasn’t made of silver, it was still difficult to heal. He needed more specialized spell work.

Then everyone saw moonlight at the end of the corridor. It was a short distance away by that point. Shoda held Farkas tightly and managed to run the rest of the way with him.

She sat Farkas right outside of the exit. He was beginning to doze off from blood loss, so Shoda quickly wrapped it in bandages. Brynjolf exited soon after with Shodara.

When he sat her down, the pain in her head seemed to subside. But she could still feel the energy from the chamber. And the earth was still shaking rapidly.

“Why isn’t it stopping?!”

Shoda looked back into the corridor. She had an awful gut feeling, but she knew who the adversary was.

She started to run back in.

“Shoda?!”

Shodara began to run after her sister. Brynjolf ran in calling after his lover.

It felt like the run back in was so much faster now.

“Shoda what are you doing?!”

She didn’t seem to listen. What had gotten into her?!

“Shoda answer me, dammit!”

She stopped. She was back in the chamber with the book now. And then she turned around with a dreadful look.

“Miraak and his master aren’t going to stop until one or both of us are captured. They want us, Shodara.”

“So then we should go get backup so we don’t get captured!”

“Shodara if they don’t get one of us they’ll rip the island and possibly the mainland apart!”

“So then let me go! I can take them!”

“Shodara if you go then there will be no hope just fucking listen to me!”

Shodara felt her heart freeze. Shoda was fighting tears at that point.

“Shodara, you know I’m different than you. I wasn’t initially born with the dragon soul, it was gifted to me. If I’m the one I can at least buy you more time. So please, just let me do this for you!”

Shoda reached her hand behind her and the book opened. Her finger just barely brushed the corner of one of the pages. The room felt like it was changing.

Shodara reached out to stop it, but Brynjolf ran to her and held her back.

“You’ll get caught too!”

“Im not loosing my sister again, Brynjolf!”

Shodara tried to break loose but she was being pulled out of the chamber now.

“Come on it’s coming down on top of us!!”

She looked back at her sister who was visibly in tears now.

“What about Farkas?! Your husband?!”

Shoda closed her eyes as green smoke began to surround her.

“I know he’ll find his way to me…and I’ll find my way to him…I’m not dying I know that much…but I don’t know when I’ll be back on this plane…but I know you’re all resilient…they won’t stop until one of us is in their realm.”

A mass of eyes began to materialize behind her now. Shodara struggled more but the ceiling was beginning to fall in now.

“Shoda please, we can still get you out!”

Then she heard an awful voice in her head. It sounded otherworld yet grounded. Demonic but of an angel.

“I’m afraid…destiny has…already decided your fates…your time here…is not now…but hers…is.”

“HERMAEUS!”

The green smoke and mass of eyes continued to surround Shoda as the rubble blocked most of the corridor into the chamber.

“Sister!!”

Shoda could only get one more sentence out before she was dragged into the different plane.

“I love you, my sister…”

#knight writes stuff #skyrim #ocs #shoda hearthenia #shodara hearthenia #skyrim ocs #brynjolf #angst #sacrifice #tes summer fest

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jlf23tumble · 2 years

Note

May we please have a "best 1d fics of 2021" list from you?? Preferably mostly Larry but feel free to sprinkle in rare and alternative pairings at your leisure!

But of course!! As ever, I wanna avoid scroll rage/tedium, so I'll keep it at, say, '25 for '21, with some rarepairs at the end. I'll cheat and just say I loved EVERYTHING in the motorboatrry fest as well as in the wank fest, so check those out as well as I shan't repeat 'em below! Oh, and I'd only add that I adore all these authors and would rec anything else they've done this year/previous years as well, read 'em and (in many cases) weep!

captivity, momentofclarity/ @gaycousinlarry, 1.4k. The angst of the older larry of it all!

wash my hands clean in your holy water, HappyPrince, 1.8k. A laundry room gift for me!!

Lil' Cockwarmer Boy, @sadaveniren, 2k. The voyeurism is exquisite!

Self-cest, @jaerie, 2k. I think about it a LOT!

The Bachelors and the Bachelorette, @turnyourankle, 2.3k. Is as it says!

Feels Good, ishiplouis/ @pocketsunshineharry, 2.9k. Glory hole glory!

A Collection Most Pleasing, anonymous, 3.3k. Anonymous unicorns in the anonymous unicorns!

a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends, yesisaworld/ @louandhazaf, 4.1k. A gothic gift for me, I'm still dead!

short ass oneshots series, girlfriendrry, 4.3k. The 2013 vibes--unparalleled!

this is my jam, @disgruntledkittenface, 4.5k. 1990s bathhouse fic!

To Crave Your Touch, @haztobegood, 4.9k. Oli gets to work!

boom, boom, don't you wanna go, anonymous, 6k. This frat game!

My Pleasure, zanni_scaramouche/ @zanniscaramouche, 6.5k. Nipples ahoy!

Everything You Do, jishler/ @jishlerfics, 6.6k. The end of this series, hlep!

Ride the W.A.V.E., quickedween/ @becomeawendybird, 7k. This Top Gun alternative, girl direction style!

My Sweet Girl, @fournipplesau, 10k. Final installment in a fantastic series!

Baby Blues, @kingsofeverything, 11k. I loved 'em all!

i can't wait to see what you find, enbyharry/ @non-binharry, 12.7k. These tags!!

Losing Focus Every Time You Speak, abaddxns, 19k. TOYS AND PANTIES. OH MY!

Party Lines, nonsensedarling/ @absoloutenonsense, 25k. Accidental phone sex operator!

The bootyverse is expanding... series, yeah_alright/ @uhoh-but-yeah-alright, 21k. THIS SERIES, HELLLLP!

Loved By Your Mother, superglass/ @gaymoustache, 31k. Oof, the pregnancy yearning of it all!

Among Lavender Fields, @homosociallyyours, 70k. The photo inspo!!

You were a beam of light, lit up my broken sky, CuckooTrooke/ @larrydoinglaundry, 84k. God, an absolute fave!

Of Mates and Men, bananaheathen, 300k. The fortnightly gift!

Some non-larr pairs:

sex yeah, radiodurans, 500 words. Harry and his hand!

Sweet Creature, VoidVesper, 735 words. Harry and Miss Piggy!

Dazed and Consumed, haztobegood, 2.4k. Harry and R Patz!

Risk Your Health for Me, SirTranscelot, 2.5k. Harry and the AFI guy!

Nice Boys Sometimes Kiss Like That, yeah_alright, 7.3k. Harry and David Rose!

Gilded Boys series, docklands, 13k. Harry and Orville!

#fic rec #one direction #2021 year end #mannnnn i have so many i'd rec for each author here #thank god many of them wrote in multiple fests so i can cover my ass that way!#those two fests...YEAH!!!#gimme more short shorts!

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dangerous-mess · 3 years

Text

Holiday Troubles

Characters: Aizawa, trans male reader

Contains: Unsupportive family, transphobia, homophobia, misgendering, mentions of a deadname (D/N), mentions of religion and praying, mentions of dysphoria, angst, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff ending. This was written mainly as a comfort fic during the winter holidays but wanted to post this here (originally posted on AO3). Please read with caution as this content may be triggering for some

Word Count: 2K+

The holidays were always rough for you, being not only gay but transgender as well. There were the off-putting tension and feelings every time you walked in the room, and the side glances and judgemental glares that were shot your way if you were even caught wearing something feminine and not masculine. Mostly from your parents and family, feeling the obligation that you had to follow gender norms in the hope to not only pass but to be taken seriously in your own identity.

The holidays got a little easier once you married your now husband. He made visiting your family a bit easier and made the holidays in general, more enjoyable for you. This year, unfortunately, he had meetings and a nightly patrol that he couldn’t get out of, so you were left to go to the Christmas family gathering by yourself.

The day came, and needless to say, you were a nervous mess. You dressed up in a suit, something masculine of course to appease your family and keep those comments at bay. Though, you knew you weren’t in the clear as there was still a high chance of being deadnamed and misgendered by family who were unsupportive or others who just didn’t try. Your husband, Shouta, let you know before he left early that morning that if you needed anything at all to give him or Hizashi a call and they would come and get you in a heartbeat. He said Hizashi, just in case he couldn’t be reached, which was fine with you, Hizashi had become a close friend to you.

You arrived at your parent's house a little later than they asked, just cause you were nervous and needed more time to prepare for this evening. You knocked on the front door, adjusting your suit as you waited for someone to open the door, only to be greeted by one of your younger siblings. They gave you a big hug, before dragging you inside where you were greeted by family. Your grandmother was the first to deadname you. She called out as you talked to your uncle, a devious smile on her face as the name rolled off her tongue. You cringed hearing it and so badly wanted to correct her, but if your mother caught wind that you did, who knows what drama may pursue. You endured the conversation with her, as she made sure to drop in your deadname every chance she could get.

“Honestly D/N, you really should stop playing dress up and realize that you are a girl. Your husband would be so much happier to have a wife who knows her place and not some confused girl.”

You took a deep breath and bid your goodbyes to your grandmother as you went to find someone else to talk to. Eventually, dinner was called, and you all gathered around and your grandfather said a prayer. You looked down at your feet the entire time, not really wanting to participate in the prayer. Soon it wrapped up and a line formed into the kitchen to get food. After everyone got food, everyone gathered around and talked, telling stories of things that happened within the past year in their lives, as well as asking questions to others to get the latest scoop. You just decided to eat silently, trying to not participate in the gossip fest happening before you.

“So Y/N, how are you and your husband doing?” Your dad asked before he took a sip of a beer. You held up your pointer finger, signaling that you needed a moment as your finished chewing food before you smiled and spoke.

“Oh, we are doing well! He sends his deepest apologies that he couldn’t make it, hero duties called.” You smiled, taking a quick glance around the room. Some whispers were exchanged, knowing it was about you and Shouta. It was clear that besides your family not supporting your identity, they also did not support your marriage to a hero. Especially a hero who was supportive of you and your identity.

“Honestly, how she manages to keep such a hero man, is insane. Like who would wanna marry some confused lesbian?” One of your aunts spoke out. You gripped your glass tightly, biting your tongue, not wanting to start any issues.

Other family members chimed in to add on to your aunt's comment and soon it became too much. You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom farthest away from your family. You pulled out your phone and texted your husband. You told him that you needed him or Hizashi or someone to come to pick you up, as you originally walked, as it was nice earlier prior to the sun setting. You quickly got a reply, saying your husband was on his way, and that he was getting someone to cover the rest of his patrol. You felt a bit bad to interrupt and have him leave his patrol, but god you just needed him right now more than anything.

You hid amongst the rooms as you waited for Shouta to send you a message or signal that he was here. Your mom called out your name, walking down the hall looking for you. The smile on her face dropped as she saw you and grabbed your arm.

“Come on Y/N, we are about to exchange gifts. Stop trying to hide and be nice and spend time with your family. It took a lot of work and effort to get everyone here, like your grandparents who haven’t seen you in ages.” Your mom aggressively whispered at you, as she pulled you towards the living room. You stayed silently, hoping that your husband would be here soon.

Your mom let you go and pointed to a chair near the tree. You sat down and were handed some gifts. You slowly opened them, trying not to draw attention to yourself. The first gift was in a gift bag, and opening it exposed a colorful piece of clothing. You pulled it out and it was a sundress. Although you didn’t mind breaking gender norms, dresses were never your thing, they held too many bad memories and made you dysphoric. You frowned, not having the energy to fake a smile. You felt your mind start to spiral before a voice pulled you out.

“Oh, D/N do you not like it. I made sure to even get the right size and everything. I thought you could put that on and surprise your husband when you go home. Imagine how he would react to see his wife, finally coming to terms with herself.” Your grandmother called out, staring at you the entire time. You went to open your mouth when another voice spoke up.

“Actually, I think my husband looks handsome and perfect just the way he is in the suit he is wearing, but thank you. Maybe we can save the dress and give it to one of my students, I know one of them would get much better use of it.” Shouta’s voice boomed out, making a hush fall across the room. You never heard the front door open, but then again Shouta was very good at staying silent. You looked at your husband, feeling all your emotions and feelings starting to rise to the surface. You caught a dirty look your mother gave you as you stood up and made your way over to Shouta.

He held out his hand as you got closer and held it tightly, quickly bidding goodbye for you both as he quickly led you outside to the car that was waiting outside and still running. “I had Hizashi drive me over, hope that’s okay.” You just nodded at him, not letting go of his hand until you got into the car. As soon as you and Shouta were in the car, Hizashi sped off.

“Heya listener, how did it go?” Hizashi asked out, peeking into the mirror looking back at you.

“I lasted longer than last year, so that’s a new record at least.” You joked, trying not to cry. At least not now, you had to make it until you were home and in bed, with your husband holding you close.

Hizashi talked most of the ride home, while Shouta kept glancing back at you. You tried to listen to what was being said, but you couldn’t focus, so you just looked out the window, slightly dozing off. You woke up to the feeling of being carried, your eyes adjusted as you saw Shouta was carrying you into the house and to the bedroom. On any other occasion, if he was carrying you like this you were bound to tease or crack a joke or something, but in this moment you just stayed in his arms, gripping onto him tightly. Once you both got to the bedroom, he helped you undress and slip on something comfy. After he finished helping you, he quickly changed and climbed into bed, pulling you close to him and holding you tightly.

For a while, you just laid there in his arms, fighting back the urge to scream and cry. Though, after he comforted you and let you know it was okay to be upset and that you could let it all out. In which you did, you sobbed in his chest for what felt like hours. You screamed and sobbed and let out all the feelings you bottled up for the few hours you were at the family gathering. Eventually, you ran out of tears to cry and were only left with your own thoughts. You were overthinking, mostly dwelling on the words your family spoke out to you this evening, and couldn’t help but question if it was true.

“Sho...I’ve got to ask you something, kind of important.” You gently pushed away and sat up in the bed, looking at him. He stared at you, and nodded, letting you know it was okay to continue on. You took a deep breath and went for it, “Am I enough for you? I brought a lot of baggage and trouble into our relationship and I know it can’t be easy for you dating me, specifically with the backlash and comments that get made by my family and others about me transitioning and just. If you were with anyone else, I feel like you won’t get all this drama and I’m sorry I’ve brought so much of it onto you Shouta.”

You watched as his facial expression changed and you quickly looked away, finding interest in anything that wasn’t his face, afraid of what his reaction not only meant but the words that were about to follow. “Y/N, please look at me.” You slowly looked up and he placed a hand on your cheek. “I love you Y/N. I love you for you, you are my husband and I won’t want anyone else besides me. You are more than enough for me. And we both have a lot of baggage but that doesn’t change my feelings for you, we can work through it all together. I meant what I said in my vows and at our wedding and I still stand by it. Forever and always.”

You fiddled with your fingers before speaking up, “I love you Shouta so much, I’m just afraid one day I won’t be enough, cause as silly as it is, I don’t feel masculine or manly enough, that you’ll find more of a ‘real’ man one day and just leave me behind.” Tears filled your eyes and you looked down, just wanting to hide under the blankets.

“Y/N Aizawa, you are absolutely masculine and manly enough. I will never find anyone else or more a man than you. You are all I want, and all I need. I love you so much, don’t ever doubt my love for you, cause it is never-ending sweetheart.” Shouta spoke out, lifting your head up and placing a small kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his arms, holding you close. You just stayed there close, as Shouta whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

Shouta always made the holidays more bearable, but he also made life in general easier. He made waking up a little easier and helped with your hectic thoughts to calm you down. He truly was the love of your life and the best you could ever ask for. You couldn’t have gotten any luckier to have a husband as sweet and perfect as you. He may not be the number one hero to the rest of the world, but in your eyes and his heart, he was, he was your number one hero.

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villainsblog97 · 3 years

Text

NCT as Your Boyfriend

This is gonna be the LONGEST BF scenario I’ve ever done!!! O.O

Warnings: Maybe some language? some PG-13 Content

Scenario: BF, Romance, Angst if you squint -.-....fluffy (TO THE MAX)

HERE WE GO!

Taeyong

Our Brave leader!

Taeyong might look, tough, scary, and totally sexy and charismatic

BUT

He’s nothing but a big floof

Especially for you...his girl

Taeyong would be nothing but a sweetheart to you!

He would be the kind of boyfriend to make cookies with you at 2 in the morning because you were hungry and had a sweet tooth.

I also see him just melting over everything you do!

EVERYTHING

He loves making you laugh, and you love making him laugh

He is always making sure you’re happy and healthy

Like one day he’ll make you some Ramyun, then the next day he’s making you some detoxing tea and a nice fresh salad

You are his world.

Fights happen, but oh so rarely

But when they do

Our lil Bubu is a mess

He can’t focus, he can’t think straight

All he can think of is how your face looked

He has to make things right with you

And of course he does.

Overall he would be the best Boyfriend ever!

Kun

Kun is definitely more of your best friend

But he gets to cuddle and kiss you too

Kun loves you to no end

And he will let the entire damn dorm know about it

He’s the leader of WayV

God help him

You’re the only thing that keeps him sane

But you can bet that this boy will hype you up on everything

He’ll stare at his phone, smiling like an idiot

Lucas: what’s he all smiley for?

WinWin: What else??

He also loves his magic tricks on you

Pulls flowers out of a hat for you

Definitely

Like Taeyong, fights rarely happen

But if they do

Kun is gonna do something totally hilarious to make up with you

Something you can’t help but laugh at.

I see Lucas and YangYang involved in it too

Once you two have made up, he’s glued to you

He just wants to love you and you alone

Taeil

Taeil is kind of hard to read, because we don’t see a lot of content with him

But I see him being a pretty chill boyfriend

He supports you in everything

and he loves to spoil you

Always buying something that reminds him of you

He also loves taking you out to restaurants

Like the ones you get all dressed up for

Taeil also loves you in dresses

He just looks like he would like dresses

He also can do fun dates too

Like the amusement park

He just wants to see you happy

If you have fights

It’s hella serious

You guys need some time away from each other

Until about 3 in the morning when he’s calling you and pouring his heart out

You have no choice but to forgive him

Mostly because he hates sleeping without you

Like I said he only wants to see you happy

Johnny

Our Chicago boy is DEFINITELY a romantic!

You are his girl

And he’ll make sure everyone knows that

I get the feeling he would love holding your hand

Like everywhere

You are his queen

He’s always gotta show you off

“Wow... who is that beautiful woman??? Oh right, that’s my girlfriend!”

He loves making you blush too

Always giving compliments to you

He tells you he loves you 24/7

Cuddling is his favorite

and because he’s so tall

(Yep you guessed it)

Lots of forehead kisses

It’s healing for both of you

I can’t see you guys fighting a lot

It’s more like little bickers and arguments

He will do whatever it takes to keep that smile

Your smile is his favorite feature on you

Johnny Suh is a 1,000/10 Boyfriend

Yuta

Much like Taeil

He loves spoiling you

Dates are mandatory for our Japan boy

He’ll do just about anything with you

I feel like he would love buying little plushies for you

Don’t ask why

He’ll call and text you every chance he gets

If he’s on tour

Video calls

Counts down the days til he get’s back to you

Loves hugging and holding you

You absolutely love his smile

Who doesn’t???

Yuta doesn’t look like he would be too much into PDA

but when you guys are alone

He’s stuck to you like glue

He can’t fight with you

It’s just not in his nature

If you guys do

There’s gonna be tears

From both of you

He’ll just hold you and tell you how sorry he is

He love you so much and never wants to lose you

Doyoung

I’m not gonna get into how he looked in this MV

Okay

Doyoung is precious

Doyoung is sassy

and he also has a really strong RBF (resting b*tch face)

So Dating Doyoung would be...... a challenge

He would be the best boyfriend

but at the same time you’re questioning it

not in a bad way of course

I feel like he would be very blunt with you

You come out in a long yellow dress

“Doyoung how does this look??”

“You look like a banana” o.O

.....

But then!

He would suggest his favorite dress that looks absolutely stunning on you

He would even pull it out of your closet

“This one... you look so beautiful in this one”

He won’t apologize for the insult

but his eyes will make up for the comment

When he’s having a bad day he’ll just want to hold you

Doesn’t matter where

He loves it when you hold him too

Running your fingers in his hair

Because he’s so savage, fights could be often

But he does make up for them and this time he will apologize

He also loves slow and long kisses

He loves to feel you

He loves you.

Ten

Ten literally bias wrecked himself into my bias list

Now this boy is more than just a beautiful dancer

He’s shown that in past couple years now

Ten is a total weirdo too

You love that

He’ll make you smile and laugh on your worst days

He loves making you laugh

but he can also be super romantic

I see him being a flower petal guy

Getting a hot bath prepared for you

He’s just a gentleman

He also loves cracking up jokes with you

Always calls you baby

and always telling you he loves you

if a fight happens

I can see it going two ways

the first being very emotional

lots of tears

The other way

(PG-13)

An aggressive make-out session

Like you two are so mad at each other that it becomes sexual tension

and you two have to get rid of it

Anywhooo

after your night (hint hint wink wink)

You both lay in each other’s arms, promising to not fight again.

Or maybe fight, if it ends like that

Jaehyun

My bias wrecker!

Okay Jaehyun is already like the ultimate boyfriend material

So you know he’s gonna meet all the qualifications

Why do I see him loving to go shopping with you?

Any kind of shopping

Clothes shopping, grocery shopping, even shoe shopping

like his hyungs

he too loves to spoil you

with everything

anything he buys you, you treasure it.

He loves taking you out and showing you off to the world

He makes sure no guy even looks at you wrong.

He gets jealous really easy

“I don’t like that guy...” *pouty face*

“Well that’s my cousin so you have to like him a little”

“.....”

If you two fight it’s for something serious

maybe he’s working too much

or you feel like you never get to see him.

He can usually stay really calm during the fight

He tries to listen to you as much as he can.

When you’re standing there yelling at him out of frustration

He’ll just walk up to you and hug you.

“Let’s not fight anymore, let’s just stay like this for a minute”

WinWin

Like Taeil we don’t get to see much of our boy

but he is still there!

And to you

He’s the only one

I get the feeling that WinWin would be a very shy and cute boyfriend

Like he asks you for everything he wants to do

Asks to hold your hand

He never wants to make you feel uncomfortable

Always asks you where you want to eat

He takes his time learning all about you

He probably blushes more than you do

And he loooooves hugs

You in his arms is the best feeling ever! ^_^

I feel like it would take A LOT to make him mad

so your fights would be almost non existent

When he’s away from you

He’ll send you a ton of snaps!

Miss you so much beautiful

He’ll wait for hours until you reply

“She’s not answering” *sad eyes*

“Dude it’s like 3 in morning in Seoul! she’s probably asleep”

Lots of good morning / night texts

He would be an adorable boyfriend!

Jungwoo

Lord help me...

My bean!

Okay so Jungwoo is a literal squish

So being your boyfriend

Is like the biggest UWU fest ever!

He is so whipped for you

All the members will give him hell for it

You aren’t just the love of his life

You are his EVERYTHING

My heart is gonna hurt

His favorite word to call you is Jagiya

There it goes >.<

Can you actually pick a fight with this boy??

He probably would get seriously emotional

He is also one who gives you a lot of plushies and flowers

Bubble Tea dates

Arcade dates

He loves spending time with you

He pouts when you can’t go to shows with them

Because he wants you to how cool he is on stage.

Jungwoo would be the ultimate squishy boyfriend

Lucas

This little Sh*t... -_-

Okay so this boy takes pride in making you flustered AF

It’s his job

He’s a flirt

He’a tease

You’re constantly yelling at him.

“LUCAS STOP!”

He just laughs it off

Okay now hear me out

This boy will kiss your neck and growl in your ear

Just to get a squeal out of you

You neck all cringed up

But he can also treat you like a princess

He loves holding your hand in public areas

He wants people to know who you belong to

He’s not afraid of PDA

When you two fight, if can actually get a little scary

Lucas has a deep voice and it gets husky when he’s mad

You’re not turned on by it at all

That’s probably where it will end

“You really piss me off sometimes”

“Yeah and you do too!”

Boom... making out

At the end of the night you two still love each other and would do anything for each other.

Mark

My boy! Loved him since Cherry Bomb! (first MV I saw)

Okay so like Jaehyun

Mark is already boyfriend material

He loves you beyond words

So Mark is definitely a cuddle bug

He will fall asleep holding onto you

and if you are having a bad day

He’ll lay you down on his bed, sit beside you and play his guitar

He loves playing with your hair

He’s tried failed to put it in a ponytail

Mark is always trying to make you laugh

He loves hearing it

He definitely calls you babe a lot

He likes to show you his parts in his songs (127, dream, U and Super M)

Fights with him would be small

and short

He would try to end them as fast as they started

If he can’t he’ll wait til you’ve calmed down a little before coming into your room, playing your favorite song on his guitar

He never sleeps without you

That’s why he always gets a little sad when he has to go on tour

So you two video call until one of you falls asleep

I need a Make Lee >.<

Xioajun

I’m becoming utterly whipped for this boy

Okay

Xioajun is also a romantic

He also looks a really good kisser

So with that said

He will kiss you every chance he gets

This boy will treat you like absolute royalty

He will also call you princess

I mean Xioajun himself looks like a prince

He also loves back hugs

Like while you’re in the kitchen and he just comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist

Lots of cheek kisses that would trail down to your neck

(Deep inhale and exhale)

A fight would only happen if you initiate it

If you told him he did something he would run over a hug you before you could walk away

It would be like a scene from a kdrama

He would hold you for a second before you turned around to return the hug that lead to a kiss and an apology.

Hendery

One of the biggest crackheads in NCT and WAYV

So obviously

You’re gonna have a crack head boyfriend

Hendery is more than likely from another planet

Or at least that’s what you feel like

You are his baby

He makes sure you know too

“My baby!!!” (He is so loud XD)

You’re always questioning what he’s doing

He loves making you laugh too

So he’ll be doing something totally weird just to get a giggle out of you

“Aha! you smiled!”

I think it’s impossible to fight with him

I think if it were to happen

It would be weird

Like you two aren’t actually fighting

and eventually you two would just bust up laughing

he looks like the kind to always hold your face when he kisses you

like his hand on your face, or lifting your chin to kiss you

he also looks like a good kisser too

Renjun

I feel like Renjun would ultimately be an amazing boyfriend

So you are his first priority

ALL

THE

TIME

He is so caring of you

and he loves being around you

He could be practicing and he sees you coming into the room

Everything stops

“Hold up! my girl is here!”

He also loves taking you on dates

Fancy dates

Movie dates are his favorite though

I can’t see you two fighting a lot but if it does

He is gonna cry

(Please no one hurt him)

He’ll go to his hyungs for advice

Then he’ll show up in front of you

Face all puffy

Eyes all red

(My heart is breaking)

He’ll apologize so many times

You have no choice to hug him and forgive him

He’ll feel relieved when he feels your arms around him

Then he spendss the rest of the day with you

Ultimate boyfriend!

Jeno

Jeno is total baby

so granted

He’s your baby

I feel like is adorably clingy

Like always needs to be touching you

Holding you

Whines when you have to leave your cuddle fest

Pouts when you won’t kiss him

but then

He can take charge on you

He was the one that asked you out

He initiated the first kiss

But he just likes being all soft and squishy around you

If the day ever comes that you two argue or yell at each other

Its definitely short

He will return to his baby act and bat those little eyes at you until you give in to him

Much like Hendery, you two kind of just laugh it off

Then you two are back

Who can resist those eyes

Lets be real

No one can

Haechan

THIS BOY

He’s obviously spent too much time with Doyoung

He’s savage 2.0

But he loves you to no end

You two definitely have video game dates

He gets mad when you win

“Psht! I let you win...”

*Dramatic eye roll*

He doesn’t let you live any of your embarrassments down

He’ll tease the shit out of you

He is the most extra boyfriend ever

You literally cannot take him anywhere

But no one else gets to mess with you

That’s his job

If someone tries to prank you

It’s on!

“This is my woman, no one else messes with her but me!”

“...”

Now don’t get me wrong

He still takes care of you

If you’ve had a bad day, or a fight with him

He’ll hold you in his arms

Gently rock you back and forth

Sing sweet ballads in your ear

(Writing this is making my heart ache!!!)

Maybe he’ll mess up the notes just to make you laugh

Start singing off key

“Haha! My baby laughed!”

You love this dork to the moon and back.

Jaemin

(Lord give me strength)

Okay Jaemin is also the ultimate boyfriend

This boy would treat you like absolute royalty

He is so in love with you

It’s almost sickening

He can’t go a day without you

If he does

It drives him crazy

He’ll sends you so many pics and videos

Telling you how much he misses you or loves you

This boy is a big lover

He will show you it 24/7

Kisses all the time

He can’t help it

He craves your taste, your touch

He craves you

(This is making crazy O.O )

He loves it when you wear his hoodies

He melts with everything you do

He can’t help it

Jaemin can’t fight with you either

He’ll just ask you to please stop fighting

Also hold you in his arms until you’ve calmed down

He also loves playing with your hair

Loves the feeling of your soft locks

He will cuddle the hell out of you

I’m not saying I want a Na Jaemin

But that’s exactly what I’m saying.

YangYang

Our boy YangYang would also be a total goofball

He’s such a cutie

And he takes pride in that

Like Jeno

He is your baby

and you love it so much

But he’s more like a baby that flirts with you

He’ll say little sentences in German too

and won’t tell you what he said

“Please tell me what you said!!”

“That ruins the fun”

“Babe!”

He will love to tease you

All the time

He laughs at you for everything too

You just make him giggle

Especially when you want to know what he said in German and he won’t tell you

Like a lot of the members

I can’t see you two getting into a lot of fights

I just can’t

If there ever comes a day where he does tell you what he said in German

Let’s be real

It’s probably dirty...

Shotaro

We don’t know much about Shotaro

Except that he’s FREAKING ADORABLE

But I feel like he would be very similar to Renjun

He just spoils you rotten

You are his princess

He loves to hug you too

Lots of hugs

and cuddles

(Give me strength!!! >.<)

He is also loves shopping with you too

He looks like snackin boy!

So lots of snacks

and movie dates

Okay another ultimate boyfriend

No one better ever hurt this boy

Or I’ll fight you! (ง'̀-'́)ง

So on that note

no fights

Because I can’t imagine his sad face

Please protect him

We must protect him!!!

Sungchan

I get the feeling that Sungchan would also be like a combination of Mark and Jaemin

He loves you like a best friend

but also like a queen

And again

Because he’s so tall

More fore head kisses

And lots of hugs too

He loves putting his arms around you

He’ll put your arms around his waist and then wrap his arms around you

Tall people just make you feel secure

He too is very difficult to fight with

Its also more like bickers or arguements

(Ah Young love)

He loves movie dates too

Just curled up on the couch

Buried in blankets

Snacks all around you

He is just the best.

Chenle

First thing’s first

PREPARE YOUR EAR DRUMS

This boy is so loud

But he’s a giggle box

And he loves it when you make him laugh

He also loves to make you laugh too

He seems like a chill one too

and he’s always singing to you

Chenle looks like a cuddler too

and a tickler

He’ll do whatever it takes to hear your laugh

He is also a sweet heart too

Always buying you food, and snacks

He wants to keep you happy

I can see him loving picnics

But he’s very underrated

So he needs reassurance a lot from you

You always tell him he’s doing well

No fights from you guys

But you guys can be away from each other

Only for a little bit though

Then he has to see you

He’s been without you too long

Jisung

Our little baby

Ain’t so much a baby anymore ㅠ.ㅠ

So this boy

You’re his first love

So he doesn’t want to mess anything up

He wants to only make you happy

But he’s never dated before

So he isn’t sure all the time on what you guys should do.

He’s got 22 hyungs

They’ll help him out

Okay maybe not Haechan...or Hendery...

He really like to hold your hand

I feel like he wouldn’t be too much into PDA

He likes to be alone with you

If any of the members tease him

He’s gonna get flustered AF

Lots of facepalms when the guys are around giving him a hard time

He’s their baby, they aren’t use to seeing him with his arm around a girl

or giving her kisses

or cuddling her on the couch

If you guys get into a fight

He’s gotta ask everyone how to make up for it

So there he is

At your door

Flowers and giant teddy bear

He’s really shy and tripping on his words

So of course you forgive him shortly after he stars stuttering words out to you

He’s growing up too fast!!! >.<

(WHEW! Made it!! hope you guys enjoyed it! let me know what group I should do next! Please support NCT in their new album and Stream their MVs!)

74 notes · View notes

finn-ray-nal-beads · 3 years

Note

I meant to send this here but sent a message instead. Either way 🤣

I know you’re not doing much writing right now, but if you feel inclined to do something anything fucked up for Valentine’s Day with Flip or Captain Blowhole, it could be the sort of fucked up that we all deserve!

Take on Captain Blowhole vs Cupid?!? Like Cpt Hook and Tinker Bell, except Cupid is a full sized ugly ass man with a beer gut like captain Underpants! 🤣

I’m literally writing a fic I’m titling Flip vs Cupid where he has to go arrest a flasher on V Day and has to tackle him down and wrestle around etc

A/N: Holy fuckin’ shit man! The third part in the Siren Series is finally here.... Who the hell am I being so efficient this week! The is the final part and I am so fuckin’ proud of this series I just had the best time writing it out! I hope you all love it and thank you @safarigirlsp for sending in the ask to finish this love fest out!

Warnings: tw: violence, tw: death, tw: assault (we get slapped as well as we slap someone too), degradation, slight edging, unprotected sex, angst, mutual pining, fluff because I love these two so much, misuse of pirate puns and buccaneer banter, smut because we all love some of that cock talk, mentions of a certain ADCU character entering the mix (the tides will tell us)

The night was long and cold, the depths reaching near frigid temperatures as the Jolly Roger trudged on through the beacon. Frost building on either side of the hull, encasing the wood in a tomb of sorts, causing shivers to radiate from the crew as the soft snow fell around them.

“C-Cap,” Ron shuddered at the wheel, his eyelashes coated in snowflakes as he kept Flip’s course steady and true, “you sure we’re goin’ the r-right way,” he shivered rubbing his extended arm to cultivate some heat while he waited for a response.

Flip coughed, a thick fog releasing from his mouth as he glanced up slowly, his inky locks coated in a slick of frost as well.

“It has to be,” he muttered, the vortex of the lights cascading around the entirety of the ship in a tube as the snow kept falling.

He glanced back down, running a quivering finger down the direction of the map, huffing when he noticed the course was tried and true to where his trusty ship was heading.

His chorus of shudders racking his body upon glancing back up at his lethargic crew, the snow and ice impeding them from their usual performances. The track of light fell where the sea met the sky, the eerie silence causing even more confusion as he noticed the pulsing of the colors in the distance.

He wondered if you were at the end of this so-called rainbow. If you would even recall who he was, let alone let you be taken by him again.

The shame settling over him in a veil as he began to worry about your rejection. You were completely out of his league in every aspect, including the fact that you could breathe underwater. What if he had set sail to track you down for nothing? Were you already occupied with another sailor, like a whore? Or was it just not meant to be based on the differences you shared?

Either way, his grouchy ass had to find that out on his own, rules be damned. You had been on his mind every single day since he’d taken you on those golden shores. Your face framed by the sun lived rent-free, your luscious body sand-covered and begging for him, your gorgeous voice echoing his name as a song in his head. It was all intoxicating and he had to hear you again before he burst into flames.

The vortex grew brighter and brighter, the sound of an impending whirlpool approaching with rapid speed in the direction of the ship. The crew jumping from the frigid conditions instantly as the hull rocked from the waves picking up and the amplified light.

“Hold steady boys!” his booming voice echoed through the deck as they scrambled to their stations, little puffs of fog making their way to the illuminated ceiling of the tunnel as they made ready for the next part of the journey.

“Cap?!” Ron frightened slightly as the wheel took on a mind of its own, spinning a fury while the bow dipped into the water vortex, “Cap what do I fuckin’ do?!” the both of them holding on for dear life as they began to spin down into the whirlpool.

“Hold the fuck on!” he gritted out, reaching for any piece of wood around them to ground them to the deck, the sounds of cries and yelps radiating through as the boat hurled towards the blackened center of the pool, a bright wormhole opening to glisten in his pupils as they approached it.

“Holy fuckin’ shit!” Ron cried out, completely scared out of his wits, grabbing onto the same piece of wood as his pal was, “Cap what’s going on?!” screaming at him while he watched Flip fixated on the light.

“I think it’s the entrance,” he spoke almost calmly, his ship barreling into the bright beacon with the littlest efforts, the entire crew stifling the light from their eyes with hands raised as it was sucked inward.

_____________

“Daddy what the hell is going on?!” you huffed into the throne room, your parents perched in their rightful places as you blew a huff of bubbles out in annoyance.

“I was busy,” crossing your arms as your tail spanned below you in a cascade of greens and blues, your hair flowing in the clear water as you scrunched your face.

“Watch your mouth, Y/N,” he commanded, pointing his trident in your direction, the threat causing you to roll your eyes and brush a hand in disgust.

After you had returned from your escapade, the torture had ensued. Your father put more pressure on you to fulfill his wishes of becoming married to the most suitable bachelor in the Seven Seas.

The thought of anyone but your sailor boy making you gag audibly as he showed you suitor after suitor for weeks and weeks, only to find himself more annoyed at your defiance of him.

“The time has come my daughter,” he boomed, your mother smiling uncomfortably at the exchange, gulping loudly before he continued his power trip over your duties as a Princess.

“The time has come for what?” scrunching your eyebrows at him in more annoyance as he smirked devilishly at you.

“For you to meet your betrothed,” he cooed, the bubbles condescendingly falling from his trout mouth as your jaw dropped before him.

You pushed a finger in your ear, making sure to clean it out properly before answering him back, “I’m sorry… my who?!” your eyes bugging out of your head before you could lunge at him in a fury.

“You know exactly what I said,” darkly speaking as he gestured his staff to open the double doors, revealing a merman as they escorted him to the side of your father.

“My sweet daughter,” he pandered, ��this… is Matthew… The new future King of the Ocean,” the tall, blonde gentleman smiling as brightly as a guppy while he was doted on by your father. The sight of them nauseating you to no end as you surveyed him.

Arms still crossed over your covered tits, pushing them out slightly as you inched forward to take him in further. He wasn’t completely hideous, you thought to yourself, his face chiseled and handsome. His body was built heavy and stacked, abdominals straining under his scaled skin as you watched him speak in hushed tones to your father. His hair a cascade of golds and yellows, as the curls satisfyingly framed his face. But he wasn’t your sailor.

Your handsome, tall, and dark buccaneer. The one with the chiseled features, thick black locks, and a heavy swinging cock. He wasn’t even close to him, and would never be in your mind.

You looked around while they had their little conference, rudely ignoring your presence as you surveyed the room, wondering if you could make a break for it and go find your love again.

It wouldn’t be too hard, you thought, he wasn’t that elusive in any sense of the word. You knew his ship from stem to stern, having conjured it back from the depths while he laid passed out on the sand that day.

Recalled what his crew looked like, grabbing each of them from the Locker one by one to revive them. It would be as simple as recalling his trails he’d left coupled with your gift of echolocation to find him before he even blinked. You considered it. Biting a lip as you darted panicked eyes between the armed guards at all exits.

“Y/N,” your father cleared his throat, “are you going to introduce yourself to your future King?” he smiled again, extending a hand for yours to come closer.

“I’m so sorry about her,” he gripped your fingers in a death grip, a hiss coming out of your throat as he pulsed them, “she’s kind of spacey… forgive me,” pushing you to collide with his thick body in a thud.

“Ow! Fuck!” pushing him off you in an instant, putting your hands over your tits as they throbbed from the collision.

Another blow to the back of your head via the trident, “watch your whore mouth!” he boomed again, “I am deeply sorry, Matthew,” he smiled fakely again.

“It’s perfectly fine, Your Highness,” he bowed slightly, “I like my women a bit feisty,” the fire burning in his eyes as he glared down at you.

“The challenge of it all is… tantalizing,” taking your hand in his and bending down to lightly kiss it, the disgust fanning over you as his lips touched your scales.

“Y/N,” he cooed beneath you, “it is a pleasure to be in the presence of such… beauty,” the waft of heart-shaped bubbles escaping his lips as he weaved his words.

You pulled your hand, nursing it as you rubbed the spot where his snake-like lips had touched it, feeling utterly violated as your lips formed a pout in his direction.

You contemplated for a moment, going over the positives and negatives as you watched him gaze at you, his handsome features no doubt hiding his true identity underneath. You rustled up to meet his eye line, your eyes becoming slits as you whispered, “You will never be my betrothed,” you menacingly growled, fangs snarling in his direction as you watched the flames blaze from a soft pink in his eyes to a glowing red.

“You disgusting, conniving, snake!” landing a hard slap on his face before a shrill scream left your mother in awe of your actions.

“You little bitch!” he hissed, watching the anger boil over you while your father lit up behind you in a rage.

“How dare you, Y/N!” he boomed again, “you’re going to marry Matthew if it’s my last dying wish!” the tears spilling down your face as you spun around to meet his gaze.

“Make me daddy!” you spat in his face, ready to give him another set of choice words before a huge flash of light interrupted the party.

The whole group turning glances at each other, “did someone open the portal?” your mother putting her hand over her mouth in fear, cowering behind your father in a fit that made you cringe.

“Your Highness, I can go check it out… There’s no reason for you to be put in danger over this,” he bravely puffed his chest out like a pompous jerk, patting the top of your head like a child.

“Stay here my fiery siren,” he spewed, the nickname making you shoot daggers his way as he swam his way out of the balcony. All of you collectively inching out to see a huge bubble encasing a massive ship in the middle of the city.

Gasps of shocked cries ringing out as passerby gazed in wonder at the bubbling orb floating in suspense, seemingly unphased by the fact it was smack dab in the center of a lost city.

You squinted, not looking at your slimy suitor but the boat encased in the waves, cocking your head as it came clearer into your view.

You audibly gasped, the flurry of bubbles and a wave as you placed both hands over your mouth, hoping your parents didn’t notice your surprise.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” your dad placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, “when he gets back you can ask for an apology… I know he’s a man of reason,” smirking down thinking you were worried for his safety.

_________________

“What the fuck?!” Flip scared out of his wits echoed as his voice reverberated along the walls of the water bubble. His crew shouting all kinds of curses as they prayed Hail Mary’s over the devil magic that had brought them to their orbed hell.

He panicked, running from all sides of the ship, rubbing his eyes as he gazed around at the majesty that had cleared around the encasement.

The city was a beacon in the depths of the darkness. The cool blue waters surrounding all sides of him in a tropical paradise littered with all colors of fish, seaweed, glorious statues, and towers, all centered around a glimmering castle.

He gulped when he caught a glance of panicked merfolk, the realization that they were circling he and his crew sending him spiraling as he gleefully smiled at his successful venture.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he gasped, “Ron… R-Ron we made it,” he panted, begging his buddy to pinch him to see if he was dreaming. It was just as the books had revealed. The mecca in the ocean was lost to all the land dwellers in a mysterious flash. Yet here he was, face to face with a slew of shocked faces gazing at him like they were the fish out of water.

“W-what do we do now, Cap?” Ron tugged at his jacket, Flip frozen in place just like his crew as they deadpanned the scene before them of hoards of merpeople all ages crowding around their forcefield.

“I-I’m not entirely sure,” he quipped back, “I didn’t think we’d actually get this far,” gripping his friend’s hand on his shoulder before shuffling it off of him. He walked towards the starboard bow, coming face to face with a pink-tinged merman.

The tips of his blonde locks a rose color, his chiseled face looking slightly similar in character to him. It was eerie how close their bone structure was, like looking in a mirror but morphed into a blonde wig instead of his trademark black waves. He cocked his face to the side, the handsome face doing a similar gesture as his pink irises came into a clear view. The slits of his pupils boring into Flip’s golden ones as he surveyed his near doppelganger.

He cleared his throat, thinking to speak, and then possibly realizing it may not be heard via the separation between him and the mysterious fish. He squared him up even further, glancing down the expanse of his thick chest, rippling abs, and his stark pink tail, whipping in the waves as he noticed him doing the same thing.

The silent exchange making Flip shiver with unsureness. He had never felt this way. He had stormed a slew of shores in his days, being the young swashbuckler he was, and come across many a menacing buccaneer, and slew them like the stud he was.

But this… was enemy territory… and by enemy, he knew he was number one on the crowd’s list. The foreigner who crashed into town unannounced, and unwelcome, all to search for a woman. Isn’t that how it always goes though?

“What have you come here for, sailor?” the haunting voice of the merman penetrating the wall in a clear, melodious tone, like he was inside with them. The crew shuddering from the sound, begging Flip to look away as if he were Medusa.

He cleared his throat, breaking from the hold his gaze had on him, gripping the sides of his jacket as he spoke, “I’m here to find one of your kind, merman,” his eyebrow cocked as the man looked unimpressed at his response.

“Is that so?” he smirked, his fangs slightly showing as his voice, mesmerized Flip even further, “and who… may I ask, would you be possibly looking for 7,000 leagues under the sea?” the man entertaining his stupidity as he pandered to the captain.

“For your information, fish boy,” he sneered, not loving the condescension in his tone, “I’m looking for a siren…” meeting his menacing stare noses touching the wall of water between them.

“There’s a million sirens in this town, swashbuckler,” he chided, “you’re gonna have to be more specific… or are you too drunk to remember your own name?” the joke producing a fit of giggles from the crowd behind him.

“Sober as a stone, Pinky,” dishing it right back to him, a frown emerging from his lips at the degrading name, “Y/N… That’s her name,” the tone of his voice lowering as he watched the fire boil in the man’s eyes.

“Y/N?” his fists forming as his tinge on his entire body went from a blushed pink to a bright red, turning around to face you on the balcony.

You gulped, waiting for the mess to start as your betrothed beckoned you with a finger to the bubble.

“My darling,” he cooed, the flames boiling over as he tried to keep his composure, “you have a visitor,” gripping your hand in the same as your father had done the time before, a hiss leaving your lips as you flashed your fangs at him.

“You mean, Princess Y/N of the Sevens Seas? My betrothed?” he chanted, the anger completely seething from his teeth as he presented you to the captain.

Your shocked face coming nose to nose with your sailor in a fit of embarrassment as you realized he was dangling you like chum in front of him.

“Sailor?” you gasped, his handsome face becoming more clear as your delicate hands touched the side of the bubble, your magic clearing the path to a thin line to see his precious face gaze at you.

“Y/N?” his heart almost leaping out of his chest as his hands met the spot where yours were on the opposite side, “I thought I wouldn’t ever see your gorgeous face again,” wanting so badly to feel your plush lips on his as you watched his face soften at the sight of you.

“I’m here, Captain,” you quipped, trying to hide your expressions as the grip on the back of your head tightened from your other suitor. The blood boiling in his hands singing your scalp as he listened to you quietly spoke to your true love.

He jerked your body away from the wall, the feeling putting you into whiplash as he threw you back, “how dare you,” he seethed, his eyes glowing even brighter upon seeing you fawn over a human.

“How. Dare. You. Fucking slut!” the explosion of a fireball and a cascade of black bubbles emitting from his head as he blew his top.

“You fucked this garbage didn’t you, whore?!” he angrily pointed at you, your expression telling him everything as you darted glances between him and your sailor boy.

He towered over you, lifting a heavy hand to your face, and slapping you with all the effort he could muster, “answer me you fucking land lover!” the tears spilling as you tried to gulp the words out, your silence doing more to egg on his mood.

“Get your fuckin’ prissy hands off her and fight me like a fuckin’ man!” a booming voice echoed from the bubble, revealing a spent Flip, his jacket and hat torn off in a fury over the show he’d seen.

Matthew turned, steam shooting from his ears as he watched Flip stand his ground on his ship, “You wanna fight you fuckin’ bastard?!” inching to him and morphing himself to a human in a flash, his tinge not changed as he appeared on the deck, fire blazing in between his fingers as he stood toe to toe with the captain.

“Let’s fuckin’ fight,” he calmly huffed, his teeth hissing out heavy breaths as Flip removed his sword from his waist, standing ready to fight.

“Let’s go Pinky!” he gritted, moving to throw the first blow, metal colliding with his fiery fist in a flash of sparks.

The clanging of blows hitting in tandem as they danced across the upper deck of the ship. Flip bobbed every attack he had, same with Matt. The both of them reading each other’s movements like a dance before landing a crushing blow to the merman’s shoulder, the blood spewing out in a wave that splatter all over Flip’s shirt and exposed chest.

“You’re gonna regret that, sailor,” his devilish grin spurring him to attack faster and more agile as he landed an equally hard blow to the buccaneer’s midsection. The fire burning his skin in a sear of pain as he grunted a moan, stumbling back up while Matt chuckled at his victory.

“Had enough?” he pandered, cocking his fiery head to the captain.

“Not even close, fire crotch,” upturning a smirk as he jabbed another blow to his chest this time, the blade piercing in a spray of blood again as a cry rang out through the orb.

You watched in complete terror. Each blow getting more and more deadly as they duked it out.

Soon, Flip was gasping for breath, trying to center himself as he sustained more damage. Matthew noticing him falter under his superiority and making a note as he watched him weakly get back up after the last blow he’d taken to his stomach again.

“What’s the matter sailor?” he chided, loading up another crushing blow as he watched his enemy pant, his weapon falling at his side in exhaustion, “too much rum?” laughing as he landed a crushing blow to the top of his head, knocking Flip out cold underneath him.

He smirked, surveying the crew as they stood back, scared out of their boots. He huffed, walking to the edge to find you, panicked and shocked at the turn of events.

“My sweet love,” he cooed, the fire still burning at a dull roar as he spoke, “you’re going to forget this ever happened… and you will call me your King, just like you’re going to be my slave the rest of your days in this ocean,” his commands cutting you like a knife as you sobbed uncontrollably.

“Fuck you!” pounding on the bubble wall in a fit as he maniacally cackled in front of you, “I’ll never be yours, fucking pink bastard!” spitting as it fueled his raged laughs.

“Now, now…” he tsked, running a slick finger to where your forearm was rested on the wall, “I love my women feisty,” cooing again as you writhed in frustration and pain for your sailor.

Your eyes closed shut as you heard his evil cackle ring through your ears, only to look up when it was stifled by a muffle it seemed.

You glanced back up, eyes blurred as you blinked your vision back to see what had happened now.

Flip stood towering over the fireball, his sword logged from his back to poke out his beating heart like a skewer, while his thick hand fell over his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he succumbed to the sweet release of death.

“Heartless mother fucker,” he gritted, driving the sword back out of your betrothed, his limp body crashing to the deck in a thud.

“Flip!” you cried, pawing at the wall when his gaze met yours, his exhausted body breathing a sigh of relief when he saw you.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he cooed, your tears dripping even further as you pined for his touch.

“Flip I-I’m so sorry,” you whined, wishing you had the right words to say in this exact moment, “I shouldn’t have ever… Fuck, I shouldn’t have left home!” beating the bubble again in a fit of self-pity as you watched him wince gripping his side in pain.

“Don’t ever apologize, sugar,” he cooed, the pained smile coming over his face as he limped over to you, “you’re the best adventure I’ve had,” putting a hand to meet yours on the wall again, both foreheads leaning to meet too as you both exhaled in adoration of each other.

“I-I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admitted, his hushed tone so low that only you were able to hear it.

“Neither have I,” you whispered in the same tone, the smiles and fits of laughter falling over the both of you as the tears kept rolling.

“Can ya come with me? I need you… More than I care to admit,” he bashfully shied away, your face curling into pure joy as you realized what he had asked of you.

“You mean… Forever?” biting a lip to hear him beg for you.

“Well I didn’t fuckin’ cross the entire ocean, go down a tunnel of doomed light, swirl into a fuckin’ whirlpool, and fight pinky over here to just ask for one more night of sand sex,” kicking the limp noodle on the ground in a huff.

You laughed out loud, the bubbles leaving your mouth before you placed your finger over it in embarrassment.

You turned to glance at your parents, who, by now, had ventured through the crowd to marvel at the orb, seeing the debauchery unfold in horror.

“Daddy?” you questioned, wincing slightly as you turned around to see your father in complete shock.

“Daddy? I-I,” you couldn’t get the words out before your father wrapped you up in the biggest embrace he had ever given you. Your arms only wrapped around him after you realized what was occurring, the tears now a blubbering mess as you hid in his huge frame.

“Go,” were the words you heard. You looked up, shaking your head from side to side in denial as you wept in front of him.

“Go… have your freedom, my sweet baby girl,” placing a soft hand to your as he dried a tear from your cheek.

“B-but, daddy my duties, I-I,” he shushed you, looking with all of the love he could conjure up.

“Fuck all of that,” a laugh echoing from his lungs, “I want you to have an adventure… go find something worthwhile… and with someone you love… this place will still be here if you want to come back, sweet thing,” the words spilling from his lips causing your jaw to drop open again.

“Daddy, wha-,” wondering if this was all a charade to keep you here with them.

“This lad must truly love you if he trekked across the ocean to find you,” looking to Flip who was registering the conversation before his eyes.

“I think that says more about his character than any of the suitors we had picked for you,” his voice calm and collected as he spoke back to you. The silent exchange of love between you a welcome embrace to the fights you’d been having since you had turned thirteen.

“I-I do love him,” looking back to his boyish smile as he stumbled from the pain on his side again.

“I know you do, sweet siren,” he brushed a hair from your face, “now go… have an adventure I could never have,” pressing his forehead to yours as you both reveled in the peace of the exchange.

You broke your hug, barreling to your mother who had at this point, sobbed the entire ocean over sea level, and gave her the largest hug.

“I’ll be back mommy,” you cried, kissing her forehead as you back away from your family, waving at the crowd of folk surrounding you before morphing into your human form and sucking yourself into the bubble.

You gathered yourself, getting your wet hair back, and shuffling off the water as your soaked nude form came to his view.

“Hey sailor,” you cooed out, shy as you batted those gorgeous lashes his way, your silky body glistening with water droplets for the whole world to see.

“Hey there, my sweet siren,” he panted back, gulping some air as he winced in another round of pain.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, running to his aid, “sailor… You’re hurt,” putting a delicate hand to feel the heat from his abdominals pulsing under him.

“Nah,” he grunted, leaning on your for support as you walked his down to the double doors of the main deck, “I’m tough as they come, sugar, I’ll be fit as a fiddle in a few days,” wincing in pain again with a groan.

The crew had been eyeing your form as your cascaded down the stairs, tits and areolas bouncing, bare cunt flashed unbeknownst as you were more preoccupied with Flip and his health.

You both glanced around, wondering why the guys weren’t preparing to blast out of this popsicle stand. Their jaws gaping as they surveyed your ample curves, Flip’s face inches from a supple tit as he registered reality.

“Mother of fuck!” he got up, the pain in his voice echoed as he stood to cover your body with his, “get hold the sheet and get us the fuck outta here you peepin’ Tom’s!” he bellowed, the boys coming to attention and scrambling with their orders as they were still flustered over your beauty.

Flip pushed you back into the doors, trudging into his quarters with a thud as he landed on his bed. You went right to work, ripping his shirt off, and tending to his wounds while you both felt the ship take off to the surface.

__________________

“You know you never told me you were a Princess,” his gruff voice whispered as the night had set over the sky, his body littered with bandages as you tended to each with the most care.

“Forgive me… The last time we were together it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up,” you quipped back, earning a low hum from his chest to ring out.

“Matty boy was right… You are kinda feisty,” he quoted the smirk over his lips deepening as he watched your face scrunch in disgust over the name.

“If you’re trying to get some tonight, you’re not winning any style points by bringing that snake up,” pressing a little harder on a wound to see him writhe in pain slightly.

“Sorry, sugar,” he chided, “but it’s somewhat true,” he chuckled shying away as you tried to push on another cut to cause him some more pain.

“Such a smooth sailor,” you sang, your lips ghosting his as you drank in his musk.

“That’s what they call me,” he dished right back inching his mouth on yours in a dainty kiss.

The feeling was elating. Your lips connected in tandem as they begged for more, the tongues dancing in your mouths as his hands snaked to grip your bare tits in his thick digits.

A relieved gasp left your chest, followed by a moan when he ran his thumbs over your peaks, the circles to magical as they coaxed you to straddle his lap with a soft grind on his hardened erection.

“I missed these gorgeous tits,” he moaned, moving his lips to your right breast and sucking the life out of it before doing to same to the other.

You fumbled with his pants, pulling his bloomers down in a fervor as his cock sprung to attention, the weeping head falling in the direction of his left-leaning tower. It expanded the length of your thigh, the purple head, begging to be sucked up into your cunt as the precum slid on the inner meat of your leg.

“I missed this cock of yours, captain,” you moaned, your words egging him on as he assaulted your chest with a variety of bites and bruises, hands gripping your ass with all the strength he had in him.

You brought it to your entrance, rubbing the tip on your bud as it slicked up the wetness that had formed over the course of being reunited with your man. The feeling of it tapping your bean sending waves of electricity through your spine, throwing your head back as you sat on him inch by delicious inch.

“M-mother f-fuck,” he grit out, his teeth still encasing a nipple as he bit down on it in pleasure, “this fucking cunt,” his breath coming in hot and heavy as he watched your face fill with bliss.

“There’s nothin’ like this perfect pussy of yours,” he panted out, your grinding on his pelvis spurring his dirty mouth to spill out obscenities.

He bucked up into you, meeting your cervix with every push as he watched you edge yourself over him.

“You like your shores stormed, huh, siren,” he grunted, feeling your walls flutter around him as you fucked yourself into your release.

“I fuckin’ love this mast of yours,” echoing back as you rode out your orgasm, the feeling of his pubic hair and his tip knocking your spot a magical combination as you clenched around him in a death grip.

“That’s my good girl,” he groaned out, the overwhelming feeling over your luscious cunt spilling all over him sending him into overdrive as he stilled your hips.

He spilled his swimmers deep into you, the endless waves of white coating your sandy beach in a glaze as he finished his motions under you. You fucked faces gasping for air as you both came down from the high of the night.

You collapsed on him, making sure to avoid his wounds as he kept a steady arm around you. Petting his chest as you felt a gush of spend escape your full cunt.

“I’m never gonna lose you again, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your head as he nuzzled you closer to him. Your leg wrapped around him in a koala as you both closed your eyes in bliss.

“Trust me, sailor,” you cooed back, letting out a heavy sigh, “I’m not goin’ anywhere now,” slowly drifting off to the sounds of his cold heart beating in your ears.

____________

HOLY MOLEY I FINISHED A SERIES FINALLY I AM SO EXCITED! I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS WHALE COCK OF A TALE!

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