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yourlocaltrashpandaxoxo · 1 year

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Dear Friend, Where Art Thou? (TW: Mention of Periods, Bullying, Slight Transphobia)

*RRIIIIIIINNNNG* The bell signaled the third lesson of the day. Moth nervously arose from their seat and scuttled out of the room. They held on tight to their bible as they paced down the corridor. Several girls hurled mild insults at them but they just kept on walking. The next lesson was music with Miss Del Rosario and they didn’t want to be late. They found the classroom and waited outside for the teacher to let them in. Nobody arrived. Maybe they were a bit early. They traced their fingers gingerly over the bible as they waited some more. Still, nobody came to call them in. No matter, it wasn’t the start of the lesson for a while now. They looked down at their knees, bruised and sore from having to pray inside the closet for the past few nights. Their stomach burnt with hunger but it didn’t seem to affect them much. “Hey Moth!” called a voice. Moth looked up. Ashleigh was there, smiling at them. Moth waved nervously, their hand shaking a little. “You have music next? Lucky you, Miss Del Rosario is so nice!” she said. Moth only nodded in response, unsure of how to reply. “Well... I’ve gotta go now. Maybe see you in gym class after lunch?” she said. She left after getting no verbal response, leaving Moth alone once again. They held onto their cross necklace as they continued to wait for Miss Del Rosario to call them inside. Still nothing... A gang of girls suddenly barged past, some of them carrying bulging bags full of mystery contents. “Watch it weirdo!” snarled one, nastily. They all tittered as they sauntered off. Moth watched them walk off, curious about what was inside of those bags. They finally decided to poke their head around the door. There was Leonora, chatting with Hondo and writing stuff on the board. She noticed them peering in and smiled warmly. “Hello Moth, have you been waiting there long?” she asked, approaching them. They shook their head, not wanting to be rude. Hondo smiled as Leonora brought them into the classroom. “How are you feeling today, Moth?” he asked, politely. They shrugged as they sat down at their desk. Hondo simply nodded, understanding that they didn’t feel like speaking, and resumed to talking with Leo. Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the corridor outside. Leo dropped the chalk and immediately rushed out of the room to investigate. “Stay here, Moth” Hondo ordered, following after her. Moth nodded and watched him leave. They were curious as to what was happening but chose to obey his command. They could hear chanting and laughing outside. Then, they heard the unmistakable cackle of their sister, Madison. They got up from their chair and headed out into the corridor. The noise seemed to be coming from the far right. They quickened their pace, the chanting getting louder and louder with each step. Then, they came upon a distressing scene. A student was hunched up on the floor, covered in tampons, pads and slimy canned fish, as Leo stood over them to try and protect them. The girls continued to rip open sanitary products and pelt the poor student with them while laughing cruelly. “Take a fucking shower, you stink bitch!” Madison cackled, emptying a can of rancid mackerel on the student’s hoodie. “Enough of this! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” Leo bellowed, protecting the person underneath her. Madison smirked. “Uh, no? She should be ashamed of never fucking showering on her period. You hear me, fish bitch!?” she hurled a handful of tampons and tuna chunks at the person. The girls laughed and started chanting those words over and over again. “FISH BITCH!” “FISH BITCH! “FISH BITCH! “FISH BITCH!” “ENOUGH!” Leonora bellowed, her face scrunched up into a furious scowl “ALL OF YOU, STRAIGHT TO THE OFFICE THIS INSTANT!” the girls groaned, some even yelling back at her. “THAT MEANS ALL OF YOU” demanded an enraged Hondo, who emerged from the corridor behind Moth, “OFFICE, RIGHT NOW!” they all quietened down and shuffled away, even Madison who looked shocked at how Hondo had bellowed so. Hondo frowned at Moth. “I told you to stay inside of the classroom, Moth...” he sighed, hurrying over to Leonora. He helped up the student and tried his best to clear off all of the scraps of rancid fish and sanitary products that stuck to their clothes. “I’m so sorry about this, Seth...” Leo said, patting the student’s back. They looked up, confused. “Let’s talk about this later on, come along now” Hondo ordered, leading the pair to the classroom “You come along too, Moth” he added, leading them too. The group reached the music room. Leonora led the two students to a desk and sat them next to each other. “Now, stay there you two” she said “Arata... I mean... Mr Hondo and I need to speak with the principal about.... What just happened” she hurried out of the room. “And we mean stay here, you two. No wandering off” Hondo said, firmly, as he left the room. The two sat in silence for a moment. Moth couldn’t help but notice the unpleasant, fishy aroma coming from this Seth person. They didn’t say anything though, just kept on staring at the chalkboard. “U-U-Uhm.... H-H-Hello...” mumbled Seth, nervously. Moth was surprised, nobody ever talked to them aside from Ashleigh. They waved back and resumed their position. “M-M-My name is... Safiya...” he said “B-B-But you c-can call me S-Seth if you like.... Or H-Honey... I like that name” Moth didn’t respond. They were just too shy to speak. Seth seemed a little disappointed but still tried to have a conversation. “I-I like your shoes...” he mumbled “D-D-Do you like mine?” he showed off his pair of glittering gold heels. Moth gazed at them. They were nice but their mother wouldn’t approve of such flashy heels. They simply nodded. Seth smiled a little at this. “O-Oh, and I like your hair!” he beamed “D-Do you cut it yourself? Auntie S-Sekhmet cuts mine for me” he pulled down his hood to show off his short, black and white ombre hair. Moth looked at it for a moment. Far too short for a girl... That’s what their mother would’ve said. But wait... Seth was a man’s name... How come they were wearing a skirt and heels? They didn’t quite understand. Seth peered over their shoulder and noticed their bible. “O-Oh! You’re religious?” he asked. Moth nodded. “S-S-S-So am I! Well... I follow Islam” he explained “Auntie Sekhmet is teaching me how to follow it properly so I can please Allah” Hondo and Leo soon returned. “How are you two getting on?” Hondo asked. Seth looked a bit distraught. “I-I want to talk to her!” Seth pleaded, pointing at Moth, “But she won’t answer me!” Hondo frowned a little. “Seth, please use they/them when referring to Moth” he ordered. “O-Oh... Sorry...” he whimpered. “It’s ok, now you know for next time” Hondo smiled. “Moth, do you like Seth?” Leonora asked, crouching beside them. Moth shrugged. Leo then had an idea. She wandered over to her bag and produced a thick History textbook that Moth liked to flick through. She placed it in front of the pair and smiled. “Maybe you two could read this together?” she suggested. Moth grabbed at the book and started eagerly flicking through the pages. “Do you know about the black death?” Moth asked, finally speaking. Seth shook his head. Moth then explained about how it was an illness spread by a type of flea that lived on rats. They went into detail about the different ‘cures’ and religious facts, looking rather happy to be talking about something they were so passionate about. Seth listened on, smiling. “That’s amazing!” Seth asked “Did the flea ever bite pigs?” Moth looked a little puzzled at this question. Why pigs specifically? “I don’t know” they answered. “Well... M-M-Mother always s-s-s-said that pigs w-were unclean... S-So the flea could then bite t-them and get rid of them...” he mumbled. “Why are they unclean?” Moth asked, curiously. Seth explained how, in Islam, pigs were deemed as unclean animals and how Muslims were forbidden from consuming their meat and any product that came from a pig. Moth then talked about their own religion and how they must pray otherwise they would be punished. The two continued this long conversation as if they were old friends. The lunch bell suddenly rang. “Stay here with Miss Del Rosario you two, I’ll bring you something to eat” Hondo said, leaving the room. Moth looked over at Seth, who was looking down at his body. They couldn’t keep the question in them anymore. “Why is your name Seth when you’re a girl?” they blurted out suddenly. Leonora looked stunned at this. Moth shrunk down in their seat, ashamed of what they just did. Rather than scold her, the teacher simply approached and knelt beside Seth and Moth. “You see, Moth, Seth might have a woman’s body but he feels like he’s a boy” she explained “He might look like a girl but, deep down, he knows that he’s really a man” Seth fidgeted uncomfortably. “B-But I must be g-grateful for my body... I will be upsetting A-A-Allah if I don’t” he muttered. Leo shook her head. “That’s not true, Seth...” she whispered. Seth didn’t reply. He just stared off into the distance, processing this information. “Moth...” he finally spoke up “H-H-Have you had your f-first p-p-period?” Moth was caught off-guard by this question. What was... a period? “Uhhhm...” they thought for a moment. “Now now, Seth, that’s a very personal subject you’re asking about” Leo said, firmly. “I-I k-k-know but....” he squirmed a little “E-E-Everybody b-b-bullies me about it! It’s not fair!” he looked a bit upset. Leonora wrapped an arm around him. “How come you’re on at the moment? Aren’t you on testosterone at the moment?” she questioned. “N-N-No... I h-haven’t been t-t-taking it...” he admitted. “Why not?” she asked, a little puzzled at this. “B-B-Because I’ll d-d-disrespect Allah! I m-m-must love m-my body how it is!” he whimpered, tearing up a little. “Seth, I’ve told you before-” Leo pleaded. “N-No! I m-m-must be a girl! Mama s-s-s-said I would b-b-be a d-disgrace if I d-didn’t s-stay a girl! I DON’T WANT TO BE PUNISHED!” he wept, tears streaming down his face. Hondo suddenly rushed in, looking concerned. “Come along Seth, let’s not get all worked up” he soothed, leading him out of the room. “I’m sorry, Seth, truly I am...” Leo said, sorrowfully. Moth watched on in confusion. “What’s tes... testos...” they struggled to pronounce the name of the drug. “Testosterone” Leonora said “It’s a... special medicine that helps Seth become a boy” Moth was amazed such a thing even existed. “Come along now, you need something to eat” she said, beckoning Moth to follow her. They got up and obediently followed. They passed Hondo’s classroom, where a now calmer Seth was drawing. He looked up and hurried after Moth. “W-Would you like to... B-Be friends?” he asked. Moth was stunned. Nobody ever asked to be their friend before. They nodded eagerly. Seth smiled and waved goodbye. “Isn’t that good? You have a friend now!” Leo smiled. Moth nodded in agreement as they headed for the cafeteria. A brand new friend... How lovely this was...

#punch out #punch out oc #dea moth #DEAMOTH #carrie au #punch out au #adarna #piston hondo #ashleigh #honey slugger

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joelscurls · 5 months

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give in to temptation

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

words: 5.5k

summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)

Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.

In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.

Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles.

This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.

That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.

Javi [2:03am]: I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.

You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago.

A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.

Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.

Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.

I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.

Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you.

Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.

It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time.

With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.

But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.

The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.

A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.

After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.

And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.

Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.

And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.

As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.

But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.

You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.

Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.

And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.

The first text came later that night.

Are you seeing someone? it’d read.

Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.

You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.

Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.

To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.

Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.

You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.

You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?

Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.

Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.

You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.

Not for the third time this week.

But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.

With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.

The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens.

You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.

You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?

The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.

You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub.

Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.

Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.

You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.

Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?

You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good.

Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?

You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.

You [2:16am]: yes

Javi [2:16am]: good girl

The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.

And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.

“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“

“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.

The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.

“No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”

“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”

You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart.

With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.

You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.

You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry.

Javi [2:22am]: ???

Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.

His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.

You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.

“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.

“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”

Pained? Not exactly.

“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.

“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”

The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.

Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.

You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.

You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.

It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.

He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”

You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.

Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.

You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try.

Try, try, try. You can do it.

Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake.

In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.

After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.

You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.

You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.

You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.

Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño.

You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.

Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?

Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.

You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.

Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?

Your eyes flit to Nathan.

You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.

He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left.

And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs.

Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.

Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen.

In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand.

You [3:30am]: Fine.

Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.

It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.”

His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.

He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.

Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor.

His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.

“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.

He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.

It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.

Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.

You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion?

And — moreover — why do you care?

You don’t. You definitely don’t.

Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.

“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“

He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw.

“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”

“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.

And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out.

But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy.

You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty.

“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”

Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.

You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.

“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?”

You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”

His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.

“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”

Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands.

You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.

His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.

“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”

And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.

Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart.

And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.

What are you doing?

“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding.

“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.

“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”

You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.

“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back.

“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”

“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan.

Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious.

“Tell me to stop.”

Fuck.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself.

“Cariño-”

“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”

“Please?”

He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me.”

In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open.

You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.

You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt.

His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.

“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-”

He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”

“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you.

His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.

“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“

The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”

Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”

Suddenly, Javi looks livid.

His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.

“Pendejo,” he murmurs.

“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”

Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.

He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders.

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.

Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound.

When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.

You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.

You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.

He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.

“Impaciente,” he mumbles.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”

“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”

“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.

“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”

“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”

He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.

He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him.

The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago.

“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”

I am, you want to say.

“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.

You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.

You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.

He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.

Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.

He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”

“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes.

“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips.

He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.

You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.

But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.

“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.

“Up.”

He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.

You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.

“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.

“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.

You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“

“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned.

“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”

“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”

“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts.

“I — want you.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“What?”

“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”

He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders.

“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”

You sink into his touch. His words.

“Javi-“

“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”

You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.

You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.

The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.

But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.

Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.

“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.

You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”

Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.

He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.

Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.

That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.

When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.

Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“

“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”

Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.

You’ll go up in a second. After you kiss Javier one more time.

He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.

He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.

And then — he abruptly pulls away.

“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.

You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.

“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”

end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)

tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x you #narcos fic #javier peña narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal as javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier pena smut

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jedimandalorian · 8 months

Text

The Path to Peridea.

Baylan Skoll says that Peridea is from a fairy tale known to Jedi younglings, a children’s story, but in reality Baylan says this to remind us that Star Wars is exactly just that, a fairy tale, a children’s story.

What does “Peridea” mean?

peri: (in Persian mythology) a mythical superhuman being, originally represented as evil but subsequently as a good or graceful genie or fairy.

ASTRONOMY

peri: denoting the point nearest to a specified celestial body.

from Greek peri ‘about, around’.

dea: Latin for “goddess”

The descent into the underworld is one stage of the hero’s and the heroine’s journey.

As @better-call-mau1 pointed out, the Path to Peridea sounds a lot like the “path to perdition.”

perdition: (in Christian theology) a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unpenitent person passes after death.

Perhaps this is where Thrawn is, in a kind of hell.

But as in the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a brave lover is willing to descend into Hades to rescue the beloved. This is Sabine Wren’s mission to find Ezra Bridger.

There’s another meaning to “Peridea” though.

It is a genus of moths from the family Notodontidae.

The moth in The Lord of the Rings films brought Gandalf the Grey hope when he was imprisoned in the Tower of Orthanc. When the moth appeared, it was a sign that Gandalf would soon be rescued by the giant eagles, which are used as symbols of divine intervention in Tolkien’s fiction.

Please note that the letters on the star-map to Peridea resemble the Viking runes Tolkien used in The Hobbit. Both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are stories of a hero’s journey filled with danger and wonder. The brave protagonists have to go “there and back again” just as Sabine will in the Ahsoka series.

I think that Baylan Skoll reminding us that Star Wars is a children’s story is significant. Consider this quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling.

“Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.”

In all the great fairy tales, the love and loyalty of the protagonist is the key to the triumph of good over evil.

Although she isn’t strong in the Force, Sabine Wren’s love for and loyalty to Ezra Bridger will strengthen her resolve on her road of trials along the Path to Peridea. With Ahsoka the Grey by her side, Sabine is ready to leave the comfort of Lothal (her Shire) and go to Peridea to save the man she loves.

Update, post Ahsoka Episode 6:

Here’s Huyang reminding us that this is indeed a fairy tale, a children’s story.

And here’s Thrawn, showing us how the villain “knows and understands nothing.”

“You wouldn't understand,” says Sabine.

“Perhaps not,” Thrawn responds.

What he doesn’t understand is love. The love and devotion that Sabine and Ezra have for each other is the power the dark lord knows not, and it will be his undoing.

I have spoken.

#sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars #ahsoka series #sabezra #star wars rebels #ezrabine #Peridea #baylan skoll #j r r tolkien #lotr #the hobbit #j k rowling #Harry Potter and the deathly hallows #fairy tales

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undercoverpena · 9 months

Text

ix. not his place. not your place.

javier peña x dea f!reader | chapter nine of nowhere to run

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. use of a nickname. mentions of smut. feelings. angst. anxiety. ptsd. love thoughts. word count: 6.5k.

AN: sorry for the wait, I got really in my head about it all, but thank you to @yeyinde who listens to me ramble about my writing woes and also to the brilliant @guyfieriii who tells me things my brain won't let me believe.

dedication: i dont normally do dedications, but a special one to @thelightsandtheroses because her love for this has made me want to keep chipping away, even if i lost my way. thank you for being such a light.

You’d love to say that you'd been his the moment you had stood in his office.

But you hadn’t.

You fought losing yourself in his brown eyes more times than you’d like to count.

Somewhere between his face being between your thighs and you riding him, you’d been sucked in—like a moth to a flame.

You’d been able to peel back the thrown-up walls, while he’d been assessing how to take down yours. Until the two of you are both standing in rubble, staring at one another more bare than you have been in bed.

“You have to work with Don Berna?”

He’s looking at you, swiping his tongue across his teeth. Your heart falling in your chest.

“Shit…”

“Indeed.”

The house of cards is floating down, haphazardly falling, ready to land and squash those who don’t get on the right side of it. You’re never sure if he is on the right side—not because of his past, but because they’re always one step behind.

Chasing something, anything—everything.

One thing away from finishing it, from drawing a red cross over another photo.

It’s why you gnaw your lip, why your nail polish is picked off from your index, middle and thumb on the one hand, and one hand only. It’s what made you begin unravelling: the sight of your undoing evidence each time you stapled or picked up the phone.

Because… you like him.

Truly, like him. Could even, possibly, maybe love him.

And it makes you want to plead. Beg him to move closer, at least. Close the gap. Let you clutch him. So much said, without words being spoken. A soft glance, warm eyes and a kind smile—both given and returned.

“Don’t…”

But he does.

Taking soft strides to close the gap, hand reaching up to take hold of your cheek. You know he can see the fear shimmering in your eyes. It sitting in the pools that you try to blink away. Hiding your anxiety, how much you want to protest but choose not to.

You knew that was the thing with love, you could fight it, attempt to bury it, smother it in sex, whiskey and other destructive decisions, but it always cracked through. Always rose, standing in its flaming glory like a reborn phoenix.

“Javi. Please…. Please don’t….” Die. Leave me.

“Not a fucking chance.”

You let his forehead press to yours, eyes closing, managing to choke out, “Good.”

At some point along the way, before he’d gone to Cali, he had handed you a key to his place, and you had told him where your spare was.

Easy, convenient. Practical.

Those were the words you chose and the ones he leaned on. The two of you allowed them to be the reason you took the step, not because it made sense or felt right.

Doing so allowed the two of you less rigid plans when it came to meeting. It allowed you not to rush as he sat outside your place, not needing to tap his steering wheel as you flicked lights on and off, dashing across your windows. It meant you didn’t have to wait to begin showering or cooking when it was time to be at yours.

It also meant the two of you didn’t need to look in his mirror—just in case someone saw. Something he’s thankful for now, more than ever since your friends are back.

In the days before the attempt to take down Miguel, it felt right to be in your possession for many reasons. Leaving his pocket—all heavy and meaningful—and finding a home in your palm.

Because it also stood for something else.

Just in case.

The words linger, heavy and pulsing in the air. In case you need me for anything or shit hits the fan.

Both of them are things they should keep an eye on and consider. It’s in the air, how dangerously close they all were—how things were in place, yet no clear direction paving its way.

Then there was you.

You who has shared all that you have with him, but won’t answer him truthfully when he asks if you’re okay. You save that for your nightmares.

It’s another reason he handed you the key: a gesture, a promise: I’m here. So much so he hadn’t been sure how you’d react, watching you stare at it for a second before your fingers closed around it, and he felt able to breathe.

Then you’d smirked. Is this in case I need your signature, sir?

If his name hadn’t been shouted, he’d have congratulated you for it—slipped his tongue past your lips and tasted the coffee on your tongue.

Instead, he spent the evening signing his name against you. First, your neck, then your collarbone, before he wrote over and over with his tongue between your slit—carving each letter, gripping your hips, controlling them as they tried to meet him. One of his palms flat on your stomach, making you wait—

Paciencia, he whispered.

Blowing cool air over your soaked core, watching you write to wriggle, twisting yourself to meet him. Little pleas and begs leaving your lips, the same one that is more wit than honest.

It was different. The way you two fucked.

It had been for a little while, but that night it was noticeable, a shift ever present in the room—words sitting on the edge of his tongue as he captured kisses and swallowed your moans.

He missed it when your nails didn’t slide down his back; he craved the way you looked at him before you let go.

Things he hadn’t focussed on before, not with you or anyone else.

Then, there’s the morning when he wakes to find you next to him. Sometimes asleep, sometimes just waking the same as him—sleep-filled eyes washing him in beauty, warmth, and a future that feels like he could have it.

Though, Javi hadn’t expected to hear from you tonight—never mind seeing you.

Had assumed that you’d be catching up with Van Ness, the two of you have clung to one another in the office—some part of you visibly snapping back into place before him. He’d have been jealous if not for how you iced out Fiestl—a smugness sitting behind his teeth as he nodded at the three of you before faking a reason to hide in his office.

Your voice was barely a whisper when he picked up the phone, softly asking if you could come around—or whether he could come over.

Something you never ask, which is why he’s there in record time, finding your spare and sliding it in.

For saying usually, your door has a petulance for letting him in, the lock turns in with ease, greeting him with the darkness inside—all shadowed ornaments and streams of light from cars passing your window. Your curtains are limp, undrawn—not perfectly slid into their place as usual.

Nothing seems as it should be, not even how your place makes him feel. Usually, it wraps warmth around him, all hopeful—swamped with happiness. Your home feels cold and withdrawn tonight—like it’s at a loss.

The door clicks with a finality, placing the key inside the glass bowl with a chime, yet he doesn’t hear you call. Not a Javi, not a Peña.

With each heavy step he takes, he expects light to blind him—your hand over the light switch, smirk so broad that his mind automatically takes a photo of it. It never happens. His hand moves for his phone, the other motioning for his gun as he passes the open kitchen, living room and bathroom door.

His mind goes into overdrive, wondering if anything seemed out of place, if your voice had given anything away as he pauses outside the only one shut: your bedroom.

“Cariño…?”

He considers knocking, tapping knuckles against wood as a warning, as a sign when he hears silence. But he twists the metal door knob in hand instead, opening it, expecting to find emptiness—made bed, cushions placed at the head.

Javi finds none of that, removing his gun from his waistband to put on the side table—his phone following suit.

Because what he finds instead is lit by the occasional headlight and the weak stream of the streetlight. Cold ochre shimmering across balled-up sheets, used tissues and the broken mess of a person at the centre.

At first, he can’t tell if your eyes are open until a car slowly drives past—light reflecting from the walls and hitting your open irises.

He says your name uneasily, each letting falling consciously from his tongue as he moves close to the bed. Only receiving the lowest hum back from the duvet and destruction.

The mattress dips, your body unmoving still as his fingers find the string of your bedside lamp.

“I’m turning the light on—just need to see you.”

He wishes he hadn’t.

Black stains against usually manicured cheeks, tired, empty eyes staring into him—all forbidding as they wince and then land on him.

Javi knows shattered pieces typically cut skin, but his hand finds your exposed shoulder—coldness greeting him, sliding down the pads of his touch to his wrist and bones.

“Cariño.”

He says it differently, more a calling than questioning.

You blink, trying to erase your distress and pain—but it hangs all the same, like a banner, there all for him to see.

“You came…”

His chest tightens, something falling from within as he releases a feeble breath. He knew, suspected it for a while, that you weren’t okay. Not pushing, not knowing if his words could be ones that could heal you. So he said nothing, let silence do its thing between the two of you, as his thumb brushed your cheek. Wiping across spilt grief and fresh tears.

“What…”

You swallow it loud in the quiet—eyes furrowing before widening, as though hearing his words repeatedly.

He smiles, knuckles resting on your cheek, thumb stroking the edge of a smile he misses.

“Talk to me, cariño. Please?”

More fall from your eyes, sliding down like rain droplets against dry cheeks and a sorrowful stare. If he could, he’d take it all from you. Urge the ball that clogs your throat to shrink—the one that lives inside you and has gotten matted with your soul. He’d do whatever you needed him to do.

Your eyes fall from him, landing on a spot—darkness blooming over the colour as they unfocus.

“I thought once you knew, it would feel easier. The same way I thought I’d be okay with seeing him back, Chris. Thought the distance would mean I didn’t hate him, but then I saw him and…”

More fall in single file, orderly.

Something tugging at the corner of his lips, because only you would have tears that fall in unison—that march down your cheeks and cut across your misery.

“Did you know that I didn’t have a nickname before her? Luna—the moon. Said it was because I only came alive at night. The name was just for us—that name. Threatened to punch someone back in the States for using it.”

Smirking, he watches as you blink. A river, cloudy with memory, scales down your face, tracing the outer edges of your nose and hanging expertly on your cupid bow.

It catches—whatever comes next.

Clings to the back of your teeth—rots on the tip of your tongue as he continues his ministrations on your cheek. Watching, studying—waiting for a cue, a mark. A sign.

“…I don’t mind some, but there’s something about him using it that way.”

You pause, the smallest of laughs slipping from your tight lips. “I wish you could have met her. She’d like you. You think I’m witty, but she was so much better at it. Barely needed to think. Always a retort—both in English and Spanish, always ready...”

The last word hangs, syllables dancing until they run out of steam and are swallowed by silence. His knuckles pausing on your jaw, clearing his throat, finding your eyes flick up to him.

They smother him in heaviness, so much so, it almost makes him crumble. The edges of him weakening, the knot in his chest that needs to make you smile constricting, wrapping further around his oesophagus—

“She sounds wonderful,” he manages to say.

Your face scrunching, a mix of agreement and anguish fighting in battle on who should show first—should prevail.

“She was.”

It wounds him to hold your stare, for the stinging edges of your grief to dig further into his spirit. Injecting more cause into his blood, more reason to keep fighting, pushing—hunting injustice until bars surround it.

When he blinks, he’s freed. Temporarily, but enough to think. To rest his palm under your chin, keep your eyes upon him.

“You think you can let me in, cariño?”

His eyes flick down to the sheets, the duvet wrapped around you, trapped under limbs.

It takes a second, one which spreads across space for far too long, but you nod. Shuffling awkwardly so a corner emerges—one he can lift and slide in.

Your blouse is gone, but the rest of your work clothes still adorn your frame. Javi’s shirt rustles as he seeks to bring you comfort—to find a way to pull you close without forcing you to flee.

“This okay?”

It’s tinged with nerves—draping between you as he finds you still watching him.

He'd have missed your nod if you were almost shoulder to shoulder. Only catching how the edges of white teeth bite down your bottom lip. Spotting the tremble before he sees the unmissable wobble as your eyes fill until they’re shimmering with a new wave that’ll crash down and coat them.

“Cariño—“

“Lune.”

He looks at you, takes it in. The look in your eyes, the way they burn unspoken emotions into him.

“French, I know. She had to make an adjustment, claim it back before we left. She didn’t let anyone, not even Ch….him. But, I think she’d let you call it me,” you whisper, all hiccuped and difficult.

Something unlodges inside of him, a thing which is determined to rid those two words. Because he suspects you’re thanking him because you don’t get this. Usually pushed, nudged to the edge until you devastate.

He kisses your hairline instead. Feeling you curl into him, head against his chest—and then he braces for the first shake, the eruption of shudders ripple from you to him.

And he clings, clutching to root you here—to him, with him.

“Javi…”

His fingers continue sliding up and down, feeling soft skin as your breath flutters across his cheek.

“Thank… thank you for coming over.”

He smiles, spreading over his lips before he can hold it back, opening his eyes to face you. “I’ll always come, cariño.”

“Prometes?”

“Promesa, baby.”

Javi rarely dreams of the after. But he has begun to.

You’ve stayed over at his place more often as of late. Easier, you’d tried to protest, and he never complained.

The thoughts the dreams leave behind knock on him more frequently, especially when the darkness slides over the two of you, when you’ve gone quiet before soft shallow breaths fill the space in his room. It there, sitting on his tongue, wanting to ask:

What are you gonna do when it’s all over?

A question which festers and burns—eroding a hole in his mouth and the back of his brain. It throbs more when he feels you curl against him, craving some form of touch before the two of you have to rise and pretend all over again.

It’s why he likes it when you stay. When he can start the day with his palm on your cheek, lips slotted over yours. Pulling you flush against him as you whisper his name into the air—not tired of him, not even close.

Because after it’s rushed, you need to do this or do that. The pretence needing to be kept up—him rushing to get in before you, more so now your friends are back. Fingers shakily doing his tie until you spot him in his kitchen, half-dressed, barely ready for the day, and your fingers smooth over his. Helping, shifting your hips against him as you loop his tie and knot it: the definition of a multitasker.

Letting his eyes take you in, he lowers his hands to your hips. “You keep doing that, cariño, and we’ll undo your handiwork in a moment.”

He likes the way you smile around him.

How soft it is, the sharp edge you’d once purposefully wrapped it in, now gone. Faded. Vanished.

“I could fuck you with your tie on, Peña.”

Javi knows that. Almost lets you prove it. Mouth opening to find words to say—

“You have a meeting, remember.”

Gritting his teeth, jaw sliding to the side, he nods.

Your fingers drop from the fabric as something sits in your eyes—a set of words that roll around that pretty head of yours he’s yet to decipher.

“You think you’ll come here tonight?”

Javi asks, hopeful. Not wanting to assume—not even with his spare on your keychain and most of your things in his bathroom. A smug look crosses your lips, making him leave ahead of you even harder.

“I’ll be here. Prefer your water pressure than I do mine and the hands that come with it.”

He tortures himself by sitting in your lingering perfume on the commute.

Fingers tapping on the wheel, thumb and index brushing in tight circles over and over as he parks his car, trying not to think of bubbles, water dripping down, you against the tiles.

Like most mornings, he notes how dull the place is when you’re not around before he picks up the metaphorical weights he carries. The ones stuffed with expectations, getting it done—passing the board with the photos he can see when he blinks.

Each minute until you arrive, the weight digs in. In the same way, it did before the night, he took you back—only being removed from his shoulders by your fingers and yours alone.

It’s the relief you provide that makes him flick his eyes up as he hears someone arrive, casting a glance through the blinds—all on edge until he sees you. Until he knows you’re safe—something prickling, pecking at him that you’re not.

It’s worsened since you told him everything. Since he saw you in the centre of your bed, all broken and at a loss. A part of him was angry with himself that he hadn't tried to take the weight from your shoulders, hadn’t noticed how close you had woven yourself, how unspooled you’d become.

Worst of all, Javi wonders if there’s still a target on your back. Your face stuck up on some wall like the Godfathers are stuck on theirs, a thought easier to silence when you’re in sight.

He knows it’s because he cares, feels things. It creeps into his chest, unwrapping, unfurling—spreading its vines until they loop around his muscles and bones. Making him feel so much it burns a hole in his tongue, in his heart—

“Morning,” you say, file in hand.

His eyes lifting from the paper, watching you smile—body relaxing.

Your words linger in the air, all innocent, airy as though you hadn’t said it to him already two hours ago. Fingers in his hair, nails scraping along his jaw as he rocked his hips into you, filling the air with breathy mornings and right there.

He smirks, taking the file from you as you step into his office, beginning your usual morning rundown of his day, who has left messages, and what he hasn't done that needs handling.

It’s not until you begin talking about having a meeting yourself, that he forces his head to look up from the file, does he take you in. Eyes dropping down your frame, not able to help himself, until—

“—so I have to go—“

“Is that my shirt?”

You pause, words dying on your tongue before you softly begin to smile. “How would I be wearing your shirt, sir?”

“Are you wearing my shirt, cariño?”

Folding your arms, you shift your weight on the spot. His eyes scan behind you, spotting and noting that no one is within ear reach. Working out the probability of whether he has time to hook his finger in one of the belt loops of your trousers, pull you to him, shut the blinds and kiss you until your lips are swollen before duty calls.

“If I were wearing your shirt, it would be because I ran out of time this morning to iron my shirt because someone needed assistance with their tie. So if this was yours, it’s merely being borrowed.”

He swallows—something stirring inside of him.

Because you’re wearing him, here. Out in the open, around their colleagues. He’d be able to look out of his window and see you dressed in him, marked in him.

You’ve buttoned half of it, tucked it into the band of your trousers. His fingers want to trace the vest underneath the open buttons—take you in for a second, admire the way it’s styled so it looks less like him, and more like something new you’re trying with a pair of your trousers and heels.

Your confidence falters; he watches it—how it wrinkles out over your face. “Wait…Javi, do you mind?”

“Fuck no,” he says, more gruff. “Not one fucking bit. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He shifts his jaw, staring at you, tracing his eyes up and down your body—knowing how each curve feels, how your skin tastes. “I’m not going to be able to fucking concentrate.”

“Wh… Javier Peña, do you like women wearing your clothes?”

“Not women. You.”

You pull a face, smirking. “Well, that’s good to know.” His brow arches, watching something glimmer in your eyes. “Because you have quite an impressive shirt collection, and guess what I like?”

Tracing his bottom lip with his thumb, he tries to stop himself from tracing his eyes up and down you. Hearing people come in, the office slowly springs to life behind you.

“What’s that, cariño?”

You lean forward, allowing you to drop your voice. “Knowing to take it back, you’ll have to take it off of me—once I get to yours, tonight, that is,” you whisper, soft and breathy, a hint of silk to each of your words as they slide into his ears. “Have a good day, sir.”

Failure was something he was being served more and more frequently.

This time, it was dealt to him when he’d allowed a part of himself to relax—to feel like they were close to a win—having gone from panicked to relieved when he felt Jurado’s wife against him.

Her all curled up, trembling. The scent of mud, sweat and something he assumed had once been perfume rotted into his nose as the jungle faded from view.

It’s why he allowed her the comfort she so desperately needed, giving himself the chance to feel the joy that he had managed to fix the mess he’d caused by not thinking of every single option.

Then, like grey clouds holding back her storm, there was a clap of thunder—Christina's eyes were then full of sorrow and fury, digging into him as though they were made of knives. Yet, it had been her words that did the slicing.

It hadn’t meant a damn thing, not accounting for a single thing. All of it, from listening in on her and Jurado to now, a giant waste of fucking time. The phone call confirmed it.

He was dead. All that chasing, the jungle—

Javi had intended to cool down before he headed back to the office. It had all boiled inside of him, unable to think straight, that was until his eyes landed on you.

Finding you at your usual spot, bent over, the low light making you squint. Your head lifts to glance at your screen before back down to the files on your desk, fingers rubbing at that spot on the side of your forehead—your tick, your tell.

Then you lean back, hand brushing over your face before landing your eyes on him. At first, he watches you relax, relief flooding your expression—likely due to the fact that he’s safe. You'd been forthcoming with how much you'd been worrying.

Then, a smile. One that is quickly swallowed by concern. It amazes him how quick and astute you are—lifting yourself, grabbing something without taking your eyes off him as he approaches, nodding to Stoddard as you clear your throat.

“Could—can I talk to you about a lead?”

He nods, swallowing. He gestures for you to lead the way as he follows you into his office. It isn’t until the door closes, wrapping his arm across himself and playing with his other elbow, does he see you throw the file on the desk.

“There’s no lead. I just… you looked like you needed to talk.”

It's instant, the way he softens. Looking down, letting himself feel the calming wave you cast over him without knowing you even do it.

The airport. The jungle. The call.

He’s not even sure where to begin.

“She thinks I’m a piece of shit. That’s… that’s what she called me.”

Slowly, you move to the mini-table-turned-bar as you pour a glass—one for you, one for him.

“And maybe, I am…” You extend the glass, his hand taking it as he nods, running his thumb over the top. “I mean, I get tunnel vision—and I just have to….”

He sighs, feeling you watching him, before it all comes out.

From the moment they reached the jungle to the airport. Your eyes not leaving him, likely seeing how easy it is for him to undo—how he’s coming apart, crumbling, pieces of him snapping off. The words keep coming and coming, the stress releasing a hold on his chest but doubling on his shoulders simultaneously.

It isn’t until he’s done, your silence, thick and loaded, does he even feel he needs to ask:

“Y'agree with her?”

He has to ask, watching as you undo the thought.

Studying your expression as he coats his tongue and lips in deep amber and misery. He used to drink to celebrate. Somewhere between Colombian takedowns and Escobar, it began as a way to stop himself thinking. Now, he’s unsure if it calms him, deafens things or just numbs him—or better, a concoction of the two.

You lean against the wall, wrestling with your thoughts. He can see it—the thin line that appears between your brow and the way your fingers dance along the crystal glass.

“I can… see why she’d think you were one.”

He takes a large sip, raising his brow. “Well... fuck, thanks.”

“You don’t—this doesn't work because I lie to you. We work because I’m great at feeding that self-deprecation you’re carrying around.”

He smirks, snorting into the glass as he watches you take your first sip. Not hissing or scrunching—sipping it like it’s water. Suspiciously so.

He hears you step forward, closing the gap, placing your hand on his shoulder, nudging him to turn entirely towards you. “You’re a good person. The only time you’re a piece of shit is when you don’t do that thing with your tongue to me. She's hurt, Javi. Understandably, so.”

He smiles, and you brush the sides of it with your thumb.

Because he knows he’s experienced in non-committal fucking. Well-versed, almost excelling at it, until you. You who he wants the opinion of, the person who makes his world splinter and crack in the best way—more so when you dig your nails in, and he paints your walls in ropes of white. You are different.

He's thought it since the beginning, when you barged in, all confident and smug. Now, it’s so much harder to ignore, to bury—to smother in other problems and issues.

All of the realisation snapping inside of him, the walls he’s built coming down with ease, as your palm remains on his cheek—all intimate and full of care.

“Starting to think you like me.”

“Get rid of that thought, sir. I merely tolerate you.”

“Liar.”

You blink, dropping your hand.

Holding your eyes steady, Javi lets the seconds add up, sliding into a minute. The air tightens with understanding as it rises like a slow tide threatening to pull you both under and drown you. Realisation twists and gnaws in your chest, not able to blink, not able to turn.

He sighs, knowing it too. Releasing you, watching your head tilt before you roll your eyes, and then you’re moving to close the blinds—the office slowly fading from view before you approach the last turning so all he can see is you.

You who is looking at him with a mixed expression he hasn’t got the energy to decipher. Thoughts, suspicions, all rolling around his head, mixing horribly with the expression of Christina Jurado staring at him as he ended that call.

“You do matter to me.”

“Tell me you like me, baby,” he says, likely knowing that you're struggling for breath.

Him doing the unspeakable—making a move, so off the board, he’s confirming neither of you is playing. Likely haven’t been for weeks. The signs were all there if you really looked, really focused on it.

You smirk, shaking your head as you step back. “I like you, you know I do.”

Hand slowly spinning the glass in your hand as you sink into the chair opposite his desk. Eyes staring into it, the amber sloshing from side to side.

“I just…”

“Cariño…” your eyes look up, meeting him. “It’s different for me too.”

You nod, biting the inside of your mouth as you rest your head on your palm—elbow digging into the arm of the chair.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?”

You scoff. “Well, do we stop?”

“Do you want to stop?”

“I want you to answer a goddamn question without asking another question. Because this is humiliating as it is.”

“Having feelings for me that bad, huh?”

You smile, barely—but he notices it. “No. But, I—I’m not good at it—being with someone. Being in a relationship. I'll fuck up. I’m broken and…. without even fucking meaning to I'll—”

Sighing, he swallows. “Bonita… I don’t care.” His hand grips your cheek, tilting your eyes up to him. “I’m no good either. You deserve—fuck, you deserve far better than me, but I’m selfish, a piece of shit. So, I can’t let you go, so let's just call this what it is.”

“You don’t know—“

“I do, cariño. I do.”

Your eyes fill with tears, staring at him, unsure if you’re going to agree or push him away. That is, until your hand comes over his wrist, holding him—just like you usually do.

Then, you turn him, so his frame hides you. Your lips press to his, kissing him as though you didn’t care. The two of you are now experts with both your tongues than words—able to articulate full-blown sentences with your mouths pressed against each other.

Now, you're in his arms after all the sheer determination—after doing nothing but fighting him. The low light from the lamp casts a soft glow over you both, offering comfort, hiding how everything else around the two of you is burning.

“I hate how good your cock is.”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem.”

Strumming his fingers up and down your side, he smiles against the top of your hair. Letting the moment settle, the confessions being filed in a happy place in his mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Now?” he asks, fingers toying with your hip. “I’m better.”

For a moment, he just watches—takes you in.

It goes back to the night in the bar when half of your face had been shrouded in mystery, and the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot. If Murphy were here, he’d say it was typical Peña—somehow managing to fuck the woman who hates him.

But then, you’d never really hated him, just like he hadn’t really ever found you difficult.

“Let's sit,” you say, joining him on the sofa, the leather creaking under you.

The silence is an odd comfort—so used to cracking under quiet, yet with you, he settles.

No one to disturb it, the peace. No one was ringing or asking for him.

Even the office outside has gone quiet.

That one thought, which has been hammering and hammering, rises—bubbling at the top of the sea of shit he has to undo, answer for and deal with.

“If you weren’t doing this, what would you be doing?”

It’s likely too deep for such a day. Knowing he should take the win that the two of you have agreed to be something more concrete than convenient fucking, but it falls from his tongue quicker than he can say I’m okay or let’s go.

You think, eyes sliding to the corner as an array of expressions flash across your face. A frown to a relaxed smile, a shift of your lips to a soft sigh.

“Not sure. Maybe run a coffee shop? A cafe. Want it to be a local place, lots of gossip.”

Watching you lick your lips, he lets himself take you in. A mental photo snapped, locked away in the vault he’s drafted just for you.

“One of those places where either the coffee is good, but the cakes are bad, or the cakes are good, but the coffee is bad. Because I’m one person, y’know? I’m not fucking superwoman.”

His fingers tease the edges of yours—wanting to keep you here, in this moment. Not step back out into the sound of phone calls and typing.

“There would be this will-they-won’t-they with a local guy. He’d come in, and everyone would study our interactions and gossip about how long he stood at the counter.”

Smirking, you turn your head, confronting him with a wicked smile—a sight that makes his heart beat.

“What about you?”

Shrugging, he laces his fingers in yours. “Probably be on the ranch. With my dad. Helping. Do the good son thing, for a bit at least.”

“Well, you can only do the good son thing if you’re good.”

Nudging you with his knee, he shakes his head. “Hey. I’m a fine, good rancher.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sneers. “Come see it, baby. I’ll show you all my moves.”

You smile, and like this—after today—it’s something more stunning than he can find the words for. Not sure he’d ever be able to describe it, what it does to him—how it feels like an arrow has been shot into his chest, inflating his heart, making it grow twice as big.

Licking his lips, he smiles wider—almost allowing it to spread to his eyes. “You open your cafe in my town. We’d be the talk of it.”

“Because you already tried the buns.”

“First thing I’d talk up.”

You laugh. Sweet and weightless. It flushes through him, easing the stress from his muscles. Basking in it, the momentary pause on the job, the mission—the reason.

“I’d make sure a Catrina or a Mary would have overheard me telling people you’re good with a whip. Let them gossip.”

“Oh, there’s actually three Marys, and I’m sure there’s at least two Catrinas.”

Shrugging, you wink. “See, I’m fitting in already.”

“Texas would love you.”

“Texas would be quaking in its cowboy boots.”

“That too.”

The two of you go silent.

All comfortable and nice. No thoughts rushing through him, no darkness ebbing in the corners—it’s like it is in the mornings. Where he can pretend the world outside isn’t Colombia but Texas. That his responsibilities are to make you smile and make sure a cow doesn’t crush his pop.

You tap your fingers over his. “You okay?”

“I don’t even fucking know.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

Turning his head, he meets your eyes, a little smile so effortlessly falling over your face. “I know.”

He moves, shifting so he’s closer, and you subconsciously move closer, letting your head find his shoulder as you take a deeper breath.

“We could. I could.”

You slowly look up at him, watching him stare off before glancing down.

“It's not a lot, but you could make lemonade, and I could help my Pops do ranch shit. Live out our days in the field and between one another’s thighs.”

“You’d get bored…”

“Of you?” he asks, shaking his head. “Never. I’m never tired of you, not even when you’re frustrating and annoying.”

“You crave danger, Peña.”

He moves you closer, wrapping his arm around you to pin you close, dropping his mouth to your ear. “Guess we’ll have to begin fucking outdoors, see how far we go until we’re arrested for public indecency.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

His hand slides up your forearm, spreading warmth back through you.

“Think about it, cariño. Yeah?”

You swallow, nodding. “Would you wear a cowboy hat?”

He laughs, rich, light. “For you? Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it, sir.”

It’s you who interlocks your fingers with his, squeezing—like a version of a signature on a contract.

“I didn’t ask. How’s your day been?”

You snort, not moving—not even to look up or find his eyes, thumb sliding over his hand. “Why?”

“You always hiss when you first have a sip of whiskey. You didn’t earlier.”

Then you move—eyes finding his, something in them he can’t read—a look he can’t place. Your own moving from one eye to the other as you swallow.

“I may have helped myself to a glass… or two.”

Placing his fingers under your chin, he lifts your face. “Talk to me.”

“Just a bad day, that’s all.”

“Cariño.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh. “Can we just go home?”

Nodding, he drops his hand from his nose, taking the glance balancing precariously on his knee as he drains it. It’s only when he feels the loss of you, hearing you mumble about getting your coat—and your bag, that you need to nip to a store on the way—does it come back to him.

Home.

You’d said home.

Not his place. Not your place.

His teeth bite down on the inside of his cheek, the softest twitch of his lips. One, that on another day, where it hadn’t felt like a complete fuck up, he suspects would be a smile, a real one.

Fingers tap on your desk—hands you used to know, once upon a time. Lifting your chin, you stare at him. Chris.

His face was all a mixture of annoyance and pleading, a sight you suspected didn’t mean good things for you.

“You thought about it? Helping me.”

Your fingers pause on the keys. “If it involves me leaving this building, there best be a good reason you’ve even brought this to me. The shit I could get into—”

“I wouldn’t ask.”

You tilt your head. “Yes, you would.”

“It’s for Van Ness, too.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slowly stand. “We need a meeting room or a quiet space. I need—I need what you have. Photo, information.”

Chris nods, furiously so. “So, you in?”

Your head turns, glancing at the empty office—the one you’ve been staring at the entire time he’s been out of it. “I’m in for the debrief. That’s all I’m committing to for now.”

AN: hope it was worth it!

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juletheghoul · 1 year

Text

a/n: I started writing fanfic when I was in my teens, typing away into the night as a way to feel connected to my faves. Eventually I stopped, maybe convinced myself that I'd grown out of it, but that definitely wasn't the case. Truth is the stories have always been there, and I've always wanted to tell them. I'm happy to have found my way back to fanfic, back to the sense of community and all those other amazing fucking stories that I've read here. I've been lucky enough to have my things put on rec lists and now I want to make one of my own. I've been compiling a list of submissions, along with some of my faves and I offer them up to you, humbly. This list in no way encompasses all of the masterpieces I've read, just doing my best with the shitshow that is my memory lol. I am beyond lucky to have reached such a wild milestone, thanks for following along-please enjoy and show these creators some love!

Story recs;

Each story will have it's own warnings**

Jack Whiskey Daniels;

Under Marula Trees (Jack x F!Reader) by @deadhumourist

Cognitive Dissonance (Jack x F!reader) by @prolix-yuy

The Cowboy Next Door (Jack x virgin!freader) by @ikissdin

Javier Peña;

Learning to Live (Javier Peña/f!reader) by @wheresarizona

Fear and Loathing (Javier Peña x F!Reader) by @joels6strings

Lie to Me (Javier Peña x DEA Agent fem reader) by @iamskyereads

Mailroom Crush (Javier Peña x f!reader) by @littlemisspascal

Girl Next Door (Javier Peña x f!reader) by @babybugwrites

Teach Me Tonight (Javier Peña x F!DEA!Reader) by @storiesofthefandomlovers

Dieter Bravo;

Funny Girl (Dieter x F!Reader) by @radiowallet

Stay on the Screenplay (Dieter x F!Reader) by @jazzelsaur

Love Triangles (Dieter Bravo x Female Reader) by @littlemisspascal

Morning (Porn star Dieter x Porn star reader) by @write-and-buried

Dave York;

Appreciation (Dave x F!Reader) by @pedropascalsx

My Girl (Dave York x f!reader x Francisco “Catfish” Morales) by @foli-vora

Family Fun Series (Dave York x F!Nanny!Reader x Carol York) by @absurdthirst

Rare (Dave York x fem reader) by @ezrasbirdie

Din Djarin;

Take Me to Church (Din Djarin/Reader Western AU) by @frannyzooey

Vibes (Din x F!Reader) by @mandoblowmybackout

Boxer Din Series (Boxer Din Djarin x Masseuse Fem!Reader) by @djarinsbeskar

Like a Moth to the Flame (monster!Din x F!reader) by @the-scandalorian

A Brush of Life (Hades!Din x f!reader) by @charnelhouse

Pero Tovar;

Ego & Black Powder (Pero x F!Reader) by @psychedlic-ink

The Wolf Series (Werewolf!Pero Tovar x F!Reader) by @absurdthirst

Frankie Morales;

Weeknights (Frankie Morales x F!reader) by @frannyzooey

Please To Meet You (Frankie x F!Reader) by @intheorangebedroom

Still of the Night (Frankie xF!reader) by @foli-vora

Joel Miller;

West (Joel Miller x Third Person Female) by @radiowallet

September (Joel x f!reader) by @wheresarizona

Pedro Across The Street (Calls)

Good Things Take Time (PATS x f!reader) by @oonajaeadira

Masterlists;

@novemberrain-writes - masterlist

@thisishellfire - Pedro masterlist

@foli-vora - masterlist

@wheresarizona - masterlist

@frannyzooey - masterlist

@oonajaeadira - masterlist

@psychedelic-ink - masterlist

@nexusnyx - masterlist

@wardenparker - masterlist

@loversandantiheroes - masterlist

@whiskeynwriting - masterlist

@pedros-mustache - masterlist

@writer-darling - masterlist

@mothandpidgeon - masterlist

@littlepadika - masterlist

@pedropascalsx - masterlist

@absurdthirst - masterlist

@just-here-for-the-moment - masterlist

#joel miller #frankie morales #pero tovar #din djarin #dave york #dieter bravo #javier peña #jack daniels #3k milestone #3k celebration #fic rec list #pedro across the street

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mrsjavierp · 4 months

Text

Where you belong?

Chapter 4 - Moth to a Flame

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I'd love to know about you're thinking about it so far! Your opinion is really important! Tks <3

Narrator's POV:

Javier and you joined Connie and Steve, who pretended that they didn't notice how both of you were so full of shame and desire.

Connie looked at Steve and whispered to him how incredibly funny it was to see the denial...

Even with you pretending that nothing happened.

It was almost too predictable.

To Connie and Steve, nothing could be any funnier than seeing all of the sexual tension.

While Javier lit up a cigarette, he only could think about how you'd be the one to blame.

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

Mierda, Díos mio, I beg you, please, Díos, keep this pendejo away from me.

"So, Y/N, what did you leave in NYC?" - Connie asked.

"Just my family... And maybe my sanity, but I still can find it here." - I responded, showing my glass full and lighting up my cigar. - "I do have to admit that here, the cigars are far better than in NYC."

I've gotta say that hanging out with'em was really fun, but I couldn't forget Javier's touch on my skin.

When I got home, I felt something wrong, but nothing was out of its place

My body was on fire, burning for him... The way he looked at me while I drank or smoked, how he picked me up and saved me from drowning...

I swear that I tried as hard as I could: not to think about him. I took a warm bath, supposed to be relaxing, but my mind kept going back, kept playing tricks.

He was just right there... My fucking neighbor.

Finally, I gave up.

As I got out of the tub, I accepted my fate: I'd lay in bed and touch myself thinking of him.

Laying down, my hands weren't enough, something was missing... Or better, someone was missing.

No, in a romantic way.

It was dirty and vicious. An obscene and vulgar fantasy.

Yes, a really filthy fantasy, that Javier could be between my legs anyway possible: with his hands or mouth or even that stupid huge dick...

No matter how, as long as he did it... As long as he put those big hands on me, playing with how sensitive my skin felt under his touch... Those lips, who held that mustache and smile, oh, how they could just drink me up, his tongue exploring my folds... His dick, hard, fucking me through the mattress...

His sinful body all over me, my deepest and most secret desire.

"Fuck it!" - I said to myself. - "It's just a fantasy, a dumb one. It'll pass."

I opened my drawer and chose my vibrator.

My vibrator could be named after him, as Agent Peña, since it made me come so many times at the thought.

"Vamos, Agente Peña. You've got yourself a job to do." - I whispered, almost as a confession.

Narrator's POV:

As Peña arrived home, he heard a weird noise, coming from another apartment, but he chose to ignore it. Too much going on already, as he figured.

What a hella fucking day, he wish he could forget all about.

His hands touching you, as you were wet and half naked.

Yes, your smooth skin chilling under his touch, your nipples hard showing off on that ridiculous bikini.

Your nails freshly done, red as your... Outfit.

Your mouth drinking and smoking.

Javier made up an excuse and left about an hour after the... incident, looking for his favorite prostitute.

A wave of shame hit him, when he remembered that he couldn't be hard, as much as he tried.

When were his time to lay down, the weird noise became clear: a female voice, better, a moan, saying "oh, fuck... Oh, babyboy..."

Could be you? With someone? Oh no, please, not like this… - He thought. This is not the way to find out that you were screwing someone…

Until he heard: "Good boy, Peña..." - his cock twitched as he realized that was his name.

Su nombre. Peña.

Javier couldn't think straight, wondering who it was, but hoping for someone in particular. He couldn't even breathe right, as if it would interrupt what was happening.

His curiosity was killing him.

However, nothing, absolutely nothing prepared him for what came next: "Good boy, Peña... Such an obedient soldier... Go ahead, keep those lips on my pussy, I'm so close again..."

So close? Again? Obedient soldier? Good boy?

His mind was rushing so badly... He was horny, curious, but in doubt. How could he be sure? Could he run to that apartment next door and do something?

His cock was throbbing painfully on his pants.

He only hoped for it to be you, calling out for him, wishing him.

And he would be anything you wanted, would do anything you asked.

At that time, he was already yours, without you even wanting to.

And he'd be the best you ever had. He'd ruin you, as you did to him.

He was tense, but his brain fully focused on hearing anything new, anything you could give to him.

"Oh, Agent Peña..." - you moan. - "Yeah, fuck yeah, just like that..." - he was imagining what you're doing, as his hands finally went to his dick, above his pants. - "Go ahead and make su jefe come on your lips, soldier."

At that moment, he lost it.

At the same time, Javier hesitates: should knock on your door or stay in, enjoy you from a safe distance and act slowly?

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

Pretending as if I didn't come until fall asleep using my vibrator, whose nickname was Agent Peña, I decided to explore my neighborhood a little, discreetly.

I walked around aimlessly, until I discovered a little cafe, so cozy. Nothing like a Starbucks, so far away, thank God. Seemed truly local.

I came in, as I got closer to the balcony, a sweet little old lady smiled:

"¡Mija, buenos días! Me llamo Ana Hernández. ¿Qué te gustaría comer o beber?" (Honey, good morning! I'm Ana Hernandez. What you'd like to drink or eat?)

I reciprocated the smile, I was right.

"¡Buenos días, Señora Hernández! ¿Té helado tal vez? (Good morning, Misses Hernandez. Maybe an ice tea?)

"¿Mija, limonada de coco, que tal?" (Honey, I've got a coconut lemonade, how about it?)

"Sí, entonces. Para llevar, por favor." (Yes. To go, please.)

She served me, I tasted, it was so delicious, so refreshing, just about the right amount of sweet. Actually perfect for such a hot day.

"Gracias, Señora Hernández. Buenos días." (Thank you, Mrs. Hernandez. Have a good day.)

She smiled again and told me to come back when I could.

Distracted, I only thought about really coming back to eat or taste something new. What else could I do around here?

Out of nowhere, someone bumps hard on me, at its door, spilling my lemonade on me.

"¡Mierda!" (Shit!) - I cursed, looking at my summer dress wet and sticky, when I noticed Javier was the bumper.

"Lo siento, señorita... Y/N?" (I'm sorry, miss... Y/N?)- Javier seemed shocked. - "¿Qué haces aquí?" (What are you doing here?)

"Fuck! I came to drink an ice tea, but Señora Hernández offered lemonade, instead. The lemonade you spilled all over me and on the floor." - I responded, drought.

Damn you, Peña.

"I'm sorry, cariño." - he said. - "Please, take a seat, I'll bring another one."

Cariño?

I found his sudden behavior strange. Normally, he would act like an asshole, but there he was: being a nice guy.

I sat down and waited for him to come back to our table.

After ordering, he came.

"My question was serious, Y/N. How did you find out about this place?"

"I was just walking around, Javier... What? Is this place your territory now?"

He acted like my response was a joke and laughed.

"Well, I'd like to think it was. Not even Steve knows about it. Señora Hernández is my savior. Her food and coffee always made me feel good, even with a hangover."

His nice behavior made me even more suspicious.

"Mijos, there you go. I also brought Mantecada for Javi and since you liked your limonada, I brought Marquesa, with blueberry."

She served our food and drinks and left us.

"Javier, you didn't have to..."

"It's my apology, Y/N. I didn't mean to ruin your dress or spill your drink... And we're not at work, you can call me Javi."

"Fine."

I've felt under surveillance by Javier, while taking a bite of my Marquesa.

I let slip a moan, and told Señora Hernandez that I'd want to marry that thing.

They found it quite funny.

"Díos Mio, cariño, I didn't know you had such a sweet tooth... If I knew it, I'd have brought this Marquesa to you at the office."

"To be 100% honest, I'm not the biggest sweet tooth I know, but his one here? Oh fuck... And you take it to me? At the office? I can't hold my arsenic, I know you hate me as your boss."

Javier shrugs his shoulders, not seeming to care.

"Y/N, all that I know is that your position requires a bunch of sacrifices. I'm not here to judge... But yes, sometimes, you make me want to test your arsenic resistance." - he laughed.

We shared that meal in silence for a bit.

"I didn't expect you to think like this." - I admitted. - "Hey, did you notice that Señora Hernandez keeps staring?"

Javier lowered his voice:

"It's the first time she sees me talking to someone. To be honest, I've never talked to anyone here. Her snoopy way reminds me of mi mama."

"Su mama? Really? How come?"

"Yeah... Small and nosy, saving me with a hot meal and spoiling me with any dessert... I also met this place by accident, when I arrived here. Mi mama is deceased already, mi papa stayed in Texas, at our ranch."

I chuckled a little.

"Is that a latin curse? Mi abuela and mi mama are just like this as well. I missed a lot sometimes. Other times, I appreciate being far away... Sorry, I didn't mean to over share or to be insensitive."

He smiled and I didn't follow.

"It's tricky, isn't it? Especially when we leave so much pain behind. I missed a bunch of stuff as well, but, to me, Colombia came with peace."

"Peace?"

"Not even the violence and chaos could be in the way of this feeling."

"Javier, we all have baggage... But I don't think that runaway is going to make'em disappear." - I could feel the weight of my words as I spoke... I was on the run as well.

"You definitely wouldn't say that if you knew about my situation, cariño..."

"Oh, we're making assumptions now? So, You'd find me shallow actually. We're not here to judge anyone's personal life. When I accepted the DEA's invite, of course I looked up the team... But I focused on the professional side, the personal. I couldn't care less."

Javier seemed surprised.

"You, shallow? Why? Because you didn't quit your career to marry and raise kids?" - he asked, trying to make a joke.

"Pretty much, actually. At the time, I was planning on it, when I got the DEA proposition. However, things didn't turn out well to go this way. Now, I don't want to marry nor have kids, so I gave up. Colombia was also my getaway car to sanity, Javi. You're not the only one with a past."

"Despite I'm not the only one, you grabbed the first chance to rub on my face where I got my inside info." - he continued, a bit hurt.

"Javier, I couldn't care less if you pick up prostitutes or gotta a favorite brothel. It's a you problem. But yes, I do think it could be a liability." - it was half true.

"Good to know. Gracias, cariño."

I looked confused at him, drinking my lemonade.

"For being so careful and not judgy towards me."

A glance with a cozy air floats around us, like a bubble, isolating us. It was a warmful, no judgemental, kind and considerate air.

Shifting my eyes to the street, I said:

"You can show me how thankful you are by revealing what else we got around here, neighbor. Shall we?"

He smiled.

Fuck, what a beautiful stupid smile.

He insisted on paying and left a big nice tip to Señora Hernandez.

We got up and left, walking around for a bit. He showed me stores and restaurants. Apparently, we've got a quite nice vicinity around.

Finally, we went to the apartment complex and each got to their own apartment, as we said goodbye.

As I got in, I felt so dumb... So stupid for letting him in.

Javier felt human. A latin fellow with struggles, a life in the US, a family... Not an arrogant bastard who slept around with anyone. He lost his mama, only got his papa. Probably single, missing Texas.

My ex also felt like a... Real person, not a cheating bastard who not only slept around but also fucked half of Manhattan's prostitutes, making me look like "such a good agent, but a blind and lousy fiance."

I came with a job to do. I needed to get it done and only this matters. - I thought

16 notes · View notes

theokapuco · 11 months

Text

Maze Runner Aus that have been locked in my brain for year's and have now finally found a way out

Tmr expect the Ivy Trio [Thomas, Newt, and Minho] are corrupted / the corrupted versions of them

WCKD is still a thing in this World except they never had a Maze plan in place, instead, they took to experimenting on the subjects to get the results they want.

Thomas was a subject that showed great promise, he seemed to have the flare but his blood would constantly be getting rid of it. WCKD decided to test his limits and see if there was a certain amount of the flare his blood can take. This resulting in him becoming half crank with his blood constantly fighting the flare but the flare always grows back.

Newt is a Crank subject, he is given potential cures to the flare very often which made him conscious of his mind compared to the other cranks, but he still acts like a crank just with self-awareness now. When he attacks people he doesn't do it mindlessly he does it with purpose and knows what he's doing.

Minho was another subject who showed promise with his blood being able to cure people for a short amount of time, expect his blood didn't contain the flare like Thomas's did so he went through a different experiment. Basically the same as the movie where they put him through realistic scenarios of his worse nightmares expect he ends up losing his mind and is unable to tell what is real and what is fake.

God Au

This story does not have a plot line yet, just characters

Thomas is the God of Heros and is considered one of the nicest Gods so if you want to communicate with a God, most people recommend going to him

Newt is considered a Pathway, which basically means he's a way to get to the Gods, him and Thomas have been married for thousands of year's, he is moral but keeps his morality with a necklace Thomas gave him that connects him and Thomas together. Basically, Newt relies on Thomas's life source to keep him alive. If the necklace is taken off nothing happens, he just goes back to being moral.

Minho is a moral in this Au, he does not have a role in this Au right now but he is the main focus of this Au, with Newt and Thomas being side characters at the beginning before being main characters later on.

The Graveyard Shift [Newtmas Au]

A simple sweet Au that was inspired by "The Nightmare Before Christmas" & "I have read the complete works of Montague Summers as well as Vampires: Burial, and Death and would just like to say the Penny Dreadful's are horribly inaccurate" by Singtome & "Amalgamation" by Tattered_Dreams

Thomas is a part of the Zombie population and quite literally lives in a graveyard, he is a part-time worker at a gas station that runs 24 hours, with him taking up the Graveyard shifts. Something features about Thomas is that he can not feel pain but that does not mean he isn't hurting, he's hand could be on fire and he wouldn't know until someone pointed it out. He is also able to rip off his hand, but only his left hand specifically since that was cut off before he became a Zombie.

Newt is basically Mothman and likes bothering the shit out of Thomas during his shifts. He has bright red eyes and large moth wings, at the beginning Newt would try to scare Thomas by popping out of nowhere, hanging upside down by the ceiling but Thomas has gotten used to it and doesn't even bat a eye.

There was a time when Thomas did scare the shit out of Newt when he got stabbed by a Robber but didn't notice until Newt pointed it out and all he said was "Oh,,,how did that get there? 🤨☝️"

Basically; Strangers to Friends to Lovers

Extra --> A small concept writing of this story expect Thomas works at a coffee shop instead with Brenda

October weaves through September, summer sun green leaves turning into fall orange and reds. Pumpkin spice hangs in the air, breeze passes through the town, and the sun covers up. Thomas yells a “see ya” before leaving his home, closing the chain link fence behind him and sprinting through the dead weeds and cracked brick path. He rounds the corner, using the lamp post as leverage to make a sharp turn. Busting open the doors of a dingy old looking coffee shop made of dark oak wood and filled with books, webs, and mold.

The Flower Shop Down the Street [Newtmas]

Another short and sweet Au expect with superpowers

Thomas and Newt are around 26-30 years old, they are married and run a flower shop together, their flower shop is considered one of the most popular for the fact that Thomas has water base powers that allow him to water the plants more easily, with him being able to pick up water.

Newt on the other hand is a Planter but more on the weaker side of being a Planeter where he can't fully grow a plant but he can aid them in the growing process.

Extra--> I did write a short story about this but will only show some since I do not like the writing of it, I was like 14 when I wrote this LOL

Thomas places the watering can down the floor, next to a row of multicolored roses. And like magic, the water in the can float up, Thomas having his hands out. The water parted into four balls of water, all for different kinds of roses. He puts them into place above the plant stand, spreads his fingers out and let the water drop onto the roses like small rain droplets. Minho claps his hands in slow motion "ah, impressive" Minho says sarcastically. Thomas rolled his eyes " yeah I know, am the best " Thomas replies. He continues watering the plants the same way he did with the roses. Minho watching, the thing is, Minho wasn't born with powers and he always had an interest in them. When he was a kid he would pretend to have super speed and run across the field making 'zooming' sounds. He was kinda jealous of Thomas and Newt but he got over it and accepted the fact he was powerless.

This is it for now but in the future I probably will draw fan art of some of these Aus or built more onto them

#Me full on just vomiting all the Aus of the Maze Runner into this post 💀#The maze runner #The maze runner aus #thomas the maze runner #newt the maze runner #minho the maze runner #Tmr #The maze runner thomas #the maze runner newt #The maze runner minho #newt tmr #thomas tmr #minho tmr #Theseus Talks

23 notes · View notes

flooftism · 1 year

Text

(ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू) EVERETT'S PRONOUN HOARD ଓ

i hoard many, many pronouns. i figured i would organize them all into a masterlist so you don't have to ask me whenever you want to refer to me.

Xミ◦❧◦°˚°◦.¸¸◦°´♥︎*•.¸ ~Xx♥︎xX~ ¸.•*♥︎´°◦¸¸.◦°˚°◦☙◦彡X

NORMAL PRONOUNS ଓ

fae/fae/faer/faers/faerself

they/them/their/theirs/themself

he/him/his/his/himself

it/it/its/its/itself

EDGY THEMED NEOS ଓ

goth/goth/goths/goths/gothself

floof/floof/floofs/floofs/floofself

blood/blood/bloods/bloods/bloodself

howl/howl/howls/howls/howlself

skull/skull/skulls/skulls/skullself

collar/collar/collars/collars/collarself

edge/edge/edgys/edgys/edgyself

claw/claw/claws/claws/clawself

grim/grimm/grimms/grimms/grimmself

knife/knife/knifes/knives/kniveself

scourge/scourge/scourges/scourges/scourgeself

spike/spike/spikes/spikes/spikeself

rot/rot/rots/rots/rotself

stab/stab/stabs/stabs/stabself

bite/bite/bites/bites/biteself

fang/fang/fangs/fangs/fangself

beast/beast/beasts/beasts/beastself

blade/blade/blades/blades/bladeself

candle/candle/candles/candles/candleself

wilt/wilt/wilts/wilts/wiltself

coffin/coffin/coffins/coffins/coffinself

smoke/smoke/smokes/smokes/smokeself

poison/poison/poisons/poisons/poisonself

dea/death/deaths/deaths/deathself

mist/mists/mists/mists/mistself

chain/chain/chains/chains/chainself

bat/bat/bats/bats/batself

grey/grey/greys/greys/greyself

slash/slash/slashes/slashes/slashself

timber/timber/timbers/timbers/timberself

scent/scent/scents/scents/scentself

sniff/sniff/sniffs/sniffs/sniffself

scare/scare/scares/scares/scareself

crow/crow/crows/crows/crowself

murder/murder/murders/murders/murderself

moth/moth/moths/moths/mothself

vamp/vamp/vamps/vamps/vampself

corpse/corpse/corpses/corpses/corpseself

gut/gut/guts/guts/gutself

bat/bat/bats/bats/batself

racc/raccoon/raccoons/raccoons/raccoonself

🌕/🌖/🌗/🌘/🌑self

☔/☔/☔s/☔s/☔self

🦴/🦴/🦴s/🦴s/🦴self

🍂/🍂/🍂s/🍂s/🍂self

🔪/🔪/🔪s/🔪s/🔪self

🖤/🖤/🖤s/🖤s/🖤self

⛓️/⛓️/⛓️s/⛓️s/⛓️self

⛈️/⛈️/⛈️s/⛈️s/⛈️self

⚰️/⚰️/⚰️s/⚰️s/⚰️self

🥀/🥀/🥀s/🥀s/🥀self

🌙/🌙/🌙s/🌙s/🌙self

🗡/🗡/🗡s/🗡s/🗡self

🕯️/🕯️/🕯️s/🕯️s/🕯️self

💔/💔/💔s/💔s/💔self

🕸️/🕸️/🕸️s/🕸️s/🕸️self

🦇/🦇/🦇s/🦇s/🦇self

🚬/🚬/🚬s/🚬s/🚬self

🪓/🪓/🪓s/🪓s/🪓self

🐺/🐺/🐺s/🐺s/🐺self

🐾/🐾/🐾s/🐾s/🐾self

𖤐/𖤐/𖤐s/𖤐s/𖤐self

CUTE THEMED NEOS ଓ

puff/puff/puffs/puffs/puffself

swirl/swirl/swirls/swirls/swirlself

sweets/sweet/sweets/sweets/sweetself

cake/cake/cakes/cakes/cakeself

roll/roll/rolls/rolls/rollself

sno/snow/snowys/snowyself

luv/luv/luvs/luvs/luvself

love/love/loves/loves/loveself

he/heart/hearts/hearts/heartself

soft/soft/softs/softs/softself

sylv/sylve/sylves/sylveonself

hug/hug/hugs/hugs/hugself

ribbon/ribbon/ribbons/ribbons/ribbonself

fluff/fluffy/fluffys/fluffys/fluffyself

sock/socks/socks/socks/sockself

cinnamon/cinnamon/cinnamons/cinnamons/cinnamonself

whimper/whimper/whimpers/whimpers/whimperself

bun/bun/buns/buns/bunself

pop/pop/pops/lops/popself

tart/tart/tarts/tarts/tartself

frost/frosting/frostings/frostings/frostingself

sprinkle/sprinkle/sprinkles/sprinkles/sprinkleself

funfetti/funfetti/funfettis/funfettis/funfettiself

crush/crushs/crushs/crushs/crushself

cream/cream/creams/creams/creamself

creme/cremes/cremes/cremeself

blanket/blanket/blankets/blankets/blanketself

coo/coo/coos/coos/cooself

boo/boo/boos/boos/booself

cozy/cozy/cozys/cozys/cozyself

pillow/pillow/pillows/pillows/pillowself

sleep/sleep/sleeps/sleeps/sleepself

comfy/comfy/comfys/comfys/comfyself

nap/nap/naps/naps/napself

smol/smol/smols/smols/smolself

muffin/muffin/muffins/muffins/muffinself

flour/flour/flours/flours/flourself

jam/jam/jama/jams/jamself

neb/nebula/nebulas/nebulas/nebulasel

turt/turtle/turtles/turtles/turtleself

candy/candys/candys/candys/candyself

icing/icing/icings/icings/icingself

sugar/sugar/sugars/sugars/sugarself

gummy/gummy/gummys/gummys/gummyself

care/care/cares/cares/careself

taffy/taffy/taffys/taffys/taffyself

dove/dove/doves/doves/doveself

twinkle/twinkle/twinkles/twinkles/twinkleself

spin/spin/spins/spins/spinself

fairy/fairy/fairys/fairys/fairyself

sweet/sweet/sweets/sweets/sweetself

cotton/cotton/cottons/cottons/cottonself

star/starry/starrys/starrys/starryself

🍰/🍰/🍰s/🍰s/🍰self

🧁/🧁/🧁s/🧁s/🧁self

🍩/🍩/🍩s/🍩s/🍩self

🍫/🍫/🍫s/🍫s/🍫self

🍭/🍭/🍭s/🍭s/🍭self

🎀/🎀/🎀s/🎀s/🎀self

🍬/🍬/🍬s/🍬s/🍬self

🍪/🍪/🍪s/🍪s/🍪self

🥧/🥧/🥧s/🥧s/🥧self

🍜/🍜/🍜s/🍜s/🍜self

🍨/🍨/🍨s/🍨s/🍨self

🍧/🍧/🍧s/🍧s/🍧self

🥮/🥮/🥮s/🥮s/🥮self

💕/💕/💕s/💕s/💕self

💖/💖/💖s/💖s/💖self

💘/💘/💘s/💘s/💘self

✨/✨/✨s/✨s/✨self

🌠/🌠/🌠s/🌠s/🌠self

🫧/🫧/🫧s/🫧s/🫧self

CRINGY THEMED NEOS ଓ

star/starrys/starrys/starrys/starryself

night/night/nights/nights/nightself

nya/nyan/nyans/nyans/nyanself

wolf/wolf/wolfs/wolfs/wolfself

spark/sparkle/sparkles/sparkles/sparkleself

hex/hex/hexs/hexs/hexxself

paw/paw/paws/paws/pawself

XD/XD/XDs/XDs/XDself

X3/X3/X3s/X3s/X3self

XwX/XwX/XwXs/XwXs/XwXself

^w^/^w^/^w^s/^w^s/^w^self

fur/fur/furs/furs/furself

stick/stickers/sticks/sticks/stickself

clown/clown/clowns/clowns/clownself

fizz/fizzy/fizzys/fizzys/fizzyself

rave/rave/raves/raves/raveself

hype/hyper/hypes/hypers/hyperself

fun/fun/funs/funs/funself

web/web/webs/webs/webself

plur/plur/plurs/plurs/plurself

chao/chao/chaos/chaos/chaoself

BSOD/BSOD/BSODs/BSODs/BSODself

LOL/LOL/LOLs/LOLs/LOLself

LUL/LUL/LULs/LULs/LULself

OwO/OwO/OwOs/OwOs/OwOself

UwU/UwU/UwUs/UwUs/UwUself

OmO/OmO/OmOs/OmOs/OmOself

UmU/UmU/UmUs/UmUs/UmUself

blinkie/blinkie/blinkies/blinkies/blinkieself

yip/yippee/yippees/yippees/yippeeself

pizza/pizza/pizzas/pizzas/pizzasslf

kitten/kitten/kittens/kittens/kittenself

rawr/rawr/rawrs/rawrs/rawrself

taco/taco/tacos/tacos/tacoself

fanta/fanta/fantas/fantas/fantaself

floof/floof/floofs/floofs/floofself

game/gamer/gamers/gamers/gamerself

goop/goop/goops/goops/goopself

noob/noob/noobs/noobs/noobself

.jpg/.jpg/.jpgs/.jpgs/.jpgself

.png/.png/.pngs/.pngs/.pngself

.gif/.gif/.gifs/.gifs/.gifself

.exe/.exe/.exes/.exes/.exeself

LMAO/LMAO/LMAOs/LMAOs/LMAOself

^_^/^_^/^_^s/^_^s/^_^self

>w</>w</>w<s/>w<s/>w<self

ZOMG/ZOMG/ZOMGs/ZOMGs/ZOMGself

🥳/🥳s

🎮/🎮s

🌐/🌐s

💎/💎s

🕹/🕹s

☄️/☄️s

🛼/🛼s

🌈/🌈s

🌨️/🌨️s

⛈️/⛈️s

❄️/❄️s

🧇/🧇s

🐾/🐾s

🍔/🍔s

🤡/🤡s

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deusluxuria · 2 years

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( spoilers: golden wind / vento aureo / part 5 )

( warning: dio as a parent )

went through my 2nd watch of andy muschetti's "mama" (2013) & now i am thinking about dea after her death staying in giorno's life as a moth or a bat or something

#fem!dio because i think of her being more ethereal looking like the monster is #mudamom #dea brando #mudad #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #golden wind #vento aureo

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arachnidae · 1 year

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Leaving Lepidoptera, welcome to our system blog!

All alters:

🦇 Scott - Host [He/they/þei]

💙 McNasty - Co-host [He/that/it/þei]

⌛ Aaron [He/they/il]

💤 22 [He/she]

🔆 Amadeus [He/him]

💔 Austin/Alex [He/him]

👹 Az [They/it/he]

🏳️‍🌈 B [She/her]

🐃 Babe [He/fae/kit]

🤖 Barbatos [He/him]

👽 Bryan [He/they/she]

🏙️ Cabana [He/they/none]

🧟 Cesare [He/ze/zom]

🍋 Citrón [They/them]

🫐 Claude - Dormant [He/him]

🌷 Dahlia [She/her]

🧿 Dan [They/them]

🍑 Darla [She/they/phe]

📷 Denise [They/them]

💎 Denver [He/him]

💫 Devo [He/it/any]

🧠 Dog [God/it/he]

💸 Dusty [He/they]

🎶 Elbertson [He/him]

🦪 Epitaph [They/them]

💣 Eustace [All]

🔪 Gabe - Aggressive [He/it]

👨‍⚖‍ Gabriel - Primary Protector [None]

🐺 Gayle [She/it]

💉 Gaiman [He/him]

🍟 Gene [He/they/bun]

🦋 Geon [They/none]

🧵 Gerty [He/him]

🍝 Gev [He/it/il/lui] - Can translate French

👼 Gonzie [He/it]

🤓 Griffin [He/him]

🤡 Heehoo [He/that/they]

🎩 Herman [It/she/he]

🌩️ Hickory [He/it/that/they/x/xe]

📻 Holiday/Hollie [He/she]

🪙 Igor [It/he]

🐏 Innocence [It/its] - Speaks Latin

❄️ Jack [He/him]

🕰️ Jax [He/they]

🐙 Jen [She/xe]

🔱 Jonah [It/its]

🐍 Janus/Dante - Dormant [He/they/she]

🦖 Joy [She/her]

🏵️ Joseung [Saja/he/it/mort/mortis/meu/muerte/dea/death/bone/bones]

😈 Judas [He/him]

🗡 Killian [They/he/it/that/ir]

🪓 Krampus/Eliezer [He/it]

🦁 Lio [None]

🌽 Maizey [She/her]

🕔 Mare [He/him]

🌘 Marie [She/her]

🥨 Michael [He/him]

🐈 Mittens [He/they]

🍄 Morell [They/them]

💾 Moth [Any]

🩻 Mr. Capgras [She/he]

🏴‍☠️ John Silver [Il/lui] - Speaks French

☎️ Neil [He/him]

🐳 Neuro [She/it]

👩‍🎤 Neo [They/them]

📜 No Man [He/they]

🕯️Oleander [He/him]

🍃 Orlin [He/him]

🍒 Osborne [He/they]

🩸 Oveja [He/they/blood]

👁 Pedro [He/they/it]

👣 Porsche [She/her]

🦴 Ptera [He/it/they]

❤️ Red [It/its/centi/centipede]

❤️‍🔥 Rowan [He/they/it]

🦠 Sadsack [He/they]

🍎 Saffron [He/they]

🐉 Sasha [She/her]

🚭 Shen [He/him]

🐐Sicily [She/they]

💐 Séamus [He/they]

✂️ Scissors [They/it]

🗺️ Silas [He/fae]

💀 Stanley [He/him]

🐮 Steve [He/they]

💡 Stauber [He/she]

🍊 Sullivan [They/them]

♣️ Svetlana [He/him]

🧙‍♂‍ Teah [He/she/they]

🌠 Terrence [He/that]

🧛 Thoth [He/it] - Can translate French & Latin

🪳 Thursday [They/it/she]

☔ Tooth [They/xey]

🌿 Ulysses [It/its]

🌚 Usher [He/it]

🍉 Veloc [He/they/she]

🎭 Venetius [He/they/she]

🌋 Vezu [He/it]

🥐 Wallace [He/fae]

🪦 Wendy [He/him]

🕷️ Widowling [He/it/spider]

🍔 Will [He/they]

🪱 Worms [She/it]

👻 Yorick [None]

Please note that some of us do not speak English. There are alters that speak Latin and alters that speak French. Even our more volatile alters deserve respect and a safe space. Please respect our pronouns. The emojis are used to signal who made the post or reblogged a post. There's also a large number of us not listed, some choose not to use the blog or don't update with a chosen emoji since there's only so many. Many of us are not human, so some things may be odd. The littles in our system have not been listed and are not allowed to interact with the blog.

DNI: Endos, dreamsmp blogs, genshin blogs, nsfw accounts, terfs, swerfs, pedosexuals/maps/nomaps/pears/etc, fetishists, proana/bodygoal/skinny/diet/anorexia blogs, homophobes, nazis, antisemites, transphobes, system criticals

#system #intro post #did #dissasociative identity disorder #system blog #endos dni #anti endos #traumagenic system #dni #Cw flash #Flashing #Gif #blinkies

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dollmoth-productions · 9 months

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You're so special, my dear.

#fanfic #punch out #punch out wii #cult au #leader moth #nintendo punch out #punch out au #super punch out #super punch out au #punch out oc au #moth punch out #punch out moth #deamoth #punch out dea moth #dea moth #punch out ocverse #Spotify

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yourlocaltrashpandaxoxo · 1 year

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Late to the party but hey, here's Honey Slugger in @dollmoth-productions / @funkmoth-production 's Carrie AU! Poor baby needs a damn friend so he hopes Moth will kind to him despite his fishy smell.

Sekhmet cares for him and is like his adoptive mama. He thinks Adarna is wonderful and often runs to her when he's been bullied by Madison and the other girls.

Enjoy this traumatised baby

#punch out #my ocs #punch out oc #punch out au #dea moth #DEAMOTH #carrie au #adarna #traumatised baby

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prismatic-souls · 2 years

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How to summon a god, Chapter 1, The radiance...

Gather the following items, A medium decent quality crystal from the crystal peaks, An offering of some kind, (She likes jewelry, If that helps) and knowledge of the summoning rites.

Prepare a room, Make sure it is mostly empty, No mirrors, And no windows, And no shadows anywhere.

Place your crystal in the very middle of the room

Bow before the crystal and begin to chant

"Lux antiqua, lux beata, Lux praelucida, O lucis dea oblita, Venite, vocate, Nolumus, nihil mali volo, Tantum carmen audire volo"

Say that around 3 times, Maybe more should you see it fit.

If the summoning has gone well, You will find a white moth standing near the crystal, She will look absolutely beautiful and completely in shape by moth standards.

Give your offering to her

If she is pleased by it, She will take it and stay, She will answer your questions, Maybe even teach you some spells.

Mind your manners, Treat her with respect.

Treat her like you would a powerful queen or a great lady.

Unless you want to get a white spear through your chest, Of course.

Now I know how to summon a god!

But seriously, this is sorta how I write summoning rituals for my original gods.

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embraced-chaos · 2 years

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Muse careers:

Maddox - Forensic Anthropologist Camille - Social Worker Airi - Detective Piper - Elementary Student Katina - Latent Fingerprint Analyst Ashton - Medical Examiner Sam - Forensic Tech David - Elementary Student Chris - Police Officer Tina - Police Officer Simon - (main/childhood verse) Elementary Student (adult verse) Child Care North - (main/childhood verse) Elementary Student (adult verse) Barkeep Morgan - Prosecutor turned Defense Attorney Lance - Police Officer turned Private Investigator (after being shot) Olivia - Journalist turned True Crime Novelist Sharp - Retired Detective turned Private Investigator Mac - Biologist, DEA agent, Professor Stella - Detective Hannah - Corporate Attorney turned Family Lawyer Bree - Detective, later became a Sheriff Moth - Orphanage Caretaker Alice - Elementary Student Jaymie - Elementary Student Josh - (childhood verse) Elementary Student (main/adult verse) Professor Casen - Forensic Odontologist Mallory - Photographer, Document Digitalizer and, Architecture Archiver Elizabeth - Technology Research & Design Benny - Reporter

#quick reff #headcanons #muse things #muse list

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disneyfangrl100 · 18 days

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Chapter Twelve: The Deal

After a long day at work Valentino was finally glad to be to rest as he entered his room ready to enjoy a good nights sleep. However as he was looking at himself in the mirror he noticed a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room.

“YAhhh!” Valentino shouted Alarmed. “Who are you? How the fuck did you get past security?”

“You left your window open.” The figure said eyes glowing red. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The figure stepped from the shadows. Valentino had heard the prince of hell was deformed and ugly but he never thought he’d come face to face with him. “Well… your majesty. What can I do for you this fine and… “hellish” evening. “I think you know what I want?”

Valentino shrugged. “Unfortunately I haven’t got a clue.”

“I want Angel… I want you to free him.” He said growling. Valentino laughed. “You’re joking right?” Quasi glared at him.

Valentino smirked. “Didn’t think so? You know I’ve known about your little crush for a while now. But unfortunately I’m afraid i can’t do that… and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Valentino said smugly.

“I love Angel and he loves me.”

“Oh so you told him about your little crush did you… and what you think you can just come in here and demand your little boyfriend’s soul from me is that it?” Quasi glared at him silently. “He’s mine there’s nothing you can do that would- I didn’t come here to demand his soul.” Valentino frowned. “Oh then why are you here?”

Quasi closed his eyes. “I… I came here to make a deal.” Valentino grinned his sharp teeth glittering in the pale lamp light. “Go on.” Quasi had thought a lot about how he was going to do this, but no matter how he tried to come up with a solution he ended up empty handed.

Until… he came upon a rather unfortunate answer. He tried to think of anything else but nothing came to mind. “I want to exchange my soul… for Angel’s.”Valentino stared at him blankly before he burst out laughing. His fit had f laughter lasted for a few minutes before he was able to calm himself down.

“I sorry but…Why would I want your soul? I mean… look at you.” Quasi ignored the stab at his appearance as he took a deep breath. “Fine I guess I’ll just leave then.” Valentino grabbed his arm.

“Now hold on now. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” Valentino lifted Quasi’s chin studying his deformed face. “You know I was actually joking about your face. Believe it or not you’re actually quite attractive… well by demon standards anyways.”

Quasi shuddered under his touch but didn’t fight back. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“And you’ll free Angel.” Valentino smiled. “I’m a moth of my word. But it’s up to you… so… do we have a deal?” Valentino said holding out his hand.

“Dea-Quasi?” The prince looked up to see angel standing in the doorway. “Angel… I… he didn’t know what to say he was speechless. Had he followed him? “I’m sorry Angel…I love you.”

Quasi turned to Valentino. “Deal.” Quasi shook his hand as there was a flash of red light as well as an excruciating pain that ripped through his body as he passed out.

—————————————————

“Ow… my head.” He groaned as he sat up. “I don’t feel any different. He noticed Angel lying on the ground behind him unconscious. “Angel!”

He ran to him as he tried to shake him awake. “Relax. He’s fine.” Valentino said appearing behind him. “What did you do to him?!” Quasi growled furious.

“He tried to stop you… so I knocked him out.” Quasi lunged at the moth demon. You bastere… however before he could hit him a glowing red chain appeared around his wrist. Valentino gave the chain a hard yank pulling him to his knees. “Uh, uh, uh You’re mine now. Or did you forget you sold your soul.”

Quasi glared at him furiously. But I’m generous I’ll let you say goodbye. Valentino released the chain as he left the room. Angel ground as he woke up. When Angel saw quasi he was immediately furious.

“Quas? What the hell? What did you do?”

“I did it for you. You’re free now.”

“Yeah but you’re not I’m not just going to let you do this for me. “

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not fine! You sold your soul for me. I can’t let you do this.”

“I-I’m sorry Angel I- Times up.” Valentino said as the red chain reappeared; this time around his neck. “Angel dear you’re free to go you ungrateful shit. Enjoy your freedom.” Val said snapping his fingers as Angel disappeared.

“As for you. Val said pulling him closer. You’re mine now and boy do I have plans for you. But for now rest you’ll need it… oh and if I were you, you should learn how to dance.” And with that Valentino closed the door locking it behind him.

Quasi fell to his knees as he started to cry. “What have I done?”

—————————————————

Quasi peered out at the crowd of demons nervously… though not currently himself. Valentino had realized that if anyone recognized him that he’d been in trouble with Lucifer himself. So he created a magical disguise to hide Quasi’s true identity. He no longer looked deformed… far from it in fact.

He’d been magically transformed into a handsome demon with red skin, black hair and shiny black and red arms. His body slender yet slightly muscular. A black forked tail whipped around his new cloven hooves. A pair of black bat like wings protruding from his back. Despite the magic glamour if you were to look closer you’d still be able to see his face.

“There a lot of demons… I don’t think I can do this.” A ghostly red chain appeared around his wrist as he was yanked towards his scowling new boss/Master. “You’d better or else.” Valentino threatened. Quasi gulped.

“I’ve been practicing. I won’t let you down.” Val smirked. “Good. You better not.”

Valentino stormed off to his seat. True quasi had only been in this form for a week but it felt far longer than that. He was obviously nervous about dancing in front of a crowd of lustful demons but what choice did he have this was who he was now.

—————————————————

The lights dimmed as the hearts on the stage lit up. Valentino’s voice echoed loudly over the crowd. It is my greatest pleasure that I introduce to you… my latest star… Dante!”

The handsome demon appeared standing in front of a black pole his clawed hands above his horned head, wrapped around the pole. He took a deep breath as he began to sing.

“Hell death do us part But, we're already past that phase.” He sang using his tail to spin himself around the pole as he faced the audience with a sharp toothed grin.

“This is a brand new start And I think I deserve some praise.”

“For the way that I aaam!” He sang spinning around the pole legs and tail tucked underneath him.

“Despite having overdosed And ending up comatose.” He sang looking at his face in the reflective surface. His old face staring back at him to his surprise. However he blinked and it was gone. “What was so special about me before?”

“Sure I was the prince of hell but no one actually took me seriously. Maybe here people will finally see me in a different light. I’m tired of being the freak! This is who I am now!” Quasi said embarrassing his new Identity.

He smiled mischievously at Valentino as he continued his song.

“I don't give a daaamn” He sang spinning gracefully back down the pole.

“I've let my emotions go Fuck bein' a sober hoe” He walked down the steps of the top stage and out onto the main as he sang staring at Valentino.  “This is the mantra This is my life You're playin' with now 'Til the end of the night”

He sang as he struck a seductive pose on stage as a red mist swirled around him. It was coming from Valentino. Some sort of moth pheromone maybe.

“Surrounded by fire The passion ignites”

“A hit of that heaven and hell A helluva high!” He sang as he inhaled the red mist. He fell back onstage as if in a trance. He didn’t even remember finishing his dance. The next thing he knew the crowd was cheering for him.

He stood on the stage panting. “They… they like me… they actually like me.” Valentino appeared behind him hand on his shoulder. “Of course they do… you’re a star.” Quasi in his disguised form beamed with pride.

Little did he realize someone was watching him from the crowd… someone he knew.

—————————————————

Quasi/ Dante was walking backstage to get changed when he was tackled. “Hey what the fuc… his eyes widened. He was expecting a crazed fan… but this was far worse. “A-Angel? W-what… what are you doing here?”

“I’m helping you, ya dummy. What the hell were you thinking making a deal with him!”

“I… I did it for you it was the only way I- it wasn’t the only way! You specifically went behind my back! Do you know how worried I was when I found you missing?! I knew you were going to do something stupid… but this? Why quasi… why’d ya do it?”

“I did it for you! I was saving you! What did you want me to do… let you suffer. I wasn’t going to let that happen! I love you!” Angel sighed. “I love you to ya big idiot… which is why I’m here.”

“I… I don’t understand- I found a way to break your contract but we have to tell your sister-No!” Angel looked surprised. “Quasi- You can’t tell Charlie! Promise me you won’t!”

“I don’t have a choice. Look what he’s done to ya’. Angel said reaching for his hand. Quasi pulled away. “And what if I like the way I am?”

Angel looked shocked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look at me Angel. I’m handsome… attractive. People actually like me now. I’m better.”

“But I liked you before… the old you! Not this flashy posser.” Angel reached out for him. “Quas please- no! That’s not who I am anymore!”

“I won’t go back!” Angel glared at him. “Are you sure you did this for me and not yourself.” Angel spat. Quasi looked infuriated.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I did it for you. I told you and so what if I like the new me? Everyone likes me this way… Val likes me this way. He called me a star.”

“Val’s not who you think he is. You saw what he did to me!” Quasi/ Dante hesitated. He won’t do that to me. He said so. Besides he doesn’t seem so bad.”

“You really think that? He lies! All the fucking time.“ Quasi shook his head. “I don’t believe you.” Angel noticed his eyes were red and bloodshot.

“Oh he’s got you under his spell.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Quasi asked annoyed. “He’s a moth. He these special pheromones to hypnotize and drug people. He did it to me.”

“That’s crazy… you’re crazy.”

“And you’re high. He’s got you wrapped around his finger. Please let me help you before it’s too late!”

“Oh, Dante.” Valentino sang. “I have to go.” Angel grabbed his arm. “Quasi, please!”

He glared at angel. “Quasi is dead! He snarled pulling his arm from his grip. “I’m Dante now.” Angel watched as he stormed off.

“Should we stop him?” Angel’s friend Cherri Bomb said as she stepped out from behind the curtain. Angel shook his head. “What’s the fuckin point?”

“Look… Angie I know this guy’s your boyfriend and shit… but maybe you should let him go.” Angel sighed. “He’ll be back. Val won’t act sweet forever. Once he realizes how badly he’s fucked up hell come back. It’s only a matter of time.”

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