#the worst part of making this was their fucked up hands
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okay but newlywed jason and reader fucking raw for the first time on their wedding night 🥰 (please and thank you🫶🏼)
-🌷
Warnings: 18+, also this isn't like good smut but it is super smutty
word count: 0.9k
Jason was impatient. Being impatient at his wedding was probably the worst thing imaginable. All he wanted was to be close to his wife in her gorgeous white dress that only accentuated her every curve. So, he waited and waited until it was time for him and her to finally leave. They were supposed to spend one night in Gotham before taking off on their honeymoon. Jason barely allowed her to reach the threshold of the hotel door before pouncing on her.
His mouth was on hers as his hands searched for the best way to get her out of the dress. He should've been planning this. He thought the dress was money well spent but it would look so much better on the floor.
"Jason, the dress," She gasped as she heard buttons ripp from behind her. Jason snorted and began to kiss down her neck as he continued to rip the fabric. That's what they get for putting a million tiny buttons, he thought.
"Sweetheart, you were only gonna wear it once anyway," He reminded her. She shook her head at her new husband's antics and was glad she went with a simple hairstyle.
"I have been waiting to tear this off of you all day," He groaned as he tore through the last of the fabric and helped her step out of the last of the dress. He could feel his dick strain against his pants as he took in the sight of her body in white lace lingerie. He couldn't undress himself quickly enough.
"Did you wear this just for me?" He asked once he was stripped down to his boxers. She took his hand and led him to the bed of the hotel with a shy nod. She went to kneel but Jason stopped her.
"I vowed as your husband to always take care of you first," He spoke genuinely and gestured for her to get on the bed. Once she was on her back he crawled in between her legs and licked a broad stripe to her white lace panties. He pulled them down and was tempted to sniff them before diving into the feast in front of him. No, he'd save the sniffing for later.
Hooking his arms around her thighs, he dove into her pussy. He was sure to spell his name with his tongue because every part of her was his. He pumped two fingers in and out of her as his tongue danced along her clit. Her hips pressed further into his face as he continued his work. He would look up through his thick lashes to see the most beautiful sight in the world. Her moans were a little too close to an orgasm for his comfort so he stopped his pumping and removed his fingers from her. He made a show of sucking her pussy juice off each of his fingers.
"Jay, I need you," She whined as he slid off the bed to check his bag for condoms.
"Just a sec," He was moving as quickly as he could. He wanted this as much as she did. Their first night together as husband and wife. It had to be perfect.
"We don't need those," She called out. Jason froze in his actions. Before the wedding, the two of them had been so careful to avoid any slip-ups. Who was he to deny a request of his wife?
"Oh, you want me to fill your pussy with cum? Make you mine in every way possible?" He walked over to the bed and hovered over her. He nipped at the top of her still-confined breasts before undoing the hook in the front. He sucked one breast while kneading the other with his calloused hand.
"Please," She begged for him to fuck her how he had been dreaming about. He rubbed her clit with his cock before sinking into her pussy. Their hips met and she let out a small hiss from his size. No matter how many times she had taken his dick before there was always an adjustment to his heavy cock.
"It's okay, you can take it, " Jason kissed the top of her hairline before slowly sliding in and out of her pussy. Jason had flushed red from the amount of self-control it took for him not to explode in the moment. It was the first time they had ever fucked raw and he could feel the warmth of her pussy in ways he had only dreamed about.
He noticed that her face was less tense and her expression had turned to bliss. He placed his hands on her hips and began to stroke faster. Her hands dug into his shoulders and crescent nail marks were embedded in his flesh. His arms were strong from years of training and working out but now they were great for holding her in place so she couldn't squirm from his cock.
"That's it, baby," He grunted as her legs opened wider to give him better access. Her mouth fell open once he hit the perfect spot. Jason smirked and continued to drill into her. Her breaths became sharper as Jason whispered words of encouragement to her. He reminded her over and over how perfect she was and her pussy was made just for him.
"Cum on my cock, baby," He was doing his best to keep his orgasm at bay so that she could reach hers. With a few more strokes, she fell apart on his cock. Her breaths were uneven as she reached her orgasm. Jason let out a deep breath as he came into her. He continued his thrusts ever so slightly just to watch the cum cream around his cock. Yeah, this was his favorite part of marriage.
taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo
#x black!reader#black!reader#x black reader#black reader#jason todd smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd x black!reader#jason todd x black reader#jason smut#jason x black!reader#jason x black reader
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Steps and Swishes
a/n: promise the next part will probably have more of the professional dancing lol
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: none!
***
In moments like these, you can't help but appreciate your body's resilience, its unwavering stamina that carries you through the literal marathon of your day. But as you navigate this relentless sprint, you find yourself hoping there's still some fuel left in your tank when you reach the audition.
Waking up late was never part of the plan, especially not on a day when a crucial audition awaits. "Crap!" you mutter under your breath as you hastily exit your dorm room, clutching a piece of bread in one hand and your phone in the other. Each step is a stride toward salvaging what's left of your punctuality.
For the most part, things seem to be going smoothly as you dash towards the building. Until it’s not.
You wrench open the glass door of the lobby and dash into the elevator, heart pounding with each passing floor. Finally, as the doors slide open, you burst forth into a labyrinth of corridors, your destination painfully close. Or so you think.
Just when you believe the worst is behind you, you turn a corner and collide with an unexpected obstacle: a cascade of blonde hair and scalding coffee.
“Fuck!” The word rips from your lips as you stagger backward, the searing liquid seeping through your clothes. With trembling hands, you peel the wet fabric from your skin, eyes fixed on the ruinous stain spreading across your once pristine white shirt.
“Holy shit,” the figure mumbles, “I didn't mean that at all. Are you ok?”
A hand reaches out hesitantly towards your shirt, then freezes awkwardly in mid-air. It's the final straw.
Your gaze shoots up to meet the woman in front of you, ready to unleash a torrent of curses, but all words die on your tongue as you're confronted with wide, concerned eyes. Eyes that you know all too well, belonging to none other than Paige Bueckers.
Going to the same school as Paige Bueckers had never really stood out to you until today.
"I'm so sorry," Paige says, glancing down at your shirt, her hand still suspended awkwardly between you. Silence hangs heavy in the air. "I… I'll buy you a new one, I swear. Let me make it up to you."
In that moment, you realize that even if she were to buy you ten or twenty shirts, it wouldn't change the fact that you're about to miss your audition if you don't hurry. The inconvenience of the situation dawns on you in full force.
You let out an exasperated sigh, your gaze flicking from your stained shirt to Paige and back again. Then, once more, your eyes travel from her to your shirt. You can't help but notice how effortlessly chic and pristine her shirt appears compared to your own.
“Take off your shirt,” you deadpan without much consideration.
Paige's eyes widen further, resembling a deer caught in headlights. “W-what?” she stammers, inching away slowly.
You, however, couldn't care less if she looked at you as crazy. “You said you wanted to make it up to me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow before gesturing towards the bathroom behind her. “I have an audition in five minutes, and unless I want to blow my shot, I need to look presentable.”
The blonde hesitates, her gaze shifting between your outstretched fingers and the bathroom door. Then, with a slow turn of her head, you can almost hear the gears in her mind grinding to a halt. “And how does me taking off my shirt help you?”
“Just get in there and swap shirts with me,” you grumble, shooting her a soft glare. “It'll be quick. Once I'm done, you can have it back. Deal?” You silently pray she doesn't call the cops given how stupid and crazy you must sound, but the desperation in your eyes seems to sway her as she hesitantly nods.
“Alright, fine.” she sighs, walking towards the bathroom.
***
For the most part, the audition went relatively smoothly. Well, except for the fact that you received a barrage of odd looks for bursting in looking disheveled, with the invasive aroma of coffee clinging to you like a second skin. You could swear they caught whiffs of it every time you executed a dance move. But on the bright side, Paige's shirt did align nicely with the hip-hop theme they wanted, so hooray for small victories, you suppose.
Exiting the room, your shoulders sag immediately. Scanning the area for a familiar blonde, you finally spot Paige and make your way over, tapping her shoulder gently.
Startled, she quickly turns off her phone, giving you her full attention. “How'd it go?”
You shrug, not feeling up to sugarcoating it. “It was alright, I guess.”
Paige's expression deflates. “Gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess up your audition.”
“Nah, don't worry about it,” you try to brush it off, though your voice betrays a hint of frustration. “If I hadn't been such a klutz and actually woke up on time, I wouldn't have been in such a rush, and none of this would've happened.”
A brief silence lingers between you two before Paige breaks it. “Hey, let's make a deal,” she proposes, suddenly piquing your interest. “You can hang onto the shirt for now. I'll take this one,” she taps the stained area with her palm, “wash it, and give it back to you later.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I'm totally fine with changing again. Why would you even let me take your shirt home—”
“Just…” she interrupts, sounding almost exasperated, “It's just a way for you to trust that I won't flake out and keep your shirt or something,” she mumbles, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “If you have my shirt, the only way I could get it back is by washing yours and swapping. I know it sounds silly.”
You chuckle. “Maybe just a little.”
Paige smiles, briefly averting her gaze before meeting your eyes again. “Just… let me clean it. I already feel bad enough.”
With a resigned sigh, you give in to her plea. “Fine, give me your number.”
Paige retrieves her phone with surprising speed, a wide grin spreading across her face. She clears her throat, opening her phone and displaying the number pad. “Are you usually around campus? You look like a student.”
After entering your number, you call yourself and retrieve your own phone as it starts to ring. “Yeah… I'm just looking for a part-time gig for now. Nothing too demanding.”
The blonde's interest is piqued. “So, what was the audition for?”
“Just some dancing,” you murmur, half-expecting her to burst into laughter like some others might. But instead, her reaction is one of genuine shock.
“That's awesome! KK would love you,” Paige jokes, and you audibly release a deep breath, grateful that there's no mockery in sight.
“I'm… flattered. Though I'm afraid she might work me to the bone with TikTok dances.”
Paige erupts into laughter, bending over in amusement before regaining her composure. “She might, but she means no harm, I promise,” she says, her expression turning more earnest. “You might have to swing by and show us some moves.”
“Hmm, I might just have to do that,” you reply with a smile.
Paige rubs her hands together awkwardly. “Well, I'll let you go. I don't want to hold you back any longer. I'll definitely text you.”
You nod, “I'll look forward to a white shirt”
She smiles before excusing herself. As you go about your way, you can't help but glance back, only to find the blonde has beaten you to it, snapping her eyes away from you in an instant.
***
The next morning breezes by in a blur. You manage your early classes and decide to take the afternoon off, indulging in a leisurely lounge session that rivals the pace of a sloth. Despite knowing you should probably get moving, the mere thought of tackling errands or practicing feels like an insurmountable task.
You flop onto your back on the carpeted floor, idly gazing at the ceiling until the tranquil silence is abruptly shattered by the muffled buzzing of your phone. With a lazy stretch, you reach for your phone, glancing at the notification.
One text message.
Sitting up, you unlock your phone.
‘Hey! It's Paige. You know, the girl who spilled coffee on you? Yeah, you probably remember that. Anyway… I cleaned your shirt, and I promise it's good as new. Do you want me to swing by your place or are you cool with coming over here?’
Your fingers move instinctively, typing a response before you even fully process it. After all, if THE Paige Bueckers was extending an invitation to her place, who were you to refuse?
‘I don't mind coming over there.’
Three bubbles appear in the corner of the screen.
‘Great! My room is 12C. Just drop by whenever you want.’
‘Alright, I'll be over in a few minutes.’
‘Perfect, I'll be waiting for you.’
You toss your phone aside, feeling an unexpected surge of energy coursing through you. Where it comes from, you're not entirely sure, but you're certainly not going to question it. Not when it propels you onto your feet in a heartbeat.
Without pausing to overthink, you head for a quick shower, ensuring you look somewhat presentable before getting dressed. There's a pitifully evident spring in your step as you make your way to her room, clutching her freshly washed shirt against your body.
However, all semblance of confidence evaporates upon coming face to face with the blue door, 12C stamped at the top. One. Two. Three seconds pass, and you find yourself rooted in place, your arm trembling slightly before dropping back down.
“Shit…” you mutter, suddenly feeling more self-conscious. But you gather your resolve and decide to just go for it.
Almost instantly, you hear shuffling from behind the door, accompanied by distant thuds before it creaks open. Two brown eyes peer out, catching you off guard. You barely have time to process before she gasps, almost comically.
“Oh my god, you're the coffee girl, aren't you?” The girl, whom you now recognize as KK, swings the door open wider, smiling like a child.
“Um… yeah, that's me,” you reply, scratching the back of your neck and holding up Paige's shirt. “I'm just here for a simple exchange.”
“Girl, come on in,” KK drawls, gesturing for you to enter. “She's down the hall to the left.”
“Thanks,” you chuckle.
It's pretty wild how much they're trusting you, but at this point, does it even matter?
You make your way down to what you presume is Paige’s room, rapping lightly on the door.
Paige answers swiftly, her attention seemingly elsewhere. “Kk, I swear to go—” Her gaze lands on you, and her eyes widen abruptly, words faltering. “Oh, my bad. Thought you were that airhead.”
“Hey!” Kk's voice rings out from the other side of the dorm, prompting a giggle from you.
“Come in, come in. I didn’t realize you were here already,” Paige says, opening her door fully. She strides over to her bed, where a neatly folded white shirt rests on top.
“I like your cologne,” you blurt out before even thinking, immediately regretting your lack of filter. You scramble for an excuse as Paige turns to you, her expression unreadable. “I-I mean, your shirt… I'm assuming it was your cologne. It smelled nice.”
She smiles. “Really? I’m trying something new. Must've smelled better than the coffee, huh?”
You step closer to her, the distance between you diminishing. “Anything would be better than that, to be honest. Imagine dancing while drenched in coffee.”
Paige winces, stepping nearer to you. She extends your shirt towards you. “Yeah, sorry about that again. But don't worry, I made sure it was all gone.”
Taking a moment to really take her in, you absorb every detail you may have missed in your earlier rushed encounter. The way her eyes sparkle, the curve of her smile, the subtle flex of her arms. It's almost overwhelming for your heart to handle.
“Here. I washed yours too.”
“Aww, you didn't have to,” she reply with a cheeky grin. “Now I owe you again.”
“I'm always up for some food,” you shrug, though you don't really mean it. “A broke college student will take what they can get.”
“Deal,” Paige says, her tone shifting slightly more serious. “We could even go now if you want.”
“Wow, didn't expect you to actually say yes. I mean, aren't you like… a celebrity or something around here?” you comment, feeling a mix of surprise and flattery.
Paige shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. “What, are you worried they'll mistake us for a couple or something?”
“W-what? No…” you stutter, feeling your cheeks flush at the mere suggestion.
“I'm just messing,” she says, turning her head expectantly, her gaze soft yet playful.
It seems to effortlessly dismantle whatever defenses you had put up. “Fine,” you relent, smiling as Paige's face instantly lights up.
“Sweet. Hold on, let me grab my stuff,” she says, brushing past you, leaving you standing awkwardly in the middle of her room. You shift on the balls of your feet until…
“Psst!” Your head snaps towards the doorway as KK looks positively gleeful, biting her finger to stifle a laugh. “You're still gonna dance with me, right? Don't go flaking out.”
“Of course I am. And I’m going to beat you with all those TikTok dances,” you retort, a playful spark between the two of you.
KK gasps dramatically, clutching her shirt. “As if!”
“Alright, KK,” Paige interjects, returning from wherever she went, patting KK on the shoulder with a tad too much strength, causing the smaller guard to wince. “That’s enough.”
You catch the shift in Paige's tone, and she shrugs softly once she notices your gaze on her. “Let’s go?”
You nod and follow closely behind, but not before whispering a quick, “It's still on,” to KK, chuckling as her mouth hangs open in silent protest.
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Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader
Word Count: 3.8k
Summary: Years have past since the Battle of Hogwarts, and through his grief and desperation, Theo fights to get back every second lost since then.
Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo), it's just angst lads
Notes: Been a while! But I'm back with some writing! This fic will be 3 parts in total. Shoutout to @classyartisanpizza for letting me write this idea! <3
Masterlist
~
The nightmares are the worst part.
It's always the nightmares.
Theo wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he abruptly sits up. It takes a moment of his eyes darting around in fear for him to realise he's simply in bed. No battle. No green bursts of light flying inches from his head. No bodies dropping around him.
He closes his eyes, running his hand down his face to rid the beads of sweat rolling down his skin. Though he forces himself to take deep breaths, his heart continues to race. The room feels so warm. Why does the room feel so warm? His chestnut curls fall over his eyes, slightly matted to his forehead, and for the briefest of moments, he considers shaving his head.
The vivid technicolor of the nightmares always gets him. Blaring realism and exaggerated memories have him waking in a panic without fail.
A hand runs up Theo's lower back, followed by a soft voice speaking in tongues and distortion. A chill runs up his spine as his fight or flight kicks into high gear, causing him to jump off the bed and point his wand directly at the perpetrator.
Daphne Greengrass stares back at him, looking mainly annoyed yet mildly confused as she wraps the sheet around her naked form. There's a long, tense silence as the two of them stare at each other, and despite knowing there's no threat, Theo doesn't bother to lower his wand.
"I thought I said no sleeping over."
His voice is clipped, a stark contrast from the sultry tone he had taken with her the night before. Then again, he doesn't ever have to work in order for Daphne to become putty in his hands. Not really. Him putting on the show just makes him feel better about using her.
She sits up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Even in the dark, the blush that fills her cheeks is unmissable.
"You fell asleep and I-"
"That's not an invitation."
You're such an asshole, He tells himself. But he can't help it. The point of the rule was so that he'd never have to wake up to Daphne. She's not ugly, or entirely terrible to be around. But his care for her only extends to the point of what she does for him. A means to an end. And the end is to distract him from the never ending abyss of his mind and the standing void in his chest.
Besides, that spot in the bed belongs to someone else.
Belonged-
No. Belongs.
Another beat passes before Theo realises that his wand is still raised, and he finally lowers it to his side. Although he should feel worse about his overreaction, he's only a slight tinged embarrassed. It's being overshadowed by his annoyance.
Daphne takes a moment to stare at him, her eyes searching his face for the humour that never comes. A quiet sigh of relief escapes his mouth when she finally climbs out of his bed and starts to get dressed.
"What are you doing later?" She asks while pulling her shirt over her head.
The clock on the wall reads quarter till three in the morning.
Theo tries to hide his smug irritation at the fact that she's already trying to plan when she sees him again, despite his complete disregard for her only moments ago.
When he doesn't respond right away, Daphne looks over at him, throwing a sock off his floor right at his face. In another life, with another person, Theo would've found this gesture amusing, but right now, he just stares at her in exasperation.
"I'm busy."
Merlin, you're a fucking asshole.
But Daphne remains unfazed as she pulls her jeans up her legs and fastens them.
"Maybe next week then? I'm working all weekend."
And despite his self awareness, Theo just can't fucking help himself.
"I'll call you."
Now he's done it. The sting ripples through her face as she pauses all movement, her eyes falling back on him. Under her confused gaze, the temperature in the room falls, but Theo keeps his expression neutral. For a long moment, they just stare at each other in tense silence, before finally Daphne breaks the prolonged eye contact to finish putting her trainers on.
"I don't understand why we keep doing this, Theo," She says in a low voice as she ties her right shoe. It's clear she's trying to be more confident in her words than hurt, but she's failing. "You clearly don't want to commit to me or even care about me. Why do you keep phoning if you can't be bothered?"
Theo leans his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing the door frame of his bedroom. The words leave his mouth before he's able to process them, or to consider not saying them.
"Because you always come running."
Twenty years on this planet and you still don't know when to shut your bloody mouth.
Daphne looks appalled as the words hang in the air. Despite the fact that Theo's guilt is radiating off of him and filling the room at a suffocating rate, he continues to say nothing else. An eternity later, she snatches her coat off the floor and storms out of the room, slamming Theo's bedroom door so loudly that he flinches, followed by the slamming of the front door of his flat.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Theo pushes off the wall, walking over to his bed and collapsing on top of the covers.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
As he buries his face in the pillow, desperate to go back to sleep, his mind starts to drift back to the nightmare that started the domino effect events of the evening. A chill runs up his spine for a second time as he dives head first into the dreams that haunt his subconscious damn near every time he closes his eyes.
The falling bodies.
The walls crumbling down.
The flashes of bright green flying passed his head.
The set of eyes. His favourites. Watching as the life drains out of them.
Theo abruptly jumps out of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he walks briskly to the door and throws it open. His flat is dead silent, save the sound of his footsteps across the hardwood floor. Through the darkness, he can make out the faint outline of his black cat moving quickly across the floor towards him.
"Piss off, Shadow," He mutters to the cat. She doesn't seem to notice his hostility as she continues to move between his legs. But he's quite rehearsed in this dance at this point, and manages to cross the pitch black living room without tripping over her and falling on his face. He makes his way to the spare bedroom, the room that used to be where he worked on his potions.
That is, until more important projects grabbed Theo in a chokehold.
Unlocking the door with his wand, he quickly goes inside quickly, making sure the cat didn't follow him through before shutting the door behind him.
~
"Mattheo, I'm fine."
"Is the kidnapper in the room with you and forcing you to say that?"
Theo rolls his eyes, rubbing his right eyelid with his free hand as his other one stirs the brewing potion in the cauldron in front of him. His phone rests on the desk next to him with his best friend's display name taking over the screen, the call on speaker.
"You think a kidnapper would willingly keep me?" He asks as he lets his free hand drop back to his wooden desk, accidentally into a puddle of spilled potion that had toppled from the cauldron. Making a face, Theo instinctively wipes his fingers off on his jeans. "They'd return me before you'd even realised I'm gone."
Mattheo lets out a quiet laugh before saying, "You're right. I'd say we could use the break, but no one's seen you in weeks."
Theo lets his other hand drop to the desk, sighing exasperatedly.
"Mate. We've just hung out. At the Leaky Cauldron, yeah? When Malfoy got so piss drunk, he fell in the toilets and smacked his face on a sink."
The memory causes a ghost of a smile to form on Theo's face, but the silence on the other end of the phone causes it to fade just as quickly.
"Hello? Did I lose you, Riddle?"
When Mattheo speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
"That was two months ago."
Every single muscle in Theo's face slackens.
"What? No. That can't be right. It was just two weeks ago, yeah?"
"No, Theo. It was two months ago."
Shaking his head, Theo grabs his phone, switching to check the date as he stammers whispered denials, more to himself than anything. But Mattheo is right. Two months have passed since that last hangout, and besides the occasional mess around with Daphne, which he assumes are now over since the debacle a few nights prior, Theo hasn't seen anyone else since.
Where did the time go?
You know where the time went.
"We're really worried, mate," Mattheo says in a soft voice. "I know it's been hard, but-"
"Don't," Theo barks, almost instinctively as he sets his phone back on the desk. He knows where this conversation is going, because this is where the conversation always goes.
"It's been almost three years, Theo."
Theo shakes his head, his eyes closing as the air slowly starts to syphon from the room.
"It's not- Surely I can't be expected to just forget."
A quiet sigh rings out from the other side of the phone, as Theo fights to keep his rising emotions in check.
"Of course you wouldn't forget. We just-"
Theo quickly shakes his head, not wanting to hear the same things he always here's when one of his friends decides to play therapist for him.
"Oh shit, I've just remembered I have better things to do than have this conversation."
Theo lifts his hand towards his phone, with the intent to hang up, when he heard Mattheo's desperate voice quickly calling to him.
"Meet in the Three Broomsticks tonight!"
Theo pauses, staring at his phone as his brain starts its usual war on itself whenever someone wants him to do anything that isn't rotting at home. On one hand, going out with his friends would placate them for long enough that they won't have yet another conversation like this one. But on the other hand…
He's close. He's so close to figuring it out. And any time that isn't dedicated to figuring it out is, in his eyes, a complete waste.
But as he stares down at his best friend's name on his phone, he lets out a heavy sigh.
"Piss off."
He can practically hear Mattheo's smug grin in his voice.
"See you there," He says, before promptly hanging up the phone.
A heavy sigh forcing its way out of his mouth, Theo turns back to the cauldron in front of him.
You need a break.
Maybe stepping back for a night and coming back will trigger an epiphany.
Theo lets out a resigned sigh. The last thing he wants to do is step away. When he's away from the work room, he feels like he can't breathe. When he's not working or researching or planning or even contemplating, he feels like he's drowning.
In his head, he's running out of time. But with every centimetre closer he gets to the finish line, he gets another centimetre closer to getting every lost moment back.
~
The remaining butterbeer swishes circles at the bottom of the glass as Theo twists it with his wrist. A quiet yet fake laugh comes out of his mouth, if only to mix in with the loud, howl-like laughter surrounding him from whatever funny thing Blaise just said.
Merlin, I should've gotten a firewhiskey.
Though, he knows it would've been a bad idea. His tolerance for alcohol has grown concerningly high over the last few years, and he doesn't want to explain why he would've been fully functional after seven hard drinks while his friends would be well beyond wasted.
So he sips his butterbeer under the guise that he has an early morning the next day. If he had more observant friends, they would see through this excuse, but fortunately for him, they tend to miss a lot when it comes down to the quiet, chestnut haired lad whose mind is rarely on planet Earth.
"Oi. Space Cadet. Can you join us for a moment?"
Theo takes a casual drink from his glass as his eyes land on Malfoy.
"Give me something worth joining in on," He quips as he gently sets the glass back down on the table. The blond rolls his eyes as Mattheo and Blaise both let out a chuckle.
"We were just talking about the Harpies. Whether they'll make the cup," Mattheo explains just as the barmaid approaches with their refills. The fresh butterbeer is set down in front of Theo at the same time as he lets out his own laugh. A genuine one, this time.
"The Harpies will make the Cup the same day Malfoy stops bleaching his hair."
Now it's howling laughter from the two other lads as Malfoy slams his mug down on the table, pointing at Theo maliciously.
"Don't start your bullshit, Nott."
"I saw the bottle in your trunk, Malfoy. Third year. One never forgets."
"I don't bleach my fucking hair, and if you say it again, I'll make sure you can't see it ever again."
Theo doesn't miss a beat.
"Is that a promise?"
As Riddle and Zabini keep giggling, the alcohol already to their heads, Theo keeps his wits about him as he stares at the tip of Draco's finger that's still only inches from his face.
"Stand down, Malfoy," Blaise finally interjects. "You've become entirely too serious since getting hitched."
The silver band on that left fourth finger glints in the dim lighting as Draco pulls his arm back down towards his lap. Despite his recoil at the scolding, his eyes don't quite stop glaring their daggers towards Theo, who takes another unbothered sip of his drink.
"Maybe it helped me grow up. Someone should take a page out of that book."
Theo feels his fingers tense around the glass, the heat rushing to his cheeks.
Prick.
Prick.
Absolute wanker.
Dead man walking.
If my life hadn't fallen apart, I would've been married by now. Maybe I'd even have kids.
A wave of nausea hits him at the thought. Instinctively, his eyes shift to look at the door, as his mind searches for his excuse to leave. If his shift in demeanour isn't obvious to every person at the table, it definitely is to Mattheo, who quickly clears his throat.
"Anyone hear about the hunt for whoever's trying to replicate the time turners?"
Theo's entire body ceases, his throat trapping any sound or breath from escaping, meanwhile his brain starts to race at speeds he has never experienced before. The conversation shifts to this topic as Theo desperately tries to remember how to breathe.
"What's the hold up?" Blaise questions before he empties his glass. Mattheo does the same while lifting his shoulders into a shrug.
"Whoever is doing it, they've covered their tracks quite well. But the Ministry has their best people trying to find them before they're able to muck up anything."
A quiet murmur fills the silence of the table. Sweat beads Theo's forehead as he accidentally chugs his entire glass. No one appears to notice, to his relief.
"How are they able to track that?" Malfoy asks curiously as he drums his fingers against the wood top table.
"A time turner has an Hour Reversal charm encased in the centre," Mattheo explains. "The Ministry is alerted every time one is cast, but whoever is doing it has protected themselves so much that their location is damn near impossible to track." Mattheo pauses to take a drink before he continues. "If it wasn't so infuriating, I'd be impressed."
A slight smirk crosses Malfoy's face before he says, "I take it the 'Ministry's best people' includes your team?"
Mattheo rolls his eyes, though the slight pink hue that covers his cheeks is unmissable. Despite him being nothing like his father, Mattheo has always been slightly embarrassed by his position in the Ministry. While Zabini, Malfoy and Theo all view it as a growth and a middle finger to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mattheo sometimes views it as a betrayal, though he only mentions it after he's hit a certain point of inebriation.
"It is a job for the Misuse of Magic department, in my opinion. So yeah, the best people include my team."
Silence fills the table as everyone takes a sip of their drinks. Theo swallows the lump in his throat.
And then he speaks.
"Any evidence that they've been successful?"
The table turns to look at him, and he does his best to appear casual when he shrugs.
"Just curious."
Mattheo shakes his head.
"We'll be alerted if they actually go back," He explains. "Which will lead to their arrest, if they continue to use the Hour Reversal charm."
"Doesn't that only go back five hours?" Blaise asks, receiving a nod from the curly haired man to his right. Theo can feel the impending panic rising in his chest, but he swallows it down.
In theory, it's only five hours.
But with a little tampering, it's longer.
Not that I would know.
No sir.
"Not unless they do something to strengthen the spell," Mattheo says casually. "Like some sort of potion. Or enchanting the sand in the Hourglass."
Theo's face goes slack, and it feels like his entire body grows hot.
There it is.
That epiphany.
His eyes fall back onto Mattheo, the room glowing in a new light as a chill slowly trails down through his extremities and his fingers and toes.
Instinctively, Theo tries to stand before he realises he's in the corner seat of the booth. The rest of the table looks at him in surprise.
"Nott?" Malfoy asks as Theo uses the table and the ledge behind the seat to launch himself over Mattheo and the booth, out into the aisle, only making their shock grow further.
"Fuck, sorry I forgot. I need to- I have-" He stammers, knowing full well nothing he says will be able to explain his sudden change in demeanour. The looks on their faces are the same sort of looks they'd have if he had stripped down in front of them and started screaming like a banshee. He closes his eyes, putting his hands out in front of him as he takes a second to calm down. When he speaks again, it's with less urgency. "I need to go."
And with that, Theo turns and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks.
Before the door swings shut behind him, he can make out Mattheo's distant voice shouting his name. But if any of the lads make any attempt to follow, Theo moves too fast for them to have any sort of success. Once out of the village, Theo apparates back home.
Where he stays for almost ninety six straight hours.
He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He barely leaves his office to use the bathroom. And he definitely doesn't shower.
Theo's marathon is filled with work. The spell strengthening potion alone takes sixteen hours to brew, needing close management. And that was after all of the work he needed to put in in order to put the potion together. Meanwhile, he does an appalling amount of research, scouring text upon text about how one would enchant the sand. When he comes up with next to nothing after twelve hours worth of reading, he moves on to Plan B.
He starts to create his own spells.
It's not the first time Theo's dabbled in spell creation, but it is the first time it's something that's more serious than trying to make Malfoy's farts come out as actual bubbles. (A failed experiment, much to his thirteen year old self's detriment.) But this time is different. Hanging over the desk where he works is the picture of his motivation. And every time he starts to feel like he's failing, he looks up at the picture and a new resolve fills him.
Because he can't fail.
Failing isn't and never will be an option.
Every botched attempt leads to more research. Every new piece of information brings him that much closer.
Until, after almost ninety six hours of what he thought was going to lead to nothing, the moment is here.
He pulls the time turner out of the cauldron, and he can feel it. Despite having used the tongs to pull it out from the potion, Theo can feel the silver metals vibrating with magic, and that's how he knew.
It worked.
His hands tremble in the same manner as he reaches to touch it, almost hesitant from the anxiety that is running rampant in his head. But when his fingertips graze the warmth of the metal, nothing happens. Nothing changes. He looks around the room for a brief moment before looking back down at the makeshift Time Turner in his hands.
Spinning his chair around and leaning back, he examines the creation. His mind is quick to resume his doubts that it didn't work, despite the pure confidence he had just a moment before. Couldn't have worked. Because nothing he's done in the last few years has.
And yet.
There's only one way to find out.
Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he props it up on his knee before he turns the screen on.
And then, he gives the spindle in his hand a turn to the right.
Theo can feel his heart stop as he watches the minutes on his phone go down with every tick of the Time Turner.
It worked.
It actually fucking worked.
A tsunami of emotions runs through Theo, overwhelming him so strongly that he has to turn back around to lean on his desk. For a moment, he lays his head on the desk, in the cradle that is his arms, basking in the darkness as he takes three long, deep breaths.
And then he looks up to the picture on the wall.
To his motivation. To the one he's been working for.
To the picture of you.
"Did you see that, pretty girl?" He asks in a gentle voice.
The spell hits your chest.
And the life leaves your eyes.
His voice is a little choked as he raises the Time Turner to the picture on the wall, wishing once again it was actually you and not just a moving idea behind a piece of paper.
"I'm coming for you."
#theodore nott#theo nott#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott x you#theo nott x reader#theo nott x you#harry potter#slytherin boys#slytherin boys fanfiction#golden trio era#golden trio era fanfiction
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with a broken heart — r. cameron
part 1. something a little more lighthearted to make up for breaking y'alls hearts :)
series: every few lifetimes
❝ i was grinning like i'm winning
i was hitting my marks
'cause i can do it with a broken heart ❞
pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader
context: after getting your heart broken, you pack your bags and leave the obx, only to come face to face with rafe again, eight years later.
words: 2.4k+
warnings: rafe and reader are aged up (26/27), old flames, FLUFF
"now remember, this client's a big prospect," your boss says as you follow him out of the office car and into the building you were scoping out today. "i guarantee if you can close this deal, you'll be well on your way to becoming the next junior partner."
"hank, are you serious?" you stop in your tracks and he looks at you.
when you first left the outer banks for new york, you went to nyu without a clue on what you wanted to do with the rest of your life. somewhere along the way, you graduated magna cum laude and pursued law school at columbia. your first year, hank took you on as an intern, and by the time you graduated, you had a job lined up for you at one of the biggest real estate agencies in the world. and though you knew how well you did your job, becoming junior partner as a second-year associate was way beyond where you thought you'd be—it was nothing short of a dream come true.
"don't think what you've done for this company has been lost on me, y/n," he tells you. "you're an asset. i knew it since that first summer i took you on as an intern."
a smile comes across your lips. "well, i can't disappoint," you say. "let's close this fucking deal."
"that's what i like to hear, come on," he continues leading you through the building, until the two of you reached a tall guy with a buzzcut wearing a navy blue suit scoping out the place.
"mr. cameron," you don't miss the familiar name when you and your boss stop behind him, your breath hitching when the guy turns around to greet you both. "this is-"
"y/n," your name rolls off rafe's tongue the same way it always did, your heart beating so hard you feared it'd jump out of your chest.
hank's eyes shift between the two of you, as he shakes rafe's hand. "you two know each other?"
"yeah," rafe nods, his eyes set on you—he couldn't believe that you were actually standing in front of him. a part of him thought that when you left the obx he'd never see you again. "we uh— we went to high school together."
"well that's wonderful," hank smiles. "no need for the awkward introduction then."
except— it was awkward. you didn't just go to high school together. you fell in love in high school. and two months before you chose to go to nyu, rafe broke your heart.
"y/n here will be the one walking you through the contract, and hopefully setting you up with one of our best architects," hank explains to him, while you continue trying to process the fact that he was actually here.
what were the odds that he was the client you needed to win over in order to make junior partner?
—
"so, does that all sound good to you?" you finish going over the contract for the building and look at rafe.
the two of you hovered over a table in the empty space that you'd spread out all the documents on.
"yeah, y/n, it all sounds great." the smile he throws your way makes your stomach turn in the worst way—making you realize that the piece of your heart that never stopped beating for him still existed. "where do i sign?"
"uh— right here," you pick up your pen to draw x's on all the lines he had to sign on, before holding it out to him.
he takes it from you, and you watch as he leans over to sign on each and everyone of them, your eyes trailing over how well his suit fit him.
he must hit the gym at least four times a week, you thought. he's grown quite a bit since you last saw him.
"there you go," rafe hands the pen back out to you, and you take it from him with a smile.
"thank you," you say. "you won't regret it."
"oh, i know," he nods, eyes scanning over your face. "i'd never regret anything that involves you."
you feel the heat rise on your cheeks, but you keep it professional, gathering the files on the table back into your folder. "well then, i'll leave you with the contacts of our architects and if you have any further questions, you can reach out to hank or any of the other executives."
"yeah, okay," he replies, hiding his disappointment in the fact that you didn't tell him to contact you with any questions he may have.
"it was a pleasure doing business with you, mr. cameron," you hold out a hand to him for a handshake and he stares at it for a second, before reluctantly placing his hand in yours.
"it sure was," he smiles. "but you know you can just call me rafe, don't you?"
"this is how i address all my clients," you tell him. "it's just the professional thing to do."
"yeah, yeah, i get it," he nods. "guess i'm just not used to it coming from you."
you crack a smile at his somewhat nervous stance—you weren't used to seeing him this way. "it was nice to see you again, rafe. good luck with everything."
"yeah," he grins. "you too."
you turn to walk away, while rafe stays back, scratching the back of his head in contemplation before calling out to you. "hey y/n?"
"yeah?" you ask, stopping to look at him again.
"you got any plans tonight?"
"rafe, i-"
"oh, come on," he cuts you off, slowly closing the distance between you two. "there's no reason we can't be friends, right?"
wrong—there were many reasons. one being that you spent years piecing yourself back together after he decided to give up on you.
"let's catch up," he persists, his blue eyes locking with yours. "get a drink with me tonight."
despite your head screaming no, you agree. "one drink," you say, causing a smile to spread across his face. "ten o'clock. meet me at the bar on fifth."
—
the second you walk into the bar, rafe rises from his stool at the counter and waves you over. he had gotten there 30 minutes early to make sure you weren't left waiting for him—you'd done enough of that.
"hey," he seems nervous when you reach him, wiping his hands on his slacks before reluctantly wrapping his arms around you in a hug.
you resist the urge to giggle—it was kinda entertaining to see this six-foot-two tall man get nervous around you—and briefly return his hug.
"have you been here long?" you ask, taking off your jacket and taking a seat in the empty stool beside him.
"nah, just about five minutes or so," he lies, shrugging and giving you a lopsided smile, as the bartender walks up to greet you both.
"anything i can get you?" she asks, eyes lingering on rafe for a little longer than you.
"just a glass of whiskey for me," rafe tells her. "neat."
"and i'll just have a glass of pinot noir," you say, when the girl turns to look at you. "thank you."
"and you can just put it on this," rafe reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, and you cut in. "rafe, you don't have to-"
"nonsense," he shakes his head at you and slides his black amex across to the bartender. "i invited you out. it's on me."
the bartender picks up his card, and gives him a smile. "rafe cameron. i'll remember that."
subtly, rafe rolls his eyes and you hold back a snicker. "please don't."
the bartender huffs as her eyes shifts between the two of you, but walks away without another word to get your drinks and charge rafe's card.
you kink a brow at him. "you get bartenders flirting with you a lot?"
"i guess it happens every now and then," he shrugs.
"it's definitely the buzz," you tell him, as a different bartender brings over your drinks and hands rafe back his card.
"thank you," he briefly acknowledges him, before turning his attention back on you, an amused smile on his face. "you think?"
"yeah," you nod, bringing your wine glass up to take a sip. "it makes you look older— more mature. it suits you."
he cracks a smile, a small chuckle slipping out from between his lips. "and being a lawyer suits you."
"you really think so?"
"yeah," he nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "you looked so cute all dressed up in your little suit," those words make the heat rise on your cheeks, and you hide it with your wine glass. "i've never seen you more in your element. what made you choose law?"
"well…" you trail off, wondering whether or not you should tell him the truth. oh, fuck it. "after we broke up, i found out got into nyu. i was so… mad and hurt over you ending it that i packed my bags and i left, without looking back. during the summers, i stayed here and worked internships with the school just so i'd have an excuse not to go home."
he listened intently, a look of indifference falling across his features. a part of him was hurt at hearing that he'd broken your heart so badly you felt the need to leave, but the other part was proud. you really did that. figured your shit out and made a life for yourself—just like he always knew you would.
"after my second year, i worked an internship with a property management company in brooklyn. we scoped out places all around the city, and i don't know… i kinda just fell in love with it. seeing how happy people got when we'd found them the right apartment or the right space for them to start their business just made me feel really good. so i declared real estate as my major junior year and decided on law school," you continued.
"doll, that's amazing," he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "which law school did you go to?"
"columbia," you reply, his eyes only widening in amazement. no words could describe the amount of pride in his chest right now. "but enough about me. what about you?"
"oh— uh…" he started and set his whiskey down on the bar. "after you left, i went to rehab. went in and out of that place for about two or three years… i mean, you knew how bad it was— wasn't easy."
you frown upon hearing his struggles with rehab and relapsing, but nod along as he continues.
"been clean for about four years now though," he shrugs, as if it wasn't some big accomplishment.
"rafe, that's amazing," you tell him, setting your glass down on the bar. "good for you."
"i had to," he nodded. "not only for me, but for dad, too. he was starting to talk business and expanding the company, and i just… i couldn't let him down. especially not after i let you down."
you glance down, no longer being able to meet his eyes. you knew that your past together had to come up at one point, you just weren't ready for it. mainly because even after all this time, there was still that little piece of your heart that never stopped belonging to him. it would always be his. "rafe…"
"i hope i'm not being too forward when i ask you this but…" his hand reaches out to touch yours, and you look up at him. "are you seeing anyone?"
"no, i'm not," you shake your head. "after we broke up, i didn't really date much. and even when i did, nothing ever really stuck."
that was enough to have a smile crack across his his, eyes brighter than you'd seen them in a really long time. "guess that makes two of us."
"guess so," you shrug, thoughts running through your mind a hundred times a minute as you try to find a way to change the subject. you weren't ready for where this conversation was about to go. at least, not yet. "but, uh— tell me about cameron development, how's that going?"
he chuckles at your eagerness to change the subject, as you sipped on your wine, but goes with it. he'd break you down again. eventually.
—
after finishing your drinks at the bar, rafe offered to walk you home since your apartment was only about a block or two away, assuring you that he'd just get a cab back to his hotel afterward.
and while a part of you screamed at you to say no, that little piece of your heart that still beat for him won over, and you agreed.
"well, this is me," you say, stopping in front of your apartment complex and looking at him. "it was really nice to see you, rafe."
"so that's it?" he asks, catching you off guard. "this just ends here?"
he takes a step towards you, making your heart pitter-patter, as his eyes scanned your face.
"rafe-"
"don't you ever wonder…" he cuts you off, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before his eyes shifted to meet yours. "what we could've been? what we could be?"
"i-"
"i know i fucked shit up with you, a'ight?" he said, hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.
the gesture threatens to make your eyes flutter close at the feeling of his familiar touch, but you keep your composure.
"i was young and i was stupid, and i thought you deserved better," he continued. "but y/n, there isn't a day that has gone by in the last eight years that you haven't crossed my mind. i think about you all the time, just hoping for the day you'd finally come back to the banks."
your breath hitches at his confession, that tiny piece of your heart that held onto him, growing three sizes.
"i know i don't deserve a second chance, i know that," he told you. "but i'm not the guy i was back in high school. i'm clean now, and i've turned my life around. i can be that guy for you now. the one you needed me to be all those years ago."
"okay," you whisper.
"what?" he musn't have heard you right.
"i'd be lying to myself if i said i haven't thought about you either, rafe," you say.
a small chuckle falls from his lips, which spread into a smile. "seriously?"
you nod. "come pick me up at seven tomorrow. let's give it a chance."
part 3 coming soon!!
i'm rooting for them tbh
reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33
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tags: @chiaraanatra @ijustwanttoreadlols @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesgiirl @solanathascientst @10ava01 @werewhatkilledthedinosaurs @void21 @groovycass @azrielsgirll @rroslitas @crvptidgf @star-girl-05 @redhead1180 @shadyshadyy @prettypimpcess12 @emotionsmgcbabe @outerbankspov @letmeintourheart @gublerstylesobrien1238
#rafe cameron#rafe#obx#rafe obx#outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe x reader#rafe x y/n#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron fic#rafe fic#rafe fluff#cute rafe#obx fic
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You know, I do have to wonder if the reason the gods of Exandria are panicking so much about the release of Predathos isn't solely the threat of being eaten, but also that they can't seal it again.
Like, what you can achieve once can be done again. And you've had thousands of years to look back and consider how to do it better, how you could have maybe prevented Vordo and Ethedok from being eaten by sealing sooner. What happened to their two siblings, the struggle to survive where they landed, has to weigh in the gods' minds at times.
And yet, the gods don't seem to be doing any prep work to stuff Predathos back into Ruidus (or a new prison), and instead are going all in on the fight to stop the seals from releasing in the first place.
Sure, preparation for resealing should the worst happen could be happening in the background where we can't see it. But it doesn't particularly feel that way. Everything we've seen is "All hands on deck so that this thing never gets out, period" with seemingly no back up if that directive is failed.
So I would posit that the gods can't seal Predathos again, because they got rid of the titans.
We know that the titans helped the gods seal Predathos away. We know that Predathos resists the divine power of the gods. We know that an enormous hunk of Exandria was turned into the prison-turned-moon Ruidus.
So it really makes sense to me if the titans were instrumental to the sealing process.
As best I can tell, elemental power is separate from divine power in the cosmos of Exandria. Which means that the titans did not face penalties as the gods did in using their powers against Predathos. So if/when they needed to pin it in place for whatever sealing rituals/ceremonies, the titans would be best suited to it with gods being bait to draw Predathos in.
Next is carving up Exandria. Who could better do that than titans of earth? The earth of Exandria is their element, their birthplace, and their home. If anyone could easily rip up a continent (as the theory of Ruidus's origin on Exandria is), it would be the titans of earth.
I will also point out that glass, like what we've been recently led to believe is what Predathos's form is in its sealed state, is a result of fire and earth, melting sand into a cohesive whole. So the titans might have helped with that part too.
What we know the gods did in the sealing of Predathos seems to be mostly outer bindings. Divine seals on the layers of glass to keep people from cracking it open, the Divine Gate-like cage around Ruidus itself.
So it seems to me that there's a good chance the titans contributed a lot to the sealing of Predathos.
And now they're all gone. The gods killed them
...And maybe sealed a few in other Planes? It's a bit unclear, but Vox Machina did encounter what was called a Dust Titan in Pandmonium in The Search For Bob, and Errevon the Rimelord is thought to be some sort of Ice Titan. Still, the killing and sealing isn't going to do the gods any favors in getting help again. Especially since such surviving titans don't really have a stake in Exandria anymore and probably aren't on Predathos's menu (but may be on it's revenge list).
The closest things the gods have these days to allied titans are Ashton and Fearne, who both only hold tiny fragments of a full titan's power. Even if those fragments are from two of the most powerful titans to walk Exandria.
So yeah, the gods sort of accidentally fucked themselves over in being able to reseal Predathos by wiping out the titans, I think.
#I'm not saying the gods were necessarily wrong in protecting mortals from the titans as they did#but there's always unforeseen consequences to our actions#and I think this is an interesting one that might exist#mq blathers#critical role#cr meta#cr speculation#exandrian gods#primordial titans#predathos#ruidus
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The Worst Day
A ficlet that got out of hand for @randomly--accessed--memories
Vox accidentally stumbles into the basement studio where he was tortured into insanity. Velvette finds him and Valentino is forced to leave mid-shoot because Vox needs him.
Part 1 of 2
Content Warnings: It's Valentino's pov, I feel like that's a warning in of itself.
Beta-read by the lovely @redladydeath
Vox is missing. It’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence, especially on his more lucid days when he remembers that he can travel through electricity and therefore that Valentino and Velvette can’t actually stop him from going anywhere. He never ends up going far and they’ve finally managed to make it so that he mostly can’t leave the tower, but that doesn’t mean it’s not stressful enough to give Val spiritual grey hairs every time it happens.
Velvette is the only one searching for Vox this time because the film he’s currently supervising is gonna be a big moneymaker and apparently the useless idiots he has under contract can’t do their damn job right without his constant fucking supervision. So, instead of helping Velvette, he’s stuck sitting next to a prattling Travis trying to hold himself back from wringing the fucker’s feathery neck since Travis is the director and he unfortunately kind of needs him in one piece today.
Then, his phone rings and he holds up a hand right in Travis’s face. He’s at the very least smart enough to take that as the sign to shut up that it is. Before he even answers the phone there’s already a sinking feeling in his stomach. If Vel had found Vox and he was okay, she would have just texted.
He answers the call, holds the phone to his ear and immediately has to jerk it away when the sound of electronic screeching nearly deafens him. “I found Vox, we need you now. We’re in the studio basement, bring the kit,” Velvette shouts over the sound of what Val now realizes must be Vox freaking out in the background.
He stands up abruptly. “I’ll be there in five,” he says before he hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket and turns his attention briefly to the useless fucks gaping at him. “Shows over. Keep on task. I’ll be back when I’m back and I’ll fucking know if any of you’ve been slacking,” he snaps before he turns and leaves.
In the hallway, he stops to pick up what he and Vel have begun calling “the kit”– a Vox specific first aid kit that they’d put together shortly after Vox first “woke up”. He knows where to look at this point- doesn’t even have to squint to see it.
Kit in hand, he leaves the main area of the tower and squints down at his phone following the directions that Velvette gave him to where she and Vox are. The tower really feels too fucking big sometimes.
Valentino thinks he can count the number of times he’s stepped foot on this level of the tower on one hand. Why does he even have a creepy basement studio anyways? Whose idea was this? Was it his? If it was, he must’ve been high as balls to think of it, and if it wasn’t, then he should find whoever’s idea it was and shoot the fucker.
It’s dark as shit down here and the light of his phone isn’t doing much. He’s making progress though, he thinks. The gps seems to think he’s going the right way and he’ll trust that over his shitty eyes.
All unrelated thoughts are pushed from his mind when he spies the vague blob in the corner that he knows must be Vox and Velvette. He can’t make out any details but he notices that both figures are covered in an alarming amount of the horribly distinctive blue of Vox’s strange blood. Suddenly, the pungent, chemical scent of coolant is overwhelming.
Valentino breaks into a sprint and quickly closes the remaining distance between them.
Velvette has Vox backed up into a corner, a hand on each of Vox’s wrists, trying both to hold him still and stem the bleeding. Holy shit, that’s a lot of blood. Vox did a fucking number on himself, those gashes are deep. Something silver glints out from the mess of blue and Val suddenly feels nauseous. Vox had never clawed himself to the bone before.
“The hell are you doing just standing there? Fucking help me!” Velvette snaps, screaming to be heard over Vox’s panicked electronic gibberish. Vox is fighting her the best he can considering how weak he must be from blood loss. Velvette is holding her own,, but even in his weakened state, Vox still has over two feet on her heightwise, so she’s struggling.
He hurries over and kneels down so that he’s at eye-level with the struggling, panicking ex-overlord. “Voxxy?” he calls, voice softening into a tone he pretty much only uses with Vox on his worst days.
Vox stops thrashing when he sees him. Velvette releases Vox and moves aside to let him half stumble, half crawl into Valentino’s waiting arms, absolutely covering him in that neon blue blood of his. For some fucking reason, despite being either scared or confused by him on his more lucid days, when Vox is like this – out of his mind, terrified, vulnerable – Valentino is the only person able to calm him down; the only one he seems to trust.
Velvette leans forward to snatch the first aid kit he’d dropped. He tactfully pretends not to notice the way her hands shake when she opens it and pulls out a needle and thread. “Keep him calm and as still as possible. I need to try and fix the bloody mess he made of himself,” she instructs and it’s a testament to how serious the situation is that Val listens to her without complaint. There’s little he hates more than being ordered around.
He adjusts his hold on Vox, so that Velvette can grab Vox’s right arm and then reaches into the kit to grab some gauze, which he immediately wraps around Vox’s left, putting pressure on the wound by wrapping his hand around Vox’s thin – and so fucking fragile – wrist. It’s going to take Vel time to get one arm done, so he should probably try and make sure Vox doesn’t bleed out in the meantime.
They’ll have to call up one of Vox’s on-call repair guys later. Vox doesn’t really heal like normal sinners– doesn’t heal at all, in fact. He has to be repaired, his broken parts replaced. They don’t have the knowledge or equipment necessary to replace the damaged panels on his arms, so the bandaid solution of stitching the torn, synthetic skin back together is all they fucking can do for now.
Vox, for his part, is remarkably still and pliant, screen buried in Valentino’s ruff. He’s shaking like a whore going through withdrawal though and making these awful little staticky whimpering noises that Val is trying hard not to pay too much attention to because they are kind of breaking his heart a little bit. He previously wasn’t even aware he had a heart capable of breaking, but he’s learned so many fun new things about himself since that radio bastard ruined Vox, ruined everything.
“So, you have any idea what set him off this badly?” Val asks, mostly to try and drown out the pitiful sounds Vox continues to make whenever Velvette makes another stitch. He is curious though. Vox can get bad, but usually not to this extent. He’s torn up not just his arms (although they certainly got the worst of it) but his whole torso, with what little remains of his shirt hanging in blood-stained shreds off his frame.
“No clue,” Velvette replies just a little bit too quickly, her shoulders tense, eyes averted. Oh, she’s lying through her fucking teeth. Really, she’s usually better at lying than this. Valentino considers pushing but decides against it– he really does not care right now. She’s lucky that he doesn’t because usually he fucking despises being lied to, especially so poorly.
Instead of replying, he watches Velvette work with morbid fascination. Her stitches aren’t neat exactly– hard to be when Vox is shaking and the synthetic flesh is ripped so jaggedly and uneven– but they’ll do until Vox’s nerds can fix him up properly. The red thread really pops out against the dark blue of Vox’s skin, it’s almost pretty in a really morbid way. He wonders if stitchplay is a thing. This could be pretty sexy in a different context.
Vox’s shaking suddenly transitions into violent full-body spasms and his background staticked noises of pain turn into a glitched out, inhuman screech as he tries to jerk his arm out of Vel’s grasp, causing her to reflexively tighten her grip and yank Vox’s arm back. That only freaks Vox out more and now he’s struggling in earnest, almost to the point Val can’t keep a hold on him.
“Val!” Velvette snaps between curses as she struggles to keep Vox from reopening his brand new stitches. That’s his cue to do something because he’s supposed to fix this some-fucking-how.
With the one hand that’s not occupied with keeping hold of some part of Vox, Valentino grabs the edge of Vox’s screen, forcing him to look up at him. Vox’s face is flickering in and out, pupils darting, mouth twisted in either agony or terror, probably both.
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, fingers tracing gently across the glass that makes up the equivalent of Vox’s cheek. He continues to murmur soothing nonsense and pet names to him. He really doubts Vox can understand a thing. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says as long as he’s the one who’s saying it.
There’s a whoosh of air from Vox’s vents before he goes limp in Val’s arms again, head only supported by Val, expression dazed. Valentino carefully guides his face back into his neck ruff, grimacing a bit at the way his fur immediately puffs up due to the static. Aah, the things he endures for this man.
“Don’t stop talking,” Velvette demands and he’s struck by how novel it is for her to ask that of him. Usually, she’s one of the few people who can get away with telling him to shut up and she abuses that privilege liberally. “He freaked out because you shut up. I’d like to get this done without any more meltdowns,” she explains because of course she couldn’t just let him think she enjoyed the sound of his beautiful voice.
“Hmn, what should I talk about?” he muses aloud, fingers idly tracing the back of Vox’s monitor. “Liiike, should I just talk to myself or am I gonna get the privilege of having you as a conversation partner?” he asks teasingly.
That gets him a frigid glare in return and Vel sighs like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Just– I’m really not in the mood right now, Val.”
Okay, well, fuck him for trying to lighten the mood. Talking to himself it is since Velvette’s being such a bitch about the situation and not even in the cool way she normally is.
He settles on bitching about the useless fucks back at the studio, because that is a topic he’s always willing to go on about and it’s not one Velvette’s usually willing to listen to, but he kind of has her hostage now, so fuck her. Valentino allows the annoyed scowl on her face to soothe the bubbling rage in the pit of his stomach as he rants about how Angel Dust has been taking over three fucking minutes to respond to his texts recently.
He’s on his sixth Angel-related story when Velvette finishes stitching and begins winding gauze around Vox’s arm. He hates how the bandages make Vox somehow seem even smaller, more visibly broken. He holds Vox a little tighter.
Velvette brushes some of her hair out of her face and God, she’s a mess. Her hair is all fucked up and she’s absolutely covered in blood– mostly Vox’s but a little bit of her’s from where Vox’s claws nicked her in his struggle.
“Okay, fuck, one down, one to go. Flip him over for me,” she instructs and Val knows what she means but he’s immediately hit with the mental image of flipping Vox over with a spatula like he’s a pancake.
He doesn’t tell Vel about his hilarious thought because he’s apparently not allowed to even try and make this shitty situation even slightly less miserable. He just does what she tells him to, even if the high-pitched noise of alarm Vox makes when he pulls his screen from his chest to reposition him makes him desperately wish there was someone or something around he could maim.
It takes at least another half an hour for Velvette to finish with his left arm and she does so not a moment too soon because somehow, Val was about to run out of people to complain about. He was really scraping the bottom of the barrel there for a sec.
“You’re not gonna let me flake out on the shoot, are you?” Val asks as Velvette puts the thread and gauze back in the kit. The last thing he wants is to go back to the shoot with Vox in his arms, but with the state he’s in, they both know he’s not going to be able to be left alone.
“I can’t make you do shit, but we both know how much is riding on this movie selling well,” she responds and Val can’t help but groan. She’s right. They both know she is and he fucking hates that.
“Ugh, fine, but you can’t bitch at me if I shoot a bitch or two,” he concedes as he stands up, Vox still held securely in his arms. God, Vox is hot as Hell, in a literal sense. It feels like he’s hugging an overheated laptop. The rest of this day is going to suck, but whatever, it’s not like the past several years of his afterlife haven’t also sucked. It’s not like he has much hope left of it - of Vox - getting any better.
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Too Close
Javier Peña x fem!reader
Part two
Series masterlist
Blog masterlist
Eight o’clock sharp, you’re standing in the small apartment lobby, staring at the faded paint on the walls chipping. Your outfit of your first day at your new job is simple and classy—or you hope so, at least. A short, white, plaid pencil skirt combined with formal but comfortable shoes, and a plain white button-up blouse that shows your midriff. Your hair is down, just washed, styled in that way that makes you feel most confident.
You’re still nervous. Nervous off your fucking ass. And the prospect of seeing Javi, of having him take you to work, of spending time with him…It makes you flustered. He’s handsome, he’s witty, he’s kind. From what little you’ve met of him until now, he’s just your type.
But…
But he’s older. He’s much older. He must be what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? Thirty six? Somewhere in between, you guess. And why would a man like him even glance at you? You’re a kid to him. He’s almost twice your age. What are you thinking?
You hear a door opening and keys jingling. A moment later, Javi walks to the lobby in a red button-up tucked into his jeans, a belt holding them up. He’s wearing a jacket and a tie, and he looks…
Fuck, he looks hot, you think, trying not to think about it.
“Mornin’,” he greets, those dark eyes taking in your outfit.
You feel yourself growing a little uneasy, shifting your weight around a tad. “Is this okay?” you ask of your outfit. “Does it get too cold here?”
He shakes his head. “Your outfit’s fine,” he tells you. “But I might need to take you out into the field with me sometimes, and it would probably be better for you to wear something that’s comfortable in case we need to stay out all day.”
You pause. “You're gonna take me into the field?” Your voice should be afraid; instead, you're delighted.
He chuckles. “No where too dangerous,” he promises. “Just little meetings with sources. Nothing for you to worry about. Besides, I'll be there to keep you safe.”
You smile softly. “My grandpa never let the other agents take me out onto the field. He was too afraid of me getting in harm’s way, I guess.”
“Dealing with sources isn't really that dangerous,” he tells you as he places a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the underground parking lot of the building. Tingles brush up your spine. “Worst parts are when we burst into coke labs or hideouts, stuff like that.”
“They're also the most exciting, I bet,” you say. “I mean, dangerous, obviously. But the adrenaline…”
He chuckles. “It's only exciting if you survive,” he points out. “Usually there are more funerals than celebrations after those kinds of raids.”
You're silent for a second. “I…Yeah, you're right.” Your voice turns soft, pensive. Of course it's not some game. What are you thinking? You're seeing it from a journalist’s perspective, not from a DEA agent’s. Raids make great stories, sure. But having to participate in those raids…
You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re now a member of the DEA, not a journalist. The world isn’t only about telling stories now, it’s about living them.
Javier leads you to his car and opens the passenger door for you. Immediately, you're blushing again, nervous and flattered. You stutter out a thank-you and Javi chuckles smoothly.
He gets in the driver's seat and, oh, God, if you thought he was hot, watching him drive just about sends you hurling over the edge. The way his aviators give him a mysterious hue, the early-morning sunlight shining through the window as he drives you through Colombia…
His nose, his lips, his jawline…Oh, you want to kiss it all. Kiss his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips. Oh, those lips…
You realize you're staring when Javi glances at you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You alright there?” he chuckles.
You blush, snapping your head away, glancing out the windshield. “Y-yeah. Fine. I'm just…trying to get a bearing of my surroundings, y'know. I'm gonna have to drive to the embassy myself eventually,” you say quickly, hoping your voice doesn't quiver as much as you think it does.
“I wouldn't mind driving you every morning,” he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. “We leave the same building and get to the same place. Problem would be when we each gotta go our separate ways.”
“Yeah.” You nod. “You work late?” you ask, out of curiosity more than anything.
He chuckles, a sound somewhere between amused and endeared. As if you were a child asking some silly little question. “You…could say that.”
You bite your lower lip, wanting to ask more, but you don't want him to think you're a naïve little girl. You're twenty-three. Not a child.
He's almost twice my age, you think, of course he sees me as a child.
*
Javi glances at you, noticing the slight pinch between your eyebrows. Did he say something wrong? Did he make you uncomfortable? He has the feeling you want to say more, to ask more. What's holding you back?
“I usually don't have a very regular schedule,” he tells you, hoping to ease your nerves. “It depends a lot on the narcos since we gotta take ‘em by surprise and we never really know where they're gonna be. So we gotta seize any opportunity we get.”
You nod. “Right. It's…Is it stressful? Always guessing where they're gonna be?”
“More than stressful, it's frustrating,” he responds. “Every time we think we're close, they vanish like thin air. Especially Escobar. He's a real tough motherfucker. Careful, ingenious. It's like chasing shadows. Every time we go after him, it's as if he already knows it.”
You pause, turn to him as he stops at a red light. “Every time?” you question.
He nods. “Yeah. We've barely even been close.”
“And you've made sure there are no leaks within the DEA? Or the Colombian military? Because it's a little odd that he can always predict your next move.”
Javier's eyes widen. Of course. How could he not think of that? There's probably someone playing for both sides. A mole filtering information to Escobar. But it would have to be someone close, someone who knows all of their plans.
It's not Carrillo. Carrillo is fully trustworthy, Javier is sure of that. But maybe someone on the Search Bloc, someone new…
He gives you a little smile. “Smart thinkin’,” he tells you. “It would've never occurred to me.”
You shrug as if dismissing your great idea. “I'm a journalist. My work depends on sources and info leaks.”
Smart, gorgeous, witty, humble…
Javier tries to keep himself in check. You're everything a man would want.
But not him. He shouldn't want you. You're so young, there are so many guys out there who would be better for you. He knows that. But, God, what he wouldn't give to get a taste of you…
*
The day flies by—no, the weeks fly by. Between doing your investigations, adjusting to the new work environment, getting used to living on your own, learning Spanish, and trying not to think about Javier, a month passes in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly you have an established routine, suddenly you're settled in. Suddenly you understand more Spanish and your accent decreases slightly. Suddenly, Colombia is becoming a home to you.
But the deeper you fall into Colombia, the deeper you realize it's a war zone. A small-scale kind of war zone. Sicarios—hitmen—make people disappear without anyone noticing for days.
Only reason you know is because those people are usually your sources.
Javier was right about the work being more frustrating than stressful. It's like sand, slipping right through your fingers. No matter how hard you try to hold onto it, it just seeps away.
You make progress. You know you do. But most days, it doesn't feel like it. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy, they both respect you. They appreciate you and your contribution to the team. Carrillo, the Colombian coronel, does too. But other men…they're a little sensitive about having a woman working with them.
They doubt you. They catcall you. They assume you got the job by sleeping with some higher-ups. And it pisses you off. You wanna punch them all, curse them, call them out for the disgusting pigs they are.
But you don't. You keep your calm. You're better than them and you know it—they know it. That's why they're anrgy with you. You threaten them. Your presence, your abilities, make them feel insecure. And that brings you a very much deserved wave of satisfaction.
Every new piece of information you bring in, the prouder you are of yourself. Until you realize Escobar keeps getting farther and farther away from the DEA. He buys and kills his way through life, opening himself a pretty little path, a red carpet rolled out at his feet.
Some days, you're upbeat. You feel you're moments away from catching the drug lords. But other days, you feel like you came down to Colombia for nothing.
Today is one of those days.
Late afternoon, everyone leaving the office after yet another failed raid. The warehouse had been emptied even before the DEA team was on its way there.
There's a mole, you think as you put away files with months’ worth of information. There has to be a mole. Someone is talking. Someone is ratting us out. But who?
You exhale thickly, a dull ache spreading behind your eyes. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fuck,” you mutter, stressed, annoyed, frustrated.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You grab a file with a big, red stamp on the front that reads deceased—one of your sources just recently killed by sicarios—and aggressively toss it in the trash can. As if that would solve all your issues.
You don't realize he's standing in the office until he sighs. “Tough day, huh?”
You turn around, jumping a little, to find Javier there. He looks almost as pissed as you must look. More, probably. He's already been here for years and Escobar is still running free.
“Understatement,” you mutter, turning away from him. You grab another file, open it. You read the name. Some Francisco something. You grab a large stamp and press it onto the front page so the word deceased is now there in big, bold letters. You toss that into the trash too.
Javier approaches you slowly. You can feel his presence burning behind you, like warm sun on your nape, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.
“Some of us are going for a drink,” he tells you, voice light and casual. “Just in case you wanna join us.”
You turn to him. “Who's going?”
*
Me and you, Javier thinks. Just us.
“Alright, fine. I'm going,” he says, chuckling softly, smoothly. “There's a bar downtown that I like to frequent when I don't have the best days. And you—no offense—but you look like you could use a drink.”
A small smile appears on your lips. He wants to kiss the corner where your mouth curls.
He can see it in your eyes, you're thinking it through. Weighing the decision. Maybe if he tips the scale a little…
“On me,” he adds, giving you a little smirk. “Y'know. Just a little something to take the edge off.”
Your smile broadens and he knows he's succeeded.
“Alright,” you agree. “You're driving.”
You don't have to say it. It's become the default. Even though the embassy finally delivered your own car, Javi keeps driving you to and from work. Unless he knows he's going to have to stay out later or go through with a raid in the middle of the night, he always insists you let him drive you.
You always politely tell him it's fine, that you can do it yourself, but he doesn't want you to do it yourself. He wants to drive you. Wants to have you sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Wants to hear you hum along to the songs on the radio. That's become the highlight of his day—you have become the highlight of his every single fucking day.
And he hates himself for it. What is he thinking? You're half his age, you can do so much better than him. He's broken, tarnished. He doesn't need to drag you down with him.
But the way your eyes light up when you see him. The smiles you give him. The way his name rolls off your tongue.
Good God, how many times has he spent too long in the shower, one hand braced against the cold tiles as the water falls onto his back while his other hand fists his cock? Head down, hair wet, eyes shut tight as he thinks of you, of the way you say his name. Your little skirts and gorgeous eyes. Your soft, sweet lips…
Over and over, he spills his release onto the shower wall, thick white ropes that trickle down the drain. He does it until it hurts, until the warm water runs cold, until there’s no more of his come to spend. And yet, no matter how much he does it, it's never enough.
Nothing is enough. Not cold showers, not jerking off for hours, not sleeping with his usual hookers and imagining you. Nothing does it.
If it's not you, it'll never be enough.
He takes you to a small club. A private, luxurious little place. Both of you are still in your work clothes. He watches you remove your blazer and are left in a pretty top and a skirt. You let your hair down, untuck your blouse from your skirt, and suddenly you look different. You look free. And Javier's heart skips because he now feels like he has the opportunity to take you home. To lead you to his bed. To spread your legs and let himself finally taste you, feel you, fuck you…
He leads you to a booth in a corner, comfortable and a little more private than other tables, and you sit across from each other.
He watches you, saying nothing as you look around, studying your surroundings. Music is playing softly in the background, people are talking, glasses are tinkling. But he can only focus on you.
You turn to him, a small smile on your face, those beautiful eyes almost shining. “So, as a regular here, I bet you know the menu by heart. What drink would you recommend?”
He chuckles. “I like to take my whiskey. Not a big fan of fancy, elaborate drinks.” He eyes you for a second, purposely letting the tension grow. “But I'd suggest you order a piña colada. Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.”
Javier notes the blush that forms on your cheeks and he feels proud of himself. He didn't take it too far, just a small flirtatious comment. And already you're all flustered.
God, the look on your face if he were to fuck you in front of a mirror, if he'd spread your legs to see your wet pussy, if he'd touch you, kiss you…
Fuck.
He starts getting hard, his cock bulging against the seam of his pants. He slightly adjusts his jeans to relieve the pressure a little.
A waitress comes over and takes your order. Your drinks arrive not long after.
“How are you adjusting to life down here?” he asks you, sipping his whiskey. Bitter, cold. Just how he likes it.
You sip your piña colada, removing the little umbrella on it. “Well enough,” you reply. “Only thing I still struggle with is the language a little.”
He nods in understanding even though he speaks Spanish fluently. He grew up with both languages, he hadn't been forced to learn from zero.
“You'll be able to get it,” he assures. “You're a quick learner. If Steve was able to learn, you're certain to nail it.”
You laugh and he chuckles. He likes that too, he realizes. Your laugh, the way the corners of your eyes crinkle, the shine in your gaze, the way the sound resonates from your mouth.
Suddenly it's a little hotter in the club and for the first time in a really long time, Javier feels nervous around a woman.
*
You like the way he looks at you. Those dark eyes taking you in as if he can't afford to miss a single detail about you.
Smiling a little coyly, you take another sip from your piña colada. It's so sweet.
Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.
Butterflies burst in your stomach. You gaze back up at him. He meets your gaze for a moment before looking away.
He reaches for his tie, undoes it with one hand, starts tugging it off.
Good God…
You press your thighs together. The tiniest of gestures and yet he looks so fucking hot doing it.
You wish he'd tie you up with that tie, pinyou to the bed, take what he wants…
Mind out of the gutter, you tell yourself. Mind out of the gutter.
As the night goes on, you both talk about everything and anything. The conversation doesn't dry up. It just flows. It's odd how much chemistry you two have, it's almost like you'd be perfect together.
But you work together. But he's much older. What would people say? What will happen when—if you were ever to be more than coworkers? More than friends?
No, don't think about that. It won't happen. He's just being kind, taking out the new girl to help her. It doesn't mean anything.
But you doubt yourself. The way he's looking at you, those dark eyes, that intense gaze…You could swear there's more to this than mere kindness.
As the night grows darker, the music gets louder. People start moving onto the dance floor, the lights dim. As the sounds rise in volume, you and Javi sit closer to be able to hear one another.
And suddenly everything shifts. Suddenly you're so close, suddenly the atmosphere is different, suddenly you're staring right into his eyes and he's glancing at your lips.
A soft breath leaves you. How many piña coladas have you had? This isn't you thinking, it's not you leaning closer to him. It's someone else, some other girl—confident, bold, she goes after what she wants. It's not something you would do. But this new version of you…
His lips are grazing yours now. You're so, so close to him. You can smell the cigarettes on his breath, can feel the heat of his skin. He smells of cologne and whiskey and smoke and soft musk.
“I was thinking,” you say, voice low, sultry. What's that sound? Is it the music booming or your racing heart? “You should teach me Spanish.”
“Teach you Spanish?” he asks, eyebrows pinching together. He seems confused, unsure about where you're going with this.
You nod. “Yeah. The toughest part is getting my tongue to roll the right way. And I was thinking you could show me…”
His eyes shine with realization. He understands now, you can tell. “Fuck,” he says breathlessly, voice low and thick. “C’mere.”
And then he's kissing you.
His mouth is warm, soft, and he tastes like danger.
One of his hands finds your waist, the other cups the back of your neck to pull you closer. He devours you, lips coercing yours open before his tongue slides in, tasting of whiskey.
When your tongue meets his, he groans quietly, the sound reverberating through you. The hand on your waist tightens its grip, the other one tangling in the hair at the back of your head and tugging slightly.
You gasp. He smirks. Javi pulls you closer until you're just about forced to get on his lap. You're happy to do so, straddling his hips, one hand on the back of the booth sofa to hold you up, the other one cupping his face.
When you lean your weight down on Javier, he groans, a barely-restrained sound that makes you wetter than you already are.
You can feel he's hard, his cock pressing right between your thighs. You get comfortable on his lap, the bulge in his pants right against your clit.
His hands move down to your ass slowly, testing the waters. When you don't complain, he squeezes the supple flesh, groaning into your mouth.
And it's wrong. And you know it's wrong. But you let him.
*
Fuuuuck.
Javier's mind is a blur, his every thought fogged over with the feel of you on top of him.
His cock aches for you. You're on top of him, the feeling of you on his lap is almost enough for him to jizz his pants.
Jesus fucking Christ, you're perfect. All of you is perfect. You feel so much better than he could've ever imagined.
His large hands squeeze your ass and start guiding your movements, making you grind against him. You let out a little sound, a soft, quiet moan and his hips buck up against yours. In response, you whimper, thighs tightening on either side of him.
He keeps guiding you, making you ride him through the fabric of his pants. He can feel the crotch of his jeans grow wet with his precum, his hips starting to move against yours in search of more.
More, more, more.
He wants so much more. He wants to lift up your skirt, move your panties to the side, slide his cock into you. He wants to feel you, your warm, wet pussy clenching around him…
“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips. It's not enough. It won't be enough until he fucks you. Properly fucks you.
One of his hands moves from your ass to the side of your thigh, and then between your legs. He plays with the edge of your skirt and then his hand wanders under it.
His calloused fingertips find the fabric of your panties and his cock twitches. He gently teases your folds through your underwear, feeling how wet you are already.
He pulls moan after moan from you, smirking against your mouth, swallowing your every sound.
“Javi,” you whimper, pulling away from his lips to take a heaving breath.
“Shh, angel, you don't everyone to know what we're doing now, do you?”
You shake your head softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmm, n-no. I just—Oh, God.”
He pushes your panties aside, rough fingers finding your bare cunt. It's so wet, the coarse hair on your skin soaked.
You jerk at the feeling of his fingers on your pussy and he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound.
He gathers some of your slick with his middle and index fingers and spreads it all over your cunt, leaving you nice and wet so his thumb can glide over your clit in soft, neat circles.
A string of incoherent words leave you and Javi smiles. He wishes he had you in his bed right now so he could spread your folds with his fingers, look at how wet you are.
But this will have to do for now.
He slides his middle finger into you, his thumb adding more pressure on your clit as he draws mindless shapes on the needy bud.
You rock your hips against his hand, moaning, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“That's a good girl, angel,” he whispers into your ear, kissing the side of your neck. “You're doing so well. I'm gonna add another finger, yeah?”
He slides his ring finger into you as well and you throw your head back, gasping softly. He curls his fingers up to find that spot that makes you clench around his digits and he smirks.
The more he fingers you, the wetter you get, the tighter you grip him. “C'mon, angel. Come for me, yeah? Let me give you what you deserve.”
You mewl, nuzzling your face into his neck as he fucks you open with his thick fingers.
“Shh, shh. You're so close, angel. So close. Fuck, I can feel how tight you're getting.”
His words seem to spur you on because you start riding his hand faster, more eager, as if you can't get enough. And then there's a moment where your body seems to pause, your every muscle tensing, your eyes shutting tight, and then you fall over the edge.
Javi watches as you climax, the sight more beautiful than anything he's ever seen in his fucking life. He doesn't want this to be the last time he sees you like this. He'll die if he can't get more of you.
“There you go,” he whispers into your ear, helping you ride out the pleasure. “That's a good girl. Are you alright, angel?” He kisses your jaw, your neck, inhaling your soft scent.
You nod weakly. “Mhm,” you hum, shuddering a little. “‘m fine.”
“Good.” He kisses your lips softly, tasting you. God, the things he wants to do to you. He pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his body aching to taste you. You taste so sweet, so gentle, so fucking perfect.
Oh, what's he fucking doing? You're half his age. You're too good for him. He shouldn't be—
Your hands start moving to the front of his pants, palming his throbbing cock through the fabric, and suddenly Javier forgets himself. He forgets everything.
If it's not you, he doesn't care right now. He'll figure it out later. There will be time later.
So he just gives in. Just ignores everything and allows himself this moment with you.
It'll only be once. Just once, he promises himself.
Cross my heart.
Dividers from @cafekitsune! Thank you again for these beautiful dividers!!!
Taglist
@maiyart @cheesepannini @picketniffler
I'm so inspired while writing this omggg I just need this man so much 😭😭😭
I hope you enjoy babes!!! <33333
#javier pena angst#javier pena fluff#javier pena fic#javier pena x you#javier pena x reader#javier pena smut#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#javier peña#javier peña smut
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casual: mary macdonald
“knee deep in the passenger seat, and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?”
warnings: explicit smut, oral sex, semi-public sex, and worst of all- a situationship
masterlist
okay guys let me know if you want me to make this a multiple part thing cuz there are quite a few lyrics about sex in this song + it could end with them getting together. hope u enjoy! 💞
———————————————————————
“hey,” mary slides into the driver’s seat beside you. she’s in a short, pink, floral dress with an empire waist, accentuating her breasts. not that they need to be accentuated. your gaze drops to her exposed cleavage.
“so i was thinking we could go see the movie and then stop at…” she trails off when she sees where you’re staring. she smirks. “or we could just stay here.”
you’d rather it honestly. it’s much harder being “casual” on a literal date. and casual’s what mary wants, isn’t it?
“or we could just stay here.” you repeat. you’re in her car, parked in an open garage.
“we can’t go inside, my family’s home.” she’s staring at you like she wants to eat you. like she’d unhinge her jaw just to swallow you whole.
“well we have- room.” you gesture to the car. you don’t really. it’s a small, old beetle, but you two have made do in tighter spaces.
she grins, climbing onto you. she straddles you, pressing your lips together in a kiss.
“you’re so hot,” she mumbles in between kisses. her dress is short enough that it doesn’t cover beneath where she sits, and mary’s almost always wearing a thong, so her bare ass is pressed up against your thighs.
“you’re so hot,” you say back, squeezing her ass. she reaches for the chair levers as you kiss. her tongue slips inside your mouth just as she pulls, pushing the chair as far back as it goes.
she breaks away, sliding down before the seat. you spread your legs, knees sticking up, one poking out the car. you help her unzip your shorts, tossing them aside. she pulls your underwear to the side, lips slick and red, plump from kissing. “fuck, you’re so wet.”
she removes your underwear, tossing it along with your shorts.
“what if someone sees us?” the garage door is about three-quarters up, the setting sun bathing the two of you in shades of pink, red, and orange.
“then you better come quick.”
you moan the moment her lips connect with your pussy. she licks between your folds, collecting your desire on her warm tongue. “you’re so delicious.” her nose bumps into your clit as she talks into your lips.
you press your hand against your lips, stifling a whine so loud her family would definitely hear.
she licks her way up to your clit, engorged and waiting. her lips wrap around it as she uses to fingers to spread open your hole.
“fuck, you’re so tight,” she says around your pulsing bud, slipping two fingers inside your cunt.
your fingers tangle in her curls, pushing her face deeper into your sopping pussy.
she kisses your clit, before sucking on it like candy. her fingers thrust in and out of you, filling the garage with pornographic squishes.
she’s devouring you like you’re her last meal, all while fucking you at a brutal pace. through dancing spots, you see an older man turn the corner of the street.
“m-mary,” you mumble in a fucked-out daze. “someone’s getting close.”
she loosens her oral grip on your clit to talk into your pussy, soft and silky. “then come. come into my mouth, baby.”
she presses kisses on your clit, nibbling gently with her teeth. as the man nears, something inside you snaps. you moan into your hands, barely succeeding in muffling the whimpers of mary’s name.
you close your legs as he gets close enough to see, still riding the high of your orgasm.
#mary macdonald#mary macdonald smut#mary macdonald x reader#mary macdonald x reader smut#marauders#marauders smut#marauders era#marauders era smut#marauders girls#marauders girls smut#marauders era girls#marauders era girls smut#smut#harry potter smut#hp smut
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Milk ref sheet done yaHOOOOOOOOOOO lookit my big beautiful baby they filled with joy and happiness
#milk#digital#mogimage#the worst part of making this was their fucked up hands#lemurs gotta lemur and grab fruits and branches and small animals and bugs but y'know its fucked up that they have weird hands#at least i was able to euphemistically state how much fun they have with themselves and their girlfriend#robbie just has fuckin. hoof fingers. it don't work like that for her#very sad about that#ANYWAY i learned recently from a discussion on discord about putting tattoos on furries that scars grow white fur sometimes#so i applied that here to make it look less like just fur texture on milk's arms#might tone it down eventually but im not certain#a side story about that is that milk changes the story behind all of their sh scars every time they're asked by someone they don't trust#like “yeah i broke some equipment in a hs chemistry class and stupidly tried to wipe up broken glass with my arms”#“i tried to hug a big cactus when i was younger”#or “i used to work in a kitchen and i was really bad at paying attention when cutting vegetables”#generally they just don't like to think about it so they wear funny arm socks or long sleeves most of the time but sometimes they don't car
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i think one of the most evil aspects of fundamentalist evangelical christianity is how it (and the general culture of those who follow it) encourages parents to treat children
first off, it treats having children as something EVERYONE should do, regardless of if they actually want and are capable of raising said children. in more extreme cases you get shit like the quiverfull movement, wherein couples are encouraged to have as many children as physically possible
and then, those children are referred to like they're their parents possessions, like they are just objects their parents were "gifted" with by god. they're not treated like their own human beings.
AND a core tenet of their religion is that humans are born inherently sinful. they think newborns, who can't even fully control their bodily functions yet, are automatically full of sin. an infant's crying for its basic needs to be met is seen as a sign of their inherent selfishness
a parents' main goal is supposed to be to "purify" that child's soul by any means necessary, the child's actual wellbeing is secondary to "saving their soul"
and, of course, free thought is discouraged in favour of obedience. they believe in a hierarchy: child < wife < husband < god. if you are to disobey the one above you, then you are considered to be disobeying god himself- even if the thing your parent or husband is commanding you not to do is not a sin in of itself. "honor thy father and thy mother"
and again, parents are taught that the best trait for a child to have is *obedience*. obedient to their parents and obedient to the church and scripture
parents are taught to force that obedience by corporal punishment. physical abuse (and yes. "spanking" is abuse. if you disagree then, well, i'm sorry that someone convinced you that raising a hand against someone so much smaller and weaker than you is anything short of abusive) is ENCOURAGED
in fact, if you DON'T hit your kids, you are seen as A BAD PARENT, who is failing to properly "train" their child, and who is dooming their child to a life of wickedness, sin, and suffering ("he who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him." or, put more simply, "spare the rod spoil the child")
parents are told to ignore their own despair and revulsion towards the idea of harming their child, and to hit them anyway. hit the kid and ignore the voice in your head that says hitting kids is wrong. remind yourself that this is for the child's own good. remind yourself that this is god's will.
you're also supposed to remind the child that you are hurting them for their own good, because god commands it. teach them that people hurting them is a good thing.
and many suggest that after you beat them, give your child comfort (comfort from the distress caused by being beaten by you, who is supposed to protect them from harm) and to give them affection (to drive home the point that hurting them is how you show love). which, if you know about the cycle of abusive relationships (tension, violent incident, reconciliation, calm) then you can see how this is pretty much a mirror image of that
it's fucking evil
look up the book "to train up a child" if you want to see this taken to the extreme. even many fundamentalists thing the methodology is too extreme, but they generally agree with the ideology/principles behind it
#eliot posts#exvangelical#abuse cw#christianity cw#religious trauma cw#my parents weren't even that religious compared to some others i knew#but they had thoroughly absorbed the abusive ideologies peddled by that specific belief system#i was only beaten a dozen or so times that i can remember#my sister had it way worse#but even still. it fucked me up#wooden spoons still make me uncomfortable tbh (i also got the belt or the hands but the spoons were the worst and most common)#i still get a little bit afraid that people are gonna hit me when they're really mad at me and i shut down#sidenote: even outside of religion‚ beating children is extremely accepted in rural appalachian culture#and there's just. a lot to disentangle with that#i'd read some pretty good pieces about like. unlearning abusive ideals that were normalized in your culture#whilst not like. fully rejecting or belittling every part of your culture even the good or harmless stuff#though most of those were written by people of colour so not a 100% overlap with my situation#cuz y'know. we don't have racism against us just for being ''rednecks'' or whatever#but we do have our own smaller cultures that have formed outside the mainstream because of geographic isolation and bc poverty#but it's not the exact same situation#SIDENOTE my parents never rlly did the comforting me after beating me thing and were very blatantly beating me out of anger#so i kinda benefited there cuz there wasn't that level of manipulation so i realized it was wrong of them pretty early on#i didn't know it was abuse but i knew it was cruel
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i will shut up abt this i promise but like. the concept of being in a stable safe mutually loving whatever relationship is INSANE . like how can you ever feel bad about yourself or wounded or whatever again. it’s like a superpower or somethi ng. <- doesn’t know what she’s taking abt bc she’s never experienced it or the absence of it after having it merely the negative space of it and is filling in the gaps w logic or something. but it’s INSANE to me. like of course i feel like shit about myself i am catcrumb unloved.jpg!
#purrs#imbeing insane about it i know it’s not that simple / reductive and i will still feel like shit abt myself once im in a relationshp (if i#get to be ♥️) and there are lots of other legitimate reasons to feel shit agtbyiurself. but it’s like no ficking wonder i feel inadequate i#am a 24 year old who lives at home and has never held a hand or whatever next to two 50sometjinf year old married men with pets and phds. of#course i am going to feel inadequate and stupid and lonely. like i canttttt 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 and th w worst part is you can’t just go out into#the world saying that and looking for that it has to find you so i will not join any dating apps or whatever but i don’t fucking go anywhere#so im not going to meet anyone and i knowi am so young and stupid and just having a horrible day that is reminding me of horrors. but the#way i am mentally shoving my whole fist in my mouth. OF COURSE I FEEL LIKE SHIT I DONT HAVE A LIFE PARTNER!!!!!!!!!!!! I DONT HAVE THAT#SAFETY AND STABILITY AND TRUST AND UNCONDITIONAL LOVE!!!!!!!! AND I NEVER HAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#delete later#like this is what makes me crazy abt parents and kids too and whyi don’t think ihave kids. bc i think (and i know this is wrong / unhealthy)#it is a primal human need to be mutually someone else’s number 1 person and when you have kids it’s like you’re gonna love your partner more#than the kids and then the kids (read: me) watch that and get fucked up over it. but also that could just be me reacting to the UNSPEAKABLE#psychological damage of being a twin. which again is ridiculous bc it’s n out like abuse i just had to share something with someone else si#since before i was born and ofc there was more like actually kind of abusive stuff on top of it LOL but that aside. idk what im saying i#just feel so crazy. the amount of composure it takes me every day to not start SCREAMING with frustration and envy when i see ppl being#RIGHTFULLY DESERVEDLY visibly confident and loved. like ok valentines grinch go sit in the drainage pond forever please. but it’s so crazy#like how are you supposed to go through the world unaware of how much love you’re missing out on because you’re young and then you realize I#it and then somehow you miss the train and you are scared you are going to d*e alone ♥️ im normal
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ew what the fuck
#i feel like throwing up#i js saw a post abt someone blatantly shamelessly and disgustingly plagiarizing someone else's work#and god i js wanna ask where do you get that ability to feel no shame to apologize AND FUCKING REPOST ANOTHER SOON AFTER#is fucking mind-blowing to me honestly#and seeing them on a dash from someone i follow make me wanna explode in their (the plagiarizer's) face#ew i need to get this out of my system this is horrifying and offending pls get a life and pick up a dictionary#im sure youll be able to write with ur own hands in a week or two as to not resort to stealing someone else's hard work#the worst part is they make the fica abt A WHOLE NOTHER CHARACTER FROM A DIFFERENT FUCKING SHOW#oh my god i dont think ill stop cussing them out if i continue goodbye im gonna go cool off#— nonsense.#tw discourse#???#idk but ill js tag it as that
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googling how to not give up on the story that's lived in my head for nearly a decade
#sooo embarrassing actually but i literally cried myself to sleep like. a month ago? bc i could no longer see the POINT#because what IS the point#i want to believe that one day i'll manage to write any of these books but there is an overwhelming part of me that knows it wont happen#and that part of me gets louder and louder every day#i can daydream and brainstorm and talk about it as much as i want but it's never going to make it out of my head#because there's something Wrong With Me#i have an endless well of ideas and then my hands and my mouth and my brain get in the way and they never go anywhere#and i had so much hope for this. i've put so many years into it and it still feels like i have NOTHING to show for it#but the worst part is i can't just take a break from it. i can't put it on a shelf or throw it away because then it will haunt me#i will spend every day of my fucking life thinking about these characters and this world because i've poured so much of myself into it#it's like being trapped in fucking purgatory#i feel cursed. i feel genuinely fucking cursed. my brain never stops but my hands have never been able to keep up#anyway. sky whales migrate now.
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This is awesome just remembered I get to write the frottage scene soon assuming I actually write more than 4 words this week.
#.txt#long tags sorryyyyy#fellas do you ever offer everything you can to a man in a silent beg for forgiveness and let yourself accept that seemingly the only part o#you he's willing to touch now that he knows what you are is your dick but whatever you'll take what you can get. and it's selfish too but#it's also all you can offer short of turning your life upside down for him which you refuse to do.#fellas.......... do you ever fight against yourself for weeks because you want and need to forgive someone but can't figure out how.#you ever get torn between someone you care about and nearly have forgiven but you keep getting caught on the fact it's such an unforgivable#slight in the first place. so you take all that he offers but you can't bring yourself to forgive him until he's in front of you with his#hair sticking to his forehead and his hand shaking where it's gripping your bicep.#and seeing him be so open and vulnerable when he really shouldn't with you and really never should have AT ALL with you. makes it finally#click & makes it possible to wrap your head around ''I love him. he cares about me. he did one of the worst things possible. I forgive him.#OR WHATEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! don't quote me on ANY OF THIS I'm always fucking around with motivations and wants and#needs and desires to make shit work how I think is best for all I know this is all useless#I hate posting my writing ever even when it's just set-up stuff like <- all that. BUUUUUT also I need a copy of all that for tomorrow to#remember . what I'm thinking abt basically. SOOOOOOOO YOU GUYS GET TO SEE THIS :3 hope u like what goes thru my head constantly while I'm#stocking shelves. sorry for long vague tags and endless talking yet again just need it written down#*that he'll touch is your dick. I have no idea how that typo happened what happened there
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Negative post / pet health stuff
Sorry for not reblogging promos after I made mine. My pets got fleas again bc my father lied about getting them new flea collars before I moved back in, so I got distracted trying to deal with that. Maybe I'll dig them up and rb them from you guys later. Idk.
#talking about it more in the tags hiiiiii hi hello. sorry. I'm just upset.#I can't drive and he won't drive me to the next town over to buy new flea collars so I had to order them online.......#it'll be three days :(((#three days of bugs in this damn house and on my animals :(((#I'm so mad and also sad#he SAID they were wearing new ones. OBVIOUSLY they aren't bc they're supposed to last 8 MONTHS#I KNEW he was lying too. I was just hoping he'd admit it and buy new ones BEFORE they got bugs again#I had to fucking. pick a bunch of fleas off my dog by hand. it makes me so upset. I hate this I hate this I hate this#we have a bit of flea deterrent / ''killer'' for on furniture left over but it doesn't really work#I used it anyway in certain pet-heavy spots#but I can't do much else until the collars come#AND. worst part? my dad's partner who lives with us has a dog but she won't let us give that dog a flea collar#so if she gets fleas she'll keep them around :((((#dad says ''no [partner] will pick them off by hand bc she cares about that dog so much'' but like#it doesn't work like that#she's gonna get fleas too :(((#they keep getting fleas bc CLEARLY we have them in the yard but we're part of an hoa so we can't do much about that#plus my dad straight up Won't do anything even if he could#at least he gave me some money to buy the collars#whatever. whatever.#roz posts#delete later
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I FINALLY FOUND IT AFTER GETTING DISTRACTED AND MAKING AN ACC TO A WEBSITE IN KOREAN I CANT UNDERSTAND BUT HERE THIS GOT ME ON THE FLOOR <\\\\3 W JAYHOON AAAAAA I
nsfw twitter link
That is-oh my god-I’m speechless pls. no bc I do not know when I will stop thinking about that video or the concept that’s how-that’s how messed up this has me rn. there’s something about the mental image of jayhoon doing that, that is really fucking me up rn 🥲🥲 like especially jay. I absolutely love your brain<3
#sub jay#sub sunghoon#parts of that video that have me fucked up#is the fact that the one getting head<3 the amount he came#and for some reason that’s kinda what I image Jake’s dick looking you know?#anyway putting your hands on the back of jayhoon’s heads when they suck you off</4#</3*#or pulling their hair#but the worst part of is thinking of jay sucking a dick like that#I see jay as shy but sexually confident jay concepts/scenarios#oh fuck they really do get me#them both looking up at you while sucking your dick#insane I wouldn’t make it#imagine them feeding off each other tho ugh#like the way they act heavily influencing the other </33#down astronomically bad for this jayhoon concept rn
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