#“it felt good. letting lose for once” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myownwholewildworld · 1 day ago

Text

KAT, WHERE DO I EVEN START…….

You know this made me cry, that I stopped halfway through for a smoking pit stop because my heart just kept aching. THE GOOD KIND OF ACHE 💔

Let me preface my rambling by saying that you are a WONDERFUL writer. Your way with words is unmatchable, and you had me feeling all the freaking feelings here. That’s how good you are!

The whole chapter was just SO ANGSTY. How you describe reader’s loneliness, how it eats away at her with Javi’s absence… simply astounding. I FELT every single sentence, the feeling of pure abandonment, but also the fear of going back to a life you don’t know if you fit back into. UGH, so heart breaking but so so so GOOD.

The most gut-wrenching thing was that I could completely understand where both of them were coming from. Javi, losing himself in a desperate attempt to protect the woman she loves, and then reader building herself up from nothing, but unable to accept that Javi had become the darkest version of himself out of love and desperation. You tiptoed on that line so well, I just couldn’t decide which side I was on 😭 although I will admit, I did squeal in excitement when Javi got his revenge on Mateo, I was cheering him on from the sidelines - please nobody judge lmao

If I could, I would quote the whole fic, believe me. The whole NYE celebration had me on a FUCKING CHOKEHOLD because when the countdown started, I was TREMBLING. For a second, I thought that Javi’s conscience was going to blurt it out right there and then…

And the SMUT?? HOLA?? ATENCIÓN A TODAS LAS UNIDADES, ESTO ES UN LLAMADO DE EMERGENCIA??? So angsty, so heartbreaking, so sexy, the yearning, the longing, the COUCH AND JAVI PULLING UP HIS JEANS (you know what scene was playing in my mind), the fucking everything… fuck, you did it so well. I was horny and sad and excited and heartbroken, all at once.

And personally the ending was so so realistic and in line with what we know of both characters. Even though I was crying with reader, it hurt so good. You wrote it in a way that it just flowed and felt natural. And I wholeheartedly agree with this:

Some love stories don’t end with a clean break or a tidy resolution. Some just… linger, like a wound that scabs over but never truly heals.

BEAUTIFUL. MASTERPIECE. QUE LO PONGAN EN UN MUSEO.

ANYWAY… I’ll stop babbling now, sorry 🤣 OKAY BYE TE QUIERO 💖

final part of the neighbors series. well, everyone... we made it to the devastating end of our beloved neighbors! did i think we'd get here so fast? absolutely not, but alas we must face the truth that these two were doomed from the beginning 💔 thank you to everyone who has stuck around for this little series, i so appreciate it more than you know! please let ya girl know what you think hehe happy reading 🖤 thank you to @persephone-girl, @myownwholewildworld and @ovaryacted for helping me along the way 🥹

javier peña x f!reader. ~16k word count. the angst we've become familiar with, some new years vibes, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), speaking of canon the timeline is way out of wack but we don't care okay (?), spanish heavy dialogue at times because i love writing in spanish (translations included), character death (bye bye mateo), reader has a mild case of agoraphobia, smut (hopefully it makes up for the heartbreak), unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction be smart irl), oral (f receiving), creampie kink!!!, hurt/no comfort?, guess what: javi is a piece of shit, no happy ending!!!, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thanks.

The days bleed into one another in a haze of pain, anxiety, and Javier’s unwavering presence.

His apartment has become your sanctuary as your body mends—slowly, achingly—but the weight of the world outside these walls makes every step toward recovery feel like a climb up a mountain.

He hovers without smothering, a balance that only someone as attuned as him could manage. He cooks poorly, though his effort is enough to warm your heart.

And when dinner inevitably becomes charred beyond recognition, he humors you with a begrudging sigh before ordering takeout from a local spot.

Connie checks in as often as she can. Her competence is a balm in itself, bringing company in the form of the orphaned baby girl they’ve taken in, and gentle scolding when you try to do too much too soon.

You’re definitely going stir-crazy on top of all the other shit you’re still processing.

His bedroom is practically yours now, the space filled with your things from a hurried list you’d made after he went to clear your apartment, ensuring it was safe and untapped.

You could go back, but you don’t want to. Not yet. Not when every shadow feels like it’s going to swallow you whole, and not when the thought of leaving Javi’s protection makes your stomach tighten with anxiety.

Tonight is no different, the silence of his apartment familiar. Javier is sprawled on the couch in the living room, his gun within arm’s reach on the coffee table, the TV playing some late-night soccer game at a low volume.

You’re in his bed, wrapped in the blankets that carry the scent of him.

The nightmare rips you from your sleep and into a cold sweat. Your screams shatter the quiet, piercing through the walls like a siren. Javier is on his feet in seconds, gun in hand, his instincts sharp as ever, heart pounding as he rushes into the bedroom.

He bursts through the door, his eyes scanning for threats before they land on you. You’re sitting up, clutching your head in your hands, your body shaking with sobs.

Javi approaches slowly, cautious yet reassuring as he sets the weapon down on the nightstand. “It’s me, cariño. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The sound of his voice breaks through your panic, and you look up at him with tear-streaked cheeks, your breathing ragged. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his embrace, your face burying into his chest as his strong arms wrap around you.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you sob into his shirt, your fingers clutching at the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

Javier keeps you cradled in his lap, feeling helpless as he tries to console you, resting his chin on the top of your head, rubbing your back soothingly. He doesn’t know what to say, and he hopes you don’t take his wordless comfort the wrong way.

Your tears don’t stop, but the steady thumping of his heart and steadying breaths begin to calm the overpowering emotions that stab at you all over. “They k-keep finding me,” you whisper hoarsely. “In my dreams. Mateo, his men… They hurt you, Javi. They kill you, and I-I can’t stop them.”

His jaw tightens, the familiar strike of anger igniting deep in his chest. But he controls it, his focus entirely on you. “That’s not going to happen,” he says with quiet intensity. “I won’t let it. You’re safe here, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. They’ll never touch you again.”

Even though the fear still lingers, you nod against him, your tears finally slowing. “I’m scared,” you admit in a hush, as if the city can hear you.

“I know,” his lips replace his chin with a soft kiss placed at the crown of your head. “You’ve got every right to be, but not for much longer. Te lo prometo.” (I promise you)

He holds you close, his mind racing. He knows the nightmares won’t stop until Mateo is dealt with, and the thought of you living in fear makes his blood boil.

Tomorrow, he decides, he’s going to make a move. Berna’s contact information has been burning a hole in his wallet, reminding him of the quickest way to get his justice.

Whatever it takes, whoever he has to call in, Mateo will pay for what he’s done.

He stays with you, his arms a fortress around your trembling body as you finally begin to drift back into an uneasy sleep.

When your breathing finally evens out and sleep welcomes you again, Javier doesn’t move right away. He keeps you in his embrace just a little longer, as if afraid that letting go might wake the nightmares again.

Eventually, he carefully shifts, lowering you back onto the bed. He tucks the blanket snugly around your shoulders, his movements unhurried. For a long moment, he doesn’t leave, his gaze fixed on your face.

Your lashes rest against your cheeks, still damp from tears, and your lips curve downward in a soft, unconscious pout. There’s a faint crease between your brows, as if even in slumber, you’re holding onto the pain. His heart aches at the sight.

Even like this, fragile and hurting, you’re still so beautiful.

He leans in without thinking, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for just a moment longer than they should, as if willing his affection to seep into your dreams and chase away the darkness.

With gentle fingers, he smooths the furrow from your brow, hesitating as he straightens. His eyes trail over you one last time before forcing himself to turn away and leave, returning to his spot on the uncomfortable couch.

Every step he takes toward the usual meeting spot feels heavy, hindering, like the universe is daring him to find another way; a constant reminder of the ethical line he is about to cross yet again.

He’s not about to let what happened to you fall into the cracks of this crumbling country.

Does this really make him any better than Mateo? Than the rest of the assholes he’s spent his career hunting? The question whisks around in Javier’s mind, relentless and accusatory, every time he looks in the mirror or stares down the barrel of another wasted day.

He tells himself the same justification every time: You’ve got to do bad things to catch bad people. You have to stoop to their level to get the job done. Get your hands dirty alongside them.

But the words taste bitter, even as they leave his mouth. It’s not a mantra—it’s an excuse. One he clings to, because if he doesn’t, he’d have to face the man he’s become.

It’s a betrayal. Of the ideals he once believed in. Of you.

You wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t dare accuse him outright of something so low, but he can see the questions in the way your eyes search his when he comes home in the middle of the night, reeking of sweat and moral compromise.

He’s doing this for you. It’s about justice, about making things right. But deep down, he knows it’s not just that.

It’s about vengeance.

He steps into the shop, the smell of authentic Colombian food and coffee hitting him all at once.

Berna is already seated, a bulky figure crammed into a chair that seems too small for him, like a predator disguised as a civilian.

His beady eyes flick up as Javier approaches, a greasy grin spreading across his face. “¿Nos volvemos a reunir tan pronto? ¿Me extrañas o qué, Peña?” (Meeting again so soon? Do you miss me or what?) he asks, lifting the tiny cup with fingers that seemed more suited to take lives than hold porcelain.

Javier slides into the seat across from him, the legs scraping against the tile floor. “¿Obtuviste la información que te pedí sobre el banquero?” (Did you get the information I asked for about the banker?) His voice is clipped, wasting no time on pleasantries.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out the photograph of Mateo to remind the other man why he’s here. The paper is crumpled from how many times he’s clenched it in his fist, a physical manifestation of his frustration.

He unfolds it carefully and places it on the table, sliding it between them.

Berna doesn’t even blink, his gaze dropping to the photo with all the urgency of a man just leisuring about. He stirs his coffee lazily, adding another spoonful of sugar. “¿Y yo que gano?” (What’s in it for me?)

Javier’s jaw ticks, the muscle feathering beneath his stubbled skin. He knows this game, has played it too many fucking times—it grates on him. “Lo de siempre,” (What it always is) he replies gruffly. “Esto no es diferente a nuestros otros acuerdos.” (This isn’t any different than our other agreements)

Berna leans back in his chair, his bulk shifting the chair with a creak. “Seguro?” (You sure about that?) he asks, patronizingly, as he taps the edge of the photo with a stubby finger. “Javiercito, ¿sigues dejando que las mujeres dirijan tu vida?” (Javiercito, still letting women run your life?) He tuts, “Pero no te culpo. Una buena perra debilita hasta al hombre más fuerte.” (I don’t blame you. A good bitch debilitates even the toughest man)

He curls his fists under the table, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms, willing himself to stay seated. His patience is running thin, making his leg bounce rapidly.

“No se trata de eso,” (That’s not what this is about) Javier grinds out through clamped teeth.

Berna barks out a laugh, leaning forward slightly. “Esto no funciona si nos decimos mentiras.” (This won’t work if we tell each other lies) His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper now, though his smug smile remains wide. “Lo estás buscando por la orden que envió.” (You’re after him for that call he sent out)

Javi’s irritation is momentarily replaced by intrigue. He straightens slightly. “¿Cual orden?” (What call?)

Berna’s grin grows wolfish, pure amusement bubbling into an obnoxious, rumbling laugh that fills the small space. “¿Ves? Lo sabía.” (See? I knew it) He wags a thick finger at Javier, like a teacher scolding a disobedient student. “Tu banquero hizo una llamada para deshacerse de su mujer. Una empleada de la embajada. Americana. Vos lo sabes mejor que nadie cómo se sienten estos tipos cuando matan a un Americano, especialmente a una tan insignificante… y muy bonita, por lo que he oído.” (Your banker made a call to get rid of his girl. An embassy employee. American. You know better than anyone how these guys feel about killing an American, especially one so insignificant… and very pretty, from what I hear)

Javier’s gut twists at the confirmation of something he practically already knew.

“Emputó a muchos con ese truco. Huyó como un cobarde. Supongo que por eso estás aquí. Por ella.” (He pissed a lot of people off with that trick. Ran away like a coward. I guess that’s why you’re here. Because of her)

Javier flicks his tongue across his teeth.“Eso no importa,” (That doesn’t matter) he retorts lowly. “Sólo necesito saber dónde está... el y esos hijos de puta que cumplieron la orden.” (I just need to know where he is... and those two motherfuckers who followed through with the order)

Berna hums as he strokes his chin like he’s considering it. “Cartagena,” he finally gives him a location, something to fucking work with, as simply as if he were giving directions to el mercado. “Ahí se esconde. Sin embargo, consiguió protección, pero no es nada que los gringos no puedan manejar.” (That’s where he’s hiding. Got himself some protection, but it’s nothing the Americans can’t handle) That last bit said mockingly to purposely annoy the agent.

“¿Y los otros?” (And the others?) Javier presses, not letting him ride his nerves so easily.

“Santos y Rico,” Berna supplies, shrugging nonchalantly. “Siguen en Bogotá. Frecuentan un club allí sobre los barrios. El Flamenco. Bebidas baratas, música de mierda... tu tipo de lugar, ¿eh?” (They’re still in Bogotá. They frequent a club near the barrios. The Flamingo. Cheap booze, shitty music—your kind of place)

He doesn’t rise to the bait again, simply nodding as he stands, swiping the photo of Mateo off the table and back into his pocket, switching it out for his trusty pack of cigarettes.

“Ten cuidado, Peña,” (Careful, Peña) Berna calls after him, his tone still mocking. “No dejes que te vuelva estúpido.” (Don’t let her make you stupid)

Javier doesn’t look back as he walks out into the crisp night, his mind already focused on the next steps.

The capital for Santos and Rico. Cartagena for Mateo. But first, back to you.

He isn’t sure how he’d explain this to you… or if he even would. All he knows is that he has to see your face, remind himself why he’s doing this, using you as an excuse to help justify the violence that has tainted his soul.

Javier is gone. A lot. You try not to let it get to you, especially after he promised to not leave your side ever again. Though, you should have known better than to take that literally.

The rhythm of his comings and goings is erratic, like a broken metronome that keeps you off balance.

At first, it was just a couple of days here and there—late nights bleeding into early mornings, his tired eyes explaining everything and nothing all at once. Then the days stretched into weeks, his absence carving a yawning void in the already fragile sanctuary of his apartment.

Your ribs mend. The bruises fade, the cuts scab over, but none of it feels like progress. Healing should feel like a triumph, not this hollow ache of emptiness of what you’re left with.

You are in Javier’s apartment like a ghost confined in purgatory, aimless and haunted.

You’re supposed to be dead right now.

The thought comes at odd moments—while folding the laundry, when washing the coffee mug he used one morning before he was urgently called back to work, standing at the edge of his bed staring at the empty space where his body should be.

You can’t stop it. It circles you like a vulture, picking at what little resolve you have left.

Connie’s gone too. She had been your lifeline for a while, popping in and offering comfort when her own world was crumbling. But her absence was inevitable, torn between spontaneous parenthood and a marriage fraying at every seam because of the job.

Now it’s just you. Alone with your thoughts, the muffled chaos of the world outside seeping through the walls. It’s a torment you never imagined possible, let alone one you’d find yourself living through.

The country seems to be devouring itself. The news on the small TV mutters of violence that is neverending.

Sometimes, you’ll stand by the sliding glass door that leads to his balcony, fingers brushing the edge of the curtain. You tell yourself you’re just looking, but the nagging fear of being watched creeps up your spine.

The blinds never stay open for long, your courage retreating as quickly as it came. Javier has trusted agents dropping groceries and meals off for you at the doorstep, and even then you’re very cautious about opening the door to bring them inside.

Loneliness, paranoia and insomnia have become your closest companions. The reflection in the mirror becomes a stranger with a melancholic expression and sleepless eyes.

You collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is who you are now: a woman afraid to live.

The rare moments Javi manages to call leave you clinging to the landline, his rough voice over the static of the phone your only escape.

His words are rushed, heavy with exhaustion and tension. Sometimes it’s just an update—he’s okay, thinking of you. Other times, it’s the smallest sliver of intimacy:

“I miss you. I’ll be back soon.”

It’s selfish, you know, to want him here when you know the stakes of what he does for a living. The weight of what he deals with is an unwanted companion in his life.

But that doesn’t stop the longing, the ache to have him wrap his arms around you and make the world feel safe again.

The memory of his love confession that night in the bathroom is all that keeps you going. You cradle it like a fragile ember, feeding it with every shred of optimism you can muster. Which isn’t a lot as of late.

One day, you tell yourself. One day this will all be behind you. The darkness will lift, the scars on your heart will heal.

Until then, you have to endure. Love is a painful and ugly thing.

He gets all three of them in the end. It’s not clean, not quiet, but it’s done.

Berna’s information leads Javier straight to the first two—a pair of low-rent sicarios who’d been dumb enough to let their guard down in a hole-in-the-wall bar back in Bogotá.

The two were slouched over the counter, their laughter slurred and careless, oblivious to the shit storm about to hit.

He didn’t even have to lift a finger. The group moved swiftly, their boots loud against the grimy floor, and in seconds, the sicarios were on the ground, bloodied and begging.

Javier didn’t stay to watch them get dragged out into the alley, their pleas echoing in the narrow space before two distinct gunshots were heard.

He was already planning his next move: Cartagena. Mateo.

No time is wasted when he touches down in the coastal city, greeted by Berna and some of his men.

Flanked by the grim crew, they make their way to the luxurious safe house perched in one of Cartagena’s wealthiest enclaves.

Criminals like Mateo always hide out in opulence after orchestrating such violence.

The assault begins the moment they breach the front gate. Chaos erupts. Gunfire cracks like thunder, tearing through the pristine silence of the night.

Bullets shatter glass, ricocheting off marble columns and embedding themselves in the cream-colored walls. Screams echo as Mateo’s protective detail fights back hard, but they’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of luck.

It’s ruthless yet efficient, and Javier moves through the pandemonium suavely, his focus singular, expression stern, as he searches for the asshole he is here for.

By the time he kicks in the door to Mateo’s hiding spot, the man is cornered. He’s standing by the balcony, sweat dripping down his face, his silk shirt clinging to his torso. A pistol is gripped tightly in his hand and pointed right at Javier.

“Suelta el arma,” (Drop the gun) Javier sneers, his lips curled, weapon steadily trained at the other’s chest.

The temptation to end it all here—one clean shot—burns in his veins. He could do it, drive a bullet straight into the bastard’s heart and paint the wall behind him red.

But no. He won’t give him the ease of a quick death. Not after what he did to you.

Mateo scoffs as it dawns on him that he’s standing off against the DEA agent that’s been shadowing him since the moment he met you.

“Tú primero.” (You first)

“No estás en una posición para pedir ni mierda.” (You are not in a position to ask for shit)

Their eyes lock, and the room feels impossibly still despite the carnage wreaking outside.

Mateo’s hesitation is all the opening Javier needs. He lunges forward, disarming the man in one swift motion and landing a punch squarely across his face. The force sends Mateo sprawling, his pistol clattering uselessly to the floor.

It’s a struggle and Mateo fights back, dirty and desperate. They grapple, fists flying, grunts filling the air as they roll across the polished floor. Javier takes a few hits to his ribs and jaw, but his anger drives him forward.

Every punch is laced with the memory of you—of what this fucker had done, of the fear in your eyes and the pain in your voice, how he broke you.

Finally, with a grunt of exertion, Javier manages to force Mateo onto his stomach, wrenching his arms behind his back. The cuffs click into place, metal biting into his skin.

“¿Crees que eres un héroe o qué?” (Do you think you’re some hero or what?) Mateo spits out, blood mixed in his saliva landing with a glop on the floor and Javier yanks him up. “¿Qué va a pensar tu preciado gobierno cuando les diga con quién lluegaste? Me estás arrestando sin ningún puto motivo factual.” (What is your precious government going to think when i tell them who you showed up here with. You’re arresting me with no real fucking cause)

Javier laughs, the sound bitter and hollow, devoid of humor. As he walks him towards the opulent front doors, he makes sure to twist Mateo’s wrists in the restraints until the jagged metal digs enough to make him bleed.

“¿Crees que esto es un arresto?” (You think this is an arrest) The rhetorical question is asked condescendingly, “No, Mateo, no voy a arrastrarte tras las rejas para que te pudras. Ese es un futuro demasiado misericordioso para malparidos como tú.” (I’m not going to drag you behind bars to rot. That’s too merciful of a future for bastards like you)

With a shove, he pushes Mateo forward. The armed men are waiting at the bottom of the marble steps, and they move quickly, forcing a black bag over his head. His muffled curses are cut short by a sharp blow to the gut.

They throw him into the waiting van like cargo, slamming the doors shut before the engine roars to life.

Javier exhales, his hands flexing at his sides as he watches the vehicle pull away into the darkness. He’s about to tail it, his mind already running through the long night ahead, but then his thoughts veer to you and the way you look at him like he’s more than the monster he feels he’s becoming.

Berna steps up beside him, his presence as calm and calculated as ever despite the massacre that has occurred. His hands are clasped neatly behind his back, but there’s a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or curiosity—dancing in his dark eyes.

“¿Y ahora qué?” (And now what?) he asks, his tone deceptively casual, like he doesn’t already know exactly what Javier’s next move is going to be.

Javi doesn’t even glance his way. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

The basement reeks of damp concrete, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. The single bulb overhead swings with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm, casting broken shadows that dance across the cracked walls and the man tied to the chair.

Mateo’s head hangs low, chin resting against his chest, blood trailing from his broken nose, pooling on the stained floor beneath him. His chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath a wheeze as pain ripples through his bruised and battered figure.

Javier leans against the base of the stairs, his leather jacket discarded over a rusty chair nearby. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, revealing forearms taut with tension, veins bulging beneath his brown skin.

His knuckles are raw, split open from earlier blows, and they throb with a dull ache that he’s long since chosen to ignore. His dark eyes are devoid of their usual sly charm; instead, they smolder with a cold, relentless fury.

Mateo coughs, spitting blood and phlegm onto the floor. “Todo esto... ¿por ella?” (All this… for her) His voice is weak, rasping, but the mockery in his tone is unmistakable. “I don’t believe it.”

Javier pushes off the wall, his boots echoing on the concrete as he takes measured steps toward the chair. He grabs a stool and pulls it up, straddling it directly in front of the other man. His face is inches away, close enough to make him flinch.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Javier reaches out, gripping his jaw with one hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. Mateo winces as Javier’s thumb presses hard against a fresh bruise, the pain blooming anew.

Still, he manages to huff out a wet and gurgling chuckle. “Realmente te tiene envuelto alrededor de su maldito dedo. Estás haciendo todo esto para qué, ¿vengarla? (She really had you wrapped tight around her fucking finger. You’re doing all this to what, avenge her?) Some gringa who barely gave it up. Podrías encontrar una puta mejor en la ciudad, eso sería más creíble que esto—” (You could find a better whore out in the city, that would be more believable than this)

The crack of Javier’s fist connecting with his cheekbone cuts him off mid-sentence. Mateo’s head snaps to the side, and more blood spatters the floor. Javier shakes out his hand, fidgeting his fingers.

“You tried to have her killed.” He spits, voice trembling with restrained rage. “And now you’re going to reap every second she’s had to live in fear because of you.”

Mateo lifts his head weakly, shooting daggers at the agent despite his beaten state. “And this rights the wrong? Makes you better than me? Us? Look at you. Torturing a man in the dark. Working with killers.”

Javier steps closer, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, their faces inches apart. “You’re goddamn right it doesn’t make me better,” he growls. “But I don’t give a fuck anymore. My moral compass? That broke the day I realized just how low you motherfuckers get. The day I realized the only way to protect people like her is to become just like you.”

He shoves him away with enough force to send the chair rocking precariously, the screech of its legs grating against the hard floor.

Javier’s hand closes around a nearby crowbar, it’s cold metal chilling against the heat radiating from his palm. He grips it tightly, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he stalks forward.

He presses the tip of the bar against Mateo’s knee, letting it rest there just long enough for the man’s wide eyes to meet his. The anticipation thickens the air like smoke, and then Javier swings.

The impact is sickening, the crack of bone like a firework detonating in the basement, followed by Mateo’s shrill and desperate scream.

It’s a sound that would make most men hesitate, flinch even, but Javier doesn’t stop.

He brings the crowbar down again and again, obliterating both knees and then moving downward, snapping tibias and fibulas like kindling. Mateo’s pleas are incoherent now, sobbing gasps and wet, broken cries of “Stop!” and “Please!” that Javier doesn’t hear—or perhaps chooses not to.

The cool iron gleams under the dim, swaying light. Blood trickles down it, some of it spatters across Javi’s shirt, his arms, but it doesn’t faze him.

It all becomes a distant hum, drowned out by the roaring in his ears. He doesn’t see the man in front of him anymore; he sees your pain, the fear etched into your face, the scars you’ll carry forever because of this piece of shit.

When Mateo’s legs are little more than pulp, Javier tosses the crowbar aside, the clang of metal on concrete echoing like a death knell.

He doesn’t stop, though. He doesn’t even hesitate. His fists take over, slamming into the other’s face brutally.

Mateo’s head lolls to the side, his breaths coming in ragged, wet gasps. Javier pulls back only when he’s sure the man is teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, his face swollen and unrecognizable.

Breathing heavily, Javi staggers back and pulls his pistol from its spot tucked at his lower back. The deafening click of the safety switching off snaps Mateo out of his stupor, his swollen eyes flying open in panic.

He tries to speak, but his words dissolve into choked sobs. His ravaged legs twitch uselessly, bones jutting through torn skin, his face an unrecognizable mask of swelling and gore.

Javier steps closer, raising the gun. The barrel points squarely at Mateo’s chest, unwavering.

There isn’t anything left to say.

The first shot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space. Mateo jerks in the chair, blood spraying from the wound. Another shot follows, then another. Every pull of the trigger is cathartic, each bullet an exclamation point to the anger and anguish he’s carried for too long.

It feels like ripping a piece of his soul away, but he doesn’t stop. Not until the clip is empty and Mateo’s body slumps forward, lifeless.

Silence falls, heavy and oppressive. Javier’s chest heaves as he lowers the weapon, tasting the burnt sulfurous in the air, his fingers trembling slightly. Blood pools around the chair, a deep crimson stark against the dull gray of the concrete.

He stares at the heap for a moment, his body and soul untethered. There’s no satisfaction in his expression, only exhaustion and a shadow of something darker—loathing, maybe.

He tucks the gun at his lower back again and turns away, his boots crunching over spent shell casings as he heads for the stairs, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

He doesn’t look back as he ascends out of the basement, men trailing in to clean the mess up. Javier doesn’t let himself linger on what he’s done.

You’ve been pacing the apartment for hours, too restless to sit still, too wired to even think about sleeping.

“I’m coming back tonight.”

He sounded different when he called. Blank, almost, but you told yourself not to get hung up on it. You haven’t been feeling like yourself lately, either.

The only thing that mattered was that he was coming back to you.

By the time the doorknob rattles at one in the morning, you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of the couch with your legs tucked beneath you. Your heart leaps into your throat as the door creaks open, and there he is.

Javier’s silhouette fills the frame, outlined by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. His broad shoulders are hunched, the leather duffle dangling limply in one hand. His jean jacket hangs off him like it’s too heavy, his hair mussed, his face unshaven.

The grim line of his mouth and the absent look in his eyes tug at the emotions you harbor for him.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until your feet are carrying you to him, the silver of the moonlight pours in from the glass doors that lead to the balcony, illuminating the room. “Javi…” you whisper, the name leaving your lips before you can think.

You throw yourself into his arms without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him like if you hold him tight enough, it will make all this despair go away.

His duffle hits the floor with a dull thud as his arms come around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks, as you cling to him. Your affection, your tenderness. Still, that doesn’t stop him from being selfish and bathing in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

His embrace is crushing, pulling you so close you can barely breathe, but you don’t care. If he could press you into his skin, you’d let him. If you could crawl inside his chest and be near his heart, you would.

“I missed you,” you murmur against him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. His grip tightens in response, but he doesn’t say a word. His silence makes your throat tighten.

You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. His skin is rough beneath your fingers, the scruff on his jaw rasping against your palms. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see it all—the weariness, the anger, the shame, the pieces that make him who he is.

He opens his mouth to respond, but whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue when you lean in and kiss him.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, like you’re trying to pour every word you haven’t said into the press of your lips on his.

They’re softer than you’d imagined in your countless daydreams, but the way he moves them against yours carries an unmistakable authority. Even as you take the lead, it feels like he’s in control.

Javi’s hands rise, cradling the back of your head as he holds you steady. His mouth moves like he’s been waiting for this, needing this, as much as you have.

You are his sanctuary and his torment, the single thread keeping him whole in a world that threatens to disentangle him.

It’s vaster than love, more potent than lust. It’s the way his heart pinches every time you look at him, as if no matter how far he falls into the darkness, you’ll always be there to pull him back.

Your fingers curl into the denim of his jacket, tugging him closer while you take small, shuffling steps backward. He tastes so forbidden and intoxicating. You’ll never get enough.

As you guide him further into the apartment, he follows without question, mouth never leaving yours, until you stumble slightly over the sunken step into the living room.

His hands move to your waist to steady you, the brief break in the kiss filled with a shaky exhale against your lips, your name leaving him so softly, you almost miss it.

“What are we doing?” His question is rough around the edges, like gravel under silk. He swallows hard, the muscles in his neck moving. His touch remains on your hips, as if he’s caught between holding you close and pushing you away.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you surge forward, capturing his lips again as your hands fumble with his jacket. He hesitates, just for a split second, before shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.

You’re already tugging at the hem of his shirt as you guide him toward the couch with a determined push, his legs folding beneath him as he sits.

You climb onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips.

“Wait,” he says your name, this time a little more sternly. “We can’t—” His fingers flex against your curves, tone strained with the conflict that’s written all over his face.

“Javier, please.” Your plea wavers with emotion, your hands balling into the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I need to feel something else. Make me feel something else.”

His brown eyes meet yours, and the anguish he finds there strikes deep within him. It’s a look he knows all too well, one he’s carried in his own reflection more times than he can count.

It hurts him to see it mirrored back at him, to know that you’ve reached the same depths he’s had to endure.

He should say no. He should tell you that fucking him won’t fix anything, that it won’t make the hurt disappear. If anything, it might make it worse.

But as he takes in the sight of you—your pleading eyes, your trembling hands, the way your lips are still swollen from his kisses—he knows he can’t resist. Not when he’s wanted this, wanted you, for so long.

“Are you sure?” Your noses brush and the heat between you is almost unbearable.

“Please fuck me, Javi,” you whisper, the raw need in your voice obliterating the last shred of his trepidation.

His lips find yours with renewed fervor, hands roaming your body with reckless abandon, no longer hesitant.

Your own are just as eager, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you rock your hips against his bulge. His sharp inhale tells you he feels it too—the spark, the friction.

Clothes begin to fall away piece by piece, the space narrowing until there’s nothing but the press of your bodies and the sound of ragged breaths as you expose more to the other’s hungry gaze.

The moonlight filtering through the blinds casts Javier in a way that makes him look otherworldly. You’ve seen him shirtless more times than you can count, but tonight, under the spell of the lust simmering between you, his body appears almost unreal—every ridge of muscle, every faint scar, illuminated and tempting.

Your touch moves at its own accord, spreading over his firm chest, tracing the curve of his pectorals, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. You move to cradle his face once more, his skin warm and taut under your palms as you guide him down to your neck.

Javier presses his lips to the delicate skin just below your ear, the scrape of his facial hair making you keen. His teeth nip at your pulse point, eliciting a gasp from you, and his tongue follows to soothe the sting.

His kisses blaze a trail lower, past the hollow of your throat and down to the swells of your tits, where he pauses, his breath fanning over your charged skin.

Your breath catches softly as his tongue flicks across the sensitive flesh, and then one of his hands slides up from your waist to cup the other. His thumb brushes over your nipple, teasing it until it peaks under his touch, and then his mouth is on you again—hot, wet, and maddeningly skillful.

He sucks the tender nub gently and you arch into him, whimpering from how good it feels.

“Javi…” you moan, your fingers burying themselves in his hair. His tongue circles your pebbled nipple, flicking it with just the right amount of pressure before he grazes it with his teeth, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core, slickening your cunt with each lick.

He doesn’t neglect the other for long, moving over to give it the same attention, making you feel like you’re coming undone one nerve at a time.

His mouth feels delicious against your skin, and your skin tastes delicious on his tongue.

Even as his desire threatens to consume him, he’s cautious. He notices how you flinch slightly when his fingers press a bit too firmly into your soft skin and guilt prickles at the edges of his hunger; but it only makes him gentler, more intent on making you feel good without causing any more pain.

Javier kisses his way back up until his lips are at the corner of your mouth. Then, with a fluid motion, he shifts your position, guiding you onto your back. The worn cushions cradle you as he hovers over you, his broad frame shielding you from the world, one hand planted firmly beside your head as he kneels between your parted thighs.

The sight of him above you, his polished amber eyes smoldering with want, makes your stomach flip.

Your hips tilt instinctively, seeking more, and the throbbing at your pussy grows insistent. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, the denim of his jeans rubbing tantalizingly against your inner thighs.

He doesn’t speak, but the tension in his jaw, the way his breath is ragged as his fingers find the waistband of your sleeping shorts, says everything.

You lift your hips to help him ease them off, the cool air brushing against your damp skin making you shiver. He undresses fully, and you watch in anticipation as he rids himself of his jeans.

The room is almost fully dark, shadows swallowing the details, but you feel the heat of his cock as it presses against your slick folds.

Your head falls back against the couch, a shaky moan escaping your lips. “Oh…” you whimper, thighs trembling as the blunt head of his length glides along your throbbing seam, gathering your arousal.

The rough pads of his fingers slither down, brushing through the untamed curls at the apex of your thighs. Your upkeep has been the last thing on your mind, given the chaos of your life lately, but Javier doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. If anything, the unfiltered, raw intimacy of it seems to spur him on.

He strokes your pussy gently, his touch reverent, as if every part of you is something to be savored.

The pearl of precum that leaks from the slit on his cock smears against your thigh as he brings his hand up, licking the tips of his fingers, tasting you.

Your heady taste is an aphrodisiac that almost has him pouncing on you like a rabid dog.

There’s a glistening sheen of his spit on the pads of his digits as his hand descends again, sliding between your folds.

His touch is confident, and when he circles your clit with the calloused texture of his fingertips, the sensation hits you like a jolt of electricity, bending your back off the couch as his name tumbles from your lips.

“You ready?”

You nod eagerly, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

He tries not to let those three simple words affect them as much as he knows they can. Instead, he adjusts, making sure you’re both comfortable, bringing you up onto his lap, steadying you by cradling your lower back in his large hand as you loop your arms around his shoulders.

Your thighs tighten at his waist as he aligns his dick at the mouth of your pussy, slowly sinking in, which has you shivering and him hissing out.

You cling to his wide frame as he fills you completely. The world narrows down to nothing but the feel of his cock.

Having you in his arms feels like a paradox—so right and yet so wrong. It’s a storm of conflicting emotions that Javier barely has the bandwidth to process, but all those doubts dissolve with every inch of his length that slides into your wet, tight heat.

The feel of you gripping him so snugly makes his head tilt back slightly, lips parting with a soft groan.

The stretch is both foreign and delicious as your body adjusts to the thickness and size of him.

Your nails bite into the taut muscles of his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat before spilling out in a desperate, trembling moan as he buries himself into your body.

The subtle burn gives way to an irrepressible wave of pleasure when he begins to move, slow at first, testing your limits, before he finds a rhythm that has your head spinning.

“Javi,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as you hold onto him.

Your hips begin to move with his, grinding down in a desperate attempt to take him deeper, to feel every inch of him claiming you.

He groans as he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours. The hand at your lower back moves up to sprawl at the middle, keeping you steady, as the other cups your ass and guides your movements to match his thrusts.

His head nudges yours, his silent request clear, and you pull back just enough for your mouths to collide in a messy, hungry embrace. His tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours, the kiss as consuming as the rest of him.

Every powerful stroke of his hips wipes away the hollow ache that had rooted itself in your chest. In its place is a blissful sensation that threatens to engulf you.

You can feel the intensity of his passion in every thrust, every growled exhalation of your name, every flick of his tongue against yours.

Javier has a way of making the world disappear, of pulling you so completely into him that there’s no room for pain, for doubt, for anything but how good he’s fucking you.

In his arms, with his body wrapped around yours and his cock filling you to the brim, you feel more than safe. You feel wanted. Protected. Cherished. Taken care of.

“Did you really mean it?” you whimper as your hips grind steadily against him, taking him entirely with every downward roll of your body.

Your fingers tangle in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly. The wet, obscene sound of your arousal meeting his cock fills the air, a symphony of lust underscoring your whispered question. “Do you actually love me?”

Javier groans, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, too lost in the sight of you—your furrowed brows, the sweat glistening on your skin, the way your lips part on every gasp and moan.

And you, despite being desperate for his assurance, can’t bring yourself to stop riding his dick.

I’ve killed for you, he thinks, but doesn’t dare say aloud. Instead, his rough voice finally breaks. “I do,” he rasps, his hands gripping your ass possessively, continuing to guide your pace as his strokes grow frantic. “So fuckin’ much. You’d never—shit— you’d never understand.” His mouth latches onto your collarbone, licking and biting with a feral need as if he could brand his love into your skin.

“Make me understand,” you demand in a breathy moan. Your pussy quivers as he adjusts his angle, his cock dragging against a spot inside you that evokes something new. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your head falling back, exposing the arch of your neck to his ravenous kisses.

The ecstasy isn’t just centered at your pussy anymore—it conquers your entire body, an all-encompassing euphoria.

Javier doesn’t waste time with more words. Where they fail him, his actions overcompensate.

In a blink, he shifts, pinning you beneath him on the couch. His hands slide under your thighs, hitching them high around his hips as he starts to thrust with unrelenting rhythm. The head of his cock feels like it’s brushing against your heart, making you cry out incoherently.

Each roll of his hips is a declaration, a confession. This is how much I love you. This is how much I need you.

“Oh my god,” you mewl when it starts feeling like too much. Your hands scramble for purchase, one landing on his cheek while the other claws at his back. Your eyes roll back, and sounds you didn’t even know you could make spill from your lips.

Javier’s face is tight with concentration, his brow pinched together, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He leans in closer, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s as nasty and desperate as his love making.

You can taste the impending bliss on your tongue as your orgasm begins to crash over you. “I love you, Javier,” you moan, high pitched and sweetly.

Your declaration is his undoing. With a loud grunt, Javier pulls out swiftly, his fist wrapping around his cock as he pumps himself. His release comes in hot, thick spurts, painting your stomach as he shudders above you, hips jerking reflexively.

“God damn,” he mutters hoarsely as he collapses forward. His forehead rests against your chest, peppering kisses all over, as the two of you come down together, tangled and spent.

When he regains his composure, he moves off the couch, tugging his jeans on in a practiced, effortless motion before disappearing into the bathroom. You remain sprawled against the cushions, your body still humming from the pleasure he gave you.

A haze of contentment blankets you, leaving you feeling like a new woman. For the first time in weeks, the suffocating mass on your chest feels lighter—his touch, his presence, the way he fucked you—it all feels like a salve on your wounded spirit.

He returns swiftly, a damp, clean rag in hand. His movements are gentle as he crouches beside you, wiping away the sticky remnants of his release from your stomach.

The care in his actions is almost as endearing as the passion you just shared, and you find yourself watching him, entranced. The lines of exhaustion etched into his face don’t take away from how devastatingly handsome he looks in this moment.

It’s only when his hand brushes yours as he adjusts the rag that you notice the state of it—knuckles battered and scabbed over. You’d been too lost in the zeal of your coupling to notice, but now it has a pang of worry cutting through your post-coital haze.

“Javi, your hands—” you start, softly yet concerned. As you slowly sit up, a subtle twinge in your back reminds you just how thoroughly he’d fucked you into the couch. You grimace but press on, your brows knitting together as you reach for him.

Out of habit, he flexes his fingers, his lips tugging into something meant to be reassuring but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he answers with a nonchalance that brushes off the concern in your voice.

Rising from his crouched position, he tosses the rag aside, going through the motions of lighting a cigarette. He sits beside you, pulling you close and wrapping the familiar, colorful quilt around both your bodies, blowing the smoke away from your face.

You don’t give up so easily. Curling into his lap, you nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck, planting a featherlight kiss against the birthmark there. He smells like sex, tinged with the fading scent of his cologne.

Wordlessly, you reach for the arm around your shoulder, cradling his hand gently. You bring it to your lips, brushing them against his injured knuckles. Your eyes stay locked on his, the act full of care, as if you’re trying to kiss away the pain written in every crack and abrasion.

“It’s over,” He announces steadily, his words sinking like a stone dropped into water.

You blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

He pauses, taking another drag then licking his lips with a flick of his tongue. His gaze is fixed on where your fingers are still curled around his hand. “Mateo.” The name makes your body tense instinctively at the mention of it, and he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. “The intention was to bring him in alive, but… he got caught in the crossfire.”

It’s a lie built on necessity and self-preservation, but a lie nonetheless. His dark eyes search your face, gauging your reaction.

Your lips part slightly as you process what he’s just said: Mateo. Dead.

You can finally be in control of your own life again… good riddance, right? You should feel relief, maybe even vindication.

And yet, the feeling is muted, tangled up in something you can’t quite place.

Is it the lingering haze of sleeping with Javier clouding your judgement? Or is it the unsettling knowledge that this death, even while deserved, will find a way to sneak back into your mind when you least expect it? Will it resurface in the future, leaving you grappling with emotions you don’t want to feel for a man who tried to have you killed?

You look up at Javi. His eyes are a deep, earthy brown of aged mahogany—steadfast, enduring, yet weathered by time and trials. You search them, hoping the steady intensity might offer you some clarity.

Instead, all you find is an intangible burden. What would it take, you wonder, to dim that tragic glint that eclipses his beautiful eyes?

Still, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Good.” You tighten your grip on his hand, your smaller fingers pressing against his rougher, calloused ones. “Thank you.”

Javier’s molars grind together at your quiet gratitude. It’s like chewing glass, and he has to toke on the cigarette to ease the feeling.

Would you still feel this way if you knew the truth? If you knew that Mateo’s death wasn’t just a convenient win, but a calculated decision with the help of bad men just like him.

Would you still be thankful then?

Your fingers slip from his hand to his cheek, tilting his face toward you. The softness in your touch undoes the tension at his jaw. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” you say quietly, like you’ve somehow caught onto the turmoil simmering beneath his stoic exterior. “Not with me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch despite himself. You have no idea just how much shit he’s already hauling, how much he’ll never let you see. “You’re safe now,” is all he can bring himself to say, and it feels like both assurance and a deflection. “That’s all that matters.”

Javier stands in the lone office, his mind weighed with the heaviness of recent conversations. Stechner’s words reverberate like a stinging slap.

“For everything you know, you’re extremely naïve.”

The condescension was thornier than he wanted to admit, piercing through his frustration more sharply than the looming fallout.

He’s been fired. Reassigned. Whatever bureaucratic label they slapped on it.

The scandal of his ties with the vigilante squad has finally blown up in his face. By morning, he’ll be on a flight back to Laredo with nothing but his duffel bag and a bruised sense of self.

He should have seen it coming. Hell, he did see it coming, but he still walked straight into it, didn’t he?

This is what happens when you gamble with drug traffickers and criminals, people whose loyalties shift like sand.

Trusting them had been an obvious mistake. But trusting the U.S. government to have his back? That was downright foolish. Those assholes were playing their own games under the guise of diplomacy.

Stechner was right—he is naïve, thinking he could wrest something just out of this mess on his own terms. Justice could never be carved out of deceit and bloodshed.

There’s no victory to claim. Just dirtied hands and sleepless nights.

Well… it wasn’t all for nothing. There’s you. The one silver fucking lining in this entire shitshow.

But even that was about to collapse under the weight of his failures. He’d have to tell you. But how the hell could he look into your eyes and explain everything he’d done? The compromises, the lies, the violence he had incurred.

That he’s leaving?

Javier drags a hand down his face, the lines on his brow deepening with each thought.

Disgust. That’s what he expects to see when he tells you. Maybe judgment, too.

He knows himself too well. The moment he looks into your eyes, he’ll falter, take the coward’s way out and give you only half-truths wrapped in feeble excuses.

The clock ticks on the wall behind him, each second louder than the last, a metronome counting down to his own undoing. If he doesn’t get out of here soon, he’ll drown in his own misery and ruin the night before it even begins.

You have been looking forward to the New Year’s Eve party. The embassy’s farewell to another tumultuous year, held at some ritzy bar downtown.

Javier would have skipped it without a second thought if it were up to him. But you’d been excited, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of something normal, craving it, so he agreed to be your date.

The timing couldn’t be worse. The night should be about new beginnings, but all Javier can feel is the heaviness of his impending departure. And he has no idea when—or how—he’s going to find the words to say goodbye.

His body moves on autopilot until he’s standing outside your door, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

The door swings open, and there you are—radiant, with that smile that could light up even the darkest corners of his life. It’s so warm, so genuine, it hurts more than it soothes him.

“Hey,” you greet cheerfully, stepping aside to let him in. “That was a lot quicker than I expected. Is everything okay?”

For a moment Javi hesitates, an explanation stuck in his throat. He crosses the threshold, shutting the door behind him.

His eyes sweep over you almost involuntarily as you turn and head back toward the bathroom. The skirt of your dress sways with each step, modest in length but criminal in how it hugs your figure. His gaze locks onto the swing of your hips, hungry and selfish, his feet moving as if tethered to yours.

“Everything’s fine.” The words come out clipped, his tone consciously flat. He doesn’t want to invite more questions, doesn’t want you to see through the cracks forming in his wavering facade.

You don’t press him, too preoccupied with the mirror, inspecting your makeup. You swipe another dab of blush across your cheeks, leaning in closer to scrutinize your reflection. “Too much?”

He stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame as he leans against it, watching you with an enamored look he doesn’t bother hiding. “Looks perfectly fine to me,” he replies gruffly, though he means it.

Things between you two have settled into uncharted waters. That night on his couch had been electric, a collision of want and need that left you both reeling. But since then, you’ve held back, keeping the boundaries undefined.

It’s not that you don’t want him—every time he’s near, your body remembers the way he felt inside you, the way he made you feel whole again.

However, there’s something he’s holding back, and you can feel it in the way his gaze lingers on you for too long. You've decided not to push, not while you’re still piecing yourself back together, taking cautious steps on your own journey of healing.

Still, the love between you is undeniable. You feel it in the way he holds you at night, his arms firm yet tender as you drift off to sleep. It’s there in the softer timbre he uses when you talk over the phone while he’s stationed in Medellín.

Even though you’re been back in your apartment now, every night he’s in the capital, he’s either at your place or you’re at his.

You’ve returned to work, and while it’s helped you settle back into a sense of normalcy, it doesn’t feel the same.

The small routines you’ve fallen into do bring you comfort, despite the bigger questions that loom in the background.

You find yourself wondering if it’s time to leave the clerical work behind and seek something greater, something that aligns with the new version of yourself you’re trying to uncover.

Then there’s the question of where you’ll go from here—literally. Colombia has become more than a temporary home, and you’ve realized there’s little waiting for you where you’re from. Truthfully, you could go anywhere. But do you want to?

The answer is clear: the only person you want to be with is standing in your hallway.

“Thanks for coming out with me to this. I know it’s not exactly your kind of night.” You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the last details of your appearance in the mirror. “Want a drink?”

“It’s not,” he concurs, his voice carrying a teasing lilt, “but there’s no way I’m letting you go out there alone looking this beautiful.” His gaze sweeps over you once more as he follows you back out into the living room, his flattery leaving no room for misunderstanding.

The compliment lands as intended and you feel the apples of your cheeks tingling warmly. “You’re sweet,” you murmur as you pour both of your drinks at the bar cart.

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the crackle of the record player in the corner, spinning a soft tune you both half recognize. For a moment, it feels easy. Natural.

When you turn back to him, you hold out his glass with a small, shy smile.

Should he tell you now? Get it over with and rip it off like a bandaid. But as you take a step closer, your voice breaches his spiraling thoughts.

“¿Estás seguro que todo está bien?” (Are you sure everything is alright?) You ask, your brows knitting with quiet concern.

His grip around the glass tightens slightly. He swallows the bitterness lodged in his throat, the words forming in his mind before dissolving into silence. Instead, he forces a half-smile, his tone turning light, almost flippant.

“De mí no te preocupes cariño,” (Don’t worry about me) he tells you softly. “Debemos celebrar el Año Nuevo sin ninguna mamada.” (We should celebrate the New Year without any bullshit)

You search his face, sensing the weight he’s trying to hide, but when his hand lifts to brush against your cheek, your resolve falters. The back of his knuckles are rough, calloused, but his touch is achingly gentle. You lean into him instinctively, your eyelashes fluttering as a sense of calm washes over you.

He’s right. Whatever weight he’s carrying, whatever darkness lingers behind his eyes, it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is about enjoying the fleeting moments of joy.

“Okay.” When your eyes meet him again, there’s gentleness there, a silent agreement to leave the worries behind.

Javier tips his glass toward yours in a silent toast, a half smile pulling at his pouty lips. “Salud.”

“Salud,” you echo, clinking your glass against his.

From his spot at the bar, Javier’s eyes stay glued to you, the knot in his chest tightening with each laugh that escapes your glossed lips. You’re standing with a group of your coworkers, your head tilted back as you throw yourself into some joke he couldn’t hear.

The sound of a countdown filters through the bar, and the announcer’s voice booms that there are five minutes left until the new year.

As if on cue, you start making your way back to him, your expression alight with excitement.

“They’re setting off fireworks on the roof! We should get up there before it gets too crowded,” you suggest, the words spilling out with the eagerness of someone who’s had just enough to drink.

Javier nods, his lips twitching into a faint smile in one of those rare moments where his amusement is genuine and unguarded. He finishes the last sip of his drink, sliding off the barstool suavely.

Before you can take more than a step, his arm loops around your waist, pulling you closer.

The haze of the drinks and his steady warmth make you feel like you’re walking on air as he guides you to the stairs leading to the rooftop.

When you step outside, the cool night air nips at your bare shoulders, making you shiver. You turn on your heel, already halfway to suggesting going back for your coat when Javier beats you to it.

“Just take mine,” he says, shrugging out of his leather jacket gallantly. He drapes it over your shoulders, the weight of it heavy but comforting, the potent scent of him wrapping around you like a second skin, making you giddy.

The sleeves fall far past your hands and you let out a contented laugh. “Gracias, Javi,” you angle yourself to press a kiss to his cheek.

With his hand in yours, you tug him toward the edge of the rooftop, where the city sprawls out below in a sea of twinkling lights.

“You know, despite all the violence and corruption, this country really is so beautiful.”

Javier doesn’t respond right away. His gaze shifts from the city to you, longingly. “Yeah,” he agrees in a raspy timbre, “it is.”

But his words aren’t meant for the city. They’re meant for you.

An eager, ill-timed firework crackles in the distance, a single streak of light exploding into a shower of gold and white over the skyline.

“Look at that,” you whisper, the sound barely audible over the growing cheers and whistles of the crowd.

Javier doesn’t look at the fireworks. He can’t. His gaze is glued to you, the way the vibrant colors illuminate your features, casting you in a kaleidoscope of light.

He’s memorizing everything about this moment: the tilt of your lips as you smile, the slight raise in your brow as you lose yourself in the spectacle, his jacket draped over your shoulders.

The countdown begins, voices around you picking up in excitement.

Ten… nine…

You glance up at him, your face glowing with the anticipation of a fresh start with the only person you want by your side. “Javi,” the way his name rolls off your tongue jabs at his crumbling walls.

Eight… seven…

He manages a fleeting smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite the leaden weight of his turmoil on his back.

Six… five…

Your free hand comes up to rest lightly on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you for being here.”

Four… three…

“Always,” he replies, even though it’s a lie.

Two… one…

You both lean in at the same time, as if pulled by some invisible thread. Your lips meet his in a kiss that feels as inevitable as the sunrise. It’s soft at first, tender and unhurried, but it shifts quickly, urgency fueling it.

The rooftop erupts in cheers as the first moments of the new year are ushered in with a thunderous cascade of fireworks. The sky is alive with bursts of red, white, gold.

For you, it feels like the perfect moment, the start of something good. You can’t imagine wanting anything else but this—him, here, now.

For Javier, it feels like a bittersweet end. Laced with his unspoken heartbreak, a desperate attempt to memorize the taste of your lips, the way your body fits so perfectly against his, before everything comes crashing down.

When you finally pull back, your cheeks are hot, your smile radiant as you look up at him. “Feliz Año Nuevo.”

He forces a smile, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Happy New Year, cariño.”

You surge forward again, the pull of him irresistible. Your hands cradle his jaw as your tongue teases against his bottom lip, a silent plea he answers without hesitation. His mouth parts, letting you in—hot and enthralling, making your toes curl in your heels.

His fingers slide lower, grabbing a possessive handful of your ass. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth, and your thighs instinctively press together, trying to quell the thrum of arousal beginning to pulse at your cunt.

“Take me home,” you whisper desperately as you break away, all shaky and breathless. Your eyes meet his dark and hooded ones, mirroring your own need.

For a second, Javier doesn’t move, caught in the crossfire of his own thoughts. But as he looks at you, sees the way, your pupils are blown wide with desire—any lingering hesitation crumbles.

“Let’s go.”

He leads you through the crowd, his broad shoulders parting the sea of people like he was made to shield you from the chaos.

Your pulse races, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach as the fireworks continue to explode above, unnoticed by either of you.

You love how his weight settles over you, his hands traveling in hunger across every inch of your skin. The way you grind against him feels like second nature, your body responding to his every move with an unrelenting need.

You hadn’t expected him to take his time like this, stretching out every moment of foreplay as if he’s trying to make it last forever.

It’s the third time tonight he’s taken you apart with his mouth, but this time, his fingers are joining in, plunging into your soaked heat while his tongue flicks over your clit in a rhythm that makes you see fireworks erupting against your vision.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably, your body twisting against the damp sheets as you struggle to stay present.

Javier’s tongue drags slow circles over your swollen nub before he sucks it into his mouth, the gentle pull sending sharp jolts down your spine.

His fingers curl inside you, brushing against that devastating spot that has your back arching clean off the mattress.

“Javi!” you cry out, hips stuttering against his face as the wave of your climax crashes over you. His hooked nose presses against you as you fall apart.

He doesn’t stop. He’s utterly lost in you—your sweet headiness, the way your walls squeeze around his fingers. You have to yank hard on his hair to finally pull him away, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he looks up at you, mouth glistening with your release.

He licks his lips slowly, savoring every last bit. There’s a desperate intensity in his eyes, like his palate is memorizing the taste of you.

Javier kisses his way up your body, stopping to worship your breasts, his tongue and teeth teasing each peak until you’re squirming, your pussy continuously drooling for him.

When his lips finally crash against yours, it’s messy as he lets you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands roam over his broad back, tracing the curve of muscle and sinew, appreciating the feel of his skin against yours. You sigh softly, content to be pinned beneath him.

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the order, and though your body feels overwhelmed from his attention, you obey without hesitation. Your desire for him outweighs everything else.

Javier shifts back, giving you room to move. You reposition yourself, chest and stomach pressed flat against the mattress while your hips lift, aided by the pillow he slides beneath you.

The cool air kisses your exposed skin, and you hear him groan behind you—a deep sound that has your pussy clenching in anticipation.

“Tan hermosa,” he whispers hoarsely, his rough hands caressing your ass before delivering a playful smack that makes you gasp. The flesh jiggles under his touch, and he leans down to place a tender kiss on your shoulder, biting softly as he aligns himself behind you.

You feel the head of his cock drag through your folds, gathering the slick mess he’s drawn from you before pressing against your wet entrance. He pushes in slowly, the stretch making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

“Javier,” you whimper, your fingers clutching the sheets as he fills you inch by inch.

The angle is devastating, reaching places you didn’t even know existed, and all you can do is hold on tight.

His strong thighs cage yours, while his broad frame looms over you, his toned arms braced on either side of your head. Each measured thrust sends his heavy balls slapping against your puffy, soaked clit.

“Puta madre, you’re so fuckin’ tight like this.” He lowers more of his weight onto you, pressing you further into the mattress, his thrusts growing more delirious.

The force of his movements pulls unrestrained moans from your lips, each one echoing with pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

Your trembling hands fumble over the sheets until they find his calloused palms pressing firmly into the sheets.

Without hesitation, you intertwine your fingers with his, your softer touch setting off something feral inside him. He starts to pound into you, his hips snapping hard and fast as though the world outside this room doesn’t exist.

Your pussy clamps around on him in response, helplessly succumbing to his pace. Your hips instinctively try to push back against him but his weight over you, so dominant, keeps you in place, forcing you to take the entirety of his cock.

“I-I—” The words tumble out, but they’re incoherent, your mind too clouded with the way he breaks you open, your sex swallowing him in even deeper.

“Another one already? I should’ve taken care of you and this perfect pussy a long,” he thrusts hard, “time,” another sharp snap of his hips, “ago.”

“Ah!” you shriek, your nails digging into his hands where your fingers remain entwined, your vision crossing as he hits that spot inside you that flares your orgasm. “Just like that. Don’t stop, Javi.”

He doesn’t falter nor considers easing up, inducing another wave of stickiness from your cunt.

The obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—wet and raw—fill the room, punctuated by the shameless cries spilling from your throat. Your climax slams into you with breathtaking intensity, your pussy spasming and gripping him so tightly, it pulls a scratchy groan from his lips.

Javier finally stills, buried to the hilt, letting you ride out the aftershocks as your shaking body collapses beneath him. He peppers soft kisses across your damp shoulders and down your spine, his mustache bristling deliciously against your skin.

When his lips find the curve of your neck, he lingers, licking at the delicate flesh there as though he can’t get enough of you.

Four orgasms in, your body feels utterly spent, your thighs trembling as the weight of exhaustion begins to set in. You turn your head, your voice soft as you murmur, “Javi.”

He lifts his head, his eyes searching yours with concern. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum, a lazy smile curling at your lips. “Just… hold me.”

His chest rises and falls with a staggered breath, the weight of his departure lingers like a shadow over the moment, threatening to sour it. But he pushes it away.

He pulls out of you slowly, the wet slide drawing a hushed whimper from your lips. He rolls onto his side, gathering you into his arms and tucking you against his chest. His still-hard cock, satiny and heavy, presses against your stomach, impossible to ignore.

You glance up at him, fingers trailing down his sternum toward his length. “Do you want me to…?”

He catches your wrist gently, stopping you. “No. Not yet.”

You hum your understanding, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing the top of your head as the two of you settle into a lull of lazy, unhurried affection.

Kisses are exchanged between whispered words, hands mapping the planes of the other’s body.

Everything about him is so damn addictive.

The lust that simmers reignites, pulling you under its spell, and this time, you don’t wait for permission. Your palm wraps firmly around his cock, tugging him languidly.

Javier’s lashes flutter, his head falling back slightly, exposing the strong line of his throat. A low sound escapes him as his hips move instinctively to match your strokes. “Fuck,” he groans, strained, “Así mero.” (Just like that)

Your thumb brushes over the bead of precum glistening at his tip, smearing it down his length, making him shudder. His jaw tightens, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

The whisper of his name is laced with need as your lips trace his neck. “I need you again.”

He hooks one of your legs over his hip, the other tangled with his in a side-styled missionary, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your breasts.

Your pussy lips part open, eager for him, and the anticipation buzzes through your body. You guide him where you need him and he lets his hips take over, the thick, spongy tip sinking into you until he’s fully seated.

A gasp escapes your lips as he starts to move, slow and purposeful.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he keeps them hidden, burying his face against your throat, engulfing you in his arms entirely.

The thought of losing you cleaves at him, and a desperate idea flits through his mind—if he could just open up, let you see the broken pieces of himself, maybe you’d understand. Maybe you’d come with him to Laredo, let him show you, and himself, the quiet beauty of a life together on his family ranch.

The fantasy swells in his chest, making his thrusts grow more passionate. His teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder, almost enough to hurt.

You’re barely human anymore, lost in the voracious sensation of his cock stretching and filling you; just a mass of feverish energy.

Your fingers dig into his back, nails raking across his sweat-slicked skin as you cling to him, completely uncaring of the sticky warmth where your bodies connect or the thick scent of sex that permeates the air.

“Oh god, Javier,” you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as you tilt your head back. “Keep doing that—oh my god—I love you.”

Your words are a jolt to his system, breaking down every defense he has left. He groans your name as his mouth trails up your throat, leaving a broad stripe of his tongue in its wake before nipping gently at your jaw.

“Say it again,” he breathes heavily as his hips grind deeper, the motion pulling an uncontrolled cry from you, your body jolting against his.

“I love you,” you babble as his movements turn rougher, more desperate.

He presses his forehead to yours, his gaze dark and wanton. “Kiss me,” he rasps.

You obey without hesitation, your lips finding his in a feverish clash of need and devotion.

Tongues tangle and teeth graze as if you’re trying to devour each other, your bodies writhing, desperate to become one.

“Where do you want it?” Javi grits out, hovering on the edge of his release. His chest heaves, feeling your nipples brushing his skin while his muscles turn taut as he tries to hold himself back for your answer.

You’re quivering from the aftermath of what feels like your fifth orgasm, maybe sixth—you’ve lost count.

Your mind is hazy, clouded with exhaustion and bliss, that his question barely registers. Your fingers clutch at his forearms, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as you look up at him.

You manage a soft pout with trembling lips. “Inside,” You need it badly, your pussy instinctively clenching around his cock at the prospect of him filling you. Then, with more desperation, you plead. “Please, Javi.”

The way your lips purse, the edge of tears in your voice have his instincts taking over. A greedy, lustful desire too overpowering to resist.

He has to give you what you’re begging for.

“Fuck,” Javi groans, his head dropping against your shoulder, his voice muffled as curses and ragged breaths spill from his lips. He finishes inside of you in hot, shuddering waves.

The heat of his cum stuffing you has a blissful mewl escaping your lips. Your pussy insatiably holding onto every drop, milking him as though your body can’t bear to let him go.

He remains there, his cock twitching inside as the both of you ride out the ecstasy.

Javi makes no move to pull out, instead his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close as his spend drips out around his cock and down to his balls.

Time feels like it bends and stretches, the minutes melting into hours as you lose yourselves in each other.

You fuck, you make out, you touch each other so tenderly that you’re certain you somehow managed to retrieve a slice of heaven right here in your bedroom.

The night gives way to the distant glow of dawn. The room is bathed in a soft, golden light as the sun peeks over the horizon.

You’re both exhausted, your bodies aching from the endless push and pull of pleasure, yet neither of you seems willing to stop.

Javier hovers above you, half lidded gaze locked with yours. Your legs are loosely wrapped around his middle while his hips move suavely.

“Just one more,” he’s practically begging as those brown eyes of his bore into yours. He just needs one more. “You can do it, pretty girl. I know you can. Been doin’ so good all night.”

His lips finally find yours in an ardent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him yet again. You’re lost in all he’s given you, your world spinning as your final orgasm tears through you.

He follows shortly after, his hand wrapped around your jaw as he holds you steady while he pumps you full of his cum.

Javi turns gentle as he plants sweet kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. He caresses your thighs then up your side as your breathing slows.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He continues to knead and fondle, murmuring soft praises until you’re completely at ease, melting into him.

You’re drifting toward sleep, limbs heavy and utterly spent, your body glowing in the soft light of early morning. The faint sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, catching rays as they filter through the curtains.

Javier leans against the headboard, eyes tracing the length of your body beneath the sheets. The serenity in your expression tugs at a longing so profound, it’s painful. When his gaze flicks to the alarm clock on the bedside table, the time glares at him in bold red numbers.

His flight boards in a little over three hours.

The lump in his throat swells, a heavy, choking pressure that makes it feel like it’s going to explode and rupture his neck. He prays you can’t feel the way his heart beats erratically or how his body seems to radiate a fever level temperature as the anxiety settles in.

Fuck.

He moves slowly, not wanting to wake you. Carefully, he shifts your body, rolling you to your side. You’re so pliant, so exhausted that you murmur something unintelligible before nuzzling into the pillow.

He hesitates, watching as your breathing deepens again.

His jeans are tugged on first, the soft rustle of fabric barely audible in the quiet room. He doesn’t bother buttoning his shirt, draping it over his shoulders as he moves around, collecting his belongings.

Maybe this is the cleanest way, he thinks bitterly. To just leave. Slip out before the inevitable fallout. You’ll hate him either way—better to make a quick exit than to sit through the heartbreak, to explain the compromised morals that led him here.

But as he tugs his boot on, you stir. Your arm stretches across the empty space where he once was, craving his warmth. When you feel nothing, you open your eyes, squinting against the pale light.

“Javi?” You call out drowsily and a little confused.

For a moment, he considers staying silent, waiting to see if you’ll fall back into slumber. But then you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the heel of your hand.

You don’t care about the mascara smudged beneath your lashes or the eyeliner smearing your waterline. All you care about is the sight of him standing there, half-dressed, looking like he’s about to bolt.

“Why are you getting dressed?”

Javier licks his teeth, buying time he doesn’t have. His fingers flexing as if searching for something to hold onto. You catch the pained set of his jaw.

“I’m leaving.”

You blink, slow and disbelieving, as if the action will somehow help you make sense of what he just said. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

“To the airport.”

“Airport?” You’re more awake now, moving to the edge of the bed and reaching under where your robe lies in a heap.

The soreness in your muscles makes you wince as you bend to grab it, slipping it on as you stand. Your legs are wobbly, the remnants of the all nighter making themselves known. “Why? Did you get called back to Medellín?”

Javier watches you silently, his teeth grinding when you walk to him, your expression expectant and confused.

“I’m going back to Texas,” he finally answers.

“Texas?” The frown on your face deepens. “Is your dad okay?”

For you to assume his departure is over his father’s wellbeing somehow makes this worse. His lips press into a thin line, eyes darting away. “He’s fine.”

“Then why are you—” You pause, exhaling sharply, exasperation bubbling at his curt replies. You hate when he gets like this. You figured you’d be past it now.“Why are you going back?”

He struggles to form but a few words at a time. “I got suspended,” he tells you. “Indefinitely. Flight’s out at nine.”

The room falls silent. That’s the last thing you expected to hear.

“How long have you known?”

“Found out this afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You glare at him. “You were just going to leave without saying anything?” That hurts.

“I didn’t want to ruin your night. I was trying to make it easier.” He stupidly answers.

“Easier?” Your voice rises slightly, incredulous. “Sneaking out after spending all night with me makes this easier? For who, Javi? You or me?”

His expression blazes with guilt. “You don’t understand what this is—what I’m trying to… protect you from.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you fire back, your hands trembling as you tuck them into the pockets of your robe to keep from reaching for him. “You tell me that you love me and give me all these empty promises only to sneak out after you’ve fucked me.” He winces. “What are you protecting me from now? From you? From us?”

Javier’s nostrils flare, his breathing ragged. Every point you make is so valid and it crushes him. “From the mess I’ve made.”

“Then tell me what the hell happened.” You can’t help him if you don’t know what’s killing him. “Be direct. Stop shutting me out and just talk to me! I deserve that much.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to deflect again, to retreat into the same cagey silence. But then he exhales sharply, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

“I killed him.”

The simplicity of it leaves you puzzled. “Who?”

“Mateo.”

Your chest tightens, trying to recall what he’s already told you about the other’s demise. “You said he died in the crossfire—”

“I lied.” The admission lands with the force of a hit, and Javier’s eyes meet yours, pleading for understanding but knowing it’s a futile hope. “I found him. Holed up in Cartagena. I dragged him out myself. Took him to a warehouse.” He grows quieter with each word, but the confession barrels forward. “I beat him. Then I emptied the entire clip into his body.”

The room goes deathly still, the echoes of his words lingering in the air. Even the rhythm of your breathing slows, like your body needs time to process what you’ve just heard.

“You… you dragged him out,” you repeat, as if saying it again might change its meaning. “You took him to a warehouse.”

He nods once, a sharp, curt motion, feeling as if he’s watching this outside of himself.

“And you—” The words burn in your throat. “You killed him. Like that. You… tortured him.”

“I had to.” The anguish bleeds through his words.

Had to.

It feels like the ground has just given out beneath you. Your lips part, but no words come. You’re staring at him like you’re seeing someone entirely different.

“Had to?” you can’t help but parrot, the excuse tastes bitter on your tongue. “Why couldn’t you just arrest him?” Mateo deserved all his suffering, sure, but it wasn’t up to Javier to enact it as so.

You’d made peace with the idea of his death when you thought it happened in the chaos of a raid. But this? This is something else entirely.

“It’s not that simple,” he tries, his voice rigid with frustration, but it feels like an insult to your intelligence.

“Is this why you got fired? Because they found out you killed him?”

Another pause. His hesitation only stokes the fire burning in your chest.

“No.”

Now you’re spiraling, your mind racing to conjure something worse than killing a man that could’ve cost him his career.

You take a step closer, toe to toe now, your robe hanging loosely off your frame, his shirt still unbuttoned and exposing his chest. It’s hard to believe you were just entwined in carnal bliss. “What did you do, Javier?”

There’s so much hurt laced in your question, it’s a wonder the room doesn’t shatter around you. He looks away, his lips rubbing absentmindedly, mustache twitching as he struggles to form a response.

“I cooperated with them,” his confession feels jagged. “The cartels. The paramilitary assholes. Get Escobar—that was the goal.”

Your legs move on instinct, a shaky step backward, and Javier follows reflexively, his hand half-reaching for you before he thinks better of it. His presence only makes it worse, his body too close, his words too loud in your ears.

It’s like every fear wrapped into one devastating realization. After everything you went through—after the pain he watched you try to claw your way back from—he still went out there, trading his soul for deals made in blood.

“You knew what they did to me,” disappointment strings your words together, and while you understand that it wasn’t the same men who jumped you—they are all still cut from the same cloth. “You saw what they took from me, and you still…”

“There wasn’t another way,” he insists, desperate now, the plea in his eyes almost unbearable to look at. “I did what I had to do to bring him down.”

“There’s always another way!” You yell, the words ripping from your throat like they’re trying to drag the hurt out of you with them. “But you didn’t care. Not about the innocent people they killed or the lives they ruined.”

His face twists in anguish, as if he hadn’t been beating himself up for all the civilians that became casualties, but you don’t stop. The distress boils over, spilling out of you in a torrent. “The job always takes priority. Above everything—above everyone.”

Your hands act on their own, shoving at his chest as if the force could make him feel even an ounce of the pain you’re carrying. Javier doesn’t resist. He lets you push him, lets your palms land against him over and over, taking it all because he knows he deserves it.

“How am I supposed to look at you the same?” You demand, tears streaming freely down your face now, each one a testament to the betrayal sinking its claws into you. You shove him again, harder this time, backing him toward the living room. “How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

His own eyes glisten, cheek tensing in distress, but he doesn’t say a word because he can’t.

“You’re no better, Javier. You’re just like them.”

You begin to get flashbacks of your confrontation with Mateo. His callous words echo in your head, overlapping with Javier’s explanations. The two begin to blur together, their justifications eerily aligned, like different faces of the same haunting coin.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

You stare at him, and for a moment, he’s not the man you love anymore. He’s another wraith from the nightmare you barely escaped.

“I know.”

He’s such a self-aware asshole, and it makes you livid. The way he stands there, bracing himself like he knows he deserves everything you’re throwing at him—like he’s already written himself off as the villain in this story. It’s infuriating.

The morning light streams in through the windows, slicing across the room in uneven beams. It’s amplifying everything: every emotion, every movement, every goddamn look he gives you as you stand off in the middle of the living room.

“Despite it all… you still found the time to fuck me. And I let you.”

You can feel the fire licking up your neck, but it’s not from embarrassment—it’s from the sting of humiliation. How you let yourself be fooled twice by two different men.

You tighten your robe around you, the soft fabric suddenly feeling like sandpaper against your skin. Everything feels wrong now.

He watches you, his expression etched with guilt for making you question your worth. Despite it, he doesn’t regret taking you to bed.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you continue, more to yourself than to him, carrying anger and self-loathing. “For trusting you again. For ignoring every single red flag you waved in my face. You weren’t just a shitty friend, Javi. You were a walking disaster, and I still let you back in.”

He flinches, but it’s not enough. You want him to feel it, to feel the way your heart aches and how your trust, fragile and carefully rebuilt, crumbles to dust at your feet.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” you state with another shove, forcing him closer to the front door. He continues to comply, stumbling backwards in silence, letting you release it all.

“If you cared about me at all, you would’ve stayed away. You just had to come back, had to get your hands on me again. And I was so desperate—so fucking desperate to believe you’d be different.”

You laugh tearfully, hands falling to your sides as you stand in the short hallway that leads to the entrance. “But you’re not different. You’re just a man with nothing but a big ego that’s drowning in his own penitence.”

He swallows hard, your words reverberating with the sickening truth and he wills himself to speak.

“Nothing was getting done,” Javi begins, the weariness of it all finally breaking him. “No one fucking cared. That motherfucker kept killing people, bombing the streets all while getting richer and untouchable. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, it wasn’t enough. And then—” His voice tapers, gaze dropping for just a moment before moving back to yours.

“And then you got hurt. That was one thing I could fix. I could right the wrong, make you feel safer. I did it for you!”

“For me?” You scoff out a doubting laugh. “So, what, you decided you’d be judge, jury, and executioner? You think killing him—brutally, no less—makes any of it better? That it erases what he did to me?”

“It was a start—”

“You didn’t do this for me, Javier,” you cut him off, your voice teetering with fury and hurt. “You did it for you. To ease your guilt, to feel like you had control.”

His breathing grows ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to get so fucking lost I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad anymore? I did what I had to do!”

“Stop saying that!”

“I don’t know how else to fix this,” he fires back.

“And I don’t know how to believe you,” you whisper, the fight draining from your voice as tears spill freely down your cheeks. “All you do is hurt me, Javi.”

Javier steps back, his shoulders slumping, his entire frame caving in. Desperation flickers in his eyes as he reaches for the only card he has left to play—the last, sapped attempt to salvage what little remains.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, though it’s barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your body freezes when he gets closer. His large hands tremble slightly as they cup your face.

“I never wanted to hurt you. Te amo.” He murmurs, his voice soft and pained as his forehead presses against yours. His lips brush yours, and it sends a jolt through your body, a cruel reminder of all the ways he’s managed to slither his way back into your heart and mind.

Your lips quiver, salty wet trails streaking your cheeks. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head and pushing against his chest, your palms meeting his bare skin where his shirt falls open. You manage to break away, the distance between you offering only the barest reprieve.

But Javier doesn’t stop. He steps forward again, crowding you, his desperation palpable. “Please, cariño,” he implores. “I love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry—so sorry.” The words tumble out of him in a desperate loop, growing more frantic each time, as if sheer repetition might somehow undo the damage.

And fuck do you hear the genuine ache there, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve heard it all before—the apologies, the promises, the declarations. None of it fixes this.

Despite your actions, your body betrays you. Even as you try to shove him away, you feel the magnetic pull, the infuriating draw that keeps you tangled in his orbit. It’s a push and pull, your hands shoving at his chest while your heart screams at you to stop.

And you hate him for it. For the way he makes you feel. For the way his arms still feel like home even as your love for him falls apart.

“All I hear is excuses. Like always. Get off me, Javier.” Your voice shakes, but the resolve in it is ironclad, each word laced with finality. You swallow back your sobs, forcing yourself to sound strong—for him, for yourself. He hears it too; the end is in your tone. You’re done.

His hands linger on your waist for a moment longer, the satin of your robe bunched helplessly in his grasp. Reluctantly, he lets go, his back brushing against the doorknob as if the exit is pushing him to leave.

Javier’s gaze lingers over you one last time, absorbing every detail like a man cataloging his losses.

The swollen redness of your eyes and how you seem to fold into yourself as if shielding your heart from further harm. Because of him. The betrayal etched deep into your expression cuts deeper than any wound he’s ever felt. Because of him. It all screams painful vulnerability, lowered self-esteem you didn’t have before.

All he’s done is hurt you. Him and his inability to separate his good intentions from his devastating habits. Him and his selfishness, pursuing you when he knew better.

Now you get a good look at him: disheveled, bags shadowing his weary eyes, faint bruises staining his jawline, his heaving chest exposed and slick with the sweat of desperation.

You both stand in silence, weighed down by words unspoken because there’s nothing left to say. The air between you is charged with the knowledge that you despise what he’s become.

He reaches for the door and opens it, the sound of the bolt sliding back loud in the tense silence.

Time marches on, indifferent to your heartbreak, and Javier hesitates, his boots heavy as they meet the threshold.

Gathering every ounce of strength left in you, you find your voice. “Please leave… and don’t come back.”

Your voice prompts him, cold and resolute, and it takes everything in him to obey. He steps out, the apartment door left wide open behind him.

He turns, desperate for one last look, the soft daylight framing him like a man on the edge of a cliff. “I love you.”

You grip the edge of the door, willing yourself not to fall apart further. “Not anymore,” you whisper, venom interwoven through the statement. “Never again.”

And with that, you shut the door in his face, turning the lock with trembling hands.

The weight of it all crashes over you now that you’re alone and you stumble back, collapsing right there on the floor. You bury your face in the crook of your elbow to muffle the sobs racking your body as you begin to mourn the loss of the man you loved.

On the other side of the door, Javier stands frozen, the loss sinking into his bones. The worn numbers of your apartment stare back at him, mocking him with their permanence.

He blinks slowly, a single tear leaking from his eye as his fingers brushing the wood one last time before he turns away, dragging his feet next door, knowing that he’s lost you forever.

Months later, you receive a letter.

The envelope is creased and smudged, the handwriting unmistakably his—slanted, hurried, like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough. You almost toss it, but that small, unhealed part in your heart with his name carved on it keeps you from doing so.

I’m sorry. For everything. I think about you every day, and I know I have no right to, but I do. I hope you’re happy. You deserve that much…

You read it over and over until the words blur.

You never write back. There’s no reason to.

Some love stories don’t end with a clean break or a tidy resolution. Some just… linger, like a wound that scabs over but never truly heals.

And that’s what you and Javier become: a scar, a memory that neither of you can fully let go of, no matter how hard you try.

tag list for my works can be found here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @thundermartini . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @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 . @almostfoxglove . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @biapascal .

#MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION PLEASE #okay: READ THIS #fic rec #javier peña x reader

263 notes · View notes

indigofyrebird · 2 days ago

Text

Forgiveness

613 words

Something on your tiny mind, Wrecker?

The words stick in his memory like a thorn, sharp and painful.

He'd always taken out his frustrations on his easy going brother. Too easy, never rising to his own defense, the fact somehow making it even easier to poke and prod at him.

Now, Wrecker is slumped at his side, his breath coming in quiet, uneven hitches. At least he's resting, and Crosshair watches him out of the corner of his eye. My brother, he thinks. My strong brother. To see him reduced to this almost helpless state makes something ache in Crosshair's chest.

His whole body aches. The hum of the ship as it hurtles through space is familiar, a comforting background noise, and Crosshair clings to it, closes his eyes and lets his exhausted mind wander.

When they were small, Wrecker had stood up for him, time after time. Crosshair remembers hiding behind his bulk, too little to do anything but spit and snarl at his tormentors from the safety of his position.

How his cheeks would burn with shame after. Lacking the maturity to voice his feelings, he turned to violence against his innocent brother. Crosshair remembers the satisfying feel of pummeling his fists into Wrecker's strong pectorals. The way he would just stand there and take it only made Crosshair more angry and it was usually Hunter who stopped him, made him cool off.

Not once had Wrecker taken up defense against him. Never with physical violence and never against the harsh words Crosshair threw at him.

Crosshair's tongue was a barbed thing, cutting, wounding easily. A thing he had honed as he grew rapidly into a severe and bitter soldier of war. If he had felt sorry for the hurtful things he'd said to his brother, he never let it show.

Now, body and mind hurt and bruised, the remorse of a lifetime of cruelty against his brother crashes over him. The thought of losing another brother sends a spike of fear through him, and Crosshair groans, throat painfully constricted. He leans his head forward to bury his face against his raised knees.

When he can speak again, he lifts his head.

"Wrecker," he rasps out, nudging the big man at his side.

Omega, who is clinging to his left arm, head resting against his shoulder, stirs in her sleep. Wrecker doesn't budge.

"Wrecker," he says louder, suddenly desperate that his brother hear him.

Wrecker cracks his good eye open, blinks at him.

"Cross... What's wrong, Cross?" Wrecker shifts, carefully rubbing at his abdomen, stifling a cry of pain.

Crosshair remembers the joy on his brother's face at the gift of his old armor. Remembers the fear on his face as he had shot him. The shame threatens to overwhelm him and he nearly chokes on his words.

"Wrecker, I'm sorry."

The weight of it feels heavier than almost anything in this moment and he turns to Wrecker, grasping for his hand. His brother turns huge sorrowful eyes from Crosshair's missing hand to his face, meeting his eyes.

"What for, little brother?" He says gently, shattering Crosshair's heart into pieces.

"For...for...for everything, Wrecker." Crosshair breathes out a great shuddering sigh, a weight lifted.

Wrecker squeezes his hand, strong even in his wounded and weakened state.

Careful not to disturb Omega, Crosshair lets himself be pulled sideways until his head is on Wrecker's shoulder.

"Nothin' to be sorry for, little brother." A rough palm cradles the back of his head and Crosshair searches for the right thing to say. Lacking the words, he squeezes the hand back with everything he has left in him, grateful for the touch, for forgiveness.

#the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #the bad batch fanfiction

73 notes · View notes

alwaysobsessed777 · 1 day ago

Note

okok so for the nika angst how about it’s something with her injury and reader trying to help her and it’s appreciated but nika feels helpless since reader helps with everything and nika starts closing herself off ??

idk something like that 🤷‍♀️

FINE LINE - N.M

finally finished this one after the long day I had (which was literally just shopping and watching the UConn game). So please...enjoyyy and hopefully it's not to bad.

Not sure the word count but there is no warnings!!

"hey, Niks. I'm gonna head to work, um, do you need anything before I go?" A simple question. Nothing that could be taken the wrong way.

"Nope."

"Okay...I'll pick something up for us to eat on my way home, if you want me too."

"Sounds good."

My lips form a thin line, "Okay, just text me something you'd want. I love you."

"Love you."

I didn't want to think to much into it, but since nika's injury, I've tried my best to be the supportive girlfriend who stays by her side. But something just seems off with her anymore. I don't know if it's just the fact that's she's injured that keeps her down...or if I'm smothering her with my presence.

I made my way to work, helping the Seattle storm players stay up on workouts and anything else they needed. Quickly, I finished whatever paperwork was thrown at me. At this point, the job had lost its charm. Everything felt broken. Between the players, the staff, everything was finally falling apart...and I had no control over it.

"You good there?" Jewell's voice broke through whatever had been brewing in my mind.

"I guess," rummaging through the file I had been trying to sort, something to keep my mind off everything else. Which, clearly wasn't working.

The woman moved her way to the desk, leaning against it, "you don't sound so sure."

"I'm not."

The teasing seemed to dissipate once those two words left my mouth. "Y/n, is everything good? If you needa talk, the teams right here."

"I...I don't know. Everything seems to be falling apart." Jewell titled her head, as if to tell me to keep going.

"The team is falling apart. Whether it's the staff or it's the players. Then there was nika's injury...and I feel like I'm losing her. She barely talks to me, I can't tell if I'm doing to much or not enough." I hadn't even realized the tears that started to fall, Jewell coming up to me to hold my hands, "I just feel like everything is slowly freeing itself from my grasp...and I can't do anything about it but watch. Watch the team start to hate each other. Watch everyone I work with rip each other's throats out cause there's no way for communication. And...and then watch my girlfriend fall deeper into whatever mental crisis she's going through until there's no way of getting her back." The sobs were uncontrollable. I hadn't realized how much I needed to talk to someone. I was so focused on everyone else. I forgot about myself, the one thing that was supposed to matter the most I let slip the furthest away from me.

"Hey, y/n, just take the rest of the day off," I went to argue, but Jewell just shook off my response, "don't worry about the team, don't worry about anyone in this building...other than you."

"I can't just leave."

"I'll talk to someone, explain what's going on. They'll understand, everyone needs a mental health day every once in awhile," The woman's soft smile sent a wave of comfort over me. The first feeling of comfort I've had in awhile, "and about Nika...I'm sure she's dealing with a lot. Going through an injury like an ACL tear, it takes a toll on every aspect of your life. Now I'm not giving her a reason to shut you out...but give her just a little bit of leeway."

I nod, fighting the urge to crash into her and just hug her....which goes right out the window the second she opens her arms inviting me in. Without a second thought, I bury my face in her shoulder, trying to take the comfort the woman was offering.

"How do I even talk to Nika? I've tried...nothing seems to bring her back to me...." Had I tried hard enough? Was it really my fault for her drifting away from me?

"Like I said, I'm sure there's a lot going on in that thick head of hers," a small chuckle escaped my lips, "but I'm sure she'll have a reason that made sense to her on why she was pushing you away. And please, if it's extremely stupid...let me know and I'll prove her how stupid that move was."

A smile spreads across my lips, "thanks Jewells...I needed this."

"I know...you looked like you were gonna throw this desk at me when I walked in."

"Whatever...I'm gonna go talk to Nika. I just need to know she's okay."

Jewell seemed to soften even more, "Nika is gonna be okay. Now or even a month away from now...she's gonna be okay."

"Thank you," she pulled me into another hug, letting me go, allowing me to make my way back to the apartment my girlfriend and I shared. The small place we've started to call home after just a couple months. Meeting about a year ago at UConn, the giant campus somehow leading to us meeting each other at one of the many cafes that were scattered throughout it. The way I had finished my studies for physical therapy and she had just finished her last year on the basketball team. I had been praying to get a job for Seattle storm since I was little, not being able to play but hoping to help the people who did. Then, Nika got drafted, sending her straight my way. We got close over her training camp days, which lead to her making the team, to her needing a place. I just happened to overhear and offered her a spot in my apartment. Little did I know she'd end up being my girlfriend a month later.

But here I was today...reminiscing the last couple months like our relationship was in the past. A sudden wash of dread spread throughout me, stopping me from getting out of my car as I sat in front of the apartment. I almost had to bribe myself with the fact that if I got everything out now, it'd all be fixed later.

Opening the door to the small place left me sick, walking up the stairs to our shared room was even worse. I stood in front of the closed door, quiet sounds floated around from the TV. I knocked a couple times; no answer. I opened the door slowly, catching Nika sitting upright - hair down, hood over her head, covers pulled up to her chin - a dead stare right at the TV. Not even a little acknowledgement of me being her.

"Hey," it came out rough, hoarse. My nerves became uneasy. Knocking her head to the side, her eyes fell on mine, but it lasted no more than a second. "Can we talk?"

Nika tensed, "about what?"

I made my way to the bed, sitting beside the girl, "Us."

"Us?" Her head snapped in my direction. A wash of worry or nervousness flooded her face.

"Yeah," fidgeting with my hands, I continued, "Are you not happy...like...in our relationship? Am I being to much? Or maybe I'm not enough for you? Maybe I wasn't able to help you like I thought I would? I don't know, I probably shouldn't have brought you back here, to Seattle, when you could've just went back hom-"

Nika's hands made contact with mine, her body moved to be faced towards me. "Are you unhappy?"

"...I...I don't know."

Nika's eyes widened, shock, worry, nervousness, anything and everything seemed to hit her like a truck in that very moment. "Y/n...I'm sorry...maybe we should end things."

Tears swelled in my eyes, this wasn't anything that I was expecting. "You wanna break it off?"

"I...I don't know," the girl started, staring off at the small contact that we were making, "maybe it'll be better for you. You could live your life without worrying about me 24/7. Maybe you'll find more time to be with your friends instead of stuck in bed with me. Maybe you'll start to love your job again without having to worry if I'm upset that you get to work and I don't. Maybe you'll be able to actually live your life without having to worry about the disappointment you come home to everyday. Maybe you'll be able to find someone who will be able to treat you the way you're supposed to be treated. I love you too much to keep you stuck in the house with me. I love you so much I need to let you have a life, not for you to only care about mine."

Tears fell from her cheeks, sobs erupted out of me. The stress and hurt of Nika's words hitting me harder than anything else ever has. "Nika...I love you...I don't want anything but you."

Nika shook her head, "no...I'm a burden on you...I can't hold you down anymore."

"Nika...please...I can't live without you. I would do anything for you...even if it's ruining my life, I would ruin my life over and over again before I let you go." The brunette couldn't keep eye contact. Anything was better than looking at me at this moment. "Nika, I'm not letting you break us up."

"Why? I can't be the girlfriend you deserve. I'm stuck here...and you just get stuck with me."

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Niks."

Her eyes fell on mine, "I just don't understand...I can't even stand myself right now."

"And I will always be able to stand you... I'll do more than just 'stand' you, Nika, I'm always gonna love you." Her eyes fell again, she pulled me into her. A hug. The first one she's initiated in awhile.

"I'm sorry," her voice breaking, "I...I just want you to be happy."

"I'm always happy...but that's only because I'm with you, Nika."

She let out a soft chuckle, "I don't know what I'd do without you, y/n/n."

A smile, small, but still a smile stretched across my face, "I don't know what you'd do either."

She moved to look me in the face, "you're the only thing that's getting me through this injury...I hope you know that."

"I'm just glad to hear I'm helping you at all," I take her hand in mine, a soft spark ignited between us.

"I know I haven't said it to you-"

"you haven't really said much in awhile."

Her face softened more, "I know, and I'm sorry about that, but I just want to let you know... you're more than enough for me. Over the last couple weeks...I had this feeling that I was becoming a burden on you...and I thought if I separated myself from you, you'd finally realize I wasn't enough for you."

"Nika..."

"Y/n...I want nothing more than you in my life, always and forever."

"And you'll get that...cause I'm not going anywhere." A easy quiet settled between us, she moved to lay in my arms while I rubbed gently on her arm. Her breaths seemed to fall into a steady pace, a pattern. She fell asleep...in my arms...but things just felt easier. A weight lifted off my shoulder, and I'm sure it was the same for her.

I placed a soft kiss on her head, settling my head on hers. Drifting away to sleep that was almost inevitable, I whispered three words, "I love you." Those three words I would never go without telling the woman in my arms. I wanted her to know I meant them ...even in her worst moments.

A/n hopefully this is to your liking (the person who requested this) and it was more angsty than what I usually write.

#wbb #nika muhl #wnba basketball #wnba #wcbb #wnba players #uconn wbb #womens basketball #wbb x reader #nika muhl x reader

75 notes · View notes

scribblesofagoonerr · 5 hours ago

Text

𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓎 Our Girl: Growing Up | 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝐼𝓈 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒲𝑒'𝓁𝓁 𝒮𝑒𝑒

summary: leah's not ready to give up fighting for her girl.

our girl: growing up masterlist

Leah stormed into the social services building. Her heart pounded in her chest, fueled by a mix of fear and fury. She barely registered the startled looks from the staff as she marched to the front desk, her focus razor-sharp.

“I need to speak to the social worker in charge of my kid’s case. Right now!” Her voice cracked slightly, the strain of suppressed emotion evident.

She felt reassured, that you were safe and maybe, just maybe, things had changed.

Until the phone call with Mark had shattered that illusion.

The second he’d hung up on her without a word, without even letting her say goodbye, her gut had twisted in a way that she couldn’t ignore.

“Leah, wait–” Jordan jogged after her, placing a hand on Leah’s shoulder. She didn’t want to see Leah make a scene, but there was no stopping her once she’d set her mind to something, “This isn’t going to solve anything. Think about Monkey. I know you’re angry, but let’s not make this worse.”

Leah yanked her arm free, her fiery gaze locking with Jordan’s, “I am thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her, Jord! She’s stuck with him in that house, and I can’t just sit back and let them lie to us,” Her voice wavered, but she pushed forward before her emotions could overtake her.

The receptionist opened her mouth to speak, but Leah cut her off, “I’m not leaving until I see her caseworker. Get them. Now.”

Jordan sighed but followed Leah into the small office as they were buzzed through. As they entered, your social worker, who had just finished taking notes about the latest visit, looked up in surprise.

“Leah. Jordan. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Your social worker asked, confused.

“No,” Leah snapped, losing her patience, “Nothing is okay. I want to know why you let my little girl live with that… with that monster! You had one job —to protect her— and you failed!”

“Leah–” Your social worker began to speak.

“The case needs to be reviewed, again!” Leah demanded, slamming her hands down on the desk, “Monkey is… Monkey is not okay, and I am not leaving here until you admit it!”

Your social worker blinked, recovering quickly, “Leah, I understand that you’re upset, but I’ve already been and spoken to Monkey, and she’s fine. She’s happy with her dad and she’s settled.”

“Happy? Settled?” Leah’s voice rose with each word, her anger spilling out, “That’s complete bullshit. Mark is a liar, and he’s got you fooled like everyone else. He’s good at pretending. How can you be so oblivious to not see through it?”

“Leah,” Jordan interjected softly, trying to calm her down.

“No, Jord, I’m not staying quiet about this. How can you look at me and tell me Monkey is happy when I know she isn’t?” Leah turned back to your social worker, tears shining in her eyes, “He’s pretending to be something he’s not. He hasn’t changed, and you’re putting her at risk by him by acting like he has.”

Your social worker sighed, her patience thinning, “Leah, I know you’re upset–”

“Upset? That doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel!” Leah’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, “Why are you not seeing what I am? It’s obvious Monkey isn’t happy. He’s lying. This whole thing is a lie!”

Your social worker’s professional calm was beginning to crack, “Leah, I know this is difficult for you, but Mark has made significant progress. I’ve seen it first-hand. He’s a good father to her. She’s comfortable with him, and that’s what matters–”

“Don’t tell me how I should feel!” Leah shot back, “You don’t know how I feel. If you believe she’s fine then you are just lying to yourself,” Leah shot back, “He’s not a good father. Not at al. When will you see that?”

“Leah…” Jordan tried again, her voice pleading.

“No, Jordan!” Leah’s voice rose, her desperation evident, turning back to look at your social worker, “How about you take into consideration the feelings of the scared nine-year-old you tore out of a home where she was happy and laughing until you stuck her back with her father – her father who is an abusive alcoholic might I remind you!”

“Mark isn’t the same man he was before,” Your social worker tried to defend.

Leah scoffed in disagreement, shaking her head, “Yeah right, a leopard never changes their spots– Look, I promised Jean I’d protect her. I promised. And now look where we are,” Her hands trembled as she exhaled a deep sigh, “This isn’t about me. This is about a scared, vulnerable little girl who deserves better.”

Your social worker took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the conversation, “Leah, I do understand your frustration, but you’re not her biological parent. Mark is. He has legal rights.”

“Biology means nothing!” Leah shouted, her voice shaking, “Do you even hear yourself?”

Jordan stepped forward suddenly, “Let me take her,” She said, her voice calm but resolute, “I’m older. I have a stable career. Surely there’s a way for us to take care of her.”

Your social worker hesitated, shaking her head, “I’m sorry but it’s not that simple. She’s already placed with her dad. Uprooting her again would only cause more harm,” She told them, “You two are both still young. It’s a big responsibility to raise a child, nonetheless, your own football career’s going on. She’s happy with her dad. Leave her be. You will still be able to visit and see her. Mark has made it clear he’s not going to stop that.”

“I phoned her the other night, he made some excuse that she’d gone to bed already. It wasn’t even 8 pm, I know her usual bedtime. He just lied as a way to stop me talking to her!”

“Maybe she was just over-tired? I’m sure Mark meant well,” Your social worker made up an excuse for him.

“Why… Why are you so blind to see what is going on?” Leah’s voice raised even more, the crack of emotion shining through, “There’s something not right, and I am not going to give up fighting for that little girl! Jean made it clear that she never… she never wanted her to go back to him. And you… you guys with your fancy desks and clipboards just willingly looked past the years of trauma that little girl has suffered and placed him back with him… back with a monster!”

Jordan furrowed her brow, resting her hand on Leah’s arm, “Le, shouting isn’t gonna help.”

“No!” Leah snapped, harshly yanking her arm away, “I hope you realise that you have done more damage than you know– You’ve undone years of work that Jean did to get that little girl to be happy and carefree again after suffering at the hands of him!”

“Leah, I understand how much you care about her,” Your social worker said, her tone measured but firm, “But Mark is her biological father. He’s taken tremendous steps to improve, and we have to prioritise keeping families together. You’re not her legal guardian, so we’re not considering you for custody.”

Leah froze, disbelief etched across her face. Her voice trembled, low and simmering with frustration, “Are you joking? You can’t… You can’t actually be serious. A few steps in the right direction won’t erase what’s done. They don’t undo the years of damage he caused! You’re wrong– he hasn’t changed, and you’re gambling with her life to prove otherwise.”

Your social worker began to speak but Leah was quick to continue her words.

Leah’s voice rose, the anguish breaking through, “I may not be her biological family, but I love that little girl. I’d do anything for her. And when something terrible happens, when she gets hurt because you chose to believe him, that’s on you. Every single bit of it.”

Without waiting for a response, Leah spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, her shoulders shaking with the effort of holding herself together. Jordan hesitated, offering the social worker a brief, apologetic glance before hurrying after her.

“Leah, wait!” Jordan called as they reached the car, her voice gentle but firm.

Leah stood rigid by the passenger door, her head bowed, “They’re not listening, Jord,” Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotion, “They don’t care. She’s just another case number to them. Another tick on their checklist.”

Jordan sighed, unlocking the car, “I know it feels tough right now. But we’ll figure this out, Le. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“Tough?” Leah’s laugh was bitter, hollow, the sound cutting through the stillness of the car park, “Tough doesn’t even begin to explain how this feels, Jordan. They’re refusing to see the truth – refusing to see him for what he is. She’s probably scared out of her mind right now, and they don’t even notice. How can they be so blind? So incompetent?”

Jordan opened the driver’s door but didn’t sit down. She leaned on the roof of the car, watching Leah carefully, “Leah, you’ve got to calm down. You’re exhausted. You’ve been running yourself into the ground over this, and I get it – You’re doing it because you love her. But you can’t let your anger cloud everything.”

Leah whipped her head toward Jordan, her eyes blazing, “Don’t tell me to calm down, Jordan! I’m not calming down – not about this. Not when she’s at risk. Not when they’re gambling with her life. Do you even understand what it feels like to be dismissed like this? Like I’m just some crazy woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

Jordan flinched but held her ground, “Of course, I understand, Leah. I’m not saying you’re wrong to feel this way. I’m just saying you can’t let it consume you. You need to take a step back and think clearly.”

“Step back?” Leah’s voice rose, incredulous, “Step back from what? From fighting for her? From trying to protect her because no one else will? That’s not an option, Jordan. Not for me.”

Jordan exhaled sharply, finally sliding into the driver’s seat, “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to protect her too? But going into every conversation swinging like this – Le, it’s not helping. They see you as too emotional, too unstable–”

“Unstable?” Leah’s head snapped toward her, “You think I’m unstable because I care? Because I’m not willing to sit back and watch them hand her over to him? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Jordan gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep her voice level, “Leah, that’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. But if you keep letting your emotions drive every interaction, they’re going to use it against you. You need a plan – facts, evidence – not just passion.”

Leah let out a harsh breath, staring at the window as tears pricked her eyes, “You don’t get it,” She whispered, her voice trembling, “You don’t understand what it’s like to feel this helpless. To know in your gut that you’re right, but no one cares enough to listen. That little girl deserves better than this, better than him. And I don’t know what to do anymore because they’ve already decided I’m not enough.”

Jordan’s heart softened at the raw pain in Leah’s voice. She reached over, placing a hand on Leah’s arm, “Le, I know this is breaking you. I know how much you love her – anyone with eyes can see that. But we can’t give up, okay? We’ll find a way to show them. You’re not in this alone.”

Leah didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the passing streetlights as Jordan started the car.

The drive home was fraught with silence, punctuated by bursts of tension-filled arguments that circled back to the same unresolved pain. Leah couldn’t shake the crushing weight of helplessness, the sting of being dismissed when everything in her screamed that something was wrong.

In her ideal world, your social worker would have seen through Mark’s facade, would have taken her concerns seriously, and would have trusted her with custody. But reality wasn’t on her side, and the fight felt lonelier with every step, leaving Leah to battle the system for you, her little girl, who meant everything to her.

Days soon turned into weeks before Leah was able to speak to you, and even then, when you were able to speak to her the phone calls were short. Leah could sense the happiness in your voice fading, it wasn’t like you at all.

Leah sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice as she sat opposite her younger brother, Jacob, who shovelled cereal into his mouth with the enthusiasm only a 12-year-old could manage. She stared out of the window, her knee bouncing anxiously beneath the table.

Amanda moved around the kitchen, tidying up and stealing glances at her daughter.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Amanda said casually, breaking the silence.

Leah shrugged, her lips pressing into a thin line, “Just thinking.”

“It’s weird when you’re not talking. You’re like… broken or something,” Jacob piped up with a mouthful of cereal, earning a sharp look from Amanda.

“Jacob,” Amanda warned, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Leah shot her brother a mock-annoyed look, “Hilarious, as always.”

Amanda leaned against the counter, crossing her arms, “Ignore him, Bubba. He’s just being cheeky. What’s on your mind?”

Leah hesitated, her fingers tightening around the glass, “Monkey has her first FA Cup game today. I’ve been debating whether to go.”

“You mean debating how much trouble you might stir up by going?” Amanda’s expression softened.

Leah let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping, “I just… I want to see her play, Mum. It’s such a big deal for her, and I know how hard she’s worked to get here. But I know Mark’s going to be there, and the last thing I want is to make things harder for her.”

“You’re not wrong to worry about that, Le,” Amanda said softly, “But this isn’t about Mark. It’s about Monkey. She’d be happy to see you there, even if she doesn’t say it outright.”

“What if I make things worse?” Leah frowned, her voice dropping, “I haven’t spoken to her properly since before that call when… when he hung up on me.”

“Bubba, you going there and showing up will mean more to Monkey than you realise,” Amanda stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Leah’s shoulder, “It shows her that you’re still there, still in her corner, and you still care about her. Mark can’t stop us from supporting her. This game is huge for her, and having you in the stands could mean the world to her.”

“It feels like she’s slipping through my fingers, Mum,” Leah admitted, her voice wavering, “She barely talks to me anymore, and I don’t know how to hold on to her.”

“You’re doing the best you can, Bubba,” Amanda reassured her, “Monkey’s going through something – whether it’s her age or something deeper – but the one thing she needs to know is that you’re there. And you’ve always been there for her.”

“She’s right, sis,” Jacob chimed in before attempting to slurp the milk out of the bowl, “You’ve never felt fear stop you before. Don’t start now, Le.”

Leah glanced at her little brother, surprised by sincerity, “Thanks, J.”

“And if Mark has a problem with you being there,” Amanda added firmly, “That’s his issue, not yours. You’re not going to let him dictate your bond with Monkey, are you?”

Leah shook her head, her resolve hardening, “No, you’re right. I’m not going to let him do that.”

“Good,” Amanda said with a small smile, “We’ll go. Sit in the stands, cheer her on, and let her see you’re there. Even if she doesn’t come running over, she’ll know. That’s what matters.”

“Okay,” Leah took a deep breath, her decision made, “Alright, we’ll go. If I don’t, I’ll regret it. She deserves to know she has someone there for her.”

Amanda squeezed her arm reassuringly, “Just be patient with her, Bubba. If she’s pulling away, there’s probably a reason for it, and it’s not about you.”

“I’ll be patient,” Leah’s voice softened, “I just want her to know she’s not alone. That I’m still here, and I still care about her.”

“Kick the ball,” Your dad stood on the sidelines, his arms crossed while his voice boomed over the noise of the game, “Take it from her! Don’t just stand there–don’t let her get past you!”

Leah and Amanda had just arrived, and immediately they noticed Mark standing near the pitch, barking commands at you from the sideline. His presence felt like a weight, heavy and overwhelming.

“He’s going to distract her,” Leah murmured, her voice tight as she watched your dad’s sharp tone cut through the air, “I can’t stand that man. I’m shocked the coach hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Try to ignore him, Bubba,” Amanda advised, her voice calm, though her gaze was hard as she followed Leah’s focus on your dad.

“That’s not easy to do when he’s shouting like that,” Leah muttered under her breath, her stomach churning as her eyes never left you, “To anyone watching, it might seem like he’s just a passionate dad. But to me… it’s like he’s suffocating her.”

“I get it,” Amanda agreed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “He seems… intense,” Her tone was low, like she was weighing his words carefully.

Leah scoffed, shaking her head, “That’s one word for it,” She said, her focus unwavering as she watched you sprint across the pitch, determination written across your every move. Despite the pressure your dad was putting on you, there was still a fire in you. Leah admired that, but she couldn’t help but it was clear how much pressure you were under.

A loud crunch broke through her thoughts as an opposing plyer slid in, taking you down with a hard tackle. You hit the ground, clutching your ankle, and the game momentarily paused as the referee blew the whistle.

“Monkey…” Leah’s voice caught, her breath hitched as she watched you crumple to the ground.

“Oh, get up!” Your dad’s voice cut through the concerned murmurs of the crowd, his tone cold, “You’re fine! Shake it off and get back up!”

“The more that man speaks, the more I can’t stand him,” Leah’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists. She wanted nothing more than to march down there and tell him to back off, “Does he realise he’s the only parent shouting? God, he’s awful.”

Amanda placed a steadying hand on her arm, “Bubba, stay calm,” She said softly, her voice an anchor in the storm of Leah’s emotions.

You hesitated on the ground, tears threatening to spill as you glanced toward the stands. For just a moment, your gaze locked with Leah’s, and a flicker of something passed through you - joy, relief, maybe even a glimpse of hope.

But then your father’s sharp gaze cut through the moment, and you quickly masked your emotions, returning to the game.

The referee signalled for play to continue, and you pushed yourself to your feet, shaking off the pain in your ankle. With a renewed focus, you rejoined the game, your movements fluid as you evaded the opposition, your determination a visible focus on the pitch.

And then, it happened.

A clean strike. The ball flew past the goalkeeper and into the net. The crowd erupted in cheers, and your dad’s voice was the loudest, his pride evident as he shouted your name.

“Yes! That’s my kid!” His voice boomed, as he clapped and pumped his fist in the air.

Leah couldn’t help but smile, her chest swelling with pride for you despite the tension still lingering in the air, “Go on, Monkey!” She called, her voice filled with warmth, “That’s my girl. That’s my Monkey.”

But your dad’s elation didn’t last. His eyes, once gleaming with joy, darkened as they landed on Leah and Amanda. His celebratory expression felted into a scowl, lips tight with displeasure.

Amanda noticed first, her gaze sharp as she leaned toward Leah, “Let him scowl all he wants, Bubba,” She said calmly, “We’re here for Monkey, not him.”

Leah exhaled a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, “I know,” She said, her voice steadying, “He can’t stop me from being here from her.”

“Exactly,” Amanda said, nodding in agreement. She joined the others in cheering and clapping, mouthing words of encouragement in hopes that you would see them.

You did see them, and though you longed to run to them after the game, you knew you couldn’t – Not with your dad watching your every move. Instead, you straightened your shoulders, gave a small nod to yourself, and jogged back into position, focusing solely on the game. As the game continued, Leah struggled with the impulse to run down to the pitch, to wrap you in comfort and safety, and Amanda noticed that.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Bubba?” Amanda asked gently, her voice soft with understanding.

Leah sighed, her shoulders slumping in frustration, “I just… I want to run down there, scoop her up, and tell her how proud I am of her. But there’s no chance of that with him watching her like a hawk.”

“There’ll be a time for it, I’m sure of it,” Amanda gave a small, reassuring smile, her tone calm but firm.

Leah watched you intently, unable to look away, her heart swelling with admiration as you blocked out the noise and kept pushing forward through the rest of the game.

“I still don’t understand that phone call,” Leah admitted, her thoughts shifting back to the time when your dad had hung up on her, and the way she had seen you retreat into yourself since then.

It hurt to see you so withdrawn, but Leah knew that wasn’t you—that wasn’t the cheeky, spirited person she had always known. It was the version of you that had learned to protect yourself, to keep people at a distance.

But today, despite everything, Leah saw a glimpse of the girl she knew—strong, determined, and willing to rise above.

As the final whistle blew, securing the victory for your team, the crowd erupted into cheers. Leah’s heart swelled with pride, her smile beaming from ear to ear.

“I knew she had it in her, my little superstar,” Leah said, her voice filled with pure joy. Not even the presence of your dad could dull her excitement, “I’m so proud of her, Mum.”

Amanda’s gaze softened as she watched you, her own smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “She certainly has that magic touch with the ball,” She agreed, her voice full of admiration.

As the teams began to gather at the sidelines, Leah’s eyes locked on your dad as he strode toward you, his hand landing firmly on your shoulder. She noticed the way your body stiffened at his touch, his subtle tension that spoke volumes. No harsh words were exchanged, but the interaction sent a familiar gut-wrenching unease through Leah’s chest.

“She’s scared of him,” Leah murmured, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

Amanda followed Leah’s gaze, her expression hardening, “I see it,” She said softly, her tone steady but laced with quiet disapproval.

Leah’s jaw clenched as she watched the interaction, her fists tightening at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to march over and pull you away from him, to shield you from the weight of his presence. But she knew she couldn’t – not yet, not like this.

“She shouldn’t have to feel like this,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling with frustration, “Not around him. Not around anyone.”

“I know, Bubba,” Amanda placed a calming hand on Leah’s arm, her steady presence grounding her, “But we have to tread carefully. For her sake.”

Leah exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay seated even as every fibre of her wanted to intervene. Her gaze never left you, watching as you nodded stiffly at your dad’s words, your face a mask of indifference that only Leah could see through.

“She’s stronger than he realises,” Amanda said quietly, her eyes also fixed on you, “And so are you, Le. Remember that.”

Leah nodded, her determination hardening, “I’ll get her out of this, Mum. Whatever it takes. I’m not giving up on her.”

Leah stood near the edge of the pitch, her arms crossed tigthly over her chest as she watched the exchange between your dad and you. Even from a distance, she could see the tension radiating off both of you. Your shoulders were hunched, your slightly bowed, and your dad’s sharp gestures only seemed to drive you further into yourself.

“Why is she here?” Your dad’s voice cut through the post-match buzz like a knife, his words directed at you with unmistakable anger.

“I… I don’t know,” You stammered, your voice barely audible.

“Clearly, you do,” His tone was venomous, and Leah felt her stomach churn, “I don’t like her being here. She shouldn’t be here!”

“I swear, Dad, I didn’t tell her,” You protested, your voice shaky as you glanced around nervously. Leah’s chest tightened at the sight – she could see the fear in your eyes, the way you were trying to placate him.

After what felt like an eternity, your dad gave a derisive snort and shook his head, dismissing your words with a wave of his hand, “Sloppiness,” He muttered under his breath, loud enough for Leah to hear, “Sloppiness isn’t rewarded.”

“But I scored,” You said quietly, your voice tinged with both defiance and a desperate need for validation.

“Congratulations, you did,” Your dad replied coldly, his lip curling in disdain, “But that little commotion when you fell? That was embarrassing. It shouldn’t have happened. You’re lucky it didn’t cost you the game.”

Leah’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Your dad leaned in closer to you, his voice low and cutting, “You could have lost, and you know what that makes you? A loser. Losers have to work harder. Maybe the walk home will help you realise that.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “But it’s miles back…”

“Tick-tock, kiddo,” Your dad said cutting you off as he turned to leave, “If you want to move up from the academy, you need to stay focused. No distractions. Better not dawdle.”

He stormed off without another word, leaving you standing there alone, clutching your bag. Leah’s heart ached as she watched you stare after him, your expression a mixture of hurt and confusion.

This was it. She couldn’t just stand by anymore.

“Come on, Bubba,” Amanda urged gently, noticing Leah’s clenched fists, “This is your chance. Go to her.”

Leah nodded, her feet moving before Amanda could finish her sentence. Her heart pounded as she approached you, determined to ensure you weren’t left alone.

“Monkey!” She called gently, her voice laced with concern as she watched you standing frozen, clutching your bag tightly, “Monkey?” Leah repeated softly.

You noticed her then, your body tensing as your eyes darted around nervously, searching for something – or someone.

“Le?” You murmured, hesitating. Your arms tightened protectively around your bag, and you took a cautious step back, “You’re… You’re here. You came.”

Leah exchanged a quick glance with Amanda, who hung back, offering you a reassuring smile.

“Of course I did,” Leah said, stopping a few steps away. Her voice was steady and warm, an anchor against the storm she sensed swirling inside you, “Nothing could stop me from seeing you play.”

“Really?” Your voice was tentative, your doubt evident in the flicker of your gaze. But when you glanced past Leah and saw that Mark was nowhere in sight, your shoulders sagged slightly, “Dad’s gone. You really thought I played well?”

“Are you kidding?” Leah’s smile widened, her pride shining through, “You were incredible out there! That goal? Absolute magic, my girl.”

Without warning, you closed the distance between you, flinging your arms around Leah’s neck in a fierce hug. The force of it caught her off guard, but she instinctively wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight.

“Hey, hey,” Leah murmured, her voice soft and soothing as she felt the slight tremble in your frame, “It’s okay, my girl. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You actually came,” You buried your face in her shoulder, clinging to her as if she might disappear. The vulnerability in your embrace made Leah’s chest tighten, her concern deepening with every passing second.

After a long moment, you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Leah noticed the redness in your eyes and the fragile expression you were trying so hard to mask.

“Where’s your dad gone?” Leah asked gently.

You hesitated, glancing away, “He… He had to go to work,” You said quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Leah frowned. The excuse was flimsy, and she knew it, but she decided not to push – not yet, “Right,” She said, her tone firm but kind, “Well, I’m not letting you walk home on your own, not at your age.”

“N… No, I’m fine,” You protested weakly, but Leah shook her head, her expression leaving no room for argument.

“Nope, not happening,” She said, her voice firm but not harsh. When you flinched at the change in tone, Leah immediately softened, “I don’t want you walking home, my girl. I know your dad left, but it’s not safe, is it?”

Your resistance wavered, and with a sigh, you allowed Leah to guide you toward Amanda’s car.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Amanda greeted you warmly as you climbed into the backseat, “You played a great game today. Is your ankle feeling okay?”

“Oh, yeah. It feels fine,” You mumbled, your voice quiet, “It hardly hurts at all.”

As the car began to move, Leah noticed your restlessness. You fidgeted with your bag, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery. When the car neared your street, you finally spoke.

“Can you… Can you drop me off around the corner?” You asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah frowned, her brows knitting together, “You sure? We can drop you outside, Monkey. It’s not a problem.”

“N… No, it’s fine,” You said quickly, a touch of panic in your tone, “Please? I’ll be fine from there, I promise.”

Leah didn’t like it. She didn’t like the excuses, the tension, or the way you seemed so determined to keep them at a distance.

But the pleading look in your eyes made her relent, though not without reluctance.

“Alright,” Leah agreed, her tone tight, “But only because you asked.”

Amanda pulled over at the corner of your street. Leah turned to you, her eyes searching yours, “Remember, if you need anything–anything at all– you call me, okay? Anytime, day or night.”

You nodded, clutching your bag tightly, “Thank you… For everything.”

Leah watched you slip out of the car and disappear down the street. That uneasy feeling in hr chest lingered, refusing to fade. She slumped back in her seat with a heavy sigh, her mind racing.

“She’s hiding something,” Leah muttered, her gaze fixed on the direction you’d gone.

Amanda hummed in agreement, her hands tightening on the wheel, “I know,” She began, “But you did what you could today, Bubba. She knows you’re here for her now.”

“Yeah,” Leah nodded, but the worry gwaned at her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d clung to her, as if letting go meant losing her forever, “I’m not giving up. Not without a fight.”

#Spotify #woso x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #monkey #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #our girl fic #chaos fc reader

60 notes · View notes

broidobe · 1 day ago

Text

𝔞𝔵𝔩 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔞𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔱

requested!

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

axl can’t help but be raw and emotional afterward.

he might pull you close, almost desperately, and murmur things about how much you mean to him.

he needs that reassurance that you’re still there with him

axl loves skin-to-skin contact afterward

once he’s calmed down, Axl might open up and talk to you about his thoughts or feelings, especially if something has been bothering him

deep down, axl carries a lot of insecurities, so he might ask if he was good enough or if you’re happy

he craves validation but won’t say it outright

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

okay there’s two

thighs are a strong contender for his favorite.

he’d adore running his hands over them, gripping them, or just watching them while you sit.

bonus points if you’re wearing something short or tight—he’d have a hard time keeping his eyes (or hands) off you

let’s not beat around the bush—axl��s definitely an ass guy.

he’d openly admire it, give cheeky grabs, and couldn’t get enough of seeing you in tight jeans or nothing at all

axl knows his lips are a weapon in the bedroom.

he’d take pride in the way he kisses, teases, and leaves marks.

smirking against your skin, whispering dirty things, or giving slow, deliberate kisses, he’s fully aware of the power his mouth holds—and he loves it.

so yeah, i’d say his mouth is his favourite

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

honestly? he will cum anywhere on you or in you

it’s whatever he feels like

if he wants to cum on your face? he will

your stomach? he will

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

axl secretly loves being dominated or at least losing control in certain moments.

while he’s fiery and intense on stage or in public, behind closed doors, he gets a thrill out of someone taking the lead and making him feel completely vulnerable.

you pinning him down, teasing him mercilessly, or whispering filthy things in his ear?

he secretly craves those moments where he doesn’t have to be in charge.

he wouldn’t admit it outright—his pride and ego wouldn’t let him—but when it happens, you’d notice how he melts under your touch, totally undone by the role reversal. and the next day? he’d play it cool like it never happened, though you might catch that little smirk when he remembers how much he loved it.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s fucking experienced

but he was like those rock stars that only cared about how they felt, not their partner

so you’d have to talk with him about it

he knows what he’s doing and he fucking loves it honestly

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggy style

axl would love the raw, unfiltered intensity of this position.

it gives him a chance to be rough (if you’re into that), grip your hips, and lose himself in the moment.

plus, he’d get a perfect view of you, which he’d definitely appreciate

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s pretty serious

he’s a pretty dominant person that takes sex to a whole other level

and that level doesn’t include any joking around

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i think he’s like a go-bald-once-a-month kinda guy

he lets it grow out and shaves it the first of every month

and you find it hilarious how on schedule he is

yes…he’s ginger down there too

but it’s honestly so light

and guys…it’s lowkey so smooth down there

like when he grows it out…

it’s like…silk

OKAY I’M SORRY I’M DONE

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he’s really into the moment if that makes sense

he’s never too romantic

he’s very cocky and he always makes these snarky comments about how good at fucking you he is lmfao

but uhm…he can be funny

in his own way

he likes to talk in this very literal, big worded way

here's an example

you're really enjoying that, aren't you? i'm completely immersed in this experience with you, and it's incredibly exhilarating

he normally does this when he’s drunk but sometimes he’ll just…do it

and it’s fucking hilarious

j = jack off (masturbation headcannon)

oohhhh yeah

this man loves jacking off

he did it A LOT before you

but he’s cut down

but he really only jacks off to things that have something to do with you

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

as mentioned before, he’s just so fucking dominant

BUT as also mentioned, he also has a thing for being submissive

he’s a switch (fight me if you disagree)

teasing

he’s evil with it too

he never stops teasing

denial

he never gives you a break man. how the fuck do you do it?

dirty talk god

he degrades, teases, praises

oh jesus he’s a kink god this list could go on forever

light bdsm

spanking, light restraints, and other forms of controlled pain

but nothing too painful

voyeurism

he likes the idea of being watched while he fucks you

he’s a show off

impact play

spanking, slapping, or using other implements (like paddles or whips)

but again, not very hard

power dynamics (master/slave)

it would play out in verbal commands, physical restraint, and possibly obedience

sensory play

blindfolds, restraints, or even sound-depriving methods (like headphones) to heighten other senses

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

he will take you anywhere

he doesn’t have a favourite

i mean you’re still you no matter where you are

but if he was being held at gunpoint and he had to pick?

he’d say in one of his bandmates beds

he thrives off of the risk it serves

and the bed forever being seen as “the bed we fucked on while blank wasn’t here”

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

oh god anything

like anything

it’s just a constant hard on when he’s around you

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he wouldn’t put you in excruciating pain

total submission

i couldn’t see him completely being at your mercy

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers receiving

because they’re quick, easy, and they feel amazing

but he’s up to eat you out at any time

he just prefers getting a blowjob

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he is so rough it’s deadly

i don’t think this man has ever gone slow in his life

he’s like the definition of go big or go home

even when he’s blackout drunk

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he loves em

they fit well into his schedule

especially because he loves fucking you as much as possible

like he’ll take you during soundcheck, before the show, after the show, in the tour bus bathroom

ANYWHERE ANYTIME FOR ANY DURATION HE’S HAPPY

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he is big on taking risks

he’s never not taking a risk

he fucks you in the riskiest places ever

and he doesn’t care

he loves the thrill

and he’s totally up to experiment

he’d honestly do anything you ask

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

4 rounds 30 minutes give or take

i could see him being like really used up after the first round but being so obsessed with you that he doesn’t want to stop

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

never had them for himself

doesn’t have any for you

like you have ONE

and you use it when he’s not there (in which he doesn’t know)

cause he can get a bit jealous

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s fucking terrible honestly

he will gladly take 10 minutes of his time teasing the shit outta you

he’s an ass

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s really loud

like neighbours could file a noise complaint loud

you like that, don’t you?

don’t make me wait (even though he makes you wait SO LONG)

i’m gonna take you slow (LIAR)

beg for me

do you feel me? you should (COCKY)

i could do this all night

let me show you how much i want you

i can’t get enough of you, it’s like i need you

i love hearing you moan for me

mm... you’re so tight, fuck (spoken with this throaty growl)

shit... i’m so deep in you... mmh…

ahh... right there, baby, just like that…

mmh... you like that, don’t you? Fuck...

mmh, so fucking perfect...

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

axl once got super into the moment and tried to pull off one of those dramatic, slow, intense moves, but instead, he miscalculated and ended up rolling off the bed entirely, landing in a heap on the floor.

he just laid there for a second, blinking in disbelief, before cracking up.

you were laughing too, and he sheepishly said, “guess that was my big entrance, huh?”

from then on, you two couldn’t help but giggle every time you tried to get all serious in bed.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s low key packing

7.5 inches, i couldn’t say anything otherwise

he doesn’t have a whole lot of girth

but that doesn’t mean he has none

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH.

i think i’ve said enough.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

i think it really depends on how much he uses himself

i’d say on average, 15 minutes

#broidobe #guns and roses #axl rose #axl rose x reader #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose gnr #axl gnr #axl rose smut #guns n roses

59 notes · View notes

sennenpharaoh · 2 days ago

Text

"...Don't say that." Atem whispered, the familiar emotion starting to intensify the moment he heard Roy now be the one to give him an out. Hearing that Roy never wanted to get close to anyone, that he doesn't deserve happiness, that he thinks Atem actually hates him, that he doesn't have to stay...

That he could walk away.

That all of this could end, and he wouldn't be with his Colonel anymore. No more Roy, no more late nights drinking and watching bad movies, no more laughing and playing around under covers, no more special moments in his studio. All of it gone... and Atem would be left by himself. All... alone.

...

No!

Forget the hurt for those who lost their lives at the hands of the Colonel! Forget the anger towards the families that have been ruined! Forget the disdain at the Colonel's actions in that damn war, that damn genocide! To hell with those feelings, no matter how true or valid or right they were, they meant nothing if it was going to cost him all the good that was brought to his life because of his Colonel! Push them away! Lock them away! Bury them! Dispel them! Destroy them! Remove them! Anything!

Don't... take my Colonel away from me. Don't leave me all alone.

"Don't say that!" Ill-advised and without even thinking he wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders, clinging to him as close as he could possibly be. "I don't care if what you've done was unforgivable! I don't care if I hold disdain and resentment towards what you've done! I don't care if your hands are covered in blood! Wipe them off on me for all I care! Let your demons haunt me! Let them call me a hypocrite for wanting to stay with a murderer, I don't care!"

"I've stayed because I was willing to push down and lock away those feelings because I wanted you most of all, and I'll do it again in a heartbeat if it means you stay. I've allowed your blood soaked hands to hold me because I want them to hold me, and I always want them to hold me, feelings be damned!" There was a panic in his voice, a rushed clinginess to his tone as he just held Roy tight and refused to let go.

"Yes you've done some horrible things, but so have I! And if staying with you means I shoulder that burden of my Colonel's crimes, all the lives he's taken then so be it. I have taken the responsibility of a village's massacre before at the hands of my predecessor as Pharaoh, and I will gladly do it again for the one I love! I will do anything and everything I have to to give you the happiness you deserve! No matter what! For better or worse I will gladly bear it!" He pulled away, panicked worry in his eyes as he looked right at Roy. This was fear, but a different type of fear. The one emotion he was afraid of feeling, as he had felt it far too many times and he wasn't about to let it take him again.

Loneliness.

"I've walked away once, and I refuse to walk away again! These past seven months with you have made me the happiest and most fulfilled I've ever felt with you, and not a single day goes by where I don't think of you! And I am not about to throw all of that away because of my weakness and cowardice! So don't you dare ask me if I want to walk away, because I don't ever want to lose you! I don't... I don't care what this looks like or what this means, I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to go away. I'll never bring it up again, I'll not even think about it! I'll do anything to make you feel like you deserve happiness because you do, and you have, all this time! So please..." He buried his face into Roy's shoulder, knowing damn well it was only a matter of time before he was moved away for being too "clingy", for not helping things. Doesn't matter. All that mattered is he didn't want to leave his Colonel, nor did he want his Colonel to leave him.

"Don't ever ask me if I want to leave. Don't you dare ever say that."

He pulled his hand back from him when the other pulled away from him as he gave him a sad look. He knows the other wants him to be upset, but he had no right to be upset because the things he’s done he can’t take them back, and the inner self hatred he feels for himself show.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Atem. I don’t have a right to be upset for how you feel. That’s what I am, a murderer, a war criminal. Those titles will follow me for the rest of my life. I can’t take back what I have done, and you have a right to feel the way you do about it. If you don’t wish to be with me for this reason alone, I understand.” He looks at him seriously.

“This is something I have done and I’m holding myself accountable. It won’t change the past, it won’t bring back the people that are already gone because of me. I still wish to make everything right, even if I die in the process. That’s why I took this path, because I don’t want to see anyone suffer and I don’t wish to kill anymore people in such a way again.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I’m glad you were honest with me. Whether you understand or not why I think that, it’s because you’re a good person with a good heart. When you cause someone pain you feel guilty too. I don’t expect you to just sit there and accept the things I’ve done. Nobody should accept it, the things I did were terrible and should be condemned. I was naïve and a fool to think at first what we were doing was just following orders. I should have stopped them from doing this, I should gotten replaced, but I was too much of a coward.. so I went through with it, I continued to do as ordered, when I did it I wasn’t myself, i wasn’t the young teen that I used to be with dreams of protecting my nation. I was a monster, a murderer, following orders. I never forgot the people I’ve killed. I remember all of their faces. My brain doesn’t let me forget. These haunting memories will follow me for the rest of my life.”

He looks down looking at the hands as they shake softly as he whispers. “This is why I never wanted to get close to anyone. I don’t deserve it, and if you don’t wish to be with me because of this, I won’t stop you. If you hate me truly, if you don’t wish to be with me because of all that I’ve done, you don’t have to stay. I want to be with you, but if you really don’t want all of me, if you don’t want any of my demons that will follow me for the rest of my life even after death, I won’t stop you from walking away right now. “ He swallowed softly, his shoulders trembling.

“What right do I have? I never deserved any of this, yet when you accepted me for me, I was surprised.. Especially after seeing the archive… you still stayed, you even said that these blood stained hands deserve to hold the person I love. I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. I love you, you’re my everything. You’ll always be my everything. It’s up to you.. I don’t have a right to ask for your hand. After all that I’ve done… I don’t deserve happiness.”

This was his inner self hatred coming out of the wood work, it hadn’t been as bad as it usually was because of Atem always being there to make him happy and tell him how much he meant to him. With the real feelings Atem had though, they came back ten fold, reminding him how much of a pathetic piece of garbage he thought he was.

#flamesignite #Ah hello Roy's toxic trait #meet Atem's most toxic trait

89 notes · View notes

crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

Text

Soldat: Chapter Two

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Female Agent! Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: Agent Y/N has worked alongside Steve Rogers at SHIELD for some time all while keeping a dark secret from everyone. Until one day that darkness faces her head on and she's forced to make a choice. Continue fighting along side Captain America? Or find her home once again with Soldat?

Authors Note: This was originally published on my old blog as a trilogy so I will be in the slow process of adding it to this blog. This is the first of the trilogy and will take place during The Winter Soldier. If anyone is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog

Soldat Masterlist

People always say that losing someone is never easy, especially someone that you looked up to and respected. Nick Fury was gone, not surviving the three gunshot wounds to his chest, and all I could think about was the shooter; the man responsible.

The muffled voices of Nat, Steve, and Maria Hill were a mere annoying pest in my ear as I burned holes into the ground of the hospital hallway.

54, 55, 56.

“Y/N!”

Snapping my head in the direction of Natasha’s voice, I stopped counting the tiny squares in the floor and let out a deep breath.

“Did you say something?” I questioned.

“You haven’t said one word since you guys arrived an hour ago,” Nat pointed out with a creased brow.

“I’m grieving, Nat.” I shrugged.

Steve shook his head before stepping closer to me. “You’ve been distant since we chased the shooter.”

“Jesus, can you just give me a damn minute!” I snapped while pushing myself off from the wall. “I just watched my friend get shot and die right in front of me so sue me if I’m not my chatty self!”

Running a stressed hand through my hair, I turned on my heel to leave however felt a tight grip on my elbow. My eyes glanced at Steve's worried ones and I felt my attitude lighten.

“Y/N, what’s going on? You froze on that roof and almost got yourself killed.” Steve spoke softly, so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Steve, please drop it,” I begged while clasping my shaking hands together.

His soft mouth opened to speak but shut it when a voice stopped him.

“Cap, you’re wanted at Shield Headquarters.”

We both looked over to Rumlow and Steve nodded. “I’ll be a minute.”

“Now,” Rumlow demanded.

“I’m having a private conversation.” Steve nodded towards me.

“They want Y/N too.” Rumlow announced.

I squinted as I tried to read his body language, my specialty, but when I couldn’t get a good read all I did was nod before looking at Steve.

“Don’t want to keep the boss waiting,” I joked, speaking of Alexander Pierce, and walked past Rumlow with Steve trailing close behind.

Feet scurried as I sat in the uncomfortable chair outside of Pierce's office waiting for Steve. There was an unreadable, thick, tension the second we stepped through the door of headquarters and we were worried what exactly was going to happen. My mind tried to think of what Pierce could want with Steve and I, however, all I could think about was the man from the roof.

I squeezed my eyes shut, covering them with my hands hoping that would keep the past memories from playing in front of me like I was sitting in a movie theater. It has been almost three years since those thoughts have haunted me, giving me nightmares, so I would be damned if that happened again. It was the worst 5 months of my life. I couldn’t go back to that. I wouldn’t.

“Time to go.”

Steve, not too gently, pulled me from my chair as he exited Pierce’s office and dragged me down the long hallway.

“But I haven’t talked to him yet.” I tried to turn back towards the office but he continued to pull me down the hallway.

“Trust me, you shouldn’t say one more word to him. We need to leave.” Steve demanded.

“Wait, Steve. Slow down.” I intertwined our fingers and gave a gentle tug of his hand. “What happened?”

Steve came to a halt before looking into my eyes with a sigh. “They think I killed Nick.”

My mouth dropped while I shook my head. “You didn’t! I was with you when it happened!”

“Pierce doesn’t care. They’re just trying to find anyone to blame, which is why we need to get out of here.”

We started walking again and as we turned the corner, Steve’s shoulders straightened and his face became hard as we walked past a familiar one.

“Captain,” the blonde started.

“Neighbor,” Steve snapped, fingers still intertwined with mine.

I ignored the way my heart fell to my stomach when Steve dropped our hands as we stepped onto the elevator. As we waited for it to descend, I studied his back as it tensed under his suit while he stared outside. Steve was carrying so much guilt on his shoulders for what happened to Nick, I could practically see the words my fault sitting on his shoulders.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I spoke softly.

He nodded. “It wasn’t yours either.”

We smiled at each other before the elevator doors opened with a ding, Rumlow and two other men from the Strike Team stepping inside. Sliding into the corner of the elevator, Steve remained in his spot; the middle.

“Cap, I just got word that forensics got a fiber from the roof where the shooter was. Want me to get the tac team ready?” Rumlow suggested.

Steve shook his head. “No, let’s wait to see what they find.”

Rumlow gave him a curt nod before silently having a conversation with one of the men he stepped on with. I studied the way his lips barely moved, almost knowing that I would be watching. The other man had his hand close to his holsted guns; not directly on them but close in case he needed to use them. Biting my lip, I remained calm as the doors opened again, more men from The Strike team stepping inside followed by a few more men dressed in business suits, one of them clutching a briefcase close to him.

Steve looked around himself, studying intently the way one guy couldn’t help but sweat in the cool elevator, and suddenly pulled me closer to him, his lips grazing my ear.

“You have your knives right?”

Ignoring how much I loved feeling his breath on the back of my neck, I gave him a slight nod.

“Good, get ready to use them.”

Steve looked into my eyes and I gave him another nod, understanding what was about to happen.

“Before we get started, does anyone want to get off?” Steve questioned the group of men.

An eerie silence flooded the elevator before all hell broke loose. Bringing my elbow back into the man’s stomach behind me, I sent my heeled boot into the man’s face in front of me. Arm’s wrapped around my stomach and threw me into the glass windows of the elevator. Landing on the ground with a groan, I reached for the knife in the side of my boot but Rumlow was a step ahead of me, grabbing my wrist and wrenched it behind my back while pulling to my feet. I screamed out in pain as I felt him press his body into my back.

“Leave her alone!” Steve bellowed from the other end of the elevator.

Some of the men had him trapped, making him unable to move.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what Cap saw in you, Y/N. I mean you don’t have that cute of a face but your tac suit does wonders for your ass,” Rumlow groaned in my ear.

“Fuck you!” Steve spat after landing a punch to someone’s face.

“You know what I’ve always wondered about, Rumlow?” I ignored the way his hand slowly ghosted over my leather covered ass and continued. “I’ve always wondered how the hell you got on Shield’s Strike team when you didn’t even notice when a girl had reached for the knife she had hiding in her hair?”

“What?” Rumlow questioned.

Bringing my head back into his nose, immediately hearing a crack, I pressed my forearm into his throat and my eyes sliced into his.

“If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll make sure your sex life is nonexistent,” I seethed, pressing the knife into his crotch.

By now Steve had broken free from the grasp of the other men and we fought back to back, throwing kicks and punches. Soon it was just Rumlow and us, him holding his taser charged batons.

“Easy there, big guy. I just want you to know this isn’t personal.” Rumlow said, out of breath.

Steve blocked a few of his punches and threw him up into the ceiling, Rumlow’s body falling to the floor with a thud.

“It kind of feels personal,” Steve breathed, kicking his shield up towards him, catching it with an attractive ease.

“Are you okay?” He asked while cupping my face.

“I’m fine.” I assured him with a smile. “But we need to get out of here.”

He nodded before pressing the button to open the doors, more men dressed in black and guns drawn surprising us.

“Drop the shield and the knives and put your hands in the air!” Someone ordered.

I frantically pushed the button to close the doors as Steve broke the wire to the elevator, dropping thousands of feet in mere seconds. He pried the door open but cursed, quickly closing them.

“What?”

“Give it up, Rogers. Open the door! You’ve got nowhere else to go!” Muffled voices shouted.

Steve looked out the window before locking eyes with me.

Rolling my eyes with a groan, I slipped my knife back into my pocket. “Fuck you, Rogers. I’m still picking out the shards of glass from my hair from last night.”

“Later.”

I didn’t have time to register the bluntness of Steve’s flirting because he pulled me into his chest and we both jumped out of the window falling straight through a ceiling. Steve’s body landed on top of his shield with a thud while his arms were wrapped tightly around me to protect my fall.

Scream echoed around us as I shook the shards of glass out of my hair and just for a fraction of a second, I marveled at how blue Steve’s eyes actually were.

“We need to go,” Steve breathed.

“Right,” I nodded, pulling Steve to my feet with me before running out of headquarters, a group of men following close behind.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes

41 notes · View notes

scribblue · 1 day ago

Text

"Expectations" A Naturaldisaster* Fic

[*Poly ship with Jay, Cole, Geo, and Nya.]

Jay struggles with self-identity and relationships after losing his memories in the merge, and some familiar faces have been trying to help him through it... but it's an unfamiliar one that finally gets through to him. 3,437 words | Rated T, some suggestive themes/references | Angst and Comfort

Read below, or on ao3!

✧《✩》✧

The boy in the photograph almost looked like him.

Closely cropped hair modeled the same ginger hue as his current mop of curls, and a youthful face bore traces of freckles not yet matured under the sun. The boy was hemmed in on both sides by faces Jay only partly recognized– younger versions of the people that claimed to know him before the Merge. Cole stood on his right, Nya his left, squeezing in tight with arms threaded through his elbows. Their bright smiles and casual displays of affection almost made all those outlandish stories about his past feel plausible. Almost.

The longer he stared at the photograph, the deeper his unease grew. It was like peering into an alternate timeline, or some washed-up magician's crystal ball; everything felt frustratingly familiar and terribly wrong at the same time, like a word lingering at the tip of his tongue and never finding its way past his lips. Here was a moment in time preserved in a frame, yet all of his memories were nothing but static. This memory didn't belong to him anymore. He couldn't be sure it ever did.

"You and Cole were real close."

The gravelled voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Jay turned towards it, mildly relieved to see the one person that didn't claim a long, complicated history with him. Geo lingered in the threshold to the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

Jay frowned. "So I've heard."

Geo countered his frown with a soft smile. He shut the door quietly behind him, though there was little need for privacy; Cole was watching the little gremlins with Bonzle over at the Monastery, allowing Jay and Geo an evening alone at the junkyard. Not that Jay would have objected to Cole's involvement, of course, except perhaps in this very conversation. "He told me a lot about you," Geo said. "About the two of you. You and Nya, too."

Jay rolled his eyes and gave an irritated huff, making sure to amp up the theatrics. "Oh, great. And here I was thinking I'd finally met someone who doesn't have all these expectations of me."

"Expectations?"

"Everyone thinks they know me better than I know me, but they don't," Jay said, letting the bitterness drip from each word like Venomari spit. "They all try to tell me how I felt, what I liked, and how I acted, as if it makes any difference now." He set the picture frame down on the dresser with a pointed clank, his gaze still fixed on it. His old self smiled back naively. "That version of me doesn't exist anymore."

He hadn't realized Geo moved closer until he felt a hand on his upper arm, gently refocusing his attention to a faint, saddened smile. "But he did exist once, didn't he?"

Something twinged in his chest, a pang of everything he'd tried so hard to suppress; he put on a good show of not caring about his supposed past, but here he was longing for his companion's words to be true. Heat rose to his cheeks and yearning flared into annoyance, brightening Jay's red eyes in a flash. He jerked his arm away. "I don't know! How should I know? I have no memories of anything before the Merge."

"I know," Geo said gently. He gestured to the photograph with a nod of his head. "But they do. Cole and Nya knew you intimately– whether you believe that or not, that's their truth. It's natural they want to share that with you, Jay. Even if things are different now."

Jay crossed his arms and turned away, taking a few steps towards the bed. It was neatly made in anticipation for his arrival, a third pillow living between the usual two. He glared at it with practiced indifference. "I'm not the person they all think I am."

"Maybe...maybe not. But you are someone they want to know, aren't you?"

"Only because they think I'm their ex."

Geo crossed the space between them with light-footed steps, as though approaching too quickly would scare him away like a bird rustled from the bushes. He placed a hand on his back and leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his face, which Jay angled away to avoid his probing eyes. "You're not my ex."

"No," Jay admitted. "I'm not." That much was undeniably true. With the other two, he at least felt a nagging ache of familiarity somewhere at the back of his fuzzy mind, and had visual proof to back up their claims of previous relationships. Geo, however, was a blank slate. A different kind of mystery to unravel, with a whole different set of complications. Jay finally met his gaze, and the adoration– or perhaps infatuation– he found there was as enabling as it was overwhelming. "...I'm just something new to tinker on, aren't I? A broken man to fuse back together?"

Geo's elven ears drooped. The adoring look morphed into that of a kicked puppy, and for a moment Jay almost regretted his words, though only briefly; sick satisfaction was quick to lock its jaws around his neck. As much as Geo seemed to enjoy “fixing” him, these days Jay got his kicks by ruining everyone he touched.

“Of course not, Jay,” Geo said. He sounded so sincere. Maybe he even was. “What would ever give you that idea?”

Jay snorted. “Please. That’s like…your whole thing, isn’t it? Turning trash into 'treasure'?” He reached over to the nightstand, picking up a mini sculpture welded together with Geo’s fusion powers. It was a figure, seemingly of Cole, frozen in a heroic pose and sculpted of scrap materials. Bits of metal, bottle caps, rusty gears and coils. He waved it at Geo with a sneering smile before tossing it at him underhand. Geo scrambled to catch it. “I’m just your newest project.”

“You are not– and be careful with that, that was an anniversary present.” Geo fussed over the figure, ensuring all of the repurposed trash was in the proper place. When he seemed satisfied, he carefully set it back on its place of honor.

“See? You care more about your things than you do me. Why do you even still make stuff with that junk? You said you could live anywhere now, you could be out there making…literally anything else, with literally anything else. Why a junkyard?" Despite a judgemental tone, his curiosity was genuine– Jay couldn't imagine why anyone would willingly live in a place like this, much less rummage through other people's trash to use as materials.

“...I like it," Geo said, his voice so quiet Jay nearly couldn’t hear it. He averted his gaze and began worrying the tassled hem of his vest. “This place was my home when I never had one of my own, and… I don’t know. I like giving lost things a purpose. Even if I’m not lost myself anymore.”

Giving lost things a purpose. The words struck a chord somewhere inside Jay, like the ringing of the gong he still felt resonate through his bones. He pushed the feeling deep down into the yawning pit in his stomach. “Oh yeah? What’s my purpose, then, oh great Purpose-Giver?”

Geo halted his nervous fidgeting. Slowly, he raised his gaze to study Jay's face, feathered brows knitting together over probing eyes. "Your purpose?"

"Since you're the expert."

His lips pursed into a taut line, broken only by his two protruding lower teeth. “Well...what do you want your purpose to be?”

Oh great, the cryptic wise-man routine. Jay groaned, throwing his head back in exaggerated exasperation. “Nevermind. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Jay, you know I can’t answer that for you. That’s something you have to discover for yourself.”

Though delicately spoken, his words hit like bricks. He wasn’t wrong, and Jay knew that. He hated that he knew that. He’d been struggling to establish a new purpose since leaving the Administration, since being abandoned by his master, Ras; so far, he’d come no closer to achieving that. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Geo stepped closer, extending a hesitant hand to clasp one of Jay’s. Jay stared down at it blankly. “You aren’t alone," Geo said. "If there’s any way I can help you on that journey, I, and surely Cole and Nya, would happily—”

Jay gripped Geo's hand like a vice and yanked him close. Their chests collided, and the sudden motion elicited a yelp from Geo, quickly stifled into an insistent kiss. At first he didn't return it, but slowly his lips softened to accommodate Jay's; not quite the same level of energy, but Jay had no issues picking up the slack. This was his element...at least, it was lately. An electricity unlike any he wielded in a fight. His free hand grappled at Geo’s waist, attempting to pull him even closer as though fusion could merge their bodies into one.

He nipped at Geo’s lips, eliciting small noises in response but otherwise minimal reciprocation. Jay let go of his hand and took him by both hips, blindly maneuvering him towards the bed until he felt Geo’s calves bump against the frame. Geo pulled away from the kiss and gasped for the air he'd been passionately deprived of. “Jay…”

Jay kicked an ankle out from under Geo and allowed the two of them to fall onto the mattress, to another surprised yelp from Geo. Jay landed on top of him and wasted no time to dive back into a kiss, propping himself up with one arm and grabbing at Geo’s cropped shirt with the other. Everything in Jay's head had melted away, leaving only this. Only the moment they shared. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered.

Geo broke the kiss once more by turning his face away from Jay's mouth, which began to travel along Geo’s jawline and neck instead. Roving fingers teased the hem of Geo's shirt, before being abruptly grabbed and held tight. “Jay,” Geo repeated, more forcefully this time. “Can you just— hold on a second?”

Hold on? Jay pushed himself upright to the best of his ability, just enough that he could get a good look at Geo’s face; his cheeks were flushed a dark reddish-purple, but rather than the usual blissful or flustered expression, he carried a troubled air that gave Jay additional pause. “...What?”

“Jay…I…this is…” Geo fumbled his words, seeming unable to land on any. He rubbed Jay’s fingers absently with his own. “I…I don’t know if I’m in the mood…for this…right now.”

Jay felt himself deflate under the crushing weight of returning reality. “What? Why? What do you mean?” he said, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

“I just– it's nothing you did, and it's not that I don't enjoy it, but… maybe we could just...talk, tonight?"

Jay’s pulse quickened. A litany of unsavory thoughts spiraled in his brain, a tornado of self-loathing that had long since been percolating, just waiting for an excuse to gain momentum. He’d made Geo uncomfortable. How? This was supposed to be the fix. The smooth-over, the nonverbal apology for every passive-aggressive comment that spilled from his mouth that night. How had he managed to mess this up too? “Talk? That’s— no, I’m not good at talking. Please, I’m not— this is the only thing I’m good at,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Please, Geo, this is the only thing I’m good at. Don’t take that away from me, I—” He caught himself mid-sentence, realization sinking in at Geo’s increasingly concerned expression. “...No. I’m sorry. It’s fine, actually. I don’t even care. That’s fine. No worries, I’ll just�� I’m gonna go, then.”

He started to push himself to his feet, and Geo hurried to grasp his arms, pulling him back. “Jay,” Geo said, voice as firm as his grip. “Stay. It’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

“Yes I do. I can’t do all this…this…talking. All these emotions. I told you, I’m not good at it. I’m not good at it like you, I don’t— all I do is make people feel bad.”

“You’re not trying to.”

"Sometimes I am. Sometimes I enjoy it, too. I’m really, really good at making people feel bad, Geo. But this…this is the one time where I feel like I can make people feel good, and…” His chest tightened along with his throat, and his eyes stung with tears that threatened to form. He heaved a dry sob, like a breath caught in reverse. “If I’m not good at that, what am I? Just some asshole with amnesia? Geo, I don’t know who the fuck I am. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t—” The floodgates burst, sending rivers of electrified tears streaming down his cheeks in a trail of static shocks. His shoulders shuddered as another sob overtook him. “I don’t know who I am.”

“Hey, hey now, it’s alright.” Geo reached up to swipe at Jay’s tears, jumping slightly at the static that crackled on his thumb. He shook it off, wholly undeterred. “Come on. Come here.” He shuffled himself further onto the bed and laid down on the pillows, beckoning Jay to join him with wide, open arms.

Jay sniffled, staring at him for a long moment before he finally gave in— what more did he have to lose? His dignity was already long gone. He crawled over to him and flopped into Geo’s arms, head landing on his chest. Geo completed the gesture by wrapping his arms tightly around Jay’s upper body in turn.

As soon he sunk into the embrace, the sobs increased in intensity, and the tears poured onto Geo’s shirt. Geo only held him tighter, a granted permission that Jay had never even given himself: to cry freely.

Neither of them spoke. Jay wouldn’t even think of attempting it in that state, lest he be reduced to even more of a blubbering mess; he’d admitted plenty already, and Geo didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He merely hummed a comforting tune under his breath and rubbed gentle circles into Jay’s back. It was a strange sensation, to be cared for. Jay wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it. He didn’t understand how Geo offered it so easily, like it was second nature to him. But the embrace felt…nice, Jay supposed.

He had no idea if he’d ever cried like this before. It certainly felt like a first. Had the old him sobbed on Nya or Cole’s chest? Did he cry over every little thing, or had it only happened when he reached a breaking point? Did he feel as ashamed of his tears then as he did now? Jay had no answers for any of those questions, and wasn’t sure if he truthfully wanted them. All he knew was that, be it a first or not, he was sobbing in Geo’s arms. And in some odd, twisted way, it felt good.

He wasn’t sure how long he cried. It ebbed and flowed like a wave, building up to a crescendo just to crash and settle once more. Eventually, though, his tear ducts began to dry up, and the tightness in his chest began to ease. Geo wordlessly stretched an arm over to the nightstand to grab a tissue, which Jay gratefully accepted— he felt like he was drowning in his own facial fluids, and was eager to regain some composure. Geo just laid there, observing while Jay aggressively wiped his face, blew his nose, and tossed the balled-up tissue onto the floor. Jay let his head fall back on Geo’s chest. His neck felt weak. And Geo was warm. “Don’t tell Cole or Nya about this,” he mumbled.

“About what? You littering tissues on my floor?” Geo said, earning a slight amused huff.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I won’t. But having emotions isn’t a crime, you know. I don’t think either of them would judge you for it.”

“They should. It’s gross. I hate it. Don’t tell them.”

Geo chuckled softly, the heave of his chest shaking Jay’s head. “I won’t, I won’t.”

“Good.” He considered leaving it at that, but a dreaded seed of guilt began nagging at the back of his tired mind. He curled his arm around Geo’s torso and sniffed. “...Thanks.”

Geo craned his neck to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head, amidst his fluffy curls. Barely did it graze his scalp, but he felt it resonate down to his very core. “Any time.”

They laid there in silence for longer than Jay could keep track of, despite his attempts to keep time by the ticking wall clock and the beating of Geo’s heart. It thump-thumped a steady rhythm, as dependable as its carrier. Slowly, the internal lullaby lured him into a deep, inescapable slumber.

✧《✩》✧

Cole

Despite having their own room in the Monastery, neither Spitz nor Fritz would be deterred from sleeping in their ‘own beds’ that night. Cole certainly couldn’t deny them that, even though he was well aware they’d be sleeping in his arms before they even arrived—and they were. Or, at least Spitz was. Fritz was determined to walk regardless of his barely open eyes, guided like a sleepwalker by Cole’s hand.

He didn’t blame the two of them for wanting to come back. While the monastery was like a home to him, the first to take him in after striking out on his own, the Finder’s residence was his home. His, Geo’s, Bonzle’s, Spitz and Fritz’s. Maybe it was once made from necessity, a lack of freedom…but it became a choice to stay. And it was a choice he was happy to keep making.

The house was quiet and dark when they walked in. Curious, he had expected at least a couple lights, or to hear some muted conversation. Everything felt so…still. Cole shifted Spitz on his hip. “Bonzle, can you take the kids to their room? I gotta check on the love birds.”

“Can do,” Bonzle said, reaching out to take Spitz from Cole with a soft grunt of effort. Cole transferred Fritz’s hand to hers and the three adoptive siblings made their way to the younger one’s bedroom.

Cole smiled after them, and then turned his attention to the closed door across the hall. He approached cautiously and gave a small knock. “Jay, Geo? I’m home.” Without a response, he tried the doorknob—unlocked—and opened the door as quietly as he could muster.

It was dark in the bedroom, too. As Cole peered in, a strip of soft blue light illuminated the pair sleeping on the bed above the blankets, still fully clothed. Jay was laying somewhat on top of Geo, with his head resting on his chest and one of Geo’s arms draped loosely across his back. It was as heartwarming a sight as it was surprising to see Jay cuddled up on Geo the way he used to cuddle up on Cole. The way he denied ever doing before.

Geo peeked open an eye as the light hit him, sleepy confusion giving way to a smile when he noticed his partner standing in the doorway. He beckoned for him, and Cole was quick to comply, leaning down to give Geo a peck on the lips before gingerly climbing into bed. He moved slow and deliberately so as not to wake sleeping beauty, managing to position himself in a spooning position against Jay’s back with his head on the pillow next to Geo. He stacked his arm on top of the one that currently cradled Jay, enveloping him in a dual hug.

Jay shifted and let out a muffled groan, and Cole froze, unsure if Jay would appreciate or allow the intrusion. It wasn’t long before he got his answer by way of Jay’s hand fumbling into theirs, weakly grasping at their wrists and pulling them tighter around his body. He stretched his legs, shimmied his shoulders, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh—content, or perhaps resigned— before settling back into sleep between the two of them.

Tension released from Cole’s shoulders, and he sighed happily in turn. Whether or not Jay would acknowledge this night ever again, much less allow it to be more than a fluke, Cole would appreciate every moment while he had it, this glimpse of his old jay resurfacing.

I know you’re in there, Jay, was the last thought that crossed Cole’s mind as rest began to claim him. And we’re right here.

32 notes · View notes

gayofthefae · 3 days ago

Text

Will first slowly leaves the frame during Mike's speech when he says he isn't scared of El. Because this is what Mike wanted to tell her. "The problem wasn't you". That's the truth he needed her to know regardless of his fear. He then says that he's afraid of her leaving him. We know this to be true because he said it when she wasn't there. He tells her he doesn't know to live without her. Sweet, and no reason not to be true.

But once we get to the story. The "my life started" story. Will inches back onscreen...

Which is odd. It isn't even a change back. Because when he says that he loves her again, Will is once again gone. So it was just for this shot.

Then we return for "I love you on your good days, I love you on your bad days, I love you with your powers, I love you without your powers. I love you for exactly who you are."

But would you look at who's onscreen for the immediately following line "you're my superhero"

They put a one second shot between these to transition it. Not even a reaction shot from El. It's the shot of their hands. And this is only shot Will is in here. It goes straight back after this single sentence.

Will slowly leaves the shot for "I can't lose you" and stays out for the rest of his speech until the final "fight!"

This isn't so much a lie as it is a joint truth. This is not a romantic sentiment. It is showing the entire motivation of Will encouraging Mike in the first place - they are doing this together because they both want to save El in the same way. This is an agreed upon action with an agreed upon goal - one being stated here: "fight".

So what does this tell us about truths:

I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. I'm sorry I don't say it more. It's not because I'm scared of you. I'm not. I've never felt that way. But I am scared that one day, you'll realize you don't need me anymore. And I thought that if I said how I felt, it would somehow make that day hurt more. But the truth is, El, I don't know how to live without you. I feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods, and you were wearing that Benny's Burgers' t-shirt. And it was so big it almost swallowed you whole. And I knew, right then and there, in that moment that I loved you. And I've loved you every day since. I love you on your good days, I love you on your bad days. I love you with your powers, I love you without your powers. I love you for exactly who you are. You're my superhero. And I can't lose you. Do you hear me? I can't lose you. You can do anything. You can fly. You can move mountains. I believe that. But right now, you just have to fight. You have to fight. Fight. Fight!

Everything remaining is Mike's truth and only Mike's truth. He is sorry. He isn't scared of her. He's scared of losing her. He loves her regardless of her powers. He believes in her. He wants her to fight. That is the truth. That first "I love you" is different and he knows it. So even though he repeats the words, that time, it's a lie.

I also note the sentence "said how I felt". Because that's what makes it true. It would not be true if he said "if I told you I loved you". He said "if I said how I felt". And with that, let's put this in a true context. Let's use these truthful lines in the context he wanted to use them in. Let's set the scene:

The last few days, I've had to think about the last talk we had. You know, before the cops and the whole world went to shit and everything. I guess I just, I don't know, I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry I don't say it more. It's not because I'm scared of you. I'm not. I've never felt that way. I just can't love you the way you want to be loved, but that doesn't mean that I don't. But I'm scared that one day, you'll realize you don't need me anymore. And I thought that if I said how I felt, it would somehow make that day hurt more. But the truth is, El, I don't know how to live without you. I do love you. Every day. I love you on your good days, I love you on your bad days. I love you with your powers, I love you without your powers. I love you for exactly who you are. And I can't lose you. I can't lose you.

I added one line. One line only that changes "won't need me anymore" from a reason to an elaboration. Everything else is the same. Everything else did not need to be changed to fit the other narrative.

As I said recently...something should have contradicted at some point. It didn't.

#elmike cinematography #byler cinematography #the ily speech #stranger things #willelmike cinematography #willelmike meta #the pizza scene #pizza scene #elmike breakup #platonic elmike #elmike speculations #elmike textual analysis #textual analysis

38 notes · View notes

redux-iterum · 2 days ago

Text

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Before Fireheart could really ponder over Yellowfang’s words, he was back to work—though now, at least, with a strengthened, newly bloomed energy. Whitecloud gave him orders and discussed tasks with him, looking at him as keenly as he had before Fireheart had talked to him about deputyship. Perhaps he sensed Fireheart’s returned willpower… not that it really mattered. Fireheart had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

As if to praise him for his brightened attitude, the oppressively cloudy skies turned ragged and patched, revealing the stars and the moon. Suriin’s half-shut eye grinned as the air’s chill lost its biting edge, apologetically pulling the fog back.

“Don’t let that ease you,” Yellowfang said to Fireheart one clear night. “Things that frolic in the mist are still about. Follow not a silhouette or a scent you do not recognize.”

Not the least of which being the dogs, Fireheart thought as he nodded respectfully.

The snow was not keen on going away; it hardened and crunched under paws, sticking to the ground and turning brown, losing its oddly calming beauty. Cats had to step carefully to avoid making too much sound, often following well-trod paths where the soil rebelliously fought back and reemerged. Granted, it was still freezing, but it was so good to have solid ground under Fireheart’s paws again.

However, despite what Fireheart had been told, prey did not return as quickly. The plant life of the forest had not grown back yet, leaving most of the prey that had not retired underground or fled south in the fall to wander further away from the usual hunting spots in search of anything they could eat. What could be caught was still skinny and stringy, and most of it went to the nursery’s tenants and the elders. Fireheart wondered more than once, going to bed with a growling gut, if this was how ShadowClan felt all the time.

That wasn’t the end of their troubles. The dogs were still wandering around, now in the south, never spotted but always scented to varying degrees of freshness. The Clan was left with very little fresh ground that had anything to hunt, but no one was bold enough to risk heading south and testing their luck.

Greystripe, though, had an idea, one that he whispered to Fireheart for him to suggest (“I don’t think Whitecloud would be keen on hearing it from me,” he said). Fireheart quickly went to the deputy as he was visiting his aunt in her stinking den and reported it to them both.

Whitecloud blinked. “You think we should try it?”

“I do,” Fireheart said, trying to ignore the squint of puzzlement Bluestar was giving him. He had long given up on her remembering him. “We really should have been hunting there earlier, but, well, the dogs made that a bad idea. But now that they seem to be near Sunningrocks…”

“I understand.” Whitecloud’s eyes were lit with approval. “Get a patrol together and head that way. I hope you find something good.”

Fireheart bowed his head to both of his leaders and backed out of the den, turning around and trotting back into camp. It was still very early; only a few cats were awake, none of them eating the meager rations that could hardly be called a prey-pile.

“Teaselfoot, Sandstorm, Frostfur,” he called. “Could you come with me, please?”

The cats in question looked up and joined together in front of the smaller warrior, but they all regarded him with the same respect they gave Dustpelt and Whitecloud. It did, admittedly, make Fireheart feel just a little bit taller.

“I’ve spoken with Whitecloud about an idea of where to hunt,” he explained. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t approve, but I think it’s going to guarantee us a meal or two.”

Teaselfoot’s ears perked. “Well, well, Fireheart’s going to suggest something unusual. That’s new.”

Frostfur swatted him with her tail. “Where are we going?”

Fireheart braced himself for protests. “The Houses.” Before any of them could react, he hurried on. “The humans constantly have their seed-bags full in their yards. I know how well those squirrels and birds eat. We couldn’t go there before because, you know, the dogs, but I think we should try our luck while the dogs are elsewhere.” Sandstorm narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I know, the Clan doesn’t really know how to hunt there, but I do. I can give you some tips as we go. Are you interested?”

The older warriors looked between each other, silently trading curiosity and skepticism. Fireheart held his breath, waiting for all of them to say no.

Frostfur was the first one to speak. “I think we should do it. I’m in.”

“Yeah, I’ll go too,” Sandstorm said. “If for nothing else, for a chance at a decent meal.”

Teaselfoot sighed dramatically with good-natured teasing. “You’re really twisting my tail here, Fireheart, but I suppose I can’t refuse the offer to feed my Clanmates.”

Fireheart snorted. “Feel free to turn around at any time. Come on.”

The patrol was in the woods in moments. The snow outside of camp had been trampled down enough that there were plenty of paths to take to keep their steps quiet, even as they thinned out the further away from home they got. Fireheart picked the one he knew best and started off at a brisk pace, his Clanmates following and chatting behind him.

“If only the dogs hadn’t been here this winter,” Frostfur said. “We could’ve gotten so many good meals.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to contend with kittypets whining about strangers taking their food,” Sandstorm said. “No offense, Fireheart.”

Fireheart looked back at her. “Actually, I didn’t know any cats who hunted when I lived there. One cat told everyone he did, but I know for a fact he never left his yard.”

“Ooh, kittypet lore.” Teaselfoot craned his neck forward. “Was he the one that told you about us?”

“Oh, no, everyone knew about you,” Fireheart said, turning around again. “Even far back into the neighborhood, kittens were warned to never go into the woods, or they’d be eaten by giants. I don’t think the grown-ups believed it, but it kept everyone behind the fences.”

“As they should be,” Sandstorm said. “You think you’ll see any cats you know, or are they scared of the snow?”

Rosy and Smudge, please don’t find me and give the game away, Fireheart thought. “It’s a little too cold and dark for them right now, I’m sure. My one friend only ever came out at night because I liked to, and I’d make him explore with me. If he’s still around, he should be asleep.”

To his relief, his Clanmates accepted this, turning to each other now and talking about hunting. Fireheart led on, offering a word or two when a question was lobbed his way.

They were within sight of the Houses when a strong scent hit his nose. He stopped, lifting his tail for everyone to copy him, which they did.

“Humans are close,” he said in a low voice. “Look and see if you can spot them before we get to the street.”

Sandstorm growled under her breath. Hesitantly, the patrol continued on, their eyes, ears, and noses keen. The evergreen plants were reoccurring through this part of the forest, blocking their usually clearer (albeit branch-infested) views. Wherever the humans were, they were being quiet, too, and this close to the Houses, their scents were more or less everywhere.

Finally, a voice sounded off, shouting into the woods and making all of the cats jump. Fireheart crouched and scooted to the right until he was well-hidden by a bush and could peer out of it, his Clanmates following suit.

Through the stiff leaves and bare twigs, there was a pair of humans. Both were garishly colored with their heads covered and hair hidden. The shorter one was speaking to their companion—from the tone, they were scolding them, and by their loud whisper, they were not eager to be heard. The second one’s face twisted and stretched in a grimace, but they said nothing, just shifted the long grey thing in their paws and lifted it slightly.

“Stars help us,” Teaselfoot whispered, sounding almost scared. “I know that thing.”

Fireheart looked at him. “What is it?”

“A rronakrak*.” Teaselfoot’s tail puffed out in agitation. “I’ve heard of them in stories. They’re the claws of humans.”

Fireheart peered at the thing. “It doesn’t look too dangerous to me.”

“You’ve never seen one before?” Sandstorm hissed. “I thought you had a stone that showed you things.”

“I guess it didn’t have one of those on there.” Fireheart rolled a shoulder as best as he could. “What’s wrong with it?”

Frostfur now, calmer than the younger warriors. “Stories say a human just points that thing at something, and the end of it explodes with thunder and fire louder than any noise in the world.”

“And then whatever it was pointed at dies instantly,” Sandstorm added with another muted growl. “See, this is why humans are mucked up. They have the audacity to steal the fire of Horoa and turn it into a tool of murder. So many animals just trying to live their lives get killed by what should be ours, and should never be a weapon used by some random mortal.”

Fireheart frowned in confusion. “I thought Horoa kills things, too.”

“Monsters and wraiths, sure,” Sandstorm said flippantly. “But they don’t count. They’re dangerous and ought to be dead.”

Fireheart was about to ask, “Well, didn’t his fire nearly kill us?”, but the humans started walking forward, heading past the faces of the cats, still talking to each other. Human-like, they never noticed their audience, and shuffled through the snow further into the forest. The rronakrak was pointed down the entire time, harmlessly cradled in its bearer’s hold.

“What do you think they’re going to kill?” Teaselfoot whispered, as if the humans could hear them from this far away.

Fireheart immediately perked up. “I think they’re looking for the dogs!”

“We should be so lucky,” Frostfur muttered. “They’re probably going after a deer or one of us.”

“We have no reason to be killed,” Fireheart told her with a bit of sternness, like she was a paranoid apprentice. “If they wanted us dead, they would have done it before I ever came to ThunderClan. I saw the humans before the fire with one of those things, and never before that. It’s most likely dog-related.”

His Clanmates didn’t look convinced, but he could see the hope dawning in their eyes. He gave a firm, supportive nod, then beckoned with his tail.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some prey before they come back.”

Whitecloud was somehow calmly startled when Fireheart’s patrol burst into camp, each carrying a piece of prey (Fireheart had two; he hoped some cats noticed). They tossed their prey onto the pile and rushed up to Whitecloud, ignoring the surprised looks on everyone’s faces.

“We saw some humans in the woods,” Fireheart said immediately.

Hisses and growls, as he had assumed, followed this news. Whitecloud waited for the noise to stop before asking, “Did you see where they went?”

“They were on the Houses border,” Fireheart explained, “and they went deeper into our territory. We didn’t see them again—we just hunted and came back here as quickly as we were done.”

“Then they could be anywhere,” Dustpelt said, coming to stand beside Whitecloud. “Would you say they went south…?”

Fireheart nodded, finishing Dustpelt’s thought. “Where the dogs are.”

“They had a rronakrak,” Frostfur added. “Fireheart thinks they’re looking for the dogs.”

Murmurs followed this, cats looking at each other questioningly, as if their Clanmates had the answers.

“Humans don’t usually hunt dogs,” Whitecloud mused. “They hunt with them. But the deer aren’t around yet, either, and the pheasants are gone…”

“There’s no other reason for them to be around,” Fireheart said. “They don’t kill cats with those, do they?” At Whitecloud’s headshake, he continued eagerly, “So the only thing here of interest is a pack of cat-killing dogs. I’m sure of it now—they’re here to help us.”

Dustpelt frowned. “That’s very ideal, Fireheart, but we can’t count on that to be the end of our problems. You have the chance to be wrong.”

“As in anything,” Fireheart replied simply. “But I have the chance to be right, too.”

Dustpelt gave him a skeptical head-tilt, but he said nothing else. The Clan spoke to each other—and, to Fireheart’s delight, a few of them seemed optimistic at the prospect.

“What’s our next move?” Mousefur asked. Fireheart wasn’t sure if she was asking Whitecloud specifically, from how her head turned to him and Dustpelt too.

Whitecloud took a moment to close his eyes in thought, before opening them again and moving to the meeting stump. The Clan gathered around immediately; all faces turned up to him with hope and fear.

“As long as the dogs are still scented in the south,” he announced, “we will continue to hunt in the north. Fireheart, it’s clear that your hunting patrol to the Houses went well—” Exclamations interrupted him as cats stared at Fireheart. “I approved it, everyone, stay calm. I think that we can make a couple trips here and there beyond that border, if hunting doesn’t improve here in our own territory. Fireheart, you won’t mind leading more patrols that way?”

“I’d be happy to,” Fireheart responded, his own voice loud and clear.

“Then that will be an emergency plan.” Whitecloud’s tail waved and curled. “For now, we’ll keep our noses to the ground and watch the humans if they continue to tramp around our territory. Stay north, and stay close to camp if you can help it.”

“When can we train outside again?” Brackenpaw shouted, clamping his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Whitecloud gave him an amused look. “When we can safely say the dogs are gone. If Fireheart’s right, and those humans are here to take care of them for us, that may come sooner than later.”

Out of the corner of Fireheart’s eye, Cloudpaw shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his tail tucked between his legs. Fireheart made a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight.

“Is that all the news?” Whitecloud asked Fireheart. At Fireheart’s nod, he said to the Clan, “For now, let’s stay inside camp tonight. We’ve got prey to last us for a night, and we’ll send out multiple hunting patrols tomorrow.”

Like a waterfall, he smoothly jumped down from the stump and passed through the crowd as it dispersed. Willowpelt caught up to him and asked something Fireheart didn’t catch; he disregarded it and padded to the prey-pile (thankfully larger than usual), picking out one of his catches, a fat squirrel. He immediately turned and walked to the nursery, where Goldenflower was sitting alone.

“Where are the ants?” he asked, setting down the squirrel in front of her.

“Asleep, thankfully.” Goldenflower licked his ear. “You look starved, honeymouse. Why don’t you have this?”

Firehear couldn’t help staring down at the squirrel, his stomach threatening to growl. Looking back up at his mother, he said brightly, “I only need half.”

Goldenflower purred and crouched, nudging the squirrel until the bottom half was pointed at Fireheart. He crouched himself and started to eat, forcing himself not to rush.

As he ate, he eyed the cats around him. They were talking about the dogs and the humans, mostly. It pleased him that more of them looked hopeful than afraid.

You have faith that StarClan’s looking out for us, he thought to them. Have faith that this might be their doing, too.

*”Rronakrak”: a gun - literally “thunder-stick”.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter forty three #book three #arc one

36 notes · View notes

hypnzo · 17 hours ago

Note

Hello! First of all, i hope you are having or had a good day <3

I really like your writing! So I was wondering if I can do a request for a fic with the reader being the daughter of Hypnos and comforting/helping Percy with his nightmares?

It could be of the two of them in an established relationship or that, to comfort him, she confesses her feelings/Percy admitting his feelings for her since the nightmares make him afraid of losing her?

If you can't or don't feel comfortable that's fine, tysm 💞

Embodiment of Comfort

Percy Jackson x Reader (Gender-Neutral)

Warning !! English is not my first language, there might be so mischaracterizations.

Note: I'm not exactly so proud of this work, I was really tired when making this, so I apologize for its bad writing...

You've been friends with Percy for quite a while now. Your friendship started around his first week in camp, but you didn't expect anything from it.

That was until you realized how you've been silently gushing over him, the son of Poseidon—Percy Jackson—a name that everyone around the camp knew and admired.

You couldn't blame them though—black hair, tanned skin, toned body, great personality, kind of a dork, what's there to not admire?

However, being a child of Hypnos meant nothing to you. It felt really dull... Mostly because everyone just seems to know you as someone that sleeps all day and has nothing to contribute unless "sleep" was the talk.

If you were being honest, the thought alone made you feel even more disappointed knowing your childhood crush was simply just out of your league.

“...Gods, I hate that guy.” you murmured against your pillow. To be real, you didn't really hate Percy—maybe you did, but only since he's been an annoying buzz in your head all day long.

Maybe a part of it was your fault, but you'd defend yourself and say that at least more than half of it was his fault.

“He doesn't even have to be all that charming... Those black hair, sea-green eyes...” you paused, hugging your pillow, looking afar bit too starstruck before you began once more, “especially those sea-green eyes.”

As you were zoning out on your bed, you heard a voice cut through your thoughts—a voice that was, unfortunately, familiar. “Sleepy?”

Shit.

You blinked, averting your gaze towards him while your mind panicked and you swore you've said every cuss words known to man.

It wasn't intentional—genuinely, you felt like an idiot saying those words out loud—you felt even more stupid, knowing that you've completely forgotten that Percy was here all along.

“Percy, uh...” you started, but now you wished you could go back in time for a few seconds so you were able to just shut yourself up.

He looked sleepy, his voice sounded groggy as well, however his grin seems to just strengthen against the pillow he was snuggling with.

“So, I take it you have a crush on someone?”

“No!”

“Right, right.” he says, adjusting his position to lay on his back like a starfish, staring at the ceiling of the bunk bed. “You hate the guy. Got it.”

“Shut up.”

“Will do.” he says, motioning a ziplock on his mouth, but the cheeky, almost smug-like grin that was plastered on his face never faltered on his lips one bit.

After a few moments of silence, he motions to be unlocking the imaginary ziplock on his mouth, his hands finding his own hair while his eyes remain shut.

“What now?”

“Soo... thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For your service.” he joked once more, only to receive an unimpressed glance from you which made him shut up. At least for a moment...

“No seriously,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced up at you, “thanks...”

“If I'm going to be real honest with you, sleep has never come easy for me. Especially during my first week in camp.”

You blinked, remaining the silence you've stilled, letting him pour out his words while his gaze would often shift from one furniture to another.

“I just want to thank you for just.. being there,” he sighed, “If I'm being real with you, sleepy,” he murmured before he continued, “nightmares have been gnawing at me left and right.”

“And really, your comfort—no, your presence alone has helped me. I don't know if you even realize it, but you feel like comfort itself, as though the very essence of it was mused after you.”

“What are you saying?” you felt your breath hitch at his words.

He paused, looking for any uncertainty in your eyes. Despite his shaky nerves, he looked into your eyes, letting out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding.

“...I like you.”

...

“Was that too forward?” he chuckled lightly though his laugh felt breathless as if he was just as nervous as you were about the whole situation.

“Sleepy?”

“Sorry, sorry, uh,” you snapped out of your focus, however your words couldn't get itself out of your throat like it was stuck there.

Despite his panicking nerves, he patted you on the back as if to help and ground you on what was happening. “Relax, it's just me.” he chuckled lightly.

“Do you really mean that?”

“That I like you? Of course I do. Why wouldn't I mean it?”

You didn't know how to begin your words, the only sensation you could feel was the way your palms start to form its cold sweat. “I like you too, Percy. Might I now add that I have been crushing on you for quite some time now as well?” you uttered out sheepishly.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you smiled, “I mean it—like for real. You're like one of the coolest person I've ever met and you don't even have to try.” you say, feeling his hand tangle in yours.

“I try really hard, actually.” he chuckled lightly, brushing his hands against your hair, tucking it in behind your ear before he pressed a quick, kiss on your cheek.

Hesitantly, you held his face in your palm, feeling him lean onto your touch as he tops his hand over yours while his thumb skimmed through your knuckle.

“Thank you, sleepy.”

“You don't have to thank me for anything.” you leaned in with a smile to draw a peck on his nose.

Have a request? Feel free to send one in!

#pjo #percy jackson #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy pjo #percy jackson pjo #percy jackson x reader

23 notes · View notes

restinslices · 1 day ago

Note

Liu Kang with shibari???? 👀

I should be writing pt2 to Bi-Han angst but y'all, with the way the states are rn? I don't wanna write angst 😭😭. I need to be a whore. MDNI obviously. Hope you like this Drabble!

"Let me take care of you".

That simple sentence is what started all of this.

At first he thought you meant that you'd let him be little spoon, or you'd take a bath together, or maybe you had a special dinner planned for the two of you. What he hadn't expected was for you to pull ropes from out the closet.

"Do you trust me?”

Did he? Of course he did. He’d trust you with his life if it came down to it.

Boy, was he glad he did that.

Liu never expected the feeling of being tied up to feel as good as it did. It was the intimacy of it all that made his heart flutter. Being restrained so his legs were apart, wrists tied together, having to put his entire body in your care - “I trust you”, that’s what it all said.

“Eyes on me, my love”

An almost impossible task. The vibrator inside him had been placed perfectly against his prostate, sending pleasurable vibrations up his whole body with no end in sight. Your wetness coated his dick, which he could see each time you lifted yourself off of him, only to slam yourself down on him once again. He wanted to grab you, any part of you. He’d grab you, take his time kissing and sucking each part of your delicate skin before finding your lips and your tongue. That’s what he likely would’ve done if he had the chance.

He tugged at his restraints, only receiving a burning feeling for all his efforts. Weirdly enough though, he didn’t hate how it felt. He didn’t hate how any of this felt. The lack of choice, the burning, being at your mercy, all of it made his balls feel full.

Your thumb slowly rubbed against his hardened nipple, “close again?” You asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yes-“ he inhaled sharply at the feel of you speeding up on top of him, the movements even moving down to the vibrator inside him, making it rub against his sensitive area instead of just pressing against it. His eyes squeezed shut yet again, the taste of copper wetting his tongue as he bit down on his lip.

“Liu”, his eyes opened when he felt your hand around his throat, “eyes open or I stop”.

“Don’t!” He pleaded. Eyes open. He just had to keep his eyes open.

The ropes continued to rub his flesh, burning it. Fuck, why did that make his back arch? Why did having little to no control make the familiar pit in his stomach form? “I-“

“I know. You can let go again”.

With your permission, he let his release wash over him. His fists balled, so used to being able to hold onto you but now being denied that right. Which orgasm was this? His third? Fourth? Was the number higher than that? Yet still, reaching for you was something he couldn’t shake. It was something he craved desperately…

But that desperation, that sense of control being taken away, it only made his body shake harder as he emptied himself inside of you. It made him let out a sob. It made him practically lose his breath.

It made him beg for you to never stop.

Might be a lil rusty cause y’all know I be procrastinating on writing

#mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #liu kang x reader #liu kang smut #liu kang mk1 #mk1 liu kang #mk1 Drabble #mk1 smut #liu kang #mk1 x reader

23 notes · View notes

yolobloggers · 2 days ago

Text

Forever After Goodbye (II)

~Summary: The reader has taken some off to mend her heart and move on. What she didn’t plan was falling in love and finding her happily ever after with the powerful original, Elijah Mikaelson.

~A/N: Dear Readers,

Wow, long time. Thank you for patiently waiting for the second part of the The Last Goodbye. As promised, I opted for two alternative endings; one where the reader ends up with Klaus and other other where the reader ends up with Elijah. Elena is not the main lead, I do not have anything against her, its just for the plot. Your feedback is always welcome! Happy Reading xx

~You can refresh on the story here:

The Last Goodbye

Forever After Goodbye (I) - Klaus Mikaelson

~Characters and Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Damon Salvatore x Reader(Platonic), The Mystic Gang and The Mikaelsons

~Warning: Swearing.

~Third Person POV:

“FUCK!” Y/N exclaimed, her forehead meeting the steering wheel with a dull thud. Her mind felt like it had split in two—one half applauded her for finally choosing herself, for walking away from the chaos that had consumed her life. The other half screamed at her to call everyone back, to reassure them, to slip back into the role of the ever-dependable, ever-sacrificing Ms. Goody Good.

She leaned back in her seat, staring at the dashboard, and exhaled sharply. Why am I like this? she wondered. Was this an ingrained habit or the psychological fallout of years spent bearing everyone else’s burdens? Shaking off the thought, she forced herself upright and took a long, steadying breath.

The vibrant energy of New Orleans surrounded her—the French Quarter buzzed with life, its colorful streets alive with the soulful wail of jazz, the clinking of glasses, and the allure of trinkets sold at eclectic shops. A faint smile tugged at her lips. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into the part of her subconscious that patted her on the back. She’d done it. She’d taken a step toward herself.

But the path forward wasn’t easy. She had years of grief to unravel, years of pushing down her pain. Since her parents’ untimely death, Y/N had been in survival mode. She had attended their funeral while shouldering her brother Jeremy’s grief, navigated the endless drama the Salvatores brought into her life, and even let herself fall for one of them—a choice she now regretted deeply. She’d lost so many people along the way, but worst of all, she’d lost herself.

Yet, before she could truly embrace this second chance, there were two things she needed to do: call Jeremy and find Elijah.

Digging through her tote bag, she found her phone, which she had turned off the moment she fled Mystic Falls. With a sigh, she powered it back on, bracing herself for the barrage of missed calls and texts. The notifications flooded in, her screen lighting up with names that once brought her comfort but now only stirred frustration.

Her thumb hovered over Damon’s name as she read his text.

Damon:Y/N, come back home. Everyone is freaking out… Elena is all over the place. She’s very upset. We’ll figure something out. Come home.

A scoff escaped her lips. “Fuck you, D,” she muttered under her breath before hitting speed dial for Jeremy. The phone rang only a couple of times before his worried voice came through.

“Y/N!” Jeremy exclaimed, the relief and panic clear in his tone. “Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?!”

“Hey, J-bear,” she said softly, her voice calm despite her racing heart.

“What the fuck, Y/N/N? I’ve been losing my mind! Where are you? Are you safe?” he ranted.

“J... J, stop,” she interrupted gently but firmly. “Let me talk. Please.”

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Are you alone?”

“No,” he replied hesitantly. “Bonnie, Caroline, and Stefan are here.”

Of course, she thought, biting back a groan. “Fine,” she said, resigning herself to the lack of privacy. “I’ll just get it over with. Look, I’m fine. I needed to leave Mystic Falls, J. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I had to do this. I need space—from everyone and everything.”

“Everyone?” Jeremy’s voice held a note of hurt.

“Not you, J,” Y/N said quickly, her tone softening. “I love you, and I need you to understand. Please, respect my decision.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Y/N could picture Jeremy processing her words, torn between his protective instincts and his love for her. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter. “I love you too, sis. Just... take care of yourself, okay? And keep me updated. I can’t lose you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, “Thank you, J. Take care of yourself too.”

She could hear the commotion in the background—the gasps and hurried whispers of the Mystic gang—but she didn’t care. For once, their opinions didn’t matter.

She ended the call, leaned back in her seat, and glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked like a mess. Her lavender silk dress—picked out by the bride—was wrinkled, her makeup was smudged, and her hair was dishevelled.

“Jeez,” she muttered, grabbing a makeup wipe from her bag. “I’m not going on an Elijah hunt looking like this.”

Once she had tidied herself up, she stepped out of the car and surveyed her surroundings. The memory of her last meeting with Elijah played in her mind—the feel of his arms around her waist, his warm hand brushing her cheek as he whispered promises of loyalty and love. It had been her lifeline then, and it was her guiding star now.

She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and started walking through the French Quarter. The lively streets were packed with people, but Y/N’s focus remained on the task at hand. She passed by charming cafés and quaint shops, mentally noting which ones she’d revisit when she had more time.

Eventually, she found herself at Rousseau’s, a cosy bar that seemed to hum with history. Sliding onto a stool, she caught the bartender’s eye.

“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” she said, flashing a polite smile.

As she waited for her drink, she glanced around the bar, scanning the faces of patrons. Part of her wanted to call Elijah—just a quick call, and he’d be there—but something held her back. She needed a sign, an organic moment to confirm that she was doing the right thing.

The city buzzed around her, full of possibilities. Y/N wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was moving toward something good—toward someone who had always been her safe haven.

When the bartender set her drink down, she took a sip and let the burn calm her nerves. As her fingers toyed with the trinkets she had bought earlier, she whispered softly to herself, “Where are you, Elijah?”

She knew better than to mention the name “Mikaelson” here. She could tell that there were other supernatural beings here. Gulping her drink, she picked over on her search for the man in the suit.

“Y/N...” The voice reached her through the din of the crowded bar, cutting through the noise like a melody she could never forget. She turned on her barstool, her heart thundering as her eyes met Elijah’s.

Without thinking, she leaped into his arms, tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face against his shoulder, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. “Y/N, are you all right? Why are you crying?” Elijah’s voice was laced with concern as one arm wrapped securely around her waist while the other cradled her head gently.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her words muffled against him.

Elijah pulled back slightly, his hands coming to rest on her cheeks as he examined her face with a mixture of worry and tenderness. His touch was featherlight, but his gaze held depth—confusion, concern, and something Y/N dared to hope was love.

“My dear,” he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I missed you too.”

His heart ached at the pain he could see in her, a hurt that seemed to radiate from the depths of her soul. He wanted nothing more than to take it all away. But the hushed whispers and curious stares from the bar’s patrons reminded him that this wasn’t the time or place.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he suggested gently, his hand brushing against hers.

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, grabbing her bag and linking her arm with his.

Elijah opted to walk instead of whisking her to the compound. He could sense her fragility, the delicate state of her emotions. This wasn’t a moment to rush; it was a chance—a rare one—to offer her the safety and space she needed.

As they walked, Y/N began to vent. She spoke about Damon, the wedding she’d run out on, and the weight of disappointment that had been suffocating her. Elijah listened attentively, occasionally offering a quiet word of acknowledgment. His presence was steady, calming, as though grounding her chaotic thoughts.

Eventually, they arrived at a grand, timeless structure. Y/N paused, taking in the elegant details of the house, a masterpiece of New Orleans’ golden era.

“Welcome to the Compound,” Elijah said, his voice warm.

“Lijah, this place is... magnificent,” she breathed, her eyes wide with awe.

She turned to him with a shy smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied, sincerity evident in his tone.

“Does your offer still stand? Do you still have a place for me here? I’d understand if—”

Elijah’s hands came to rest on her arms, halting her words. “Darling, I’m so sorry...” he began, his voice heavy with guilt.

Y/N’s face fell, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Oh,” she muttered, her voice breaking.

“Please, let me explain,” Elijah said quickly, his grip on her firm yet comforting. “I’m apologising for the pain my family and I have caused you. We were careless, blind to the cost of our actions. But know this—you will always have a place here. I made a promise to you, and it’s one I intend to keep.”

Tears streamed down her face as his words sank in. Overwhelmed by the warmth and belonging he offered so freely, she wrapped her arms around his torso and let herself break down.

Elijah held her tightly, whispering soft reassurances as he carried her to his room. She cried against him for what felt like hours, her emotions finally spilling over. Through it all, Elijah remained patient, a steady anchor in the storm of her grief.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes red and puffy, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Lijah. I stained your shirt... And thank you. You don’t owe me an apology. Klaus, maybe, but you? You’ve always looked out for me. Thank you for being here and for letting me stay.”

Elijah cupped her cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. “You never need to apologise, Y/N. You are safe here, always.”

In the following days, Y/N allowed herself to feel, to sit with her thoughts instead of running from them. Elijah, ever mindful of her healing, moved her to his loft outside the city—a tranquil space where she could rebuild her strength.

Some days, she found herself mesmerised by the beauty of the world during their quiet walks. On others, she struggled even to get out of bed, overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions. Elijah never pushed her. On those difficult days, he simply sat beside her, offering his quiet presence.

Healing wasn’t linear, and Elijah understood that. The loft became her sanctuary—a peaceful retreat where she could rediscover herself, bit by bit.

One evening, as Y/N sat on the balcony with a journal in her hands, Elijah approached with a cup of tea. “I thought you might like this,” he said, placing it beside her.

She looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You always seem to know what I need before I do.”

Elijah’s gaze softened as he took the seat next to her. “Sometimes, it’s the smallest comforts that make the biggest difference.”

Her fingers brushed his lightly as she took the tea, her cheeks warming. “Thank you, Elijah. For always being here.”

Over time, her feelings for him deepened, though she hesitated to act on them. She wanted to ensure what she felt was real—not a rebound. Elijah, ever patient, gave her all the time and space she needed.

One morning, Y/N woke to the smell of fresh coffee. She found Elijah in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up as he prepared breakfast.

“You don’t have to do all this for me,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

Elijah turned to her with a playful smirk. “And yet, I enjoy it.”

Her heart fluttered. “Why, Elijah? Why go out of your way for someone like me?”

He set the coffee pot down and approached her, his gaze unwavering. “Because, Y/N, you’re not just ‘someone.’ You’re everything I’ve longed for—a reminder that there’s still light in this world.”

At that moment, Y/N knew. She was undeniably, irrevocably in love with Elijah Mikaelson.

“When can I meet your siblings?” Y/N asked casually as they ate breakfast. “Whenever you’d like, darling. Though may I ask why?” Elijah’s voice was calm, but his curiosity was evident. Y/N shrugged, her tone light. “Because I think I’m ready.” When Elijah didn’t respond immediately, she glanced up from her plate to find him watching her intently, questions swirling in his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was afraid to disturb the moment. Y/N carefully pushed both their plates aside, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “A while back, you and I were dancing in a room full of people, yet I could tell the only person you saw in that room was me. In some ways, I’ve been naive… maybe even disrespectful, Elijah. I knew what you felt for me was more than friendship or pity, but I chose to dwell on my feelings for Damon instead.” She paused, her gaze earnest. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me. You gave me a place to stay, a safe space to heal. That night at the ball, you asked me to let you into my world. Today, I’m asking if I can be part of yours. Your family is your world, Elijah, and I want to be part of it. To stand by you, to care for you, and to love you.” For a moment, silence filled the space between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Elijah’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, his usually composed expression softening.

“My dearest Y/N,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “do you have any idea what those words mean to me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her.

“Please, let me speak,” he continued, his dark eyes searching hers. “From the moment I met you, I have been captivated by your strength, your compassion, and your light. Even when you did not see yourself clearly, I saw you. I saw all of you, and I have waited for the day when you might see me too—not as a noble, not as a Mikaelson, but as a man who loves you beyond reason.” His voice broke slightly at the end, and Y/N felt tears prick her eyes. “I have lived a thousand lifetimes, Y/N,” Elijah said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, “but none have held meaning until now. To hear you ask to be a part of my world… I cannot tell you how much it humbles me. Yes, my family is my world, but so are you. And there is nothing I desire more than for you to stand by me, to care for me, and to love me, as I have loved you.”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, and Elijah reached up to gently brush it away. “You are my sanctuary, Y/N,” he whispered. Before she could reply, he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t rushed or overwhelming—it was a quiet, unspoken promise, filled with all the emotions he had held back for so long. When he pulled away, Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart full. “So… when do I get to meet your siblings?” Elijah chuckled softly, his composure slipping just enough to reveal his joy. “Perhaps we should wait until after breakfast. I’ll need to prepare them—they have a tendency to be… dramatic.” Y/N laughed, and for the first time in a long while, it felt light and free. “Let them be dramatic,” she said, leaning into him. “I’ll take it all if it means being with you.”

Y/N walked confidently through the grand doors of the Mikaelson compound, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She had asked for this—demanded it, really. If she was going to be part of Elijah’s life, she had to truly step into his world. That meant confronting not only his complicated siblings but also the pieces of her past tied to them.

Elijah walked beside her, his posture as regal as ever, but there was a faint tension in his jaw. “Are you certain about this, Y/N?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with concern. “You know they can be… unpredictable.”

“I’ve dealt with the Mystic Falls gang for years,” Y/N said, her tone dry. “I think I can handle a few Original vampires.”

Elijah’s lips twitched into a small smile, impressed by her composure. “Just remember, you’re under no obligation to win them over. This is about you and me.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, brushing an imaginary speck off her imaginary blazer, “if I’m going to be with you, I need to deal with them. That’s how families work, Elijah. Even the psychotic ones.”

They stepped into the courtyard, where Rebekah, Kol, and Klaus were already gathered. Rebekah sat elegantly at the edge of the fountain, while Kol leaned against a column, tossing an apple in one hand with a devil-may-care grin. Klaus stood nearby, his usual air of dominance radiating from him as he swirled a glass of bourbon.

“Well, well,” Kol drawled, tossing the apple aside as soon as he saw her. “If it isn’t the fiery Gilbert sister. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Kol,” Y/N said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Still working on perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing, I see.”

Kol clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, she wounds me! Elijah, where did you find such a sharp-tongued treasure?”

“Kol,” Elijah said smoothly, stepping between his brother and Y/N, “perhaps you could save your antics for someone who hasn’t already seen through them.”

Rebekah smirked from her spot by the fountain. “Don’t waste your time, Kol. Y/N’s not like the other doe-eyed girls who swoon at the sight of you. She’s far too clever for that.”

Y/N shot Rebekah a quick smile. “Glad someone noticed.”

Klaus, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice low and cutting. “Cleverness didn’t stop you from being at the mercy of this family before, did it, Y/N?”

Y/N turned to him, her posture straight and unyielding. “No, but it didn’t stop me from surviving, either. Which is more than I can say for some of the messes you’ve created.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a glint of something darker in his eyes. “Careful, little Gilbert. You’re in my house now.”

“And I’m here by invitation,” Y/N shot back without missing a beat. “Yours, no. But Elijah’s, which matters a hell of a lot more to me.”

Elijah stepped forward, his presence commanding as he placed a hand gently on Y/N’s back. “Enough, Niklaus,” he said firmly. “She’s not here to rehash old grievances. This is about moving forward.”

Klaus looked at his brother for a long moment before shrugging lazily. “Moving forward, is it? How quaint. Well, far be it from me to ruin your little romance.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “God, Nik, must you always make everything so unbearable? Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Y/N smirked. “I tune him out. It’s a skill I picked up growing up with Damon.”

Kol barked out a laugh. “Oh, I like her, Elijah. Are you sure I can’t steal her away?”

Elijah turned his head slightly, fixing Kol with a look so subtle yet piercing that it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “Kol,” he said, his tone deceptively calm, “don’t push me.”

Kol raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave—for now.”

Rebekah stood and linked arms with Y/N, pulling her away from the tension brewing between the brothers. “Come on, Y/N. Let me give you a proper tour of this place. It’s far more interesting than the constant male posturing.”

As Rebekah led Y/N away, Kol called after them, “Don’t let her bore you with her interior design ideas. They’re dreadful.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “It’s like dealing with toddlers.”

“You’ve no idea,” Rebekah muttered conspiratorially.

Later, in the Drawing Room

The tension from earlier had eased somewhat. Y/N sat with Rebekah on one of the plush sofas, a glass of wine in hand. Kol was lounging nearby, still full of cheeky comments, while Elijah watched her from across the room, his gaze soft and thoughtful.

Klaus, however, remained distant, his eyes flickering to her now and then with suspicion.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Kol said, breaking the silence. “What’s it like being the Gilbert sister who actually has some sense? Must be exhausting.”

Y/N smirked, swirling her wine. “Exhausting, yes. But at least I’m not the Mikaelson sibling known for being expendable.”

Rebekah nearly choked on her drink, and even Elijah’s lips twitched with amusement.

Kol stared at her, stunned for a moment, before bursting into laughter. “Oh, I think I’m in love.”

Elijah cleared his throat, stepping closer to Y/N. “Kol, I believe it’s time you found another pastime.”

Y/N glanced up at Elijah, catching the faintest glimmer of jealousy in his otherwise calm demeanour. She reached out and lightly brushed her fingers against his hand, a silent reassurance.

“I can handle Kol,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.

“I have no doubt,” Elijah replied, his voice low and filled with warmth.

From across the room, Klaus watched the interaction with narrowed eyes. Despite his usual bravado, he couldn’t ignore the way Y/N seemed to command respect in a way so few ever did.

For Y/N, it wasn’t about winning over the Mikaelsons. It was about proving, to them and herself, that she belonged—not just in their world, but beside Elijah, where she knew she was meant to be.

It had been a week since Y/N decided to immerse herself in Elijah’s world, and despite her initial reservations, she found herself growing more comfortable within the walls of the Mikaelson compound. Time had softened her edges toward some of the siblings. Rebekah had quickly become a confidante, her blunt honesty and fierce loyalty making it easy for Y/N to trust her. Kol was, as always, the mischievous brother, his flirtatious remarks now more playful than irritating. Freya had been a recent addition to their gatherings, and her warm, composed demeanour was a welcome change amidst the usual chaos.

Klaus, however, remained the elephant in the room. Their interactions were minimal and strained at best, laced with underlying hostility. Y/N’s anger at him lingered—after all, this was the man responsible for so much pain in her family’s life: Aunt Jenna’s death, the torment Elena and Jeremy endured, and countless other manipulations that left scars on her soul. Yet, for Elijah’s sake, she kept her sharp words and biting sarcasm in check when Klaus was around. Barely.

Tonight, the group was gathered in one of the compound’s sitting rooms. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth mirrored in the laughter filling the room. Rebekah and Kol were bickering over a board game they’d unearthed, while Freya and Y/N were deep in conversation about New Orleans folklore. Elijah sat close to Y/N, his hand resting lightly on the arm of her chair, their closeness speaking volumes without words.

“Honestly, Kol, your strategy is abysmal,” Rebekah huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re just upset because I’m winning,” Kol retorted with a grin, earning an eye-roll from his sister.

Freya chuckled and leaned toward Y/N. “This is what I endure every day. Welcome to the madness.”

Y/N smirked. “It’s oddly comforting. Like watching Jeremy and Elena argue over the last slice of pizza back home.”

Elijah’s hand brushed against hers subtly, a quiet gesture that made her heart flutter. His silent support was a balm in the chaos, grounding her amidst the whirlwind that was his family.

Unbeknownst to her, Klaus had been watching from the doorway. His sharp eyes caught the way Elijah’s gaze softened when it landed on Y/N, the way she seemed to bring an ease to his usually stoic brother. It wasn’t lost on Klaus how rare it was to see Elijah this content, and it stirred something unfamiliar within him—something almost resembling guilt.

For days, Klaus had avoided addressing the tension between himself and Y/N, stubbornly pretending it didn’t matter. But seeing her here, effortlessly weaving her way into his siblings’ lives, made him realise that she was no passing fancy for Elijah. She was important. And that mattered.

With a sigh, Klaus stepped into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.

“Ah, Nik,” Kol drawled, tossing a game piece onto the table. “Come to ruin the fun, as always?”

“Not tonight, brother,” Klaus replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on Y/N.

Y/N stiffened under his gaze, her guard instinctively going up. “What? Did I sit in your chair or something?” she quipped, her sarcasm a shield against his unpredictable nature.

Klaus’s lips twitched in faint amusement before he gestured toward the hallway. “A word, if you don’t mind.”

Y/N exchanged a wary glance with Elijah, who gave her a reassuring nod. Rising from her chair, she followed Klaus out of the room, her arms crossed defensively.

They stopped in a quieter part of the compound, the hum of conversation fading behind them. Klaus turned to face her, his usual swagger replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low but steady.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what? Did I just step into an alternate universe?”

Klaus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to retort. “I’ve done unspeakable things to your family. To you. And while I can’t undo the past, I can acknowledge the pain I’ve caused.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, searching his face for any hint of deceit. “Why now? Why bother apologising at all?”

“Because,” Klaus said, his tone softening, “you matter to Elijah. And Elijah matters to me. Despite everything, I don’t wish to be the reason you bring him pain.”

For a moment, Y/N was silent, her emotions warring within her. She had every right to hold onto her anger, but she also knew what it meant for someone like Klaus to admit fault.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I can’t say I forgive you. Not yet. But I can be civil. For Elijah’s sake.”

Klaus nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

When they returned to the sitting room, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had lingered between them seemed lighter, replaced by a tentative truce.

Rebekah arched her brow. “Well, that’s new. Did hell freeze over while you two were gone?”

Kol grinned. “Or did Klaus finally learn how to play nice?”

Elijah’s gaze flicked between Y/N and Klaus, a small smile tugging at his lips as he realized what had happened.

Freya leaned toward Y/N, whispering with a grin, “That’s the closest you’ll get to a heartfelt gesture from Niklaus. Congratulations.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back into her chair. For the first time, she felt like she truly belonged—not just to Elijah, but to the family he cherished so deeply.

And that night, even Klaus couldn’t find it in himself to ruin the peace.

Later that night, Y/N stood on the balcony of Elijah’s room in the compound, overlooking the vibrant city of New Orleans. The French Quarter buzzed with life below, but up here, in the serenity of this room, it felt like a world away.

Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over the cool metal of the balcony railing as she lost herself in thought. The events of the past week had been a whirlwind—meeting Elijah’s siblings, finding her footing among them, and even reaching a tentative truce with Klaus. Yet, amidst it all, there was one constant: Elijah.

“Penny for your thoughts, my love?” Elijah’s deep, velvety voice broke through her reverie.

She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his suit jacket abandoned, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up. The sight of him, always so composed yet so effortlessly alluring, made her heart race.

“You’d need a fortune to get through all of them,” she teased, a soft smile gracing her lips.

Elijah stepped closer, his hands resting gently on the railing on either side of her. He leaned in slightly, his presence wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. “Then perhaps I’ll settle for the one that makes you smile like that,” he said, his gaze searching hers.

Y/N laughed softly, leaning into him. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come. How I went from avoiding you at every chance to... this.” She gestured to the space between them, the connection that was now undeniable.

Elijah’s eyes softened, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “And does ‘this’ bring you peace, Y/N? Happiness?”

Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his tone, the way his touch sent shivers down her spine. “More than I ever thought possible,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “You mean so much to me.”

He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing against her skin. Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them, she found him watching her with a reverence that made her heart ache in the best way.

“You’ve brought light to a life shrouded in centuries of darkness,” he continued, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve reminded me what it means to hope, to feel, to love. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she held them back, letting a soft laugh escape instead. “How do you always know the exact thing to say to make me melt, Mr. Mikaelson?”

“Perhaps because you inspire every word,” he replied smoothly, his lips now only a breath away from hers.

Unable to resist any longer, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. Elijah responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other.

When they finally parted, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“I love you,” Y/N confessed, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess them.

Elijah’s eyes lit up, his expression one of pure joy. “And I, you. More than words can ever convey.”

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms as the stars began to dot the night sky. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the dangers of their world, not the complications of their pasts. All that existed was the love they shared, a love that felt timeless and unbreakable.

“You know,” Y/N murmured against his chest, “we’re going to have to deal with your siblings’ endless teasing now.”

Elijah chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let them tease. As long as I have you by my side, I can endure anything.”

And with that, they stayed on the balcony, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment, two souls finally finding their home in each other.

The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink as Elijah and Y/N walked hand in hand through the lavender field, surrounded by the fragrant flowers that had once been a playground for Elijah and his siblings when they were children. The field was a rare moment of peace for them both, far from the chaos of their supernatural lives.

Y/N gazed at the endless rows of purple, a soft smile on her face. "You know," she said, glancing at Elijah, "this place is beautiful. It's almost as if it holds the memories of your past... and all the times you've been forced to leave them behind."

Elijah squeezed her hand gently, his gaze softening. "It's more than just a place for me. It’s a reminder of simpler times, before our lives were filled with endless complications and heartache. But it’s better now, isn’t it? With you by my side."

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. She turned toward him, standing on tiptoe as she kissed his lips, slow and tender. They were both completely in their own world, the lavender scent mingling with the warmth between them.

When they pulled apart, Elijah looked into her eyes, searching, as though seeing her in a new light. "I don't think I've ever been as certain of anything in my life as I am of you."

Y/N chuckled, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "That’s a little dramatic, even for you, Elijah Mikaelson," she teased.

Elijah smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You think so? Because you make me want to be dramatic. You're worth it."

She laughed, her heart full. It was moments like this—just the two of them—that made her forget the tumultuous past and the storm that was always lingering. Elijah pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers.

"Promise me you’ll always be with me," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I already am," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around her. "And I will be for as long as you’ll have me."

Before they could get lost in each other further, Elijah’s phone rang, interrupting the moment. He glanced at it, his expression turning serious as he looked at the caller ID. Klaus. He dealt with the call.

"We’ve been summoned to the Salvatore Boarding House. We need to head there. It seems that the Mystic Gang, as you refer to them, have landed themselves in a mess again."

Y/N sighed, her fingers still intertwined with his as she pulled away reluctantly. "Can’t we have just a few more minutes?" she asked, half-joking.

Elijah smiled, though the weight of their responsibilities always lingered. "As much as I would prefer to stay here, I’m afraid we have no choice."

The evening sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Salvatore Boarding House, casting warm, golden hues over the tension-filled room. The Mystic Gang—Damon and Stefan Salvatore, Bonnie Bennett, Caroline Forbes, and Elena Gilbert—sat scattered across the living room. Their expressions ranged from apprehension to outright frustration as they awaited the arrival of the Mikaelsons.

“They’re late,” Damon muttered, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “Typical.”

“Maybe don’t insult them when they get here,” Bonnie warned. “We need their help, remember?”

Elena sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She hadn’t seen Y/N in months. The memory of their strained last encounter weighed on her, but she was determined to fix things—if Y/N would let her.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors swung open, and in stepped Elijah Mikaelson, effortlessly poised in his tailored suit. At his side, hand entwined with his, was Y/N.

The room fell silent.

Y/N looked radiant, her smile soft but confident as she stepped into the space like she belonged there. Her gaze swept over the familiar faces, lingering momentarily on Elena before she looked away. The Mystic Gang, meanwhile, wore expressions ranging from stunned to incredulous.

“Y/N?” Caroline finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Surprise,” Y/N said dryly, raising an eyebrow. She gave a small wave, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

Jeremy stood there, eyes lighting up when he saw Y/N.

"Y/N!" Jeremy exclaimed, rushing forward and enveloping her in a bear hug. "I can't believe you're here! It's been way too long."

Y/N laughed softly, hugging him back. "I know, I know. It's been... a lot. But I’m here now."

The warmth and familiarity of her brother’s embrace made her feel grounded, even amidst the chaos. They pulled apart, and Y/N looked him over. "How have you been? Really?"

Jeremy gave her a small, sincere smile. "I've been good. Missed you, though. Things have been... complicated, you know? But it’s good to see you again."

Elijah watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though his hand found Y/N's, grounding her with a touch that said everything without words.

When Y/N turned to the others in the room, her gaze landed on Elena, who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching the reunion with a mix of uncertainty and hope. Slowly, Y/N approached her, eyes softening as she did.

"Hey, Elena," Y/N said, voice steady but warm. "How are you?"

Elena hesitated, her gaze flickering between Y/N and Elijah before she finally stepped forward. "I’m... I’m okay. Really. I just—I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted to apologise for everything that happened, Y/N. I should’ve understood sooner... but I was too caught up in my own pain to see yours."

Y/N’s heart softened, but there was still a guardedness in her voice. "It’s not just about you, Elena. I know you’re sorry. But you still haven’t really understood why I had to leave, have you?"

Elena looked down, visibly pained. "I get it now, I do. It was never about me. It was about you needing space, needing to find yourself again. I wasn’t there when you needed me most."

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice firm but not unkind. "I know you’re trying, but it’s going to take time. I’ll speak to you when I’m ready, okay? It’s just... it’s hard. For both of us."

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon blurted out, his gaze bouncing between Y/N and Elijah. “You’re with him?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her sarcasm cutting through the room like a blade. “Hello to you too, Damon. Always such a charmer.”

Elijah placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back, his calm demeanour unshaken. “It’s lovely to see you all again,” he said, his voice smooth and composed. “I trust this reunion will be...productive.”

“Reunion?” Stefan echoed, his brow furrowed. “Wait, how long has this been going on?” He gestured between Elijah and Y/N.

“Long enough,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp yet unapologetic. She glanced up at Elijah, her expression softening instantly. “And if you’re wondering, yes, we’re very happy.”

Bonnie’s eyes darted to the engagement ring glittering on Y/N’s hand. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, holding up her hand briefly, smiling. Jeremy hugged Y/N again congratulating her.

Klaus entered the room then, with Kol and Rebekah trailing behind him. “Ah, the gang’s all here,” Klaus drawled, his smirk firmly in place. “I see you’ve all met my future sister-in-law. Delightful, isn’t she?”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Don’t start, Klaus.”

“Who, me?” Klaus said innocently, earning a snicker from Kol and an exasperated sigh from Rebekah.

Damon looked at Klaus, his irritation bubbling over. “How does she put up with you? Or any of you?”

“Patience,” Y/N said with a smirk, settling into a chair with Elijah gracefully taking the seat beside her. “You’d be amazed what it can achieve.”

Klaus chuckled. “And yet you somehow tolerate this lot,” he gestured to the Mystic Gang, “despite their...endearing flaws.”

Bonnie shot Klaus a warning look, cutting in before the conversation could devolve further. “Alright, enough. We need to talk about the threat we called you here for.”

As the discussion shifted to the supernatural danger facing Mystic Falls, Y/N listened intently, her hand still resting in Elijah’s. Occasionally, their gazes would meet, and the shared warmth between them was impossible to ignore—even to those who didn’t want to see it.

Elena’s eyes lingered on her sister throughout the meeting, noting the quiet strength and happiness radiating from her. It was a version of Y/N she hadn’t seen in years, and it left her both awed and uneasy.

By the time the meeting ended, it was clear that Y/N’s allegiance—and her heart—firmly belonged to the Mikaelsons. And while the Mystic Gang grappled with their shifting dynamics, Y/N couldn’t have cared less.

As she and Elijah left the Salvatore Boarding House that evening, his hand rested lightly at the small of her back, their love palpable in every touch, every glance. For Y/N, it wasn’t just about finding a new family—it was about building a future with the man who had shown her a love she never thought she deserved.

(Gifs credits goes to the rightful owners)

~Tags~

~The Last Goodbye:

@thefandomplace

@a--1--1--3

@misselsbells06

~The Vampire Diaries/The Originals & Supernatural:

@akshi8278

~The Vampire Diaries:

@sparklesmolwarriorprincess

#elijah mikaelson x reader #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #damon salvatore #klaus mikaelson x reader #mystic falls #damon salvatore x reader #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #fanfiction

31 notes · View notes