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wanderingblindly · 4 months

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hi liquid!! suzzzzuka here, on anon bc sideblog functionalities suck lmao.

☰ for the ask game? with let’s say… ybmctg & enemies to lovers?? <3

suzzzzuka darling!!!! hello!!!!! ((also can i just say i was so excited when i saw u were on tumblr after i read your landoscar office AU oh my god))

This is a CHALLENGE but I'm into it, let's go!!!

☰ send a fic and an unrelated trope and I’ll remix it

I have no idea what this is, but I wrote a thousand words of something!! It's almost, in a weird way, a preface to YBMCTG?

Concept: Oscar fucked up their first meeting when he started working at the bar; Lando's held a one-sided grudge ever since, and Oscar has no idea why his coworker hates him so much.

Jenson hadn't warned him about this.

Admittedly, he's not entirely sure what Jenson could have said. 'The talent's hot, by the way. Be cool 'bout it, yeah?' wouldn't have prepared him for this. 'This' being the man sitting dead center at his bar, an aura of otherworldliness emanating from him like a halo. He’s not like anything Oscar’s seen before – not in the streets of his suburban hometown, not in the ungodly boredom of his seminars. He’s something that can only exist here, in the spaces drenched in alcohol and debauchery.

Oscar’s gaze quickly flicks down to his shoulders, his chest, hardly covered in anything more than fishnets.

The man’s eyes are icy in their intensity, fixated on Oscar's hands as he grips the necks of a couple beers between his fingers, popping the caps efficiently. Before Oscar can open his mouth to ask what he's drinking tonight, he beats him to it.

"Archers and lemonade, pleeeeease." Oscar's eyes are glued to his lips, stretching into a lazy smile as he leans over the bar. The glossy shine of his lipstick looks dangerous in the dark bar, beckoning to him like a siren's song.

He's quiet for just a beat too long, brain running in every direction besides the sorry excuse for a mixed drink on his to-do list. Oscar moves quickly to compensate, the pours brief and easy.

"I see you've met our star of the night." Jenson smiles as he slides next to him, grabbing the drink out of Oscar's hand before he can place it in front of him. The musician makes a noise of offense, flashing Oscar a look that makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t know what to do with this, with black-lined eyes clearly asking him for something as his boss sits right there. Another drink? Telling Jenson off?

“So you’re in the band?” Oscar finally manages to say something, keeping an ear out for his response as a man flags him down for another round of shots.

“Lead singer, at your service.” He does a faux salute, Oscar notices the broad span of his palm with entirely neutral feelings.

Oscar slides him another archers and lemonade, hopeful that Jenson is adequately distracted by Sebastian to keep away. “What kind of music? You look very…” Oscar wracks his brain for any band to reference, realizing he’s accidentally put himself on the spot. “KISS.” He hopes they're still relevant to anyone besides his dad.

The singer’s eyes darken as the track shifts, Oscar’s sentence exposed in the moment of dead air.

“Thanks for this,” He hops to his feet, tone flatter and mesmerizing lips tighter than when this all started. Sebastian looks over with a raised brow at the sudden movement. As Oscar opens his mouth to reply, the musician reaches out with a steady head and places his fingers on top of the glass, eyes trained on Oscar’s face.

And pushes.

“Oops.” He faux-winces as the drink spills across the bar, splashing Oscar’s shirt in its force – he jumps for a rag instinctively, grabbing the glass before it can roll and shatter. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Someone needs another mezcal old fashioned, someone’s drunkenly calling for sex on the beach, Sebastian is looking at him with a look he doesn’t understand –

And the musician is gone.

—

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Jenson whispers into Sebastian’s ear, stopped in his tracks by a deceptively strong grasp on his thigh.

“No, you won’t.” Sebastian smiles, the one that sends a shiver down Jenson’s spine – trouble. “We’ll see what happens.”

—

Maybe this job isn’t working out for him. His bosses are fine, if not a little odd, and the crowds are vaguely well-behaved. Surely it’s no worse than any other bar in London, definitely better than the proper dives closer to campus.

The main problem is right in front of him, unavoidably sitting in the center of his bar. Again.

“What d’you mean y’don’t know how to make a hitman?” Lando asks, the heavy black around his eyes making him look vicious in the low, shifting lights. It’s the same conversation they had last week, the week before – Lando asking for a drink Oscar’s pretty positive doesn’t even exist with the confidence of a seasoned mixologist.

“Tell me what’s in it, and I got it.” Oscar replies, sparing him a glance as he dumps a few glasses into the dishwasher. His glare makes his stomach twist painfully, like being flayed and gutted by someone seeking vengeance – not someone well-acquainted with delicacy.

He rolls his eyes and yells towards Sebastian, half occupied with whatever concoction Jenson is creating between their two drinks. “Ya gotta hire someone more comp…” He furrows his brows, “good at the job, Seb.”

“He is perfectly competent,” Sebastian calls back, reaching out to pat Oscar’s arm gently.

Ignoring the sting of his invisible wounds, Oscar moves down to figure out what the bickering gaggle of French speakers need.

—

Can someone be beautiful because they’re mean? Or is it always in spite of it?

Oscar’s eyes, against his better judgment, gravitate towards the stage. But perhaps that’s just inevitable, eyes following Lando when he’s steps above everyone else, bearing down on them with the sheer force of his presence.

His voice, usually spitting something acidic and pointed at him from across the bar, is raw – vulnerable – as he grips the microphone with both hands. They envelop it, smothering it, as his lips press against it and he croons out the opening to a ballad.

Goosebumps break out across his skin as the bass creeps in, lifting Lando’s voice up like a prayer over the crowd.

The lights, flashing their usual pattern of red blue red blue, reflect against the summer-bleached gold in his unruly curls – another halo.

—

“KISS doesn’t do it like that, do they?” Lando says, rough voice almost haughty as he sits down in his seat – black shirt completely unbuttoned, chest glistening with sweat and metal.

He puts a glass of water in front of Lando immediately, dropping in a black straw. “Uh, I guess?” Oscar replies, not entirely sure where Lando’s going with this. But he’s being less abrasive than usual, the glare in his eyes a bit less pointed. “Don’t really know KISS all that well, mate.”

Lando stares at him, narrowed eyes blowing wide. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Oscar pauses, hands freezing around the martini shaker he’d grabbed for the girl to Lando’s left. “No?”

“You don’t know KISS.” He doesn’t say it as a question. Like there’s some connection Oscar isn’t making, some red thread on a corkboard he can’t connect, Oscar looks at him in confusion.

“...No?” Oscar’s stopped moving all together now, other patrons temporarily forgotten as he watches the range of expressions dance across Lando’s face. Surprise, maybe? Something like shock. “Why?”

“I… hate them.” Lando says simply – if not a little absentmindedly. “Sorry about, um. Well.” He puts down his glass, hand visibly shaking; before Oscar can ask if he’s ok, ask what he’s even talking about, Lando stumbles off his barstool and paces over towards Sebastian.

He watches as Sebastian laughs, clapping Lando on the shoulder and waving cheerily towards the bar. Oscar flashes a weak wave back, uncertain, before noticing that Lando’s looking over as well – his face is red. Not just from the lights. But his cheeks, down his neck, the exposed planes of his chest, they’re red.

Oscar flushes, too.

Maybe if he’s sorry…

#I didn't even edit this idk what it is #man i should write a real enemies to lovers one day huh #you bring me closer to god #landoscar #ask me :)

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skinnyazn · 1 year

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Tennessee Whiskey

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader Notes: fluff, they dance in a bar, I’ve never played the game but I’m o b s s e s s e d with big boy Ghost, my first COD fic hope y’all like it, it was inspired by my Tennessee Whiskey (a classic) which came on at dinner last night and so I had to write a fic obv

AO3 | MASTERLIST

The buzz of the neon sign hummed behind your head. The 141 was celebrating tonight—a victory somewhere just across the Mexican-American border. It was a bit of your standard Southern bar, with sticky floors and tables to match. Soap and Alejandro were taking shot for shot of tequila, while the big man who’d recently (and inappropriately) began to haunt your dreams—his large hands roaming your body—mask halfway up as he ate you like a man starved—was sipping a bourbon next to you at the table. His balaclava raised just above his nose. You watched the dim light dance off his blonde stubble. A reminder of how long you all had been on the mission.

You reluctantly drew your eyes away, back to the amber liquid in your own cup. A smirk found its way to your lips, but whether from the alcohol or the ambiance you couldn’t tell.

“What?” gruffed the masked man.

“Hmm?” Your eyes back on him. Half lidded; seductive, but unintentionally.

Ghost looked at you, eyes briefly flicking to your lips, then looked out to the bar. Your eyes lingered on him, then followed his gaze.

“Alejandro! How th’ hell’s it go again?” Soap blared over the music. He was standing; Rudy laughed on his barstool.

“Hermano, if you slowed down a bit maybe you’d remember it,” Alejandro taunted back.

“Ack. C’mon. We’re celebrating tonight! I’m allowed to get pissed, right L.T.?”

The Scott looked at Ghost. His broad chest shook as you heard his light scoff.

“Sure, Johnny. But I’m not gonna be the one to carry ya home.”

“Booo!” Soap replied. “You’ll walk me home, won’t you Alejandro?” He made puppy eyes at the Mexican.

“When you look at me like that how can I say no?” Alejandro grabbed his cup. “Alright, ¡arriba, abajo, al centro y pa' dentro!” he bellowed.

Soap drunkenly chimed in the the latter half of the toast. They shot back the remnants of the tequila. Ghost shook his head next to you.

“Not gonna join in?” You smiled and angled toward him. Your knees brushed under the table but he didn’t flinch away. You relaxed a little into it.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you guys.” He picked back up his glass and took a sip. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. You felt a flush in your cheeks.

“That’s a shame.” You swirled your glass.

“Why’s that?”

“Would like to see what The Ghost looks like with his guard down.” You knock back the rest of your drink and signal to the bartender for another.

You felt Ghost’s gaze heavy on you as you watched the other team members enjoying themselves. You angled your neck at him, intentionally this time. His body tensed against your knee and tried your damndest to stifle a smile. He took another sip from his drink as the bartender brought yours to the table. He raised his empty glass and the bartender nodded.

“Didn’t picture you as a whiskey girl.”

“Oh?” You tapped your forefinger on the liquid and circled the rim of your glass. “Why’s that?”

“Dunno. Figured you for tequila. Or mezcal.”

You turned and looked him in the eye. “I like the burn of a good whiskey down my throat.”

His gaze was frozen on you. Was he leaning closer? It felt like you couldn’t pull back and neither could he. You moved your knee against his softly, and his eyes dipped to your lips again. His blonde lashes contrasted against his black eye paint. Such a pretty man.

The bartender set another glass of bourbon on the table. You felt your cheeks flush as the trance was broken and looked back out at Soap, who was now doing some kind of drunken do-si-do with Rudy. Price shook his head as cigar smoke wafted around him. You liked this team—it was like one big idiotic family. So you probably shouldn’t ruin that by trying to seduce your L.T..

“Do you dance?”

You turned your surprised face to him again. But now he was looking out at the team.

“Do you?” You asked, as you took another sip of your whiskey. If he was going to ask you, you’d need a little more of the liquid courage.

He simply pointed up and you listened to the music.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.

You smiled. It was one of your favorites as far as country songs went. “Thought you loved Kentucky?”

Ghost shrugged. “S’good song.”

“Mm. A classic.”

He took a sip.

“So?”

Your grin spread wider. “If I’m asked properly.” Your finger rubbed the rim of the glass.

His barstool groaned against the floor. He was such an imposing figure when he stood. But he was built like a god and you desperately wanted to feel his body pressed against yours. Even if it was just through a dance.

“Can I have this dance?” He held out his gloved hand. You smiled as you stood. Your hand was so small in his.

He was surprisingly tender as his palm rested on the small of your back while the other held your right hand. You both swayed to the music.

I’ve looked for love in all the same old places. Found the bottom of the bottle’s always dry.

You rested your head against his broad chest. He stiffened slightly, but then you felt his muscles acquiesce; his heartbeat becoming more steady. You wondered the last time someone had treated him with tenderness. His fingertips ghosted circles on your back, over your black tank top, as you moved from side to side.

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy. And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“A past life.”

You looked up at him, cheek still against his chest. He was staring vacantly forward. God you wanted kiss him so badly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You felt the vibrato through his body.

“Why not?” Your lashes brushed against the fabric of his shirt.

“Cause then I’m going to have to take you home.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed against him. Your fingertips mimicked his as you stroked his broad back.

“And I already told Johnny I wasn’t gonna carry him back. How would that look, me leaving with you?”

You nodded your head understandingly. “Don’t want to break the poor boy’s heart.”

“S’right.”

You looked back up at him. This time he returned the gaze. You heard his heart beat a little louder. A little faster.

“But you said you wouldn’t carry him home. Never said anything about walking home.” You contended.

He hummed in agreement. The vibrations you felt through his chest sent a heat straight to your core.

“I did, didn’t I?” He let go of your hand and his thumb brushed your bottom lip. Your mouth parted automatically. He dragged it down. The coarse fabric brushed against your chin. Grazed the length of your throat. Fuck. You were in it now.

“In that case,” he nodded to the door. A seductive smile broke across your face and you bit your bottom lip. And the two of you slipped out of the bar without a sound; his hand never leaving the small of your back.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #fic #my fic #cod fic #ghost mw2 #mw2 fic #fluff #fluff fic #ghost cod #ghost x you #my writing

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whitecreekvalley-if · 4 months

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Care to tell some facts about the ROs?

Fun or serious? I'll do fun little tidbits. Hard hitting angsty facts later, when you least expect it aye 🤌🏼 (this is me trying not to get too angsty at once because that's what I usually doooo)

Mason

On a first name basis both at the clinic in town and the hospital in the city. No self-preservation instincts. Zero. It's actually saved a lot of other people, houses, and animals, so bonus points for that. The nurses still look unamused when he comes through.

Does not trust roosters. Will never get a rooster for the ranch. Won't be caught dead near one of those feathered devils. (He's not afraid of rooster. He's not. Please believe him.)

Has a real hard time saying no to people and it almost got him unintentionally engaged (TWICE) before his friends were like hold up wtf dude. Alcohol might've been involved during one of these moments. Boy gets silly when he's had mezcal.

Alice

Like spice? Not as much as Alice you don't, she could eat a Carolina Reaper and go for another in half a minute. It freaks people out. Don't eat the chili at the potluck if you treasure your insides.

Has the most amazing memory. Forgot what you did on June 18th, 2016? She remembers. Need a reminder what to do five months from now? Personal calendar, let the lady know. It's a curse of you don't want to relive drunken shenanigans.

Total dog person. Sheep are great, but dogs is where it's at. You'll always catch her bringing one or two of her pups to the bar on slow weekdays. She owns many. Like 12 many, and they're all vital for the sheep farm. Absolutely.

Judge

Always, always has to sit with his face towards the exit(s) and back against the wall, otherwise he'll be tense enough to feel like solid rock if touched. He'll deal with not facing a door though. Just prepare for extra grouch.

His nickname used to be Joe. Joe. No one uses it anymore, for their own good. If you really want to burn bridges (or get the coldest glare), start quoting Don't Fuck With Joe by The Blackwater Fever.

Don't go hiking with him, whatever you do. This is a fella who smashes those long distance trails for fun, and has gone out for weeks and even months on end during extended vacations. 100 miles minimum to make the big lug take a relaxed breath.

Sadie

A living, breathing lie detector. She has a deep, intense interest in body language analysis, and listens to tonal changes so hard it looks like she's lost in though. But there's a very, very slim chance for anyone to lie to her and get away with it, which is a freaky skill for a lawyer.

Has never touched an animal bigger than her. Sure she's seen a horse, a cow, a bull, but she'll keep her feet firmly planted on pavement while the animals are out there in the pasture. Equal minding of own businesses.

No one plays poker with Ms. Sadie because they always lose. If the lawyer thing won't work out, she definitely has a future as a card shark, professional players better shake in their boots. Don't watch her shuffle the deck too closely. Or ask why she knows card tricks.

#wcv answered #oh hey look at that it's meeee lol #drafted this and forgot to post in the haste to leave for my adventures #anyway hi hi i'm almost home #thanks for the ask although i'm darned late on the uptake oofs #ch: mace #ch: alice #ch: judge #ch: sadie

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funfunfuntillmydaddy · 2 years

Text

What are friends for

‘OMG. Babe, I think Steph and Mike are having sex on our bed.’ The text message from Peter read.

My boyfriend is so sweet. Cutely naive about these kinds of things. I could just see how much his cheeks would be blushing at the thought of Mike and Steph hooking up on our bed. I wondered how shocked he would be if he knew what really was going on.

Peter and I had meet while interning together at one of the top firms here in the city. Both of us had moved into the big city from fly-over country after going to separate state universities. We had been going out almost two years now and had been living together for at least six months.

Mike went to the same university as Peter and moved out about the same time. They were friends and part of the same friend group through school but were very different. Peter being the sweet, intelligent, caring kind new age guy. Dressing well and getting on with everybody, but kinda, well, vanilla.

Mike on the other hand was your stereotypical loudmouth jock who drunk too much and had a lot of fun saying obnoxious things.

So, the difference between them always caused a bit of tension whenever Mike and Peter would hang out and I knew Peter would worry that Mike would say or do something that would offend me or any other girls. And Mike did plenty to take offense at. Blatant flirting. Sexist comments. Telling us which girls he knows he thinks are the hottest or could fuck the best, TMI on his sexual conquests. The extra hugs and touches. It was just constant

The only thing is, well, there was something about how Mike did it that made it less obnoxious and boorish and more fun and intriguing. Sure, I complained to Peter about his behavior and how he had offended my friends at the bar. But that was only half true. We were actually laughing along and even flirting back.

Like Peter and Mike, Steph and I also went to university together and had moved out to the big city. But unlike Peter and Mike, Steph and I were very similar. We had a lot of shared interests. Studied the same things, worked in the same profession. Liked to drink and have fun. And liked having fun with guys particularly.

Peter thought that Steph was the wilder one and I played an important calming influence on her, especially when it came to partying and to guys. But, well, that’s just Peter being adorably naïve again.

‘How far away are you?’ the next text message from my boyfriend read, ‘Andrew said you and Patrick went to find an all-night liquor store to restock. Oh Andrew, I thought to myself. He was one of the coolest guys I knew and the perfect wingman for Mike, and maybe me.

It was a fair assumption of Peter’s to think that Mike and Steph would be fucking. While both of them have other partners, they had been really getting into each other since everyone arrived at our apartment for our Saturday night drinks. Steph and Mike just picking up from when they left off at one of the clubs, we were at two weeks ago, before they were interrupted by their respective partners joining us.

Tonight, there was no such worry. Mike’s girlfriend was visiting family while Steph’s boyfriend was on a two weeklong work assignment interstate. The only other people joining us for drinks was Andrew, a long-time mutual friend of ours, and Patrick who was a work colleague. Both being good at discretion and, even better, good at encouraging Peter to keep going with the shots.

Steph then pulled the phone back and started typing on it. I was a little surprised to see the message from him. When I saw him last about thirty minutes ago, he was completely out to it laying on the couch. Thanks in no small part to all the drinks Mike, Andrew and Patrick had been plying him with all night.

And it’s not exactly like I intended this to happen. Sometimes things, well, just escalate, dramatically. Especially after the three boys all challenged Peter to race to the bottom of an expensive bottle of Mezcal.

Not surprisingly with Peter’s more delicate constitution, he ended up blacking out close to the bottom of the bottle and five of us remained as we kept the fun going. Then Patrick decided it was probably the right time to head back to the apartment he shared with his fiancée, a little disappointing but forgivable.

With only the four of us then present in mind and body, Mike started dancing with me as much as with Steph. Of course, I didn’t do much to discourage him. It’s not my style. And it wasn’t the first time he had got flirty with me.

Soon Steph had her dress hiked up over her hips as she showed off her pink thong too us all. Mike had his hands all over her as she grinded her ass on his crotch. Andrew just kept his drink in his hand and kept his cool chaperone vibe going as the slight smile on his face showed he knew exactly where this was going, and he had no objections. Like I said, the perfect wingman.

As Mike and Steph got more into the dancing and the touching, I could tell they needed some release. Steph kept eyeing the bedroom door. I gave her a nod. It was nothing I was going to get particularly offended by, two people fucking on my bed. The situation had been in reverse enough.

So that would just leave me and Andrew to chill out while Mike and Steph had their fun and my boyfriend remained comatose. Then I would just hang out with Andrew while we kept an eye on my comatose boyfriend. Not the most fun to be had but I knew Andrew was not the type to try a move and, despite what a couple of my exes have screamed at me, I don’t need to fuck every guy I’m in a room with.

But just as I was ushering Mike and Steph off for their fun in the bedroom, they both grabbed each of my arms and pulled me along with them. I looked over my shoulder at Peter, who was still out to it, and at Andrew who lifted up his glass as a cheers and told us to have fun and he would keep an eye on Peter.

“Fucking Mike would be fun. But you fucking Mike while Peter is sound asleep out there would be fucking amazing.” Steph said as we crossed the threshold into the bedroom. Nothing in my body or mind was disagreeing with her.

I felt Mike push up from behind me and get his hands all over my tits. He leaned down and kissed and bit my neck. Steph had somehow managed to get the straps of her dress down as now had her dress bunched around her waist. Mike eagerly reached over to squeeze one of her full but still perky tits.

I was moaning softly as I felt my body ache in anticipation. Mike’s hand went to the top of my jeans, and he unbuckled them with the deft touches of a guy who has done this before, a lot.

He had my jeans loose and yanked them down over my ass and mid-way down my thighs. Leaving only my delicate lace thong in the way of his ultimate goal, I could sense his urgency and his strength. It just made me moan more.

The risk of the situation meant we didn’t have time for all the formalities of fucking. Apparently, there wasn’t even enough time for me to take my underwear off properly. Mike got his hand around the waist band of my thong and quickly yanked it to the side, easily snapping the delicate fabric. Every part of me melted just a little more as he threw my thong over the side of the room. He then pushed me on to the bed.

Steph was already kneeling on the bed. Her legs spread out and her fingers rubbing her pussy lips as she watched us.

With my jeans around my thighs, I had limited mobility, but Mike took care of that by lifting me over towards the top of the bed and putting me on all fours. Very quickly he had managed to get his own jeans off and had his cock rubbing against my dripping entrance.

“You want me to wear something?” Mike said as he paused his progress.

I knew we should. Peter and I always did but it was kinda a mood killer. But then Steph fished around in the bedside table and threw a condom over.

Mike took the wrapper and struggled for a while with getting it on. “Oh shit, That’s a tight fit.” Steph said laughing as she knelt next to Mike, still working her pussy with her hand.

Mike started picking up the pace. As he railed me harder, I was banging into the headboard as it in turn banged into the wall. My moaning was getting louder along with Mike’s grunting. The noise I was making was very different to when Peter and I had sex, so I felt no real need to disguise or mute my pleasure. In hindsight, this was probably what woke Peter up. After a fair few more poundings against the wall, Steph alerted me to the first message on my phone.

Steph, being the professional she is typed up a response. ‘Oh, I’m not surprised. Steph is such a slut. Cheating on her boyfriend, what a slut. I’ll be home soon, babe. We just finished picking up some more drinks.’ Steph typed out and showed me before sending it from my phone back to Peter.

Then I felt something kinda different.

“Oh shit, the condom broke.” Steph called out which led to Mike stopping.

“Fuck. Don’t worry just keep going.” I pleaded as my pussy demanded more cock. Only for a moment did I wonder if Peter would have noticed the different voices and recognized mine. But as Mike’s cock went all the way back in, and his rhythm returned, I didn’t give it a second thought.

“Hope you two are being safe in there.” Andrew called out from the living room with a laugh. I even heard faint laughter from Peter as well which almost caused Steph to lose it.

“Fuck yes slut. I’m gonna fuck you so hard. Fill you full of cum.” Mike said as he recommenced fucking me and quickly got back up to pace.

Our apartment was not designed for carrying on illicit affairs in one room while the oblivious partner remained unaware in the living area. But Steph seemed to take it as a fun challenge to make sure Mike and I had fun, and Peter didn’t find out there were three of us in the bedroom.

We heard Andrew offering Peter another drink. Did I mention how good a wingman he was?

“Is my cock bigger than your boyfriend’s?” Mike growled. I just moaned out a breathless yes. “Do I fuck you better than your boyfriend?” Mike asked and I just repeated my response, but louder.

Steph showed my phone again with Peter’s latest text. ‘OMG. I think they are gonna put a hole in our wall.’ I just moaned harder right as Mike slammed into me and then I slammed again into the headboard,

“I want you to ride my big cock on this bed.” Mike demanded. I just moaned my anonymous agreement. He pulled off his jeans and shirt while I extricated myself from my garments and climbed on top of him, positioning his cock back at my wet lips. I sunk down on him as a guttural moan left me. The change in position gave my insides all sorts of new sensations.

I quickly picked up the pace. The wall was getting a break, but our mattress springs and the bed legs were starting to get punished. As I bounced up higher and slammed down harder, the bed groaned and creaked.

Steph again got my attention with an update on the conversation between me and you. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Mike pays for any damage he does.’ My phone had messaged back with an unnecessary winking emoji.

‘Now it sounds like they are breaking our bed. I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to sleep in it tonight. Maybe you should message Steph and tell them to take it easy.’ Peter responded.

I had no intention of telling Mike to take it easy. As he rammed his hips up to meet my thrust down, his cock went so deep and filled me up so much I could feel my body getting ready to let go.

‘Don’t worry babe. They will probably stop soon. Mike probably can’t last that long. Anyway, I’m coming soon.’ Steph wrote on my behalf and showed me. I smiled at her and nod in confirmation that she is correct. I was about to cum. Steph leans in, and we kiss as I slow down a little on Mike. My tongue dances with Steph’s as our sloppy kissing sounds drown out the fucking briefly.

Then I pull away and look down at Mike with an evil grin meeting his delirious expression.

I leaned down and kiss him. Moaning more. Then I lean over and whisper into his ear. “Are you gonna fill me full of cum while my boyfriend waits outside and listens?” I tease. “You know he’s probably getting excited by hearing a guy fuck a girl properly. Thinking he will get to try and do the same to me later.” I say wickedly.

Then it was Mike’s turn to groan in agreement before grabbing on to my hips and lifting me off. He spun me onto my back as he hooked his arms under my legs. I ended up with my legs over his shoulders as he pinned me down and then drove his cock deep into me. His pace picked back up quickly, and the bed started complaining again from the hard punishment.

But my body was doing everything but complaining. I moaned out loudly as the intense feeling was starting to build all through my body.

“Aaaaahhhhrg.” Mike groaned. “Fuck yes. I’m gonna fill you with my cum, slut.” He growled out loudly. “I’m gonna fill you up with more cum than your boyfriend could ever give you. You want it don’t you, slut? You want my thick cum.”

“Mmmmmm. Fuck yes. Oh fuck. Cum inside me.” I cried out in a breathless and feverish tone. I tone and language I had never uttered to my boyfriend. I assumed that would be enough to protect the true identity of the girl who was about to get filled with Mike’s delicious cum. But in truth, at the moment, I didn’t really care. Peter could have burst through the door and I would have let Mike finish.

Steph moaned out. Her hand rubbing her clit feverishly as she also seemed close to finishing.

“Oh, fuck yes. Fuck, I’m cumming.” I cried out right as I felt Mike’s cock swell inside me and then pushed even deeper inside me as he held it there.

I deep animalistic roar came from Mike as he shot blast after blast of cum into me. He tried to push that little bit deeper as I felt his cock unload the last of what must have been close to a dozen shots into me.

“So, what do we do now.” Mike asked quietly as we all slowly got our breath back.

“Oh, don’t even worry.” Steph replied.

‘Babe. Can you come down and get me. I left my keys behind, and the intercom isn’t working again.’ Steph messaged Peter for me.

A few moments later, we heard the front door open and close. Mike, Steph and I all got our outfits back together and looked presentable. Except, I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I looked at my ripped thong on the floor but just shrugged and left it there. It died for a good cause.

“Oh shit” I said suddenly. “Peter is expecting me to be downstairs.”

“Jesus Cara.” Steph said. “Is this like your first time or something.” She teased as she held up my phone. ‘Sorry babe, one of the neighbors let me in the other entrance, I came up the back lift. I’m back inside.’ My text to Peter read.

By the time Peter returned, Steph and I were in the kitchen while Mike and Andrew were over the other side of the high kitchen counter. Mike and Andrew gave him a cheers as he came in and stood next to them.

The awkwardness of the scene was downplayed almost unconsciously and there was little to hint at the debauchery that had recently taken place. Well one of the few hints was Steph with her hands down my unbuckled jeans and gently fingering my pussy as Mike’s cum fan out. Fortunately, the kitchen counter was high enough to keep that little detail hidden.

With Peter seemingly wide awake now, the fun seemed over, and Mike, Steph and Andrew all made tracks, getting all in one uber apparently, which was curious since Mike and Steph lived in opposite directions.

With our visitors departed, Peter and I decided it was bedtime. As him and I got into the bedroom the smell of sex and the sight of the punished bed hit us both. I gave him a sneaky glance to see what his reaction was, but I was also too tired to care.

I brushed my teeth in the ensuite and then quickly put on some pajamas, hoping he didn’t see my lack of underwear which would have been suspicious.

I was lying on the roughed-up bed almost out to sleep when Peter finished in the bathroom and got into bed.

“Oh my god, babe. Steph left her thong in our room. Jesus Christ.” Peter said with built-up anger and disgust to which I could barely moan out a supportive groan of faux frustration and disgust. “Oh, and she has the same kind of panties as you hun.” My only response was to sleep.

#cheating #impreg kink #affair

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bom-bombon · 1 year

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Helloooo can you gives us headcanons over illojuan

ABSOLUTELY!!!!

I think my boi Juanito is like Willy in that he just likes causing trouble. I always describe him to my friends as a little shit. He’s a troll! There’s no real reason or explanation for his actions, just that he think they’re so funny

When I think of Illojuan, I think of him as some guy. He's not extraordinary like the rest of the boys; he's just a silly, simple dude! Bro keeps to himself

Actually, he uses that invisibility to his advantage to commit crimes, frame others, etc.

To me, he's BiAce

This isn’t really my headcanon, I read about it on twitter, however, I like the idea that Illo and Quackity treat each other like brothers. They teach each other their respective Spanish accents and vocabulary (though I feel like they will both try to troll each other with that or worse, to their friends). They would see each other at an event and think “oh yeah, its gonna be a fun day” and like fuck with each other. Sometimes when Quackity needs to rant, he goes to Juan and let it out, and in the meantime, Juan is just eating it all up cuz he is a fucking chismoso. You know how I said before that he’s a simple dude who mostly stays away from drama, that doesn’t mean he will not listen in to all that drama with popcorn. Or worse, cause the drama. Also, he’d probably convince Quackity into getting him to work for him too like for instance, cleaning up the chiringuito as he just rants. If he’s being honest with himself, Juan do like Quacks around and sees him as the closest thing to family

Speaking of duos, I think my favorite one involving Juan is with Sapo Peta, the Cupid Duo. I just love their dynamic so much. Actually, I need to ask: did y’all remember when Illo was like “me gustas” to Sapo Peta? If you haven't seen it, here it is. I find it too funny to not include it somewhere here. Aside from that whole confession, Juanillo genuinely enjoys his company and sees Sapo Peta as one of his closest friends next to Mangel. He also gets Sapo Peta to also help him in some illegal acts without him knowing. They need to team up and impersonate as Quackity more often I still quote them from that stream. Actually fuck it, those two would do more letters from other members and have fun with it or to try and get Sapo Peta’s their ships canon.

Just a personal touch but he sells mezcal in his chiringuito

The chiringuito smells like Karmahuana I just know it. You know what. Not just the chiringuito, the whole damn area. People stop by and go, “Oh it smells nice here” and its literally weed

Tangentially related to the last point but I know for sure Juan makes some bomb ass edibles, a good cook as well

Not a headcanon but man I wanna draw him getting high on a beach... and also a beach episode for his chiringuito......

You actually got me to revisit a drawing I did during the Titi custody battle before he died lmao:

Actually, it be funny if Illo has experience in law

Since it's been a while since you've asked this, I'll throw in a couple of old sketches I have of my babygirl under the keep reading section.

i actually don’t mind this as much, i just think i hated how oversaturated I made his shirt fghjhgf

This was when I tried to make a ref sheet for him (and the rest of the karmaland boys) but i was too ambitious with so little time

#karmaland #illojuan #srquackity #bombon's art #man its been a while since i answered an ask on tumblr #maybe i should get to the other ones #anyway i tried #oh #i remembered #it was on twt #and they were analyzing like for example if u watch staxx then u must also watch alexby and so on #and they were like 'only 5 ppl watched illojuan's pov' and i crIED #i hope this was sufficient im usually not one to make hcs i just enjoy the journey lol

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kylo-wrecked · 7 months

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@nightmarefuele :// { cont'd from the glorious }

—☾—

Does he give a damn about a woman and a reputation. He laughs. The trailer dances with the echo of that laughter. Dances and dances.

""George WT-fuck. Oh my God. You people," he slurs. "You fug...people. What do you think? No, what do you want? Why are you here? Why'm I interrogating you, fucksakes?"

And then, inevitably—

"Is—s—someone there?"

Women. This woman, all clavicle and thighbone, bleach blonde with nappy roots coming in, was not his woman. Ben Solo neé Kylo Ren had never had a 'woman.' He'd had two flames ('beaus!' 'girlfriends!') immortalized in full-color tabloid spreads, and, rumor confirmed, he had fucked Ushar Ren, the band's first drummer, slept with a sound designer, ruined the professional livelihood of said sound designer. Ruined him utterly.

"Yeah," Ben replies, as the woman tiptoes from behind the screen and into a scene someone as high as her can't tell from a movie. He probably looks just as insane as the guy in the bat suit, washboard frame sheening, surged with God knows what. "Gigantic bat, like I said. He's got legs. Great boots. Talks, too. Softest voice. Why don't you come hear for yourself?"

Her small heart-shaped face peers out of the gloom and quails with a hiss and a cry. Ben chuffs as she shrinks behind him, flattening into one of his garment bags. At the woman, at the Bat. His short-fused laughter rises like smoke on the paneled light. The light just one gradient away from silt and blood. His brief smile the cold flash from a forensic lens.

"I've done worse," he says to the Bat. "No clowning involved. No fun. No speed. That came after. The [indecipherable] came after. This stupid shit came after."

He stops smiling and lowers the barrel.

"I'm serious," another part of him interjects, insistent. Eyes shining as if, for an instant, the Bat had yanked the frontman off the carousel. Not for long.

“Any-fucking-way.” Gesticulating with the gun again. Movement. Sound. Color. Any moment. "You're making a big stink about one little guy who's only… trying to avoid fentanyl, Mr. Cape. Listen, I'll put the gun down when one of you leaves. I don't do tthhree-ways."

The heart-shape-faced woman whips around. If what Ben says seems weird, it is.

"Ky-" She shuffles back toward the shoji screen.

"No." Ben lifts his chin as though to hold off a firing squad. "Hang on, it's you. You need to go."

Heart-shaped face woman freezes—not at the shotgun. At being told to leave. Christ. Gotham.

'What?'

"Fuck what!" Ben's scoff is more like another laugh. A hard, shiny, designer laugh. "Batman's in my trailer, and I have a set in twelve hours, and God damn, Pollyanna, I’ll need at least one hand. Leave. That's right. Go on. Put your kiddies on and get out. The road crew's around back; the guy in the Jets hat can take you home. You want trouble? Ride the El. Move."

Within seconds, she's gone. The entire time Ben speaks, the heart-shape-faced woman's whipping on one layer of mesh after another, sliding into her untied combat baby boots, edging around this massive wax figure of the Batman, with as much spacial awareness as a handful of Vicodin and five Mezcals and a coke crash can ever hope to offer.

Once the door clicks shut after her, Ben finally, finally lowers the fire hazard onto the three or four feet of space grey floor between him and the Bat. He takes time rolling up to his magnificent length and turning. Keeps his hands where they can be seen. He surrenders with a long whistle. Ponders the Batman's architecture with a long gaze.

"That's paint stick makeup under there if I ever saw it. Whatever you're doing, you put on one hell of a show." Shards of his eyes smiling for him. "Besides being wrong about several things, you were saying."

#nightmarefuele #m. au | music!verse ben: nowhere man #v. bat in the rafters (music!verse remix)#rp: and then gotham got worse #queue de la k #{have at it}#{*sets c free like a tree bat into the night*}#tw: drug mention #tw: hard drugs #edited: for quality assurance

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scary-senpai · 2 years

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loved your atomic samurai romantic headcanons, was wondering if you had anymore? :)

Ahhh splendid & kindly anon, thank you for this note! I’m sorry it took me some time to get back to you. My latest writing project has been eating up an exorbitant amount of brain space. So, please take this Bugs Bunny as a token of apology:

(I don't think I've ever not answered an ask, but it sometimes takes me a week or two. I try to stay on top of things to the extent that I can, but I'm kind of a perfectionist so I'd rather take extra time and answer well than risk responding with my Chaos Brain....) Anyway, this was a joy to think about! Thank you <3 I must confess that Kenjiro Tsuda is one of my favorite voice actors, and I tend to combine headcanons for Nanami and AS because… ah, that voice, I can’t help myself! I mean, um, they have similar through-lines: capable men with rough exteriors and an obvious soft spot.

Also, I must confess, being ace my romantic headcanons look a little difference than most people , and of all the headcanons included with the S-Class ask, AS was perhaps the most risqué. And, funny thing, the two lines I meant to edit out somehow made it into the final draft even though they were a little out of character for me. I think I went back and slipped that confession into the tags:

Oh well… if they brought you joy, then it’s worth it! Anyway, I got a little help from my Senpai and he got way more into it than I would have expected a straight dude to get (good for him!) I think this speaks to AS’s irrepressible panache.

Morning cuddles… stubble… that voice, deep and raspy with sleep… warm, sturdy arms around you... I would probably never get out of bed.

He smells good. Really good. Like, manly but sophisticated. An enchanting mix of smoke and sandalwood, with the undertone of something delicately floral… anyway. He insists he doesn’t do anything special but it’s obviously expensive cologne. Probably custom made.

He doesn’t wine-and-dine you, because he’s really into artisanal spirits. I want to say gin (because it’s clean and cutting) but I could also see something smokier like whisky or mezcal, something earthy but refined in its own way.

He’s got a goofy side. He loves to make terrible puns (usually dirty ones) and everyone just… lets him get away with it? Because he’s got such a good poker face, most people just write it off as a Freudian slip. I’ve actually drafted a scene where he manages to de-rail an S-Class meeting this way.

Has a bad habit of heckling comedians and tour guides; usually gets away with it. I wrote one scene where Mumen Rider tries standup and AS pointedly tells him “Don’t quit your day job.”

Weirdly good with kids! Always ends up “accidentally” babysitting for friends and neighbors, and allegedly has no idea how this came about. He’s definitely the cool uncle, but (let’s be real) he’s a little intimidating, and it’s not hard for him to keep the little tykes in line. If he says “Those crayons had better be out of your nose by the time I count to five,” the problem is solved before the countdown even begins.

He’s not a “seasoned” cook (no pun intended), but he’s got two or three simple, signature dishes that he does really well. They are, coincidentally, kid friendly. One of these “house specials” probably happens to be pizza bagels.

Speaking of father figures… His disciples are forever showing up for impromptu movie nights, monopoly tournaments, or just to talk. Sometimes it feels like you've stumbled into your own sitcom.

Deep down, he doubts his paternal abilities even though all evidence suggests otherwise. He’s probably got some unresolved issues in that sense, but good luck getting that out of him. But that in itself speaks volumes; you’ve never met his biological family.

There’s likely some commitment issues too—if not from leftover emotional baggage, but from his unspoken understanding that being a hero comes with inherent risks, and he’s not afraid to give everything he has while in the line of duty, up to (and including) his life. He’s no Sekinger—you’re not going to find any middle ground with him on this. (This is where John and I got a little silly.)

Does his best to remember table manners, but always forgets which utensils to use. You keep telling him it’s always smallest to largest, left to right, but he really distrusts teaspoons for some reason. Or maybe he is well aware of conventional etiquette, he just likes the face you make when he reaches for the biggest fork because size matters that must be the most important one.

#one punch man #opm #asks #splendiferous mutuals #atomic samurai #romantic headcanons #my writing #john-senpai if you're reading this I'm proud of you <3 #and i even mentioned you by name this time so even if you forget this conversation happened you won't accidentally get jealous of yourself!

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 2 years

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So, the 1800-1945 prompt for the event was “Music.” I couldn’t decide on one idea for it, so here’s a sampling of the possibilities.

Second empire

The emperor was sitting at the piano playing a beautiful melody. It was a quiet night, and Mexico was spending time alone with Maximilian. He was amazed that an Austrian monarch could play the piano and yet hardly resemble Austria in the slightest. He looked soft and effortlessly charming.

Mexico watched the way that his hands moved over the keys, and found himself mesmerized. The sound of the music was so soulful, and in some strange way it sounded loving. He was not sure what great fortune had brought him an emperor who was so kind and understanding.

He couldn’t help but think about the way that it felt like the song was meant for him, and that it was meant to give him a feeling of affection and peace. But the feeling it was stirring in his chest was something entirely else.

He knew that there was a secret letter in his coat, tucked away where no one could see it. It was from Benito Juarez, and it was horribly damning. It spoke of plans to restore the republic.

As he looked at Maximilian, he felt the most incredible guilt twisting in his gut like a knife. He had the best ruler that he could ask for, and he was writing to his rival out of hope for a republic.

The feeling welled up in his chest and he felt a pricking at the corner of his eyes. He was not usually one for tears, but they were starting to push their ways out of his eyes. He couldn’t stop them from welling up. He felt a single tear roll down his cheek entirely against his will.

Maximilian looked up at and stopped playing. He looked concerned as he said, “What is wrong?”

Mexico hated to see the look on his face, so sincere and so difficult to respond to. Giving an honest answer would ruin the entire act of spying for Juarez. Even if he did not care about revealing his own deceit, he could not stand the thought of how it would break Maximilian’s heart to hear the truth.

He could not have said it, because of the pain it would cause. Instead, he gave a dishonest answer, “It was just so beautiful. It was not important.”

He wiped away the tear and hoped that no other tears decided to fall. It was not the music that had moved him to tears; it was the secret sitting next to his heart. Heavy as thirty silver pieces.

He was not certain whether the emperor would accept the excuse, since he had the tendency to see through his emotions. They had spent enough time together that Maximilian could see exactly what he was feeling without asking.

He was not surprised when the emperor stood and stepped closer. He said, reaching out to wipe away what was left of the tear on Mexico’s cheek, “I apologize if I made you feel that way with what I was playing.” He pulled him closer and said softly, “Is that really all it is? You look upset.”

Mexico wished that he could say, but it was impossible. Instead, he leaned into Maximilian’s hand and said, “I promise you that it is nothing wrong.” After he said it, he realized that the emperor may pull away and go back to what he was doing. He added, “Just stay here for a moment.”

He put his hand softly against the emperor’s to communicate exactly what he meant. Maximilian smiled softly and replied, “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

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

1915

Mexico knew he was drunk already. He could feel the creeping sense of vertigo that was becoming very familiar. The ground was starting to move and heave, but he was still surefooted enough that he could keep walking.

It was no surprise since it had been his express intention for the night. The half-finished bottle of mezcal in his hand was his tool to accomplish that goal. He wanted to numb the unfortunate period of awareness that came between the end of a battle and the time that he slept. It was the only time when the awareness he was trying to avoid started to intrude. The mezcal was doing its job to blur the world and keep the feelings at bay.

He was in some little town with the army, and he hadn’t bothered to ask the name. He didn’t need to know. It was a place as good as any other, and it wouldn’t be meaningful to know. It didn’t make him less able to find a drink or to gamble enough to have the money to spend on alcohol.

He stopped walking in a little square. He didn’t have a firm plan of where he was going to go, and a minute to decide would not hurt. He found a comfortable enough wall and leaned against it as he took a swig of the mezcal.

There were so many options for how the spend the night, but he was already mostly convinced that he wanted to spend the rest of the night cuddled up with the bottle in some inn. It sounded like enough to dull his senses until he finally fell asleep.

He let his eyes half close as the effect of the alcohol hit him. He let his mind drift as he listened to the sound of people talking. It was the familiar cacophony of the voice of soldiers and the voices of people milling around.

Young women who should know better than to find revolutionaries so exciting. For his own part Mexico was not interested in leaving some naïve girl alone and heartbroken.

Through all the sound, he heard something that caused him pause. It was a soft lullaby, and the words had the familiar cadence of his native tongue. It was Nahuatl, and they were words that tickled a part of his brain he thought the alcohol had already dulled.

It was soft, like it was coming from somewhere nearby. He glanced across the wall towards the warmly lit window. He caught a glimpse of a young woman singing to the baby in her arms. He saw the shadow of himself in the child.

He could suddenly remember the way that his mother had sung to him and called him her little jaguar. He found himself smiling at the memory. He had been happy in a way that he had not been in such a long time. He remembered how uncomplicated it had felt.

The warm glow in his chest bloomed for a short moment. Then the thoughts came back, as they always did. His mother had loved him greatly and given her life for him. And he was in some little town drinking to forget with his own governance in shambles. He knew that if she could see her heir was drowning his sorrow after running from his responsibilities.

What a failure, what a waste of her blood.

It stung to think of the depth of his failure and how deeply ashamed she would be. He tried to block out the thought with another long swig of mezcal. He looked away from the window back towards the crowd.

There was a soldier looking at him lustily from across the square. He had gotten very used to men looking at him that way, and he knew the intention well enough. He felt like a piece of meat, but he didn’t particularly care.

The man was good looking enough and the prospect was enticing enough. He decided instead to drape himself against the wall in a way that he knew would be appealing and fixed a half-lidded gaze on the man. Like clockwork, the man reacted. Mexico smiled to himself as the soldier started walking over. This would be a good distraction.

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

1943

Somebody turned up the radio in the hall, which was playing upbeat dance music. Mexico had been having a cup of coffee after dinner with some sweets, which sounded like the best way to reward himself for the day of hard work. The training and the flying lessons were more enjoyable than he’d expected, but they did leave him tired.

He watched as soldiers invited the young women who had been serving the coffee to dance. The radio was a good idea; it made the awareness of the war waging in Europe fade for the night. In the confines of the training facility, they were still allowed to be happy.

Mexico took another drink of the coffee and contemplated whether he felt content. The canteen girls looked good and made good pastries, but the coffee tasted burnt. It was certainly not making him more content.

But he was happy with where he was. The feeling of exhaustion at the end of the day and the sleep that came with it helped with his mood immensely. If he was honest with himself, he was happier than he’d been for quite a while.

He found it pleasant to watch how young and naïve the young mortals were. He knew that they would not be quite so excited and shiny once they encountered real war. He had been through enough wars to know the brutal reality. It would disillusion everyone soon enough.

He took another drink of coffee and let himself sway to the music. Then he noticed a familiar blonde moving around the outside of the crowd coming towards him. He expected that America wanted to speak to him.

He had that earnest expression that always proceeded a conversion. In anticipation, Mexico downed the rest of the coffee. When America was close enough, he said, “Do you want to dance?”

It was already clear that he could not say no, since he was already swaying to the music. He also had no compelling reason to say no either. They had a pleasant enough relationship and he doubted that America was going to take one dance as a step towards a romantic relationship. They had been broken up for over two decades, and there had been no glimmer since then.

He said, with a slight smile, “Sure. It’s just a dance.”

He put aside his empty coffee cup. America smiled in a way that was remarkably charming and boyish. He extended his hand, and Mexico took it. They moved out onto the dancefloor. America said, “Do you know how to swing dance?”

Mexico could already feel the beat of the song through his body. He said with a laugh, “Of course. I have always been the better dancer. You’re the one with two left feet.”

He started the steps of the dance and America took the lead. Mexico swung out in time with the song. When America pulled him back in, he said, “I’ll have you know that I’m a very good dancer.”

In another decade, Mexico would have said something snarky back. But the training had been so pleasant, and he didn’t want to ruin it. So he said, “You’ve gotten better.”

It was only half true, but it was much easier for them to dance when there was no tension between them. America also seemed much more relaxed than he was the last time they danced.

The song switched to a slower one. In a single fluid motion America pulled him closer and put his hand on Mexico’s hip for a close position. Mexico put his other hand on America’s shoulder. He made the mistake of looking up at America and meeting his eyes. He was suddenly reminded that America had the most incredible blue eyes that were utterly captivating to look at.

He said, allowing himself to wonder, “Why did you ask me to dance?” He wasn’t sure that he was going to get an answer. But to his surprise America said, “Because I am happy that you are here.”

Mexico didn’t hear anything particularly insincere in his tone. As he stared at America, he saw the flush in his cheeks. He said, “Have you been drinking?”

There was something strangely endearing about imagining him drinking to work up the courage to ask for a dance. America responded as they danced slowly, “You haven’t. I’ve noticed that since you got here. You haven’t had a single drink.”

Mexico knew it was true, but he wasn’t certain why he was bringing it up. He replied, “You’re right. I thought I’d try out caffeine as a vice instead.”

He was distinctly aware of the way that America’s hand was creeping down from his hip. It was slow, but he could feel the movement. America ignored his wit and continued with his own thought, “You haven’t been drinking, and you’re here fighting for freedom. You’ve changed so much.”

He said it with the kind of smile that showed clearly that he liked the change. It was strange, since his approval had been a scant thing for so long. But there was something just under the statement that made him less comfortable. He could feel America’s hand on his back and hear that uncomfortable inflection.

He said, trying to cut off what he feared he was about to hear, “You have changed too. Now you’re dating someone else.” America shook his head slightly and said, “I’m not trying to sleep with you. I’m just happy that you’re making better choices.”

It only sounded half true, but Mexico was not going to press him on the matter. He was not willing to make a scene, and the dancing was too pleasant. He opted instead to say, “One more song, and then I want another coffee.”

#not sure how to tag this

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pig-wings · 2 years

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Hypnagogia

read on AO3

words: 1,524

It felt like he was sleepwalking these days. Or, no—not sleepwalking. It felt like that period between sleep and waking, the slow rise from unconsciousness, dipping in and out of awareness like a buoy at sea. Sometimes he’d blink and he’d find himself in an entirely different place. Sometimes he did things that he couldn’t explain. The other day a cashier had spoken Portuguese to him, and Ric had replied as if he had spoken the language his whole life. But then the cashier said something else, and all he could do was gawk at the man, awkwardly taking his bag of instant noodles and scuttling out of the shop.

Unearthing all these new talents and flitting from place to place like stop motion was uncomfortable, but he did his best to ignore the unease that tapped at the back of his mind. He’d remind himself that he had a new life now, completely untethered from whoever Dick Grayson had been before. Now he was just Ric the taxi driver, Ric the barfly, Ric the happy amnesiac. Apparently, Dick Grayson had been Bruce Wayne’s son at some point. Ric didn’t remember any of that, and he didn’t really care to.

Sometimes, on very late nights when he had drunk enough from his flask to get good and wasted, surly drunk, he thought back to that day at the famous Batcave, Batman and Robin swooping down, the crisp staccato of gunfire over high-end speakers. His head busting apart on a giant screen. The phantom sensation of pain across his scalp, through his spine, down to his toes. On the very worst nights, he would think of that awful day and bend himself over the toilet, heaving up the whiskey, his body wracked with a cold sweat. Afterwards, he’d usually sober up and take his taxi and drive around town, not picking up clients, just driving until the streetlights and casino neon blurred into clouds of nebulous light. Chasing away the bad memories of that day in the cave and all the implications of that visit. Some nights, though, he went to fight. There was an underground MMA ring down by the docks that anyone could enter if they paid the fee. The rules were nonexistent, except you couldn’t kill anyone inside of the ring (though Ric had never asked about outsideof the ring). One man had tried to shank him during their match. Another had brought a chain. Somehow, he escaped unscathed each time and with enough money to take care of himself for a week. Once, someone asked him where he had learned to fight after a particularly brutal matchup, and Ric had just shrugged and walked away.

He couldn’t tell them that he could fight because, apparently, he had been Nightwing once. Because, apparently, he had trained with a man world famous for his leather fetish and his brutal right hook. Because, apparently, he had grown up that way, stalking the night, harassing crooks, and for some reason he had chosen to keep doing it as an adult. He couldn’t remember Nightwing, but it was hard to imagine that the guy had been happy, even if he could dodge shanks and chains and fists.

Happy didn’t quite describe his state now, but at least he was free, and that had to be better than whatever had come before. It didn’t matter to him that sometimes he’d open his eyes and have no clue where he was. He was free to wander the city and drink booze sold in plastic bottles and hole up in empty houses, at least until their occupants came back. Ric didn’t quite get how he knew the right questions to ask and the right things to check to make sure a place was empty. He didn’t know when he learned to pick a lock so well. He tried not to think about it too much. Right now, he was sitting in a nice house, sprawled on a nice couch in his shitty 12-pack white underwear, melting his brain in front of a nice TV, eating nice food and drinking a nice mezcal. He didn’t think about the people who normally lived here. Besides, tonight he’d go down to the fighting ring or that shady poker game and earn enough back to repay these people double. It’s not like he was hurting anyone.

One of the guys at the Prodigal had called him a ghost. “Spooky,” the other patron had said after a few drinks, “popping in and out of walls, haunting empty houses, all that shit.” Then he had wriggled his fingers menacingly, making haunted house noises as he did, and Ric had laughed.

Jeopardy was playing on the television. One of the contestants was on a tear, some ten-game winning streak. The category the players were working through was about sleep terminology. “This stage of sleep is characterized by vivid dreams,” Alex Trebek intoned on the screen.

“What is R.E.M. or rapid eye movement sleep,” Ric answered, popping the ‘p’ in ‘sleep’. He got the impression that he and Wayne used to watch a lot of Jeopardy together. Something about the rhythm of the show was familiar. He let the memory slither away with another slug of mezcal smoke down his throat.

That redhead kept coming around the bar, trying to get him to move back into Wayne’s place. She’d talk a lot about how he was drinking too much, gambling too much, fighting too much, and then correct him when he—apparently—misspoke. Babs, not Barbara. Bruce, not Brucie. The first time it happened, he had treated it like a curiosity—a blip in his routine. Then she had come back, and he’d gotten mad enough to surprise her. Maybe Dick Grayson wasn’t the kind of guy who showed his feelings a whole lot; he’d never know. She’d left him alone for a few weeks after that, and now he tried not to let her visits bother him too much. He could tell that she was grieving. The old man who came around was alright, though Ric knew that he was grieving too.

He wondered if it said anything about himself that he couldn’t sympathize with their grief. Seeing them used to make him feel bad, but he was well past that now. Barbara kept saying she was his friend. She seemed to want something from him that he couldn’t give her. Most likely she wanted Dick Grayson back. Yeah, well, that ship had sailed already. He itched at his pecs, brushing off a couple of crumbs that had gotten caught in his chest hair. On the screen, Miss Ten-Game-Winning-Streak answered another softball question before hitting the Daily Double.

“Who you are matters,” Barbara had said. “It matters a whole hell of a lot.”

He tried not to think too much about the past. He tried not to think about Dick Grayson or Nightwing, Brucie Wayne or Barbara the redhead or the old butler with the sweet car. It grated at him that they couldn’t just leave him alone. Every time they would come around, he would tell them the same thing: he was happy, he had friends, he had started driving a taxi, and he preferred to be called Ric now, thank you. They all seemed to think that he needed to be fixed in some way. Usually, they tried to offer him money, because they seemed to know that he was either sleeping in random houses or in the back of his taxi. He always turned them down. Not that Bea complained when they handed her the money to pay off his impressive bar tab, though he couldn’t really blame her for that. He liked Bea. He liked her a lot. He found himself thinking about her often, about her cool purple hair and her work with displaced families that she sometimes told him about. She was an ace at darts but shit at pool, and she always had music blasting in the bar—nu metal, hip-hop, some weird experimental trance stuff, whatever struck her fancy that day.

“I’m going to start paying for all that beer,” Ric said to himself, stretching first one arm, then the other, “and then I’m going to ask Bea out.”

He could feel the haze coming back, that misty, in-between feeling that tended to come before he found himself somewhere new. These days he just let it happen. Maybe he’d fall asleep and have another nightmare. Maybe he’d wake up and find himself riding a unicycle and juggling knives and speaking two different languages. Maybe he’d just end up somewhere weird, or back at the bar. It didn’t bother him. He was Ric, and everything was water off a duck’s back to Ric.

Alex Trebek read the last clue to the contestants. “This word describes the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep.”

He knew the answer immediately. “Hypnagogia,” he said to the television. For some reason the word struck him funny, all those G’s piled together like a train wreck. “Hypnagogia,” he said again, drawing each syllable out. He didn’t know why, but it made him laugh.

#dick grayson #nightwing #ric grayson #batfamily #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing fanfiction #my fics #my writing

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noladyme · 3 years

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La Cuervo - Chapter 11

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on on Mayans M.C. are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

Nina was seated at the table in Felipe’s small kitchen, having been brought there by EZ a few hours earlier. The sun was setting outside, and she was looking at the orange sky, becoming red, and then dark blue.

“You haven’t touched your food…”.

“Huh?”. She was deep in thought, and almost knocked her glass of lemonade over, when Felipe spoke. Managing to stop it from falling, she took a sip. “Sorry”.

Felipe got up, and walked over to the fridge, grabbing a can of beer. He opened it, and set it down in front of her.

“Looks like you need this”, he smiled. Nina took a welcome sip of the beer, and smiled at Felipe.

“Thanks…”.

She went back to poking at her food. It smelled delicious, and she forced herself to take a bite.

“EZ wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, but I’m guessing it’s not good”, Felipe said. Nina tentatively met his eyes. “Are you in trouble?”.

“I’m… I don’t know”, she replied.

“Pregnant?”.

Nina’s eyes widened.

“What? Fuck no!”. She took a big gulp of the beer. “Sorry…”, she added, embarrassed at using profanities in front of the man.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked”, Felipe said, looking down at his hands.

There was a long moment of silence.

“You seem almost disappointed at my answer”, Nina muttered. Felipe blew out a short laugh.

“Maybe it would get my son to settle down… And you’re not the worst choice of nuera…”.

“I don’t think we’re quite there yet”, Nina replied. Felipe shrugged.

“I don’t know… I saw how Angel looked at you yesterday. He cares about you”.

“Yeah…”, Nina breathed. She knew Angel cared; but she knew how the life was. His club came first, and she was quite sure that same club was getting ready to ship her back home to Charming.

EZ stepped into the kitchen with his phone in hand.

“They finished at the table. Angel’s on his way”. Felipe got up to get a plate from one of the cabinets; obviously aware of the state of the fridge in his eldest son’s house. EZ placed a gentle hand on Nina’s shoulder. “Are you ok?”.

“I guess I don’t know yet”, she said. “Do you think they’ll make me leave?”, she added, almost in a whisper.

EZ didn’t reply, seemingly unsure what to answer. He sighed, and went to grab a beer for himself.

Unable to stomach even a bite more of the food, Nina pushed away her plate.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”, she asked Felipe.

“Yeah, he doesn’t…”, EZ began, but stopped when Felipe placed an ashtray in front of her.

“Go ahead”, the elder Reyes said with a soft smile. EZ looked confusedly between the two, but ultimately shook his head, and settled in a chair.

Nina took deep draws of her cigarette, and stared straight ahead of her. If the Mayans wanted her gone, she still had a home in Charming; but as it was, the thought of leaving was extremely painful. Whatever Angel and she had, was something real and beyond what she’d felt for any other person. She didn’t want to go, but at the same time the thought of Angel backing the MC in the decision made her think it might be for the best.

She wiped away a stray tear, and Felipe handed her a napkin.

“Like I said, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I think it requires something stronger than beer”, he said, and moved into the living room.

“Oh no. Pap is bringing out the mezcal”, EZ said.

“Why oh no?”, Nina asked.

“If you thought the Ferris wheel story was bad…”. EZ looked terrified. Nina finally let a smile reach her lips.

“Can’t wait”, she said.

A short while later, they were on their third shot of mezcal and laughing, when Angel walked into the kitchen. He took one look at Nina’s cigarette and the liquor, and frowned in confusion.

“Is this a party?”, he asked. Felipe got up and gave his son a half hug.

“Let me get your plate”, he said.

“Sorry, pap. We gotta go”, Angel replied. The mezcal had gone a bit to Nina’s head, and she scowled at the biker.

“Sit your ass down and eat your father’s cooking. Taking me back to Charming can wait 20 minutes”, she grumbled.

Angel looked at her confusedly, and took the plate Felipe handed him, before pulling up a chair to the small table. EZ poured him a shot.

Felipe sat down again.

“Where was I…? Oh, right. So, we’d let Angel be in charge of filling the piñata for EZ’s birthday, but he’d gone into the wrong section of the drug-store…”. Angel groaned.

“Nah… Not this, pap. Please…”, he pleaded.

“You think I want to hear this story again?”, EZ said. Felipe waved their objections away with a dismissive gesture, and continued.

“He picked the most colorfully wrapped things he could find, and filled it before Marisol and I could see what he’d gotten. I got this, pap; he insisted… Come the party, Ezekiel is banging away at the poor piñata, and breaks it open…”. He halted to laugh to himself for a moment. “And a shower of condoms rains over him”. Nina had to hold her belly from laughing.

“I thought it was candy!”, Angel exclaimed.

“Sure you did”, EZ said disbelievingly.

“I was 12…”, Angel said. Felipe chuckled at his sons bantering.

Angel downed his shot, and began shoveling food into his mouth, while Felipe and EZ went to do the dishes. Felipe resolutely declined Nina’s help, and poured her another drink to keep her seated.

While the eldest and the youngest Reyes got on with getting the kitchen back in order, Angel finished his meal; his eyes on Nina the whole time. She did her best to avoid meeting his gaze, once again feeling the pain of their impending goodbye. He handed his plate to EZ, and got up; reaching out his hand to her.

“Let’s go…”, he said. She took it, and sighed deeply.

Felipe wiped his hands, and came over to her, pulling her in to a tight hug.

“Take care, mija”, he said, and kissed her cheek. He patted Angel’s shoulder, and Angel nodded at EZ, before he led Nina out of the house, towards his bike in the driveway.

“I just need my stuff at your place”, she rasped.

“Why?”, Angel asked.

“Because I’m not going back north without my shit”, she hissed.

Angel frowned at her, once again sporting the deep furrow between his eyebrows.

“Nina…”.

She let out a flustered groan and stomped over to the bike.

“Let’s go!”, she said. When Angel didn’t move, she walked back towards him, and pulled at his cut. “Take me the fuck back to SAMCRO. Let’s get this over with!”.

“You’re drunk, cuervo”, he sighed.

“Yeah… So?”, Nina said.

“Ma’, the only place you’re going is home to sleep it off”, Angel said calmly.

“Yeah, like I said. Take me back to Charming”.

“No. Back home to mine”. Nina tilted her head confusedly. He grabbed her arm and led her over to the bike. “Can you ride?”.

“Yeah…?”, she muttered. “But…”.

“Not here”. He grabbed her helmet from EZ’s bike, and put it on her head, snapping it shut under her chin, before getting on the bike. Nina simply stood, open mouthed and wide-eyed. “Come on! Jesus… Look, I’m not taking you back north; but we do have something we need to talk about. When you’re sober”.

Nina clambered on behind him, and Angel drove them off into the night.

---

The smell of coffee woke her up. She opened her eyes and saw Angel setting down a mug on the bedside table, next to a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. He was topless and sweating, and it looked like he’d been working out. Turning her head, she found she was right in thinking so, when she saw that his barbells had been moved around.

“How’s the head, cuervo?”, he muttered, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and stroked her cheek.

“Fine…”, she lied. Angel took two pills from the bottle, and held them out to her.

“Here…”. Nina frowned and shook her head. Angel scowled at her, and straddled her waist; sitting over her hips. He picked up the glass, and held the pills to her lips. “Open… Don’t make me hold your nose, little miss lightweight”. Nina sighed, and held out her tongue to accept the pills, before taking the glass, and chugging it.

“Happy?”, she grunted.

Angel took the glass, set it back on the table, and kissed her forehead.

“Good girl. Now are you gonna tell me what that was about last night?”.

Nina shifted underneath him.

“Are you going to get off me? Maybe put on a shirt?”.

“Nah. It’s easier to talk to you like this. It makes you less smart”, Angel grinned, and flexed his pectorals.

“Yeah. Your sexy body makes me stupid…”, Nina scoffed, and pushed at his chest; trying her best not to show how stupid she was in fact feeling. “I gotta pee”.

Angel got off her, and let her get out of the bed. She walked into the bathroom without looking at him.

While she was washing her hands, she noticed Angel had set up her toothbrush next to his own. An overwhelming sensation of warm joy and ice-cold embarrassment washed over her. She picked up the toothbrush, and stormed out of the bathroom; straight into the arms of Angel, who’d been waiting for her by the door. She threw her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered.

“For what?”, he chuckled.

“For being an idiot… and drunk… and throwing up in the bushes before we made it inside last night”.

Angel laughed, his chest rumbling against her ear.

“Yeah, that was a different kind of fertilizer than I usually use”.

Nina tilted her face to look at him.

“I thought you were… that the club would vote to send me away”. Angel grinned and stroked her temple.

“You think I’d let them do that? Fuck no. You’re mine, and you belong here”. Nina smiled, and went to kiss him, when Angel pulled back, grabbed the hand she was holding the toothbrush in, and held it in front of her. “Your breath stinks, ma’. Use this, and then I’ll kiss you all you want”.

She almost ran into the bathroom, and thoroughly brushed her teeth, before putting the toothbrush back next to Angel’s. Once back in the bedroom, Angel smilingly pulled her into his arms, and kissed her greedily. They were all tongues and groping hands, when suddenly he pulled back, and looked somber.

“We need to talk”, he said. Nina sighed.

“I have a feeling I‘m gonna need that coffee now”.

Angel put on a beater, grabbed her mug for her, and led her into the living room to sit on the couch.

“There’s a snitch in the clubhouse…”, he began.

In spite of not being surprised, Nina let out an exasperated sigh.

“Do you know who it is?”, she asked. Angel nodded.

“We think it’s Daniella. You saw how she was all over Sala at the party. She was there when they were talking about the inhaler, and EZ told Bish that she saw you use it in the trailer. Then Creeper had Camille in there…”.

“So it was my fault…”, Nina croaked. Angel grabbed her hand.

“No, Nina. That’s not on you”. He kissed her knuckles. “But we need to find out how deep in with them she is. What she’s been telling them. You know I can't tell you too much about club business; but... this isn't the first time Palo has made moves on our territory”.

“She only just met them that night…”, Nina began.

“Did she though? What about that stuff in the alley? That’s what brought the Vatos to San Pad”.

“She wasn’t there, Angel…”.

“No, but someone might have told her. This isn’t a big town, word travels…”, he said. “And why are you defending her? That bitch is…”.

“Someone you used to sleep with”, Nina said. Angel looked down and didn’t reply. “You did, and you don’t have to pretend you didn’t… Look, I don’t like her, but…”.

“You’re gonna like her even less in a minute”, Angel cut her off.

Nina took a deep sip of her coffee, and lit a cigarette.

“Tell me”.

Angel got on his feet, and began pacing the floor.

“This wasn’t my idea, you gotta know that, querida”.

Nina was growing more and more anxious.

“Just… talk”, she demanded.

Angel sighed.

“We gotta split up…”.

Nina shook her head, and blinked in confusion.

“We… what?”, she snarled. “One second you’re telling me you’re not letting me go. The next…”.

“It’s not for real, though. Just like an act”, Angel said. “I need to let Daniella think we’re done”.

Nina scoffed, and stubbed her cigarette angrily.

“With your dick”, she growled, and got up to stand. Angel looked almost desperate, trying to explain himself.

“No, I just gotta let her think I want to hang with her again. Spend some time with her; get her to talk. We need to know how much she’s been sharing with the Vatos…”.

“Fuck that! I’m not gonna sit in this house, while you let her rub her infected cunt all over the back of your bike!”.

Angel cleared his throat, and looked away; seemingly very uncomfortable at meeting her eyes.

“You won’t be here… You gotta go back to the trailer”. It felt like a, explosion in Nina’s head, and white, hot rage spread through her body. “You need to go back on lockdown, so the club can protect you. And, so it looks like we’re really over”.

Nina stormed into the bedroom, trying to get away from him.

“Shove it up your ass, Angel!”, she roared. She picked up a pillow from the bed and threw it at him as he stood in the doorway. “You want me to stay at that clubhouse and watch you two… hang? Fuck you!”.

Not thinking, she kicked at a barbell. A burning, blunt pain spread through her toes, and she instantly fell to the floor; holding her foot. Angel rushed over to look at the damage.

“Querida…”.

“Don’t!”, Nina hissed, tears streaming from her eyes. “Don’t fucking queridame… Fuck that hurt…”.

Angel sighed, and scooped her into his arms, to place her on the bed; before leaving the room. He came back a moment later, with a bag of frozen peas covered in a dishtowel. She tried to push it away, but he manhandled her hands away, and put the pack on her foot. He checked her toes.

“You didn’t break anything…”, he muttered.

Nina watched him gently put the pillow she’d thrown at him under her foot, to elevate it.

“I hate you right now”, she croaked. He met her eyes with a sad expression.

“I know… I might even deserve it”, he said. “Maybe I could have said or done something; come up with a better plan… But I’m not that smart. This was the only plan that made sense when we were at the table. I don’t know how else to get Daniella to talk”.

“Whose idea was it?”, Nina sniveled. He frowned slightly.

“I don’t think…”.

“Was it Bishop?”. Angel’s silence confirmed her suspicion. “Shit… Of course, it was. And here I thought he was beginning to like me”.

Angel gently began moving her toes back and forth. It tickled a bit, but Nina didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile.

“He does… This is for you as well”, he said. Nina scoffed and shook her head. “We need to find out if the Vatos are coming for you, and maybe…”. He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Maybe, what?”, Nina said. He looked at her reluctantly.

“Maybe, if I keep her happy, she’ll lose interest in hurting you, and she won’t tell them who you are”.

Nina scoffed, and drew her lips back in a sneer.

“Maybe you should just take me back to Charming. Keep me out of sight”, she said.

“We have to make her think we don’t know we’ve been made, by hiding you away”, Angel said.

He scooted closer to her, and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“I hate this as much as you do. I don’t want you sleeping anywhere else than next to me… This…”. He pointed between them. “This is right. I don’t want no one else”.

Nina let him put his forehead against hers.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Angel…”, she said.

Angel pulled back and stared deep into her eyes; and seemed to make a decision.

“Te amo, cuervo… I know it’s still early, but I fucking do”. Nina gasped, and parted her lips to speak, but couldn’t find the words. “You don’t gotta say anything. But I needed you to know that”.

She wanted to reply, but couldn’t find the words to describe what she felt about him in that moment. She was hurt, and so very angry; but her heart also fluttered at his words.

In the end she sighed, and closed her eyes.

“When are you gonna…”. She couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Tonight…”, Angel said. “I just gotta make a call. Get her to the clubhouse”. Nina nodded.

“Do it… Just, please go into the kitchen. I don’t wanna hear it”. He nodded shortly, and left the room.

She went to pack her bag. The house wasn’t so big that she couldn’t hear Angel on the phone; and she clenched her fists as she listened to him speak.

“Hey, baby… Yeah, I know… Look, I was thinking you could come by the clubhouse tonight. We could catch up… Nah, that’s over… I’m telling her tonight…”. He laughed a little. The sound made Nina want to break something, but she stayed quiet. “You looked hot yesterday… Yes, really. Fuck, Dani; you got me all worked up, when you… Yeah, ok. See you then”.

He moved back through the living room, and Nina pretended to ignore him as he entered the bedroom. She had to wipe away a tear, when Angel handed her her toothbrush.

“I’m sorry”, he muttered. Without another word, he pressed his lips against hers. Knowing she would probably regret it, she didn’t reciprocate the kiss; she simply didn’t have it in her.

They drove back to the clubhouse, Nina holding on to him harder than necessary. Angel didn’t once complain.

---

As plans went, Nina knew that Bishop’s was probably the best for their situation. That didn’t change the fact that she felt the urge to slap him across his face when she saw him on the porch of the clubhouse. He looked grave, but didn’t speak.

Angel squeezed her hand after she got off his bike, but she avoided being pulled into his arms; just turned her back to him, and walked back to the trailer.

She picked the .38 out of her bag, and sat for a long time on the cot; just holding it in her hand and looking at it. She was drained emotionally and physically, and so very tired. After a while, she put it down on the table, put her inhaler next to it, and laid down; falling into an almost comatose sleep.

It was dark outside, when a gentle hand shook her awake. EZ was standing over her with a solemn expression.

“Bishop told me to… Daniella is arriving in a few”.

Nina nodded, and sat up. She rubbed her eyes, and blew out a deep breath.

“Do you know what we have to do?”, she asked. EZ nodded.

“Angel filled me in. He’s not happy about it… There’s a dent in the table at his seat in templo, from where he stuck his knife in it”. A smile ghosted his face. Nina shrugged, and got up to stand. “This is going to suck, but if you need to talk to someone…”, EZ said.

“I know… Thank you”. She tried, and failed, to smile at him; then left the trailer, to get dumped by the man who claimed her loved her.

Angel was seated by the bar, drinking a beer with Gilly. He met her eyes for a short moment, but looked down at his drink quickly. The rest of the charter was spread throughout the room, chatting to hangarounds and each other; and doing their best to avoid eye-contact with her. Only Bishop came up to her as she entered.

“Nina, I know this is…”.

“Don’t… talk to me right now”, Nina said, trying to keep her voice even. “I can’t promise I won’t attack you with a broken beer bottle if you do”.

“That fair”, Bishop said. “But when you’re ready, I’ll be here to let you slap me around… I’d prefer without the broken beer bottle”.

Nina nodded shortly, and went behind the bar. She picked up a rag, and began wiping down the counter.

A few moments later, Coco came through the back door, and nodded at Angel. Nina watched as his face fell, and he met her eyes. His were pained, probably reflecting her own; and it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself into his arms.

Nina blew out a deep breath, as the door opened, and Daniella walked in. Angel’s face immediately grew indifferent.

“Sorry, I got other plans, ma’”, he said to Nina. He turned around and looked at Daniella. “And here they are now. How are you doing, baby?”. He smirked, and went over to hug the blonde tightly. Daniella gave Nina a smug smile over Angel’s shoulder.

Nina couldn’t help but gasp at the sight.

“Angel…”, she croaked. Angel led Daniella over to the bar, and looked at Nina like she was a complete stranger.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need a… screwdriver, right?”, he said.

“With ice”, Daniella gloated. Angel chuckled, and brushed his lips against her ear.

“You’re bad…”.

Bile rose in Nina’s throat, and she couldn’t contain it anymore. She dropped the rag, and ran out the door; only making it down from the porch and over to a trashcan, before she threw up. Even when she had nothing left in her stomach, she gagged, and it felt like the muscles in her belly tried to push out her very intestines.

EZ came running out after her, and held back her hair. He rubbed circles on her back to try to get her to calm down.

“It’s ok… It’s just an act, Nina… You’ll be ok”, he whispered. The sound of laughter from inside made Nina retch one last time, before she fell to her knees. EZ crouched down next to her, and pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry…”.

Nina was heaving for breath, and was finding it hard to get any oxygen into her lungs.

“Inhaler… trailer”, she rasped.

EZ got her to her feet, and dragged her with him to the trailer. Once inside, she took a hit from her inhaler, and collapsed on the cot.

“Can I get you anything?”, EZ asked.

Nina looked up at him, and began sobbing. He sat down next to her, and pulled her into his arms; just holding her close and stroking her hair.

The last few months, years even – everything that had brought her up to this point – rushed through her head, as if what she’d just witnessed turned on a faucet of memories that had shaped her. It was overwhelming.

… Throwing up behind a dumpster, when a pair of white sneakers comes in to view. “Are you ok, darlin’?”…

… Picked up at school by the coolest guy in town, and speeding down bumpy roads; laughing and squealing in glee…

… Crying in a smelly cell, before being let out, and enveloped in Jackson’s arms. The scent of leather, cigarettes and mint chewing-gum. “You’re better than this, Nina"…

… Walking in to the clubhouse with his hands covering her eyes. “Surprise!”. Filip kissing her cheek, and handing her a lit cigarette. “Congrats on not being knocked up, luv’”. Tig nabbing the smoke from her lips. “She’s got asthma, you idiot. Get her a pack of condoms instead”…

… “You’re not my fucking dad, Jax!”. “No, but I am your brother. Dropping out is a shit idea”…

… “Hi. I’m Juice". He’s almost too cute to handle. Jackson grabs the collar of his cut, and starts dragging him away. “No". “But Jax…”. “Just no"…

… Holding Jackson tightly, as he crumbles in her arms. “He's so tiny, Nina… I don’t think he’s gonna make it”. She strokes his hair, and forces him to look at her. “Abel is your kid, Jax. If anyone can survive something like this, it's him”…

… Holding Thomas for the first time, hours after his birth. “Your daddy loves you. He’s gonna be out real soon”…

… “Thank you for being there for Tara, while I was inside”. “It’s what family does. You taught me that”…

… “This is how it has to be… I have to give my boys a shot at a life away from this”. “You can’t do this to them. To me!”. He kisses her forehead, and holds her close as she sobs, before pressing a leatherbound journal into her hands. “Give this to them when they’re old enough. I love you, little sister. So much. You gotta live for me; be happy”…

… His cut on the casket. No more tears to cry. Filip’s arm around her, unable to tell who is supporting who…

… Too much alcohol. Too many cigarettes. Too many makeout-sessions in dark corners of parties, before a strong hand belonging to Happy, Tig, Filip, or someone else pulls the guy away; and makes her get on the back of a bike. “We promised we’d take care of you, ‘luv”…

… Wendy’s excited voice over the phone. “Abel got an A on his book-report”…

… Stumbling out of the car, Gael at her heels. “You gotta follow through now”. “I don’t want to”. His ice-cold smile, as he presses her against the wall, and lets his hands wander up and down her body. It’s too much. She can’t push him away; he’s too strong. “What would Teller say, if he knew I was about to fuck his little sister?”. Her shaking hand as she manages to pull out the gun, and he takes a step back. “You’re not gonna shot me”. He rushes forward, and she pulls the trigger. It’s like a red cloud behind his head, and she gasps, dropping the gun on the ground…

… “Nina?”. Footsteps running down the alley. Filip looks down at her disheveled state, and then at the dead body on the ground; and his face drops. “She’s here”. “Shit, muffin. What happened?”. “Chibs, do you know who that is?”. “Not now, Hap’. Let’s just get her out of here. Get the gun”. One of them scoops her into their arms, she’s to rattled to notice who…

… A long ass ride south. A pair of dark and intense eyes. Butterflies in her stomach as he removes his hands from the handlebars. His warm and devouring kiss. “I want you to trust me”. Wanting and needing him. Him wanting and needing her. This is real. “Te amo, cuervo”…

Her breathing calmed, and she managed to pull out of EZ’s grasp.

“I need to be alone right now”, she croaked. The prospect nodded.

“Bishop said you need to stay on the lot”, he said.

“I know. I won’t go anywhere. I just need… quiet”.

EZ got up and went for the door.

“Breakfast tomorrow?”. She wiped her eyes, and nodded. He smiled sadly, and left the trailer; closing the door behind him.

Nina dug through her bag, and pulled out the journal. She hadn’t opened it since the night of her fight with Angel in the cage. Opening the page of her favorite and at the same time most hated paragraph, she sat back with her legs folded under her.

“I know you’ll face pain, suffering, hard choices; but you can’t let the weight of it choke the joy out of your life. No matter what, you have to find the things that love you. Run to them…

There’s an old saying. That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I don’t believe that. I think the things that try to kill you make you angry and sad. Strength comes from the good things… your family, your friends, the satisfaction of hard work. Those are the things that will keep you whole. Those are the things to hold on to when you’re broken…”.

He’d been in such pain, and at the same time so optimistic. He’d trusted her with these words; maybe even meant them as much for her, as he had for his boys. It felt like everything she’d done since the moment of his death, had been like a big fuck you to his legacy. She felt ashamed and heartbroken.

“I’m sorry, Jax…”, she whispered.

Laying back on the cot, clutching the journal in her arms, she made a decision. She had to follow through with this plan Bishop had laid out.

They were going to get the truth about Palo’s plans. Both her families would be safe. Angel loved her.

Those were the things she was going to hold on to.

---

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc #ez reyes #coco cruz #mayans mc fic

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obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer · 3 years

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Traditional costumes (Part 1) (GN!MC)

Hello there my darlings How´s it going? First of all, I must say the following:

OMG YASS! YASS I CAN DO IT!!! There are so many that It´s sad I can only put 11 of them but YES YES I´LL DO IT. I´m actually really excited about this, that we will have to parts of it!

Second: Thank you!!! Today we are 308 followers!!!! For me having this number of followers it´s still a dream, and I really loved so much the idea of the typical costume, that it will be a 308 followers special divided in 2 parts, welcome to the first part. Thank you for following! I will keep doing my very best!!

Lucifer (Jarocho Veracruz)

Lucifer was walking by, when he saw you taking care of a big white dress, the first thing he thought “A brides dress?” He wasn´t enterally wrong, but he wasn´t right.

He asked you nicely what were you doing and why did you have a bride’s dress. The only thing you could do was laugh, Lucifer might be the all mighty one above the seven brothers, but sometimes he was too naïve. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

He saw the embroidery in the apron that was over the skirt, and he wondered: How many hours it took to do that embroidery? Even the skirt was way to thick, and sometimes he forgot that humans had many ways to dress up. He touched the fabric, even that red fabric was so beautiful How was it called? Rebozo?

He looked so intrigued that you decided to tell the story about the dress.

“In the colony time, Veracruz were one of the most important ports around the world. Spanish women stayed in Papaloma´s river basin, the wore big old dresses, with thick fabric, but in Veracruz that doesn´t take place, not back then not even now, it´s beach and it has a humid climate. The Spanish and creoles used to dress a colorful skirt and an apron with embroidery flowers, also a shawl with lace, and silk ribbons, even a hand fan, by the other hand, indigenous and mestizas women used to use flowery skirts and blanket blouses with a rebozo and their hair were braided. But the dress of the Spanish and the creoles didn´t work out, the weather was so hot that they simply decided to use cotton and organdy. But I guess, this “new” dress was used for the creoles wedding dress. Now a days is typical to be use in folkloric dances.”

For someone like Lucifer, he didn´t waste a second, and he dreamt, maybe in some years you could use that dress on your wedding day.

Mammon. (Charro Jalisco)

He was sneaking into your room, for sure he was searching something to steal and then sell it, maybe the great Mammom would buy something for you, something nice. His human must use something nice, maybe a necklace. He knew that you kept your precious little something in the closet, so he check it, and oh surprise, that ain´t little.

That was a heavy suit for a human your size, and are those silver buttons? He was actually impressed, he looked to every single detail in the costume, that hat is actually so beautiful that he needed to use it, no matter what, he needed to put that in his head.

That´s why you discover him, he was in front of your mirror, you took a mentally note, he needed a charro suit to, maybe you will teach him the folklore dance. When he heard you laugh he started to blush, saying that he wasn´t doing nothing at all.

“Mammon. Would you like to hear the story of this suit?” His eyes had that childish sparkle, and he immediately sat in your bed, waiting for the story.

“The charro suit started from decades away, in the colonial time, must say in the XVI century, with a very fine work, with gold and silver buttons, embroidery of golden thread. But, you know, only the wealthy ones could use the accessories, the intelligent ones, would make their owns, with maybe some paint, and creating the best suit of them all, just like the saying says. “El charro de cuero se viste, por ser lo que más resiste”. Now a days mariachis and dancers use it, and also some horse riders for exhibitions. “

Mammon was as happy as a child, he needed that suit from old centuries, maybe Lucifer had one.

Leviathan (Azteca Tenochtitlán (This city does not longer exist, it´s not even a state) )

Levi was sitting in the living room, when he heard something, were does bells? No way that noise wasn´t a bell one, it was more like a bone sound, so he followed the sound, and there you where, in the garden, with your full costume, dancing for the gods and for practice, you didn´t want to forget the dance your ancestors made so many centuries away.

When you felt the presence of him you turned around and smiled at him. “Levi, do you like my Hueseras? My grandpa made them for me! Aren´t them cute? Oh maybe you prefer the penacho? It´s so hard to find the Quetzal feathers.” He just stopped breathing, you looked just like that final boss of the game: “Trying to avoid to be a sacrifice for the Gods and keeping my heart on my chest.”

He just nodded, after that a big silence started between the two of you. So you decided to keep dancing, and he was just there watching you, with stars in his eyes, and you decided to tell him the story about the clothing,

“Before the conquest, my ancestors used to use beautiful clothing, with animal skin and feathers of birds, they made each outfit for each person in the social pyramid, the Tlatoani used the Penachos, also some bishops did it too, and head military ones, usually the military were decorated with gold and seashells, and a difficult headpieces, women if they weren´t in the high society used to use Huipiles and Quexquémitl, with skirts and natural pigments.”

Levi was amazed, just like in his game, but this time he needed a translator to understand those words you said, he wanted to use one of them too.

“Now, how about I teach you how to dance.”

Satan. (Traje elegante Nuevo León)

Satan had been invited to an opening from a new restaurant in Devildom, sometimes he would ask himself if it was fine for him to go alone for this type of events. Today he wanted to take you out for a nice dinner. Formal clothing, or that´s what it says in the invitation, well you had the fanciest clothing in the whole world just in your closet, so you took it out, you prepared yourself and you were ready to go. The avatar of wrath didn´t mention a thing, although you clothing of tonight was stunning and tons of looks were on you that night, after few drinks, and you telling every demon, that the mezcal of your country was ten times better than the drink in the Devildom, some of those demons actually asked. “Why are you in a custom?” Oh dear, not even Satan could make something when you picked the microphone. “Demons, this ain´t a costume, now, sit and listen to the story of this magnificent outfit. It all started in the colonial age in Mexico, Nuevo León did not had that extraordinary change from the conquest, actually the indigenous were nomads and we don´t have much of their cultural information. Women and men needed to have a hard character. In 1960 the dress maker Ramón Validosera made this beautiful suit for all of us, in 1970 it was one of the most important yet one of the greatest folkloric costumes in Mexico. This suit was made for the ones that will work hard enough in the fields, even though the women one is more complex than the male one.” After the explanation they stopped watching you with smirks in their faces, they actually asked if you could take a photo with them. When the party was over, Satan took your hand and escort you back to the house. “You didn´t mention that the suit was made for a beer festival”. He told you, and you laugh. “It wasn’t necessary. And it will be our secrete.”

Asmo ( China poblana Puebla)

Asmo had this epiphany, he had seen a folkloric dance of Mexico so long ago, and he just remembered it, he was sitting in one of the library armchairs, watching an old photo album, wondering if you were in the house, he started to seek you. When he heard you in Levi´s room he took you away.

“Mc! You are from Puebla, right?” You made a silent nod. “So, do you own one of the folkloric dress?” The question leaves you thinking. “I guess, but is in the human realm.” With those words Asmo actually begged Lucifer for authorization to go into the human realm.

When you arrived into your house, Asmo asked you nicely if you could tell him all about the dress. “Well, the story starts in the Colonial age, the legend says, that a chines woman was sold as a slave, but ended up in the hands of the richest. Actually she wasn´t chines nor from Puebla, she was a princes from Mongolia, but they were in a war so she was captured and sold as a slave, from hand to hand was sold, just like Malinche, anyway she found a good person that protected her, and then she married a merchant in Puebla, after that she lived until her 70´s. Her clothing was so beautiful and weird for the age, in one part beautiful Indigenous colors and in the other Spanish silk, with big ornaments in her hair. After some years they improve the dress, It consists of a white short-sleeved shirt, low on the chest, made of fine cotton embroidered with various colorful motifs. The skirt is a long skirt of thick fabric in dark red, with embroidery on the front that reproduce the national symbols: the eagle devouring the serpent perched on a cactus, or the Aztec calendar. The outfit is completed by a fine silk shawl in the tones of the colors of our national flag; and the one that requires the bun braided with tricolor bows, several necklaces of paper beads and large gold earrings.”

When you finished the story Asmo was tearing, a poor young woman who was sold by a men, but she found true love, was just, too beautiful.

After that he made you use the dress and well, the rest is story.

Let´s learn some Spanish and more than that:

Malinche: Indigenous women that helped Hernán Cortés for the conquest in Mexico. And it´s also a volcanos name, so be careful when you talk about her, you might be talking about the volcano.

Huaseras: Bells that are included in the aztec dance, also known as: Ayoyotl.

Penacho: Set of raised feathers that certain birds have on top of their heads

Quetzal: Bird from Mexico, in Nahuatl the name means long tail of bright feathers.

Tlatoani: Head of the Aztec society, something like a president.

El charro de cuero se viste, por ser lo que más resiste” : The leather charro dresses, for being the thing that resists the most

Rebozo: Shawl or cloak of cotton, wool or silk of various colors, used by some village women to cover their heads, shoulders, chest and back as a coat; It is also used to wrap and carry a child.

#obeyme #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me headcanons #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke

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homeformyheart · 3 years

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hopeless - m!raleigh carrera x mc (plat)

author’s note: i’m not sure if this fits into the same universe my other platinum fics take place in but i had fun with it. i hope you enjoy!

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. songs and lyrics owned by their respective creators. series/pairing: platinum – m!raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian); red carpet diaries cross-over – matt rodriguez x cadence dorian rating/warnings: 14+; swearing, descriptions of drinking, minor angst word count: 2.6k based on/prompt: “all you had to do was stay” by taylor swift / “secret love song pt ii” by little mix summary: news of cadence’s engagement makes raleigh and cadence revisit the way they left things.

hopeless

when cadence flew out to los angeles to secretly film music videos for her entire album, the last thing she expected was that she would get engaged. but here she was, in as private of a spot as one could find in the city of stars, with the matt rodriguez in front of her on one knee with a beautiful vintage-inspired octagonal diamond ring. no one was around except for a private photographer he hired so that they could control what made it to the press.

“cadence dorian, will you marry me?”

she knew what her answer should be. after all, her and raleigh had officially called it quits eight months ago. operative word being “officially.” it didn’t take long before she was introduced to matt when he was cast in her music video and raleigh’s label paired him off with some up-and-coming actress.

cadence fought to stay present and hoped that matt would think the tears forming in her eyes was because she was overwhelmed, when in reality, she was thinking back on the last time she spoke to raleigh.

6 months ago

“i don’t know if i can do this anymore,” cadence whispered. they had publicly broken up two months ago but were still carrying on in private whenever they could. “everytime i see you, a part of me dies a little more. all we have are these stolen moments, which won’t last once one of us has to go on tour again.”

those stolen moments included spending a few hours late at night in his bedroom a few nights a week, but whenever cadence struggled with feeling like she was a shameful secret, raleigh would cave and take her out as long as they both wore disguises. tonight was one such night and leave it to raleigh to find the one club in new york city that wouldn’t be packed with celebrities on a saturday night.

cadence saw raleigh’s grip on the steering wheel tighten as he drove them back to her apartment. her eyes welled up with tears and she let them fall down her face, ruining her makeup, as she sat silently in the passenger seat.

“don’t do this now, please. we had a nice time tonight, didn’t we?”

cadence pulled the long, curly-haired wig off her head and threw it onto the dash. “i want to hold you in the street, and kiss you on the dance floor. i should be able to shout it from the rooftops. why can’t it be like that?”

“cadence, you know it’s to protect you. you’re just starting out and i’m not going to ruin that for you… we— we can’t,” raleigh said, his throat tight and voice shaky as if he was afraid of where the conversation was going.

“i don’t want to live love like this. i don’t want to hide us away, constantly wondering if it will ever change,” cadence said sadly, drying her eyes with the back of her hands, ignoring the streaks of makeup now staining her skin.

raleigh pulled into the underground garage of her building and parked the car. he reached over to hold her hand in both of his and cadence felt a sob escape her.

“you mean the world to me, cadence. i want more than anything to show you off as my girlfriend, but we have to be careful for a while longer.” he gave her a dazzling smile, but she knew his heart wasn’t in it.

“i wish we could be like that, raleigh. but it’s obvious that it won’t happen and i can’t keep going on like this. i’m sorry,” cadence sobbed, pulling her hand from his and trying to take deep breaths to calm herself down.

cadence stepped out of the car and toward the elevators as raleigh looked on in stunned silence. she didn’t look back because she knew if she did, she’d want to run right back to him.

“cadence?”

she was brought back to the moment by the sound of matt’s voice and all she could do was nod and smile and let the rest of her tears “of joy” stream down her face as matt wrapped his arms around her and spun her around.

* * * * * raleigh looked out the window of his penthouse apartment with a glass of mezcal in his hand. against his better judgment, he scanned tabloid headlines earlier that day when a photo of cadence caught his eye. the photos made it look like she was cozying up to matt rodriguez in los angeles. raleigh prided himself on being around long enough in the industry that he could spot a tabloid relationship in two seconds, but there was something about how cadence looked in those photos that made him pause.

it was clear she was having fun and enjoying herself in the photos. he recognized the look on her face when she was mid-laugh and the cheek-hurting smile she had on reminded him of the beginning of their tabloid relationship over a year and a half ago now. but even back then, raleigh knew there was something special about cadence, something that he wanted to be real, something that made him blur the lines that defined his fake relationships in the past.

he looked at his watch and knew he needed to head out if he was going to make it to the event at a reasonable time. he knew cadence would be there and while he was fine with their recent game of avoiding each other at public events, he needed to run into her tonight. he gulped down the rest of his drink and walked out of his apartment. time to get some answers.

* * * * * his eyes zeroed in on cadence the second she walked into the room. she was wearing a gorgeous gold dress that no doubt was made for her given how it fit her every curve perfectly and showed off her shoulders and collarbone. raleigh felt his body temperature rise as he pictured ripping her hair out of its pinned updo and sucking at the sensitive spots on her neck and collarbone that he knew so well.

either he had been staring for too long or cadence sensed his presence because she looked over in his direction. they locked eyes and it was as if the entire room faded away; raleigh held her gaze, almost daring her to break eye contact first. which, she did, but not before she flashed him a look that he couldn’t quite place – apologetic? regret? embarrassment? whatever it was, it fled her features faster than he could blink. he wasn’t given any time to think about it as the tinkling sound of utensil against glass somehow seemed to drown out the conversations around him.

he looked around quickly and didn’t see any food so where the fuck did people get utensils? and more importantly, why didn’t he have a drink in his hand yet? not that he was eager to join in what was inevitably a toast to the couple of the hour.

“if i could have everyone’s attention,” the host of the party spoke over the din, smiling warmly. raleigh didn’t miss the way matt held out his arm toward cadence or the way she tucked hers into the crook of his elbow seamlessly while looking up at him with that beautiful smile radiating off her face.

“cadence and i want to thank all of you for coming out to celebrate our engagement.”

raleigh tuned matt out for the rest of the toast and looked at cadence incredulously. he glanced down at her hand that was wrapped around matt’s arm and could make out a glittering diamond ring on her finger. how had he not noticed that? and more importantly, how could cadence not have given him a heads up? he had assumed the relationship was for publicity and that somehow, when her career was more established, they would find their way back together.

he watched as cadence waved to the crowd before walking up the steps to the makeshift stage and seating herself behind the sleek black baby grand piano. raleigh was mostly sure that his jaw hadn’t dropped and his eyes hadn’t widened, but he was still too stunned to check.

“people like you always want back the love they gave away,” cadence started singing, her soulful voice ringing clearly through the speakers, “and people like me wanna believe you, when you say you’ve changed.”

raleigh had heard this song several times already, it was cadence’s number one single off her upcoming album, which he presumed had plenty of references to their relationship. but he didn’t care. the only thing he had ever truly wanted in his life besides his freedom from sunset skatepark was sitting up on that stage singing her heart out.

the room broke out into loud applause and cadence bowed before stepping off the stage. raleigh felt his feet propel him toward her and barely registered that he was standing in front of her until she looked up and said his name.

“raleigh?”

“can we talk?” he asked. she nodded and he followed her to a dressing room just outside the ballroom and locked the door behind him.

cadence crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. “what did you want to talk about?”

raleigh gave her a long, scrutinizing look. “i guess congratulations are in order. i would’ve appreciated a heads up.”

“we’re not in a relationship anymore, raleigh, you made sure of that. i didn’t realize we still owed things to each other,” cadence snapped, eyes blazing.

“cadence, you know that’s not fair. you know i care about you and was trying to protect you,” raleigh hated that he was pleading.

“i didn’t ask you to protect me, i asked you to be with me. you had me in the palm of your hand, raleigh.”

raleigh’s fingers itched to reach out and hold her close to him, to have his body envelop hers in that way where she fit so naturally, it made you wonder if his body was made to hold hers. “i figured we’d end up together again, once your career was more established.”

cadence blinked in surprise and her eyes softened. raleigh had never given her any indication that he had thought that far ahead regarding their future, at least not seriously anyway. “oh, raleigh. i think it’s hopeless. we just weren’t meant to work out,” she sighed and walked past him to open the door.

“do you love him?” raleigh asked quietly. he glanced away once before looking at her, an almost imperceptible sign that gave away the fact that he was nervous. cadence knew this sign well and a sharp pain and sense of longing tugged at her heart.

“of course, i’m marrying him,” she replied, dropping her gaze. he was looking at her so intensely, she felt like he would see right through her. she turned around and walked out the door.

raleigh followed her and turned her back around to face him. “no, look me in the eye and tell me that you love him,” raleigh demanded firmly, grabbing her chin gently and lilting her face up so she was looking up at him.

“raleigh, i—”

“cadence, babe? there’s someone i want you to meet,” matt called out from behind her, cutting her off.

she gave her best apologetic look to raleigh and said, “i better go.”

as she turned around, he grabbed her hand gently and whispered in her ear, “you haven’t answered my question yet.”

cadence chose to ignore him as she followed matt to the other side of the room, toward his hollywood friends, all of whom she had met before. they ducked behind the group inconspicuously.

“are you okay? things looked a bit tense,” matt asked softly once he was sure that his friends were effectively blocking cadence from raleigh’s view.

5 months ago

“are you okay? you look a bit tense,” matt said, his tone friendly and free of judgment, which cadence appreciated.

“my publicist wants us to be in a fake relationship. i’m just tired of that sort of thing and thought she’d be a little more understanding since it hasn’t been that long since my last relationship ended.”

matt looked at her thoughtfully. “i gathered that most of the songs we filmed these music videos for were about at least one past relationship, but they were all about the same guy, weren’t they?”

cadence nodded, somewhat grateful that she was feeling too down to feel embarrassed that matt figured out she was still pining for raleigh.

“well, why don’t we try dating for real? it might help you move on and we’d still give our publicists the public relationship they want,” matt suggested. “and who knows? if everything goes well, we can even get engaged.”

cadence was surprised at the sincerity in matt’s voice. she tilted her head as she considered what he was really suggesting. “that would definitely catch everyone’s attention. okay, let’s do it.”

“i’m fine. mission accomplished,” she said, giving him a half-hearted smile.

“it’s not over until it’s over,” matt said, caressing his thumb over the diamond on her finger. “but maybe it’s time to make it official.”

cadence wrapped her arms around him and let herself be comforted by matt’s strong, warm body. “thanks matt. i’ll see you later.”

raleigh watched cadence make her way to the exit before following as quickly as he could. he meant it when he said he was going to get answers. by the time he made it outside, she was nowhere in sight. but he wasn’t going to give up. he flagged down the nearest cab and gave them instructions to her apartment.

when he arrived, he made his way to her unit and hesitated for a beat in front of her door. did he really want to do this? hear that she was in love with another man and was planning on marrying someone that was not him? did he no longer have a chance; was it really hopeless? raleigh lowered his hand briefly as he thought through a scenario where she was lost to him forever.

he let himself wallow for barely a minute before shaking his head angrily. cadence owed him a clear answer. and he at least owed her the truth about his feelings. he knocked twice and pressed his ear to the door. her apartment had a fairly thin door and he could only hear dead air. she probably hadn’t gotten home yet. raleigh took off his jacket and made himself comfortable on the floor. he would wait for however long it took.

cadence looked out the window of the cab as it approached raleigh’s brooklyn neighborhood. she felt a wave of nostalgia come over her at the familiar street lamps and buildings they passed. once they arrived, she quickly ducked inside the building and made her way to the elevator. there were two penthouse units on the top floor and cadence stood outside raleigh’s, suddenly wishing she had changed out of the ridiculous glittery gold dress and heels into something more casual. she steeled herself and held her chin up as she knocked on the door. after a beat, she knocked again, louder, just in case he left and went home after their brief interaction earlier than night. she hadn’t seen him leave the event and figured she might have to wait. she bunched up the skirt of her dress so she could sit on the fabric and took off her heels, sighing with relief. now all she had to do was wait.

* * * * * mentions: @raleigh-edward; @dulceghernandez; @thegreentwin; @kat-tia801; @otherworldlypresents; @brycesgirl; @robintora;

#reposting for new blog #choices platinum #choices #pb choices #playchoices #choices fanfic #choices fanfics #playchoices fanfictin #raleigh carrera #cadence dorian #matt rodriguez #raleigh carrera x mc #raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera x cadence dorian #raleigh x cadence #not twc #my writing #my choices fics

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