#And I admit I'm coming from a place of the worst case scenarios

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Four - Changes

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Changes start to occur, some small, some bigger. Jessie and you navigate the first few weeks of your pregnancy.

Warnings: Vomiting. Some suggestive language.

A/N: Just fluff this time around, folks. Doting Jessie makes her first appearance lol.

Jessie and you were seated at the table eating breakfast together. With a baby on the way and your health more important than ever, Jessie took it upon herself to take over meal planning and prep. With her exposure to nutritionists over the years, her knowledge along with her now extensive research into prenatal diets, she figured this was a role suited to her.

The food you two ate was already pretty healthy - it had to be. But now, she made sure you got extra iron, protein, calcium, etc., along with your prenatal vitamins which she arranged every morning at the edge of your plate. She felt great about it all.

Minus the coffee situation. She had dutifully removed all remnants of coffee from your apartment given even the beans in the pantry made your stomach turn. She nearly gave the bag away to Janine, but quickly thought better of it when she realized the questions it may spur.

The best you and Jessie could figure, you were about six weeks pregnant. You took the test a couple of weeks ago and though small changes had occurred, for the most part things had been smooth.

Until now.

Jessie stopped mid-bite when you lifted your fork halfway, paused, staring vacantly for a few moments before setting it down rather abruptly and placing your hands at the edge of the table.

"Um." Was all you managed to say before you bolted up out of your chair and rushed to the bathroom. Jessie's fork clattered to the table as she shot up out of her seat and followed you.

She was coming around the corner when she heard you retching.

"Oh, baby," she said gently as she came up behind you and pulled your hair back as you coughed out what little you'd eaten. Your shoulders heaved and she knelt down and rubbed your back.

When you finally sat back, you skin was clammy and pale and you were short of breath. Jessie kissed your temple before rising and grabbing you a damp face cloth.

"I knew it was too good to be true," you mumbled as you patted your face. You finally opened your eyes and gave Jessie a weary look.

"Guess it's started, huh?" Jessie asked with a sympathetic expression.

"I'm going to die if I'm one of those girls that has morning sickness all the way through their pregnancy," you lamented, a sad frown forming on your face.

"Well," Jessie started, looking for the right words to say, "let's hope that isn't the case. And worst case scenario, if it is, I promise I'll take care of you all the way through."

"You better. This is your fault after all," you commented with a smirk. "You're going to hear that from here on out."

Jessie might've felt affronted, but instead she mirrored your smirk and felt a blush started to spread across her cheeks. She knew you didn't mean it negatively. It was her baby that was growing inside of you, creating all of these changes. And that concept pleased Jessie in more ways than she cared to admit.

Before her mind could derail and turn to inappropriate things, the sudden shift in your expression caught her attention, refocusing her immediately as you lurched forward and began vomiting into the toilet once more. This time dry heaving and struggling even more.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Jessie said as she rubbed your back again. When you eventually pulled back, your eyes were watery with tears.

"You better be staying home," Jessie urged. "And I'll skip practice, too."

You groaned as you leaned back against the wall. You gave a feeble shake of your head. "No. I have a stakeholders meeting this afternoon."

"Babe," Jessie scolded. You waved her off.

"I'll take the morning off," you compromised. "It's morning sickness, right?" You laughed emptily, you and Jessie both reading that it could occur any time of day.

"I'll stay home with you," Jessie repeated. You groaned again. She knew you didn't want her to miss practice, but from the expression on your face you were clearly torn. "No room for discussion. I'm staying home with you."

You whined a bit further, but relented. "Fine. But just today. We both have to just cope with this. I can't miss work all the time and neither can you."

"Let's play it by ear," she compromised. You rolled your eyes, but you leaned into her, Jessie wrapping her arms around you right away. You lay heavy against her, still breathing deeply and struggling to remain composed.

It was sometime later before you were finally confident enough to leave the bathroom. Jessie helped you up and walked you towards the bed.

"No, I want to go to the couch," you nearly whined. Jessie swallowed a laugh.

"Okay. Couch it is," she accepted.

She built you a nest of blankets and pillows, carefully arranging you into it and placing a garbage can within your reach. "What do you want to watch?" She asked as she stood poised with the remote. You heaved a sigh.

"I don't know. Anything," you said tiredly.

She put on one of your favourite movies. You'd watched it dozens of times before, but you never seemed to get bored of it. When you looked content and cozy, Jessie gave you a kiss before stepping away.

"You're coming back, right?" You asked. While your tone had been stubborn and defiant a short while ago, now it was sad and almost meek.

"Of course, babe," Jessie replied, not being able to fully hinder her laugh. She turned to you, a wave of affection and love going through her upon seeing your sad eyes peering over at her through the blankets. She spoke patiently. "I'm making you some tea. Then I'll stay with you." She gave you a sad smile when you gave a morose hum and turned your attention back to the TV.

When Jessie returned to the couch, she set down the steaming mug of tea on the table in front you.

"It's really hot. Give it a few minutes. This is peppermint, but I'm going to go out to the store later and get you some ginger tea and crackers. We'll find stuff that settles your stomach."

"Thank you," you said quietly, exhausted and almost half asleep.

Jessie studied you for a few moments, readjusting your blanket a bit before sitting down at the far end right next to your feet. She pulled out the notebook and pen she'd had tucked under her arm.

Since finding out you were expecting, Jessie started tracking all of your symptoms, their timing, severity, frequency, and had a section dedicated to questions to she wanted to ask the obstetrician at appointment in a couple of weeks. She started making notes about today, including which foods you had for breakfast. She'd work on deciphering if there was something specific in it that triggered your nausea.

Her pen stalled against the paper when she felt you nudge her with your foot through the blankets. She looked over at you in question to see your eyes were closed though you weren't asleep.

"What are you doing?" You asked in a small voice, almost pouty. Jessie dug a hand under the blankets to give your calf a light squeeze.

"Making sure I take care of you two the best I can."

------

Another couple of weeks went by and Jessie wished she could say that your morning sickness waned, but it actually worsened. She was concerned for you, of course, but based on everything she read - and a precautionary call to the doctor - it was to be expected.

All she could do was try to help you navigate and mitigate best as possible.

It was especially hard being away from you these past couple of weeks. You'd stayed home a couple of times, feigning food poisoning and a flu, but you'd insisted that Jessie go to practice and to games.

You flip flopped between pouty and needy to stubbornly independent and it was hard for her to determine which you really needed and wanted. You tended to fall more on the side of the latter, so Jessie ultimately went to Kansas for her game, but it was torture leaving you in your condition.

While away, she texted and called as often as she could, though even that proved to be a greater challenge than expected since she couldn't risk anyone overhearing her conversation. You hadn't even told your families yet. Though you were both excited to share the news, you agreed you'd wait until the first ultrasound to tell your families, then a while longer for others.

When she was home though, she was all yours.

Though things were far from pleasant for you, it seemed like you'd collectively found some coping mechanisms or small wins.

Through Jessie's keen note taking, you'd refined some strategies involving smaller meals, sometimes broken out into just snacks throughout the day. At this point, you were on a diet that was rather tailored and limited to stay inoffensive to your sensitive system. Concurrently, your cravings were reaching a peak of their own.

When you weren't sick to your stomach, you'd developed an affinity for grapes, the texture and sweetness satisfying some kind of itch for you. "The firm ones, not the gross mushy ones," you'd specifically instructed. By now, you'd even developed very particular timing around partially freezing them before eating.

Pickles weren't a thing for you - at least not yet. However, dill pickle chips were. Very much so. Jessie went on one late night adventure to the convenience store for you to get them before caving and stocking up despite the fact that she wished you'd eat something a bit healthier.

She'd made the mistake of trying to limit you and nearly had her head bit off. She kept her opinions on the chips to herself after that.

One evening you were napping, simply exhausted from being sick, balancing work, and still trying to contribute at home. Jessie finished up a few chores she'd convinced you in relinquishing to her - at least temporarily - before heading into the bedroom to check on you.

You must've been warm because you'd kicked off all the blankets and your shirt was hiked up. Jessie wordlessly approached and gingerly climbed onto the bed, laying flat on her tummy, perpendicular to you and stared at your exposed stomach. Eventually, you woke and peeked an eye open. As you registered her position, you gave her a curious look as she still silently surveyed your stomach.

"I think I can see the slightest curve here," Jessie said, eyes still trained on your stomach as she lifted a finger to point at your abdomen.

"Hey," you said mildly as you swatted her hand away. The action surprised her and she pulled back giving you a sullen expression.

"Sorry," you chuckled softly, before grabbing her hand back and laying it on your stomach where she pointed. "My mind defaulted to just regular weight gain and being offended, but then I remembered, "Oh wait, I'm growing your baby" so I should show sometime soon."

Jessie hummed quietly, her sullenness forgotten as she gently stroked your stomach, studying it further as though she might discover something new. Honestly, it was a bit early to show, she was probably imagining things, but she willed it anyway.

Without realizing it, she began to speak.

"Hi little one." She felt your eyes on her and could feel her cheeks warm. She'd talked about the baby plenty, but she'd never talked directly to them before. "How are you? I know you're going through so much and just trying to find your way, but it would be really nice if you stop making poor Momma so sick."

She stole a glance at you, her cheeks growing hotter at the way you watched her in adoration. She gave you a faint smirk.

"It's not that I don't love taking care of Momma, but, I know she'd like to have a regular meal again. And not be so tired." She grinned when she heard you snicker. She continued to caress your stomach. "She's working really hard to make sure you grow nice and strong and healthy. Please try to be nice to her - she's our favourite person, you know." She cocked her head. "You can give her all sorts of trouble when you're a teenager instead."

You laughed. "I think you're going to be way more uptight than me when it comes to stuff like that, so I think you're just jinxing yourself, babe."

"Maybe," Jessie offered noncommittally as she smiled softly, still enamored at the mere thought of the life that rest below her hand and inside of you. "I can't believe that we're making a little human being," Jessie said in quiet awe.

Your hand came to rest on her forearm, your thumb slowly stroking her. "I know. It's incredible to think about."

"I love you," Jessie told you. "And I love you, too," she directed to where your baby was forming. Unexpectedly, her throat tightened with emotion. "I can't wait to meet you."

"Jess," you said gently as you began to brush her hair back. "You're going to make me cry."

"I can't help it," she said, her voice still taut as she leaned up onto her forearms to lay a soft kiss at the center of your stomach.

You continued to stroke her hair, but grew silent as you now stared absently at the ceiling. Eventually you gripped Jessie's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I love our family so much already." You took a steadying breath. "I really hope everything goes well at the appointment tomorrow. I don't know what I'll do if something's wrong."

Jessie shushed you gently as she shifted to lay next to you.

"There's no reason anything should be wrong. We've been doing everything we should." She kissed your cheek. "Just one more sleep and we'll know for sure. And whether everything's perfect or if there is something we need to address, we'll do it together."

You exhaled heavily through your nose before you turned your head to meet Jessie's gaze. Your eyes were watery, but you smiled at her.

"I love you so much."

A few minutes passed, Jessie's own eyes falling shut as she lay peacefully with you. She opened them upon hearing you give a small huff of a laugh and seeing you wear a faint smirk.

"And I'm sorry I haven't been in the mood lately," you said. Jessie frowned deeply.

"Do not apologize. Like I said, you literally have a tiny human growing inside of you and you've been so exhausted and sick lately. I just want you to feel better. I'm not thinking about anything else," Jessie told you adamantly.

Your smirk grew. "Yeah? What I saw of your shower this morning tells me otherwise."

Jessie's face immediately began to burn hot as the memory of her activities this morning played vividly in her mind. You snuck a quick kiss, somewhere between teasing and placating.

"I can't wait until I feel better so I can take care of you again," you said. Jessie began to stammer a rebuttal when you interjected. "In the meantime, you really don't have to hide it. I may be puking my guts out, but I still think you're gorgeous." You shrugged lightly. "I'll just have to imagine it's my hand around you. Or you know, another part of me."

Jessie's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she shifted onto her back releasing a groan of both exasperation and appreciation. She covered her eyes with a hand, feeling the heat radiating off of her face. She shook her head with a laugh.

"Jesus Christ."

[gothcsz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello? Are you still there?”

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

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

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

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

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

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

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

“I know that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

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

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

He looks like he’s been through hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s here?”

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

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

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

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Mateo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them. 

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you. 

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something��anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

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

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor. 

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good. 

You should have listened to him. 

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting. 

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying. 

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out. 

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask,  barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening. 

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

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[band--psycho]

Sevika x Fem!Reader - Before Things Changed

So this is based off a request from @arevik2345 who requested an enemies - lovers trop with Sevika; but I decided to change it slightly to the lovers -enemies - lovers trope! (So don't worry there will be at least 4 parts to this series)

This is my first Sevika story so please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Requests are still open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I hope you all enjoy this! Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Sevika Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Overthinking!reader, mentions of loss, smut, fingering, overstimulation, dominating!Sevika, edging (18+)

You knew Sevika was angry, you could feel it radiating off of her even when the two of you arrived  home. 

You didn’t agree with what she said to Vander, about him being weak; but you understood why she’d said it.

Having the Enforcers down in the Lanes was making everyone uncomfortable. 

The disrespect the Enforcers showed everyone down here was horrible, but it wasn’t Vanders fault, the Enforcers were just arrogant shitheads. 

You also knew that Vander meant what he said, when he said that he would protect anyone in the Lanes; he wasn’t just protecting the kids because they were his kids, he was protecting them because they were from the Lanes.

Though you did have to admit that you could see how people were coming to this conclusion. 

“Don’t you think you were a bit harsh to Vander?” You asked Sevika softly from the sofa, watching as she grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the cupboard. 

“No,” Sevika answered bluntly, taking a large swig of the drink before sitting down next to you. 

A soft sigh left your lips as you shuffled slightly in the seat so that you were closer to her. 

“He’s just trying to do what he thinks is right,” you countered back, grabbing the bottle from Sevikas hands and taking a few sips of it before handing it back to her. 

“He’s wrong,” she stated bluntly, taking the bottle back from you

“He’s just trying to protect us." 

Sevika let out a small scoff at your words; as she turned to look at you, “You agree with him?” 

You did. 

Vander was your friend. 

You trusted him

Besides, you weren’t a fighter; not like Sevika..

You didn’t like the Enforcers, that was a fact. 

But you knew what another uprising meant. 

It meant that there was a risk of losing people you cared about…

It meant that you could lose Sevika. 

And you didn’t want that. 

So no, you didn’t want the uprising to happen. 

Did that make you a coward? 

Probably. 

But you didn’t care. 

You’d already seen enough death, suffered enough loss, that the thought of losing her, made your heart feel heavy.

“You know what happened last time…” you began, reaching out and tentatively stroking her arm, your eyes meeting hers, “I just don’t want to lose you.”

You watched  as a small grin grew on her lips as she placed the bottle down on the table beside her. 

“You worry about me so much, angel,” she hummed, savouring how delicate your fingers felt on her skin as she leaned in closer to you, “But you’re never gonna lose me.”

You wanted to believe her words; and put this down to your mind just jumping to the worst case scenario as it so often did.

But this wasn’t one of those scenarios. 

And no matter how much you wanted to trust the woman in front of you, you couldn’t. 

She was a skilled fighter, but that didn't make her untouchable. 

Your thoughts were halted when you felt Sevikas lips softly kissing up your arm.

“Sev, what are you doing?”

“Getting you outta your head,” she breathed, her lips trailing kisses up the side of your neck.

You hated how she could do this. 

How she could distract you from your thoughts with such ease. 

“Just relax, baby,” she whispered, her lips now only inches away from yours; as she ran her other hand under your oversized tshirt and up your chest to your breasts, “let me take care of you,”

 it was almost embarrassing how easily you complied with her orders. 

“Sevi,” you whined in response, laying back on the sofa,  the anticipation of her touch making your core ache with desperation. 

You needed her.

Needed her touch. 

Her lips. 

Something. 

Anything. 

You were so desperate for even the slightest touch.

It was all you could focus on. 

Sevika was all you could focus on; your thoughts and worries from earlier drifting further to the back of your mind with every blissfully torturous touch she left on your skin. 

“That’s it baby, just focus on me,” she praised, noticing how your body was squirming slightly beneath her, a clear sign to her that you needed more. 

“So needy,” she smirked with satisfaction. 

She’d barely even touched you and you were already a mess. 

She knew what she was doing to you; and she couldn’t help but revel in it. Revel at the little noises that were falling from your lips with every little touch she left on your bare skin; revel in how fucking beautiful you looked right now, with a look of desperation forming in your eyes.

Sevikas hand, the one that had been on your chest was now slowly drifting down to the place you craved to be touched the most. 

Even in the dimly lit room, you noticed a twinkle in her eyes as her thumb softly massaged your swollen clit. 

You could’ve cum just from that single touch alone; and you almost did, until Sevika quickly withdrew her hand from you. 

There was no denying that Sevika found it addictive, seeing you like this. 

But she needed to see more. 

That’s why she made such quick work of effortlessly removing your panties and oversized shirt  from your body, tossing them aside, so you were completely naked beneath her. 

She couldn’t take her eyes away from you; she was just staring at you, completely captivated. 

You opened your mouth, to beg her to just touch you; but your words morphed into a loud moan when she pushed two fingers inside your dripping pussy. 

You attempted to cover your mouth with your hand, but Sevika made short work of pinning both of your hands above your hand; her fingers pumping inside you at a relentless speed, ensuring to hit your sweet spot every time. 

“Need to hear you, angel,” she whispered in your ear before lightly biting the crook of your neck, eliciting another moan from you. 

You’d lost track of how many times you came. 

All you knew was that it was enough times to make your head feel all woozy. 

But Sevika didn’t stop; she just kept going. 

She kept pushing you over the edge again and again and again.

“Sev-Sevi-”you panted as you came down from another high, “I can’t-”

Sevikas pulled her fingers back to the entrance of your pussy, her thumb (unbeknownst to you) hovering over your clit once again. 

“Awh have you had enough, baby?” She teased, kissing the side of your mouth, flicking your sensitive nub with her thumb lightly, “I think you should be a good girl and cum for me again.”

You were so far gone; lost in the bliss of your countless oragasms, that you couldn’t deny her. 

Especially not when her fingers started pumping in and out of you again. 

Her words mixed with the fast pace of her fingers in conjunction with the occasional taps on your overstimulated clit, had your back arching once again.

“Sevikaaa fuck,” you moaned as she sent you tumbling over the edge of your own pleasure.

“Such a good girl,” Sevika praised against your skin, before placing a delicate kiss on your lips as she removed her fingers from your core. 

“So beautiful,” she whispered to you, making a tired chuckle fall from your lips. 

Beautiful? 

You were certain you looked a complete and utter mess. 

Despite your thoughts, Sevika just continued to whisper those words to you, as she pressed her lips over the bite marks on your neck as she laid next to you on the sofa, your legs intertwining with each others.

You were completely and utterly exhausted and you could feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep, but you fought to keep your eyes open and yourself awake, desperate to give Sevika the same pleasure she’d given you. 

But when you went to touch her, she lightly grabbed your hand, halting your movements.

“Sevika-”

“Shh, just relax baby,” she muttered, pulling you closer to her. 

“But what about you?” You whispered softly as your thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand. 

“This was about getting you to relax,” she stated, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. 

You could’ve argued with her; but one, you knew that was going to be like fighting a losing battle and two, you were too tired to disagree with her. 

It only took a few minutes for sleep to take a hold of you; meanwhile Sevika was still awake. 

She understood your worries about another uprising; but things were getting out of hand now and someone had to do something about it, to protect the Undercity. 

Sevika thought Vander was that man, until tonight, now she doubted he was, which meant she needed to find someone who could do the job Vander couldn’t do. 

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @barbersjoy @conretewings @the-lone-librarian @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @vvampirelust

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Anywhere Else Is Hollow - No Love Love Halloween Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: There are so many pop-culture references in here, I'm so sorry. Title from willow by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary/Warnings: A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship

“It’s the middle of fucking June.” Ben grumbles, adjusting his suspenders and glaring at his reflection. “And I still don’t see why I can’t just wear my damn supe suit-“

You grab his shoulders, turning him to face you and moving his hands off the straps for you to fix. “So you admit,” you grin up at him. “Your supe suit is a costume.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, people dress as me all the goddamn time-“

“But you are you. The whole point of this is that you’re not you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be this fucking pussy-“

“Rick O’Connell is not a pussy, he was my very first crush and an excellent treasure hunter. He’s like Indiana Jones, but with no commitment to academics.” 

“Well then why the fuck can’t I be Indiana Jones-“

“Because you don’t have any commitment to academics, and you’re built more like late 90s Brendan Fraser.” You run your hand through Ben’s hair, holding his glower with a fake pout. “I think you look very handsome.”

“I always look fucking handsome,” he mutters, catching your hand and kissing your knuckles. “This is still goddamn stupid.”

“If you want to go tell Ryan that-“

Your hum is cut off with a squeak as Ben tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you until you’re a little dizzy, swaying against him.

“Brat.” He presses another, lighter kiss on the corner of your lips, smirking as you chase his mouth back fully onto yours. “I’m going to do this shit, for you-“

“For me?” You raise your brows, pulling back enough to give Ben a pointed look. “Or for the blowjob and ice cream you’re going to earn for not being a massive fucking baby about this.”

He shrugs. “It’s a blowjob from you, beautiful. And if you’re going to wear this-“ He cuts himself off, scanning over you with a frown. “What the fuck is this.”

“A costume-“

The lines of Ben’s face deepen, and he rolls his eyes. “No, smartass. Who are you.”

“Evelyn Carnahan.”

“Who-“

“She’s your,” you poke Ben’s chest, and keep your face bright as you push through the description. You’d really been hoping he wouldn’t ask who you were, because you know he loves you, but it still might make you cry if he gets pissed off or freaked out by this. “Wife.”

He just blinks at you. “I’m not married yet-“

“No, dummy.” You sigh. “In the movies. Your costume is married to my costume.”

There’s a moment of silence, and it’s the longest fucking moment of your life. Ben is staring at you, looking slightly dumb-struck, and everything inside him is glowing and burning and made of ardor, but if he doesn’t fucking say something-

“If you give me a blowjob in this costume,” he mutters, scanning over your body as an insufferably attractive, cocky grin crosses his face. “I’ll jump off a fucking bridge for you.”

You flush, all of Ben’s hunger making you feel warm and high, but still manage to wrinkle your nose at him. “I don’t need you to jump off a bridge for me, Benjamin. Just don’t bitch and moan, and pretend you’re having a little fun.”

“We can stay here, and have plenty of fun in these stupid fucking outfits-“ 

“Nope.” You push off his chest, and stick out your tongue. “Earn it, Pretty Boy.” 

Ben's face falls into an almost adorable pout, but he lets you tangle his hand in yours, pulling him out of your room and apartment, down to the dining hall. 

You will admit, this whole thing is a little ridiculous. It is in fact the middle of June, but Ryan’s never had a Halloween before, and who knows what the fuck your life will look like come October. Best case scenario, two Halloweens in one year. Worst case- 

You don’t even want to think about the worst case. The worst case is world-ending, heartbreaking, and keeps you up in the dark with nightmares of cold, blue eyes and red hands that might be yours and might be Homelander’s wrapping around your throat. 

So this might be a little stupid, but you don’t care. It’s a distraction, it’s not like you have anything better to do while everyone is benched. You might as well entertain this request from Ryan, and pretend it’s October, and just have simple fun for one night, like the world isn’t ending around you. 

Bonus, Ben does look really fucking good. He’s right, he always looks good—it’s one of the most annoying things about him—but it’s a little insane right now. If it wasn’t for Ryan, and the promise you’d made to attend the party, you’d have taken him up on that stay here and have fun idea. But for now, you’re still allowed to look. Scan over his broad shoulders, his muscles rippling in his shirt, and you want to pull him down by his suspenders to kiss him all over his stupid, handsome face, and he’d trimmed his beard last night so it’s soft and fuck you love him and it’s driving you out of your mind- 

You almost trip as Ben stops outside the dining hall—you hadn’t even realized you’d arrived—and his arm shoots out, wrapping around you and steadying your body. 

“Careful, Sunshine.” He grumbles, not moving away as you regain your balance. “You said no blood, and that fucking counts you.” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “It does not-“ 

“Yes, it does.” Ben’s snap is firm, his big, warm hand squeezing your waist. “You get hurt, we leave. Got it?” 

“Fine.” 

His eyes narrow, and he bends down to your eye level. Try again. 

I’ve got it, Ben draws back up, and you lower your voice between your heads to a mumble. You massive fucking cunt- 

He snorts, scooping you up into his arms, swallowing your small yelp with a kiss. Brat. Ready? 

Put me down, you whack Ben’s chest, and he knows you don’t mean it—the asshole is big and warm and this is the safest place in the world so you never want to be anywhere but here— because his glower doesn’t waver. 

If you’re going to fucking hurt yourself- 

I’m not going to hurt myself, Benjamin. You drop your head onto his shoulder, giving him your sweetest smile. You won’t let me. 

Damn right I won’t, he scans over your face, and slowly lowers you back down, keeping his hand in yours. Let’s get this shit over with. 

The decorating of the dining hall is abysmal. Frenchie had spray painted some bats on the walls—which had to be some kind of health hazard, but you were all way past that—and Annie had covered exactly three tables in spooky-themed cloth, but that was the extent of the efforts. Everyone seemed to be trying to make up for it with costumes, though. Even Butcher was dressed up. Granted, he did mostly just look like himself with no shirt, but it only took one assessing scan of his black trench coat, sunglasses, and gun to figure out what he was going for. 

“Terminator?” You ask as you and Ben approach the drink table—two bottles of sprite someone put red food-coloring in and a bowl of punch that you really hope Frenchie didn’t spike—and Butcher nods. 

“Right on the money, Love.” He scans you over with a frown. “Fuckin hell are you supposed to be.” 

“Evie, from the Mummy.” 

Butcher's eyes turn to Ben. “And that makes this cunt-“ 

“Rick.” Ben grunts, tugging you a little closer to his side, his glare on Butcher a very obvious, violent challenge. 

No blood, Benjamin. 

I haven’t done a fucking thing- 

It’s a preemptive no blood. If Butcher’s a dick, no killing him. 

Butcher opens his mouth, a mocking grin covering his face and Ben tenses at your side, but with either the best or worst timing in the world, MM walks thoughtlessly between them to the table. 

MM glances over to you and Ben as he pours a drink. “The Mummy?” 

“Yeah, and you’re-“ 

“Dread Pirate Roberts.” Ben’s voice is so confident that the look of exasperation on MM’s face almost makes you snort. 

“I’m Zorro, motherfucker.” 

Butcher takes in MM’s mask and black cloth outfit, and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m with Soldier Boy on this one, Mate. You’re a fuckin pirate.” 

“Lucky it’s not up to you assholes, it’s my costume-“

Ben squeezes your hand as Butcher and MM devolve in further argument, and when you glance up at him his attention is fixed on the food table. I’m fucking starving- 

Go eat, then. 

You’d meant for him to go get food and come back, but Ben pulls you with him as he stomps over to the food, only dropping your hand when he realizes he needs both to fill up his plate. 

Why are these hot dogs so fucking small. 

You follow his glare to the table, and bite your tongue to stifle your giggle. They’re pigs in a blanket. And you’ve definitely had them before 

Ben ignores the second half of your sentence. Are they good. 

I think you’d like them- 

That’s all it takes, and Ben’s plate becomes half covered pigs in a blanket. He drops down onto one of the empty tables—watching you carefully until you sit at his side—and then begins to stuff them into his face until his cheeks are puffed out. 

You can’t look at him or you’ll snort—which means he’ll probably glare at you, which will make you laugh more, and it will somehow end with Ben fucking you on the table, in front of everyone—so you scoot closer to his side and wave to Kimiko as she walks into the dining hall, wearing large yellow skirt and blue top, a large red bow in her hair. 

Snow White? You sign, and she nods with a wide smile.  

Frenchie sewed it for me. She spins around before sitting across from you. He’s coming, he wants to fix his cape. 

His cape? 

He’s something called a Frodo. Kimiko glances at Ben, still chewing, and back to you. Is he okay, he looks angry… Kimiko’s hands pause for a second. Angrier. Than usual. 

He’s grumpy. You shrug. And that’s just his face whenever he eats. He’s like a mean old dog. 

You love him so much. 

“What are you talking about,” Ben grumbles, crumbs falling onto his beard. You sigh, reaching up to wipe them off. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full-“ 

“Answer my fucking question-“ 

“We were talking about you, Benjamin.” You hum. “And how grumpy you are.” 

“I’m not fucking grumpy-“ 

“You’re so grumpy.” You kiss his cheek, and feel rough affection spark in his chest, his scowl wavering. “And I still love you.” 

“I love you too,” Ben mutters, pressing his leg to yours and returning his attention his food, eating slightly slower. 

You resume your conversation with Kimiko, and give up on explaining what a Frodo is when Frenchie drops at Her side, giving a proud, sweeping gesture to his costume. 

“Good, non? Certainly much better than Butcher only taking off his shirt-“ 

“The fuck are you, an elf?” 

Frenchie frowns at Ben, “I am Frodo fucking Baggins. See,” he raises his bare foot up for you and Ben to see. “No shoes. A hobbit.” 

Ben makes a sour face, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely not very nice, so you punch him in the stomach. 

He doesn’t flinch, but shoots you a glare. I didn’t fucking do anything- 

You were going to call Frenchie’s costume stupid.  

It is fucking stupid. He’s wearing a cape, Sunshine, that’s dumb- 

I know, but it’s the costume. Let’s move, Pretty Boy, before you yell at Kimiko for wearing a dress when she’s Snow White. 

Ben paused. Why the fuck is she Snow White. I’ve seen her bash peoples brain in- 

She says because she wants to take a nap and likes animals and music.  

Ben seems to accept that answer, his glare turning to his empty plate, and tugs you up with him as he stands. “You promised me burgers-“ 

“I did not.” You let him loop his arm through yours, but hold him at the table. “I said Benjamin, if you want to grill burgers, I’m still banned from using the grill but I’ll sit with you.” 

He pauses, looking back to the half empty food table before grunting, “Do you want a burger.” 

You give him an amused look. “Do you want a burger?” 

“Of course I want a fucking burger-“ 

“Then sure, I’ll have one-“ 

You’re cut off with a slight squeak as Ben starts to move, yanking you to his side without breaking pace, but slinging his arm over your shoulders and half holding you against him until you’re on steady feet. 

When you reach the grill Ben helps you up onto the counter—keeping one hand steady on your thigh until you’re settled—and begins to move around, prepping the grill with an almost violent focus.  

He’s barely started when you see Ryan—bright eyes and dressed in a droopy white tunic and loose pants—bouncing over to you, a very sheepish Hughie-Mario and smiling Annie-Samus behind him. 

Ryan says your name, and Ben glances up, movements slowing as he very obviously eavesdrops. “Look!” Ryan gestures to his outfit. “I’m Luke Skywalker!” 

“Yeah, you are.” You nod, returning Ryan’s smile and glancing over him to Hughie. “No lightsaber, dude?” 

Hughie raises his hand that isn’t holding Annie’s to display a blue plastic lightsaber, and frowns at it. “It’s the wrong color, but it lights up, and blue is still a Jedi color. Actually, blue was originally supposed to be Luke’s lightsaber color, but green tested better-“ 

“Fuck yeah it did,” Ben mutters, returning to your side with his arms full of frozen packaged hamburgers.  “Blue’s a fucking dogshit, pussy color-“ 

You kick his thigh, keeping your eyes on Ryan. “But a good color for a lightsaber, right Benjamin?” 

Ben rolls his eyes, but grumbles an agreement. 

“Are you making burgers?” Ryan shuffles to Ben’s side, looking over the grill with wide eyes. 

“Grilling.” Ben grunts. “I don’t make the paddies, kid, I fucking grill them.” 

“Can you, um, can you show me how?” 

You watch them carefully as Ben freezes, his whole body tensing and his grip on the spatula growing white-knuckled for only a second before the whole thing passes, and he nods. “Pay attention, because I’m not repeating anything. And no fucking lightsabers near my grill.” 

You don’t bother teasing him with the fact that it’s not Ben’s grill, it’s everyone’s grill, because Ryan’s eyes light up and that’s what this was about. Ryan feeling cared about, and watching Ben move around and nodding along with his instructions before tentatively flipping a burger, all with an eager face. It was about how when they finished Ryan shuffled up to you with the burger Ben had let him grill himself, nervously asking if you wanted it.  

You’d never taken a plate so fast. But when you start to scoot off the counter Ben’s hand lands on your thigh, holding you in place.

Benjamin- 

He ignores your voice in his head, his attention focused purely on Ryan. “Where do you want to eat, kid?” 

“Um,” Ryan swallowed, his face a little red. “Here? It’s quiet-“ 

Ben’s hand slid up your leg, moving you a little further back onto the counter as he leaned against it himself, looping his arm around your waist as he places his plate down, holding the burger with his free hand as he examines Ryan with a drawn brow. “You need a chair.” 

Ryan blinked. “No, thank you. It’s okay to eat here?” 

“I don’t give a fuck-“ 

“Yes, we can.” You lean yourself against Ben’s back, smiling at Ryan as you kicking Ben’s leg in a subtle movement to shut him up. “Are you liking fake-Halloween?” 

Ryan nods, face eager once more. “Yeah! The costumes are, um, really fun, and Butcher said I can have extra dessert-“ 

Ben freezes mid bite of his burger, roughly swallowing the food in his mouth before grunting, “do you not get fucking candy.” 

“No, Aunt Grace says it’s not good for my teeth-“ 

“Fuck that, your teeth with be fine.” Ben glares around the kitchen before jerking his head to a cabinet. “There’s a damn year’s worth of chocolate in there. Take some.” 

“I, um-“ 

“Ryan.” Ben snaps, holding Ryan’s nervous gaze. “You want chocolate, eat some fucking chocolate. You can’t get cavities, and if Mallory and Butcher get fucking whiny about it, I’ll deal with it.” 

“Okay.” Ryan mumbles, glancing over at the cabinet. “Will anyone notice-“ 

“It’s Kimiko’s,” Ben mutters, tugging you a little closer. “She told me, and we’re the only ones that know about it. You’re good, kid, don’t lose your fucking mind over something so stupid.” 

As Ryan shuffles over to the cabinet—looking back to you and Ben with a bright, shocked face at the truly abominable amount of chocolate in the cabinet—you bump Ben’s shoulder with yours. 

What did you threaten Kimiko with to know about her secret chocolate stash? 

Ben rolls his eyes. She fucking told me, Sunshine. For you.  

Oh. You blink, titling your head at him. Why didn’t she tell me? 

I don’t fucking know, maybe she knew you’d fold and tell whoever looked sad- 

I would not fold-

Ben scoffs. You’d fold in a fucking second. Those pussies would have a bad day and you’d start handing chocolate like goddamn candy. 

It is candy, Benjamin. You wrinkle your nose at him, nodding over to Ryan. And you just folded pretty fucking fast yourself-

Shut up. 

Nope, you caved without Ryan even asking- 

Ben’s arm around you tugs you forward into a slow, gentle kiss. Brat. 

Cunt. You pull back, smiling at him. I love you, you massive fucking idiot-

You love my massive fucking something, darling. Ben winks at you, and you only get to flush as Ryan returns, his pockets stuffed and overflowing with chocolate. 

You’re here for another few hours. You think you could spend a lifetime here, listening to Ryan tell you about how Hughie had helped him get his Luke Skywalker costume right—the key is the shoes, and you have no idea what that means but Ryan sounds certain, so you nod—and watching Ben swallow his grumbles about how Star Wars is fucking dumb as cock for Ryan’s sake. You really hope you make it to this October, and the one after that, and the one after that. You want to spend a lifetime like this, with Ryan’s face full of joy and his words coming out easy instead of unsure. With Ben half wrapped around you, his outfit and face and everything making your brain go a little haywire. If October comes without pain, Ben will be wearing that again. And you’ll have more time to have fun with him—and his mouth, and his tongue, and his rough hands on your body and his hard cock wherever he wants it—before doing this again. Next time, you’ll get Ryan more candy, and a properly colored lightsaber.  

And if another year passes, this could be your whole life. A hundred more Halloweens—probably more, given the whole immortality thing—with Ben looking stupidly handsome at your side and everything being about easy, simple joy. And when you look at Ben’s stoic face and feel his love—hot and zealous and focused in your chest—you don’t think he’d argue with you. He’d be just as happy as you are to do this forever, together, maybe joined by more bright-eyed children he can teach to grill and give too much chocolate. Countless costumes for him to grumble are stupid, but wear nonetheless.  

It would be really nice to have a life like this. 

End Note: I spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing everyone's costumes, but I think I nailed it. Jensen Ackles playing Soldier Boy dressed as Rick O'Connell from the Mummy save me. Save me Jensen Ackles playing Soldier Boy dressed as Rick O'Connell from the Mummy.

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[alvfr]

hey I saw you're open to requests and I'm so obsessed with your "Accidents" series with Hotch x Reader! I totally get you're taking a break from it atm so feel free to ignore but I'd love a drabble or whatever you're comfortable writing/sharing from the series? Maybe like a snapshot of when they were still figuring things out before they crossed that line or became established.

Thanks so much!

A/N: Aah, it's been so long since I've written for Hotch so I hope I managed something at least. I really tried to keep this short-ish and more of a drabble, but yeah, this would be set after the shower-scene in "Elevators" but before the bonus-part, I guess. Not super exciting maybe, but good practice for me. cw: none? sfw. awkward phone call. fem bau!reader, no use of y/n, part of "accidents" wc: 1.3k

Call me maybe

The first time Hotch called you was around eight in the evening, the day after your team got back from the conference in Florida. While you could not say you had been expecting it — a pessimistic part of you always expected the worst case scenario — your body told a different tale. Every inch of you had buzzed with anticipation since you stepped foot in your own apartment. Making sure to keep your phone charged and unmuted for a change, going as far as keeping it within sight when taking a shower and still checking it religiously every few minutes in case you had missed something. 

You argued with yourself, scolding yourself for waiting around like a lovesick schoolgirl and then berating yourself for doubting his word in the first place. He had said he would call and Hotch did not lie so why were you getting so worked up? 

When the day dragged on, without even paperwork to distract yourself with, you spiraled into increasingly worse scenarios as to why he had not called. He had been called into work, he had lost his phone, he had forgot his charger, he was discovered he was under surveillance by some shady government officials. Or something had happened to him, or to someone he cared about, or something had happened to both him and someone he cared about. Or, and this was simultaneously the best and worst one, he had changed his mind.

So when the call came that night, you had worked yourself into a bit of a frenzy and jumped at the sound of your own ring tone. The display glowed with the name 'A. Hotchner' and you forgot all about basic human behavior, like blinking or even breathing. 

It rang three times before your body bypassed your meddlesome mind and you picked up with the standard greeting of your last name, just in case he was under surveillance somehow. A theory that gained traction with every loaded second where you could not hear anything from the other side.

“Hotch?” you asked and held the phone out to check if the call was still active. In your state, you would not have been all that surprised to find if you had hallucinated the whole thing. “You there?”

“Yes.” The smooth sound of his voice sent rivers of idyll into your veins while your heart threatened to pound out of your skull. “Sorry. Hi.”

A stupid grin overtook your face and you twirled the still-connected charger cable with your fingers before catching yourself. Dropping the cable, you cleared both your throat and face. “Hi.” 

“Hi. Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s good.” 

You tried to avoid looking at the mess of your apartment, all chores neglected for the day in case you wound up missing his call. In truth, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat and come over if he asked, although you had no idea where he lived. 

“I mean, I can talk?” You winced at how you had managed to phrase it as a question and cleared your throat again. “What’s up?”

And the award for worst conversationalist goes to this girl right here, you thought with a hefty roll of your eyes. What’s up? What were you, fourteen years old and trying to impress your friend’s older brother?

“Not much,” Hotch admitted from his side of the line and you thought you could detect a hint of gratitude in there. “Just finished up some overdue paperwork.”

“San Joaquin county?” you guessed, knowing without a doubt how much paperwork that case still generated. 

“Parts of it, yes. There’s also the budgets, protocols and various administration memos I’m forced to have an opinion on.” A slight pause and you caught a slight intake of breath on his side. “I didn’t call to talk about work.”

You forced yourself to keep your breaths slow and controlled instead of shivering as you knew they’d be. “Okay.”

“How are you?” The tenderness in his voice wreaked havoc with your inner organs and you could imagine his expression. The tilt to his eyebrows that matched the tilt of his jaw where he looked up, resting his eyes on whatever was near the ceiling to the left of him. “You get home okay?”

“Safe and sound. You?”

“All in one piece.” 

A silence stretched on for an uncomfortable few heartbeats and you wracked your brain for something worthwhile to say. It was uncharted territory to talk to him casually like this. No time crunch forcing you to keep the small talk to a minimum and no risk of getting caught forcing you to speak in code. Neither did your forte lay in phone calls and, as the profiler you were, you wished you could have had his facial expressions and mannerisms to reveal more of his thoughts during the conversation. The same probably went for him, you realized and it made you breathe a little easier.

“What did you think of the conference?” he asked just as you were about to say something completely different.

“Uh…” Your brain did a full reboot to no avail. “Are you asking about the actual conference or—”

“The actual conference,” he clarified and you thought you could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you catch the mass-shooting response training?”

“I did and it was okay, I guess, even if it felt a little dated.” You wandered around in your apartment, needing to get rid of the built-up excess energy. “Doesn’t this count as work talk though?”

“You’re right. Sorry, I’m,” you heard something brushing against the microphone, maybe him dragging a hand over his forehead, “not very good at this. I, uh, wanted to call to reiterate that I fully understand if you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“I haven’t.”

The words came out faster than you had anticipated, some part of you determined to deny him any possibility of doubt. 

“I’m really glad you called, Hotch.” You did a few test-runs at yourself in the mirror and corrected yourself to: “Aaron.”

“Good. I’ve been working up the nerve to do so for the past hour.”

Again, you could imagine his expression. The slight secretive smile, his head now tilted downward, exposing more of his neck to the room.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for it since I got home last night.” You tried to match his unabashed honesty, the need to convince him that you wanted this still present. “If that makes you feel any better.”

“A little,” he murmured and you could almost feel how he settled in wherever he was, maybe lounging back against the couch or chair, getting comfortable and the phone scratched again as he shifted it around. “What kind of movies do you like?”

The question blindsided you and you blinked at your own reflection in the mirror. “Uh, I’m omnivorous really. Why?”

“I’m looking through the show times for Friday night. I was hoping you would like to go see a movie with me, if we don’t get a case.”

“Oh.” Your stupid grin returned tenfold and you absentmindedly twirled the charging cable again. “Well, then I really like the movie that is playing this Friday night.”

In the end, you settled for a title and time, both of which would be rescheduled over and over again because of a case getting in the way. It took you a month to go see a movie together, but it did not really matter. By then, you had talked on the phone every night you were off a case (and sometimes he called you from a hotel room that were just a few doors down the hall from yours to say good night when you were on a case.) A torturous slow pace, maybe, but well worth it in your opinion.

-----

Thank you for the request!

If you want to read the rest of the series, it is on AO3 here (E-rated)

Let me know if you liked it, thank you for reading ❤️

[sillystappen]

Broken Melodies (aka a siren!Max fic that for some reason just came to me).

Nobody is on the beach by the Zandvoort track at night. It's far too cold and dark for any sane person to want to go there. And yet, here Daniel is, kicking the sand and cursing his stupid McLaren car for being a pile of shit all season. Qualifying earlier had been horrific, again, and a starting position of 17th was just plain awful.

The wind and salty air bites at his skin and Daniels tugs his jacket tighter around him. Waves crash against the shoreline and for a while that's all Daniel can hear - no cars, no people, not even a seagull. He just needs to get away for a moment.

"What are you doing?"

Daniel hears a voice and snaps to look behind him, but nobody is there. Maybe he's actually gone crazy, all the pressure and stress has made his brain break.

"In the ocean."

Daniel directs his gaze to where the sand disappears into vast water and sees blonde hair, blue eyes and a strong torso in the shallow water of the coastline. His head is propped up in his hands as his elbows rest in the sand, water lapping around them. This is all fairly normal except for the blue tail flicking behind him. It shimmers a little in the moonlight and the two fins at the end of it splash in the waves, flicking water over his raised upper half.

He's curious, head tilted and not at all afraid of Daniel. "Why are you here, kicking the sand like it offended you?"

Daniel knows what this half-person is, or well could be. Best case scenario, he's a merman. They're harmless to humans but very antisocial, so nobody ever sees them. Worst case is that he's a siren. Sirens feed off of flesh, specifically human flesh, so Daniel really hopes that he's not looking at one.

Daniel, against his better judgement, shuffles as close to the water as he can without getting his shoes wet. "Shit day, needed to get out my frustrations."

"Do you race Formula One? And have a bad quali?" The sea-man asks, watching Daniel closely.

"How did you know anything about that?" Daniel gapes.

"I can hear the commentators," he admits slowly, "I'm a siren."

Well fuck, Daniel backtracks, immediately walking back up the beach while keeping an eye on the siren. He is not about to be killed today, thank you. He need's to be out of earshot before that thing starts singing.

"Wait no! Please, I won't hurt you, I promise," the siren begs, one of his hands reaching out. "I can't sing!"

Daniel halts, staring to find any trace of a lie. The siren looks hurt, as if saying that he can't sing is something to be greatly ashamed of. Daniel supposes it is, if that's how they catch their prey.

"I'm a siren. My name is Max. I can hear for miles, smell any traces of blood in the water, see perfectly in the dark and can swim faster than most creatures, but I can't sing. My, um, songbox is permanently damaged." Max's tail flops into the water with a sad splash and he looks down. "I don't want to hurt you. I wouldn't even if I could sing."

"How can I trust you?" Daniel calls out, still not moving.

Max opens his mouth and makes the most gargled, broken noise Daniel's ever heard. Max gives him a sad smile, "see?"

Daniel nods and makes his way back over, sitting down near where the tide rises up. "I still don't fully trust you but at least you can't lure me to my grave."

Max grins, happy that Daniel has come back over. "What's your name, Mr. Formula One Driver?"

"Daniel," he says before quickly adding a forgotten "Ricciardo."

"Oh, yeah, you had a rough day today. Is it usually like that?" Max questions, smile falling from his face a little.

"Recently? Yeah..." It's painful to admit but it's true. Daniel thinks that his win in Monza last year was a complete and utter fluke and that he should've never have left Red Bull, or even Renault.

"I'm sorry." Max shifts forward a bit so he can gently place a hand on Daniel's shoe without reaching out like crazy. "I know I can't do anything to help but if tomorrow is equally shitty you can find me here again."

Daniel stares at Max's hand. There's thin webs between his fingers and claw-like nails on the ends of them that could easily dig into Daniel. However, Max is being soft, and kind, not pushing too far and always letting Daniel have room to leave. He's close to Daniel, the top half of his body almost completely dry from being exposed to the night's crisp air.

He can see the gills on the side of his neck flutter when the breeze hits, closing up so they're nothing more than raised lines. Daniel can also see the points of his ears, the broadness of his shoulders and the slightest hint of fangs in his mouth, sharp canine teeth that are slightly longer than the rest.

"Won't you be listening anyway? You'll know if I do poorly again." Daniel turns his head away, looking back the way he came and seeing his footprints in the sand.

"Yeah, but I'm not a human. There's no way anything you say to me can get to anyone else. It might be nice to have someone you can talk to," Max offers, retracting his hand so he can lay his forearms in the wet sand and hold himself up properly.

"Okay, I will call out for you tomorrow."

Max's tail flicks water right into Daniel's face as he smiles. "Oops," Max giggles.

Daniel cleans the seawater off with the sleeve of his jacket, chuckling as well. Max tilts his head up as he laughs, and Daniel spies a harsh red mark where his jaw meets his neck and Daniel leans forward over his knees to touch it, curious. Max gasps and freezes. Daniel knows he should stop, knows he should apologise but in that moment his entire body is rock solid, only his fingertips move, grazing, caressing the mark.

"That's where my songbox is," Max speaks softly, "father crushed it. I don't think he meant to go that far but it was done." Daniel's heart breaks a little at how unsure Max sounds, like he's trying to convince himself that it was an accident.

"Sorry." Daniel finally pulls his hand away, "did I hurt you?"

"No, don't worry. It felt nice."

Daniel's fingers tingle, remembering how smooth Max's skin felt and how warm it was. "I'm glad."

They stay chatting on the beach for a while. Max tells Daniel about how fish are disgusting and he has to spend most days diving out of the water to catch birds and then complains about the painstaking task that is pulling all the feathers out. Daniel asks how high Max can jump and Max swims out and shoots himself about 2 or 3 meters into the air before diving back in gracefully. Daniel wishes it was day so he could see Max's tail properly. He thinks it must be beautiful, much like how the rest of him probably is.

In turn Daniel tells Max everything he can about his life and humankind. Max asks about Perth and if it's warmer than the Netherlands and when Daniel confirms it, Max says he wants to swim over there one day, so he can see all the fish and feel the warmer sun. Daniel also tells Max about human food and promises to bring some for Max tomorrow.

Eventually, it gets too cold for Daniel and he has to say goodbye. He picks himself up and dusts the sand off of his body, looking down at Max as he promises to see him tomorrow.

Max understands, "I will see you then. Just call my name and I will come swimming over."

"Thank you, Max. Good night."

"Good night, Daniel," Max waves before pushing himself back into the ocean.

Daniel stays for a moment, just looking out into the sea when he sees a familiar figure jump out of the water, arms spread and giggling, before he splashes back in. Daniel smiles to himself, and heads back to his hotel, feeling better than he did before.

Now with a part 2

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

(This is probably the longest thing I've ever written, around 4.5k words, but it wouldn't leave my head til I made it real lol

From Shane's perspective. No one had seen the farmer all day, and he's the only one who goes to check on her. Lot of talking over drinks ensues.)

Everybody Talks

Gossip was nothing new for Shane. In a small community like Pelican Town, gossip was the lifeblood and social currency that kept it running. No "secret" was ever truly secret, everyone knew everyone else's dirty laundry. It was the number one pastime and practically a professional sport here. He himself knew far more than he ever cared to learn from his spot in the Saloon(and been the topic of discussion more times than he could count), but he at least had the good sense to drink his beer and keep his mouth shut.

And, on a Friday night like tonight, the not at all subtle gossip sessions were in full swing. Seemingly everyone clucking like excited hens about one topic in particular: the farmer.

Now, she wasn't a new topic of conversation either. The whole damn Valley was a-buzz about her before she even stepped off the bus, hungry for fresh meat. Hungry for new secrets to uncover and info to share. Speculating and predicting what kind of person she'd be purely based on their own biases. Not that he had been much better. Constantly hearing about her had soured his opinion before he even knew her name. Like hearing a harmless song on the radio so many times you'd grown to hate it. But, again, he at least kept his opinions to himself. Mostly. Not his fault his face gave away what he was thinking.

The specific reason why everyone was talking about her, however, pricked his ears up.

No one had seen her at all today. She hadn't come to Pierre's shop, she hadn't picked up one of her tools from Clint, and she was clearly absent from the Saloon on a Friday. No one could recall speaking to her and the requests on the bulletin board had gone ignored. It was as if she had just vanished into thin air.

But, in all the theories he heard bouncing around, he never once heard someone admit to going to her house to check on her. Fucking typical. Feign concern and then expect someone else to actually do something about it. Yoba forbid she was hurt or something..

The thought made his stomach churn and his chest tighten suddenly. Normally, someone dropping off the face of the earth wouldn't bother him. Maybe she just wanted to be left alone for once, that was her business. But, after their talk on the dock, knowing she was struggling, he couldn't help the nagging worry chewing on his insides.

Ah, fuck it. He wasn't gonna be able to enjoy his drink with his stomach in knots like this. Might as well be the one to at least make sure she was alive. Just get eyes on her and then back to the Saloon for a well deserved cold one. Easy peasy.

He found himself walking very quickly towards the farmhouse, shivering at more than just the chill of a particularly cold Fall wind as his brain swirled with worst case scenarios. Images conjured up by a mind that consumed horror movies on a regular basis and knowing the kind of damage farm equipment could cause. A new grisly mental picture cropping up every time he shook the previous one away. Blood and guts and exposed bone and lifeless eyes and--

The sharp sound of a dog barking ripped him from his gorey thoughts, making him freeze in place. The big ass german shepard he forgot she had was staring at him suspiciously, barking again as if to say "state your business!"

"Heeey, boy. Easy. I'm just here to check on your...master? Nope, that sounds gross. Owner? Uh, person?" He held a hand out for the dog to sniff, speaking softly and calmly. Hoping if he appeared chill he'd get to keep his appendage intact.

The dog, seemingly satisfied with that, licked his hand and looked back towards the wooded area of the property. Where Shane could hear, right on cue, the sound of approaching footsteps and see the light of a lamp growing brighter as it got closer.

Out of the treeline stepped the farmer, her dark hair pulled up in a bun for the first time he could remember seeing. It made her look taller somehow, maybe because her neck looked longer this way. Like a swan. She had an axe slung over her shoulder and presumably firewood under the other arm, the light he thought was from a lamp emanating from a ring on her pointer finger.

"Miller?" He called, more out of shock than anything. Inwardly relieved that she was okay and feeling dumb for worrying so much.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him before her face settled into an uncharacteristic scowl, setting the axe down with a muffled thump as it hit the dirt.

"Cooper." She replied coolly, breezing past him towards the house. Putting the firewood in its cubby and pointedly not looking at him. "Did Marnie send you? She'll get her vegetables first thing tomorrow, tell her to just be patient."

"Wh...no? My aunt didn't send me, I'm not her errand boy." He huffed, offput by the assumption and her weirdly icy demeanor. Yeesh, was this what it was like to be on the receiving end of his prickly attitude?

"Little late to be checking on the chickens, then. They're asleep by now. But the coop's over there if you wanna wake them up and say 'hi'." Nodding her head towards said coop and still not looking at him, throwing off her work gloves on the porch.

"I'm not here for that either. I--hey!" He reached out to grab her wrist as she moved to walk past him again. "Would you just stop a second? I came to see you, okay?"

She tensed up but didn't try to pull away from him. And, now that he was close, he could see her eyes were puffy and red, and her lip was quivering. She'd been crying again...

"You came all the way out here just to see me? Yeah, right." She gave a bitter sounding laugh and shook her head in disbelief, her voice cracking.

"It's true!" He insisted, leaning to try and look her in the eye. "The whole town's in a tizzy because no one had heard from you today. And I was..."

"Were you worried about me, Cooper?" She arched an eyebrow brow at him, the barest hint of an amused smirk turning up a corner of her mouth.

"I mean...a little? Maybe. If you wanna call it that." He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, releasing her wrist and stepping away. Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't stuck in a well or somethin'."

She blew air out of her nose, and the smile became a little more pronounced, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders.

"Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. Just...ugh. It's so stupid..." She frowned again and looked away from him, putting her hands on her hips.

"Try me. I bet I've heard stupider."

She sighed heavily, sitting on the top step of the porch and digging a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket. Holding it out to him to take. Which he did, carefully, smoothing it out to make sense of the scribbles he could see written on it.

It was a letter from her dad. Short and sweet, hardly anything worth getting upset over from what he could tell. Though a line about the dad retiring to the Fern Islands using her hard earned money admittedly rubbed him the wrong way.

"Uh...?" He didn't know what to say, handing the paper back to her with a quizzical expression. She sighed again.

"I have been begging him to come see the farm, to come see me, for weeks. But Kaiden has peewee gridball practice or JJ has a band recital or Debbie needed another couples' getaway, so it's always 'next time, next time, next time.' Good to know he's sooo impressed with my progress and expects me to pay for his retirement, though, I guess. Thanks a fucking lot, dad."

She crumpled the letter up again and chucked it into the dark with an angry grunt, letting out a laugh when the dog ran after it and gleefully ripped it to shreds.

"You call your mom by her first name?" He cringed as soon as the question left his mouth. Really, Shane? She's upset and that's what you focus on? Fuck's sake.

"What?" She gave him a bewildered look. "No. No, Debbie's my stepmom. Her and dad's kids are my half-brothers."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"...I'm still waiting to hear the stupid part." He said gently, daring to sit on the step next to her and putting them in close proximity again. And again she didn't flinch away from him, just scoot over a little to give him room.

"It's stupid to get my feelings hurt over a pattern of behavior I'm well aware of. I thought that, maybe, he'd be more interested in this place since Grandpa Miller was his dad and all. But nah. His new family is still the center of his universe and I'm only a blip on the radar when it's convenient." She shrugged like it didn't bother her, but he could see the way her jaw clenched and hear the way her voice wobbled. This was some deep rooted hurt. "Sorry. This is why I was a hermit today. No one wants to hear me whinge like an angsty teen because 'daddy doesn't love me'."

"You kidding? The old biddies back in town would kill to hear this kind of juicy family drama." He teased, pleased with himself when she laughed. Once again using humor to deal with the tough shit.

"Guess you'll have a good story to tell them then. Congrats." She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes good naturedly.

"Oh, yeah. You know me, biggest blabbermouth in Pelican Town. All your secrets traded away for the low, low price of cheap beer and spicy bar pretzels~."

She laughed again, throwing her head back and leaning against him for support. For some reason, the little gesture made his chest feel tight again, but in a good way? Weird.

"Well, I don't have spicy pretzels, but can I pay you in beer not to go blabbing my dumb family bullshit to everyone?" She waggled her eyebrows at him and smirked, whispering like they were making some kind of shady deal. He couldn't help but laugh at the silliness of it all.

"You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can agree to those terms." He held out his hand for her to shake, mirroring her smirk. She took his hand without hesitation and giggled, giving it a firm shake before using him as leverage to push herself to standing. Quickly disappearing into the farmhouse and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He should leave. He had only wanted to make sure she was okay and head back. She was okay, physically anyway, just wanted to be left alone. He should leave. But she was offering him free beer...and honestly he preferred her company over everyone probably still gossiping about her in the Saloon. But did she want him to stay? Why would she? Half of the damn town was in love with her, all of them so much better than him, surely she'd prefer to be with anyone else than a miserable asshole. He should leave..

An amber colored glass bottle suddenly entering his line of sight startled him back to reality, blinking and looking up to where it had come from. She had returned without him realizing, holding out what he assumed was the beer she had promised while leaning over him. She'd let her hair down again, dark locks flowing over her shoulder in a curtain. The porch light illuminating her from behind like a halo, and she was smiling. At him. Seemingly content with their close proximity to each other. It honestly made his breath catch in his throat, and again he didn't understand why his body was acting this way.

"You good there, bud?" She chuckled, surely realizing he was gawking at her at the same moment he did. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a dying fish as he took the bottle from her.

"Uh. Yeah. Just spaced out a minute. Sorry." He cleared his throat awkwardly, grateful that the beer was already open so he could take a swig to distract himself. Surprised when it tasted much better than the cheap swill JojaMart was selling, and even more surprised when he went to check the label, only to see there wasn't one. "Where did you get this? I don't recognize the, uh, lack of brand."

"Oh. Um, I made it." She said shyly, sitting next to him on the step and looking into her own bottle. "Sorry, I brewed it. I think that's the right term."

He blinked. "What?"

"I brewed it." She repeated, her voice even quieter. "Turns out Grandpa Miller had a little brewery in the cellar, including actually really detailed instructions on how to, y'know, brew stuff. Beer, ale, wine, mead, et cetera. So, I figured I'd give it a shot. And when...if my dad came to visit, we could celebrate the farm's success with a few beers made from wheat from the farm. But, you already know how that story ends.."

He could feel himself doing a dying fish impression again, trying to process what she had told him. This woman went out of her way to learn how to brew her own beer for her dad, who has clearly never made his daughter a priority a day in her life. Beer that he was now drinking because she was gracious enough to share. Gracious enough to tell him all this to begin with.

"Miller, you're incredible." The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, soft and earnest.

She spluttered and giggled at the sudden praise, seemingly torn between hiding behind her hair and tucking it behind her ear, pale face very noticeably turning red. It was cute, she was cute. How had he not noticed that before?

"Shut up. You're just saying that 'cause I'm bribing you with beer." She pushed at him playfully, still frazzled by his compliment. He made a mock offended gasp and pushed her back, hiding a grin behind taking another swig of beer.

"I'm serious." He assured her. "And if your dad doesn't realize that, he's a brain dead moron."

Her expression softened at that, eyes suddenly shiny with what looked like unshed tears. A watery little laugh escaping her before she took a drink of her own beer.

"I...thank you, Shane." She said quietly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "And thank you for checking on me. Sorry I was so snippy with you before."

He scoffed and gave her a mildly bemused look. "Really? After all the times I've been a dick to you? 'Bout time you threw some it back at me honestly."

"I know, I know. I just...I'm not used to people remembering I exist unless they want something from me, I guess. No one ever just wants me, no one cares about just me. So, when I saw you I made an assumption, and I was wrong. So, I'm sorry." Her posture sunk and she curled into herself a little, fingernails tapping against the glass bottle.

Well, fuck. No wonder she always seemed so eager to help out everyone in town, including him. She didn't think she existed unless she was being useful. The idea of that broke his heart, which he didn't think was still possible.

"How many beers do I owe you not to tell anyone that?" She piped up again before he could respond, looking to him with a weak little smile. Obviously taking a page from his playbook and joking to lighten the mood. He chuckled softly, pretending to mull over a decision while tapping his chin.

"How many you got?" He eventually grinned, holding up his almost empty bottle.

They ended up drinking through her entire stash, sitting on the porch and talking for what must have been hours about...well, about a lot of things. She told him more about her dad, who never really tried to bond with her because she was a girl, and he couldn't figure out how to "relate" to a daughter. About her controlling mother, who cut contact with her when she quit her secure job to move to the uncertainty of Pelican Town. Clearly waiting for her to fail and come crawling back to the mom's "good graces". He, in turn, told her he hasn't spoken to either of his parents since he moved out almost two decades ago and was all the better for it. Not that he had much of a relationship with either of them to begin with. Toasting to the hope they didn't turn out like their parents.

She told him that before she was a data entry clerk for Joja, she was on track to becoming a professional ballerina. Until her achilles tendon snapped in the middle of a recital, effectively killing her mother's dream to live vicariously through her. So he told her of his varsity gridball days, how his dream of going pro was crushed when he tore his ACL during practice. She showed him the scar running up her heel, he showed her the scar running down his knee, and they laughed at an alternate universe where they'd be retiring from their lucrative professions by now. Toasting to knowing when it was going to rain before the weatherman because of joint pain.

They talked about music, about movies, about tattoos, about their animals, about anything they could think of until eventually petering out into a comfortable silence. One she broke after a long moment with a soft laugh.

"What?" He glanced at her curiously.

"Nothing. It's just...you're really easy to talk to when you're not being a complete asshole." She grinned, tongue poking out between her teeth to show she was teasing. He laughed, shoving at her playfully and pulling her back when he almost pushed her off the step by mistake.

"Well, you're really easy to talk to when you're not being the town kiss ass." He countered with an equally playful smirk, earning a laugh from her in return.

"Okay, fair. I deserve that."

She was still giggling as she polished off her drink, swaying a little where she sat and clearly intoxicated at this point, much to his amusement. Before she suddenly leaned into his space, close enough he could feel her warm breath fan across his skin. His own breath seeming to get caught somewhere in his sternum, body frozen in place.

"Did you know...when you smile, it's like your eyes light up and I can see how green they are. I never noticed before, but it's real obvious when we're close like this. S'pretty shade of green, too.." She relayed this to him in a hushed tone, almost in awe of this "revelation". He felt his stomach do a somersault and a blush creep across his face and neck like a wildfire. He and the word "pretty" had never been used in the same sentence, especially not from the mouth of someone like her. He didn't know how to deal with it.

"Oh Yoba, you are drunk. I think it's time to cut you off for the night." He huffed out an awkward laugh, scrambling to his feet and almost tripping over himself in the process. Brain screaming at him to run away again. Coward. Feeling like an absolute jerk when her expression fell into a panicked one.

"Oh. Oh shit, I'm sorry. That was weird, huh? I'm so sorry, I just said that without thinking. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Fuck. I'm sorry." The words tumbling out so fast they almost blurred together, desperate to apologize for the perceived slight.

"Hey, hey. Relax. It's not you, alright? Me and compliments just don't mix. S'not your fault, okay? Promise." Using the same gentle tone he would when Jas needed comfort after a bad dream, one meant to soothe fears.

Thankfully, she did relax a little, the worried crease in her brow smoothing out. Looking between him and the house a moment before sighing.

"We probably should call it a night, though.." she frowned, almost sounding disappointed. But that was almost certainly just wishful thinking on his part. "It's getting late, I didn't mean to keep you so long. I know Fridays at the Stardrop are a town tradition, and I'm sure Emily's wondering where you went."

"Aaah, she's so busy tending to everyone else, she probably didn't notice I slipped out. Besides..." He rubbed the back of his neck and kicked at a pebble in the dirt, feeling a bit bashful all the sudden. "I had a good time talking and drinking with you."

Her face lit up at that, practically beaming at him before looking away again. Actually twirling her hair around her finger like girls do in the movies, but it was endearing when she did it somehow. "Yeah? Me, too. This was nice. Definitely made a shitty day a lot better."

That shouldn't have made him as happy as it did, but he couldn't deny the warmth spreading through his chest at the idea that he had made her day better just by being there. Her happiness was infectious, he supposed. No other reason for it.

The good feeling was quickly snuffed by the realization of how far he was going to have to walk to get home. All the way back into town, down past the Saloon, past Emily's house, past Sam's house down the path that finally lead to Aunt Marnie's house. Buh.

"You know you can just cut through my farm, right? It's much faster." She piped up again, startling him. Was she a mind reader?? Or was he talking out loud without realizing?

"Oh. Uh. You sure? If my aunt sees me, she'll know I was here and probably tell her whole aerobics class." Already cringing at what stories could be spun up by a bunch of women with nothing better to do than speculate on someone's (nonexistent) love life. She deserved better than to have her reputation hitched to someone like him.

"Eh, let 'em talk. They're gonna do it anyway." She shooed the idea away dismissively, getting to her feet with a groan and meeting him where he stood. "Here. Gimme your hand."

He complied, confused, watching her take off the glowing ring she was wearing and easily slip it onto his middle finger. Feeling heat prickle up the back of his neck as she continued to hold his hand and meet his eyes with a little smile.

"It's pretty dark that way. Wouldn't want you getting hurt tripping over something. Or have you fall in a well." Her tone light and teasing, using something he had said earlier back at him. Seemingly unaware of the affect she was having on him as she absentmindedly stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. He swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry, carefully (reluctantly) removing his hand from hers to focus on the ring giving off an absurd amount of light for being so small.

"Don't you...don't you need this, though?" He asked hoarsely, scarcely able to hear himself over his heart doing acrobatics in his chest.

"Well, I'm going to see you tomorrow, aren't I?" She arched an eyebrow at him, an amused smirk gracing her lips.

"Are you?" Had they made plans and he'd already forgotten? Focus! Stop staring at her mouth!

"Unless you suddenly don't live with Marnie anymore. I already told you I owe her some vegetables, and I was gonna drop them off first thing in the morning. Figured I'd get the ring back from you then."

Ah. Of course. She was being "helpful", and he just happened to live where she already had plans of going. It wasn't like she was going out of her way just to see him. That would be ridiculous.

"Right. Yeah, for sure. Guess I'll see you later then." He mumbled, flexing his fingers as if to shake off the lingering feeling of her hand on his. It didn't help.

"Or I can just walk you home?" She offered, tilting her head at him. "Save you the trouble of worrying about if I need the ring or not."

"And have you walk your drunk ass all the way back by yourself? Nuh uh. Don't worry about it. You gotta come by the house anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave a little nod and turned to leave, only to be stopped by her grabbing the elbow of his jacket sleeve. Swiveling around to glance over his shoulder and give her a quizzical look. She was chewing on her lower lip, eyes downcast but still holding onto his sleeve. And maybe it was just a trick of the light, but he could swear her face was flushed again.

"I wanted to...I wanted to thank you again for tonight." She said softly, the barest hint of a wobble in her voice. Releasing his jacket to tuck her hair behind her ear again. "I really did have a good time. And, um, and couldn't let you leave without saying 'good night'. So, good night, Shane."

"Good night, Katherine." He breathed out a quiet laugh, warmth spreading through his chest again. Putting his hands in his pockets (which didn't muffle the ring's light at all somehow) and beginning the much shorter trek home for real this time, smiling to himself as he walked past a patch of fairy roses growing. He'd have to tell Jas about that, and about the fact "Miss Kat" used to be a ballerina when she was Jas's age.

He could feel himself walking briskly, finding he suddenly didn't care if Aunt Marnie caught him walking from the direction of the old farmhouse. So what if she told people? Would it be the worst thing in the world if people assumed something happened? Not really. And, if he thought about it, he almost wanted to get caught. Wanted people to know everyone's favorite farmer spent time with him. Alone.

Huh.

That...that was an interesting feeling. One he did not have the mental bandwidth to deal with tonight. That was a problem for tomorrow Shane. Or next week Shane.

Or never. Never was preferable. He was too old to be feeling...whatever the hell this was. And it didn't matter anyway. They had just talked, that was all it was.

That was all it'd ever be.

[ilovebeomkai]

under the stars — choi yeonjun x gn!reader

ෆ synopsis : y/n gets dragged to a party after coming back from studying abroad which leads her to cross paths with the choi yeonjun, but he's a lot sweeter than expected for being known as the party boy.

ෆ genre : fluff

ෆ warnings : none

ෆ wc : 1.8k

ෆ a/n : this is my first time writing so…this is probably really bad but we move unedited & lowercase intended

the view out the window of the plane was gorgeous, the sky painted with hues of deep oranges and light pinks as the sun set over the ocean. While the scenery was breathtaking it wasn’t enough to calm your nerves, you were finally going back to korea after studying abroad for 2 years in the states.

you were happy to be going home, of course you were, after all, your friends and family were all still living here. However you couldn't deny the anxiety and fear bubbling up inside, what if things had changed? Everyone has moved on without you? You just…no longer belonged? eventually, you got lost in your thoughts, mapping out every worst-case scenario before drifting off into a not-so-peaceful slumber.

a few hours later you were awoken due to the bumpy landing of the plane, a storm making it a bit rough but nothing too scary. The rain was strangely comforting, you’d always been someone who enjoyed staying in and reading a nice book with the comforting pitter-patter of raindrops against the window.

you’d just grabbed your luggage from the baggage claim, making your way across the airport when you heard y/f/n calling out to you, “y/n! Over here!” they yelled out whilst running toward you. “Oh my god, it's been forever! I know we’ve kept in touch but it just wasn't the same as having you here, how are you? Was the flight okay? I can’t wait to show you around, and there's a party tonight I can take you to and-”

you loved them but you had to admit all the questions at once were a bit overwhelming, the one thing that caught your attention being the mention of a party. “y/f/n- you know I'm not exactly a party person” you mumbled and they shook their head, “nonsense! You just came back and it’ll be a great way to introduce you to new people!”

you sighed and shook your head as y/f/n rambled on, you knew there was no use in arguing and you weren’t exactly the type to fight back so you simply accepted your fate as the two of you headed to your family’s home to settle in.

after settling in a few hours had passed and you were lying on y/f/n’s bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone as you waited for them to finish showering. “Soooo, about that party-” they started, settling down right next to you on the bed. “I already told you I don’t wanna gooooo” you whined, glancing up at them with an uninterested expression.

after a good 30 minutes of back-and-forth banter between the two of you, you accepted that there was no way out of this. y/f/n had lent you something to wear, as you hadn’t felt what you picked out was quite…party appropriate, and off you went to call a taxi.

the car kept driving for what felt like an eternity, following a windy road up a hill and coming to a stop in front of a house not big enough to be a mansion but big enough to elicit an audible gasp from you.

as soon as your feet crossed the threshold of the home you felt out of place, the loud music, crowded rooms, and overall overwhelming atmosphere was too much. y/f/n seemed to know everyone as she lead you through the sea of bodies, waving and greeting almost every other person. “Come on, you need to let loose!” were the last words you heard from them before they vanished from your sight.

somehow you found yourself wandering to the kitchen, grabbing a drink to occupy your hands to blend in and avoid looking even more out of place than you already felt. Despite your efforts to distract yourself and make the most of the situation the commotion seemed to be growing louder by the minute, unable to withstand the pounding in your head any longer you pushed through the crowd until you saw the moonlight leading you to a balcony.

there you stood, trying to get a breath of fresh air while leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm yourself down. Out of the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn someone was approaching, but you couldn’t be bothered to double-check. You didn’t know it yet but you’d just caught the attention of the most well-known party boy in the district, choi yeonjun.

“hey there,” yeonjun said, flashing a signature smile as he glanced down at you, “what brings a pretty person like you out here when all the fun is in there?” he chuckled, nodding his head back toward the inside of the house.

“just needed some space…” you mumbled quietly, unable to combat the smile tugging at your lips when you looked up and met his eyes. He could tell that you weren’t quite comfortable going back inside, but something about you was calling to him. “Do you maybe wanna go for a walk or something? It’s a lovely night and I assume you don’t wanna head back in there” he said with a kindhearted laugh.

“actually…that sounds nice” You nodded, that was all it took for yeonjun to grip your hand tightly but gently, leading you back through the sea of bodies and out the back door. The two of you walked aimlessly down the windy road in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.

once the two of you reached the foot of the hill yeonjun took notice of the convenience store just down the street, “are you hungry?” he asked, to which you nodded in response. “I could eat right now” you laughed as he tugged you gently in the direction of the convenience store, “let's eat then, and get whatever you want, it's on me” he grinned as he opened the door for you, and followed inside.

your eyes light up immediately at the sight of your favorite snack, immediately grab a bag and continue to browse with it held tightly in your arms. Yeonjun followed behind you, finding the way your eyes lit up adorable.

after a few minutes, you heard Yeonjun’s voice echoing from another aisle, “Oh look! The tteokbokki here is amazing, trust me, do you wanna share some?” he asked, looking over to you with hopeful eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to say no and you did enjoy tteokbokki, “oh my god, yes!” you gasped happily, tteokkbokki had been a comfort food of yours ever since you were a kid and little did you know it was yeonjuns too.

soon you decided you were done and the two of you went up to the counter, everything was rung up and yeonjun led you to a table by the window and sat down. “So, care to tell me about yourself? I don't think I've ever seen you around…and if there's a party I'm always there” he added with a smile.

“well I guess it was obvious but I'm not really a partier, and I just came back after studying abroad so I’m still settling in” she replied nervously, yeonjun carefully taking note of your demeanor as he nodded. You guys began eating as soon as everything was heated up, at first the conversation was slow and minimal but soon enough you found yourselves opening up to each other. An extra 10 minutes turned into an hour until almost 2 hours had passed and you found yourself wondering where the time had gone.

“hmm we should probably head back now, your friend might be worried about you no?” yeonjung asked, tilting his head. Truth be told he didn't want to go back just yet, even 15 more minutes with you would make him ecstatic, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “Yeah I don’t want to worry y/f/n,” you said with a bit of a frown forming on your face. It was obvious that neither of you wanted to be without the other's company, having formed a strong connection in the short time you’d spent together.

it didn't take long for you and yeonjun to reach the party, but much to your surprise it was still going strong and y/f/n was nowhere to be seen.

“why don't we go up to the roof? The sky is pretty clear tonight so we can stargaze, I figure it’ll be a lot better than going back in there right now” he laughed, looking to you for an answer. You thought about it for a few seconds before nodding eagerly, “sounds amazing” you said, on the outside, you seemed indifferent but on the inside, you were thrilled to be able to spend more time with him.

yeonjun lead you up a staircase that lead to the roof, a nice flat surface that the two of you could lay on. “Sit here,” he said softly, patting the space next to him and waiting until you’d settle down next to him. As soon as you sat he laid back and nodded when you glanced at him, wondering if you should do the same.

“it's gorgeous out here right now…” he commented, the stars glittering above the two of you in a vast sea of darkness. You nodded, gazing up with him before excitedly pointing at a whole cluster of stars, “look at the group right there, it's breathtaking” you sighed contently.

before you knew it your eyelids were getting heavier by the minute. Yeonjun glanced over, taking notice and smiling to himself. He’d been stealing glances at you all night long, but you looked especially stunning with the soft glow of moonlight shining down on your face.

he’d only looked away for a few seconds when he turned to point out a constellation to you but was instead met with the sight of your eyes shut tight and your chest rising and falling gently with every breath.

“cute” he mumbled, placing his jacket over you and wrapping one arm around you gently, careful not to wake you. He closed his eyes as well, a stupid grin on his face as he drifted off to sleep as well with the sound of the muffled music echoing all around. He didn’t know even a fraction of what he wanted to about you, but he did know he’d do anything in his power to make you his one day, holding you close as you fell asleep under the stars.

[scoobydoodean]

Something fun for you to ponder. When Sam was soulless, Bobby thought there was a chance that, "This is just Sam." I think it's because Sam tends to perform empathy somewhat selectively, at times more cognitively than emotionally. Do I personally think it's a neurodivergent trait? Yes, I do. BUT. It's hilarious to me that Bobby looked at soulless Sam and thought, "Hmm. There's a good chance that's just Sam." No?

Ho ho! Very interesting.

From 6.06 "You Can't Handle the Truth":

DEAN I don't know how much longer I can do this, Bobby. You got to figure out what the hell he is and fast. BOBBY I'm trying. But, Dean, there's a worst-case scenario. DEAN What, Satan's my co-pilot? Yeah, I know. BOBBY Well, that'd be the other worst case. DEAN Well, then what? BOBBY Maybe it's just Sam

Notably: This happens before anyone knows Sam is soulless and before Sam has admitted that he doesn't feel anything, but after Sam has let Dean get attacked and turned by a vampire.

I don't think that Bobby disagrees with Dean that Sam is acting different from before (I think that's why he calls it a worst case scenario). Sam has been putting everybody on edge, not just Dean (Samuel says that Sam scares him in 6.07). I think what Bobby is considering is that Sam simply isn't the same person after The Cage—that Sam compartmentalized his emotions to deal with the trauma—turned himself into a stone cold killing machine as a coping tool—and now Sam doesn't know how to warm back up to feeling anymore or caring about anyone or anything (or maybe can't because it's still too raw). Bobby's considering the idea that Sam may have simply cracked open and spilled his emotions out on the floor somewhere and left them behind... which ironically, is pretty much what happened?

Bobby is aware of similar (though less extreme) behavior from Sam in the past in coping with trauma. In fact, he arguably knows this side of Sam better than Dean does. Sam ghosted Bobby while Dean was in hell (and for months in 3.11 "Mystery Spot", though Bobby doesn't remember that). It wasn't that Sam stopped feeling (he was full of anguish and rage), but he did push Bobby away and focus obsessively on revenge, hunting like a machine. Sam pushed away the potential to talk through Dean's death with someone else who loved Dean and understood a lot of the grief Sam was feeling because it opened him up to a dangerous amount of vulnerability.

This is very John-coded behavior from Sam and it doesn't represent a lack of emotion as much as it represents "I feel so much that I cannot stand the idea of touching that emotion or I will break". It's a refusal to engage with and feel certain emotions, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to get up. Anger is fuel that burns hot and keeps you moving, but grief and fear can rip the life from you.

Consider even John's way of dealing with the worry he perpetually felt about Sam. Yelling and telling Sam never to come back when Sam wanted to go to school, making the fight all about betrayal and responsibility when deep down the entire time, John was just scared that Sam would get hurt (1.08, 1.20). Griping at Sam as a kid for wanting to play soccer (1.08), but without Sam's knowledge, quietly placing Sam's soccer trophy in a storage unit because John couldn't bear to throw it away even though there was no room for it on the road (3.03). John buried certain representations of affection and love because they were fraught with so much terror. Being open about how much he cared exposed him to feeling so much fear he couldn't cope with it, and John feels emotions incredibly deeply like Dean does. When the crying starts he cannot stop. It isn't macho bullshit—it isn't "I'm a man so this is unacceptable"—it's "If I feel this emotion right now at this exact moment then I will shatter into a million pieces".

Sam does the same thing when Dean is dead. Bobby represents vulnerability, family, and love—talking about how much Dean meant to both of them. The rage is easier. Being a hunting machine in 3.11 is easier. Focusing on murdering demon and training to kill Lilith is easier.

When the people Dean loves are in pain, Dean talks to them—he tells them how much he cares about them. He lets himself be vulnerable with it. Sam wants something to do and he needs to take charge. We see this is in 5.07 after Bobby reveals that he's having suicidal thoughts. Dean is distraught, and Sam is too (we see how much Bobby's opinion of him matters to Sam in 5.01)—but Sam just tells Bobby he isn't going to let him sacrifice himself, then jumps into action and focuses on the mission, while Dean lingers at Bobby's side. Then at the end of the episode, Dean sits down with Bobby alone and tells him how much he loves him and needs him. I don't think Sam could have that conversation at that point in his life. I genuinely don't think he could—and not because he doesn't love Bobby, but because he can't touch the distress that would surface from a discussion like that. One could argue Sam really does the same thing in 3.10, stepping outside of Bobby's house and seeking out Jeremy inside Bobby's dream while Dean goes up the stairs and finds Bobby and again—opens himself up to vulnerable emotions and expresses how much Bobby means to him—that he sees him as a father and he can't lose him. Sam focuses on finding the guy doing all of this and skirts the emotional vulnerability.

I think this is something Bobby, then, is very familiar with from Sam, so when he takes it to an extreme, where Sam is now dealing with a traumatic experience from being in The Cage, he can easily see how Sam would suppress his emotions and focus on hunting like a machine yet again, and how that could possibly reach such an extreme that Sam would stop feeling altogether and maybe not know how to or not be able to come back from that. And you know... I've never thought of this before in this exact way, but how did Sam's soul and body get separated in The Cage? Is there anything that disproves the idea that Sam himself ripped his soul from his body to cope with Lucifer's torture?

[streets-in-paradise]

Hi hi, it's me again 🙈

I couldn't resist to be part of your Troy 2004 20th anniversary (I feel so old, it was already 20 years ago... I remember seeing it for the first time at my cousin's home and falling in love with this movie).

If it's okay with you, I read this prompt from the list you shared (I'm on my phone so I can't remember the name of the author of the prompts but they were really great!), and I feel this one would feat in the movie universe :

"I have your ring on my finger, but I'm still waiting for your heart."

I could see it for a few characters.

If you feel it, and no pressure at all, maybe you could write something with that? With any character you would wish and if you haven't inspiration, no problemo ^^

I hope you had a good rest and I can't wait to read more from you ^^

See you soon on Tumblr 🌸

Hi,Hi,Hi!!!!

Sorry it took me so long to get to this one, I accidentally procrastinated the writing because I got strongly focused in an unexpected problem a friend had.

Great prompt choice! I too can think in quite a few characters for this one, but I took the less probable choice to spice things up. Normally, my first choice for this case scenario would have been Hector, so I'm going for Achilles.

Inspired in that Iliad fragment where Briseis says Patroclus told her he was going to convince Achilles of marrying her.

The Right Way - Achilles x (Fem)Reader

Even in the darkest of fates, you managed to find a ray of light.

Patroclus, the young cousin of the one who once became your captor, was an embodiment of hope. You were still a stranger to him, a simple war captive, and yet from the beggining he took many bothers comforting you. It reached unbelievable limits when one night he made you an impossible promise hoping only to stop your sobbing in exchange.

He told you that you were not going to remain a slave for long because he was going to convince Achilles of doing the ríght thing marrying you in order to restaure your dignity.

The naive sweetness of his proposition calmed you in that oportunity despite you couldn't believe him. It was clear that the lad firmly believed in it and was not trying to deceive you, but the idea was not a realistic solution you were seeing come true any soon.

But it did: against any reasonable expectation, Achilles married you. As if that wasn't unbelievable enough, a greater surprise still awaited you through the early times of your circunstantial union.

Falling in love with him, slowly starting to enjoy of your warm spot at his side.

Despite your marriage was a mere formality happening to get you back in a decent status, Achilles allowed you to indulge into the fiction through certain gestures. Sleeping together was the one you got to like the quickest.

Consummation was not demmanded by him, but you were starting to desire it.

Signals of it emerged as you searched for his caressing, even iniciating kisses for the first time.

As eager for it as he could be, your attitude came out suspicious.

" Forcing yourself to please me wasn't part of the deal. I'm trying to prove your young protector a point: I can be a decent man keeping you in the right way. "

The reasoning was simply hilarious to you.

" Did you just admit to have married me out of pure stubborness? "

His response was vague enough to keep you guessing.

" It's not the worst choice I have taken that way."

You groaned with frustration and he chuckled, but the laughter ended when you placed one hand on his chest.

" I have your ring on my finger, but I am still waiting for your heart. "

He raised an eyebrow, then attempted to hide his surprise in a cocky smirk.

" Let me understand this. From both of us, it's precisely you the one who got convinced this can work? "

Your grip on him got tighter in the prelude of your confirmation.

" Maybe neither of us have choosen it willingly, but here we are. At first, I only cared about my honor, but turns out I like being your wife way more than I ever expected. "

He closed his eyes for an an instant and took a deep breath.

" When you present it with such convincing rethoric you make it feel worthy. "

Making use of his brief distraction, your approach became more daring.

" Do you want to know something more?"

Your trail of kisses ended back where you started, purring against his lips.

" I think I finally want you to make love to me. "

The intensity of his blue eyes was once more completely focused on you, want and wonder in equal amounts.

" You better not be deceiving me, I'm taking that seriously. "

Your answer was a smirk and a soft peck on his lips, but he insisted on the interrogation.

" I was inclined to assume it would be out of the question. "

It made you chuckle.

" Achilles, ... you slept naked the first night. "

[darklinaforever]

So, apparently, we Dramiones are proudly admitting how much we want to see Hermione getting raped by Draco.

And that's why this ship is the worst, because Drarry and Pansmione wouldn't admit that proudly.

So uh... wtf ?

I want to say that personally, and tell me if this is the case for you too, but I have never come across a Dramione shipper who did /said that.

Not even those who like Manacled, or indeed other fanfictions of this type.

And this is where I think there is a huge disconnect between the Dramione fandom in general, as well as the more specific part of it liking this kind of fanfiction / story, and precisely what the anti-Dramione people think of the ship and the fandom.

For them to enjoy reading these kinds of stories or writing them would be equal to this bullshit of proudly proclaiming how much we want and love to see Hermione get raped by Draco.

When it just has nothing to do with it.

Most of the time, those who enjoy reading or writing this, it's either for personal cathartic reasons, or exploring rape fantasy too, or simply enjoying delving into a super twisted and dark story that is generally stimulating on a psychological level. Also simply exploring a fascination with the morbid perhaps (and no, there's nothing weird about it, in any case, it's not weirder than the general fascination with serial killers). That or the fact that it allows the reader to feel valued and victorious by reading this type of story where the heroine (with whom there is precisely an identification) despite all the horrors that happens to her ends up happy and manages to help to reform the worst of the worst.

All in a reassuring way through fiction, all as a bonus with appreciated characters from an already existing story in particular, and this in a purely fanon context, which is doubly reassuring by the fact somewhere.

So no, liking to read this kind of problematic story, equivalent to Dark Romance, has nothing to do with proudly wanting /particularly liking Hermione to be raped by Draco (very harsh words with the obvious aim of degrading the shippers).

Fanfiction is a place that exists expressly to give free rein to our imagination, even the most disturbing and / or perverse parts (and this in a much freer way than writing a book made public with your name on the cover).

So putting a limit or taboo on what you can or cannot write on a ship is ridiculous.

Not liking it, yes, that’s no problem.

But putting a general stop on it because it would be too inappropriate, and would reveal things about consumers or writers is just stupid and disrespectful.

Also, it is not because these problematic fanfictions are very successful that they are representative of the entirety of what is done / and is loved in the Dramione fandom and his writings.

Quite simply because it is a fanon ship, with multiple possibilities to write that many people write every day.

It really doesn't make sense to simply take Dramione from this type of more dark fanfictions precisely in order to say that it's the most toxic ship in the Harry Potter universe, when it is, once again, a ship fanon with lots of other versions ! It's not a canon ship with an established and grounded dynamic and it never will be !

Acting like Dramione is just pure toxicity and the worst in the Harry Potter universe because of some successful problematic fanfictions is stupid, because those fanfictions, once again, do not 100% represent the ship and the fandom (for example, I'm not particularly into this type of very dark story).

They are just one facet among many others. A facet of which there is not even anything to be ashamed of in fact, because it is simply fiction. There is no problem in loving this kind of story and embracing it.

Plus, tons of people, like me, have been shipping Dramione since they were kids and reading fanfictions ever since. Do you think the kids who ship Dramione get involved in this type of fanfictions, or imagine this kind of scenario when they have Dramione in mind ? That they proudly want Hermione being raped by Draco ?! No. Of course not. Mostly, what we imagine, and what is also the most written generally is a redemption arc where Draco learns to be better and worthy of Hermione. That's all. Even if, yes, sometimes fanfiction with problematic characters can be part of it for some members of the fandom Dramione.

Frankly, I repeat, it's really ridiculous to judge a ship fanon on a single type of specific fanfictions, which of course, as if by chance, suits the hateful speeches of some people.

Like I said, it's baloney, and nothing is set in stone. If today, certain fanfictions with problematic characters are "the face of Dramione" for some and as some say, well maybe in a few years, other less problematic and even healthier stories could come and replace these success.

And at that point, how will the antis justify their hatred of the ship ?

Will they stay focused on the era when it was fanfiction with problematic characters that was most highlighted ? They would be quite capable of it. Or surely they will simply return to the still existing classic discourse on the canon relationship of the characters of Draco and Hermione to proclaim how bad it is to create fanfiction where they are in love with a beautiful relationship ?

After all, these types of extremely Dark fanfictions were not as present at one time and / or were much less represented / popular than today, however, that did not prevent Dramione from being hated with other types of arguments, all generally based on the canonical relationship of the characters while once again, we are on fanon / an alternative continuation from a certain point in the original story...

The truth is that all this is just another excuse to hate Dramione in such a way that it allows you to feel justified in spitting on the shippers by saying precisely such stupid things as, the part of Dramione fandom who love the concept of Dark Romance (or not by the way since they don't even seem to make the difference and put the entire Dramione fandom in the same basket of taste in terms of reading), would be proud of wanting Hermione to get raped by Draco, something other ships fandom doesn't do.

Like... really wtf ? How twisted do you have to be to spout this kind of insulting bullshit ?

And then, not to break these people's bubbles... but there are certainly Drarry fanfictions containing rape, maybe even for Pansmione too.

Since fanfiction has existed most fanon and even canon ships have gotten this kind of fanfiction at one time or another.

Seriously, as if other Harry Potter ships didn't also have problematic scenarios. As if it were only Dramione's own !

You really have to stop the bullshit after a while frankly about the fact that Dramione would be worse (specially when Tomione, who I also like by the way, exists !).

An all that for, once again, fanon ships or you can literally write the relationship however you want because it has no grounded / canon romantic dynamic !

Even if I think that the reason why Dramione has more stories highlighted on this side in recent years than the other ships (beyond the fact that there seems to be a spike in popularity around Dark Romance in general in recent years in the world of literature), it is also because the context of the status of the characters in the Harry Potter universe can best fit a Dark Romance scenario to exploit for those who also love this genre of literature in particular.

Not to mention that they are both very popular and interesting characters to varying degrees who could fit the trope of enemies to lovers by being put together, a trope which can already contain problematic aspects to varying degrees.

And once again, in the context of a universe like Harry Potter with the status of the characters, we can easily switch Dramione squarely into Dark Romance for those who are interested.

This kind of Dramione fanfiction does not exist simply because some of the Dramione shippers would strangely and out of pure perversity of a sick mind want to "see Hermione being raped by Draco in various ways". There is a logic behind the creation of these particular scenarios. We're not sure it's purely free.

But once again, it's not because the context of Dramione lends itself to Dark Romance, which many love and have really immersed themselves in for several years (because yes, I remind you that this type of story does not were not as popular written and represented several years ago as today), that everyone does it and therefore that the whole fandom is like that, including the ship itself, which once again I remind is fanon and therefore still has no established canonical romantic dynamic and we can do what we want with it !

And once again, maybe in a few years, the trend will reverse and much healthier stories from Dramione will replace the Dark Romance type hits of today.

Because a fandom always evolves over time, as does what people write and read.

Dramione has always had certain phases in the fanfiction genre. I remember the period when almost all of the most recommended Dramione fanfictions were fanfictions about Hermione and Draco's 8th year at Hogwarts as head boy. A type of Dramione still popular today, almost classic one could say.

And yet Dramione was just as hated as he is today. When I tell you that all this is just excuses for the haters !

Limit, they can talk about what a certain more or less broad and current part of the Dramione fandom prefers to read / write currently, all without also going into generalization and even less generalization full of judgment of hatred and negativeness, because like I said, there are no real problems or shame with these stories.

But in no case can you give a real genre label to the ship Dramione which once again is purely fanon.

But in short, I think you understand my overall point with this huge block.

Love the ships you want ! Write and Read what you want ! Long live to Dramione ship ; In all forms, past present and future !

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 1, 2021 5:00 p.m. newcrest hospital

[five hours later]

[dr. winters] so, you’re an interesting case.

[grant] don’t i know it?

[dr. winters] fortunately, the excellent news here is that your physical exam is overall outstanding.

[dr. winters] all your blood work and vitals are great, your eyesight’s correctable to normal, and you have no other underlying disease besides the autoimmune stuff.

[dr. winters] disclaimer that you should lay off the cigarettes, but...

[dr. winters] still, based on these factors, i see no real reason to deny your medical on physical grounds. the MRI of your spine was very concerning, but i did read the letter from your rheumatologist clearing you for work again, and you passed all my exams just fine, so it’s not an issue in my eyes unless your disease and/or functioning significantly worsen.

[grant] well, that’s...good?

[dr. winters] not so fast. don't get too excited. as much as i'd like to send you out with your medical today, i can’t.

[grant] alright. fair enough.

[dr. winters] i'm not denying you, to be clear. i'm deferring your case to federal administration.

[dr. winters] this is the unfortunate part. because you suddenly admitted to having previous substance abuse issues, have brand new mental health diagnoses, and are on some medications that are neither approved nor banned, it’s out of my hands.

[dr. winters] you would need a special issuance medical, which is only something the administration can give out.

[dr. winters] if you’re granted one, it is a full first-class medical and will clear you to fly and hopefully approve your current medications with no issues, but it will tag you as having health conditions, and it’ll probably place restrictions on your medical, like more frequent medical exams and no flying if you’re having x, y, and z symptoms.

[grant] okay, sure. what should i do next?

[dr. winters] well, i'll forward all the paperwork from you to them along with my reports from today. at some point, the administration will send you a whole bunch more paperwork in the mail, and they’ll ask you to explain all your medications, your psychiatric history, and why the hell you were diagnosed with multiple psychiatric disorders all at once and so late in life.

[dr. winters] whatever you say, be as honest as possible. i will gently remind you that lying to them is a felony.

[dr. winters] you’ll mail all your responses back to them, and then they’ll tell you to submit to a neurocognitive screen and a psychiatric evaluation. i can go ahead and refer you to doctors who can offer you those screenings. they'll also want statements from any psychiatrists and therapists you've seen basically confirming they think you're stable enough for this kind of employment.

[dr. winters] and finally, after they review all the new materials plus your flight records, you’ll either get approved or denied.

[grant] there's some hope?

[dr. winters] yes. you have held a medical before. you'll just have to jump through more hoops this time to prove your capabilities. worst case scenario you lawyer up and sue until you get results. and no, i'm not joking. in complex cases like yours, i often recommend a lawyer.

[grant] i don’t want a lawyer.

[dr. winters] at least not yet. don't count the legal route out. the worst worst case scenario is that you're denied. if they deny you and you feel that's unfair, the law is the only solution you have left.

[grant] got it. well, um, thanks for all your help. i guess i'll wait for new paperwork from the administration then. how long should the whole process to take, assuming it all goes smoothly?

[dr. winters] oh, it won't go smoothly. your case will sit on someone’s desk until the file rots or the sun blows up, whichever comes first, unless you call incessantly. so, do that. call, call, and call again until someone does something with it.

[dr. winters] and maybe you’ll get a final decision in...

[dr. winters] six months? a year? hopefully not longer than that.

[fallingintolife]

Oh, Come On!

Request: Reader proposing to dean and dean getting legitimately mad because he wanted to propose first

Summary: You and Dean had never intended on falling for each other in the first place, but here you both were years later and now it was time for someone to pop the question. Or maybe two someone's…?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: A few curses, and of course some angst…but mostly all the fluff 💕

Word Count: 1,462

A/N: @smiling-girl I'm sorry this one took me a little bit but I really hope you enjoy it! It was fun to get into Dean's character and I'm kind of excited to do it more 💕

If you asked anyone who knew Dean Winchester if they ever thought he'd settle down, get married, and leave the hunter life for an apple pie one, they'd immediately tell you there was no way. Dean had always said that that life just wasn't in the cards for him. Until he met you. You were a hunter at a young age just like Dean and had also never seen yourself settling down with anyone. Which was why you and Dean had even started hooking up in the first place. It started with just flirting, then hooking up when you were both in the same area on a hunt, to helping each other on hunts, to then meeting up wherever you could even if you weren't exactly in the same area. That was when things went from casual hook ups to having real feelings for each other.

You both tried to deny your feelings because that wasn't part of the plan! You both had never planned on actually caring for each other and…falling in love. A few fights and self-sabotages later you both finally came to the conclusion that you both would at least try to give this a shot. Because you both knew how this would most likely end but were at peace with that.

Fast forward five years later and now here you are, living in the Bunker with both of the boys and more nervous than you had ever been in your entire life. Which…damn, that meant something since you had been hunting since you were eight… This decision though would either end with you and Dean being engaged (which was the best case scenario) or end with him rejecting you meaning you would have ruined the best relationship you had ever had. (worst case scenario…which to be honest was probably more likely going to be the outcome because you'd  never had good luck to begin with and neither had Dean…) You wanted this though. And God willing you hope Dean did too…

Tonight you and Dean had scheduled a date night, meaning going on a drive in Baby, grabbing dinner at the local diner, and then parking in an open lot while looking up at the stars before you both headed home. It was going to be the absolute perfect time to propose to Dean. Rather he'd like to admit it or not Dean loved a good chick flick, and proposing under the stars while in Baby? If that wasn't the picture perfect part in a chick flick then hell- you didn't know what was.

Dean actually hadn't even noticed that you had been nervous all night. Because truth be told, Dean was also battling with the same thoughts and feelings as you were.

Dean had tried, really tried not to fall for you. He tried to push you away, self sabotaged, and even yelled at you, thinking that one of those things would make you run for the hills. The irony about the whole situation though was that you tried to use those same tactics on him. Which just showed him that you cared just as much as he did, and that you were just as scared to fuck it all up. Dean and you had talked about how people like them didn't get happy endings. There was no apple pie life for them. They knew that when they did finally die that it would be during a hunt. That was when Dean had come to the conclusion that you were both on the same page. That was when he proposed that you both should give your relationship a try. To his surprise you agreed. He honestly didn't think you'd stay. I mean, who wants to be with someone like him? A ticking, self-loathing time bomb? You apparently and shit, if that's what you wanted, knowing good and well about the consequences…he was okay with that.

So, now, here he was driving to an empty lot that he always drove to for you both to look at the stars and finally propose. And he was terrified.

Because he loved you. Dean Winchester loved you. So he at least had to ask you to marry him. I mean, he didn't think you'd stay as long as you had in the first place. He had to try and if that meant him having to beg you to stay because he didn't know what he would do without you? Well then he'd do it because dammit- Dean would do anything for you.

Before you knew it, Dean had parked Baby in what became her normal spot here when you came. The radio was playing quietly in the background and the night sky was particularly lit up, full of stars tonight. This was it. You could do this.

"Um…Dean?" Clearing your throat you looked over at him, both of your eyes meeting.

"Yeah sweetheart?" He raised an eyebrow at her, gently pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. It was now or never.

"Um I…do you remember what you told me when we finally decided to give this relationship thing a shot?" Dean sat back for a second rubbing his chin in thought, and then laughed.

"I'm pretty sure I told you that you must be bat shit crazy if you thought being with me was a good idea, which you replied with-"

"Right back at you Winchester." You cut him off as you laughed reliving that moment. You then took a deep breath as you looked into his green eyes.

"Look Dean…I…I think that neither of us thought this would work out…but by some miracle it has. And I know that hunters don't have happy ends, that- that's just how it goes…but I don't need a happy ending like in a fairytale or-or a rom-com. As long as I am with you I'm happy." Your hand shakily pulled the small ring box out of your jean pocket and held it in front of him.

"Dean Winchester, will you marry me?" You held your breath, eyes locked on his, praying if not for him to say yes, then at least for him to say something…

"Son of a bitch!" Okay well…maybe not that…you definitely weren't expecting that to come out of his mouth and with such an angry tone…so you had now found a worse worst case scenario…

"Dean…I'm…I'm sorry. I- I just…I'm sorry. Forget I said anyth-"

"You couldn't give me five more minutes? And in Baby! I can't believe you'd steal my thunder like that!" Dean was squeezing the bridge of his nose in what seemed like…frustration? So now you were confused. Really confused. Before you could even ask what the hell he was talking about he was holding his mom's ring in front of you. Wait. He was…he was going to propose? To you? Tonight? "You didn't even give me the chance to pull out the good stuff or anything." You stared at him incredulously when you realized what the problem was.

"Wait. Are you-are you mad that I proposed to you first?" Dean let out a huff.

"Well…yeah! I mean I had this whole speech planned out and you beat me to it…" Dean was staring down at the ring he held in-between his fingers. He was more angry with himself that you felt like you had to propose because you never thought he would. However, that was not your thoughts at all.

"Ask me." A slight whisper, just loud enough for Dean to hear, made him look up at you. A smile was slowly appearing on your lips as tears, happy tears, began to glimmer in your eyes. "Ask me." You said again. He couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face as he held the ring out to her with one hand, and gently caressed his thumb against your cheek with the other.

"Y/N, sweetheart, will you marry me?"

"Yes. A thousand times yes!" You immediately kissed him, happy tears falling down your face (and some from Dean's, even though he'd never admit it…). Dean slipped the engagement ring on your finger.

"Yes. To me, wanting to marry you too, you know, since you asked." You let out a giggle of delight, placing the pure silver ring on his finger.

As much as it frustrated Dean that you had beat him to the punch at first, once he realized that you did actually want him and you wanted to be with him; nothing else mattered. Nothing but you and him for the rest of the time you both had left. If you were both gonna go you were go out together and that's all Dean could ask for, was for you to be by his side for the rest of his life.

[lythea-creation]

I'm Right Here - Hiba x fem reader x Tasneem (Part 2)

Part 1

warnings: Angst

word count: 1.098

Requested? Yes!

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

“Hey guys! Do you know where (f/n) is?”, Ali wondered.

“I haven't seen her since her last play”, Omar recalled.

Tasneem and Hiba exchanged a glance before taking a look at their phones, hoping for a message that would solve the mystery. But there was none.

“She didn't text us”, Tasneem declared. “Did she say where she was going?”

“Honestly I didn't even realize that she had left until now”, Omar admitted.

“Do you think we should search for her?”, Ali considered.

“Maybe she just went to the restroom though. I'll go take a look”, Hiba announced.

“Let's look around for her, too”, Ali suggested. “One of us should stay here in case she's coming back.”

But even after searching for twenty minutes they could not find (f/n) anywhere.

“I have a bad feeling about this”, Tasneem mumbled. “Leaving without telling us is so out of character for her.”

“Shit”, Hiba cursed.

“What is it? Do you know anything?”, Tasneem urged her.

“She left without telling us and we didn't even notice. That's the whole issue”, Hiba noted. “We basically ignored her the whole night.”

Tasneem's eyes widened in realization. “You're right. We really gotta make it up to her.”

“I'm gonna call her”, Hiba decided. “We're leaving.”

“Well, thanks”, Omar stated sarcastically, earning a death glare from the girls.

He held up his hands in defeat. “Hey, I was just joking! Time's up anyway.”

“See you”, Tasneem exclaimed while following Hiba outside.

“She isn't picking up”, Hiba remarked.

She had probably tried about four times already to no avail, but she did not give up.

“How about driving over to her place?”, Tasneem proposed.

They hurried out of the car as soon as they arrived.

As the door did not open after the first ring, they continued ringing without a break until (f/n)'s mom suddenly opened.

“Do you think it's fun to disturb people this late?”, she complained before recognizing the girls.

“Sorry”, Tasneem apologized for both of them. “Is (f/n) home?”

“No, she said that she was going out tonight. I think she wanted to go bowling or something”, her mom remembered.

“Okay. Thanks, anyway”, Tasneem replied politely before they walked away again.

“What do you think where she is?”, Hiba inquired.

“If she didn't call her mom, then she's probably still wandering around”, Tasneem suspected.

“Then let's go find her”, Hiba shot back frustrated.

The worry and guilt they were feeling was spurring them on as they were walking toward Pins, hoping to find their girlfriend on the way.

They did not say a word, the tense air between them too thick to get a word out. Thousands of worst-case-scenarios were flooding their mind.

After a felt eternity they finally spotted their girlfriend.

(f/n)'s head was hanging low as she was walking through the streets of the city. Her mind had gone blank by now as the monotonous movement of walking was working on its own.

She did not see the other girls approaching her until she recognized Tasneem's soft voice: “Hey.”

(f/n) looked up at them, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes still red and puffy from crying. Her posture slouched from sadness and exhaustion.

Hiba and Tasneem had known before, but in that moment they realized just how much they had fucked up.

After the first few seconds of surprise (f/n) got a hold of herself again, ironically ignoring the duo now as she was simply walking ahead.

“(f/n), please stop”, Tasneem begged.

But the former did not want to listen after the way she had been treated. All she wanted was to get home, slip out of her outfit and sleep to forget it all.

Hiba placed herself in front of (f/n) and took a hold of her shoulders. “We know we screwed up”, Hiba proclaimed. “We acted like absolute assholes.”

“We never meant to hurt you. I have no idea what we were thinking”, Tasneem added.

Now (f/n) snapped back from the emptiness. Sadness, betrayal and anger were hitting her full force without any warning, making the tears return and wander down her cheeks.

“Just leave me alone”, (f/n) whispered, pulling away from Hiba and moving to continue walking.

Instead of stopping her again Hiba and Tasneem accompanied her.

“Just tell us what we can do and we'll do it”, Tasneem stated.

“We'll make it up to you”, Hiba promised.

“I … I can't”, (f/n) cried, suddenly stopping again. “Do you even love me?”, she questioned while turning around to face the girls.

“Of course”, they said in unison.

“Doesn't feel like it”, (f/n) pointed out. “It felt like I was invisible. You were basically flirting around with the boys right in front of my eyes. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

They could not respond anything to that. No words could take that pain away now.

“I was so excited”, (f/n) confessed, fighting to keep the sobs down. “I was looking forward to today the whole week. Do you know how much time I spent picking my outfit? I wanted to have fun with you and you didn't even acknowledge me. Seriously why did you invite me?”

The silence between them was heavy, wearing all of them down at the same time.

The other girls were close to crying as well now.

“I'm sorry”, Tasneem claimed. “There's nothing we could say to take it all back. Honestly I don't get it either. I just wanted to spend time with you, too.”

“It's like turning into another person when leaving the safety of a private space like the car”, Hiba considered. “Putting up a facade in front of others. No excuse though.”

“I don't wanna live like that”, (f/n) remarked.

Hiba and Tasneem both agreed.

“It's not fair to request something from you after all we've done today. But can you help us to change that?”, Tasneem inquired.

(f/n) was hesitant at first, scared to get hurt on such a deep level. But somehow she just could not imagine her life without the two girls in front of her. She really did want it all to work out.

“Okay, I'll try. But that doesn't mean I'll take shit like that again”, she clarified.

Hiba and Tasneem were overjoyed.

Tasneem immediately jumped into (f/n)'s arm while Hiba grinned at the two before snatching (f/n) away. If life could just be easy like that.

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

Tag List: @sunwoniie

So I kinda changed up my writing style for this one as you may have noticed. I'm rlly not used to write from this perspective, but i felt like it would fit this part better. So i figured i'd try. How do you like the second part?

This story is finished now btw. So there won't be part 3.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #8

I'll admit this one isn't exactly what I had pictured or what I wanted it to be, but I'm trying to put less pressure on myself and just enjoy the challenge of posting every day, even if it's something small and a little unpolished (:

xxx i’ve got soul but i’m not a soldier

Jason probably shouldn’t be driving his bike so fast, especially with the new rainfall making the road slick. He doesn’t care, though. Dick is in trouble. Babs hadn’t said much, doesn’t actually know much by the sounds of it, but it’s obviously bad. Bad enough that Roy had called the only for emergencies number. Bad enough that Bruce himself had gone to get him. 

He focuses all of his attention on the road in front of him, knowing that if he starts to let his mind wander even a little then his thoughts will spiral into worst-case-scenarios. The last thing he or Dick or anyone needs right now is for him to spiral. 

He gets to the Batcave in record time, barely comes to a full stop before he’s off his bike and running to the infirmary, his footfall echoing through the cavernous space. Roy is there, standing near the entrance, chewing on his thumbnail. Bruce and Alfred are crowded around the hospital bed and though he can only see his legs, Jason knows that it’s Dick lying there.

“Jason,” Roy says as he approaches, lowering his arm and moving into Jason’s path.

“What happened?” Jason tries to see around Roy, but Roy moves to block his view. Jason glares at him. “Will you get out of my way?”

“Jason,” Roy says again, and Jason gives him a shove, stepping around him, and his stomach twists.

“What the hell are you doing?” He starts forward again, and again Roy steps in front of him, this time putting a firm hand against his chest. 

“You have to let them work,” he says quietly. 

Jason turns to him, his anger building, and part of him wants to fight. “They’re putting a tube down his throat. He should be in a hospital!” He shouts the last part, loud enough that Bruce glances up at him, but only for a moment before turning his attention back to Dick.

“There wasn’t time,” Roy says. “J, there wasn’t time. Alfred knows what he’s doing.”

Jason lets his tense body relax a little, taking a small step back, and forces himself to turn his attention to Roy. “What happened, Roy? What the hell happened?”

“I found him in an alley with an arrow in his shoulder. I was gonna take him back to Olly’s place to get some help but he just…” He takes a deep breath. “He collapsed. Started spasming, I had to call--”

“Wait, he was having a seizure and you brought him here?”

“It wasn’t a seizure.”

Jason looks up at the sound of Bruce’s voice. The man looks a little run down, the worry lines on his forehead and the corners of his eyes more pronounced than usual. 

“The arrow that hit Dick was poisoned. Strychnine. It causes muscle contractions. If they go on long enough, it can lead to hyperthermia, rhabdomyolysis, respiratory failure...Roy did the right thing by bringing him here. We were able to act quickly. We gave him a paralytic to keep his muscles from contracting, fluids to--”

“Is he going to be okay?” Jason interrupts, making no effort to keep the heat from his voice. Bruce takes a deep breath. 

“He’s going to need to be kept under strict observation until the poison is out of his system. And we need to get the arrow out of his shoulder. He’ll have a long recovery ahead of him for an injury like that. But yes, Jason. He’s going to be okay.”

Jason nods. “Good.” 

Now that the adrenaline and the initial panic have worn off, it makes room for other emotions. Namely, his discomfort at being back in this place that holds so many complicated memories. He turns to Roy. 

“Thanks for having his back out there. I should get going.” 

He’s barely made it two steps before Bruce says, “You don’t have to go, Jason.”

The temptation to ignore him, to just march out of there and leave the Batcave and everyone in it, is strong. He and Bruce have made a lot of progress. But there still exists a bitter, cold-hearted boy inside of him that hates Bats and hates this place, that wants to ride away from here and not look back now that he knows Dick isn’t going to die.

Just this once, Jason thinks to that angry, hurt part of himself. We’re not doing it for Bruce. We’re doing it for Dick. 

So he stays.

xxx 

“Hey, J Bird.”

Jason jerks awake. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but it’s been a long three days. It turns out waiting around for someone you care about to recover from a near-death experience is as physically exhausting as it is emotional. 

“How do you feel?” Jason asks, sitting up. 

Dick closes his eyes, making a thoughtful face. “Tired,” he says finally, opening his eyes. “And my shoulder hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you get your dumb ass shot by a poison arrow.”

“How long have you been here?”

Jason shrugs. 

“How long?” Dick asks. 

“Few days.”

Dick studies his face for a long moment, not saying anything. He looks serious. Jason waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, so it’s Jason who finally breaks the silence. 

“What?”

“I know that can’t have been easy, that’s all,” Dick says, still staring at Jason with that unwavering, piercing look. 

Jason feels suddenly embarrassed, almost naked under Dick’s gaze, and he scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand. “Oh, come on. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Thanks.”

Jason lifts one corner of his mouth. “Sure, Dickie. You’re welcome.”

xxx end