#<- tagged in case any one needs to block it

[olderthannetfic]

www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/771823370694213632

You need the say the bit about the way canon treats characters way louder because I really think that the way the character is... framed, I guess? accounts for huge chunks of it.

I remember when the Disk Horse was about Finn vs. Kylo Ren from the Star Wars sequel trilogy and I got called racist for trying to point out that Finn was always framed as the comic relief/unserious by the canon. He has a character arc in the first movie, but his emotions and his trauma and his personality are mostly played for laughs (ha! ha! Black janitor guy is scared because he's a coward! - and him being a janitor is a change that came pretty late, he was originally meant to be the top of his class). OTOH Kylo Ren has the camera linger on his anguished face while sad music plays and he monologues about the moral conflicts that he's facing.

The average viewer/reader - especially in the case of visual media - doesn't really stop watching to form non-prejudiced independent opinions on every character (and really shouldn't if your narrative is well-constructed!), that'd take up too much of their mental bandwidth! They let themselves be guided by how things and people are framed, so of course they'd see Ren as Serious and Tragic and Finn as the funny guy, which is inherently less sexy to most people!

Same thing with F/F: when canon treats its women with any degree of complexity and gives them the sort of character traits that are conductive to blorbofication people are all over it!

My dash's been drowning in Rhaenycent for a year now, and that's a show that arguably sorta botched its female characters in the attempt to make them complex! But it doesn't matter, because they set up all these juicy dynamics and the fans are all over it!

Fans LOVE Claudia from IWTV even though the tragedy of her canonical role is that the guys always sideline her for each other.

I went to the Anora tag after seeing the movie and saw a bunch of Anora x reader fic in between the gifs the same way I did for Feyd Rautha from Dune or any other feral unhinged character fans love imagining themselves having sex with (and then blocked it lol).

Like, my taste in women and men is exactly the same but the large majority of characters that fit it are men, because we just don't get a lot of women who are composed, charming rogues on the outside and crippled traumatized messes on the inside, with a narrative that gives this sufficient weight, and also lets them be feral and unhinged. And I actually prefer minority characters because where I'm from I'm from a minority group myself, but again, most of them don't fit the bill personality-wise or framing-wise.

Fandom's a hobby and it's meant to be fun - I'm not gonna be constantly swimming uphill from what the canon is trying to present to me just because a character shares a demographic category with me. I think this is the case for most people, really.

--

My read on a lot of this is that people are sad about the status quo (fair) and are lying to themselves that the culprits are nearby where they can reach them.

If we confront the fact that the real source is the director or the cinematographer or the studio head, it all feels so much more insurmountable.

Of course, one can opt for niche, indie media, but a lot of people don't want to do that, so they fall back on this shitty coping mechanism of pretending that they can yell at the people around them and effect meaningful change.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Well, I was tagged in this reblog (linked for context because that post is wayyyy too long already and I’m prone to run on sentences) so I am going to respond to the part of this that @doublel27 quoted me on. 

I want to make some things clear before I start: 

Critiquing shows does not mean I always hate those shows, few shows are perfect, and for me it is worth discussing what a show did and did not do well. 

I do not care if people like the shows I do not like, and I do not care if people do not like the shows I like. It is extremely rare that people agree on everything in the same piece of media. Everyone is entitled to their own enjoyment of their preferred media and I guarantee you that Shan, Turtles, Ben, Twig, etc. etc. will say the same. Also, since you mentioned Twig’s post about We Are, please let me direct you to the episode of The Conversation where Twig, Ben, and NiNi talk together about their differing opinions on that very show. And in case you were genuinely concerned about Ben and Twig’s feelings on the quality of Thai BLs this year, you can stick around for the second half where they talk about Knock, Knock Boys! Hopefully that will assuage your fears.

Some of the issues I have with vague posting are (a) it can lead to confusion, especially in a case like this where, according to you, maybe boys do love posted a response to eight different people’s commentary simultaneously without attributing which op’s thoughts he was responding to at any point. (b) By bundling eight responses in to one post without @ ing people, it makes it seem like he has misinterpreted other people’s commentary or taken something in intentionally bad faith (c) other tumblr users in a fandom will let people know when an “unrelated post” makes commentary specific enough to be recognized as a response to someone else’s statements thus drawing them in to the conversation. It’s why I prefer to be tagged in responses to the thoughts I share. This is a public forum, whatever I post in here is able to be reblogged, tagged, or commented on. If I didn’t want people to interact with my posts…I wouldn’t post them. If you don’t feel comfortable tagging people who you are responding to, then at least acknowledge them in your writing. We love a cited source.

I don’t love policing language, but since you were more than happy doing it in your post, then I’ll say one thing here: the tone of maybe boys do love’s post does not read, to me, like it is intended to welcome people who appreciate that there is “not a single stance about what qualifies BL as good work.” It reads like it is “reminding” the supposedly eight people he is vague-posting about that they are being unreasonable in their expressed opinions. It especially does not read with the primary intention of welcoming others when Maybe Boys Do Love’s response to Turtle’s initial reblog was to comment on her “respectfulness” and Shan and Ben’s lack thereof simply because they blocked him on Tumblr. A thing which people do every day for any number of reasons. But I digress.

As for my part in your response, you referenced a statement from my tumblr post A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians: 

“We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media”

On the seriousness of this statement, doublel27, you and I are agreed. I think it is valid to state that this should apply to the decisions of writers, directors, etc. of BLs. And I also agree that preventing infantilization and removal of agency from writers, directors, actors, and audiences is a good addition. That said, I do not think critiquing media is in any way shape or form an infantilizing or agency-removing act. 

I do, however, think you are falling victim to the western paternalism/white saviorism you are so upset about by going on to a South East Asian woman’s post and chastising her about not speaking for a South East Asian audience when you are a white westerner?

Also, I think there I might be missing a step in your logical progression when you say “I’m of the opinion that what’s good for queer Thai television is not for foreign audiences to decide, ultimately. That’s for queer Thai people to decide.” It would amaze me greatly if this hypothetical monolith of queer people in Thailand were to be 100% in agreement about what constitutes good queer television. Personally I see your belief that no one outside of queer Thai people is allowed to critique queer Thai shows as actually undermining the legitimacy of this genre as a source of entertainment for audiences outside of just queer (in this case) Thai people. Media is frequently made with an intended audience in mind, but that does not mean people outside that target audience are barred from engaging with it. No one is saying “this is a bad queer Thai show and I am deciding that for all queer people” they are saying “here is what or why I did not like the decision they made about x,y,z."

If you are going to quote me, then I hope you also read the first half of my Pause for Reflection posts Taking Pause for Reflection- Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends where I talk about respectable promiscuity and discuss the ways in which respectability politics have resulted in “current LGBTQ+ political movements shifting away from highlighting sexual liberation as an aspect of queer culture, in order to make queer people more palatable to the overarching heterosexual society. And how that bleeds through in to the kinds of media that exist, the types of queer people portrayed within that media, as well as how often gay sex is shown, the type of gay sex shown, and the number of gay sex partners depicted. (Read: generally infrequently, generally vanilla, generally one).” Just so you are aware of where I stand in all of this and what people like Shan and myself are talking about when we critique the decision to remove sexual content from queer stories for the sake of storytelling or viewership.  

I haven’t mentioned this one in awhile but I used to talk a lot about my perception of queer content being able to be categorized in By, For, and About Queers formatting. For example, a film like Pariah (2011) is a story about a queer person created by a queer person with a narrative that feels like it is made for the enjoyment of queer people above all others (but of course anyone can watch).

^I think this was made by abl, who I am not tagging because I do not want to drag them in to this conversation, but whose image I still want to cite.

This is obviously subjective, and I’m not saying it should always be used, but I know some people can find it nice to organize things by categories. 

Again, this is subjective but I’ll give a short list of a couple of BLs that I personally would categorize as being For queer people- by which I mean it feels like a love letter to queer people, I can see something of myself and my experiences in it, and I would not be surprised if the primary intended audience was queer people:

I Told Sunset About You

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

What Did You Eat Yesterday

Koisenu Futari

Here is a short list of some BLs I would personally categorize under About queer people- that is, queer people are the main characters but the piece feels like the primary intended audience is not queer people:

Kiseki: Dear to Me

KinnPorsche

My School President

Spare Me Your Mercy

That does not mean the shows about queer people aren’t queer stories, but it does mean the intention behind the work is different. Which brings me all the way back to Spare Me Your Mercy since that’s what started all of this in the first place: 

Lux Sirilux in an interview before the show came out stated:

“Having NC would steal the attention of the story because what we were going to talk about was dark drama and euthanasia.”

She also says: 

“The characters are gay, but we don’t offer [fan]service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes."

(I got these statements above from this post by clariredaring who I am not tagging in this because I do not want to pull them in to this whole ordeal any more than they already have been).

Lux is absolutely allowed to make the decision to remove NC scenes from SMYM if she believes that it will detract from the vibe and the overarching theme. Sammon is absolutely allowed to approve and accept the removal of NC content from the Spare Me Your Mercy television show. No one is arguing that. (And I feel comfortable speaking for Shan here at the very least because we talk about shows a lot and I know what her post was actually saying as it relates to viewership). I already wrote a post about my feelings on this matter where I discussed why I feel that choice went wrong in this case. That does not mean anyone else has to feel that way, and I’m not forcing anyone to agree with me. And if people disagree with me, fine, they are welcome to discuss with me why they feel like the story worked as is if they want to and ignore me if they don't. (And literally as I was writing this a great example of someone disagreeing with me came through in this post by elimstillnotgarak who I will not be tagging in this simply because I don't want to drag someone who is not involved in this in to a very different discussion). But there is a level of disingenuousness that comes with the statement 'you should not say anything negative ever about the stories you have watched from cultures outside of your own.' I'm not saying this is the belief you hold, but I am saying that is how I interpret your statements about not speaking for a queer Thai audience.

And, as someone who has written multiple essays breaking down sex scenes in BLs, let me just say that I believe there is a fundamental difference between NC scenes and fanservice. I think there are instances where fanservice can result in positive changes (The Magnus Archives, for example, updated their ending after seeing how much fans were shipping Jon and Martin together and I think the ending was better for it) but I think there are a lot of times when fanservice actually does undermine the narrative. As for NC scenes, there are definitely ones that detract from the story at hand, and there are ones that I think people throw in as a bandaid in the hopes that they can get higher viewership (Playboyy and Battle of the Writers are examples of that imo) but I think there are a lot of times when NC scenes actually improve the narratives they are a part of expressly because they can tell you a whole hell of a lot about a character’s relationship and feelings to another person in a very short period of time. 

For me, I think Sammon and Lux here engaged in respectability politics operating under a belief that NC scenes between these queer characters would take away from the larger story they were trying to tell. And I think that the believability of the romantic relationship between Kan and Tew suffered for it. This is a show that already was written for a larger general audience because most of Sammon’s work places some medical mystery narrative at the front and center (which makes sense because she’s a doctor). 

And personally doublel27 I feel you are drawing a false equivalency between critique and infantilization and I would appreciate it if next time you quote me, you make sure you read the entirety of the post so that you can better understand that I will continue to be critical of people who submit to respectable promiscuity and make the choice to tone down the queerness in their story because they are worried it will distract the audience at large.

[demiaroacejadeharley]

I'm appalled by the way Vivziepop stans are treating Octavia for setting boundaries between her and Stolas. What really upsets me the most about it, I was in a similar situation as Octavia when I was younger. My father acted the same way Stolas did (minus the cheating) and put his girlfriend and her kids over my brother and I. He would do everything he could to not see my brother and I on the days that were supposed to be his visitation days.

The misogyny radiating from both Vivziepop and her fans makes me extremely uncomfortable. And it doesn't help that there have been instances on here where stans are invading the anti and critical tags just to harass anyone who makes one small criticism about Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, and Vivziepop as a person and content creator.

I've said this before in another post, and I will say this again in case stans see this post, but I don't care if people watch Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. And I don't have an issue with people watching the shows. My only concern is those people who take any criticisms about both shows and the creator to heart and attacking anyone who makes those critiques. You could literally say that you wish that certain characters weren't drawn using too many shades of red, and you'll get shit on for it.

The whole "don't like, don't look" mentality needs to be normalized. If stans don't like people critiquing Vivziepop and her work, then they shouldn't be going through the anti and critical tags. They can easily just block antis/critics that come onto their feed and filter out the anti and critical tags. It's so easy to avoid any anti and critical content. But they instead decided to bully and harass anyone who says anything remotely critical.

To end this post (and in case any stan sees this post), I don't go into the regular tags and harass stans. As a matter of fact, I'm not on here often due to my mental health and other offline stuff. I'm also in the process of trying to find a full-time job because working part-time isn't financially supporting me anymore. People watching Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss isn't my main issue. My issue is stans harassing anyone that doesn't like the shows and Vivziepop.

[pfhwrittes]

reblogging this again because i was informed it is mother's day in the US today!

it’s mothering sunday today in the UK so i’m gonna pop down some thoughts about what tf141 get up to

(headcanons for gaz, price and soap’s immediate family below. ghost is the only one with a canon family so i’ll be sticking with that)

TW: light angst for ghost’s headcanon

price does his best to go visit his mum if he can. he’ll turn up with a fresh hair cut, his facial hair trimmed down to stubble, wearing one of the shirts she gave him for his birthday or a jumper that she says really brings out his eyes. he’s got her a box of her favourite chocolates, a bouquet of pink tulips and a tasteful card. you know this man has made lunch reservations at her favourite restaurant and he treats her like a queen for the entire day (no different from how he usually treats his mum honestly). if he can’t visit her, he’s ordered a frankly massive bouquet to be hand delivered to her with a card to apologise for missing her today. he’ll make it up to her the next time he visits. 

gaz, much like price, also tries to visit his mums if he can. he’ll coordinate the gifts with his younger brother (his brother chooses the gifts, gaz pays for them) before dropping round the night before with a huge bag of takeaway from two different places so both of his mums can have their favourite meals. he stays overnight at his mums’ house in his childhood bedroom so he can get up bright and early to make them both breakfast for mother’s day like he has done since he was 11. (he’s learned not to bring it into their bedroom now, he doesn’t need first hand evidence that his mums still enjoy a very active sex life)

soap doesn’t go up to visit his mum (and his horde of sisters and sisters-in-law) but he does spend a small fortune on flowers, gift cards, presents and cards. every single female relative of his is getting a present for mother’s day regardless of whether they’re mothers or not. he consistently out performs the other male relatives in his family (much to their chagrin) and he knows it. he’s definitely unbearably smug about it too. 

ghost would rather be left alone for mother’s day. he might go to visit his mum and beth’s grave and pop flowers on them. more often then not he just turns his phone off, ignores the telly running mother’s day adverts and reads one of beth’s favourite books. later on he’ll dig out one of the few photos he has of his mum and rubs his thumb very carefully over her smiling cheek before tucking it away somewhere safe.

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[alchemiclee]

I really hate when people say this. if I dont record, I cant "enjoy it in the moment" because I dissociate out of my damn mind and then have no memory of it! recording helps ground me and keep me focused in the moment! let me do what I need to in order to enjoy things you soggy potato 😭

plus, as a photographer/aspiring videographer who hasn't had the luck to become friends with bands and work with them, IM DOING A THING I ENJOY AS WELL, SO SHUT UP LMAO. I enjoy doing video and photos MORE than standing in a crowded, overwhelming room watching people do stuff on a stage. THATS LIYERALLY ME LIVING IN THE MOMENT DOING A THING I ENJOY!!!!! WHY IS THAT WRONG?!

[nightjarring]

Watching people fight over and defend hh is insane. People who think it's good have utterly shit taste obviously but im mostly baffled by the other people who have come to the conclusion it sucks but also really need there to be a moral or ethical reason to justify why it sucks. It can't JUST be ugly or annoying or poorly made, it needs to be morally irredeemable.

[lunarharp]

er... extreme amount of dragon age: the veilguard scribbles to soothe my heart🐦‍⬛💀

[fitzselfships]

I just realized I probably need to have a tag to block for other ships involving Zooble (self ships and otherwise) so I added it to my carrd!! It's in the dni section (I didn't know where else to put it lol) but I'll go ahead and put it here too. Pls tag other Zooble ships as fitz don't look

[werebear-butch]

Seriously you can't shout do your own research but not actually do your own research. Because I researched what you were talking about and I found many pictures from the 70s of groups of lesbians that include bisexual women and trans men. Maybe you could actually do the research you claim to have done instead of pulling things out of your ass so you can pretend to be the ultimate authority on people's identity?

Wasn’t pretending to be the ultimate authority on anything really. I made one rant post on my private side blog and specifically didn’t tag it so it wouldn’t be targeting anyone. Y’all sought that post out to start a fight.

Bi lesbian was a term used in the 80s and 90s but has since fallen out of use because queer folks recognized the separation of the two identities. THAT is the historical context. Bisexual folks and trans men and lesbians have fought for equality side by side and form close friendships. There is some overlap in the way younger queer folks may cycle through all of those identities before finding who they really are. A lot of lesbians identified as bi before unpacking their comphet. A lot of bi folks identified as lesbians before eventually realizing they were attracted to men and bisexuality was a better fit. A lot of people who thought they were lesbians later came out as trans men. But at the same time, each of these identities also has things that make them very different lived experiences. That is something recognized on all sides of the fence.

Masculinity is historically important to lesbianism, yes! I recognize that! Hell, I am trans masc, I use primarily they/them pronouns and claim butch as an identity. I’m very aware of the gender fuckery that exists within the lesbian community, I’m very aware of masculine terms being commonly used among masc and butch lesbians. Butch boys are incredible! Butch husbands and boyfriends are great! Lesbians that use he/him pronouns rock! Nonbinary, gender-fluid, etc lesbians are to be celebrated! Trans masc lesbians are cool as fuck, as are trans women lesbians!

But lesbianism has still always excluded men. It is central to lesbianism as an identity. Lesbianism is attraction to non men. That doesn’t exclude masculine folks, and it doesn’t exclude trans women (because trans women, get this, aren’t men!), just men.

[reiderwriter]

In Case I'm Mistaken

Chapter Five of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your first run-in with Spencer Reid since he left you so spectacularly is fraught with tension. Sexual and otherwise.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI pregnancy symptoms, morning sickness/ throwing up, fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, choking, slapping, creampie but she's pregnant already, mild case details, etc.

A/N: We're halfway through! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys how stupid and oblivious Spencer is being because I can't promise he'll wise up anytime soon lmao. If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the comments ♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

When you left Spencer's apartment, you expected a call or a text or an email in the next three days. Penelope told you that's most likely when they'd wrap the case and when he'd be back at his apartment to see the stunt you had pulled. 

You tried to force yourself back to work in the meantime, and it almost worked. Until you had to spend three hours a day crouched over a toilet bowl, emptying your stomach lining again and again. You had spent almost a full month like that before you realised you hadn't heard from him. 

First, it was cases, then it was casework, and then it was cases again, but if probed, Spencer truly would have no idea you'd tried to get in contact with him at all. And it seemed he didn't care in the slightest.

He'd been home, but he hadn't been looking for anything out of place, so he hadn't seen anything out of place. Certainly not a bookshelf spelling out “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.” It was your choice to leave the cryptic message though, and you hadn't exactly left him any notes to say that you'd dropped by. 

But finding out you were pregnant on a night you'd half-expected to throttle the man who'd impregnated you (verbally) and then having cried on his couch with one of his very close female friends? Yeah, you were confused and lost, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

With emotions and hormones running high, you couldn't even tell if Spencer was purposefully ignoring you or not. 

The only saving grace in that month was your promotion. 

It literally could not have come at a better time, and you'd enjoyed signing the papers greatly knowing you'd be blindsiding your boss with a pregnancy announcement in the next three months, should you be able to carry the baby successfully to that point. 

You'd had your first check-up without a call from Spencer. You'd picked out your first baby outfit without a call from Spencer. You were pretty confident that you'd give birth to the goddamn baby without a call from Spencer. 

Which is why when you found him in your office a month later, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him. 

Between classes, you'd taken to running to the bathroom to hang your head in shame, not over morning sickness at all yet. You'd taken to keeping cereal bars and pregnancy safe snacks in your office in case you needed something else to help you power through the morning. 

That morning was worse than others, with less than half your students in attendance and still two hours to waste standing up in front of a podium - department rules. 

You'd thought you were going to expire in front of that toilet bowl, sending up your prayers as you checked your watch and realised you'd have a class again in an hour or two that you weren't fully prepped for. 

So you slinked back to your office and tried to throw yourself onto the sofa, but unfortunately for you, a large man was blocking your way. 

“Can I help you?” You eked out, voice weak but still able to convey all the annoyance you felt at the door. 

“Sorry, sorry, this is your…?" The man said, smiling down at you. You had to give it to him, the man was good looking but you just waited for him to stand aside again. 

“Do you mind?” You said, gesturing to the door you now knew the man was blocking. He wasn't letting you in for some reason, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why. It was your goddamn office for christ's sake. Your snacks were inside. 

“Sorry, following orders.”

“Right, and whose orders would those be Mr…”

“SSA Luke Alvez,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You'd have introduced yourself politely under any other circumstances but in reaching out his hand and giving his title, you'd seen the flash of his FBI badge on his hip and knew exactly who was behind this. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, ducking under the man's arms and slamming the door to your office open to find Doctor Spencer Reid huddled over some files, two women flanking him on either side. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The two women looked taken aback, straightening immediately as they looked between you and Spencer. He was slow to take his eyes off whatever it was they were working on, as if playing with you once again. 

You really regretted keeping his desk around, seeing how comfortable he looked there, how normal it was for you to see him there.

“Doctor Y/N. Nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to-?” You scoffed and slammed the door once more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

One of the women quickly excused herself from the situation, almost as soon as she realised that once you'd finally locked eyes with Spencer, neither of you looked away. 

“I'm sorry to intrude, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I'm the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. We really wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.” 

You had to give it to the woman, but she caught on quickly and stepped between the two of you, breaking eye contact and forcing your attention onto her. You introduced yourself quickly. 

“Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I trudt that if you're here, something bad has happened.” 

You noticed a flash of something as Emily shook your hand, hearing your name. It was subtle, and it was quick, but you saw her eyes flick to your stomach and then back up, and you froze. 

She knew. Penelope hadn't exactly broken your trust - you never told her to keep a secret from anyone but Spencer - but you felt your guard go back up twofold. 

“Emily, can I talk privately with Y/N for a moment?” Spencer asked, and you resisted the urge to cradle yourself, to cover whatever it was she may have seen in your appearance or the way you held yourself that became your tell. 

You wanted to tell Spencer you were pregnant, sure, but you'd wanted to tell him a month ago. Now? Now you were pissed off. 

The older woman quietly bowed out, reminding Spencer to reconvene with her in another hour. She shut the door quietly after she went, and you listened carefully to the retreating murmurs of her and the other agent down the hall until you were confident you were more or less alone. 

And then you picked up the nearest book and threw it. 

“Y/N! Listen, I can explain-” 

You threw another book, and this one hit his arm. He winced and rubbed it quickly as he flinched away from you, picking up your third weapon. 

“Explain what? Explain why you've commandeered my office for secret FBI business? Explain why you left me behind like a discarded cum rag after we had sex? Maybe you-” 

“Y/N, I had a case, I didn't want to-” You threw another book, but he batted it away this time. 

“Can we just talk like adults, please?” He stepped forward and grabbed your wrist just as you reloaded with another book, forcing the tome from your grip in a few seconds. 

“The Norton Anthology? Really? You'd bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

“It has some interesting essays on psychoanalysis and literary theory. You should be honoured that I'd even think of throwing it at you.” 

He just scowled and sat you down on the couch, following you there to sit next to you. 

“Why are you still so frustrated? I thought we moved past this- this resentment?” 

For the last few weeks, you'd hoped that Spencer was just clueless about what you were going through. That he'd been swamped with work and hadn't seen your message. But getting the confirmation in real time was winding. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, and you had to fight to fill them again, refusing to let yourself be so downright pathetic.

“What resentment did we move past exactly, Spencer? Because I remember the sex, but I do not remember your apology.”

“Why should I apologise?” The sincerity in his voice had your fingers itching to knock his lights off for him.

“Well, gee, for a starter, maybe for finding my address online and showing up to my house uninvited and unannounced.” 

“I did announce it. You just blocked my number and email.” 

You scoffed and threw yourself back in your chair. 

“Number, yes. Email? No. You sent it from an unauthorised network email. All your emails sat in my spam folder until last month.” 

He furrowed his brows at the news, but you just crossed your arms and waited for whatever he'd say next to get out of taking responsibility. 

“I'm sorry.” 

To say you weren't expecting that was an understatement. You felt so uncomfortable with the words you fidgeted in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well…” 

Standing, you moved to your desk and grabbed the snacks you'd come here to find, slamming your desk draw shut and keeping the desk between you, sitting in your chair. 

“We're working a case.” 

“I can tell.” 

He leant over the desk and grabbed one of your snacks, opening a cereal bar quickly and taking a bite. 

“Three of the students in our faculty have gone missing in the last 30 days.” 

You nodded as you listened, but your eyes were on your snack, in his hand, in his mouth. The bastard. 

“I need to use the office for a few days. I won't disturb you, but we need some space as a base on campus, and this is our best option.”

“Not afraid I'll walk away with critical documents this time?” 

“This time, I have everything memorised. I've read all the documents. You can't ruin the case this time.”

You stood and grabbed your snack from his hand as he lifted it to take another bite, throwing it straight into the trash can. 

“What was that for?”

“For being a jerk.”

You stomped over to your bag and pulled out your headphones, putting them on as he attempted to keep talking to you. 

“Y/N, you're being immature-” 

“You just stole my snack like it's playtime at recess, Spencer. I'm not the immature one.” 

You turned the music on as he attempted to talk to you, but you didn't budge or take them off, returning to the couch to lay comfortably once more. 

Something about the infuriating, beautiful man had you wanting to act out, reaching new levels of immaturity. 

You felt the dip in the couch as he joined you there, felt him waving in front of your face. You smiled at his growing frustration as you heard him raise his voice just slightly. 

Then, your legs were pulled out from under you, and you squeaked in shock as Spencer Reid pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him. Your eyes blew open, and you grabbed at his shirt for balance, leaving you open to his attacks as he knocked the headphones off your head. 

“You're such a…a..” 

“Jackass? Okay, sure, but I'm a jackass you're going to listen to.”

“Make me.” 

The words were a dare, a challenge you didn't think he'd rise to. But his hands snaked around your neck, and he pulled your lips down to him, silencing you completely with another angry kiss.

Your lips parted immediately, all too happy to take in his wondering tongue as you battled for dominance. His hands trailed up and down your body, cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing your already sensitive breasts, pushing your skirt up so his hands could roam underneath. 

You squirmed in his lap, memories of the last night you'd seen him rushing back. His tongue, his hands, fuck, his cock. Pregnancy hormones or just plain old lust, you wanted it all over again, and you didn't stop to think about it for a second. Any second he was kissing you was a second he wasn't talking. 

You ground your hips into his as he worked a finger into your underwear, scraping against your clit as he pulled his head away, burying it in your neck as he began nipping and licking your skin, on a mission to taste every inch of you. 

“Spencer,” You gasped as he began rubbing your clit faster, your body providing all the juices he needed to make you feel good. 

“Spencer, we should- fuck!” It'd been only minutes, but he'd already pushed you over the edge, and you died your first little death cumming on his fingers. 

“We should fuck? Yes, yeah I can get behind that,” he said, laying you down again and slowly pulling down your damp underwear. 

“That's not what I was going to say, you bastard,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“I know, but this is much better, don't you think?” He pulled away and fumbled with his pants, pulling them down only far enough to free his cock before sliding into you. He sheathed Himself inside you, pushing inch by inch until he was at your limit, and then he stopped. 

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your neck and collarbones, he took his time with each spot, making a line down your body, a record of every place he had possessed you without moving an inch. 

“Spencer, you can't- need to-” you whined, not minding sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum when he was giving you a pretty great reason to do so. 

He had eaten your snacks and now he was just keeping his cock warm inside of you, not even bothering to rub your clit anymore, his hands more focused on keeping his weight up. 

“I need to do what, Y/N? Tell me, but be quiet about it. This office isn't soundproof, remember.” 

 “Shit, shit, shit, shit-” 

You tried to roll your hips under him, to take the pleasure you needed, but he stopped you, letting his hips press deeper into yours, making himself heavy. You tried another tactic. 

“Oh, come on Spencer, you can't even fuck me properly now? Pathetic.’

“Watch it-” he said, but you cut him off again.

“Watch what? You're not doing anything. Maybe I'll ask that little friend of yours outside for some help instead, I'm sure Agent Alvez would be more than happy to-” 

A short, soft slap to your face cut your words off as he spoke, the hand that hit you immediately pushing down to your neck and squeezing lightly. 

“You're. Mine,” he spat, and started immediately rolling his hips into you quickly. 

You wrapped your legs up and around him, your hands lifting to grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place around your throat.

He fucked you harder and your breaths became shallow, eyes locked with his as he panted and writhed above you. He didn't look away. You couldn't. You were drunk on his cock, completely unable to sober up and just waiting for your orgasm to strike you once again. 

You weren't two civilised people in that room, but animals, forcing one another to submit, to give in to temptation. 

His hand on your throat came loose as he came, chest falling down to yours as he flooded your insides with cum once again. To give him credit where credit was due, he kept his cock inside of you and rubbed your clit again to completion, swallowing your every moan and whimper with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of you convulsing on his cock. 

When you were both finally done, he let himself rest on top of you, burying his head in your neck and inhaling your scent as you both dropped back down into reality. 

“Get up,” you said first, pushing him up and watching him peel out of you as you reached back to the coffee table for the box of tissues there. 

“We need to clean up,” You said attempting to tidy the cum leaking out of you away, as if it were merely a spilt drink. 

He sat up, giving his cock a wipe down before putting his clothes back together. You both sat side by side, minding your own business, making yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible and ignoring the elephant in the room. 

He broke the silence first. 

“The girls, they're all our students. The only thing they share is that they all took both of our courses.” 

Your heart dropped as you remembered he wasn't here for you, that he had other jobs and responsibilities. You were merely a pleasurable afterthought. 

“Shit,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You stretched out and stood, sore but still able to make your body work for you. 

“You're sure there's nothing else? No clubs, no extra curricular?” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, unsure about how much to tell you. 

“They fit a basic profile which tells us the unsub is killing people as a scapegoat and…hasn't got to his intended target yet.” 

You nodded as you took in the information, standing and leading yourself back to your desk and grabbing your bag again. 

“Look, just… just use the room until you get your guy. I'll work from the library or a study room or something, just…” You ran another hand through your hair, exasperated. 

“Y/N, no, we don't need to out you out, we shared the office space before, we can-” 

“We can't. Five minutes alone in this room together today proved… that we can't. Don't get distracted.” 

You grabbed more books, turning away from him to avoid the guilty looks he was shooting you. 

You'd almost collected everything, hesitating as you grabbed your pregnancy vitamins from your draw, stuffing them quickly into your bag before moving closer to the door. 

It opened before you could open it, and Emily Prentiss made herself known again. 

“Good, you're already packed,” she said, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over her own. 

“I didn't know you all wanted rid of me so badly,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even and pleasant as possible and greatly failing. 

“We don't want to get rid of you. Y/N, I'm afraid it's quite the opposite.” 

Your heart slowed to a stop, and your blood ran cold as she offered you a sympathetic glance. You must've stumbled a bit backwards because Spencer's hand was immediately on your lower back, his body curved protectively around you as you too wrapped your arms around yourself, around your baby. 

“We've had contact with the killer, and we think you're his intended target,” Emily explained in as even a tone as you'd ever heard someone give a death sentence. 

“We've contacted WitSec, but until then, we'll be taking you into protective custody ourselves. I have a spare room, and we'll grab some of your things before you move in, everything you need to feel comfortable. Do you understand?” 

“No,” you said, but it wasn't your voice. You felt grateful, though, because you didn't understand. There was someone trying to kill you, and you absolutely didn't understand. You'd just had sex with Spencer Reid again, and you hadn't told him you were pregnant with his child, and nothing made 6 there was someone trying to kill you. 

But it wasn't your voice saying no, so you stopped thinking and kistened. 

“No, she'll… she'll stay with me,” Spencer said, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer, nearly crushing you in his arms. 

“Spencer, it's not up to you,” Emily said, her voice a clear warning even to your buzzing ears. 

“Y/N? Y/N, listen to me, please,” he said, gripping your shoulders again and twisting you around so he was all you could see, ducking his head lower so you were directly in his eyeline. 

“Y/N, I'll keep you safe. Come and stay with me.” 

You thought about his apartment and the message you'd left. You thought about the month you spent waiting for him to call, and the month that you'd spent wanting to rip his throat out. You thought about his hands on your skin, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his cock buried inside of you. You thought, too, about the doctors appointments you'd have to reschedule. You thought about the baby clothes you'd have to leave behind. You thought about how you'd have to hide your morning sickness, and your growing baby bump, and your hormones, and all the supplements recommended by your Doctor because you already loved your baby and you wanted them to be healthy. 

You thought that if you went with him, you'd have to tell him and confront whatever decision he made regarding you and the baby.

You thought logically that you shouldn't do it. But his hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwined, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, and you were nodding. 

“Yes,” you said when you should've gone with Emily. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and immediately bundled you out of the office and out of your comfort zone. 

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @alondralolll @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @pleasantwitchgarden @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @fabulouslynerdy @batrensworld @cattosmush @im-this-girl @sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere @lariclifford @daphnesutton

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Puppy Love

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this post

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: the golden retriever puppy you were fostering had gone missing and ran into f1 driver lando norris. lando attempted calling the number on his collar, talking to a few shelters, and making some found dog signs, but he wasn’t successful in finding you. this was until you stumbled upon an instagram post of his, allowing you to reach out and have the perfect puppy meet cute.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: @coff33andb00ks I hope you like it <3

-Monaco, F1 Summer Break-

There was no doubt that Lando was due for a much needed break from F1. He however did not imagine he'd be spending it with someone else.

He was walking around the Monegasque streets near his apartment when something blonde and fluffy ran straight into his legs, causing him to stumble backwards.

He caught his balance, looking towards the ground to find a golden retriever sitting at his feet.

He softly squealed as he knelt down to pet the puppy, checking its tag for information. "Your name is Oscar, huh?" he smiled, holding the dog's face in his hands. “That’s cute. I guess you're twinning with my teammate.”

He checked the back of the tag for a phone number to call, but received no answer after a few attempts.

He'd waited around that area of Monaco in case Oscar's owner had only been a few blocks away, but as time quickly passed, he had to accept that no one was going to show up.

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, maxfewtrell and 1,194,843 more

landonorris I found this adorable boy on my walk today in monaco. hope I can find his owner(s) soon

view comments

charles_leclerc all my friends have dogs now 🥰

maxverstappen1 😐

charles_leclerc @/maxverstappen1 you heard me

user6 that's literally the cutest puppy I've ever seen

user8 he looks so sweet 😭

lewishamilton looks like roscoe has a lot of competition now

♡ by landonorris

user1 AWWWW

user4 🥺

-A Day Later-

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Lando had mutually agreed to meet up at a dog park. The minute he spotted you oscar ran and jumped straight into your arms to lick your face.

“Hey buddy,” you laughed, cuddling up to the puppy on your arms.

You held a hand out to Lando, "It's great to meet you. Thank you so much for taking care him."

"It was no problem," he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Lando melted at the adorable interaction between you and Oscar. You were smiling and scrunching your nose, petting the soft fur on the top of the puppy's head.

"I'm gonna miss him," he said.

You smiled at Lando then back at Oscar who was still cradled in your arms. You booped his snout and shifted your gaze back to Lando.

"He is a foster... maybe you'd like to consider adopting him?"

Lando's eyes lit up, "Seriously?"

You laughed softly and nodded your head.

"Yes, absolutely. I would love to adopt him."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, lando.jpg, maxfewtrell, and 378,583 more

yourusername a certain someone is excited to see @/landonorris again

view comments

maxfewtrell aw is that certain someone you

yourusername …

user1 everyone back the fuck up who is she and how is she so gorgeous

landonorris I can see the ferrari logo on your top you know

yourusername it’s not like I have any other f1 merch

landonorris I guess I’ll have to give you my McLaren shirt whenever you come to a race 😉

yourusername I suppose you will

user7 guys they're flirting this isn't a drill

user2 Lando likes this on both accs he’s WHIPPED

user10 I’m still not over how fucking adorable oscar is

oscarpiastri aw thanks

user6 😭

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

Before the Netherlands Grand Prix Lando had asked you to take care of Oscar for another few days. The adoption papers had already been signed but he wanted to get to know the puppy more before ever considering bringing him along to a race.

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 428,502 more

yourusername @/landonorris oscar misses you 🥺

view comments

user7 likely place for him to be

user7 oh you were talking about the dog

user1 HE LOOKS SO SAD :(

user3 NOOO

user8 how could you resist those eyes

landonorris I miss you both too

♡ by yourusername

maxfewtrell “both”. oh? I didn't know you two were close like that 🧐

user5 max is so me

-Azerbaijan Grand Prix-

liked by mclarenracingf1, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 582,472 more

yourusername jumping straight into his dad’s arms

view comments

landonorris ❤️

♡ by yourusername

user7 SCREAM

user1 THE HEARTTTTTTAAHHHHH

user4 “into his DAD’S arms”

user19 guys they’re in love I’m calling it

mclarenracingf1 the cutest guest we’ve ever had 🥰

landonorris the cutest dog in the paddock

charles_leclerc you take that back

lewishamilton you take that back

pierregasly you take that back

user10 I feel like after every post they just make it seem more and more like they're a couple

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell, and 1,038,573 more

lando.jpg @/yourusername

comments are restricted

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 1,582,921 more landonorris cuddles with my boy and my girl ❤️

view comments

yourusername I love you

landonorris I love you 🫶

danielricciardo awwww

oscarpiastri mom and dad are back together

maxfewtrell I fucking knew it

user19 I CALLED IT

user1 cutest love story ever 😭

[prokopetz]

I just wrote a d44 table for a very stupid bit (wanted to have a 5e npc who may or may not ever get used return a random result to any effect used to discern their creature type, but there's 14 types in 5e and a d44 with choose and add a tag then choose was the closest I could get), and it had me wondering how often the stranger dXX tables get used. And also if there was a better way for 14 equally weighted options on a table

As discussed in a recent post, in order to create an equally weighted dice table without forced re-rolls, the number of entries on the table needs to be a multiple of the prime factors of the number of sides on the dice. Fourteen has a prime factor of seven, which is not found in the standard polyhedra (a standard set of polyhedral dice offers prime factors of 2, 3 and 5), so to do it with dice you'd need, like, a d7.

If you're okay with allowing some forced re-rolls, you're already doing pretty well – a d44 lookup table with fourteen entries only forces you to re-roll one time in eight. We can make the odds of a forced re-roll arbitrarily small by resorting to increasingly baroque combinations of standard dice, so here it's less about the math and more about your tolerance for Shenanigans. A good compromise between minimising forced re-rolls and ease of use might be a d100 lookup table indexed in blocks of seven (i.e., 01–07, 08–14, 15–21, etc.); this would force a re-roll on a result of 99 or 00, or one time in fifty.

Venturing beyond dice, one interesting possibility is tarot cards: if you divide the minor and major arcana into separate decks, the minor arcana can be used as an ersatz d14 owing to the fact that tarot decks have four court cards per suit rather than three. Many RPGs which use tarot cards for conflict resolution make heavy use of what are effectively d14 lookup tables for this reason; His Majesty the Worm springs to mind as a reasonably accessible example of the type.

(The major arcana, meanwhile, can stand in for a d22, another equally weighted table size that's impossible to achieve without forced re-rolls using standard dice, since it has a prime factor of 11.)

As for "stranger dXX tables", it depends on what you mean by that. Lookup tables indexed with a pair of dice where the first die refers you to an internal sub-table to be read from the second die are commonly found using all sorts of dice, but the "dXY" notation (i.e., where X is the number of sides on the first die and Y is the number of sides on the second die) isn't commonly used outside the legacy case of "d66" for d6,d6 tables. Off the top of my head, @gormengeist's Greed makes minor use of both d44 and d88 tables (notated as such), and I'm pretty sure I read something recently that uses 32-entry dice tables notated as d48, though for the life of me I can't recall what.

[captainlunaxmen]

First Sight

Dark!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Here we are! Sorry for the wait, but I thought I had everything planned out and... I didn't, so I'm sorry I made you wait this long❤️❤️❤️

Let me know what you think, please, because this is my first time writing a dark fic, so feedback is highly encouraged in this case🙏🙏🙏

Summary: Y/n has been part of the Covey since she can remember, when her best friend Lucy Gray is chosen for the Hunger Games her world is threatened, she need to stay strong for her family. She's never been one to love attention. She never wants to draw too much anyway, gladly leaving the stage to her best friend, but she managed to catch someone's attention anyway. A young, ambitious man from the Capitol saw her for just a moment, but that was enough to make an obsession grow inside him.

Warnings: dark fic, obsession, harassment, smut, rape.

Tag list:

@7s3ven @wintersforest @tallulah477 @diannnnsss @that-one-person-blue @kemo19

"Are you sure you want to wear that?" Y/n asks her best friend as they get ready to, yet, another reaping day.

"Of course." Lucy Gray answers, simply as ever, "at least I'll look pretty when they say my name."

"If." Y/n reminds her, "if they say your name."

"After all that mess with Billy Taupe? Mayfair will surely ask her daddy to pull some strings." Lucy Gray slightly scoffs.

"Maybe not..."

"You're too optimistic sometimes." She smiles at her friends, fixing the colourful skirt down.

"I just don't want to think about the worst." Y/n replies, tightening the belt on her own dress.

"Better get used to it."

They share a look, one filled with hope yet resignation too. They smile at each other and walk hand in hand out their home to get to the town square for the annual reaping.

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

They hold each other's hand until Lucy Gray's name is announced, and after a quick squeeze, she lets her friend's hand go to walk to the stage.

Y/n's breathing is heavy and frantic. She can't believe it, and when she notices Billy Taupe trying to talk to Lucy Gray, she has to contain herself from hitting him with a shoe... or two.

But her eyes are on her best friend walking up, and then she notices something in her hand. Y/n has to contain her laughter when Lucy Gray puts that something in Mayfair's dress. She can guess it was either a snake or a small lizard. Without much reaction to Mayfair's screams and the mayor's order to help his daughter Lucy Gray walk the stairs, but before she could get on, the mayor slaps her right in the face, making her fall Y/n's feet move on their own, she need to be blocked by a Peacekeeper to realise what was happening. She looks behind her to the rest of the Covey, scared and helpless. So the only thing that comes up to her mind is the only things that always help them all.

Music.

Y/n sings the first verse of one of their favourite songs, and when the other Covey follow Lucy Gray stands up and sings too.

She sends a sad smile to her family before walking away with Jessup and the Peacekeepers.

"Clear the square!" One of the Peacekeepers yells, and everyone starts to walk away to their own business.

"Let's go home." Y/n hugs Maude Ivory, and motion to the rest to follow her.

"Will we ever see her again?" CC asks.

"One thing about Lucy Gray is that she should never be underestimated." She replies, "So... she still hasn't sung her last song."

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

Coriolanus Snow is a collected man. Whatever happens to him, he tries his best not to show any reaction to it. But he almost can't help the gasp after he saw the girl from 12. He noticed how she wanted to reach her friend after the mayor slapped her.

Some people would dare say it's love at first sight, Coriolanus doesn't exactly know what to believe, he never felt like that before, he feels like all he could do all day is think of her, just that and it would be almost enough for him... only having her would satisfy him properly.

But he can't risk it... he can't risk his winning for someone he only saw for mere seconds.

He needs to keep his eyes on the real goal.

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

When he got home that day and talked to Tigris, he thought he left the girl in the back of her mind.

"I can't even imagine how her family must feel... that girl, did you see her?" Tigris asks, "her eyes when that man slapped Lucy Gray..."

"Yeah... she was ready to jump in and defend her." Coriolanus says casually, "she sang for her."

"I bet they sang a lot together... both of them got a beautiful voice." Tigris guesses, sadness evident in her voice.

"Beautiful indeed." Coriolanus whispers.

Now, his mind is back on her.

That nameless girl from 12. How did she manage to strike him like that? How she stepped out of line to reach her friend, how she sang for her. What was it?

"You okay, Coryo?" Tigris snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Who do you think she was?" He asks.

"Who?" Tigris is confused.

"That girl, the one who sang for Lucy Gray." He specifies.

"Oh... uhm.. I don't know. Her sister? Or maybe a friend, I don't know." She answers, still confused by her cousin's question. "Why do you want to know?"

"No reason." Coriolanus shakes his head, "Goodnight, Tigris."

Without waiting an answer he walks to his bedroom, gets ready for bed and lies on it with one thought in mind.

Surprisingly, not the Hunger Games.

No.

The nameless girl from 12.

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

Y/n helped Maude Ivory carry the small television their neighbours landed them so they could keep up with the games and, most importantly, Lucy Gray.

"Remember you have to babysit their babies this week, okay?" Y/n tells the young girl as they plug the television in.

"Of course, are you going to sell your bread?"

"Yes, I left some dough to rise this morning. By tonight, it'll be ready to bake." She assures her.

"Is it on?" CC comes in followed by Tam Amber.

"I think... if I do this." Y/n hits the box hard, and suddenly the screen turns on.

"Careful!" Maude Ivory shouts.

"He told me it needs it sometimes. It's okay." Y/n waves her off as the screen finally shows some movements, still no sound, but it's still something.

"Who is that?" CC asks, as a man appears on the screen wearing a high-collared suit and gelled hair, "is he a clown?"

"Could be..." Y/n sighs.

"Where is he?" Tam Amber asks, getting closer.

"No idea... there are bars behind him... I think..." Y/n tries to answer, but the scene is not clear yet, so she hits the television again.

"Y/n!"

"See? Now it's better." Y/n nonchalantly says, "seems like a cage... wait..."

"There's people inside." CC notices, "are those the tributes?"

"Oh god... probably."

"Can you see Lucy Gray?" Tam Amber asks.

"There... I think she's the only one wearing so much colour." Muade Ivory points at a point in the back.

"Yes, that's her... who's that with her?" Y/n moves closer to the screen, "he looks too cleaned up to be a tribute."

"No idea." CC says.

The host notices them too and apparently asks them to get closer.

Y/n looks more attentively at the guy, inspecting him now closer to the camera, it's clear he's not from the districts.

"Could it be someone from the Capitol?" The little one suggests.

"He could be... but why is he in there?" Y/n sighs, frustrated, "damn it, why can't we hear anything?"

"Y/n! I'm so sorry!" Barb yells from the kitchen.

Y/n is immediately on her feet running to her.

"What happ-" she starts but stops as soon as she see the bowl with the dough she prepared on the floor, "how?"

"I was cleaning and I accidentally hit it. I'm so sorry." Barb Azure explains, apologising again.

"It's..." Y/n lets out a puff of air, "it's okay, I can still save some. Don't worry."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, really." She immediately pick up what she can from the floor, "I can save some. We'll just sell a little less than usual, tomorrow I'll make more."

"I'm..."

"Don't, it's okay, I promise. Go see Lucy Gray on TV, c'mon." She nudges the girl and kneel down to clean, " go."

Y/n watches Barb Azure disappear in the other room, takes a deep breath and goes back to work.

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

They managed with selling the bread, the milk, the occasional jewellery Y/n makes and the performance at the Hob to survive.

Y/n haven't been sleep well since Lucy Gray entered the Arena. She's glad Jessup and her managed to escape the toher tributes and found somewhere to hide. But Y/n can't help the anxiety devouring her everyday, she tries to ease the Covey, making them distracted with everything she could think of, but even singing and dancing isn't the same.

Y/n decided to forbid them from watching the games after Jill's, she thinks her name was, death and Reaper lined up the corpses of the others. She didn't want to risk them seeing Lucy Gray among them... she doesn't even know is she herself could.

But tonight Y/n feels like she needs to watch, she has to, for Lucy Gray, a way to be with her. She tries to spot her in the arena, and when the screen show Coral and Treech finding her in a air vent, Y/n stands immediately getting closer to the screen, and needs to hold in a scream when Coral manages to male her friend fall.

Out of her hiding space.

Back in the arena.

Suddenly a giant tank is lowered into the arena Y/n feels her breath stop. Nothing good could come out of there, nothing good comes from the Capitol.

The little girl from 8 get closer, thinking it's their signal they're going home, but unfortunately the tank breaks and thousands of colourful snakes creep out covering her small figure, most likely killing her.

They all run, run to a higher ground, the boy from 4 falls and the snakes caught up with him.

Lucy Gray and Coral run, while Reaper lets the snake take him.

Y/n holds her breath as she watches Coral say something to Lucy Gray, unfortunately they never managed to fix the sound so she can't hear them, but she can understand when Coral is dead, as the snakes tie themselves around her.

That leaves Lucy Gray the last one... she's won.

"What..."

Why aren't they letting her out? Usually they stop once there's only one left.

Lucy Gray keeps backing away from the snakes, and Y/n can see her mouth moving, she doesn't hear, but she can guess she's singing. Usually snakes there in 12 like music, maybe she's trying it with the Capitol's ones too.

When Lucy Gray's face points direct the camera it's clear ad the day that she's singing, with all the strength she has.

"Let her out." Y/n whispers.

Suddenly, the screen changes signaling that Lucy Gray indeed won the Hunger Games.

"Oh my god!" Y/n can't help but scream, she doesn't care if everyone is already asleep.

"What's going on?" Tam Amber walks in, sleepy face and all, followed by Maude Ivory.

"She won!" Y/n screams again.

"Lucy Gray won?!" Moude Ivory immediately runs to hug Y/n.

"She did it!"

"Does that mean she's coming home?" CC asks, he too arrived after hearing all the noise, Barb Azure too.

"I think so." Y/n nods, smiling like never before, a heavy burden is finally off her shoulders and she can let out a sigh of relief, "she's coming home."

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

"Your life has just begun." Sejanus tells him as they both travel to district 12, "you're gonna do great. We're both gonna do great."

"Just be careful, okay?" Coriolanus says to him, "it's a different world out here."

"Look at the bright side." He simply replies, and Coriolanus sends him a questioning look, "she might be there."

"Who are you talking about?"

"I heard you and Lucy Gray talking once." He starts, "you asked about the girl who sang for her at the reaping ceremony."

"I.." Coriolanus is caught off guard.

"You're lucky, Ma always told me stories when I was younger about love at first sight." He explains, "the way you ask more and more about her... you can't fool me." He lets out a small chuckle.

"And if she's not there?" Coriolanus asks.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"What if they killed Lucy Gray and she just doesn't want to have anything to do with me? How about that?" He challenges.

"They wouldn't. She was a hit, Coryo. There's no reason for them to kill her." Sejanus tells him, "so you know her name?"

Of course he does, it's the very first thing he asked Lucy Gray. He's been reciting her name since he learned it.

"Y/n." He smiles as he says it.

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

"You're singing with me tonight." Lucy Gray warns Y/n, as they gather the instruments they need for tonight's performance, the first since Lucy Gray got back.

"I am... so not doing it." Y/n replies, shaking her head.

"Why not?" She pouts.

"Because I... I'm not." Y/n simply answer, not meeting her eyes.

But Lucy Gray doesn't give up so easily, she tries to make eye contact with her friend, she knows she wouldn't resist.

"Give me a good reason." Lucy Gray challenges again.

"Because... The people want you." Y/n tells her, "you're better at singing than me."

"That's not true." Maude Ivory chimes in, "they loved you."

"Thank you..." Y/n says sarcastically, "I'm not doing it."

"Oh c'mon, I got back, think of it as a welcome back present!" Lucy Gray nudges her friend, "pleeeease."

"Nope, I was almost fainting the whole time I was on stage." Y/n shake her head once again, "not gonna happeen" she sings the last bit.

"You had to refuse me with that beautiful voice of yours too?" Lucy Gray accuses with a laugh.

"Yap." Y/n replies, "c'mon, we don't want tot be late."

"This is not the end." Lucy Gray warns her friend before taking her hand and then, with the rest of the Covey, head to the Hob.

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

Coriolanus couldn't contain himself, he can't wait to get out and find his girl.

She is his, he can't see it any other way.

They enter the Hob and Sejanus goes to get them a drink, while Coriolanus looks around, taking in the place, listening to the music.

His eyes find themselves on the stage, as a little girl goes to the mic.

"Is it hot in here?"

They must be the Covey Lucy Gray talked so much about, but he still can't spot Y/n. Where could she be?

The audience cheers loudly

"'Cause we're planning on heating it up a set more!" The girl screams, "the one, the only, Lucy Gray Baird!"

Coriolanus' ears perk up at her name, maybe his girl is with her.

Lucy Gray enters the stage, spinning with her guitar in hand, smiling as brightly as ever.

"Oh hey district 12, did you miss me?" She asks the audience, that immediately replies with a loud "Yes!"

"I bet you never expected to lay eyes on me again. And let me tell you, that goes both ways, but I am back. " She cheers, "I sure am back. Oh is that bottle there for me?" She asks pointing at a bottle of alcohol someone's holding up, " oh c'mon y'all, you know I gave up drinking when I was 12," she fakes complain and takes a sip, "just to clear my pipes, just to clear my pipes! Now, how about a song, uh?" Everyone cheers, happy, "but, I can't, you know." The audience lets out confused and discontent noises, Lucy Gray glances slightly at the side of the stage, in the dark Coriolanus can't see anything, "it's been a while and I don't feel like singing alone tonight. But I'm afraid, my sweet best friend, won't do me the favour... how about you help me convince her?"

The audience immediately burst into a wave of cheers and applauses.

"Do you want her?"

The cheering gets louder.

"Y/n!" Lucy Gray yells, "c'mon out, babes!"

"Y/n. Y/n. Y/n!" The audience chants.

And at last, she walks on the stage, glaring at her friend playfully.

Coriolanus heart skips a beat as he watch her walking to her friend, he never thought he could get more enamoured with her, but here she is, and he can't seem to take his eyes off her. The way she takes the guitar Lucy Gray offers her, the way she timidly smiles at the audience, once again glaring at her friend for putting her in this position.

"See? They love you!" Lucy Gray points at the audience, "now, let's show them how it's done!"

Lucy Gray nudges her friend with her hip as Y/n starts to play the guitar.

Coriolanus eyes are solely on her, and she isn't even aware of it, he can afford admiring her a little more before making her his.

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

Lucy Gray is the happiest since she managed to have Y/n sing and dance with her, but the moment he notices a familiar pair of eyes he freezes for an instant.

Coriolanus Snow is here in 12, and he's looking, no... he's staring at her friend.

She notices his weird interest in Y/n from the many unusual questions he made when they were talking. She didn't like how he was talking and asking about her friend like that, like he thought she was his already. She always dismissed it as a stupid sensation, maybe it's exactly that, just her sensation. He might like her, but nothing bad... not necessarily. She doesn't want to think bad of it.

Of course she told the Covey about everything that happened in the Capitol, she just didn't mention this particular thing, to protect her.

She take advantage of an instrumental break to tell Y/n.

"He's here." She says.

"Who?" Y/n asks, looking at the crowd, locking eyes with a blonde man.

"My mentor, the one I talked to you about." Lucy Gray answers.

"Is he blonde?" Y/n asks and Lucy Gray nods,"Why is he here?"

"No idea."

Y/n simply shrugs and keeps play while Lucy Gray sings, unfortunately their performance is cut short by Billy Taupe intervention.

"Fuck..." Y/n sighs, keeping playing, "it's not the first time he acts like that."

"I know you miss me, Lucy Gray." Billy Taupe drunkenly says getting closer to the stage, followed by Mayfair trying to stop him.

"You said you wouldn't play with them anymore." She complains.

Lucy Gray looks at the Covey rolling her eyes, Y/n rolls her own in agreement.

Suddenly Billy Taupe almost jumps on stage grabbing Lucy Gray's skirt.

"Don't touch me! After what you did, don't touch me." Lucy Gray orders him, kicking her foot to let him go of her skirt

"Y/n... Please, you're kind, you know you're all not the same without me." He moves to take Y/n's skirt now, "c'mon, make her see reason."

"Let go." Y/n tells him, she moves backwards but his grip makes her stumble and falls to the ground. Lucy Gray kneels to help her pull her skirt back.

A second later Billy Taupe is thrown to the side, making him lose his grip. The two girls look at the direction he was thrown, and they see that blonde man hitting him hard until another recruit stops him and takes him outside.

"Are you okay?" Lucy Gray asks, helping her friend to stand up.

"Yeah, yeah, all good." Y/n nods, "again, not the first time he acts like that."

"God.. I'm sorry.." the brunette says softly, picking up the guitar.

"Not your fault. Only his." She sighs, "I'm kinda glad your mentor was here, he was the only one to help."

" yeah, glad..."

"Is everything okay?" Y/n worries.

"Yeah, it's just weird seeing him here." Lucy Gray dismisses the question easily, "let's go home, c'mon"

"Okay.." Y/n isn't convinced, but decides to let it go for now, "c'mon ladies and gentlemen, let's get home."

"Wanna go practice some songs on the meadow, tomorrow?" Lucy Gray asks as they walk back home.

"I missed it so much, so of course!" Y/n cheerfully replies, earning a just as excited laugh from her friend.

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

Lucy Gray and Y/n played all afternoon in the meadow, like old times. It wasn't that long Lucy Gray stayed in the Capitol, but not knowing if she were to come back at all made it feel so much longer.

"I think this part should be a little slower, what do you think?" Y/n would ask after a while of playing 'The Hanging Tree'.

"This last part of the verse, you mean?" Lucy Gray checks, looking at the music sheets.

"Yeah, I think..."

Their heads snap behind them when they hear footsteps nearing.

"Sorry... we..." the same blonde man from the night before speaks, along a dark haired man, "they say we would find you out here."

"You're here... with that uniform.." Lucy Gray nervously chuckles.

"I thought they killed you." He simply says.

"Killed?" Y/n can't help the question.

"He... uhm.." his friend starts.

"I broke the rule to save her life." He answers, faking humbleness.

"The dean... Highbottom, got me on a train and gave me some money. He said you were sent to 8." Lucy Gray is quite confused.

"Change of plans." He would smile, "I'm Coriolanus Snow, by the way." He moves closer extending his hand for Y/n to take.

"She's Y/n, my best friend I told you about." Lucy Gray introduces her.

"Hi.." she shyly greets, taking his hand. She can't help the surprised "Oh..." When he, instead of shaking her hand, kisses the back of it.

"Nice to properly meet you, she talked a lot about you." Coriolanus charmingly smiles, "this is my friend, Sejanus."

"Nice to meet you," Lucy Gray shakes his hand with a bright smile.

"Nice to meet... you... too." Sejanus greets back with a sweet and kind smile.

They look at each other for a moment, just smiling. Y/n never saw he friend smiling like this with someone, she is so focused on her friend that she didn't notice Coriolanus still holding her hand, still looking at her.

"Oh sorry." Y/n finally takes notice of his hand and takes her own back, missing the pout forming on Coriolanus' face.

"All good." He whispers, "we quite enjoy the show yesterday."

"Oh.. yeah, yeah, yeah, it was great... until that guy came in." Sejanus agrees, nervously looking at Lucy Gray.

"Yeah, Billy Taupe can't accept the fact that we manage without him." She replies, smugly.

"Well, he's lucky you got back" Y/n mutters, "thanks, by the way, for getting him off and... also, of course, for saving Lucy Gray." She looks up at Coriolanus.

"A pleasure, really. There's no need to thank me." He replies, hitching to hold her hand again, to hold her to him and never let go, "anything for you."

At that Y/n takes a small step back, feeling a little nervous under his stare.

"We're going to the lake, tomorrow. Do you guys want to join?" Lucy Gray suddenly asks, surprising her best friend.

"Really?" Sejanus checks in, looking at the girls, "we'd like to."

"Of course, a way of thanking you." She assures him, "we usually go and have a sort of picnic."

"We'll look forward to it." Coriolanus too agrees.

"Yeah, it would be nice." Y/n wraps her arms around herself, to shield herself from his eyes.

"She makes an amazing apple cobbler too, the young ones loves it." The brunette praise her best friend, locking their arms together.

"You cook too?" Coriolanus is surprised, pleased, "you didn't tell me."

"She can do a lot of things, a real walking talent." Lucy Gray smiles proudly at her friend, nudging her side. Y/n's cheeks warm up at the compliments, turning her head to look away from them all.

"Always so shy, aren't you?" Coriolanus softly comments.

"She's never been the best with compliments." Lucy Gray softly chuckles, squeezing her friend's arm, "but she deserves them all."

"I'm sure she does." His soft stare makes Y/n shiver, she doesn't know why but she's intimidated by it.

"Uh..." she would start, but her eyes catch something behind the two men, "Maude Ivory." Lucy Gray follows her eyes to the little girl.

"You're friends peacekeepers." She says.

"They must be here for the fight." Y/n guesses, "I'll go handle it."

"I'm coming with you."

"Get the guitar, then." She instructs and Lucy Gray grabs the guitar.

"Hey.. we can't be seen with you, though." Coriolanus quietly tells them.

"That lake is in the woods, no one knows much about it but us, don't worry." Lucy Gray reassures him.

"That's comforting." Sejanus smiles grateful at her and she returns it.

"See you tomorrow then." Coriolanus says looking at Y/n who simply evades his stare, she politely smiles, but that doesn't stop Coriolanus from dreaming about her that night. How right their hands felt together, how beautiful she is so close... he can't wait for the next day.

He feels somehow grateful for Sejanus presence, he's sure Lucy Gray invited them both because she's interested in him. He remembers the little glances she would send his classmate at the Capitol. He will use it to his advantage, he knows how much Sejanus would love to help him get the girl of his dreams, he just needs a little push.

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

Y/n is making a new dough for the next day, while they're at the lake it will have time to raise. She's mostly making it to get her mind busy, to sort of preparing herself for the day at the lake with the two peacekeepers.

"Are you okay?" Lucy Gray cautiously asks, walking next to her.

"Whatever do you mean?" Y/n asks back, not glancing once at her friend.

"Mh... you're using that tone, for one." Lucy Gray nudges her, "and... you're kneading that dough as if you're chocking it. I'm pretty sure it's dead."

Y/n doesn't answer right away, she keeps kneading the dough, when she puts it in a bowl she turns to her friend.

"I'm okay." She finally says.

"Something bothering you." The singer gently takes her hand, guiding Y/n to sit with her at the table.

"Are the others sleeping?" Y/n asks, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Yeah, now tell me what's wrong." She softly urges her, "is it about tomorrow? Are you nervous or something?"

"I guess..."

"Why?" Lucy Gray asks, "do you fancy my mentor?" She tries to joke and teases her.

"No." She quickly answers, "no, really, I... it's like there's something off about him... I don't know, maybe it's just me."

Y/n lets out a heavy sigh and looks at Lucy Gray, who looks conflicted herself.

"I... uhm.." she starts, uncertain.

"What..?"

"I felt the same way when I met him... he would ask so many question about you, our life here you know, I could see he wanted to know more and more about you." She explains.

"Me? Why?" Y/n gets even more nervous.

"I think he saw you at the reaping ceremony, when you sang and... I don't know, you caught his attention."

"Oh..."

"We can cancel... or you can stay in, I don't want you to feel forced to go because I didn't think." Lucy Gray takes her hands again, reassuringly.

"No, it's okay... I mean maybe we're just looking too much into it..." Y/n shakes her head, "I kind of want to see if you and the other one move to the next step."

"You noticed.." she blushes slightly.

"You two where smiling at each other like crazy." Y/n smiles sweetly at her friend.

"He's sweet, I saw how he wanted to help the tributes during the games... but please, we don't have to go if you're uncomfortable." She checks.

"I'm fine, I promise." Y/n kisses her hands to assure her, "maybe it's just a misunderstanding. It'll be fine."

"Oh now you're comforting me?" Lucy Gray teases.

"Obviously." She smiles proudly, "how about you... how are you coping with... with the games?"

Lucy Gray's smile drops slightly, looking down at their hands, squeezing them a little tighter, scared she would be taken away again.

"I'm okay... sometimes I feel like I'm still there." Her eyes fill with tears at the memories, "I killed people, Y/n... I..."

"You can't just shake it off, right?" Y/n guesses and Lucy Gray nods without saying a word, "I won't say that I'll understand, I will try sure, I can't promise I will be able to of course, but... I'm with you, Lucy Gray, you're not alone, I won't let you deal with it alone."

Lucy Gray stands, and so does Y/n, she brings her into a warm hug. They hold each other like never before, they hugged in the past sure, but nothing like this. This hug is filled with comfort and safety, something they both need, they don't even want it to end in fear one of them could be taken away again.

"We should get some sleep." Y/n states with a chuckle, but doesn't break the hug.

"Yeah." Lucy Gray laughs, "I think we should." They pull apart, "Sorry, I really needed that."

"So did I."

With that little comfort from each other they can finally go to bed and get some sleep. Even though, Y/n can't really fall asleep so quickly, her mind constantly going to Coriolanus Snow and his eyes, his stare on her. Could it be possible that they're just imagining it or it's true?

She close her eyes for a second and the moment she opens them the first light of day greets her, making her groan.

"Fuck." She mutters out, uncovering herself and getting seated, not so ready to start the day.

"Morning." Lucy Gray's harsh morning voice greets Y/n in the kitchen as she prepares the basket for the picnic, "Did you get some sleep?"

"I did, do not worry." Y/n replies, "just... uh..."

"What?"

"Don't leave me alone with him, okay?"

Once Lucy Gray nods, Y/n gets back at the basket.

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

"This time of the year the water is just perfect." Maude Ivory excitedly jumps towards the lake.

"She loves the lake, if you can't tell." Y/n jokes.

"I wouldn't blame her," Sejanus says, "I'll trust her judgement, then."

"You should!" The little girl tells him, loud.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Coriolanus offers to carry the basket for the tenth time, "I promise it's no trouble."

"And I promise it's fine, thank you." Y/n, once again, denies his help.

Coriolanus can't help the clenching in his jaw, his girl should never, ever, lift a finger. He'll make sure of it.

"We're almost there, anyway. No worries." She tries to chuckle and assure him.

"She's strong." Lucy Gray chimes in, "she never lets me do any heavy work around the house. It's crazy."

"No, well, that's because you're not the best at them." Y/n teases her.

"That's not true!" Lucy Gray laughs, "I got many talents."

"You do... not for handwork."

Lucy Gray gasps, faking offence, while the rest of the group laugh.

"How long have you been friends for?" Sejanus asks, "if I'm not intruding."

"We're basically sisters," Lucy Gray immediately answers, proudly, "our parents died and we got raised by the same person."

"I arrived after them, but everything fell into places so naturally, it felt like I found my family again." Y/n explains, with a big smile.

"Never left each other's side ever since." Lucy Gray takes her best friend's hand as they finally arrive at destination.

"We're here!" CC exclaims and Maude Ivory rushes to get into the water as soon as possible, making Y/n chuckle.

Coriolanus watches her closely, the way she worries about her family, the way she smiles, laughs and shines when she looks at the young ones. The more time he's in her presence, the more he falls in love with her, his desire to make her his growing each moment. His girl, his wife and, one day soon, his first Lady.

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

A day at the lake with her family is something Y/n always treasured, and will always treasure. She usually takes a few minutes to herself to enjoy the water, just floating with her eyes closed, she loves how free the stream lets her be.

The Covey always lets her live her peace... at least until it's time to eat, in that moment they would splash her until she gets to shore, earning, everytime, a glare from the poor girl.

And today should be no different, Y/n and Lucy Gray agreed not to make the others suspect their new friend makes them feel a little uneasy. So as Y/n floats on her own, Lucy Gray will try and keep an eye out to let her alone with her former mentor.

"What's she doing?" Coriolanus asks.

"Oh she likes to feel the water on her own." Lucy Gray explains, while Sejanus play with Maude Ivory, "to enjoy the moment."

"Wouldn't she be carried away by the stream?" He wonders.

"Nah, it's like the water knows where she should be."

"That's beautiful, Lucy Gray." Sejanus comments.

"Not my words." She is quick to specify, "hers."

Coriolanus spent the rest of the bath watching her, purposely ignoring his former tribute's stare. She probably wants to protect her friend, he thinks, but he's the only one who can protect her. And that he will.

"I'm starving!" Maude Ivory exclaims getting out the water towards the picnic blanket, "c'mon!"

Almost in an instant the rest of the Covey follows, apart from Lucy Gray who stays with Sejanus and Coriolanus, and Y/n floating not far.

Coriolanus shots his friend a look to tell him to get Lucy Gray away so he could have some time alone with his girl.

"I..." Sejanus stutters out, "I... I brought something. I know you two cooked for us too, so I wanted to bring something as a thanks... for the invite."

"Aaww but that's very sweet of you. You didn't need to." Lucy Gray almost melts at his words.

"I can show you. I mean they're preparing to eat so might as well help them." Sejanus suggests.

"Oh... uh... I mean..." she is hesitant, looking briefly at Coriolanus and at her friend.

"Coriolanus is here to look out for her, don't worry." Sejanus reassures her, but he doesn't know that his friend is the reason she needs to keep an eye out for Y/n.

Unfortunately, she knows she can't refuse, not without raising questions from her family nor suspects from the two peacekeepers.

"Yeah... Okay." She finally says, "but I mean, you don't have to, she's always does that. You can come with us."

"I don't mind." He's quick to reply, "I too enjoy the waters myself."

"See? No troubles at all." Sejanus smiles at her.

"We will call you soon, anyway." Lucy Gray tells him, she means it as a warning, even though Coriolanus doesn't register it that way.

"We'll be here." He smiles charmingly as always as he looks at the two climbing on the wooden deck and towards the Covey. She still watches over her friend.

As Coriolanus finally can enjoy the view he can notice her floating gently towards him.

'The water knows where she should be' Lucy Gray said, and the water is bringing her to him.

Y/n felt something touching her hand slightly, startling her.

"Oh sorry." She starts to apologise, but freezes when she sees Coriolanus in front of her.

"No need to apologise." He softly says.

"Where's everyone?" She asks.

"Preparing for the picnic." He tells her, secretly enjoy how her eyes don't meet his.

"Oh... I guess.. uh... I guess we should join them, then." She nervously chuckles, wanting more and more to not be alone with the Peacekeeper.

"Did you enjoy the water?" He asks, ignoring her suggestion.

"I... I did." She answers, "I love days like this."

With each word she slowly swims to the deck.

"I've never done this, you know." He says swimming closer.

"You don't have lakes at the Capitol?" She chuckles, again to hid her nerves.

"There's no room for nature." He simply says.

"Oh... that's... sad." She comments, feeling genuinely sad about that, "hope you're having a good day then, Mr Snow."

"Please, Coriolanus is more than fine, or Coryo... if you like." He tells her with a charming smile, internally begging her to say his name.

"Well, I hope you're having a good day, then, C-Coryo." She forces herself to smile, slightly letting out a sigh of relief when she realises she got to the wooden deck.

"The best in a long time." He catch up with her, ready to chivalrously help her climb up.

Y/n tries to be as quick as she can, but in doing so her foot slipped and she falls back into the water... in Coriolanus' arms.

"Shit..." she curses under her breath.

"You okay?" Coriolanus immediately asks, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I... I slipped." She tries to subtly wiggle out of his arms. While what Coriolanus wants more is to hold her even closer. "We should... uhm... get to the picnic or.. or they w-will eat everything."

"Yeah..." Coriolanus eyes constantly switch from her eyes to her lips, "probably."

He doesn't move an inch though, his eyes keeping the same route, but moving his face closer to hers.

Y/n is cornered, she wants to freak out, but he's still a Peacekeeper, who knows what he could do if she rejected him badly.

"Uhm..." she tries to come up with something to say to get out of the situation.

He's living his dream, in the meantime, he's so close to kissing his girl for the first time he wants to enjoy every second of it. His hands find their way to her waist, caressing it.

Y/n shakes, she wants to run, hit him and run away. Coriolanus interprets the shaking as shyness, he's sure she feels the same, he thinks her shaking is only in anticipation of the kiss.

So he leans closer... and closer...

"Guys!" Lucy Gray's voice saves her, "it's all set!"

"We're coming!" Y/n shouts back immediately, turning away from Coriolanus as she feels his grasp tightening slightly.

Y/n manages to climb back up and misses the frustrated clenching in Coriolanus' jaw.

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

They sit on the blankets they brought as they eat, Y/n managed to take a seat in between CC and Maude Ivory, away from the peacekeeper. Lucy Gray, on the other hand, sits next to Sejanus which earned a teasing smile from her friend, Coriolanus sits next to him as they everyone eats.

"You weren't lying, this is amazing." Sejanus exclaims, mouth full of Y/n's dessert.

"You're being too kind now." Y/n can only shy away from the compliment.

"Told you, she's always underestimate herself." Lucy Gray low-kye scold her friend.

"True!" CC agrees, earning a glare from Y/n.

"It really is amazing." Coriolanus chimes in, "where did you learn?"

"Oh... well, when you have to feed all these mouths, that's what you have to do." Y/n explains, "and there were times where one didn't want to eat, when they were younger and didn't fully understand the situation, so I tried my best in making something tasty with what we had."

"Well, I didn't learn." Lucy Gray tries to highlight her friend's talent.

"That's because you were earning money with your guitar and performances." Y/n replies.

"Even that, not without your help." The singer insists.

"Mine?" Y/n laughs, "what help? You're the one singing beautifully everyday."

Coriolanus assist this playful banter and can't help the jealousy raising in him. He wants Y/n to joke with him like that, not with Lucy Gray. He wants to make her blush with compliments, not Sejanus.

"But you write the songs!" Lucy Gray exclaims, with a big smile.

"Not all of them!" Y/n laughs.

"The most beautiful ones, yes." Lucy Gray shots back.

"Oh shut up!" Y/n throws her friend a piece of bread.

"Did we hear any of these songs?" Coriolanus asks, curious.

"I think so," Lucy Gray answers, "plus the one I sang in the arena it's hers."

"Which one?"

"You didn't watch the games?" Sejanus asks.

"No, I did, I did, it's just that the TV we borrowed was a little broken so we couldn't hear anything." CC answers.

"Pity..." Sejanus comments, "she sang beautifully."

"Not a surprise." Y/n smiles, "so, what song was it?"

"The old Therebefore." Lucy Gray tells her, "you know it always gives me strength."

"That was yours?" Coriolanus asks, positively surprised.

"Uh.. yeah, though, I simply rearranged an old melody." Y/n explains, shaking her head dismissively.

"Told you, walking talent." Lucy Gray grins and Y/n throws another piece of bread at her.

Coriolanus is amazed, she will be a perfect first Lady, the people of Panem will love her. He's more and more realising what a perfect choice she will be.

Y/n rolls her eyes, giving up, earning a triumphant smile from Lucy Gray.

"It made all people in the auditorium cry." Coriolanus tells them, "a real moving moment."

"At least I would've gotten one last good performance before my demise." Lucy Gray says dramatically.

"Don't say that." Y/n immediately stops her, "you're here. That's all that matters."

They reach out at the same time to hold each other's hand, Sejanus looks at them with sweet eyes, Coriolanus only feels jealousy, eyes shooting daggers at Lucy Gray.

Unfortunately the things between Sejanus and Lucy Gray have been going strong. She is so in love, Y/n's never seen her so taken by someone like she is by Sejanus. The down side of her happiness is that the peacekeeper always brings his friend around. Coriolanus, in fact, insisted and convinced Sejanus to bring him everytime he visited Lucy Gray, and Sejanus, being the good friend he is, he was glad to help his best friend. They even managed to leave Coriolanus and Y/n alone, Lucy Gray too distracted by Sejanus to notice the deception. Y/n doesn't want her to notice anyway, she's happy her friend found someone she actually like, so she's going to endure a little longer for her, Lucy Gray deserves some happiness after all the horrors she saw.

That's why Y/n's now cooking in their kitchen, with Coriolanus watching her like a hawk.

"What are you making exactly?" He asks from his spot by the small table.

"It's... a apple c-cobbler." Y/n softly answers. He would listen to her soft voice all day if he could, saying his name, begging him.

"Do you need any help?" He offers, "you know I don't mind."

She hears him standing up and walking closer to her.

"It's okay, you don't ha-" she stops mid-sentence, Coriolanus' hands softly caressing her hips froze her.

"I don't mind." He whispers into her ear, thumb striking the clothed spot.

"No... uh... i-it's o-okay... uh..." she stutters, looking around for a way to get away.

"Or maybe... " he spins her around so he's looking directly into her eyes, "we can adress... this." He motions between them, getting even closer, bodies now against one another.

"Uh..?" Y/n is confused.

"Us." Coriolanus specifies, "I don't think we can ignore it any longer."

"Uh... I don't... know..." she's at loss for words, "what..?"

"I'm pretty sure, my interest is pretty obvious." He says this almost shyly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek, "and... I think yours is too."

"My... interest?"She shakes her head, putting her hands on his arms to try and push him off, "Coriolanus..."

"I love it when you use my name, Y/n." Coriolanus says, leaning closer, ignoring how she avoids his eyes and pushes him away.

"Just..."

"Y/n!!"

"Shit.." he mutters under his breath.

"Where are you?" Lucy Gray asks.

"In the kitchen." Y/n answers, relieved Coriolanus stepped back.

"There you are." She enters the kitchen and immediately hugs her friend, Sejanus close behind her.

"Hi." He timidly says, then notices Coriolanus by the table, "hey Coryo, didn't expect to see tou here today."

There's tension between them, Lucy Gray turns her head to look at the blonde and her face drops.

"Is everything okay, Lucy Gray?" Y/n puts a hand on her friend's shoulder, reassuringly.

"Yeah, of course." She shakes her head and smiles brightly again, "what are you making?" She changes subject.

"Uh... apple cobbler." Y/n says softly.

"Mmmhh can't wait." She hums.

There's something off about this situation, since last night's performance at the Hob all three of them have been behaving weirdly. Lucy Gray was singing and after the song she went after Sejanus and Coriolanus, she was goon for some time and when she got back something in her eyes was off. She tried to wave it off, but Y/n knew her friend and she was sure something happened. Why Lucy Gray didn't want to talk to her only added to her worries.

Unfortunately the worst was yet to come.

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

"What do you mean you have to leave?" Y/n asks, getting more and more agitated.

"Mayfair and Billy Taupe are dead, who do you think will be blamed?" Lucy Gray snaps back as she keeps packing a small bag.

"But you didn't! How could they prove otherwise?" Y/n insists, breathing heavily.

"The mayor will surely find a way." Her friend days bitterly, then turn to look at her in the eyes, "listen, I'll be fine. This is the only way."

"How will you go, uh?" Y/n challenges, "alone in the woods."

"I... Coriolanus said he would help." Lucy Gray answers, emotionless.

"Coriolanus?!" Y/n whisper-shouts, "do you trust him?"

"I don't have much of a choice. I told you what happened, he's involved too. That has to do." The brunette sighs deeply, "you all can join me in time. I wish you could come too now, but-"

"It will draw too much attention and we would be too easy to find." Y/n finishes her sentence, "I know... but Snow?"

"I told you, he's involved too... he's the only option. Plus... I don't have anything to keep me here anymore.."

Y/n sighs, giving up, she knows Lucy Gray is still grieving Sejanus. She walks to her friend, stopping her to hug her. Lucy Gray returns the hug immediately, crying on her friend's shoulder. Y/n, then, holds her tighter, stroking her back reassuringly.

"We'll be okay. And we will join you soon." Y/n whispers. "I promise."

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

It's been almost a year since Lucy Gray ran away, a year since Y/n saw her friend. She hopes Lucy Gray is fine, moat importantly she hopes her friend is alive. It was hard to explain the situation to the rest of the Covey, especially the youngest one, but she managed.

A good thing about this situation is that it's also been a year since Coriolanus Snow has been seen in district 12. Rumours has it he got back to the Capitol, Y/n wishes, whatever is the truth, that he stays as far away as possible. One of their last interactions scared her so much she hardly left the house in fear of simply seeing him.

Y/n is walking back home with her basket in hand, she sold all the jewellery and cakes she made to earn some money so she was quite content as she enters the house.

"Is anyone home?" Y/n yells as she puts down the basket and takes off her patched-up coat.

"In here." A voice calls from the kitchen and Y/n is quick to walk there, freezing on the spot when the figure of Coriolanus Snow stands in her kitchen. His hair grew in this time apparently, the new haircut makes him look even more dangerous, "Hi, my love."

"Uh..." Y/n doesn't know what to do, having him in the house after all this time feels worse than a robe around her neck, "what... what are you doing here?"

"You don't seem happy." Coriolanus states, confused.

He spent a year thinking about Y/n, working hard and constantly so he could come back to 12 and take her to the Capitol. He's been thinking about her, analysing each of their interactions to the bone. And he realised something: Y/n is yet to realise the love they're destined to share, but Coriolanus is more than willing to help.

"I... I'm confused... why... why are you here? Is Lucy Gray-"

"I don't want to talk about Lucy Gray!" He snaps.

Y/n flinches and takes a step back, he sighs deeply and pass a hand through his hair.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." she apologises, not wanting to anger him more, "you... uh... you let your hair grow..."

That seems to please him, he slightly smiles, pride growing in him.

"Yeah," he walks closer to her, "I wanted to leave the Peacekeeper behind, to welcome the future president of Panem."

"Future president..." she gasps out, slowly retreating backwards, "wow.."

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered." He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, "I missed you."

"Why are you here?" She asks, pushing his hand away.

"I'm here to take you to the Capitol with me." He simply answers, as a matter of fact.

"What?!" She exclaims, pushing him off and putting distance between them.

"You're coming home with me." He states.

"I am home." She firmly says, noticing the clench in his jaw.

"No." He shakes his head, "no, you're not."

"I'm not coming with you." She insists, "I have people to take care of."

"They will be taken care of, if you come with me." He makes sure to emphasise the 'if'.

Y/n now realises no one else's home.

"If? Coriolanus, listen-"

"No, you listen." He interrupts her once again, "there's no thinking to do here. You're coming with me, period. You come with me and your family will be cared for, if you don't... there would be consequences."

"Is that a threat?" She shakes in fear now.

"It's a promise, my love." He gets closer again, putting a hand on her cheek, "so... what do you say now?"

"You already decided... what's the point of asking, then?" She's tearing up, too scared to move.

"Say you'll come with me." He leans closer, brushing his lips against hers, "say it."

She shakes her head, lips sealed.

But Coriolanus doesn't waste any more time, he kisses her, she backs away but he chases her until her back hits the wall forcing their lips together once again.

He kisses her, but she doesn't kiss him back, the hand on her cheek moves to her neck squeezing, as a warning. She tries to push him off, but he is stronger than her, his other hand moves to her hips pulling her closer and she starts to actually struggle.

"S-stop." She manages to stutter out.

"Give into me, my love." He mutters against her skin, kissing down her neck, "come with me, you'll want for nothing more in your life."

"No..." she weakly says, as she keeps pushing him off.

"Yes." He kisses her again, completely leaning his body against her, caging her.

"Please don't... Please." Her crying only turns him on more, he thrusts his hips against her making her feel his hard-on.

Y/n stops her movement, dread in her veins prevents her from doing anything.

"Sshh, let me take care of you." He whispers into her ear, "let me show you how good I can make you feel."

"Please... no..." her breathing gets heavier and heavier as she looks at him kneeling in front of her, "Don't."

She looks at the door, wanting to flee and leave him behind.

"Don't you dare." Coriolanus orders, looking up at her, "you try to run and I'll make sure your family pays. Am I clear, my love?"

Y/n averts her eyes from the door, to the former peacekeeper kneeling in front of her.

The hunger in his eyes is enough to make her feel like a prey being caught.

He keeps looking at her as he lifts her dress up her legs, and when he pulls her underwear down he finally break the eye contact to take a proper look at his prize.

He licks his lips and gets closer to her core, inhaling her scent.

"Stop... please Coriolanus, stop." She tries again, but her plead falls to deaf ears.

Coriolanus at hearing his name coming from her he dives himself between her legs, licking and sucking all he could, finally enjoy whatever he's been dreaming about all this time... since that reaping ceremony.

Y/n gasps when he attacks her pussy with his mouth like a starved man, she looks around hoping to find something to use as a weapon or a way to escape this. She puts her hand on his head in an attempt to push him off, but it's no use, his hold is way too tight and strong for her to pull away.

"Mmhhh" he humms against her, her taste inebriates him completely.

"Shit.." she groans, her body betraying her, getting closer and closer, "shit."

Hearing this Coriolanus only doubles his efforts, he blindly grabs one of her hands and moves it to rest on his cheek.

"Mmhhh yes." He humms again, licking harder on her clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She tries to hold back, but it's like she has no control over her body anymore as she comes on his mouth. Her legs weakening and falling to the ground, right in front Coriolanus, face to face.

"I love you." He whispers, catching her off guard by kissing her deeply and forcefully.

She puts her hands against him, never stopping her attempts.

"Stop, stop." She mutters.

"This is just a taste of how I'm going to take care of you." He explains breathlessly, "I'm never letting you go, my love."

They stay still for a moment, Y/n too scared to move and Coriolanus is simply enjoying the moment.

He finally got his girl, but he's always being certain of it, after all it's in his family.

Snow lands on top.

[gothcsz]

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital. 

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—”  You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex. 

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on. 

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in. 

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them. 

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you. 

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor. 

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good. 

You should have listened to him. 

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting. 

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying. 

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out. 

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask,  barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening. 

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you��re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

tag list for my works can be found here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @almostfoxglove . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @lunatiquess . @piercethevic03 . @theestorm . @myownwholewildworld . @pepsicolacoochie . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @pasc4lfuzz . @larascorneroftheworld . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler .

[wandasdollie]

  ꒰  𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ensommeillé. ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

 .   ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ wanda x bunnyhybrid!reader

꒰  tags ꒱ 𓈒  mommy!wanda ,  smut w/o much plot , somnophilia , cunnilingus (r!recieving) , squirting , aftercare.

 ꔫ  ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is based off of two requests i recieved, so thank you very very much for sending them in!! i luv seeing your thoughts, i hope i did them justice <33 pls send more!!   ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

 ⁺ ⑅  ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต  @emiliaisdead , @mommywandas ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

When you finally return home after what you believe to be the world’s longest day of work in history, the pout settled on your lips is unrelenting. You might be a little overdramatic, sure it’s only about four in the afternoon, but you haven’t caught a break all day! You’ve been running around for hours, doing all of the little errands that your bosses have sent you on, waiting on guests and cleaning up messes like your life depended on it. You haven’t sat down once in hours!

So, completely needless to say, when you come home, it’s all you can do to not throw yourself on the floor and fall asleep right then and there.

But you don’t want to disappoint Wanda when she gets home, no no. You want to fix her dinner so that it will be ready by the time that she returns home, and your bedroom is awfully messy right now from the frantic way you’d gotten dressed this morning. But… there’s the sofa… and as you release your hair from its tight braids, long, fluffy ears falling heavy against your shoulders, you can feel all of your day’s stress melting through you, your feet much like cement cubes as you trudge through your home.

Mama would want you to rest, right? She always says that her favorite little bunny needs her beauty sleep, and you wouldn’t want to upset her by not doing just that! Of course, you want to look your prettiest for her always. And she does encourage your slumber as often as she can. She has quite the fascination with it, you’ve noticed. But, it’s best not to worry yourself too much over that right now. You need to make some dinner and clean up and—

You’re not sure just how you wound up on the sofa. Nor how your clothes landed in little pink piles on the floor; you’re usually much more careful to put them in the laundry basket. Yet, here you sit, in nothing but your panties and a sweater that you always keep in the living room in case you get too cold, laying beneath your favorite blanket. Your feet are perfectly tucked, and though you’ve turned on the tv to watch whatever program is on right now, you’ve brought one ear over your eyes to act like a sleeping mask, blocking out the image on the screen, along with the light bouncing off of the snow outside.

It takes you so few minutes to fall asleep, someone would think you’ve been awake all of 24 hours. But you certainly haven’t, even though you did get up quite early this morning. Your exhaustion hits you so completely that you just can’t help but pass out immediately. So, you drift off quite easily, though your worry over Wanda’s return is still toying at the back of your head.

𓊆 . . . 𓊇

You hadn’t heard her come through the door, though she did so quite loudly. Wanda herself had gone through her own exhaustive day of work, and as usual, she couldn’t possibly wait any longer to wrap her arms around her bunny and squeeze all of her stresses away. Though, when she returns home to less than your usual fanfare, she grows quite concerned right away.

That is, until she spots you on the sofa, curled up so tightly in your little ball of slumber that Wanda’s heart nearly explodes inside of her chest.

She is sure to be quiet as she sets down her purse and pulls off her overcoat, kicking off her heels to save you from their noise, yet leaving on the pencil skirt and tight, buttoned shirt that hug her curves so enticingly. The sight of you all cuddled up and sleepy, in addition to the setting sun outside, makes her yawn. She herself has grown impossibly tired, yet hides it well as she comes to your side at the sofa.

She gently pets the top of your head, sitting beside you on the small sliver of cushion that your body does not occupy. She simply cannot help herself, and lifts the blanket so that she may drink in the image of you sleeping there. The smirk that rises to her darkly stained lips is downright greedy as she notices just how little you wear, sweater bunched up high around your chest from your tossing and turning, showing off your tummy. Wanda licks her lips, hands moving from the crown of your head down to your side, gently rubbing into your warm flesh, her hands still freezing cold from the short walk from her car to the front door.

The feeling of sudden cold against your skin makes you flinch, but is not enough to fully wake you. You wiggle away from the feeling, but Wanda’s firm hand only follows you, softly tickling you in attempt at waking.

“Wake up, little one.” Her voice is soft, so coaxing and almost a bit lewd, as is her fashion when trying to wake you up in such a pleasant manor. Though, she doesn’t want to wake you entirely. She has always had a preference for your half-asleep manor, when all you can do is whine and fuss and, on days when you wake up from inappropriate dreams, moan and cum around her fingers until you ultimately fall back asleep like nothing had happened in the first place.

When you don’t wake up even after she gives your cottontail a little squeeze, her wandering hands eventually hook beneath your knees, lifting you until she holds your little form against her chest, walking you to the bedroom. There’s not much she can do with you while on the sofa, especially when her body is still so constricted by tight work clothes. But when she does make it to the bedroom, Wanda does not strip. She adores the power she holds over you when you lay naked below her, while she remains entirely dressed. There is simply something so enticing about her little bunny looking so obscene and nude while she maintains all of her decency.

As she lays you on the bed, Wanda delicately removes your sweater, and you unconsciously move to help her, arms lifting out of sheer habit— you have done just this far too many times before. The redhead cannot contain her low groan at the sight of you sleeping so soundly, so primed for her taking, so innocent while her thoughts are such the opposite.

Her fingers gently trail down your sides, fingernails lightly scratching into your flesh, sending tickles through you, bringing just the littlest bit of awareness into you. She whispers something in Sokovian, something along the lines of ‘such a pretty girl, such pretty tits.’ Had you been at all lucid, the words would have made you turn into putty in her hands, though, you’re already just that. Just a little plaything, just for her.

Wanda straddles you now, as best as her tight skirt will allow, and dips down so that she can place soft, fleeting kisses into your stomach. She massages into the flesh at your hips, then your breasts, her hands still incredibly cold against you, the little prickles of goosebumps forming on your arms right away. This, she feels guilty about. Though she enjoys having you all to herself, while you are so blissfully unaware, she does not like it when her little girl is at all uncomfortable, especially in the cold of the winter. Despite how carnal she may feel for you at this moment, her most important want for you is comfort. So, she decides she must begin to act quicker, so that her bunny is not left in this cold for too long.

The redhead’s fingers slip down your sides, index fingers hooking into your panties and sliding them off with ease. She once again releases one of those lust-fueled moans, licking her lips from just how downright delicious you look. Though you aren’t even conscious enough to be turned on, your pussy is already slick with arousal, simply begging for Wanda’s fingers, for her mouth, for any of her. Still, she will remain patient. Patient, despite how she is so very entranced by you. The soft, innocent look on your face is enough to tell her to be gentle.

“Dripping wet for me, and you don’t even know it. Silly girl,” she coos gently, lowering herself so that her kisses meander to the bottom of your tummy, right where it’s the most sensitive, right where she knows you’re sure to stir from the touch. And she’s right, even the tiniest bit of touch there makes you squirm below her, your hands bunching up in the sheets below you, your hips raising ever so slightly to meet her touch.

“Needy little thing…” She purrs, kisses trailing to meet her hands on your thighs, which she props up, spreads wide. Wanda presses a few little kisses to the insides of your thighs until her head comes between them, her kisses pressing to your cunt, lips becoming wet from the slick that she finds there.

Even the tiniest touch has you more awake now, little bunny hips beginning to rock up to meet her kisses, your clit throbbing, desperate for her touch, even though your silly little brain is not yet registering what is going on. You are simply seeking pleasure without even knowing it, body working without your nervous system working to tell it what to do.

“Mama…” You whine ever so softly, your voice hoarse from sleep and small enough that Wanda can barely hear you.

“Shh, zaya… it’s alright. Mama’s just going to help you sleep, hmm?” Wanda muses gently, her fingers lightly running through your folds, teasing you so that your back lifts from the bed, so that you’re basically dripping onto the sheets. She’d typically tell you to speak up, that you’re not being loud enough for mommy to hear your pretty moans, but she’s all too swept up in just how sweet you sound now, your vocabulary reduced only to her title.

Wanda hums softly, turning her head to press a few more sloppy kisses to your thighs as one of her fingers dips inside of you. She moans all too loudly as this happens, as she curves her finger up into you, all too pleased at just how tight you are for her. Wanda smiles into the flesh at your thigh, licking your soft skin and gently sucking on it to leave her favored dark patches there, the last of which she left still faintly staining your skin. As you’re definitely wet enough for her, she slides in a second finger with ease, and your hips begin to whine up and down against them, desperately seeking her pleasure.

“Mommy…” You try, your eyes slowly beginning to open but you’re still drowsy with sleepiness, brain so foggy from your long day that you can’t really fight awake just yet. Your body’s movements slow as Wanda begins to take over, pinning your hips down to the bed without too much force, the pumping of her fingers quickening their pace. She curls her fingers into your firm flesh, the sounds of her sliding so obscene, so pleasing to her own ears that she can’t help but moan in tandem with them, whispering gentle reminders of how sweet you are, how good you taste, how you’re mommy’s perfect girl.

And taste you she does, her tongue eagerly lapping up all of the wetness that spills from you. When her fingers move in such a speed that is entirely overwhelming, there comes a gush of liquid so intense that it wakes you up entirely, your hands whipping over your face as if to hide you from such embarrassment. Though, Wanda only seems to enjoy this mess that you’ve made, it only pushes her further into her dominant headspace. You’re just her messy little doll that can’t keep any control of herself, that needs to be cleaned up and tended to at any given moment. She loves it, wants more of it, pushes you even harder for it.

“’m sorry…” You whine out, your hands dropping to reveal your bright pink face, lower lip trapped between teeth to conceal your needy moans. Though it’s not much use, because the second that Wanda notices your attempt at maintaining any bit of modesty, her lips latch onto your clit, sending a streak of pleasure right up your spine, your back arching even more than it previously had. Her name flings from your lips a few times from this sudden uptick in sensation, filling your large bedroom with nothing but your whimpers and moans. Your fingers land in her perfectly curled hair, tugging on it gently as though she could possibly be any closer to you, despite the way her mouth is latched onto your cunt.

She would typically fuss at you for apologizing, that you should never feel sorry for something like this, that mommy likes you messy. But her mouth is so full of you now, so encumbered by your taste, that she cannot speak, does not want to.

Wanda’s goal is, unfortunately for you, always overstimulation. She loves to feel you throb below her, loves the way your pussy becomes bright pink and puffy and your pupils become blown out. She prefers her bunny over-fucked and out of breath, and this is just how she will get you ever time. Her fingers are simply merciless, even when she feels you suddenly tighten around her, feels the way your thighs begin to shake, your orgasm washing over you. She allows you to ride it out, yes, but does not cease when your back hits the bed, body convulsing ever so slightly. Even when your fingers fall limp in her hair, she does not give you a moment to recover. Though she does remove her fingers from your pussy, they are quickly replaced by her tongue, which greedily laps up every bit of liquid that spills from you. Wanda is impossibly thirsty for you— she always is— and such is incredibly evident from her diligence in licking up every single bit of you.

You whine her name as if you’re stuck on a loop, your body twitching with every bump of her nose to your overworked clit. It might seem like you are begging her for relief, for her to stop, you both know that could not possibly be further from what you want. You truly want her to fuck you again and again until you can’t walk, but your body is so very desperate for sleep. Your thighs are so sore already from the amount that you’ve walked today that they feel like pins and needles as they struggle to prop up around her head. Your tired little body is so exhausted, your brain becoming fuzzy all over again, your consciousness careening towards sleep once more. Though, Wanda will not allow this. She won’t let you sleep just yet, though her more caring instincts so want to allow you to doze off, you just taste so good on her tongue, your whines so precious to her ears that she wants to hear them as much as she can before she goes without them while you sleep for eight hours. She has to bank this memory deep within her mind, so that later, when you do fall asleep with your head on her chest and your arms wrapped around her waist, she will have something to remember while her hand slips down the front of her own pajamas.

It does not take long, with the older woman’s tongue dancing over your sensitive bundle of nerves, for you to cum for her once again. This time, you are much less dramatic with your trembling, instead you finally let your legs fall, and though it takes you a moment to recover, eventually your breathing settles.

Wanda cleans you up ever so gently, careful as to not further stimulate your delicate clit as she slides your panties on, then your favorite matching pajama set over top. She removes the duvet which you’ve made such a mess of, covering you instead with a clean blanket from the closet. She allows you to sleep for an hour or so, just until the sun has set outside— much earlier than she’d expected, and it makes her quite sleepy, too. But Wanda fights the urge to crawl up into bed with you, and instead makes you something to eat. She won’t let her angel wake up hungry in the middle of the night, that’s for certain. So, once she’s fixed you both a proper meal, she wakes you up ever so gently, fingers pushing back the hair that has stuck to your forehead with sweat, kissing your cheek to coax you awake.

You wake up a bit grumpy, begging her to let you sleep even more, but she refuses, tells you in the warmest of tones that you’ll ruin your sleep schedule, and that mommy doesn’t want to stay awake without her bunny keeping her company. You begrudgingly follow her to the kitchen, but as soon as you smell what she’s prepared, you perk right up.

“You are such a good girl for me, you know,” Wanda hums as she pulls you into her lap at the dinner table, lightly bouncing you on her knee, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your ears perk up ever so slightly at the words, a blush raising to your nose as you play with the button of her shirt.

“Really?” You giggle in return. Your memory of the moment is truly inexistent, your head was so fuzzy and sleepy that you weren’t really lucid enough to remember any of it. But you have the wet spot in your panties to remind you of just how good it felt, so you’ll take her word for it.

You eat as Wanda feeds you, smiling to her as she does, and you each share stories of your days. She pouts when you recount your tale of utter fatigue, of how many tables you’d waited in just an hour, of how some man asked you to refill his soda ten times! Wanda laughs a bit as she cleans up the table in record time before sweeping you back to your shared bathroom. You whine a little as she finally undresses from her work clothes, watching with wide eyes as she wiggles her hips to remove the skintight skirt from her hips. You hate that you’d been asleep for the majority of the time she’d been wearing it and will without a doubt beg her to wear the same outfit again soon.

Once she is dressed in a pretty lace nightgown of her own, she slips into bed beside you, whispering gentle compliments and encouragements into the dark room, stroking the fur of your ear, and you are out like a light in a heartbeat.